The Shadow's Acid

XI.

If you're solving a mystery, the barbershop is reliable

TW: talk of death + depression

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Grian glanced up at the clock tower towering above the barber shop on the other side of town. Like the rest of the city, the section had been fully developed by the hermit who had claimed it. He smiled, remembering the competition for land when he'd first arrived. It was the same in both the residential and shopping districts, with unique builds, products, and people in each.

Seconds later, his midnight thoughts returned. As far as he knew, the only major conflict was when Keralis and Beef were outlining where their shops would be. The butcher had ended up winning the competition, and there seemed to be no hard feelings between the two parties.

Of course, a game of UNO can change that.

He ran a hand through his sweaty hair, pushing it out of his eyes. The day was hotter than usual, causing sweat to run down his forehead. He frowned, running back to his house. He unlocked the door, shutting it behind him as he flicked the switches Mumbo had set up.

A blast of cool air ran through the house, a result of being chilled in the ice room for so long. He sighed, trudging upstairs to shower and change to a more lightweight shirt.

The bed beckoned to him invitingly with its soft covers and pillows. He shook his head again, knocking himself back into the waking world. I can sleep when it's over.

He stumbled down the stairs, pushing his slightly damp hair out of his eye. He opened the door, wincing as the sun hit his eyes.

"Hey, G, you doing alright there?" Mumbo waved from the pathway, striding up the path to pat him on the back.

"Yeah, I'm good, Mumbo," he replied sheepishly. "Haven't been sleeping well."

Mumbo nodded. "I get that. What have you been up to? I haven't talked to you since the meeting yesterday."

Grian related the events of the previous afternoon, bringing the news of Etho and Iskall's deaths, how he and Pearl knew each other, and the disturbing midnight slaughter and abduction. Mumbo listened as he spoke, taking in the details silently. His serious expression faltered for a second before he forced it to return to neutral.

"I see," he whispered when the tale was done. "Does Stress know? She and Iskall were pretty close."

"I assume she does," Grian replied. "False likely learned the news from Xisuma after our meeting. She's close with Stress, so it might have been passed along."

"I should go check on her, then. Will you go with me?"

Grian shook his head again. "I kind of need a haircut. I'll meet with you at the infirmary?" He brushed the hair out of his eyes again.

Mumbo's gaze met his. "If I know you -- and I like to think I do -- this isn't a simple barbershop visit."

Grian grinned. "Just a hunch, my dear friend. Just a hunch."

"Sure, man, sure."

"I've got some papers to hand to Xisuma. Can you do that if you see him?" Grian handed the sheets to the redstoner, the scrambled and hasty writing barely decipherable in the sunlight.

"Absolutely," Mumbo replied, folding the paper and putting it into the pocket of his suit jacket.

"You aren't hot?"

"Only a little. I prefer presentation over function, though."

Grian stopped. "Why?"

"Well, this spoon has to have some desirable qualities for the ladies, right?"