He ducks under a shovel launched at his head like a spear. The iron tip bites deeply into one of the watermelons on a fruit stall, and its red guts shower the angry mob behind him.
Not a single person stops their chase.
Beside him, his familiar floats leisurely at shoulder-height, her scarf-long arms folded into a pillow behind her head.
“Aren’t you going to help?”
She unrolls just enough of her hands to give him three slow claps.
“Good job antagonizing everybody in this town. Didn’t think that was possible. What an achievement,” she says in a voice as flat as his heart rate would be if he gets caught.
“Not helping.” He pivots around a corner into an alley so skinny he has to crab run.
“It’s called moral support.” His familiar turns intangible to fly above him without being blocked by pesky things like the walls.
“I’ll show you moral support when you’re in the naughty jar.”
She accidentally-on-purpose bumps a flower pot off the window sill. It misses him by just a cat’s whisker.
“See. This is why people don’t like you.”
Also kinda inspired by the prompt antagonist.