First stop—the meat stall.
"Ah, Sir Hansim!" the butcher stammered, ears perking up.
"Three skewers of grilled wyvern thigh. Light salt." Hansim said.
"R-Right away!"
Next—the liquor shop.
He pointed wordlessly at a bottle behind the counter.
The shopkeeper blinked. "Th-that one's… thirty-year plumfire."
Hansim placed two gold coins on the counter.
"Wrap it. Carefully."
Last—the bakery.
"Good afternoon, sir!" the bunny beastkin girl greeted cheerfully.
"What can I get you?"
"Sweet buns. All varieties. Avoid lemon. Pack twenty."
"Ah! Yes sir! Right away!"
She blinked when she saw the liquor bottle and skewers already hanging from Hansim's elegant satchel.
"…Are you going to a party?"
Hansim adjusted his gloves.
"Something like that."
Hansim walked calmly through the town, the weight of his satchel balanced perfectly at his side.
He passed the second gate, nodding briefly at the patrolling guards who instinctively bowed in silence as he walked past.
