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i don't (don't want no) want no (no knockoff) - VALE - 07-22-2024
graphic gore ★ genderpunk ★ three-eyed fox
The three-eyed fox landed on the marketplace’s cobblestones. Xyr white wings tucked to xyr side, with one wing half-over the satchel across their side. Xe’d been warned about pickpockets. But xe had not been warned about the sheer noise. Vale’s nose scrunched in disdain as the children’s yells, the squawking livestock, the countless paws smacking stone… the ringing bells, the off-key shriek of windchimes, the metallic clatter of knights’ armor… so much fucking noise!
Xe side-eyed the mercenary who’d escorted xem here from the border, and Hayward glanced askance at xem in return.
Vale snorted. An observant escort, huh? Not surprising. Despite his lack of intelligence, cunning gleamed in his pink eyes.
The sabertooth cat squinted skeptically down at Vale. “You change your mind about trading for chickens? ‘Cause, if so, I’d better escort you back where I found you.”
“Ugh, no, the noise is just annoying.” Vale rolled xyr eyes. “Please lead me to the chicken merchant.”
Hayward blinked suspiciously at Vale. Then shook his head and shrugged. “Eh, yeah, why would you know where the chicken merchant is…?”
The sabertooth cat and the arctic fox traversed through the crowd. Evidently, the mercenary had a bit of a reputation—or maybe it was just his height—because the crowd moved accordingly. Vale licked a tooth. Usually, xe needed to use gore to move through a populated place like this with ease. But, then again, xe hadn’t been able to keep a body larger than a wolf stable for more than a day. A form like xyr lion birth body? Psh, xe couldn’t keep that together for more than five minutes.
Hayward stopped. Nudged the distracted Vale with a paw, then gestured to the merchant stall before the two.
Vale squinted at the caged chickens. Ugh. Maybe xe shouldn’t have volunteered for this trade mission. All the chickens looked like… chickens. How the hell was an inquisitor specializing in art supposed to know what a laying hen versus a meatbird rooster look like?
Vale huffed. Then looked at the merchant. “I want thirteen laying hens.”
The white serval blinked lazily at Vale. He wore at least six chain necklaces with at sixteen different butterfly pendants. “What you got to trade?”
Vale rolled xyr eyes. Ugh. Why couldn’t xe just steal the chickens? But, yeah, yeah, Meteor was right, you can steal once from the Horde but you can trade infinite amount of times with the Horde. One is more optimal than the other. Whatever.
Vale pulled out a paw-sized rhino statue made out of coconut crab remains. It was exquisitely detailed, perfectly accurate to the true anatomy of a white rhino. And beautifully painted with no errant brushstroke to break the illusion of realistic skin. Vale placed this on the merchant’s stall. Then grinned. “This is worth at least five chickens, right?”
“That?” The merchant rolled his eyes. “That trinket’s worth a dead rooster and nothing more.”
Vale’s lips pulled back. “Fuck you.”
The serval’s eyes narrowed. Then he glanced at Hayward. “The hell?”
Hayward waved a paw dismissively, then laughed. “Let’s try a different chicken merchant.”
Vale swiped the rhino statue and carefully returned it to the satchel. “Hmph. I heard the Horde was cultured, but it seems cannibals have a higher appreciation for art.”
The serval blanched at that. Then looked nervously at Hayward.
Hayward glanced between Vale and the merchant, then smirked with a shake of his head. “Yeah, no, time to try the next chicken merchant.”
Xe side-eyed the mercenary who’d escorted xem here from the border, and Hayward glanced askance at xem in return.
Vale snorted. An observant escort, huh? Not surprising. Despite his lack of intelligence, cunning gleamed in his pink eyes.
The sabertooth cat squinted skeptically down at Vale. “You change your mind about trading for chickens? ‘Cause, if so, I’d better escort you back where I found you.”
“Ugh, no, the noise is just annoying.” Vale rolled xyr eyes. “Please lead me to the chicken merchant.”
Hayward blinked suspiciously at Vale. Then shook his head and shrugged. “Eh, yeah, why would you know where the chicken merchant is…?”
