Sara stood outside the biggest shop in Sunnydale, Horrible Hal’s Hateful Haberdashery, nervous about proposing not only a new business venture, but one that had never been used in this world before.
HQuad, as they referred to it in-game, was the most successful hatter in all of Tawagoto, drawing customers from all over the Middlemap territories. Hal would often bitch to customers about his lack of reach to the Outermap provinces, so this was the perfect place for her to start her billboard campaign. If she got him to buy into it, she would just need to find a labor crew, some sturdy wooden poles, and lots of paint. According to standard prices, one billboard would cost her around ten gold to produce, but she wasn’t going to ask for a standard one-time payment. She was going to make him subscribe.
She pushed through the single, rickety door that adorned the face of a plain, absolutely horrible-looking building, and endured the mandatory greeting.
“CLOSE THE DAMNED DOOR, YOU’RE LETTING FLIES IN!”
Everything about this place was just bad. But it had somehow gained a massive cult following with the locals for Hal’s "superior" fashion sense. As she stepped further into the establishment, her boots stuck slightly to the inexplicably tacky carpet. She passed a twenty-something elf girl fawning over her new hat with her friends as they exited.
There were hats everywhere. The Candelabra Commotion was a wide-brimmed sunhat, but the rim was made entirely of heavy iron and supported twelve mismatched candles of varying horror scents, like 'wet dog' and 'old library'. The Taxidermy Tussle wasn't just a fur hat; it was three different, poorly preserved marsh-weasels magically frozen in a mid-air fight. But nothing beat the sheer, baffling popularity of the Hal Special. It was just a metal bucket with a hole punched out of the side for the nose. Each one was covered in "I Hate Hal" stickers, which were, naturally, also sold by Hal at a premium.
Hal himself was a presence to be managed. He sat idly at the corner counter, working on his next monstrosity and watching his shop with utter disdain.
Sara picked up and tried on a frilly basket hat full of oily, greasy handprints.
“Oh, so we just don’t greet the shop owner first," Hal drawled, his voice dripping with condescension. "Heard. How can I help you?”
Sara cocked her head and almost fell prey to the provocation, but she pulled it back, pasting on her best retail-manager smile. “Hal. How would you like to have more sales? I ca—”
“Oh.” he cut her off loudly. “How would a shop owner like to have more sales?” He sighed heavily, turning his eyes back to his work. “And what do you, in your poverty doublet, have to sell me?”
Poverty doublet. That stung. Ouch. She shook it off. She couldn’t let him get to her. He had the capital to single-handedly fund their entire road operation. “Billboards, Hal. I own a new trade road being built right now between here and Beachwatch—”
“Oh, do you now?” he interrupted boredly.
Sara waited for him to follow up, but he didn’t. “I do. And for a tiny fraction of your monthly income, I can more than triple your sales in six months’ time.”
Hal stopped his work. He swiveled his chair around and pulled off his bottle-thick glasses. He was a long man. His fingers were long, his nose was long, his legs were long, and somehow she could see through his thin crafter’s blouse that he had abnormally long nipple hair.
“The last person who told me that was Craig. Almost the exact same words. Promised it all if I updated my image and got a mascot.” He spit on the floor. “Cost me half my customer base! No!”
He swiveled back in his chair and returned to his work. “Now get the hell out!”
Sara’s legal brain spun. He’d been burned by Craig’s modern marketing. The well was poisoned. She had to appeal to his business sense in another way. Community over corporate.
“What if I get two other businesses to sign up to prove the model?” she asked quickly. “Would you consider it then?”
“Fuck. Off.” Hal didn’t even look up.
Sara deflated. She exited the shop and slinked into the snowy back alleys, the cold wind biting through her leather armor.
She wasn't just defeated; she was outflanked. Craig hadn't just stolen the world; he had contaminated the market. The major players wouldn't trust a modern business pitch ever again. The realization hit her like a physical weight. This was what Mark had handed her. Not just a store, but a broken economy.
