You spend another hour or so, definitely not hiding, in the tavern. Charlemagne works around you, the few times he emerges from the kitchen proper to feed the hungry.

You're... you're not sulking or anything. You just feel a little out of depth. It's not like you asked to suddenly have a number of people clinging to you for their very existence, after all. You really only wanted to be able to keep some of your shit when you died.

Has it really been so little time? A month ago, you were nameless and powerless. And now... resources are slowly but steadily trickling in as work groups bring in their spoils. Not a huge amount, it must be said; thirty stone, fifty wood, a handful of scrap ore. But you haven't raised a claw to help. It's madness, when compared to the day you spent on the clifftop above your home, mining stone and scrap ore, in order to build a small cave hollow to sleep in.

You're still considering your menus, pondering the nature of existence, and definitely not hiding, when Amanda plops down next to you with a bowl of stew in her hands. It slops in its bowl, but doesn't spill. She scoops a great spoonful into her mouth and starts talking, her cheeks bulging.

“Sho Mercy looked pished. You OK?”

You lean away from the pale haired necromancer, avoiding the small spray of stew.

“It turns out I might be able to help her with some long term issues and she's pissed I didn't figure it out earlier. I'm... less convinced. I think there will be a catch, it's too... neat, otherwise. But anyway, she... yeah.”

You blow a smoke ring out of your nose. “Apparently I need to 'work on my communication',”

Amanda nods, taking another huge bite of stew. “You are pretty bad.”

“Thank you.”

She shrugs and swallows massively. “We like you anyway, and at some point we'll bully you into sharing what's on your mind more.”

“Thanks. Really. This has been... just wonderful.”

If it were any drier, your voice would come with sand and scorpions.

Amanda shrugs again. “Suck it up.”

You're taken aback. She keeps talking. “It's not something you're good at. Accept it,” She holds up a hand to forestall you, “Also accept that Mercy isn't actually angry with you, she's just dealing with a lot of emotions all at once and where you're bad at communicating, she's bad at dealing with emotions and learning to trust people other than herself. Speaking of, if possible give me warning before the next earth shattering revelation you're going to drop on her. I went to relax in the grove after the meeting and had to watch her and Stumpy go at it for about ten minutes before I could sneak out.”

The narrative has been taken without authorization; if you see it on Amazon, report the incident.

You both go silent for a moment, before the now faintly blushing necromancer, the red cheeks standing out starkly on her pale skin, coughs and continues.

“A-anyway, you look like you need a distraction. Anything I can do to help?”

You shake your head. “No, we're stuck until we get more resources, stone mostly, to get to work on the second-”

You stop. You've said, time and again, that Amanda will have a chance to shape the second floor. It will be her home, after all. Mid sentence, you change track.

“Actually yes. We could do with some planning for the second floor. It's where you'll be living, if that's what you want, and you might as well have some input on it, if you want?”

Silence greets you. You turn to face her, to see her gazing at you with an inscrutable expression. She drops it a moment after you meet her eyes, taking a third mouthful of stew.

“Mm, sure. What did you have in mind?”

She seems almost guarded, sitting straighter and eyeing you while shovelling stew into her mouth. You shrug.

“Nothing really. Maybe a proper house for -”

“A castle.”

She slaps a hand over her mouth as she sprays stew in her haste to speak. A large quantity of bug meat flavoured liquid coats your face.

“Oh gods Red I'm so sorry!”

You hold still as Amanda produces a cloth and wipes the worst of it off. Once you're mostly clean, you continue, very carefully not acknowledging what just happened.

“A castle. Noted. Any other preferences?”

“How about... traps? We have all the kobolds, and they're good at traps right?”

You nod again. “There hasn't been much call for them on this floor. We tend to just mob the heroes with numbers. Traps are a good idea.”

She glows with pleasure at the compliment, and you recall the conversation you had after your.... trip out. How Amanda has only recently come into her ability to make decisions.

“A very good one. You'll have to have a think about them, maybe talk to Sapphire about them? It's not something I know much about.”

She smiles. “Yeah. Yeah I'll do that. And – and maybe less monsters, but stronger ones? So it's really different to the floor below? I think most dungeons tend to stay roughly similar, even if they get harder as they go. Going from lots of little fighters with few traps to few big fighters and lots of traps, that might...”

She suddenly seems to realise what she's saying, and runs out of steam. “It might, be... good.”

You smile at her. “That sounds like a good start. We'll have to see who turns up, of course. And who wants to live in a castle.”

She nods, convulsively, and then stands up. “Yeah. Yeah, sounds good. I'm just... I need to go sit down I think.”

You watch her as she retreats, her face flushed, before she pauses at the doorway. She looks back at you, one hand on the door-frame.

“Red... thanks. For, you know. Asking.”

You nod. “Any time Amanda. Your opinion is important to me.”

She jerks her head. “Yeah. It's... Yeah. Thanks.”

And then you're alone. But no longer afraid of Mercy's wroth, so that's good?