Old Mugu's jungle leather tan sagged from his bitter bones. As did his broad scowl. Saggy and sullen, his thin lips paralleled his thin eyes. "I will pay with bronze or bone," he answered. Gum's weathered baritone faded with the din, showing his mood was unmoved by Storm's brewing brouhaha. Crosslegged, teetering atop a steady stool, the painted shaman leaned towards Douglas. Do Mugu was attempting to pay, pushing his "currency" with the tip of his index finger. A half of a jawbone—teeth and dried gum flesh remaining—caught the uneven grain of the worn hardwood bartop as it was pushed. "And for my companions," he continued, adding a rattle of clean rat ribs to the bovine jawbone to round out the payment. Together, Gum thought, the few bones were more than enough.

Douglas, a little nonplussed and a lot impatient, pinched the skin of his temple. "Is this a joke?" he asked, making eye contact with the others. Did he think they were the shaman's minders? Understanding he was out of his element, Gum gleaned what he could from Storm's actions—and so he chose some nuts to chew. Growing angry, Douglas billowed and grabbed Gum's hand looking for coins. "Do you have anything to pay with?!" He found no cash, only cashews.