Le Négociateur

Toad1 approaches in a threatening manner, brandishing the speargun like a branded spear.
Toads 2 through 301 stand their ground, croaking their support for their leader.
Melvin, preparing to defend himself, goes into the waiting serpent kickhimwhenhe'sdownchi marital arts stance.
Trixie fingers her standard issue police-woman sub-machine gun.
I carry out a tactical advance to the rear, diving behind the green leafy plants and screaming loudly (of course, as everyone knows, that is a way of appearing agressive and crazy... its not cos I was scared or anything...).
"Ribbit!" threatens Toad1.
"Or what?" retorts Trixie, quickly becoming the negotiator of our trio.
"Ribbit!" explains Toad1 in a straight-forward way.
"Hmmm, you have a point there," admits Trixie, "Well, what can we do about that then?"
"Ribbit?" suggests Toad1.
"No, thats a little too much," Trixie barters, "How about 20?"
"Ribbit!"
"15?"
"Ribbit!"
"10, and thats my final offer!!"
"Ribbit!"
"Done," Trixie says, approaching Toad1 and shaking his fore-foot vigourously.
"Wow," I mutter, "That was some good negotiating."
"Tá claonadh agam aontú," Melvin admits, "bhí sé ag dul i bhfeabhas in aghaidh an lae."

As a result of the negotiations, the Toads agree to give us safe passage from the badlands, and protection from the mananteaters (which of course are not interested in french food), and a free issue of Australian Woman's Weekly to read during our travels.

Everything is going well with the negotiations, and we are about to leave, when suddenly something happens that jeopardizes them altogether!

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