You reach the market and as usual, it is quite busy. You look around at the potential clientele, all of them either to fat to hunt for themselves or too lazy. You spot a few female preds who look like they are here becasue they couldn't catch a decent sized meal anyway. Secretly, you wished a connousieur would purchase your food, someone who is here out of appreciation for your effort, rather than not having any option but to buy food. Ah well, you drag the meal behind the stage, a dark oaken catwalk that is poorly lit and surrounded by the customers, smoking, talking loudly around rather old wooden tables on the unswept, sawdust covered floor.
You begin to speak to the manager, a large man, a bull in fact. Still, nobody would try to eat him, he was pure sinew and looked like he was about to explode, his eyes jutting out. It made bargaining...difficult. Still, he examines your meal as Carol turns away her head in shame at the thorough inspection and he agrees a fair commission on whatever is bid upon her, you can only hope they bid high
