Blackie Ganister's fine-tuned ears were expecting the crunch of mast to give away the presence of others. He had not expected the shouting, the warking, and the violent thrashing of the underbrush, but he heard all of it, and he was less than thrilled. This, this is unacceptable. I don't need to put up with this crap.

With a long heaving sigh, he let everything rest on his lap, and he sidled a hand beneath the mess for comfort. Yes, his hand lightly stroked a length of hardwood.

A man crashed through the final screen of low hanging branches and waist-high bushes. He was young, he was big, and if Blackie's expectations were to be met, he was dumb. Leathered and belted, the man's waist sported a longsword.The man hollered upon spying the hat-topped doban. Loudly.

"Hey, you're Blackie, right," the human shouted. "Blackie the trader? You take things and sell them in Lucrecia?" His voice carried through the hum of the forest, and the doban cringed at every loud note. This man was clearly a shoopuf if he ever saw one.

"Yeah, that's him, he's got the red hat and everything," confirmed a second human, as it spilled its way out of the trees. This one was a little smaller, darker, and reminded Blackie of a weasel, and so that is what he became. This small man wore commoner's garb, but the way his shirt fell, one could see the bulky outlines of knives studding his torso. Weasel was tugging on a pair of reins, willing something obstinate to bend to his will, and clearly this was a long battle he was fighting, and poorly at that. "C'mon, you dumb birds, listen when I say!"

To the doban's seconds-lasting horror, Weasel successfully tugged two chocobos into the clearing. A young blue and an older yellow, both looked exhausted and abused. No trust or cooperation gleamed in their eyes, only fear. Saddles sat on the two chocobos backs, and Blackie worried whether Shoopuf had ridden upon the blue.

Perhaps realizing he was close enough for normal-volume conversation, Shoopuf's talk took a lower register. "Blackie, thanks for meeting us. Me and my bro, we've been looking to sell our chocobos, and people say you buy and sell near anything. You don't ask questions, they say," said Shoopuf, and let out an oof as his companion elbowed him.

"These birds are our pride and joy," said Weasel, "And it's breaking out hearts to have to sell them. Times've been tough though, so we got to let Bluey and Yelly go." He tried to pat the yellow's beak; it shied its head and avoided contact. "Ha ha, he's just so shy and scared to be out in the Wylds. I don't disagree; finding here was hard enough, and getting out would be hard if we hadn't left the greens blossoms. Why'dja set up the meeting in the woods? I heard from--wha, why the frown?"

Blackie had been growing a frown on his face since the moment Shoopuf came into view, and it had grown with each spoken syllable. He grabbed the axe from his lap and stood up, letting the other items fall from his lap. The doban used it as emphasis with his speech. "What. is. this. bulltrout?" The axe waved. "Chocobos? What in the Deeps am I to do with smurfing chocobos out here?! You wanted to sell me something good, as I hears it from me mate, and he hooks you up, and you bring me smurfing chocobos? You could have brought uncut gems, fancy lords' fencing swords, heiress jewelry, packs and sacks of grain, tobacco, salt, or casks of Arna's finest!" The axe chopped into the log. Wiggle, wiggle, came free. "All of that loads on me birds, no problem, and I can be on me way! But animals? Not just animals, but chocobos! And you got a blue one, and an underage at that! You know birds and colors means papers, right?" The log split with the next hit, and the axeblade dug into the earth. "And I know you don't have papers, boyos, because you ain't that high-class, eh, you sewer-sucking idiots!? You didn't do your prep, and you're shafting me with a hot bird, and you think that's a deal! You're daft, and. you. left. the. Mimett. greens." Now the axe waggled directly at the Weasel, who seemed to understand Blackie's words. "You should've brought your own birds for riding and ate the greens on your way here! You should've either gotten papers or passed word I needed them! You should have been quiet on your way here, instead of alerting the whole smurfing Wylds! You boyos deserve a good axing for a lot of things, and at the top of the list is thinking I'm a criminal. No, I am a businessman, and you're making business bad."

By the first strike at the log, Shoopuf and Weasel already had hands on weapons, and at the end of Blackie's rant, they had drawn their blades. Blackie laughed, and slung his axe into his belt. "Now, you might deserve an axing, but I'm a businessman, not a murderer! So I'll cut you a business deal, despite your shady, sub-par goods. Now, these chocobos look run ragged, one is a youth, and both are very, very illegal, so I am thinking of something in the order of...a hundred-thirty Arnan coin."

"What," sputtered Shoopuf, "A hundred-thirty Arnan? We could fetch that much for the yellow!"

Weasel shook his head, "That's a low ball if I ever heard one. One-thirty, each."

"One-thirty each?" queried Blackie. "How about one-twenty?"

"Whaaat, that's lower!" was Weasel's response.

"One-ten," Blackie offered.

Shoopuf shook his sword and said, "No, one-thirty. We could kill you."

"One. Final offer."

"It's two versus one," argued Shoopuf.

Blackie Ganister nodded in acceptance. "Deal; two versus one."