Look around outside

The market is just as lively as you left it. People shout at shoppers to come and buy their goods. Kids weave around the crowds chasing one another. Over by a fruit stand you spot a catgirl browsing. She has short, black hair and matching cat-like ears on top of her head. Her clothes consist of a simple beige gown and a leather bag slung over her shoulder. A noise nearby takes the shopkeeper’s attention away for a second, but that’s long enough for the sly woman to snatch an apple from the counter and stuff it into her bag. She gets away with it by grabbing another and actually paying the shopkeeper for it this time. As she turns away, she spots you watching and freezes. Now that you can see her from the front, you realize just how muddy her gown is, and how much fear of the world rests in her eyes.

For the first time you become conscious of what you’re wearing. You’re dressed in what you were wearing when you died, which is to say a gray hoodie, blue jeans, and a pair of sneakers. In your pockets are your wallet, keys, and smartphone. In a fantasy setting like this, you look incredibly out of place, but more important right now, you realize, is that you look clean. And clean means rich, or at least well-to-do. That being the case, it wouldn’t surprise you if the poor catgirl you just caught stealing is afraid you’ll rat her out.

As if on cue, she begins moving once again, keeping an eye on you as she walks slowly over to an alley before breaking out into a sprint to try and disappear. You, however, are right on her tail. Literally: you can see her tail lightly swishing against the back of her gown as she runs. The chase doesn’t last long, as after only a couple of turns through the back streets she trips on the skirt she’d been desperately holding up as she ran. As you walk up behind her she flips over to face you. Her violet eyes glare at you with a newfound ferocity.

“It was just a lousy apple!” she yells at you. “Don’t you have anything better to do than pick on those of us who can’t even afford to eat?”

You let her words weigh on the air between you. You were right about her being poor, then. Probably homeless, too. She’s propping herself up on her bare elbows, and you can see blood surfacing from where she scraped them on the cobblestones as she fell. Her bag sits loosely on the ground at her side, two apples and the glint of a metal object threatening to spill out.

I’m guessing that’s a knife. She probably thinks I’m armed too, which would explain why she hasn’t pulled it out yet. Better let her keep believing that for now.

“It may be a lousy apple,” you say, “but that’s the livelihood of that shopkeeper back there. Plus, if word got out about this, others might think that they can get away with stealing too. That might put that guy out of business, you know.”

“Alright already, I get it,” she says, pulling herself onto her side and bringing an arm around to rub her elbow. “What do you want from me?”

“I’m glad you asked,” you say. “It’s actually quite simple to buy my silence. You see, I’m not from this town, and I don’t know my way around at all. If you’d be willing to show me around for a little while, we can just forget about that little shoplifting incident. What do you say?”

“I say the games of nobles make me sick,” she says as she stands up and readjusts her outfit. “A tour will shut you up? Fine, come on, then.”