It was seven fifty-two when the Argonian walked into Best Goods and Guarantees, and the storm was just picking up. Any Leyawiin resident with half a brain in their skull would be boarded up in their stilted house by now, but here was this strange fellow in full leather armor. Adventurers, thought Gundalas bitterly. Zenithar knows they get me half my business, but they have no sense whatsoever.

But the second the Argonian looked up, Gundalas became the jovial salesman. "Welcome," he said with a frozen smile, "to Gundalas Guarantees! How may I help you?"

The Argonian grunted and pulled out a large burlap sack. His loot bag was literally bursting at the seams, he noted. Maybe the weirdly cheerful Wood Elf would have another in stock.

He unceremoniously dumped the contents of his bag onto the table. Out came a silver vase; an empty ceramic urn that looked brand new; five gold cups; seven folds of intricately patterned silk; three fine crystal balls; thirteen strawberries, eleven blackberries, ten apples, eight loaves of bread, and a watermelon; a nicely bound book that looked expensive; and a steel shortsword.

The Argonian shook the sack a final time and produced a fork. "I'll throw that in for free," he rasped, chuckling drily.

"Anyway, I think that should come to about a total of 450 Septims, minimum. What say you?"

Gundalas stared. What, by the Nine, was this lizard trying to pull? The table was completely clear. "Er, excuse me?" he asked.

"450 gold ones. What, you think I'm trying to rip you off? I assure you, I'm only giving you a reasonable estimate!" Regarding Gundalas' disbelieving expression, he continued.

"I'll even break it down for you. See this book? Very rare, I tell you." The Argonian had his hand wrapped around a patch of air as though he were holding a thick tome. "Is… 'The Five… sings? No, Songs, of King Wolf- Wort- Wulfhearth'!" he read roughly. "Yes, King Wulfhearth was an excellent singer. His songs are legendary. This book alone has got to be at least 100 Septims."

Now Gundalas was becoming something he very rarely was, and that was visibly angry. "Look, buddy, I don't know if you're a skooma head or just particularly blessed by Sheogorath, but unless you have some actual merchandise to show me, get out of my store!"

The Argonian's eyes widened, then flashed. "You dare accuse me of trickery? These are valuable goods! Fine cloth! Fresh oranges! A pure steel sword! I'm giving you a bargain, and you-"

"A bargain? On what? When I need empty air, I can just breathe it! I don't need to pay 450 gold for it!"

It took the Argonian a moment to figure out what the angry merchant had said. "You mean… you're saying there's nothing here?"

"YES!"

"You refuse to acknowledge the existence of my merchandise?"

"Wha- there is no merchandise to acknowledge!"

The Argonian crossed his arms. "I see how it is, now. You don't want to buy all this from a- a lizard. You think I must have stolen it, don't you? Just because I have scales where you have skin doesn't mean I'm lower than you, you racist pig!"

Gundalas opened his mouth, then closed it, then opened it again. "You have some nerve, young man! There is nothing—" he slammed his hands down on the empty table—"nothing here! I will call the guards, and they will tell you the same damn thing, right before they haul you off to the dungeon!"

They stood facing each other, the now-bright red Bosmer and the hissing Argonian. Then the Argonian stepped back. Slowly, he put his small mountain of goods back into his loot bag. "You wouldn't happen to have a bag like this for sale, would you?" he asked cooly. The Bosmer shook his head, jaw clenched. Gundalas watched the lunatic put his imaginary books and fruit into the worn sack, then turn to the exit.

"You realize it's 8:15?" Gundalas said coldly.

"You see me leaving."

"Goodbye," he stated, in a way that suggested he did not wish him a good-bye at all, but a rather hasty and possibly unpleasant departure. The Argonian left, slamming the door on his way out.

Outside, it was raining harder than before, much harder. "Spare a coin for an old beggar?" croaked Deeh the Scalawag, a few feet away, then recognized the man. "Amusei? What where you doing in there?" Amusei muttered something about racist merchants, and not accepting his goods. Deeh cocked his head for a moment, then laughed.

"You tried to sell him your loot, didn't you?" Amusei nodded glumly. "And he didn't take it?" Another nod.

"I don't know how many times I've said this, Amusei, but you're an idiot," laughed the beggar. "You should know that only the Gray Fox's fences take stolen items. The other merchants can't even see them- it's a mental block, or something."

"What? But- I thought the Gray Fox was only a myth! A myth pursued by a crazy guard with too much time on his hands!"

Deeh shook his head in disbelief. "How you call yourself a thief, little cousin, never ceases to amuse me." He gestured for Amusei to walk with him. "Come. We have a lot to talk about."

Meanwhile, inside Best Goods and Guarantees, Gundalas was finally closing up shop. Elsynia had gone to bed half an hour ago. Bed was sounding very nice to him at the moment, after the crazy Argonian. It was only a matter of time until the guard got him, anyway.

As he put the last of his wares back into their chests, Gundalas felt very weary. He was getting too old to deal with these assholes on a daily basis- rude, harsh, often insane brutes. It was too much to bear sometimes. I should get away from these adventuring maniacs, he thought. You know what, that's it. I'm becoming a florist.