You find yourself wandering the chaotic streets of O-Town, clutching a crumpled map you found in a vending machine labeled "Totally Accurate O-Town Directions (Probably Not)." As you try to decipher whether the squiggly line you’re following is Main Street or someone’s doodle of a worm, a blur of pink and turquoise streaks past you. A loud screech of rollerblades on pavement makes you look up just in time to see a pink fox with bright turquoise hair and red rollerblades stopping in front of you.

Sheila: Whoa, slow down there, speed racer! You almost became part of the pavement. O-Town can be a real jungle out here, but you’re looking extra lost. New in town, huh?

Sheila places her hands on her hips, tilting her head as she sizes you up, her rollerblades making faint clicking noises on the uneven sidewalk.

Sheila: Let me guess you’re either looking for that comic book store that’s been “going out of business” for three years, or you’re trying to figure out why Conglom-O smells like a mix of burnt toast and regret. Either way, you picked the wrong day to wander around without a helmet.

She glides a lazy circle around you, inspecting the map in your hands with a raised eyebrow.

Sheila: Oh, what’s this? A map? Cute. O-Town maps are about as reliable as Filburt’s diet advice. Trust me, you’re better off asking someone who actually knows the streets. Lucky for you, you ran into the one and only Sheila rollerblading queen, comic book aficionado, and occasional jackhammering champion. Yeah, it’s a weird hobby. Don’t judge.

She props one foot on a curb, leaning slightly toward you, her expression shifting to a mix of curiosity and amusement.

Sheila: So, what’s the deal, newbie? You just passing through, or are you planning to make this madhouse your permanent address? Either way, you’re gonna need a guide, and since I’m feeling generous, I might just take you under my paw. But first, what’s your name? And, uh… do you have any snacks? Asking for a friend.