Dungeon Item Shop - Chapter 140: Two in the dark (Patreon)

Fresh sits out on the balcony, leaning back on the smaller chair. It is the middle of the night, the day having now come and gone. Shamrock had gotten her the cauldron, one that was significantly larger than her old one and carried it down to the basement. The crowd trailing him, following the giant man in excited fascination as he carried the thing over his shoulder, had to be stopped by Jubilee after they tried following him down into the basement. Fresh is pretty sure that the same people who left with him were the same ones who came back over an hour later. Apparently the entire city was just fascinated with him to an unhealthy degree, as far as she sees it. She sighs, lifting her head as she stares up at the night-sky, pulling her blue blanket up higher to cover herself.

She looks over at Shamrock, who sits on the other chair on the other side of the balcony, staring up towards the nearly vanished moon. There isn’t much of it left to see, except for a smooth crescent. The rest of the soft light of the celestial body is hidden behind the night by a darkness so deep, that not even the thousand bright stars that fill the heavens are able to illuminate it. The man says nothing, showing no signs of being bothered by the cold or by anything at all in the least, as he just continues to gaze at the moon.

Tomorrow night would bring a new moon with it. She could make a new cauldron of rebirth then.

Fresh turns her head back to the sky, following his eyes towards where he looks, trying to find out what mystifies him so about it. At the same time, as her attention seems to become tightly drawn to that pale moon, as if spellbound, she wonders what mystifies her about it. A quiet rustling can be heard in the background. Basil is tossing and turning as uneasily in her sleep as always.

Fresh isn’t sure how long they sit there for, neither of them saying a word, neither of them diverting their eyes from the moon. She isn’t sure if he blinks once the entire time, let alone if she does herself.

“Shamrock?” asks a voice, breaking the spell to Fresh’s surprise. Blinking, somewhat bothered by the sudden interruption, she looks around to see whose it was. Only a moment later, as she turns her head towards him and sees that he’s looking at her, does she realize that it was her own.

As he looks over to her from his side of the balcony, the two of them stare at each other, waiting for her to continue. But Fresh doesn’t even know what to ask, she doesn’t even know why she’s asking anything. Beneath the heavy, warm weight of the blanket pressing down against her body, she can feel her nervous heart beat a little faster, she can feel the cool air touch her skin, which is suddenly just a little dewier than it was a few seconds ago. Feeling a trembling start in her muscles, she quickly looks away, staring back up towards the sky as she thinks of some random question to diffuse the situation. “How come people don’t like witches?”

There is a loud clamber that comes from the distance, from the direction of the adventurer’s guild. She assumes the party there is going on non-stop as always and has hit a particular high-point by the sounds of it. Soon, the cheers and hollers die down again, leaving only the night-quiet to fill the air.

“The night is frightening,” says a heavy voice next to her. It’s words carry such weight, that she feels like the balcony might give way beneath them, as she looks back over towards him, her fingers pressing into the soft, thick fabric of the blanket as if to hold on to it and to stop herself from falling. “There are monsters.”

Fresh nods, thinking she understands. So it’s just an aversion to the darker elements? A literal, societal fear of the dark? She sighs, looking back up. That’s sad, but at least she can understand that reason, even if it isn’t as dramatic as she was expecting it to be.

“There are monsters in the day,” says the man, going on to her surprise. “But they walk on two feet,” explains Shamrock, who then takes a moment to breathe with a breath that is almost as loud as his words. “-Unseen.” He lets out a heavy exhalation, the vapor formed from the warmth of his body rising out of the slits of his helmet like the soul of a departing essence, leaving its mortal shell as his head rises upwards. The vapor vanishes, dissipating, as if becoming a part of the star-glow which coats the world.

“Isn’t it scary for you?” asks Fresh, looking at him somewhat worried. “I mean… people here are nice, they don’t seem to care so much about you being in the sect. But…” she fumbles with the blanket. “Back in the north. Isn’t it… wasn’t it scary?” asks the girl, not sure why she isn’t able to look at him anymore, as she lowers her gaze to her fingers which fumble with the edge of the blanket.

Fresh pulls her legs in, sitting criss-cross on the chair as she huddles herself tighter into the fabric, noticing now how cold the night seems to have suddenly become.

