Well, what's open?

The booty is swiftly divided between the three of you. The coins are split roughly evenly between you, and each of you grab a potion: Ratty takes the one flamboyantly labelled "The Great Stromboli's Bottled Strength" in flowing script, Jitter takes "Madame Muduum's All-Allieving Antidote", and you take the slightly more understated "Tarquin's Tincture of True Sight." The ring fits none of you, apparently lacking even the standard resizing magic, so Jitter pockets it to pawn later. To Ratty goes the shortsword, to you goes the dagger, and to Jitter go the bracers and your old pocket knife. You keep a hold on the Claimant Crystal for now—surely a gem this big can fetch a good price, so all you need is to find a fence you haven't mugged yet.

And with that settled, it's time to get yourselves a gods-damned meal. Laughing and joking with each other, your trio leaves the storm sewers through a grate in a particularly out-of-the-way alley, and start searching for any place that (a) serves food (b) to unwashed guttersnipes (you're still not entirely sure what "guttersnipe" means, but it does feel like it's accurate) and (c) is still open in the earliest hours of the morning. You're in the slums on the outskirts of Ondell, so it shouldn't be that hard to find an undiscriminating tavern or food stall. You pass the soup kitchen run by the Order of Brothers Merciful, and they're open... but as big a help as their charity meals have been, giving you some blessed nights where you weren't totally hungry as you slept, you all agree that you want something filling. Food that's not only worth money, but worth enough to pay a full gold for. It doesn't take long to find your spot—there's a street shop with a tantalizing aroma not too far away, and it looks practically vacant; when you take your seats, the only one around is the stout dwarf cook.

Biraldus Bronzetooth, Level 6 Townsperson [Shopkeeper/Cook]
NPC, Ironhill Dwarf

He eyes you skeptically. "Not a charity shop, this. Go to the Brothers, they'll set you lot right enough."

Ratty shakes her head, and slaps down three gold pieces on the countertop. "No charity today—we want our fill of whatever you have."

The dwarf's eyes almost bulge out beneath his incredibly bushy eyebrows, and he looks at you even more skeptically before shaking his head and grinning.
"Now where would you lot get... ach. Not my concern—the less I hear the better. You want your fill, you've come to the right place."
Three wooden bowls are set in front of you, and into each is ladled the subject of your wildest dreams. Lamb stew, rich and filling, with meat in it and carrots and potatoes and all. The stew is gone in seconds, and Biraldus ladles out more.

30 minutes and five refills later, you think you've finally discovered what "enough food" means. Ratty looks practically delirious with happiness, and Jitter's thin stomach is almost ball-round. You're sure you're not too far off from either state. At some point Biraldus poured you each a mug or two of ale—proper ale, not even watered down or anything—and the three of you are leaning on each other for support all the way back. If you were laughing before, you're raucous now, telling each other dirty jokes and tall tales (the story of your prostitute woes is said four different times, and even you can't help but laugh more each time); it's a good thing it's still early in the morning, or you'd be attracting way more attention than you'd like. Stumbling back into the cave, you can't even think enough to go to your own sleeping places; when morning comes, the grate illuminates a small, snoring, well-fed tangle of catfolk all on Ratty's handful of pilfered blankets she uses as a bed, using each other for warmth.

You sleep for hours and hours, and your dreams are—for once—happy. You're in a forest. The air is clean, your clothes are warm, and the sun shines brightly upon you. You're hunting for a stag, a proper meal for your proper family. Their faces almost come to you, but you can never quite make it clear. You spot a deer, but it looks at you and—you're awake. You try to hold onto the dreams, try to drag them back into your mind, but you can't—it's like there's something pressing on you, pushing you to wake up, making you think of other things. And then you notice Jitter's tunic-restrained morning wood is poking hard into your cheek

You jerk your face away, now_ _well and definitely awake, and try to figure out how the hell you're supposed to extract yourself from this... interesting... sleeping situation without waking the others. Ratty's arms are practically hugging you, yet somehow she's facing away from you, and Jitter seems to be woven between the two of you sideways. Eventually you just give up and try to get up normally, startling the others from their sleep as well.

