“That could certainly be a problem,” Nate sighs, rubbing his hand over the top of his head.

Does he need a haircut? Or is this self-soothing? Usually my headaches are around my eyes and temples, unless his whole head just feels like it’s being cramped by a vice.

“Is Joe cycling the essence out of his system?”

Far as I know little essence dumps can be cycled by people at their level, but I guess they haven’t been thinking about it. Still not my fault people died. I was asleep.

“He’s gone into meditation,” Freckles waves the matter off. “Did you lose a lot of poisons?”

“I lost tons of items, but I’m not sure if they were sold off or destroyed while I slept,” I turn and glare at Nate. “One of the reasons I needed to find who the bears were talking to.”

“Rats,” Freckles corrects me distractedly.

Fuck, Joe but the bears are rats? I roll my eyes at him, turning away to figure out what I should do next. I need to find a spot for my anchor.

“Did you figure out where the tributes are going for when I move my anchor so people aren’t risking death constantly?” I ask. I’m gonna move, but I need to know where my, --.

Can I set up a rule? This is my spot, right? I can do rules and permissions? Huh.

“We’ve got more important things to worry about! We’ve gotta find all those poisons you misplaced before more people die,” Nate snaps and I watch my face go blank and look more and more unimpressed.

“Stopping people from wandering around to all these different feeding spots won’t stop them from stumbling into a stolen poison pit?” I can be subtle. Blame me for your failings, see if I don’t get you to work for me! “Setting a safe spot to stop people from finding more ways to interact with me through the void won’t stop them from wandering off and dying? If even my food is so dangerous, why are you not restricting people more?” I turn slightly to look back at my display enclosure.

Fack, did I eat White Silk? Aw, man… I don’t remember seeing her name, but I was kinda just scanning. Whoever I’m channeling, go hard! Get ‘em, girl! Or you go, boy! Who am I channeling?

“Maybe putting an unconscious calamity in the center of a welcome room and encouraging visitors wasn’t the safest bet,” I murmur thoughtfully, crossing my arms and stroking my chest, pretending to be thoughtful. “I’m not much of a cultivator, so I prefer to hide my anchor in a private area, but maybe you can set up collectors scattered around by people willing to risk essence contamination?”

Freckles just chuckles weakly, and I don’t know if he’s seeing through my act or if he realizes that this isn’t my fault. ‘Cause none of it is my fault. I turn to look at Nate and he looks pale. And guilty.

“What have you done?” I uncross my arms and glare at him. What bullshit are they gonna try to pin on me now?

They traded my wine. The bears found it, someone misidentified it as some kind of shiver thorn extract, and they sold my fucking Black Blood Wine.

“How the fuck did you not notice?” I’m so pissed. “You rob me in my sleep, sell my food, because people are offering fruit and noodles? Seriously? Rare wines for a bowl of noodles, and you thought I’d be okay with this when I woke up? Or did you not care?

“How many people did you all kill?”

I had lots of cakes waiting to be made and woke up to none of the ingredients. And all my plants! Did they sell that shit, too? Who processed these sales and didn’t die?

“Who was acting as the merchant to sell potent poisons to people, and how did they survive?” I ask as Freckles and Nate stare blankly, wide-eyed and pale.

Apparently Nate is used to just coming up with plans and having Joe implement them, and Freckles helps Joe, so with Joe out of commission they’ve got tons of ideas and no one to make them reality. I tell them to fuck off when they turn to look at me with hopeful eyes. I’m not interested in cleaning up a mess they made then tried to pin on me. It’d make it my fault by acceptance, wouldn’t it? Nah, I’m good.

Nate suggests maybe Hatchet can help and I sputter, cringe laughing as Freckles winces. Then Freckles explains that Hatchet is dead and I’m wondering what the fuck they were doing while I was gone. Didn’t we cover this when I first came back? Or did he forget with all this other bullshit? Why didn’t I forget? Oh, wait, because everything was my problem. Ah.

