"Whadya mean, 'exchange rate'!"
The incredulous outburst from Death causes War and Plague to stick their heads in the door momentarily. The smaller Haitian is looking particularly angry here, something they have yet to see him do. Their vigilance is in part to keep him from hurting anyone or anyone hurting him, as well as to witness the spectacle of the usually-calm Death blow his top.
The Molenoid behind the desk gives an expression like he hates his job, probably does with everyone who comes through questioning his authority. "I don't make the rules, I just follow them. Because your coins are stamped means that they are just slightly heavier or lighter than the ones that circulate around our 99 Caverns." he responds, rolling his eyes as if he's explained it almost all day today. "I don't know where you come from, and I really don't care. The point of the matter is, that I can't take your money without knowing if it's heavier or lighter."
"So call it lighter, 'n' take mo'e, I doan care!" Certainly the families' wealth can suffer the tiny scratch that would leave in it. Which honestly is little detriment to it.
"But I don't know which it is!"
The look shared between the two at the door goes unnoticed by both those in the little shop. Plague nods his head toward his smaller companion, and she strides forward in the complete posture of control. The shopkeep shrinks back visibly at the sight, Death rolls his eyes as though to say 'See what happens?'
"I'll try to make zis simple." she states, picking up the bag of coins stamped with the Faravahar, from the Eastern Wall. "How much ist our tab in your price?"
"Five…?" It's apprehensive, they all know it. The intimidating presence of the taller woman is enough flatten the field; a neutral turf now to conduct as a third party mediator, as opposed to giving the power to one side or the other. Those not used to the expression of power out of her are usually rendered to stuttering uncertainty.
She digs through the bag, pulling out ten of the coins and laying them on the counter. "Zat should be more zan enough." Before the Molenoid has a chance to retort, she responds. "Keep ze change."
As Death begins reaching for the bags on the counter, the response comes. "But … how do I know you haven't shorted…"
"I am starving." she hisses, laying hardened eyes on him. "Unless you vould rat'er I eat Molenoid on a spit, I suggest you take vat ist given und let me eat."
A wave of his hand and a nervous laugh send the patrons out the door. As they make their way back down the street, Death pouts a bit.
"I had it handled."
Another look between his larger comrades and a knowing chuckle is shared. "I'm sure you did."
A/N: Coming back to this briefly in a moment of downtime!
Have a thing, while I try to kick the drawing muses into some form of gear.