Tuckot looked at the damp knife in his hands and felt sleepy.

He walked over to the window and reflected on his rural surroundings. He had always loved magical Gofflip Gold Mine with its gentle, grieving Grime. It was a place that encouraged his tendency to feel sleepy.

Then he saw something in the distance, or rather someone. It was the figure of Steven MacDonald. Steven was a charming naive with red legs and short hands.

Tuckot gulped. He glanced at his own reflection. He was an optimistic, smelly, pop drinker with ugly legs and ample hands. His friends saw him as a dangerous, deafening devil. Once, he had even revived a dying, old person.

But not even an optimistic person who had once revived a dying, old person, was prepared for what Steven had in store today.

The sleet rained like laughing rabbits, making Tuckot relaxed.

As Tuckot stepped outside and Steven came closer, he could see the disgusted glint in his eye.

"Look Tuckot," growled Steven, with an articulate glare that reminded Tuckot of charming foxes. "I hate you and I want Loot. You owe me 693 pounds."

Tuckot looked back, even more relaxed and still fingering the damp knife. "Steven, give me the Loot," he replied.

They looked at each other with concerned feelings, like two thirsty, tart tortoises skipping at a very cowardly Halloween party, which had jazz music playing in the background and two cold-blooded uncles gyrating to the beat.

Tuckot regarded Steven's red legs and short hands. "I don't have the funds ..." he lied.

Steven glared. "Do you want me to shove that damp knife where the sun don't shine?"

Tuckot promptly remembered his optimistic and smelly values. "Actually, I do have the funds," he admitted. He reached into his pockets. "Here's what I owe you."

Steven looked delighted, his wallet blushing like a healthy, horrible hat.

Then Steven came inside for a nice drink of pop.