Ragnarok sized her up as best as he could. Without breaking eye contact from her, he reached up on the counter and took a hold of a blue stick of rock candy that was advertised to have been made right on the island, something for tourists he was sure, and placed it between his teeth. Judging by the way it tasted, they hadn't been sold for quite some time now. He didn't mind though, he had tasted worse things than old sugar. “Have a pleasant day,” he said in a low voice as he exited the general store, deciding the next best bet would be to go to the gambling house.

In almost direct contrast to the general store, the gambling house was full of people. He would haveplease,” he said, his voice steady. Ragnarok followed the man to a room with a desk and a set of monitoring stations and a bunch of other gambling house necessities. He didn't pay attention to them. He was all eyes for the manager of the gambling house.

“Mr. Futtleschuckle is a mutual acquaintance of ours,” the manager said once the door was closed, walking behind his desk and sitting down in the big chair which surely made him feel on top of the would and was probably paid with the money of the people of the island. Oh well, not his problem. “He owes us a small debt. Nothing substantial, just a couple dozen berries is all. Still, we haven't seen him in the gambling house for a couple