The days passed in a blur of flour-dusted mornings at the bakery and long, rowdy nights at The Rusty Tankard. It wasn't glamorous work, but it kept us moving, kept us busy. Errol and Lena, the bakers, became like a steady routine, with Errol's gruff instructions growing less sharp as I got faster at prepping the dough and keeping the ovens stoked just right. Lena's smiles were warmer, and she'd often slip me an extra pastry or two when I left in the late morning, just as Billy was coming out of his ridiculous loaf costume, face flushed with frustration but always with a playful smirk as he caught me laughing.
"Think you're so funny, do you?" he'd say, flicking a bit of flour at me before collapsing into a chair inside. His usual theatrics always made the mornings lighter, and before we knew it, the afternoons would creep up on us, ushering us to our next shift.
The tavern work was… less predictable. There were no slow mornings or quiet moments to lean into. It was all noise and chaos, mugs clattering, ale sloshing, and conversations that could turn into heated arguments in a flash. Jorin, the tavern owner, kept a sharp eye on the place, but the regulars knew how to push boundaries without crossing them.
Billy would be lugging barrels from the back, muttering under his breath about the smell of old beer and sweat that lingered in the storage room. I'd catch him shooting me a glance every now and then, both of us exchanging an unspoken, tired humor in the middle of all the madness. Some nights, we'd barely had a moment to talk, just passing each other with trays of drinks or cleaning rags as the tavern filled to bursting.
One night, Billy and I ended up stuck at the bar after our shift, both too tired to walk back to our little corner of Caldora. We leaned on the counter, staring at the flickering candles on the tables as the last few patrons trickled out.
"I swear, if I have to mop one more spill, I'm going to start charging extra for the 'entertainment,'" Billy muttered, running a hand through his hair.
I smirked, feeling the weight of the day in my limbs. "You'd make a fortune off just that one table near the window."
"Yeah, the mercenaries think it's some kind of sport to spill more than they drink." He grinned, shaking his head. "At least they keep it interesting, I guess."
A few days later, we had a particularly rough night at the tavern. The mercenaries had gotten rowdier than usual, pushing their luck with Jorin. There wasn't a brawl, thankfully, but we spent the next hour picking up chairs, wiping down tables, and refilling their mugs just to keep them calm. By the time the night was over, we were both ready to collapse, but Billy angry but dead tired remarked about the state of his clothes, covered in ale and bits of food.
"Think anyone will notice if I wear the same thing tomorrow?" he asked, tugging at his shirt with a tired grin.
"I'm pretty sure the smell from our stable will hide it," I replied, earning a half-hearted punch to the arm from him.
Despite the exhaustion, it was hard not to feel like we were settling into a rhythm. We'd laugh about the bakery mishaps—like the time Billy accidentally knocked over a tray of pastries while trying to "help" Lena—and joke about the absurdity of our tavern shifts. There was something grounding about the routine, something that made Caldora feel a little more like… home. Even if it was just for now.
But as the days turned into weeks, that routine came with its own set of problems. Money. We weren't spending recklessly by any means, but the small savings we'd scraped together before we landed these jobs were starting to dwindle faster than we realized. Food, supplies, a better place to sleep… it all added up, and neither the bakery nor the tavern were paying us enough to cover everything.
I remember the first time it really hit us. We'd gone to grab dinner from a food stall—a regular habit of ours after the tavern shift—and when Billy pulled out his coin pouch, the sound of a few stray coins rattling around was all we got.
"That's it?" I asked, staring down at the meager handful of copper pieces in his hand.
Billy frowned, shaking the pouch as if that would magically make more coins appear. "I thought we had more."
I reached for my own pouch, hoping I'd have something to add, but it wasn't much better. A few coins, just enough to get us by for maybe another day or two if we stretched it.
"We've been spending more than we realized," I said, trying to keep the frustration out of my voice.
Billy's face shifted into that serious expression he wore so rarely. "We're not making enough, are we?"
I shook my head, letting out a sigh. "No. Not enough to keep up with what we need."
For the first time since we arrived in Caldora, the weight of our situation started to press down on me. The bakery and the tavern had been enough to keep us going—barely—but without anything extra coming in, we were just treading water.
We stood there in the fading light, the sounds of the town still buzzing around us, and for the first time in weeks, I felt that familiar pang of uncertainty. The kind that creeps up on you when you realize things might not be as stable as they seemed.
Billy glanced over at me, and without saying anything, I could tell he felt it too. We were running low—on time, on money, on options.
"Well," Billy said, "I guess we'll be getting creative with our meals for a while. Maybe try living off bakery scraps and tavern leftovers."
We both knew we needed to figure something out, and fast. But for now, we were stuck. Stuck in this limbo between getting by and falling short.
"We'll figure it out," I said, trying to sound more confident than I felt.
Billy just nodded, but the usual lightness in his eyes was dimmed, replaced by silence. It was like we were both bracing ourselves for what came next.
We had no idea how long this stretch of bad luck would last, but one thing was certain—Caldora wasn't about to let us off easy. And neither of us was ready to give up just yet.