"Here you go. Should be everything that was ordered," a smokey deep voice said, coming from behind the counter. The man the voice belonged to looked basically like the cliché butcher, with log-like arms and legs, a thick dark beard, and a face that made it seem like a third of this man's vocabulary was made up of obscenities. Although, from what Foster could tell, he was actually just a big sweetheart, "Right, here's the money, then," he replied, placing a pouch with coins on the counter. The gruff man picked the pouch up and quickly took a peak inside. His eyes seemed to spark up for just a moment, before he raised his brow and glanced at the person standing in front of him.
"You're over a few coins," he pointed out, but Foster just smirked as he shook his head, "What, you think I didn't notice you sneaking an extra half-pound of jerky in here this time?"