She wished Mark was here. He had the chaotic business sense to navigate this. Or Cody to cheer her up. Or Raven to… she didn’t know. Just to be near her. The imposter syndrome flared hot in her chest. She wasn’t funny like Cody, she wasn’t as mechanically smart as Simone or Mark, and she really didn’t feel like she fit the "fantasy hero" mold. She was just a student. She was going to fail everyone.
And then she saw it.
Tucked away in a tiny, dilapidated storefront at the corner of a lonely street lay a brand-new hat shop. The painted sign above the door simply read: LIHDZ.
Sara stopped, her eyes narrowing as a new, viciously corporate strategy formed in her mind. If Hal wouldn’t play ball because he owned the market, she would put him out of business by arming the absolute bottom-tier underdog.
She pushed the door open and entered. It was a pretty basic shop that structurally mimicked a 20th-century mall kiosk, but it looked like every single hat style had been sewn by a blind goblin using a badly drawn schematic.
A nonchalant-looking Tortle sauntered over to her from behind the counter.
“Hi,” they said brightly. “I’m Jeffrey McNichol, a suburban lady who loves hats and hop-hop. How can I help you?”
Sara cocked her horned head in utter bewilderment. “Buhhhhhwut?”
“Oh!” they laughed, waving a green, scaly hand. “The weird terms are from a fictional book I am reading about another world! I loved them so much, so I adopted my own persona and started this shop!”
Sara shook her head. That actually made surprising sense. She had seen plenty of places in Japan that did the exact same bizarre, fetishized things with American and French culture, so it stood to reason it would happen here with Earth artifacts.
“You do know that Jeffrey is typically a male name on that world, right?” Sara asked carefully. “Not a… lady… name.”
“Yes!” they said, smiling widely. “That’s why my name is Jeffrey McNichol. Because I took my husband’s name!”
Sara just did not want to touch that. She had heard enough stories of similar cultural misunderstandings to know when to leave well enough alone. “Hi, Jeffrey… McNichol. I am Sara, and I want to help you put Hal out of business.”
“Why would I want to do that?” they asked, sounding genuinely confused. “I am happy to be a part of his community. He brings all kinds of interesting visitors from all kinds of places to Sunnydale.”
“How would you like to have enough money to visit all those places yourself?” Sara tested, shifting into her pitch. “Instead of them going to a shop across town and you meeting them randomly, what if we just routed all his business here? To you?”
“I don’t think I could keep up with that much,” they said, completely unbothered by the promise of wealth. “I really am happy just like this.”
Sara’s brain nearly burned itself out trying to salvage the negotiation. She looked at the Tortle, looking at their weird mall-kiosk setup, and realized what currency actually mattered to them.
“I’m from Earth,” Sara said quietly. “I was alive at this exact period of time you're reading about.”
Jeffrey McNichol froze. They looked up at her, cocked their scaly head, and narrowed their eyes suspiciously. “All your base…”
Sara shook her head in sheer, undeniable glee. “Are belong to us!”
“Holy shit!” Jeffrey McNichol took a heavy step back, bringing their hands to their mouth in shock. “So, you’re one of… them? Craig’s people?”
“Oh,” Sara stopped flat, her smile vanishing. “Fuck no. We wrote the fucking world. That bitch just stole it.”
“And you’ve come to take back what’s yours?” They were practically vibrating with giddy excitement. “Just like action movie?”
“Well,” Sara chuckled, relaxing a bit. “Something like that. I’m actually here to tell you about something we use in our world that makes people a lot of money and steals all the attention. It’s called a billboard. It has your brand on it at my shop and on my road.”
“I’ll do it,” they stated flatly.
“You didn’t even—”
“Will you tell me all about your time?” Jeffrey interrupted. “About the hop-hop?”
“Sure,” Sara nodded, suppressing a laugh. “When I have the time.”
“I’ll do it.” The Tortle nodded firmly. “Let’s… buff-fuck Hal!”
“Ok,” Sara sighed, deciding not to correct the profanity. “We have a lot to work on.”
[SYSTEM ALERT: Quest Completed.]
[SYSTEM ALERT: Quest begun.]
[XP Awarded: 12,000]
[Level Up Available! Unspent Attribute Points: 6]