Franza Learns the Value of a Dollar

“A tavern would have food, right Belthor?” Franza asked before promptly answering their own question. “Of course they would.”

Franza took the elf’s continued presence as agreement, despite also taking some offense.

It’s going to be hard if I have to keep up both ends of our conversation.

It was not, in fact, that hard.

“I’ve noticed that a lot of taverns out here have food. It was like that back in my dog village, too.”

“Everywhere has food in Ruffsport.”

“Everywhere! Which is a really good system, because you never know where you’re going to be when you get hungry.”

“And you need food to stay focused. You don’t want to be acting strange.”

“You said it, me!”

“Man, I sure do miss my village though.”

“Because of the food?”

“But also like, because of everything? Does that make sense?”

“I really miss how they used to have little pictures above the doors of places. I knew where everything was, so I didn’t use them, but —“

They cut themself off. “A little picture! Belthor, look!”

When Franza finally looked back at their elf friend, they saw they really had been talking to no one.

I’m all alone on this busy, busy street.

They squinted, suddenly suspicious that he may just be in stealth mode, but the street looked exactly the same.

I can go looking for him after some snacks. And maybe a drink or two.

Franza had entered the little town with the utmost intention of being a professional Resistance doggo, disguised as an even more professional business doggo. Now that they were unsupervised, their tummy seemed to rumble even louder and they longed for the hedonistic lifestyle they had left behind.

Does treating myself now make me a less impressive Resistance doggo?

Franza didn’t think so. If anything, they thought it made them more impressive.

“And if I bring my friends food too, I’ll just be doing my job.”

They practically skipped into the tavern, which it turned out would not serve dogs.

Their second trip was no less disappointing. The place they found, called ‘Ye O’ld Restaurante’ was just as nice on the inside as Franza had imagined, which proved to be almost too nice. There had been a bitter chill emanating from where all the tables were piled in the center, and the dog hadn’t thought too highly of the judgmental way the other patrons had literally looked down at them. In the end, they’d just felt too underdressed without at least some jewelry.

Their nose finally led them to an almost magical establishment that sat at what Franza could best describe as the ‘back’ of town.

The sign out front was a mess of three to four numbers, one of which Franza couldn’t even recognize on account of how fancy it was. They were all brightly colored and glowing far brighter than any flames the dog had ever seen.

They poked their head into the store.

“Do you serve dogs here?”

“Sure do!” Chimed a friendly voice.

“Do you sell food?”

“Well of course! I could offer you some bread, or an individually wrapped package of snack crackers.”

Franza felt hopeful when they hoped into the fine, glowy establishment.

Now this is what I need.

There were shelves lined with packages of food, and each package had a tiny portrait of the food that was presumably inside. There were lots neon shades used, and because the store was sparsely stocked the dog didn’t feel too overwhelmed with options.

The only issue Franza had was a small symbol that they saw following all of the prices.

$

They knew they would have to ask how many gold or silver pieces made up a ‘$’ but were reluctant to do so after witnessing multiple times how sensitive people were in this strange town.

I can do this.

They carefully selected a blue bag with an image of a cream-filled cookie and carried it to the counter, and to the awaiting centaur with a friendly voice.

Just got to lay on the charm.

“Hello there, my fine sir.”

“Why, hello there.”

“This is a lovely, nice, store place that you have here.”

“Well, I can’t take all the credit.” He smiled humbly, but did not mention anyone else to whom credit may be owed.

Franza pressed on. “I was just admiring some of your products. The bags are very helpful.”

“They are, aren’t they? The night shift employees paint them right here on site.”

They didn’t quite know what to make of this interesting factoid. “Yeah?”

“Sure do. So our prices are a little higher, but you do get a little piece of artwork with each thing you buy.”

They gave their best smile. “I hadn’t thought of it like that, but it seems like a fair deal to me. Although, I did actually have a question for you about your prices.”

“And what might your question be?”

Franza set the package down on the counter and pointed to the price sticker. “I don’t know what this means.”

“The numbers?”

“Well, no. The little thing after the numbers.”

“The bag?”

“The little squiggly symbol thing?” Franza explained. “And also maybe the numbers.”

“This bag costs two dollars.”

“Ah.” A pause. “What?”

“Two dollars.”

“Two whats?”

“Dollars.”

“Excuse me?” Franza had never heard such a thing in their life.

The centaur leaned on the counter. It was not a casual gesture, as it might have been for a smaller man. He had to move back with all four legs, knocking several boxes off the shelf behind him in the process, bend both front legs to reach the correct height, and then arch his back for the correct angle. Only then could he rest his elbows on the counter and lean in awkwardly. “You’re not from around here, are you?”

“I’m afraid not. Are dollars the standard currency here?”

“No,” he said. “Not yet. But they will be. One day dollars will be the universal currency and Fannyto will be ahead of the curve. And I’ll be rich for making it so, since The God of Capitalism has seen fit to give me an early warning.”

That didn’t sound right. “So you’re saying that one day gold will be useless.”

“Gold and silver. Bronze too.”

Bronze.

Franza’s eyes widened when they realized that had already been told something like this. “I have a friend who thinks gold and silver are too shiny for making things!” Then they wondered if it was safe to talk about Irolt, who was apparently illegal there. “He’s not a blacksmith, though, in case you were wondering.”

“Well, I don’t know about that. I just know the dollar is the way to go.”

Franza pouted a bit, worried again. “I’m with you, totally, but the thing is that I didn’t know all this before I came in here, and uh, I don’t have any of these dollar things on me.”

The centaur frowned. “Unfortunately these do cost dollars.”

Franza pouted more, and used their bestest, most charming doggo eyes. “Do you have anything here I could buy with silver?”

He frowned deeper and tucked the blue bag with its pretty picture behind the counter, out of Franza’s reach. He pointed to a pile of boxes. “I suppose you could take some of these off my hands for common money.”

They were flat, cardboard boxes that smelled of meat and cheese melted over hot bread — a scent Franza knew well.

A real Ruffsport delicacy!

“I’ll take three tasty-bread-plates, please!” They said confidently.

“Pizzas?”

“Whats?”

“Three pizzas. And anything else?”

“Three drinks, if you have them.”

“Any kind you like.”

“Wonderful! And how much will it cost?”

“Twenty dollars.”

The dog stared at the centaur blankly.

The centaur stared back.

“And, uhm, how much will that cost in not-dollars?”

The centaur made a show of sighing with his entire body, and again, the gesture seemed to expend more effort than it was worth. “Sixty silver.”

Franza disliked parting with that much silver, but decided they wanted to eat more than they wanted the discount.

“Thank you very much!”

It wasn’t until they were outside they remembered they still had to find Belthor. It seemed there would be no rest for a Resistance Doggo.