"A thousand a pound," he said. "For this."
"Exactly how much are you trying to extort for this pathetic, low-tier king crab?" Rick demanded lazily, as his cold, deadpan eyes stared directly at the massive, ice-filled display case inside the highly restricted, ultra-exclusive Neptune Platinum Market, entirely unimpressed by the supposedly premium seafood.
The snooty General Manager, a rat-faced man wearing a crisp, custom-tailored suit, immediately sneered, as he looked Rick up and down with absolute, unfiltered disgust, completely judging the plain black t-shirt and dark leather jacket Rick was wearing.
"That premium Alaskan crab is exactly a thousand dollars a pound, you ignorant street rat," the GM mocked crudely, as he aggressively crossed his arms over his chest, puffing himself up with fake authority.
