Discover Top Posts Tagged with #honestmerchant

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Send me a ( . )( . ) for my muse’s reaction to seeing yours shirtless.

「 ♔ 」 If Leila hoped to get her flustered, she was wrong. After all, the princess was already used to see the merchant like that. Her lips form a gentle and bright smile before looking into her girlfriend’s face.

“Did anyone ever tell you, that you are the most beautiful thing in the world? I could look at you and I would always be surprised how beautiful you are.”

#honestmerchant #♔┋ ic answered #[ ooc: smooth alibaba. smooth. she becomes so cheesy towards leila ]#honest-merchant

What’s all this talk about melons?

Her interest is picqued.

#sindriasgenius #honestmerchant

honest-merchant

“Excuse me, I was looking to bye so me watermelons.”

#honest-merchant #honestmerchant #sorry i dont know much about leila other than that her caravan sells watermelons

honest-merchant replied to your post:"I am offended I am not a madwoman!"

“Alright just after this-!!” lifts up robe to smack his thighs and runs.

┃ ┄ ┅ "Yet another victim has been claimed." ─ ━ ♚ │

#honestmerchant #[come back here you coward]#[face me like a real warrior]

a distant memory - closed with honest-merchant

honest-merchant

┃ ┄ ┅ Impregnable darkness, thick, humid, surrounds him. The only light is offered by the humble moon through the window, a thin sliver of silver to illuminate the two bodies in the small room below. One, a small one, kicked off the sheets and sat up, his breath heavy and coming out in labored puffs. His shirt was soaked with sweat. Wiping it off his forehead and face, he slips out of the cloth and hangs it over a lone chair in the corner, then he ducks under covers of the other.

"Mother! Mother wake up, I have to tell you about this dream I had!

A woman, her hair bright red and her gaze bleary but soft, mumbles something and pulls her young son into her arms. “What is it, darling?”

He looks up at her with a glimmer in his eyes. The dream was evidently a good one, curious, but good, otherwise he wouldn’t be so eager to tell her. “I dreamt I was king of the world!” comes out in an excited whisper. “I was the leader of a strong nation, and everyone respected me and loved me. And, and, you were there mother! You were standing next to me and proud of me!”

“Oh Kouen,” she says, a sad look crossing her features, “that’s... such a wonderful dream. Maybe one day it will come true.” She wants to encourage him, but isn’t quite sure how to tell him that people like them, a prostitute and an illegitimate child, would never be in any position of power, and so she simply supported him in whatever he wanted to do. He was ambitious, just like his bastard father, and that scared her, it scared her so much, because it was so unfortunate for someone like him to be born to someone like her. “Just go back to sleep. Maybe you’ll have that dream again, and you can stay there until morning.”

He giggles and nuzzles into her chest, arms wrapping tightly around her. “All right mother. Good night.”

Kouen jolts up, heart beating fast and labored breath making his chest heave. He clutches at his sweat-soaked shirt. It had been a long time since he had that dream. Just sitting there for a moment, he takes the time to recollect his thoughts, arranging them so that the facts became clear: His name was Kouen Ren (though he was unsure why his surname was "Ren" when his mother had a different one. She'd just told him that's what it was). He was the son of a prostitute. His mother was long gone, he’d never known his father. He was a traveling merchant. He didn’t have a true home.

He gets up and moves around the small room, taking off his wet shirt and hanging it up on the clothesline that stretched on from his window. Sighing, he fixes himself a cold drink and walks outside, barefoot, to lay down in the grass by the fire that had been put out when everyone in the caravan said their good nights. Cool blades of grass tickled along his skin as a gentle breeze ruffled them. A sigh comes from his lips.

It was some time before he heard rustling in the grass. Sitting up, he sees a somewhat familiar head of blonde hair. He’d been picked up by Leila’s caravan a few days ago, and so he recognized her, though he didn’t speak to her often. They were too concerned with their own matters.