Fortunately for Mayerling, a portion of the market operates at night. Not everyone does, he's sure, and some only come out at night. The process can be lengthy, as barter often depends on what people want. Though he has found an excellent form of currency in unique fungi to this world, no one who wants the mushrooms has what he wants.
Fifteen fraught minutes of negotiation leads to bloodstones instead of blood for Walking Terrors and Floaters. Mayerling accepts the solid jewelry that he can still smell blood from as he pours the mushrooms into two soft vessels for the shopkeeper.
"Keep me in mind if you see any Blue Cheeks," she says, "All right, sweet cheeks?" She chuckles at her own joke.
Mayerling gives her a small bow. "You will be foremost in my thoughts," he intones seriously, as free of smiles as all their negotiations. His time in the archives has informed him about many mushrooms. He's had no interest in mushrooms good only for killing, nor in provisioning others with them.
With goods traded more readily with others, some even of most types, Mayerling takes one step back, turns, and makes his way toward other stalls. He watches the customers as much as the stalls. A small hand tries for his pocket, and Mayerling sweeps his cloak around him, impenetrable to deft hand movements, and gently but firmly grips the wrist attached to it. "Don't," Mayerling warns. That is all it is, a warning. As soon as he lets go, they slink back into the shadows.
no subject
Fifteen fraught minutes of negotiation leads to bloodstones instead of blood for Walking Terrors and Floaters. Mayerling accepts the solid jewelry that he can still smell blood from as he pours the mushrooms into two soft vessels for the shopkeeper.
"Keep me in mind if you see any Blue Cheeks," she says, "All right, sweet cheeks?" She chuckles at her own joke.
Mayerling gives her a small bow. "You will be foremost in my thoughts," he intones seriously, as free of smiles as all their negotiations. His time in the archives has informed him about many mushrooms. He's had no interest in mushrooms good only for killing, nor in provisioning others with them.
With goods traded more readily with others, some even of most types, Mayerling takes one step back, turns, and makes his way toward other stalls. He watches the customers as much as the stalls. A small hand tries for his pocket, and Mayerling sweeps his cloak around him, impenetrable to deft hand movements, and gently but firmly grips the wrist attached to it. "Don't," Mayerling warns. That is all it is, a warning. As soon as he lets go, they slink back into the shadows.