The woman leaned against her stall almost sardonically before the stranger approached. It was a slow block, and she hated that, because she wasn't exactly hurting too much, but she would be soon enough. Then, well, the fence would be shit out of luck, and she didn't like that — leaving things up to chance. And so, before her stood a stranger, and she knew what she wanted. I mean, they all wanted the same things — something for their collections, return of an item, or some bid for power.
Oh, she was strange, probably a noblewoman by the cloak she wore. I mean, it's not as though anyone gave a shit on this level, and the patrolmen could mostly be bought, but she could imagine such a woman turning heads. She quietly lifted the bag and observed it, keeping her customer in her peripheral vision. She could tell how much it was by feeling it alone and said, "You have no idea how little factories pay." It was a blunt, simple statement. "A lot of people down here will never see this much in their lives, and here you are, carrying it so casually."
She set it down. "I don't just agree to jobs, you know. I need every last detail on it before I give you a yes or no. I like money, but I also enjoy being alive. And I may as well get it out of the way, I don't do crypts or graves, because I don't do getting haunted by the dead."