Chapter 12
??
So much for secrets.
I am going to cut him. I am going to break out my training sword and keep bopping him—three HP at a time—until he explodes into loot.
I woke up early for this cutscene?
I dragged myself out of the trenches of my depression, apologized to a brick of processed trees for breaking my promise about working on my quests days ago, and got back on task for this?
You are kidding me.
“What do you think?” Lazul glows, presenting the newly-erected side quest board in town. He’s just gone on for half a decade about how, since I’m already foraging for things, having a place where the town can make specific requests will help with supply and demand interests.
When this happens in game, I say, “Yay! An opportunity to gain money and relationship points!”
Right now, I am staring at my own personal gopher list.
I have been placed in the position of intern, doomed to fall beneath an expectation of fetching coffee. I am DoorDash.
Because, truly, if I don’t complete these requests, who will?
All farming sims pretty well establish that everyone except the player is useless. If the player doesn’t step up and do things, no one does. Even though it’s clear that everyone has working legs.
Do I appreciate the commitment to routine?
Sure.
But the helplessness…that’s annoying.
Right as I’m thinking as much, a burly tree trunk arm darts over my head and plucks a request for eggs off the board.
Samson’s caramel-peanut voice murmurs, “What is this? Peri doesn’t need to pay extra for delivery. She sewed me up well enough once upon a time to waive that fee forever.”
Lazul flinches when Samson’s attention stabs his way. “Where is everyone else, Laz? This seems like a community project.”
Lazul’s smile twists until his brow is twitching above the plastic thing. “Sammy. So rare to see you in town.”
“Had a feeling you were being stupid.” Samson lowers his attention to me, and I swear the corner of his mouth softens. “Morning, Lemonade.”
My heart skips a beat.
Oh. Okay. The nicknaming me thing is sticking around. Got it, got it. I’m totally okay with that. Obviously. “M-morning. Were you able to sleep better last night?”
His gaze drifts off me. “No. But I’m done being a wimp about it.” His heavy brow arches in Lazul’s direction. “Well? Are you going to explain yourself, or am I going to assume you were trying to take advantage of my new neighbor?”
His new neighbor.
Dreams do come true.
I can die happily if Samson accepts me.
“Good granite,” Lazul exclaims. “What do you take me for?”
“An opportunist.”
The lord huffs. “Everyone else already knows about the board. Both of you have been out of the loop for days, which—of course—we expect from you, Samson. We just had no idea your condition was contagious.”
“Must be a farmer thing.” Samson waves Peri’s request. “You’re sure you aren’t singling Citrus out to do all this stuff?”
Lazul tosses his arms together, petulant. “Of course I’m sure. I feel compelled to repeat: what do you take me for?”
Samson doesn’t miss a beat. “Someone with a bag of rocks where his brain should be.” Splaying his free hand, he references me.
“Look at her, Laz. She’s tense. Her smile’s rigid.
She thinks you expect her to handle all of this.
By herself. If that’s not the case, you need to clarify that.
Instead of having the social awareness of a goat. ”
Lazul looks at me, and I flinch beneath the perusal. Confusion muddies the lord’s brow. “She looks normal to me.”
“That would be the bag of rocks talking.”
Lazul scowls. “You have got to stop being so familiar with me. I am a noble.”
“And I’m a farmhand. Which I’m pretty sure means I control whether or not you have cheese. Who’s really in charge here?”
Lazul’s lip juts. “I quite entirely hold you in subpar regard.”
Samson brandishes his teeth in a lethal grin. “Keep talking like that, and I’m raising the price of eggs for you specifically.”
“Clearly, being raised in an adventurer guild served you no respect,” Lazul mutters.
Samson’s smile vanishes. “You’re right. I was too busy killing monsters for pricks like you to be served anything.
I lived on scraps from noble tables while I bled out for their protection.
” Stepping past me, Samson corners Lazul.
“Respect belongs to those of us who work hard. So, I think, the least you can do is respect the time and feelings of someone you’re conning into doing your job, right? ”
That right leaves my Samson as a growl, and my knees turn into slime, held together only by the thinnest of membranes. A couple bops with a training sword, and I will disintegrate into nothing.
Sighing, Lazul breaks eye contact with Samson and pushes back the long, blond strands of his hair. Soft, he says, “I understand.”
“Good.” Turning, Samson lifts Peri’s request for eggs. “I better get on this. Later, Lemonade.”