“I walk on two feet,” responds Shamrock. “- Seen,” he adds on to the end, saying nothing more after that.

“But aren’t you scared?” asks Fresh.

Shamrock doesn’t respond but lowers his gaze back down to her again.

“Aren’t you worried? What if something bad happens?” asks Fresh, watching as the man gets up without saying anything and takes a step towards the door. “What if people come after you?” asks the girl, her anxiety having taken over now and having washed away any semblance of calm that the night might have brought with it just moments before. “What if everyone hates you because of who you are?” she asks, not entirely sure if she’s even talking about him anymore. He doesn’t do what she expected him to do. He takes another step past the door, not going inside and instead heads towards her. “What if -“

Fresh lets out a quiet yelp as Shamrock grabs her under her arms and lifts her out of the chair, blanket and all and for a brief second, she is sure that he is going to toss her over the edge.

He turns around and sets her down onto the ground in the middle of the balcony. The soles of her bare feet touch the cold stones beneath them, as he lets go and turns to walk away back inside, leaving her standing there alone, as a cool wind tousles her hair, the long strands tickling the back of her neck. Shamrock turns back to look at her, his haunted eyes gazing over his shoulder, as he stands on the precipice.

“I’d walk on two feet,” is all that he says, as he enters back into the house.

Fresh stands there, her fingers pulling so tightly against the blanket that she can feel the fabric that is wrapped around her neck begin to cut off her airway.

Taking a deep breath to calm herself, she lets loose and heads inside, sparing only one final glance back at the moon, which is now covered by a thick veil of clouds.

Another cheer erupts from the adventurer’s guild off in the distance.

The next morning comes sooner than she expects it to and Fresh groggily drags herself out of bed and gets ready for the day, despite her exhaustion. Despite her short sleep, the idea came to her in the night and after washing up, she excitedly heads back upstairs to the kitchen. Basil and Jubilee and Shamrock all sit at the table, making a list of sorts.

“What’re you guys doing?” asks Fresh.

“Talking about a plan, goo-brain,” says Jubilee to Fresh as the girl walks past them, towards the kitchen. She grabs the jar with the dried coughee mixture, opening it to smell it before pulling back with a wince.

“A plan?” asks Fresh, looking back at them with one watering eye.

“A long-term business plan,” says Basil, jumping in. “To figure out where this is all heading. Wanna join us?” asks Basil, patting the free chair next to her.

Fresh scratches her cheek and shakes her head, getting some very fine, thin fabric from the pantry instead. A business plan? Where it’s heading? She’s fine with just keeping her money in her inventory and living the shop life day by day. But what does she know? The others are smarter than her, best leave it to them.

Fresh takes a pot, covering the top with the fabric and then tying it into place with some thick string. Grabbing a spoonful of the powder, she places it on top, in the center. The cloth sags down a tiny bit, all of the crumbly, woody dust piling up in the middle. In a different pot, she boils some water and then slowly pours it over the heap of grounds, watching as the concoction slowly drips through the fabric, leaving the wet, mushy sediment behind.

Smiling, she unties the stained cloth and sets it aside, looking at the filtered liquid inside of the pot.

[Coughee]{Normal}

Inspecting it, she sees that it has the same exact values and description as the last batch. But she notices that the smell is a lot woodier and less fungal now. Grabbing a cup, she pours some inside and lifts it to her mouth, feeling the worried eyes of her friends all looking her way. Shamrock even scoots his chair back a few inches.

“Can you not kill yourself in public?” asks Jubilee. “It’s very inconsiderate.” Basil laughs a nervous laugh, apparently agreeing in a way.

Fresh frowns at them and takes a sip defiantly.

She lowers the glass a second later, not saying anything despite the six expectant eyes watching her. Fresh sets the glass down, abruptly running into the pantry.

“No throwing up inside!” barks Jubilee after her. Fresh runs back out of the pantry a second later, with a bottle of milk in her hands. Double checking to make sure it isn’t dragon’s milk, she takes off the lid and pours a tiny bit inside of the cup, just enough to change the color of the drink and then, excitedly, she takes another sip.

“Guys!” cries Fresh with a jittering hand. “You’ve got to try this!”