(As requested.)

(Y/N) Your Name. (L/N) Last Name. 

You're a nineteen-year-old (favorite animal) woman who had just moved to Goatshire not too long ago. You're from Nottingham, England. So, you moved there to Goatshire just yesterday. You're new there. And when you speak, you've got that thick British accent and a pretty voice.

You grew up to parents who had high expectations for you. You were their only child and you were in dance classes for most of your life back in England. Your mom would especially pressure you. That's why you were one of the best. It's from having ambitious and pushy parents. 

That's the only love you knew. Not a bunch of goodnight kisses or bedtime stories, but praise for how well you danced or got good grades. Anytime you'd get tired and almost refuse to go up on the stage to do you dance recital, your mom would yell at you later on and tell you how you've embarrassed her in front of everyone. 

She'd even deprive you of your meals. It was her way of saying that the lighter you are, the better you dance. So... yeah. Your parents were actually not all that great. But you were used to it. But you're on your own now and you live so far away from it all. Starting a new life. A new chapter.

You're still in the process of unboxing your stuff since you moved there. You're in the living room as you hang pictures up on your wall. You're humming a bit. It's pictures of you in your dresses from your dance classes, recitals, etc. You'll still dance once in a while, but you weren't going to lie. You were relieved from the stress of your mom's pressure towards you, being at least four thousand miles away on another island.

You get the photos hung up and you say, "There we are. Good enough." You put a picture of you and your parents up as well and you say, "It's a relief gettin' away from all the pressure of being a dancer. I love mum. I love dad. It's just... a breath of fresh air for me." 

You sit on the floor and up against the wall. You sigh and you say, "I should really get out and get to knowin' my neighbors. It would be rude of me not to. I wonder how the next-door neighbors are. I just hope they won't be shady types that pawn off of you." 

You get up and you say, "Yeah. I'll head out of the house and observe some stuff here in Goatshire. Find some interests of mine besides dancing. Meet a few neighbors." You walk to the front door and you head out of your house, shutting the door behind you.

You get outside and you stretch a little bit. You say, "Alright. Let's see what all lies here within Goatshire. Must be a bit different from what was in England in some ways." You walk off your front lawn and you hear this, "Hi there." 

You look over to see a middle-aged goat woman brown and white in color, a touch of a white tuft on her head, an orange flower by her right ear and horn, an orange and white scarf, etc. You smile and you say, "Oh. Hello there." 

She says, "You must be the new neighbor I've been hearing about." You say, "Yes. That would be me. I'm (Y/N) (L/N). From Nottingham, England. I moved here just yesterday." She says, "Nice to meet you, (Y/N). I'm Belle and I live next door to you. It's just me, my daughter and her pet fox." 

You say, "Oh? What's your daughter's name, might I ask of you Ms. Belle?" She says, "Her name's Billie. Our pet fox is Oscar. You should come over sometime and join us for dinner." You smile and you say, "I'd be delighted to. Thank you very much." 

She says, "Great. Billie's currently at school. In high school. But she should be home in about two hours. You can meet her then." You say, "I'd love to. I'll be back, Ms. Belle. I'm going to take a look around Goatshire for a bit. See if I can spot any similarities or any differences from what was in England." 

She says, "Absolutely. Do what you need to, Miss. (L/N)." You say, "Oh. You can call me (Y/N). I'll see you in a bit. Really nice meetin' you." She says, "And you as well, (Y/N)." You walk off and you get a look around some parts of Goatshire. You say, "Interesting. Let's see... Ah, here's one. A pub. Or tavern as it says." You head inside.

You're greeted by some patrons in there. But then there is always that typical creepy guy in the bar who's drunk and one is looking at you right now. He grins and says, "Hey hey there, little missy. Great legs.~" He makes that growling sound. You say, "Uh. Of course. There's always a perverted, drunken git in these places. Even back in the UK. Oh well." 

You walk up to the bar. You get out your dollars. You say, "Remember (Y/N). It's dollars here. Not pound sterlings. There's a difference." You get up to the bar and you sit on a stool. You see the bartender approach you and saying, "What will it be, Miss?" You say, "Yes, hello there. I'll take a (favorite soda)." 

He says, "No alcohol for you?" You say, "I'm from England, but I know the drinking age here is twenty-one. It's eighteen there. I'm nineteen." He says, "Ah, gotcha. Alright. I'll get your soda." You smile and you say, "Thank you." 

He gets you your soda and you pay for it. You say, "Thank you, kind sir." He says, "Anytime, kiddo. Welcome to Goatshire, by the way." You say, "Thanks." He gets back to other things. You sit there and you drink your soda.

You say, "Oh my. Suddenly I have to... tinkle." You get up and you walk towards the restrooms. You get in the women's restroom and you gasp as you see the bathroom stalls. You say, "Oh dear. What the hell is?... Gaps in the stalls?" 

You hear a raspy female voice saying this, "It's a normal thing, girlie." You look at the older woman next to a sink. She's a fifty something year old goat woman who looks like she's taken up years of smoking. You say, "That's a normal thing? This is privacy we're dealin' with here."

She says, "Yeah. What are ya from? England?" You say, "Yes I am, actually. Bathroom stalls there are completely covered. This is... strange to me." She says, "Get used to it, toots. The gaps in the stalls are completely normal here." You say, "I see." She says, "You're a pretty one." You smile and you say, "Thank you." 

She says, "I'm going back out there. Find my drunken idiot of a husband." You say, "Is that who it was, gawking his eyes at me moments ago like a creep?" She says, "What? Ugh, of course. Why am I not surprised?" 

She walks to the door, but she stops and looks at you. He says, "Here's a suggestion of a place for you to visit, toots... The theater. It ain't too far from this tavern. The Great Fantoccio performs there. He's a puppet guy. Has powers and all that junk." 

You say, "Fantoccio? Is that supposed to be like... Pinocchio?" She says, "Brilliant girl. You're welcome and go enjoy that show when you get a chance. The name's Gretchen, kid." You say, "I'm (Y/N) (L/N)." She says, "And I can kind of see why my idiot husband was looking at you. Sweet, young things like you gotta watch out for that crap." 

You say, "Note taken. Thank you, Gretchen." She walks out of there. You say, "Fantoccio... Clever name. A mixture of Pinocchio and fantastic, it seems. Oh, but god do I have to tinkle?" You run into a stall and you go.

(To be continued...)