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Osmium Density
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#22
Roleplay / AVftS: Follower of the Cat
January 18, 2021, 04:45:34 PM
Trevon disagreed with winter.
How was he meant to earn a living if no merchants are moving about, hmm? An entirely deplorable practice, winter. It shouldn't be allowed. Who invented winter, anyway? Probably one of those god fellas, he supposed. His religious education hadn't been particularly complete; his education in general had been somewhat lacking. He looked at the small, black kitten sitting on his shoulder. Well, he tried to look at it. It was quite challenging to look at something sitting on your shoulder. But he persevered. Out of respect! If you don't respect magic kittens, indeed, you're no sort of man at all.
Kitten looked at him soulfully.
"Who invented winter, hmm?", he asked, "You probably know."
He expected and received no answer. In any case, today, winter had been vanquished! The markets were roaring into action, the merchants beginning their cutthroat game of economic thievery they called 'trade', and the caravans were moving across and beyond Ustendelle once more. Of course, he wasn't allowed to sign on as hired security. Kitten wouldn't let him.
Kitten was still looking at him soulfully.
"Yeah, yeah." he said, "I'm going to the place you told me to."
He continued his march toward Westbridge.
He was moving through the stalls of the Coxarif markets now, among the calls of hawkers and other salespeople. Trevon had learnt to tune out the noise in crowds like this, but it looked like Kitten wanted to take a different approach, as he felt a nudge on his mind push him towards the side of the street. He sighed as he saw their destination - a stall selling fish. Sometimes he wondered why he let Kitten walk all over him like this. Trevon reluctantly approached the shop. It smelled terrible, an occupational hazard of selling fish. Lines of dead fish lay side by side, with gaping mouths and sightless eyes. The shopkeeper, seeing the promise of a profit, brightened, and began to speak, presumably to extoll the virtues of his fish. Trevon, who was of the opinion that a fish was a fish, broke in before any such frivolity or bartering could begin.
"I would like that fish," Trevon said, pointing at his randomly selected favoured fish.
He paid and escaped before any further attempts at salesmanship could be made. He passed the fish to Kitten, who ran off to the shadows somewhere to consume it. Greedy little rat that they were.
Finally, he came to The Black Bow, his destination. Kitten was perched on his shoulder once more. He didn't even know why he was here - Kitten wasn't very good at explaining themselves. Probably on account of being a cat. Still, in the months since he'd found them Kitten hadn't led him wrong yet!
How was he meant to earn a living if no merchants are moving about, hmm? An entirely deplorable practice, winter. It shouldn't be allowed. Who invented winter, anyway? Probably one of those god fellas, he supposed. His religious education hadn't been particularly complete; his education in general had been somewhat lacking. He looked at the small, black kitten sitting on his shoulder. Well, he tried to look at it. It was quite challenging to look at something sitting on your shoulder. But he persevered. Out of respect! If you don't respect magic kittens, indeed, you're no sort of man at all.
Kitten looked at him soulfully.
"Who invented winter, hmm?", he asked, "You probably know."
He expected and received no answer. In any case, today, winter had been vanquished! The markets were roaring into action, the merchants beginning their cutthroat game of economic thievery they called 'trade', and the caravans were moving across and beyond Ustendelle once more. Of course, he wasn't allowed to sign on as hired security. Kitten wouldn't let him.
Kitten was still looking at him soulfully.
"Yeah, yeah." he said, "I'm going to the place you told me to."
He continued his march toward Westbridge.
He was moving through the stalls of the Coxarif markets now, among the calls of hawkers and other salespeople. Trevon had learnt to tune out the noise in crowds like this, but it looked like Kitten wanted to take a different approach, as he felt a nudge on his mind push him towards the side of the street. He sighed as he saw their destination - a stall selling fish. Sometimes he wondered why he let Kitten walk all over him like this. Trevon reluctantly approached the shop. It smelled terrible, an occupational hazard of selling fish. Lines of dead fish lay side by side, with gaping mouths and sightless eyes. The shopkeeper, seeing the promise of a profit, brightened, and began to speak, presumably to extoll the virtues of his fish. Trevon, who was of the opinion that a fish was a fish, broke in before any such frivolity or bartering could begin.
"I would like that fish," Trevon said, pointing at his randomly selected favoured fish.
He paid and escaped before any further attempts at salesmanship could be made. He passed the fish to Kitten, who ran off to the shadows somewhere to consume it. Greedy little rat that they were.
Finally, he came to The Black Bow, his destination. Kitten was perched on his shoulder once more. He didn't even know why he was here - Kitten wasn't very good at explaining themselves. Probably on account of being a cat. Still, in the months since he'd found them Kitten hadn't led him wrong yet!