"Oi, dat's roight, what of it? An' you're green."
You feel your pockets for something that you could possibly offer the grot in thanks, but you can't seem to find anything. That map you were given fluttered to the ground of Piston Plaza, and some grot is probably trying to figure out how to bake it into a squigpie. You're fresh out of squiglegs. And pockets. Right, the pockets are in your other pants. Which don't exist. Well, it's really lucky that you didn't wet this pair!
Yes luck. This is all your luck. Your lucky day, you meet a clearly lucky grot, you're about to go and work at the 60-Second Market, and you're going to start your climb up the hierarchy of the Grotocracy. A proper career grot you are. The best and the brightest. You'll be Big Cheese Grot before you know it!
Of course, you still need to do something. You give your sincere and enthusiastic thanks to the blue grot, jumping up and down as you shake his hand, and offer a partnership. A full partnership when you control the 60-Second Market. Not a 70-30 split, not 60-40, a full 50-50. He can see the absolute generosity in your eyes that you can hardly believe yourself.
Big Bozz Slapsquig Stabgrattle Stompa Grot
Did you just get your own name right?
"Er, right, Bozz. Listen, I kinda already gots myself a sweet gig, so I gotta pass on yer partnership. Sorry."
Crestfallen. Absolutely crestfallen you are, rejected by your savior, your blue saint, your lucky muse. If you were a bird, or if you at least had a mohawk, your crest would be so fallen you wouldn't be able to pick it up.
Oh well, looks like you will just have to--
"If yer feelin' like doin' a favor in return, dere iz sumfin you can do fer me."
She's holding the package aloft.
How do you respond?