Put Yer Back Into It (Grubby & Dale)

"...guard? Slammer? Stealin'?"
No recognition of the terms whatsoever.
"I...don't, understand, no..."

Grubby talked, and Dale listened. Every word, he soaked it in as if it was some fascinating new thing that he'd never heard before...because really, he hadn't. Forget the honest thing not paying - the 'honest' thing wasn't even a concept, the only place he could have ever learned of such a thing before not granting him the knowledge to start, and subsequently never giving him the chance to learn when he returned.
This was new. This was different.
It was an insight into the workings of this new world, into how things operated in this place where any meeting between people wasn't a guarantee at least one would die.
People made things. They...'worked'. Worked for themselves, kept what they made, or worked for other people, and got things from them for it.
And...that's where all the new things here came from.

Dale's food was loooong gone. There was more in front of him, and probably back from that place he brought it out from, but regardless of whether he could handle the junc-son before him trying to take any of it was a terrible idea. It'd give him some food, but he'd lose any chance of learning more.
Curiosity shined in the android's eyes as he leaned forward just a little. "...what is the honest thing? What is going thievin'?"

Poor bastard's dumber'n I thought. Prolly got hit in the head too many times, either that or he's born that way. Can't really blame'im fer bein' on the street're wantin' to steal to make his way. Sometimes people just slip through the fuggen cracks, y'see it all the time if'n ya look hard enough. Ah well, might be able to get this sorry-lookin' motherfucker a 'lil help, teach'im what's gonna happen to'im. 'Sides, I could use some extra hands from time to time.
"Y'see guards is them big scary motherfuckers y'see tryin'a stop ya from takin' what don't belong to ya. Call'em guards cuz they's guardin' somethin', they's protectin' it, ya understand? Figure you mighta run into someone like that, I'd put a hund'rd gold on it," I says, takin' a bite'a bread.
"Stealin's what ya call it when ya take them things what don't belong to ya, they belong to someone else. S'a fuggen bad thing, so what they do is they throw ya in the slammer. Slammer, joint, pokey, hoosegow, s'all the same words fer jail. Or prison. Same place, anyways the slammer's where they send bad people, an' they lock'em away in boxes with iron bars so's they can't do no more bad things. An' if a guard catches ya stealin', he's gonna think yer a bad guy, an' it's off to the fuggen hoosegow with yer ass."

I point my pipe at'im to give them there words some weight. Now, I'm a rogue and damn proud to be one. I'm an adventurer an' goddamn proud to be one. I wouldn't recommend my line'a work to even the most suicidal bastards out there. Ya fuggen kiddin' me? That's yer whole life's goal right there? To be a fuggen degenerate law-breakin' fucko an' murder other degenerate fuckos what's causin' people problems fer copper on the silver? Gotta be somethin' wrong with ya. Sure as shit I know I'm scrambled in the egg fer cryin' out loud. Neither a those are things ya wanna get yerself involved in, take it from an old gob. It's got its moments sure but yer usually knee deep in shit'n death. Uglier'n fuggen I am if ya can believe it, most a the time. Least the longshanks is curious'n willin' to fuggen listen a bit. I take another bite'a bread an puff on my pipe a bit.

"*phup phup phup* ...well thievin's the same as stealin' right about. There's a diff'rnce but most folk don't care're notice an' yer not gonna be one of'em that does, trust me. Now the honest thing is doin' the work, kinda like yer doin' right now. Ya ain't take nothin' that didn't belong to ya, ya worked hard an' ya got rewarded with me givin' ya stew here an' that payment later. That's bein' honest right there, it's doin' what yer s'posed to which means not doin' the bad shit. They call it honest cuz ya earned exactly what ya worked for, no more no less. Get everythin' ya got promised there, son. Now stealin', it ain't honest. What yer doin' is yer takin' from someone cuz either they can't stop ya or they ain't there to stop ya. Ya didn't do the work but ya got stuff anyway. Ya didn't earn it, see what I mean?"

