Chapter 392: 393: What might come tomorrow

“Seriously, you smell,” says Jubilee. “Go take a bath.”

Fresh lifts her arm, sniffing herself. “Sorry, Jubilee,” she apologizes. “The underworld was kinda grody.”

“Grody?” asks Basil, confused.

“Ah, uh… it was gross,” says Fresh. “It was all spooky and weird and kind of moldy, actually.” She looks around their house, staring at the many flowers and mushrooms growing out of the walls here. She lifts her arm, dusting her sleeve off. It’s still covered in underworld-gunk. “Yuck.”

“Stop making a mess, go downstairs and wash yourself off, goo-brain,” orders Jubilee. “We’ll talk about this until you get back,” says Jubilee.

“Will we?” asks Basil. “I don’t know if there’s much to talk about, honestly,” says the priestess, getting up.

“Sit your ass back down, Basil!” barks Jubilee after the priestess who heads over to the kitchen, simply ignoring them. Fresh blinks, watching her leave and then just shrugs, turning back to look at Shamrock and Jubilee. After her experience in the underworld, the four of them had gone upstairs to the table, to sit down and let her explain. Jubilee sighs, shaking their head and waving Basil off, before looking back towards her. “We’ll figure something out.”

“But what?” asks Fresh.

“Don’t worry about it,” says Jubilee. “Just go wash yourself off. After that, we’ll keep going with the plan. Nothing much has changed except maybe that we’re adding an extra step.”

Fresh nods, scooting her chair back and getting up. Basil comes back with a small bowl of leafy vegetables, setting them down in front of Shamrock.

The giant man looks down, staring at it for a while. He lifts his gaze towards the priestess, who sits there with crossed arms, watching him carefully.

“…Thanks,” says Shamrock, looking back down at the salad.

Fresh laughs, getting up. She really does need a bath. Next time she goes to the underworld, she should bring some soap.

Though, best case, she won’t be going back again.

“Is this weird?” asks Fresh.

“Morally, or you mean like… just normally?” asks the other Fresh.

Fresh puffs out her cheek, leaning back against the basin of the bath as she stares at her double who is also here with her. She looks down at the water, noticing that, oddly enough, she doesn’t have a reflection right now.

“I’m over here,” says the other Fresh.

“I was just wondering,” says Fresh, speaking to her reflection who is sitting on the other side of the bath. “If you’re here, then I guess I don’t have a reflection?”

“Guess not,” says the other Fresh, shrugging, placing her elbows back on the stone edge of the bath.

“So…” Fresh tilts her head, her wet hair dangling to the side. “Do you have a reflection?”

“Sure,” replies the other Fresh, pointing across from herself. “She’s right there.”

Fresh blinks, realizing that she herself is the one being pointed at. “Man… spiritual stuff sure is complicated, huh?”

“Yup,” replies the reflection, her double. “But I mean, if I’m your reflection, then I guess you have to be mine, right?” asks the other, scratching her cheek with her right hand and staring up towards the ceiling.

“Makes sense to me,” replies Fresh, lifting her eyes to stare at the ceiling too. “So, you live in the underworld, huh?”

“Eh, sometimes,” replies her reflection. “Sometimes I live there, sometimes I live here, sometimes I live in a mirror and sometimes I live on the surface of some gunky water when you pass by a puddle on the street and look down at it, because you thought you saw an Obol, but it was really just some garbage.”

“It was an Obol once,” says Fresh.

“Once.”

“Once,” she repeats, sighing. “That sounds chaotic,” replies Fresh. “I’m glad I just get to live in one place,” she says, looking around the basement. “Sort of…”

“Sort of,” repeats her double.

The two of them sit there for a while.

“So… what do you think we should do?” asks Fresh.

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The double shrugs. “I like our plan, actually.”

“Right?” asks Fresh. “I think it’s good too. So, I wanted to ask. Were you always my reflection?”

The water splashes as her double moves, washing her face. “Sure,” she replies a moment later, her hair sticking to her nose.

Fresh looks towards her. “Even in the old world?” she asks.

“I mean… whose else am I supposed to have been?” she asks, pulling a strand of hair away from her face, which is of course, exactly the same as her own. Fresh smiles, she supposes that makes sense.

“Sorry I didn’t look at you for so long,” she says. “That was rude of me.”

“That’s fine,” replies the reflection. “I get nervous when people look at me, you know?” asks the girl from the mirror. Fresh blinks, looking at her and laughs.

“So, do they accept Obols on the other continent?” asks Fresh, looking at the heap of money.

“Yes, but no, but yes,” replies Basil. “They have their own currency, but around the harbors, Obols are still good for trading.”

“Not anymore they aren’t,” says Jubilee, butting in. “Obols are only worth shit because there was an economy here on this side of the ocean to trade with. No cities, no economy,” they say, taking an Obol and flipping it over their shoulder, throwing the ten-thousand denomination coin to the ground as if it were worthless.

“There’s still this place,” argues Basil.

“Yeah? For how long?” asks Jubilee, shaking their head. “Assuming, best case, that the central-city survives and we high-tail it out of here, then what?” they ask. “If those inhuman freaks survived the whole wind-elemental incident, they’re going to be out for blood and there’s going to be exactly one place left to get it,” they say, looking around. “Good thing we’re moving.”

Basil sighs. “Do you think we can find a place to stay for longer than three months at, next time?” she asks.

“Ooh!” says Fresh excitedly. “I’d like that! We could do six months!”

“How about a year?” suggests Basil. “Somewhere sunny and quiet. Heck, let’s get greedy. Maybe two?” suggests the priestess, looking at all of their money. “It’s a shame. But we can make new money. But let’s stay somewhere for a little longer, just to finally relax.”

“Forever,” says Shamrock. Fresh gasps. This is the best idea she’s ever heard.

“Let’s not get ahead of ourselves,” says Jubilee. “Who says that I won’t take my chance to get away from you people when it shows up?” they ask.

“Please,” remarks Basil. “You’d cry the first night you have to be alone and then we’d find you clawing at our front door before the sun is even up.”

A large, metal hand rests itself down on Jubilee’s shoulder. “Forever,” repeats Shamrock.

“Fuck off, Shamrock,” replies Jubilee, rolling their eyes.

“- Forever, Jubilee,” says Fresh, lowering herself down, staring with wide, unblinking eyes.

Jubilee glares at her. “Why are you touching me?”

Another hand grabs their long, red ear, pinching the tip of it between its fingers. “Forever,” says Basil.

Jubilee swipes their hands off of themselves. “Get lost, all of you!” they bark.

Fresh squishes Jubilee’s face. “Forever.”

“Forever,” repeats Shamrock, holding onto their shoulder.

“Forever,” chants Basil, pulling on both of their ears.

“Forever. Forever. Forever -”

This goes on for the better part of the next five minutes, until Jubilee manages to finally break free from the hands that bind them, but not from their horrible fate that they seem to have no choice but to endure forever.

Razmatazz

FOREVER! *Swings boxcutter around through the air* FOREVER

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