tampered | (no subject)

(no subject)

WHEN: grave-digging event.
RATING: PG-15 (?)
SUMMARY: The Keeper's words for the Keeper's coin.
NOTE: an individual thread per trade, please! ~~No need to confuse the Keeper...~~

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"Ain't none of my kind, and ain't none of theirs. Snoop."

Of course dismissal came easily now. He'd wasted time. The more the boy stayed, the more his device rested, the more they knew, and the more trouble was born of it. Should have killed him earlier. Gutted him. "Then animal eyes by the damned dozen, you can, can you, eh? Nicely dug out of their sockets?"

"Sorry." He wasn't, of course, but it was the polite thing to say, especially to a man with a fine knife collection.

Justin nodded slowly. Animal eyes--reasonable. He was already backing out of the chamber as he replied, "Where should I leave them? The eyes?"

A knife the Keeper sadly put to rest.

"Cattle and pork or something big," he gave slowly, feeling them almost against his tongue. "Big is good. Just leave them overnight in some metal, I'll know."

Won't be the likes of bankers to interfere, if he spirited away some meat.

The best kind of knife is one at rest.

He nodded again, glancing around to make sure there weren't any zombies--or whatever the things down here were--prepared to spring out and rip him apart. "I'll do that. ...Thank you."

He eyed the man with some disinterest, almost questioning his hesita --- oh. Oh, the bugs.

"...won't be bothering you, if you make that dozen and a half."

And them above said he wasn't good with trading.

"Two dozen, if I'm allowed to leave safely." Already Justin was considering how to obtain the eyes. It wouldn't be too difficult, not with the odd specialty stores around the City. Expensive, perhaps; questionably moral with regards to animal rights, almost certainly.

Such is the price of life. Justin was willing to pay well if it meant avoiding any deals with the deities.

Dirty, expensive, questionable, what have you. Hunger called, and so did the Keeper's tools. He returned to them, polishing one knife, then the other with steady hands, a piece of worn leather cleaning the blade. "Said, dozen and a half, you go. Ain't no banker."

Least that much, he wanted clear.

"Eighteen. Understood... you're not like them."

Now to put as much distance between those knives and his currently intact body as possible.

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