A shiver courses through my soul. “Uh…yeah…bye.” I smile stupidly at his back as he heads up the road out of town, completely forgetting Lazul’s still here until the lord’s mumbling snaps me out of the daze.
“Odd of him to latch onto anyone so swiftly. What, pray tell, did you do to earn his favor? I’ve been vying for half as much decency for years.”
All my happy feelings twist up when I pull my attention back to Lazul. I do not want to give away my sweets scheme. Without meeting the lord’s icy blue eyes, I say, “Oh? Is this not normal for him?”
Full deadpan, he says, “Don’t tell me you also think I’m an idiot.”
Fine. I will not tell you. Or look you in the eye.
After the silence grows insanely uncomfortable, Lazul’s mediocre shoulders sag.
“This isn’t even what I wanted to speak with you about when I dropped off that letter the other day.
There are some projects that require ample amounts of stone—retaining walls behind the new beach house and Slate’s, for starters.
Having a void bag would make the transportation time for materials much simpler.
Good weather won’t last forever, and I’m worried about future landslides if we don’t get a head start on reinforcing what the storm weakened.
Gabbro, Pyro, and Austin have already started gathering material, but… they’re better suited to construction.”
Stone.
Austin.
I forgot.
I ordered an axe from him. And I never picked it up. And it’s an axe, not a pick. Because there’s way more wood stuff all over my farm than stone.
I don’t have enough iron for a pick if I’m about to start a stone gathering quest. I’d need to go back to the mines.
And then it would still take three days for Austin to make the upgrade.
And, since the townies are apparently not useless or waiting around for me to prompt their actions, he’d probably tell me he’s too busy working on the retaining walls out of spite.
My breaths shorten as my brain wrestles with all the steps lying ahead.
“Can I count on you to help?” Lazul asks.
My mind goes blank as I force a smile Samson would see through instantly. Lazul does not. Prematurely overwhelmed, I chirp, “Of course!” and let the resulting immediate regrets plow me over like a flood…
~ ~
Gather stone for retaining walls. 0/500
Five. Hundred.
The very idea is daunting while I trudge back home.
My arms already feel like soup just thinking about lifting my pick fifteen hundred times. Because, here’s the funnest of facts, it takes three whacks with the starter pick to dismantle the small rock piles.
Even if I’m relying on the magic embedded in my tools and not the full-swing animation, fifteen hundred is still one thousand five hundred.
Over one thousand hits.
I’d hope for a tragic fate to befall Lazul, except that I’m trying to practice thinking about everyone here as though they are real people, which means that there are real risks associated with not taking protective measures against landslides, and it is very smart to ask for help from someone who can transport hundreds of chunks of stone as easily as I can.
The earth is still moist even a week and a half after the storm.
During my sad days, each time I headed out to a forage area there were new trees down. The weak roots in the wet ground just…give up.
The creepiest part is not hearing the massive trees fall. The limbs are too wet to crack. One way or another, overnight, they just lie down and die.
This is a real disaster.
And hating Lazul because his job isn’t to be outside with a pickaxe is really quite a heartless move. There is something to be said about a lord who is resourceful and not too proud to ask for help.
Hating him because he has rooms available at his manor yet stuck me in a place with an outhouse is a different story.
But hatred doesn’t exactly help anyone, now does it?
Maybe I can smaller the fifteen hundred number?
Let’s say I aim for one hundred rocks a day.
That’s three hundred whacks a day.
That is still…going to take me a whole week. And who knows when more rain is going to come or how long it’s going to take to construct the walls themselves. Maybe I can deliver supplies in tandem? So Gabbro, Austin, and Pyro can get started?
Right as I’m about to fade into the abyss beneath the weight of Too Much Responsibility (AKA, go back to bed), Samson calls, “Lemonade.”
My heart jumps into my throat.
There, perched above the old porch steps of my farmhouse, is the most beautiful pair of shoulders a girl could hope for.
My tongue ties and twists, vomiting, “Shoulders, what are—” A jolt shoots into my bloodstream. I did not just say what I think I said. Or, rather, I did not just say what I tried to. “I— I mean—”
“Shoulders?” Samson rises, brow arched, full of judgment, probably. Rolling his big beautiful shoulders back, he asks, “What about them?”
What about them?
“N-nothing.” Outside of the fact I fall asleep picturing them in my obsessed fangirl brain. “Samson. I meant…I meant to say Samson.”
He watches me, stoic. Then, “But you said shoulders?”