...he was starting to get more of a frame of reference on things. Stuff was making more sense, bit by bit. Admittedly, he still didn't get some of it. Like, he was learning that when people talked about things being bad outright, they were talking about it happening to anyone like it was happening to them, but why they cared if it happened to others was beyond him.
Did someone try to convince people they shouldn't do it at all so it wouldn't happen to them, and it just spread like that?
He didn't get how someone could do that, though. Or why they'd think that'd work on everyone. People obviously still did the things they called bad - and unlike him, they knew it was 'bad' when they did it, so they obviously didn't care.
Hmm.

The guards...sounded like the police. The name this junc-son was using definitely made more sense than police did right now. Stealin' and thievin' were...well, the things he'd basically had to do to live before now.
He wondered where the fighting fit in.
He had to suppress a complete shutdown at the description of jail.

As for the honest thing...hmm. He saw the logic, but...
Maybe it was time to get an answer to an earlier question.
"Why do people care so much about what's bad for other people? Why do they call it just...bad, and care so much about the 'honest' thing? They're like this now but...why did people care to start? I...they're not as bad as where I got here from, but they still don't seem to care outside themselves outside of that mostly."

See I'm gettin' through to the dumb motherfucker here. Ain't parrotin' my words as much anyways. Seen'im go pale when I brought up the ol' brickhouse. Good. He fuggen should be. Dependin' on where yer goin' it can be yer worst fuggen nightmare, 'specially if'n it's one'a those places that got ya chained to a wall spoonin' hot metal down yer windpipe. Might as'well just fuggen kill a man 'stead'a puttin'im through some'a that hell, never saw the point to torture fer torture's sake're justice're any a that other shit. Stop wastin' everyone's damn time an' just solve the fuggen problem, don't draw it out longer than it gotta be. I pop the last bit'a my bread'n my mouth an' lick the fuggen bowl. Stew ain't bowl-lickin' good but it does the trick on an empty stomach. I got s'more simmerin' in the junk stove I got 'round back but there's always gonna be later, work's gotta get done 'fore ya get to be a lazy jagoff.

I grunt'n stand up, stretchin' my back out. Pops like fuggen kettle corn. It damn well sucks gettin' old I tell ya, back ain't cooperate, ya lose all yer hair, wake up in the mornin' coughin' yer lungs out every gatdamn day. Shoulda fuggen died'n battle, bein' an old man ain't worth it. I bend over to stretch an' pick up my own bowl, go over to Homeless Joe over there to get his too 'fore tossin'em behind the counter'n outta the way.
"S'pose it's got somethin' to do with yer conscience," I says, shakin' my hips side to side to work out the kinks. Need to get me one'a them vibratin' chairs I see 'round here, I'd kill fer a fuggen massage right about now.
"Yer conscience is the 'lil voice'n the back a yer head what tells ya what ya should be doin', right from wrong. Conscience always wants to do the right thing, s'why people get all mopey when they see someone else get hurt. Some people got more conscience'n others, some ain't got any at all an' run around actin' like fuggen bastards." I nod my head'n puff on my pipe a bit, leanin' my back on the counter there with my arms folded. Thinkin' I also gotta explain why the fuggya'd do it from a beneficial set'a eyes, normally if a grown ass man's askin' ya what's right from wrong he been doin' the wrong thing fer a fuggen while.
"But ya also gotta be thinkin' 'bout the bigger picture, ya understand? Take me'n you fer example. Now I'm an honest gob, yer an' honest guy. I'm doin' the honest thing'n earnin' my keep'n yer doin' the same here, so like here right now we's helpin' each other. I got work that's gotta be doin' what I can't do meself, so yer gonna get somethin' fer helpin' me out. Easy greasy. Now if'n you knew I weren't honest'n I wasn't gonna help ya, ya wouldn't help me out wouldja? Same goes fer you, ya needed some money to get some food'n I said I'd trade ya workin' fer it. We both get somethin' there. If'n you was bad I'd a tol' ya to go fuck yerself since ya can't be trusted."

