Valen walked through the junkyard, his right arm bend acrossed his chest, with his right hand embracing his left elbow, for no apparent reason. He was wearing a black tee shirt, with blue jeans, and black shoes. Around his head, he wore a black bandana, with white symbols resembling nothing imparticular. It was folded several times, to the point where it is only a couple of inches wide, and tied around his forehead. His hair was randomly hanging over the bandana fold, and seemed a little greasey, as though he hadn't taken a shower for a day or two, though, he did, and he put hair grease in.

He sighed, shuffling his feet to the door. He was tempted to knock, but there was a chunk of scrap metal in front of the door, which if he hadn't noticed himself, he would've tripped over. He picked it up, tossing it into another pile of metal, then knocked on the door, pretending the metal banging wasn't loud, which it was. He turned his back around, leaning against the frame of the entrance, and pulled a cigarette from his pocket. He opened it, looked in, shook it around a few times, then pulled a flip lighter from it, and a crumbled cigarette. He balanced it between his lips as he flipped the lid of the lighter open, lit the sigarette, then grabbed it between his middle and ring finger on his right hand, and pulled it away, breathing out the smoke, waiting.

"Yeah? Whaddaya want?" snapped a man as the door swung open. He was old, and irritable; afternoon naps were somewhat of a pleasure for him. The man's hair was done up in his customary dual ponytail, flowing to his waist, and he glared at the man in front of him, then plucked the cigarette from the man's mouth.

"Read the sign, no smokin' ya moron," pointed out Zoltan bluntly. He was clearly not in the best of moods. As far as any normal person could see, there wasn't any No Smoking sign, but there was one in a scrap pile somewhere, Zoltan was pretty sure.

"So, yeh've woke me up, now what in the blazes do you want?"

If it was one thing he didn't like, it was an additude, and when people get in his face, two things of which this old man was currently doing. A quick thought passed through his mind, hiding his smirk by wiping his lips on his arm.

"Alright, calm down." He said, pushing off the door frame, and standing straight up now. He took a moment to stretch, for no particular reason, staring at the old man the entire time. "Sorry about that." He said, finally grinding his heel on the lit cigarette, then motioning away, away from the building, "Your the one who owns the Shadow Fox, yes?" He said, thought it wasn't intended to be a question, just him pointing it out, "So do you have a price? I would offer 75,000 for it myself, straight cash." He nodded is head to the Shadow Fox, which seemed to be in new looking condition, though paint tends to cover things up.

Zoltan watched the man with an eagle eye. Being an ex-admiral, he was aware of a lot of things. Not the least of which was a piss-poor sale price.

"The Fox's not for sale until after the Royal Cup. And even then, no less than a hundred grand. So at the moment I'm not interested buddy."

Valen sighed, "Hundred grand..." He rubbed his chin, then turned to walk away, "I'll dwell on it, thank you for your time." He hated pretending to be nice, and polite, it just didn't suit him.