The sabertooth cat and the arctic fox traversed through the crowd. Evidently, the mercenary had a bit of a reputation—or maybe it was just his height—because the crowd moved accordingly. Vale licked a tooth. Usually, xe needed to use gore to move through a populated place like this with ease. But, then again, xe hadn’t been able to keep a body larger than a wolf stable for more than a day. A form like xyr lion birth body? Psh, xe couldn’t keep that together for more than five minutes.
Hayward stopped. Nudged the distracted Vale with a paw, then gestured to the merchant stall before the two.
Vale squinted at the caged chickens. Ugh. Maybe xe shouldn’t have volunteered for this trade mission. All the chickens looked like… chickens. How the hell was an inquisitor specializing in art supposed to know what a laying hen versus a meatbird rooster look like?
Vale huffed. Then looked at the merchant. “I want thirteen laying hens.”
The white serval blinked lazily at Vale. He wore at least six chain necklaces with at sixteen different butterfly pendants. “What you got to trade?”
Vale rolled xyr eyes. Ugh. Why couldn’t xe just steal the chickens? But, yeah, yeah, Meteor was right, you can steal once from the Horde but you can trade infinite amount of times with the Horde. One is more optimal than the other. Whatever.
Vale pulled out a paw-sized rhino statue made out of coconut crab remains. It was exquisitely detailed, perfectly accurate to the true anatomy of a white rhino. And beautifully painted with no errant brushstroke to break the illusion of realistic skin. Vale placed this on the merchant’s stall. Then grinned. “This is worth at least five chickens, right?”
“That?” The merchant rolled his eyes. “That trinket’s worth a dead rooster and nothing more.”
Vale’s lips pulled back. “Fuck you.”
The serval’s eyes narrowed. Then he glanced at Hayward. “The hell?”
Hayward waved a paw dismissively, then laughed. “Let’s try a different chicken merchant.”
Vale swiped the rhino statue and carefully returned it to the satchel. “Hmph. I heard the Horde was cultured, but it seems cannibals have a higher appreciation for art.”
The serval blanched at that. Then looked nervously at Hayward.
Hayward glanced between Vale and the merchant, then smirked with a shake of his head. “Yeah, no, time to try the next chicken merchant.”
CAUTERIZED AND ATROPHIED ★ THIS IS MY UNBECOMING ★ NOW I WAIT FOR THE
RE: i don't (don't want no) want no (no knockoff) - HUGO - 07-25-2024
Hugo Rosencrantz had made it a habit to flaunt his presence about the streets as oft as physically possible since he'd returned from his little 'adventure' with his siblings. As such, it may not have been particularly surprising to find the lynx strutting about the cobblestones at this time of day, bioluminescent blue eyes shrouded by a black veil, the chain that linked the cross to his iron collar jingling with the swagger in his step.
He stopped beside Vale and Hayward. Spared nary a glance at either, too, as he flicked a coin at the denigrated merchant, plucked a chicken from the pen—didn't matter which, whatever one stupidly came close enough to find itself with its neck stuck between Hugo's too-long teeth, really—and sank his fangs into the flesh.
He slurped noisily, as if he were drinking from a straw. Idling about was how he caught the tail-end of Hayward and Vale's conversation, and beneath the veil adorning his face, Hugo's too-blue eyes glanced at the two, finally realising that he did not quite recognise the three-eyed fox. Hm.
"Plenty o' chicken merchants," Hugo mused, dropping the chicken corpse carelessly as he sidled up to Hayward's side with a slightly too friendly grin adorning his youthful face and peered around the saber to get a better look at the fox. "Depends what you're lookin' for, friendo," he purred, gesturing with a claw towards the squawking chickens in the pen. "'eese ones tasted stale anyways."
RE: i don't (don't want no) want no (no knockoff) - VALE - 07-25-2024
graphic gore ★ genderpunk ★ three-eyed fox
Vale eyed the vampire buying a chicken, then glanced at Hayward. “Y’all have currency?!”
“Obviously?” Hayward blinked. “Wait. So the Descendants of the Departed have a barter economy?”
Vale squinted at Hayward. “Yeah, barter works?! Currency is for capitalists to control a large swath of idiots using coin.”
“Yeah, exactly!” Hayward grinned. “Superior form of government compared to divine right of kings, you know? The best entrepreneurs become kings!”
