Hear what she has to say

You set aside your empty mug and lean back in your chair. The woman’s lips are sealed shut and her hands are fidgeting while her eyes seem to look everywhere but at you. After waiting for ages for her to speak, you lay your palms on the table and make like you’re standing up to leave.

She reaches out and grabs hold of your wrist before you’re able to step away from the table. “Please, don’t go yet.” Well that made her talk, you think. Where did all her confidence from yesterday go, though? You reclaim your seat and cross your arms as you wait for her to start talking. What’s this about, anyway? I didn’t get the impression she’d be one to seek me out for anything after what happened yesterday. She stalls for time again by calling over a barmaid and ordering a drink. You start tapping your finger on your bicep when she still doesn’t talk as the order is being filled. Am I being held here? Is this an ambush? I haven’t done anything illegal, right? These people don’t care that I’m a demon lord, do they? I registered with the goddamn Adventurer’s Guild, you’d think that flag would’ve been tripped then instead of now. After her mug of booze is delivered, she immediately downs the whole thing and slams it on the table. This overly dramatic show, as well as the liquid courage rushing straight into her veins, finally allows her to say what she wants to say to you.

“I…” she starts.

You wait.

“I owe you an apology,” she says. Okay, you think. I wasn’t expecting that. “I was rude to you yesterday, and I’m sorry about it.” She looks at the mug she’s still got in her grasp. With her free hand, she starts circling a finger around its rim. “I hate seeing women dragged around by arrogant men, you see. Reminds me of experiences I’d like to forget. When I saw you come in with your friends, and then you were the one who did the talking for your whole group, it just… it set me off, and that was unprofessional of me.” She gets a sheepish grin on her face and lifts her mug to shake it gently in front of you. “Kind of like this whole conversation, huh? I’m on a roll, I guess. Another ale here!” she shouts to the barmaid. As her second round is being delivered, she extends a hand for you to shake. “I’m Jas Evergreen, by the way. I’m the owner of the Bunnykin Inn.”

“Evan Reynolds,” you say, reaching your own hand over the table to complete the suddenly formal introduction. Her hands are surprisingly rough, and her grip is pretty solid, too. “You’re the owner of that inn, huh? It looked like a pretty nice place.”

Either a proud blush or a drunk flush fills her cheeks with red: you can’t be sure which it is, because she immediately gets angry. “Are you saying I don’t look like a woman who can run a good inn?” She shoves her newly replenished mug in your face, clumsily letting it splash out onto your doublet. Noticing her mistake, she pulls her mug back and holds it close to her chest, clearly embarrassed about how this whole interaction has been playing out.

You raise a hand, pardoning her for the spill. “You look very capable to me, Ms. Evergreen,” you say. You can’t help but run your eyes over her knock-out figure again. Her breasts must be at least F-cups — not that you’re an expert at guessing that sort of thing — and the strain put on the buttons of her rosy shirt results in her fair skin being revealed where the fabric is being pulled away. I wonder if she wears that thing knowing how sexy it is, you think, or if they just don’t sell clothes that fit her in this town. I hope she’s not uncomfortable like that. Her bust leads into a slim waist, which then arcs back out into wide, juicy hips put on display by her form-fitting bottoms. When you think about it, she’s actually the first woman you’ve met since reincarnating who isn’t wearing a skirt of some kind. Unless the monster girls count, but they hardly wore clothes at all.

“My eyes are up here, buddy,” she says. You casually roll your eyes back up her figure and resume a polite degree of eye contact. “And call me Jas. Ms. Evergreen sounds so stuffy, I hate it.”

“Alright, Jas. Well, it was nice of you to apologize, but I really should get going,” you say, standing up again. She quickly stands up after you this time, and the motion is finally enough to pop her strained shirt wide open, sending buttons flying all over the floor. The shirt flies open and the front clasp of her yellow bra comes loose, revealing her chest in all its glory. Luckily, she’s facing away from everyone else in the room. For that brief moment, before recognition kicks in and she tries to cover up, you get to be the only man in the tavern to see the perkiness of her massive melons, and the soft nipples that sit atop her large, dark areolas. Then, the moment passes. She clamps her lips together to keep her screams from alerting everyone in the room, then tries to pull the fabric of her shirt together over her breasts again. It doesn’t really work, and you standing there is making her more and more flustered, but you really don’t know what else to do in this situation.

As you’re busy watching Jas freak out, someone comes up and wraps a cloak around the poor bunny-eared woman. You look to see who it is, and find a familiar catkin looking at you with a face that screams how the fuck did this happen?