The information he got through the information broker was definitely something interesting. Two famously rival tribes who, even though they had been at each other's necks for an untold amount of time, were now starting to warm up to each other. A cute story, a peaceful ending, a harmonious joining of forces and resources to improve the way of life of all people. Such should be that story, save for one old coot who refused to see the change in front of him as something benefitial and, instead, continued to drag his feet, refusing the offers, refusing the dialogue, refusing any and all attempts at the forging of an actual peace.

Such a thing, to Bucket, could not come to pass. A man who wanted to see people free and happy, who wanted to see old rivalries be wiped away so that those affected may forge towards a better future, simply could not tolerate an enemy of peace and freedom in such a way. He had to do SOMETHING about it, otherwise, the people would never be united, just because of one man who wanted to lord over them with his old ideas.
It's always them.

"Pile of rotten blubber, you fuckin' ass.." Quite frankly, quite honestly! It's always these old disease-ridden fucks who think their age makes them "WISE" or "INTELLIGENT" and refuse to listen to anything that younger, more active, more progressive people have to say. Shit, it's not like progressive people are always right, there's honor and value in retaining values and not changing them for just any reason, but everything in measure, for fuck's sake! He'd need to teach it to the old man, to make him see reason. Surely, a tribal would never want to stick so hard to a foolish notion of power!

Hence, once the huge man had made it to the tribe in question, even though noticeable side-glances were turned towards his head, he was still allowed a private audience with the old tribal leader. It started.. bad. Not worth even teasing or alluding to the possibility of something good, it was bad. Summed up to something like:

"You can't just reject progress like this, especially when BOTH sides want it!"

"But they're liars and monsters, they'll use this to kill us all when we least expect it!"

"They CAN'T be all liars and monsters, just like you can't all be brutes and savages, like they said they thought of your tribe long ago!" 

"SEE!? They THINK OF US LIKE SAVAGES! And they'll kill us all!" 

This went on and on ad nauseum. TOO nauseum. Tired of this silly bullshit, the argument became very loud for a moment, then became silent. Leaving the tent with reddened fists, Bucket nodded his head, collected his payment without much of a word and left, not telling anyone that he had already taken his fair share from the tribe leader's tent.

Once people went inside to see why the old man hadn't left, all they discovered was a battered, bruised, bloodied shell of the old man. This incident went under wraps, since it happened by a man hired by the tribe itself, though it still allowed the young son to take charge due to his father's injuries. In the end, things still worked out. For now.