Vale blanched. This mercenary thought exactly like Meteor, but Meteor was smart and clever. Hayward… fuck, Vale thought Meteor would make a stable leader of an empire in twenty years. But Hayward? By Requiem, Hayward might accidentally fuck the Horde’s economy trying to make himself rich. The idiot had no long-term thinking. And that was obvious to Vale.
Thankfully, Hugo initiating conversation meant Vale didn’t have to respond to Hayward. Vale nodded to the lynx. “I’m looking for laying hens. Ugh, egg whites are, like, a weird ingredient for paint?! I’m tired of paying an arm and a leg for eggos when I can have plenty of entertaining chickens as useful pets!”
“Aye, if you’re not going to eat the meat?! I’ll take it?!” Vale’s right eyelid twitched. Xe trotted up to the chicken. Sitting back on xyr haunches, the fox chomped on the chicken and grumbled about feathers in between bites.
These vampires and their food waste… ugh… if only it were economical to drag all the chicken corpses and such to the Big Island, but they’d probably start to rot. There had to be some entrepreneur who turned exsanguinated livestock into jerky… ugh, but then that’d require c u r r e n c y. Vale sighed dramatically, “Goddammit flying here was soooo exhausting.”
Vale blinked and palmed xyr temple. Goddamn, maybe xe should’ve refused Meteor’s request. Sending a feral artist to a big population center to buy thirteen laying hens?! When Vale didn’t even know what the hell is money?! Fuck.
The half-eaten chicken between xyr paws, Vale blinked at Hugo. “So, uhhhhhhh, how does currency conversion work? Goddammit maybe it’d be easier to find an intermediary who wants, like, art that can pay me for that and then I pay the chicken merchants with the coin… ugh, fuck capitalism!”
Vale snarled, then angrily chomped the rest of the chicken. Delicate bones snapped between molars.
“Obviously?” Hayward blinked. “Wait. So the Descendants of the Departed have a barter economy?”
Vale squinted at Hayward. “Yeah, barter works?! Currency is for capitalists to control a large swath of idiots using coin.”
“Yeah, exactly!” Hayward grinned. “Superior form of government compared to divine right of kings, you know? The best entrepreneurs become kings!”
Vale blanched. This mercenary thought exactly like Meteor, but Meteor was smart and clever. Hayward… fuck, Vale thought Meteor would make a stable leader of an empire in twenty years. But Hayward? By Requiem, Hayward might accidentally fuck the Horde’s economy trying to make himself rich. The idiot had no long-term thinking. And that was obvious to Vale.
Thankfully, Hugo initiating conversation meant Vale didn’t have to respond to Hayward. Vale nodded to the lynx. “I’m looking for laying hens. Ugh, egg whites are, like, a weird ingredient for paint?! I’m tired of paying an arm and a leg for eggos when I can have plenty of entertaining chickens as useful pets!”
“Aye, if you’re not going to eat the meat?! I’ll take it?!” Vale’s right eyelid twitched. Xe trotted up to the chicken. Sitting back on xyr haunches, the fox chomped on the chicken and grumbled about feathers in between bites.
These vampires and their food waste… ugh… if only it were economical to drag all the chicken corpses and such to the Big Island, but they’d probably start to rot. There had to be some entrepreneur who turned exsanguinated livestock into jerky… ugh, but then that’d require c u r r e n c y. Vale sighed dramatically, “Goddammit flying here was soooo exhausting.”
Vale blinked and palmed xyr temple. Goddamn, maybe xe should’ve refused Meteor’s request. Sending a feral artist to a big population center to buy thirteen laying hens?! When Vale didn’t even know what the hell is money?! Fuck.
The half-eaten chicken between xyr paws, Vale blinked at Hugo. “So, uhhhhhhh, how does currency conversion work? Goddammit maybe it’d be easier to find an intermediary who wants, like, art that can pay me for that and then I pay the chicken merchants with the coin… ugh, fuck capitalism!”
Vale snarled, then angrily chomped the rest of the chicken. Delicate bones snapped between molars.
CAUTERIZED AND ATROPHIED ★ THIS IS MY UNBECOMING ★ NOW I WAIT FOR THE