Nate marches away, Freckles jogging after him before noticing that I’m about to fuck off somewhere not with them, -- I need to make a den, I guess, or just explore to find where the altars are and avoid them, -- so he comes back and starts dancing backwards with the saddest little hopeful puppy dog expression. Pretty sure I said I wasn’t going to help them recover my shit that they stole and sold. Why the hell do people keep stealing my shit?

I wander after them as they storm out of the building and down a path away from the exit. We staying in here? Some people, seeing that Nate and Freckles were out and about, try to gossip, recoiling as Nate shuts them down, telling them we’re on business. It’s weird how people are willing to talk to Nate and greet Freckles, but then they back away before asking Freckles anything. Like, did they bully him? Is he a bigger threat than being chosen by the Gods? Gods know they’re not shy in ingratiating themselves to Nate at any rate.

I mark interesting spots to Silent Howl’s spreadsheet, mostly shops that look like they’ve got my Persephone style pots in miniature, with little butterfly or moth logos plastered on them. I snag Freckles’ sleeve, pointing out the pots and he pales and clenches his jaw before marching over to the closest shop with Me merch. I watch as he starts talking before shifting over to follow behind Nate. I’m not about to run after this asshole, and where is he taking me anyway.

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We continue past a dumpling shop I’m tempted to try, just a small little side business on the first floor in one of the towers we pass, then remember I never did get anything from Seven Moons. Nevermind the rewards the triplets claimed with my credits, Persephone and I were gonna learn how to cook and sew. I guess it doesn’t matter if I can will stuff into being with skill and materials, but learning new patterns and recipes would be nice. I’ll go visit later.

Eventually we move away from the cluster of towers to a tower off to the side. It looks like a warehouse, but it’s so far --. Nevermind. I spy a temple gate further down a side path. Apparently Eager Hearts has multiple ways in or out, and this place might be the closest tower to a gate in the whole area. Dunno, haven’t had much of a chance to explore yet.

Nate strides in, moving towards a dark clothed, lean figure with bare arms and a scarf wrapped to cover their face and hair, a makeshift hood. I’d say they look like a cliché rogue build, but apparently they’re the manager for this distribution warehouse. Oh~, so this is where all the stuff for the shops gets sent, sorted, and shipped out. Or maybe it’s just storage.

I look around as Nate starts questioning the man, pausing guiltily and clearing his throat before continuing to inquire about my shit that they sold to be used by --.

I pay more attention as I realize they literally were selling my shit as gifts. But they were using the money earned to help sustain and furnish the wards and items used to “protect” me. What the fuck is this yard sale bullshit? They still sold my stuff! I thought they were getting paid for protection and then rewarded for the expansion of Eager Heart?! Where’d that money go?!

I’m sputtering and trying to figure out how to ask through my indignant rage, both Nate and the other man looking at me before the other man hurls a pot at Nate. Nate blocks reflexively, the pot exploding into powder that smells like powder. He starts coughing and choking as the other man gets away, but all I taste is sugar, salt and flour. Is this a dough mix? I bank it before taking off after the man as he dodges around barrels.

I shift to him as he leaves the room, standing in the doorway and watching him continue to sprint off while trying to note if any hooded figures also take off after him. He just looked like he was up to shady nonsense hiding his face like that, and I think the flour mix might be poisonous based on how Nate is still hacking and gagging. Another shift a little closer to the fleeing man, just a line of sight hop-along, and then the man ducks around a corner, disappearing as he drops behind some big ass pottery jars that are a lot taller and more narrow than the ones I make.

When I get to the corner there’s a spot in the jars where the ground is marked by a small transfer circle, so I hop on it, triggering it and walking into a cavern in time to see hoodie telling some fashion-less bastard that they’ve been found out. Yellow orange under robes, silver embroidered purple overrobes, white shirt, loose blue pants, and black boots? The bastard’s hair is loose and he’s got white face paint and painted on eyebrows that are just dramatic slashes. Ew.