I tap my pipe to my lips fer a moment, thinkin' about how I'm gonna wrap all this up in a neat 'lil bow.
"Now yer gonna wanna help the honest people cuz yer gonna know they'll help back, so ya both get somethin'. The bad people're just gonna take from ya, yer money, yer stuff, yer food're yer life. That's why the guard's gonna get ya fer thievin', cuz it means yer a bad guy an' they's gonna make damn sure ya can't cause no trouble fer the honest folk. They's helpin' each other out, guards doin' their work protectin' the honest folk'n gettin' paid'n return. Ain't nobody want their shit taken, so's they're gonna team up make sure the bad guys don't get nowhere only helpin' themselves an' hurtin' the ones they share with. See what I mean?" Yeah that might do it, hopin' he gets it through'is thick skull he's got. I step off the counter'n cross one arm o'er the other, stretchin' my shoulders out.
"MmmmMMMMM...! Damn I hate gettin' old. Aright there Dale, think we done enough jaw jackin' fer now. Still got work needs to be doin'. Got some boxes a scrap needs movin', wanna get some'a the gentler shit inside so the weather don't get at it."

...he wasn't sure if he had a conscience. He didn't remember any voices in his head. Not unless...was Enkidu his conscience?
He'd have to figure that one out.
Now the rest of that...that made more sense by itself. Sure, he probably wasn't exactly what the junc-son meant by an honest man, but that didn't make the rest wrong - people can't do everything by themselves. And if they need someone else to do something, both the person needing help and the person giving it need to know they'll get what they want from the other person.
The whole thing revolved around being able to get help and stuff from other people when they needed it.
"...everyone helping each other. That's what it's about." He paused, remembering things. "And that can't be a thing if nobody will help each other...or...can, help each other?"

He picks himself up off the ground. Apparently, there was more to do. Boxes of...well, he'd probably see. "Where are they?"

I nod my head there. Tramp might be thicker'n a bowl a fuggen oatmeal but he catches on quick to the shit he don't know.
"Ya got the gist of it there. Call it investin' in yer own situation if'n ya want. Ya help someone, good chance yer gonna get help down the road if ya don't get it right away. Call'em 'favors', promises a help." I stick my pipe back in my mouth, now fer the easy shit. So I did the goddamn stupid thing'n packed some boxes to the brim with heavy shit, so full I can't move'em. That's what I get fer tryin'a get shit done what don't need doin' just yet. This ol' man ain't learn his share'a patience. I press off the wall there'n nod my head towards the door.
"They're 'round back, outside. C'mon Dale, I'll show ya where they's fuggen goin'."

Investing in...? Just ignore it, find out later.
After a bit of working it through in his head, he just noted 'down the road' as meaning 'later' somewhere in his head as well, along with 'favours'.
...now he just needed a good definition for 'promise' and that'd be sorted. "Ok." He nods.

Chip hops down to follow Dale as he shifts to move after Grubby. "Alright." He looks down to the ground, where the little dog stands beside him. "Come on, Chip."

So's I get to showin'im where the boxes were an' we get our happy asses back to work fer the time bein'. S'a fuggen strange one he is but ya gotta admire that work ethic. Hot damn, reminds me a me when my back was worth somethin'! I ain't slackin' neither, I can't get them heavy boxes where I want'em but I can arrange'em if I push with all my might. But we get done with the work real quick, ain't take no time at all. Earned a hard day's pay there. Ain't nothin' wrong in the world fer a hard day a labor an' just rewards I tells ya. I wipe the sweat off my shinin' scalp an' throw my hood back on, dig out my pipe an' strike a tinder twig. Think I'm gonna be puffin' now the work's done.

"Done a damn fine job there Dale if'n I say so meself," I says, glancing 'round the shop, "Lookit aaaaaaaall that space I got in here now. Heh, maybe might finally have enough to run hobbit mud wrestlin' on Wednesday nights. Keeehehehe*hueHURGH!* ...Fuggen shit... Well ya did good anyway, gotta say I coulda hired professionals an' they ain't get them shelves on as straight as ya did. Thinkin' ya earned this." I hold my hand out there, got the VC I promised'im in it. But I hold out my other hand too fer a shake.
"Pleasure doin' business with ya. Put'er there, pal." Now he ain't gonna know this, but I got somethin' in my palm fer'im there when he shakes my hand. Damn fine job he did, deserves a bit extra if'n I get to decide. An' I do. S'my fuggen shop an' my fuggen money, I'll do whatever the hells I want with it.

