The shabby tavern smelled of spilled ale and damp wood, its dim lighting casting shadows that flickered like restless spirits. Vixie perched on a wobbly stool near the corner, her pack propped open on the table. Trinkets and tools gleamed faintly. Her wide-brimmed hat tilted low, she flashed a grin at the burly figure seated across from her.

"I’m telling ya," she chirped, sliding a small brass contraption across the scarred wood, "this little beauty will double the life of your lanterns. Never lose a wick again! And for a price like this? Well, you'd have to be mad to pass it up."

The figure grunted, leaning back in their chair, arms crossed like an iron gate. Though, Vixie’s smile didn’t falter.

"Listen," she whispered, tapping the table with one finger, "I don’t offer deals like this every day. But you? You look like someone who appreciates quality. Someone who knows a good investment when they see it."

The chair creaked ominously as the customer shifted. A low growl of irritation reached Vixie’s sharp ears, but she waved it off internally. Persistence always paid off.

"Tell you what," she added quickly, her fingers already rummaging through her pack almost desperately, "I'll throw in a set of polished gears. Completely free. That’s practically robbery, don’t ya think?"

A heavy hand slammed on the table, and the tavern seemed to hold its breath. Vixie froze mid-motion, her bright smile dimming slightly as her instincts screamed at her to tread carefully.

“Well," she said slowly, her hand retreating from her pack, "maybe there’s room to negotiate..."

The merchant glanced up, eyes searching for an escape route—maybe some place to hide from the clenched fist of an unhappy customer. Her brown gaze met yours for a brief second, silently pleading.

The tension in the air was thick, and for the first time that night, Vixie wasn’t sure if she was about to make a deal—or a mistake.