“Where’s my stuff?” No need to start a fight if this can be settled peacefully. “They had no right to sell my food. They stole it while I was sleeping, but I’m pretty sure all of it is deadly to hunans.”

“Oh?” fashion disaster smiles but they look smug, not friendly.

I feel my own eyebrows dance and see them as I shift my vision. Are there eyebrows purple?

“You’ve wandered in here without permission,” he says, slowly running his hand along a silk handkerchief. “The punishment for trespassing is death!”

He flings his hand out, rings on his middle fingers holding his sleeves to his hand spool with red silk as needles fly from his fingertips. Red silk threaded through the eye of the needles tether us to one another as his needles bounce off my scales and loop back through my robes. I look down, realize that the bastard just tried to kill me with sewing needles and thread, then look up wondering if he’s safe to eat.

“The needles and thread are both coated in strong poisons made by my Red Silk Clan,” he begins to monologue.

I reach down and grab the silk, popping it into my mouth and chewing. Tastes like strawberry fruit tape. I make sounds of appreciation as I eat the silk, slowly moving towards him as I nom since he’s not releasing the silk and it’s not unspooling from where it’s wrapped around his hands. Part of me hopes his hands are clean and another part of me reminds the rest of me that we’ve eaten a fermented garbage rat shake. Slurped that shit up with a super long straw straight out of a dumpster.

“This is pretty good,” I tell him, still eating. “Tastes like strawberry fruit tape. What’s it made out of?”

He flounders, mouth flapping open and closed before he stops. He pauses briefly before he and Hoodie just stare at each other.

“The things that sold you weren’t poisons, they were my food,” I repeat myself. “I can eat hunan food, but this stuff is much better, how’d you make it?” I ask pointing to the thread and giving a thumbs up. Compliments and flattery go a long way after all.

Fashion Disaster laughs, lowering his arms before shaking his hands loose. He catches the thread before it hits the ground, slowly winding it on a spindle, still laughing as he calmly moves over to me. When he offers the wound thread, somehow removing the spindle, I reach for it, bowing as he bows. Now he’s standing, glaring fiercely, lips puckered as he tries to drive the spindle into the side of my neck. I spit out the silk, -- I’ve got the rest of it safely wound in my hand, -- snatch the spindle from him and take a bite out of it.

“Ooh!” Holy shit, this is delicious! “Tastes like mild chocolate gingerbread. Not that stuff that burns your mouth. This is good, too!”

Yeah, they’re trying to kill me, but there’s no reason I can’t find out what all this shit is before I eat them.

I’m grubbing when I hear a squeak. I look up from my snack to see Fashion Disaster staring at my food like someone’s got his nuts in a vice and he’s trying not to move. He’s just standing, one hand out, -- think it’s the hand he used to stab me with the choco cookie stake, -- other hand to his stomach, just hunched over. Unless this is his O face.

Uhg. I look down at the spindle, suddenly concerned that he might have used it as a butt plug for actual sex stuff, unless he’s got a special ability where he shits these out. I try to figure out if I have any grounds to judge him when I remember that I got famous for shitting out silk and eating garbage… Nope. I can’t say shit. I take another bite and his other hand comes up, reaching out to me like I’m threatening to yeet his baby off a cliff. Another bite and he squeaks, flinching and coming towards me, eyes still locked onto my snack as a single tear rolls down his face. I look between him, the last bite, him, and then pop it into my mouth.

While I’m chewing he groans, standing up with his eyes closed, turning away before swooning dramatically. He leans against Hoodie, who’s just looking back and forth between us, no one saying a word. I bank the strawberry string, finish swallowing the spiced choco cookie, and move off to see what other stuff they have. I don’t know what Red Spider Silk Clan is or does, but they’ve got good shit.

I stop as I realize that this might be how others feel when they rob me. Huh. I shrug and keep walking, wondering where they store their stuff. If this is the way this world works, who am I to judge?

I still haven’t found Hatchet’s room. They better not have taken her stuff already.