"H-wha... Hey! Milky, what the fuck?" Ratty sputters, irritated.

"Milky-y-y-y, I was having a really good dream! I had the lady on Harborgr-r-rove and she was—" You cut off Jitter's whining—you're well aware of just how good his dream was.

"Shut up, Jitter, we don't need to know. Sorry. I didn't want to wake you, I just had to... uh, stretch. Anyways, it's almost noon; we should get up. And don't call me Milky." You say, going ahead and stretching. As you do, you look around the cavern—Scars is still snoring, dead to the world, while it looks like Slick has gone out to beg or rob some coin. Bizarrely, the other four don't seem to be back yet; what by the gods is taking them so long?

You check your status sheet again, as is routine for every morning.

Level 2 Felidae Guttersnipe—"Milky"
[Monster, Beastfolk, Feline, Explicit]
Experience to Level Up: 130

Attributes:

Strength: 20 (-5+2), Dexterity: 30 (-5+2), Endurance: 12 (-5+2)

Charisma: 20, Manipulation: 25, Appearance: 15 (-5)

Perception: 30(-15), Intelligence: 20, Wits: 40

Skills:
Athleticism: 15
Larceny: 20
Lore: 15
Stealth: 20
Survival: 5

Feats:

Pitiful Appearance: You look like you're at ****'s door. Upon Social checks [CHA/MAN/APP], +15 to PCs and NPCs with the Merciful trait.
Pack Tactics: Hit chance, crit chance, and dodging are buffed when at least two others are fighting the same opponent as you. Buff scales with additional fighters.
Feline Agility [Racial Trait]: Your body is limber and agile, like a cat writ large. Acrobatic actions are significantly easier for you, falling damage reduced by 75%, slight dodge increase.
Feline Flexibility [Racial Trait]: Your body is lithe and flexible, like a cat writ large. You can fit through extremely tight places and contort your body to an unusual degree.
Cat's Eye [Racial Trait]: You have High Night Vision in non-supernatural dark and dim conditions. Your eyes glow subtly in the dark.
Cat's Claws [Racial Trait]: Your fingers are tipped with sharp retractable claws. +5 cutting damage to Unarmed Attacks while unobstructed.
Wanted (Ondell): The Ondell City Guard knows your face—default hostile reactions from Ondell City Guard NPCs and allied PC factions.
Half-Blind [Persistent Injury]: A severe injury in your past blinded you in one eye. Permanent -50% to Perception.
Starving: You need to eat, and badly. -5 to all physical attributes, -5 to Appearance, -20% HP. Disappears after 5 consecutive days with the Well-Fed status (1/5).
Well-Fed: You've had a hearty meal recently. +2 to physical attributes.
Tale-bearer: You know by heart the stories of other, better times. Tell them well.

Well, nothing really interesting there, standard skills, standard traits, nothing new except the novel Well-Fed—but then something else catches your eye. "Hey... Ratty? What's your XP?"

Ratty pauses for a moment, suddenly looking very intently at absolutely nothing as she pulls up her status. "Level 2 Felidae Guttersnipe, yadda yadda, I need 130 to level up. Wait—no, that's wrong. I need 200. I always need 200. Why does it say 130?"

You look to Jitter, who's already looking at his. "I need... 30?"

Well that can't be right. You roll a quick perception check—it succeeds easily thanks to your familiarity, even with the debuff.

Level 1 Felidae Guttersnipe
[Monster, Beastfolk, Feline, Explicit]
Experience to Level Up: 30

Well, it was right. Gods-be-damned it was right.

"So we... we got 70 XP from that. Each of us. How do we... since when can monsters get XP?" You're flabbergasted, and clearly so are they. This is new. This is new, and this is important. You want to devote time to this, but your attention is suddenly demanded by Gekko's return.

Gekko's screaming, flaming, arms-waving return.