The town of Zand: Nothing really impressive here. It's not a very popular hunting ground, as most of the monster are Hobgoblins, and there levels are relatively high compared to the other "low-level" hunting grounds in the area, and by the time players are done in those hunting grounds, there would be no point in coming here, as it wouldn't really be a challenge. Being one of the towns connected to one of the Saharan Empire's starting towns/cities, it gets sufficient funding that most shops stay in business. Nothing is really booming though; the smithies aren't beyond the intermediate level, the soldiers aren't beyond level 130, and the lord of the territory doesn't put that much care into the town.
In essence: Zand is a mediocre town. And in that mediocre town, was a mediocre bar, and in that mediocre bar, was a not-so-mediocre couple.
Inside that bar, we see our warrior once again staring agape and in awe. The reason this time, though, was because of her guest's appetite.
'When was the last time they ate in real life?' wondered the warrior, and for good reason, too. The level two hundred player sitting across the warrior in the booth was eating with a ravenous demeanor. Chewing with an open mouth, forgetting to use his utensils, he just stuffed food in his mouths. He kept inhaling and inhaling until he choked, having to call a waiter for some ale. Finally, after dowsing his mouth(and clothes) in some mediocre ale, he bellowed his gut out, pleased.
"BRAAHP!! Aaah, now that was nice. Haven't had a meal like that in a while," he said.
'Honestly, watching that was quite unappetizing. I don't know if I can even finish my meal like this, which is quite unfortunate seeing how expensive this meal is going to be,' realized the warrior.
"Haaah," sighed the warrior, thinking about his damaged wallet.
"*Gulp* … What?" asked the level 200, seeming to detect the warrior's discontent.
"Well, if it isn't impertinent(rude) of me to say: Although I'm grateful that you saved my life, I don't think you deserve to critique my etiquette(manners)," replied the warrior.
"…Critique? Well, I wouldn't say that that was what I really did; I gave you more of a tip and heads-up, really… anyways, why are you telling me this?" he questioned, but not before he grabbed another piece of steak with his hand.
The warrior looked at him in slight disgust. "Do you not see how you eat?"
200 looked at the steak in hand and realized. "Oh." he put the steak down. "Yeah, I haven't really eaten anything this good irl in a while," he replied with an apologetic smile.
'Really? You think this stuff is that good?' "May I ask why---"
No," replied 200 abruptly.
"…ooookay," said the warrior, a bit bewildered by the sudden close off.
Sensing the discomfort, 200 quickly said, "But you can ask me about other things. In-game things, obviously."
"Uh-huh. Ok then; what is your level? And class?"
"My level is 232 and 27% of my bar is full. My class is, uhhh… Martial Artist. Yeah, that."
The warrior looked at him suspiciously. He didn't inquire anymore though, as he didn't deem it polite.
"Uuuuh-huh… what level is your armor?"
"You don't get to know that," said the "martial artist."
"Ooookay, then what about your name?"
"You don't get to know that, either."
"What?" he shook his head in disbelief. 'So damn secretive!' he thought, exasperated.
"Fine! The how about---"
That's enough questions out of you," interrupted the Martial Artist. "It's my turn now."
"Wha—"
"What's your level?"
"Uh—umm---Level 120. And 48%, I guess."
"What's your name?"
"M-moo--- wait, hold up! Stop trying to make me go with your flow!" said Moo-moo(or whatever), practically having the words bursting out of his mouth.
"Why?" asked M.A. innocently.
"Wha-what do you mean why!? You don't just pull in people like that, especially when you're not willin ta diverge info yourself!" said M.M. vehemently, foregoing his annunciation of words.
"Well, I do it because I don't want to bother having to get close to people," he said quick and simply.
Moo's body shot up. "Wha—what kinda B.S. is tha---"
"Are you gonna answer my question?"
"Am I gonna---!" He started shaking, but then suddenly stopped it. 'Haaah. There's no point in arguin' with a ranker.' He then sat down again.
He sighed. "haaaaaah…. Fine. My name is… Moonshine."
"… Moonshine? Like the hillbilly drink?"
"The What?"
"…Nothing. It's an American thing."
'…So he's American, huh. Fits the rude personality,' thought Moonshine, equally rude.
Moon reached for his drink. "Now that you know my name, may I ask for yours?"
���Nope," said the Martial Artist nonchalantly.
CRSH!
The glass in Moon-moon's hand shattered from the extreme anger.
[You have suffered 10 damage.]
"Hey!" yelled the bartender after hearing the shatter and started glaring at Moonshine.
"Sorry! I'll pay for it later," he said in an apologetic manner, right before quickly turning to the M.A. and glaring daggers at his eyes.
He shrugged. "What? Your anger problems."
"…" The daggers didn't go away.
"Anyways, I'm guessing that your class is Warrior, seeing how you fight. But at level 120? You should've been past that by now. Are you actually that bad at the game?" he said teasingly.
Moonshine picked up the largest piece of glass and started preparing to throw the fragile glass at his fragile ass.
200's smile started to waver. "I-I mean, I'm just saying that because… well, you just seem much weaker than a person of your level."
Moon cocked his arm back, ready to throw.
Sweat started to appear. "I mean, maybe you just distributed your points poorly? You could've just looked it up online---" Moon started moving his arm. "OR-or maybe you AREN'T Finished with your TRAINING perIOD!?" finished 200 sharply and quickly, scared of the glass coming towards his eyes.
But just before it reached, Moonshine's arm stopped. "Training Period? Of what??"