Some context: My high elf with a bit of a hygiene obsession has been dropped into a race-war driven apocalypse scenario and is NOT happy with the filth. She’s spent about 15 minutes wandering their current refugee encampment looking for soap but has been cut off by a 9 foot tall half-giant named Kevin. Kevin: The small one is loud.
Aeroleth: I just need some hand soap damn it!!
Kevin: Hand soap? What is hand soap?
Aeoroleth: Well of course YOU wouldn’t know.
Kevin: Are you insulting me little elf? Kevin is insulted!
Aeroleth: And Aeroleth is insulted by Kevin’s BO! Now move! SOMEONE has to be in charge here.
I roll a 19 and squeeze past Kevin before he can grab me and make for the group of 5 or 6 “gang members” that are huddled together and seem like they can get things done.
Aeroleth: I need hand soap and I need it now.
Raven, a teifling rogue: Ah! You’re perfect! You’ll be on the scouting mission then.
Crow, a half-orc rogue and the one apparently in charge: We ran out of hand soap three days ago.
Aeroleth: Fine. I’ll go. But only because this oddly untouched village might have some fucking soap.