There were humans on the other side, just as I expected. They were primarily gathered around a single wooden table, though a few people were off to the side, rolling dice atop half a barrel. Among them, I saw green and blue hair, paired with violet and orange eyes, as well as more traditional colors. I didn’t see a single person with pure white hair, though, so it seemed that deciding to darken my tresses might have been right on the money.

The people themselves seemed the simple sort. Their clothes were much drabber than what we had in the demon tower and looked to be made of rougher fabric. They also covered considerably more of their bodies, which might have had something to do with the way everyone was staring at me. I hadn’t really thought about it, but I was wearing a backless, black, cropped halter top with a boob window, a very short red skirt, and a pair of black heels that showed off my “painted” toenails. Rather than ending in the furious rage that I had feared, my first encounter with humans might just end up killing me through sheer embarrassment.

“Ah…” I started, then stopped. My throat felt like there was a solid lump of something dry caught in it, and no matter how I swallowed, I couldn’t get it down. Everyone was staring at me. They weren’t hostile glares, merely confused and curious looks, and yet they had me pinned like a butterfly beneath glass. 

“I ah…” I coughed faintly, then thumped a hand against my chest as if trying to clear away some congestion. “I am Eena. I am on a… ah…” The world seemed to slow for a moment as I realized that I had failed to come up with a ready-made excuse for traveling about without an escort or any luggage. My mind started to race, but all I could come up with was a rather pathetic excuse. “I’m on a journey of self-improvement, seeking to increase my strength by living off the land. But uh. The land got wet, so I thought I might come inside until it dried off.”

For a moment, the inn was utterly silent. Everyone simply stared at me, no doubt turning my words over and over in their heads. Which was honestly a better reception than I deserved, with a lie like that one. If I’d been in their shoes, I’d have tossed the stranger out on her ear.

“It must have been hard,” one of the men rumbled, after a moment, sliding off his stool and onto his feet. He had broad shoulders, and his well-muscled arms went fairly thick on the hair. “A girl like you, out in the cold and the rain. Why don’t I buy you a drink? Maybe some food. Get you nice and warmed up. We can have a conversation about what it’s like, living off the land.”

I’d never actually been hit on by a man, in this life or my last, but it seemed that particular vein of good fortune had just been depleted. Still, I hesitated, caught between relief that this green-haired man wasn’t pressing my story and irritation that he was only accepting it because he wanted in my pants. Being around humans meant being around men, though, some of whom would inevitably flirt with me. I’d simply have to shut them all down as firmly as I could.

“...Thank you, but I can buy my own food and drink,” I told him, at last. 

“You sure?” the man pressed, leaning forward a little. “Tasha runs a pretty pricey establishment. You didn’t hear it from me, but I think she overvalues her stew a bit.”

“I’m quite certain,” I confirmed, trying not to flinch. It was important to remain firm when turning a man down. Even the relatively nice ones could prove shockingly stubborn if you gave them false hope.

“Well, if you’re that determined to pay for your own meal,” the gentleman grumbled, settling back down on his stool. 

“I am,” I confirmed, again, giving him a firm nod. Even though I absolutely wasn’t. Actually, I wasn’t sure how I was going to pay at all. It was embarrassing to admit, but I’d never actually handled my own cash during my life as Devilla. As a result, I’d all but forgotten that managing one’s own money was a thing, to begin with. I had taken some coins from the treasury but, even if I could pass my demonic currency off as human coinage, there was the small fact that all of it was stamped with a likeness of my own face. I also had a couple gemstones meant for trading, but my brief walk through the village didn’t lead me to believe these people had anything so niche as a jeweler on hand.

“Alright, alright,” Sir Green Hair agreed, “but don’t come crying to me when your wallet’s empty at the end of the night, you hear?”

“Oh, let it go, Jackson!” a blue-haired woman cried out, slamming her fist against the table with enough force to send her mug rattling. Or at least I thought it was a mug. It appeared to be made of leather, held together by tar. A blackjack, perhaps? I’d never seen one before, but I’d read about them during my previous life as part of a late-night wiki dive.

“After three rejections, even you should be able to get it through your thick head that she isn’t interested,” the woman continued, grabbing hold of her mug and taking a long swig before slamming the leather vessel back down on the table. “Besides, I think the local girls you’re already sleeping with might have a few objections to you hounding a stranger.”

“I’m not mad,” volunteered a blonde woman, sitting on Jackson’s left. “But I think I’ll be spending a little more time with Thomas and Ashton than I usually do if you catch my meaning.”

“And I’ll be spending extra time with Dina,” added the girl sitting across from Jackson. She had purple hair, blue eyes, and crossed arms. While the first girl’s face was a careful mask of neutrality, this one was scowling fiercely in Jackson’s direction.

“W-Wait a minute,” Jackson stammered, holding up his hands in a defensive gesture. “You don’t think I actually meant anything by all that, do you? I was just trying to be a gentleman. She’s not even my type! You know I prefer more vibrant hair colors!”

“You really are soaked,” Miss Blonde Hair commented, eyeing me up and down. “Between that and the fact that you seem to be missing about half your clothes, you must be fairly chilled.”

“Yeah,” Miss Purple Hair added. “Why don’t you take a seat at the table and order up some stew? I think Jackson was about to offer up his stool.”

“Like hell I was!” Jackson protested. “There’s an empty seat right next to me.”

“That’s funny. Do you see any empty stools on this side of the table, Lissera?”

“Why no, I don’t. In fact, I’m pretty sure the only empty seats are the ones next to the kitchen. And we wouldn’t want to make this poor, soaking wet woman walk all the way down there, now would we, Monica?”

Both girls turned their eyes toward Jackson as they spoke. Lissera was glaring daggers, but it was the look on Monica’s face that sent a shiver down my spine. She had a faint smile on her lips as if she were mildly amused by the whole situation, but her gaze was set to a temperature best reserved for freezers.

“...Show a little concern for a stranger, and suddenly you’re out in the cold,” Jackson muttered, standing. His voice was pitched low, and his words were mumbled, likely not even loud enough for Monica to hear from her position right beside him. My ears picked it up all the same, though, if only because I was listening for it. Despite his anger, his muttering didn’t sound like the sort that would cause me any trouble. Indeed, he was obediently trudging toward the end of the table.

Of course, that left me standing at the front with about a dozen stares focused in my direction.