The brightly-coloured refreshments seem even more vivid upon your return.

The brightly-coloured refreshments seem even more vivid upon your return.

Your eyes are immediately drawn to the prices, printed in neat black-and-white beneath each row.

They're even more expensive than the vending machines in the airport at Treffe, on your way here.

Seems fair. Island economy.

But you are not of Portofiro.

If the world would deny you even these small pleasures, then perhaps you should deny the world its ill-gotten cash.

Steal money from the vending machine.

Buy some RUMBA! canned coffee.

The can makes a pleasant thunk as it lands.

You can only think about affording that. And so your mouth waters, tasting only bile.

THE BITTER ICHOR OF POVERTY.

Buy a bottle of Perro Pale ale.

The bottle is plastic, thankfully.

The machine does not negotiate with the fiscally impaired.

Buy Wiśnia Hard Gummies.

They land in the well with a formidable, intimidating weight.

You find only dust and regret on your person.

Leave.

The refreshments remain dormant in their artificially chilled chamber.

(Call out.) "Help! There's an attempted robbery being committed, right in the middle of the Bazaar!"

The GMs turn a blind eye to your pleas. You are left a lone witness to the atrocity being committed upon the consumer.

Perhaps this whole free-market-thing isn't working out...

Expensive?

You are witnessing an atrocity being committed upon the consumer.

If the world would deny us even these small pleasures, then we should deny the world its ill-gotten cash.

(Avert your eyes.) No, I can't look!

Just in time. No one wants to witness such an atrocity being committed to the consumer.

Refreshments are lined up like brightly-coloured soldiers, neatly regimented behind coiled springs.