This wasn't hard. It was easy enough to get everything about, and it didn't even take long. Dale kind of had to wonder why anyone would have so much of a problem with doing things like this. If it wasn't hard, it didn't take long, and it meant you got stuff with much less trouble than other ways...why wouldn't people do it, as long as they could be sure they got what they were supposed to? It wasn't even like it was dangerous.
He'd already gotten food before he even got anything else. Nicer food than normal, too. If nothing else would, that made things worth it.

As Grubby acknowledges the work done well, Dale can't help but feel pleased. He didn't even know how this worked before, and here he'd already managed to get it done well. Or at least...this stuff, anyway.
What else would people give him stuff for?
Nodding happily, he takes the offered money, checking how much there was over the course of an instant and putting it away once he had that final confirmation.
And then, he looked between Grubby's other hand and the goblin himself, as if he wasn't sure quite what to do. Somewhat uncertainly, he places his hand in Grubby's.

When he gimme his hand there I give it a firm shake. Like yer s'posed to. Handshake tells ya a lot about a person's intentions there, a weak one means they ain't interested, a mitt crusher an' they's tryin'a belittle ya but a firm one? Means commitment right there. Means yer takin' things seriously, yer thinkin' about puttin' yerself all in what yer promisin'. Sign'a respect there. Now I'm gonna tell ya a secret: I like the goblin way better. But that ain't always accepted so I ain't done it in a long, long time. Ya bang weapons ya do, means yer brothers in battle an' friends in death an' that's some serious shit. But I do more'n just shake his hand. I leave'im a 'lil somethin' to, relaxin' my palm an' slippin' him some cash on top. I take my other hand an' pat his on top.

"Now that's fer doin' some damn fine work. Figure ya earned yerself somethin' extra," I says with a wink. But I ain't kiss his ass too long, I get shit to do an' it ain't puttin' up with Homeless Joe. Lockpicks don't make themselves. FUGGEN DAMN that's what I fergot! I was gonna fix mah damn rockin' chair! Ah fuggit, I can do that at the start a next week. It ain't goin' nowheres.
"Aright, aright, show's over. 'Preciate yer help there but I got work to do, can't keep this shop closed fer too long, s'gonna drive off customers. Go on now. But ya do a good job, s'posin' if ya wanna come back I might have more shit fer you to do, Azmodeus knows I ain't wanna do half the shit I gotta."

Action:

Dale's grip starts loose, and adjusts to match Grubby's as he figures out just how this interaction is supposed to work. As he feels the money slip into his hand, he looks curiously to Grubby, and smiles a little at the explanation.
So...they might give you more than you asked for if you do things well. Do things that they're really happy with.
It was a nice little sweetener to add to the knowledge he'd done well.

Dale gives a nod at the dismissal, acknowledging to himself more than Grubby that his time here was done for now. "Alright. I'll remember that."
The android makes a little gesture to his companion. "Come on, Chip." The small dogbot comes over and bounces up into Dale's extended hand with a little more strength than is actually in his frame, to be placed up onto Dale's shoulder.
He leaves without any further words after that, looking at the extra money he'd gotten one last time before putting it away.
His first bit of honest work.
It wasn't bad.

Think I made that motherfucker's day right there. Feels good to do somethin' nice fer a change, give back to the community an' shit. Also cheap labor, cheapest around but it ain't all about that. S'bout supportin' the 'lil guy tryin'a make a livin' is what it is. Now I ain't gettin' heartfelt an' any a that sissy shit but me? I like to reward a 'lil work ethic. Ya see a buncha lazy motherfuckers runnin' around, sittin' on their keesters ain't doin' nothin' but countin' beans all day an' they make enough money to support a family, us regular joes what work our knuckles to the bone ain't get squat. 'Cept fer motherfuckers like me what works his knuckles to the stump a the elbow, an' I like to see more'a that.

Keeps me from gettin' fuggen robbed, too. I ain't tell ya how many men I killed tryin' that shit. Just kiddin', it's 14. 15 if ya count the one that fell down the cliff runnin' from my old ass. Hell of a climb to get mah compass back, boils on my fuggen corns an' everythin'. Ah well, show's over. I get back to organizin', straightenin' out, I sweep a 'lil bit. Gotta make this place more'n the shit shack it is or I ain't gettin' no customers. Ain't gettin' no customers anyway but them's the breaks.