"Cześć, I am Kubiak. May I have some..." he glanced at the pickle jar, reading it. He didn't bother to learn very much English when his mother was still alive, his Polish accent not helping very much either. 

"Pick-less? Any kind of not spleśniały food? I am very hungry, sirs. Willing to trade, yes?" American grammar was not his specialty. He was trying to play off as the confused tourist, which wouldn't be difficult, considering that was almost what he was. Gabriel motioned to the frames. 

"They are belonging to different peoples. I am able to make new ones. Trade, yes?" he kept pushing trade, hoping they would see his intentions were not violent. 

[@DriveEMOut] [@MissCapnCrunch]