On the dim side, it was getting darker.

By your estimates, you had only three or so hours until evening, and even a helm as dense as a knight's could deduce that there would be no sort of streetlamp functioning; nevermind one that survived the wrath of the Developer Gods. That meant you only had a few hours to establish some working knowledge on your new situation before it darkness settled in.

And, though your eyes were numerous, the one thing they could not do was see in the dark. Or in dim light, for that matter. Or perceive small details at a distance. ...perception was admittedly not your strong point, but then again it never needed to be. You were locked in a ten-by-ten foot room until someone picked you up, whereupon the only thing you needed to see was the items in their pack.

Nevertheless, there was one matter to take stock of first: the storefront. As you feared, this beyond run-down storefront was considered your new home. Fight of Fancy did not kick in in three the corners of the room you were able to reach, the fourth being behind some collapsed shelving beyond the shop counter you did not want to spend precious time surmounting at the moment.

Yet, a single hop outside the doorframe had that disdainful sensation you knew all too well — a sickening, hollow emptiness that set itself upon your brim and crept inwards. It pulled at your silken threads in slow, undulating motions, grasping at the very core of your being as the very world began to unspool itself, growing fuzzier and dimmer as the nothingness pulled at you until — POP went the lid of the hatbox, and you again found yourself on the bottommost shelf of the store.

As deeply unsettling as the sensation of being torn from reality to be sewn back into it by the rotten felt confines of your box, you shook off the dizziness with earnest. It was only the first of many de-locations of the late afternoon for you. You were, after all, still Level 1, and the de-leveling Flight of Fancy would impose didn't matter.

Because, as utterly inexcusable as your new hovel is, it had one glorious luxury that your exquisite secret room in the mansion did not. Or rather, one thing missing — a door.

No door meant a chance at freedom, though its chances were slim and your elation, staggered between attempts.

Being Level 1, you only had two minutes until Flight of Fancy whisked you back into the damned hatbox. That was, essentially, two minutes to dedicate to a single cause beyond the threshold of the shop before being reset back into your box.

Tedious, you realized. Doubly so with how unaccustomed you were hobbling about alone on your brim. You did your best to swallow the indignation. You weren't going to let this newfound chance to go to waste.

However, the inability to make any sort of progress down the narrow alleyway your shop — ugh, while a vile concept, your shop! — resided on before Flight of Fancy de-located you back was bothersome. Even then, it only took three attempts to realize that by "Ruination", the Developer Gods truly did mean ruination.

The shop, as dilapidated as its interior and crooked as its exterior structure was, was one actually one of the more intact structures as far as your meager eyesight could tell. The corner of the row of buildings was completely collapsed, and the next down the line did not fair much better. Your shop being the third in the block seemed to be the sole reason why it stood as well as it did. The row on the opposite side of the street faired similarly, though the upper three stories were barely there, if at at all.

And yet, skilled as you were becoming with the hop-skitter-scoot motion with your brim, you just did not have enough time to make it fully to the end of the ruined corner store to gain much of an idea of what lay beyond. The rubble was much to high for your tiny form, and Flight of Fancy was kicking in all too soon to see anything recognizable beyond smudges anyway.

You needed more time.

More time meant a level up. A single level quite literally doubles your time to explore which, in turn, would be more than enough to see just where you were in this city and let your plans build from there. More time in the world would also mean increased chances of happening across a Player, and if you could find a Player... oh! The world becomes a field of oysters with innumerable pearls to be had! And eaten. How you look forward to the eating.

A level, however, meant experience points, which for you meant items to feed on. There was nothing in your store, aside from ruined shelving and fallen stone — both worthless to you. No, you needed proper, delectable items to feast on.

You pulled open your inventory again.

"Yes," you mused. "The starter equipment..."

You still weren't even sure why you had these to begin with. But, you were never the one to look a gift horse in the mouth. Maybe it was meant to be an example to whomever found you, something to say: 'This hat has an inventory you can "safely" place your delicious items in.'

...it had been five years and yet the same oversights were being made. Mere crumbs they were, but for what reason wouldn't you eat them? In any other situation, you'd consume it all!

Quite seriously, the only thing useful here besides the gold was the buckler. It was one of those tiny metal things, meant for deflecting blows rather than absorbing them. On a quick ejection onto the floor beneath you, you found your brim just ever so slightly poked out from the edges, but your core being fit nicely into where the handle was. It was, now that you think of it, the only time your collapsible nature actually benefited you and not assisting some lackadaisical party trick of your host.

All said, the humor of you, a hat, wearing the shield as a hat of your own was not lost.

Therefore the buckler, you deemed, was too important for your survival — the de-leveling from Flight of Fancy is atrocious, but getting killed would just set you all the way back to Level 1. The buckler had to stay, and you hoped it would buy you enough time to de-locate back here to your shop. But the rest? You had no hands, thus a rapier was useless. Fine Dining showed it to have a strangely nutty flavor, faint as it was. Six experience points came with a stronger, more burning aftertaste.

If you were some measly adventurer, the studded leather armor was admittedly a generous starting item. In previous lives, you observed plenty a new Player with base leather or robes, along with plenty of rogues amongst them whose aspirations where higher than their dexterity, and common sense, allowed.

Well, you just hoped your first host was not a rogue then. You selected it for Fine Dining, and discovered it surprisingly had a very wooden and earthy taste rather than a rough, metallic crunch. Not off-putting in the least, instead rather homely, curiously enough. Well seasoned, with a mellow aftertaste that didn't overstay its welcome. You made a mental note that they would be best for a pleasant appetizer for brunch.

Ten experience points pinged as the taste settled. You pulled open the header of your character sheet again.

Level 1 | Homberg's Gibus of Aggregation

Monster, Magic Object, Mimic, Explicit

Active Status(es): Bane of Ironteak

EXP: 22 / 100

Carry Weight: 0.51 / 5kg

Not even a quarter of the way there. Your inventory was cleared of the useless clutter, at the very least.

That said, there was still desert.

Gold, as it always had been, is valuable. It was a currency standard for a reason. As such, it's taste was bland and metallic, but with enough sweetness to desire another. One Gold piece equaled one experience point, that has not changed.

You dined on one more piece, totaling your experience at an even, tidy 24. That way, if you happened across a cache of, oh... hmm, 6 did not divide nicely into 76 as you thought it would — one more gold piece consumed put you at the glorious one-fourth of the experience needed.

There was no point in consuming any more at this time. Gold was lightweight, and could be ejected as an incentive for any wandering Player to pick you up. After all, seven stray gold pieces just lying there with, much more importantly, a hat just lying forgotten? Why, that was downright tempting!

...it had worked once before in a pinch. You're thankful you yourself were too light for fall damage to be an issue, and only hoped that one Player learned to watch where they stepped.

Regardless. You still had 75 experience points before that delectable Level 2. The pitch of night was already beginning to blacken the streets. You lacked a light source or night vision of any variety, not that any progress could be made outside your storefront. Perhaps there was something hidden under the various amounts of collapsed shelving.

After all, while you lack the strength to move it what you did have the hunger to consume it. You took a lengthy moment to steel yourself for the endless taste of foul sawdust that would last until the morning. It was unfitting for you. It was beneath you. But... being Level 2 was more than worth it.

It was, after all, the one Level the Devs couldn't take away from you. Once you had it, it was yours. At least something bigger came along and sliced you, and your host, in two.