The 'Nice' Men Return

The morning opens with an immediate bell. The shop's not even supposed to be opened yet, and still, you can hear osmeone come in.

As you head down and see who it is, your stomach drops. It's them. The men who came to ask for protection money.

Three thugs.

The leader strolls in, looking well-rested and smug in his black coat and slick moustache. The same two thugs follow. A tall, wiry one, and a shorter brute.

“Morning, Miss Yera,” the leader says. Cheerful. “Sleep well?” He doesn't wait for an answer. “So. Do you have our Thirty Lentimes?”

He holds out his open palm, rings glinting in the morning light. The short thug leans against the counter beside him, grinning as he picks up a potion, and shuffles it from hand to hand. The leader's face is hard.

“Look, we’re reasonable guys. We protect the neighbourhood. We're the reason your shop isn't destroyed by an angry orc, or something along those lines. So, yeah. Consider this a due payment.” He taps the counter again. “Well?”

The tall thug cracks his knuckles while the short one continues playing with your merchandise, clearly eager for an excuse.