A Deal with G

It was a quiet night in The Slow Burn, Fellby is at his usual place behind the bar, making drinks for those who wanted them. There was no show today, however, which probably attributed to why things weren't as bustling as usual.

G opened the door to The Slow Burn, timing it so his entry would be covered by another monster entering. It was a hard habit to break, but being hard to notice payed off sometimes. And looking the way he did, he stood out even amongst the countless skeletons in the Citadel.

He carefully avoided collision with the monsters inside the bar, heading for a bar stool far enough away to not be overheard by the other patrons easily. He waved the firey bartender over lazily, putting on his best grin. He tried to ignore the sounds of arguing in the back of the bar, as well as what he was pretty sure was a monster getting buzzed on his own merchandise. He liked this place already.

Now this was a Sans one didn't see everyday. Certainly the irregular height and socket cracks were a testament to that....but it didn't matter. A customer was a customer. Fellby only headed over as soon as he was sure the other more immediate customers were taken care of before heading over.

He leans over the counter, resting his head on a hand, an elbow placed over the dark wood. "Welcome to the Slow Burn. Don't think I've seen you around all that much, Sans." His voice is a calm purr, a smug expression over his features. "What can I do for you? Or, is it perhaps, what can you do for me?"

G winced. He couldn't blame the flame monster for calling him that, but it always rubbed him the wrong way. He quickly turned expression back to a carefully controlled grin. G would be on his best behaviour-this guy didn't give off the impression of being easily swindled. "Please, call me G. To start off, can you grab me a drink? Whatever you can't get rid of. After that, I think you might be interested in my wares."

"G then, whatever you wish." Certainly wouldn't be the first time he'd been corrected. But he found that some customers liked bwing referred to as their original names...like it gave them some semblance of normality. "Just a moment." He turned to retrieve precisely the drink G requested.

The tall skeleton could see a rather...strange looking bottle being uncapped, and pouring a dark viscous liquid into a glass. Called Muffet's Nightmare. He'd gotten it from a 'friend' of his...but not many enjoyed the taste of crushed spider, thickened honey, and whiskey. "Wares, you say?" He hums as he pours before passing it over. "You'll have to impress me first. I don't deal with shitty quality goods."

G looked at the liquid, admiring the purple sheen it cast on his bones. It looked like it would either kill him or give him a wicked hangover, and luckily he was completely fine with that. He brought it to his mouth and took a cautious sip, letting the taste of honey wash over his tongue. He had no idea if it was actual honey, making the drink very expensive, or just a lucky coincidence. He figured it was the latter.

He drank down the rest, feeling the burning sensation spread from his mouth and seep into his bones. It already made him a bit light headed, but he wasn't stupid enough to get properly drunk in these parts. The aftertaste of spiders was absolutely disgusting and yet nostalgic. "Well this tastes like a punch to the pelvis. Not bad."

G set the glass down to his side, then leaned in. He took a small bottle out of his pocket and set it in front of Fellby, behind the bar and away from curious eyes. In it was no more than a mouthful of barbecue sauce, and G knew it wasn't the fake kind. "I'm interested in making a trade deal. Can't guarantee I'll have a steady supply, but I could send any condiments I find your way. For a price, of course. Or if you want something specific, I could keep an eye out for ya."

He picked up the container, inspecting it in his hands with critical eyes. He uncapped the lid, dipping a finger inside so he could get a taste himself and....

It was fresh. Or at least, relatively speaking. Legitimate food on The Citadel...most was just replicated shit that barely held a candle to its real counterpart. Wherever G had managed to find un-replicated condiments, Fellby couldn't guess...but he couldn't let an opportunity like this go.

He smiles, placing whatever was left back hidden and away. "I think we should be able to do business...and perhaps discuss other opportunities for this as well...Tell me your price."

G smiled wider. So far so good. "So first-off, cash. You already know how much this stuff is worth and I won't settle for less. If you think that's too high, I'm sure you have hundreds of other suppliers. Or maybe not, heh. I know how hard it is to get this stuff."

G lit up, frowning at his nearly empty pack. He'd need to get cigarettes ones soon. He kept putting off making a run for them and now he'll probably run out for the next few days. Serves him right for being so scatterbrained. "But there's nothing keeping me from selling a few bottles to your competition if they give me a better price. And you don't want to have competition, do you? So here's what we do. You owe me one favor, and when I come to drink here we chat for a minute or two and you tell me anything new that's going on. For that, you'll be the main supplier of condiments in this district, and one of the big ones in the Citadel. What do you say, handsome? You in or you in?"

Grillby rubs his chin, thinking of the offer. "So you're saying, in exchange for shipments of these items...you want money, as well as information. Is that it?" Of course, money wasn't particularly an issue, considering he knew just how much he could make off such a rare product. And as for news, well, he doubted that could really be that compromising. Wasn't like G would be the only monster coming here for tips on things. "Yes...but you'll be paid at delivery, not before. Agreed?" He raises his hand to shake, setting a stone for their compromise.

G grinned wider, not extending his hand yet. "Don't forget the favor, hot shot. That's the important part. I won't get too demanding, but I might one day bank in on it. Won't ask anything too bad from you, don't you worry your handsome head, but a guy needs friends in a place like this. Someone they can rely on." G extended his hand, waiting for Fellby's response. "I would like it to be a promise. If so, we're in agreement."

Fellby hums, "I never forget who I owe...but there is a difference between requesting information, and for asking for action. Make sure you remember that." His voice portrays experience, and perhaps too much knowledge with betrayals. "But, I will assure you, as long as you keep up your own end of the bargain...we'll be good friends indeed."

G let his smile grow bigger. Getting Fellby on his side should be a kick up the ol' social ladder, not to mention a steady income. He shook the fire monster's hand in agreement. "Well then," he sniffed, raising his empty glass. Seems like today had been a productive day. "To new friends."

Fellby chuckled at the other's apparent enthusiasm. "I'm more than happy to refill your glass, but I don't drink on the job. Still," he clinks an empty glass against the other's "To new friends. Now then, do you need anything else? I do have other patrons to attend to."

G shrugged in a way that was supposed to signify negation, but just seemed lazy. "Nah, I think we covered everything. You get back to your job, hot shot, and I'll go back to mine," he said, sliding off the bar stool, then patting down his jacket until he found his money and left enough to cover a drink plus a tip. With a nod he turned around, before remembering something.

"Did I mention you have a really nice place? I might make it a habit to come here," he said with a cheeky grin, then went to the exit, deftly avoiding the other patrons and employees while trying to keep his eye light respectfully in front of him. It wasn't exactly easy when some of them were giving him bedroom eyes.

With a sloppy wave behind him, he opened the door and exited into the cold. He was satisfied with what he did today, but so damn tired. He wished he could afford to slow down. With a shake of his head he decided on a path to his apartment, avoiding eye contact with other monsters.