#[stubborn idiot doesn't wanna learn commerce]

[13th-dragon-prince]

musesofawolf - [prior]

"Whillow, has anyone taken you to the market?" Bryn had two fangs of deadly beasts that he could turn in, two trophies to earn a fair sum of gil, gil he could use to entice the little lizard into learning about trade and bartering. Skills he doubted the kill-first-ask-questions-later lizard knew how to use. Plus, he could buy some things for the evening. A better coat, darker, and something to hide my scent. He had no idea if Whillow could smell him, or if he could track a prey by aether alone, but if he was going to hunt and be hunted, he'd take any upper hand he could get. "I wouldn't mind turning in our hunt, getting a bit of gil and spending it. I think half for each of us is fair?"

A blue tongue pushed past his lips in playful mockery at his companion’s note of being looked after - true enough, but it took the edge of the game away when friends were regulated to ‘obligation’. Far more fun to think them as chaotic as he.

Wide eyes blinked a few times as he saw the sudden bulbed-idea come across Bryn’s face, speaking the idea of trading hunt-for-coin, and in a heartbeat the lizard’s expression soured, lips pulled as a disgruntled ‘baah’ left him, hands placed to his hips as any unruly discontent.

“Markt-” Dropped syllable conveyed that lack of interest as eyes were rolled. “Loud. Smelly. Full of stares, dull teeth hiding lies.”

Those scaled arms crossed now as he huffed, ears wiggling a bit in time with the tip of that languishing tail slapping against the ground. He didn’t enjoy the stalls of wares or the people who ran them. Eljth had long attempted to give him a proper run-down on how Eorzea’s system of governance worked, with barter only in the wealth of Gil (Not the rabbit he knew which confused him for awhile). It was so much work for such little reward.

Easier to offer trade in equal terms - a favor for a victor, food for the winners. Then it was one’s own abilities that mattered, not pockets of metal.

‘And what of those who can’t fight? Wouldn’t they starve?’

Silver almonds narrowed to slits. A chuff of air through his nose.

‘You didn’t like being at the bottom - Gil is equal to all.’

Though Brynhorn couldn’t hear the internal memory, the gecko replied all the same; waving his hands with that same ‘baah’ exhaled as he stepped forward to place a hand against the Hyur’s stomach as if testing the paltry rations had quelled the hints of hunger.

“Whillow does not need Gil. Stares assume Whillow in trade with coin.”

This was not Ul’dah, the merchants they would speak too would be those of Revenant’s Toll, already well knowing of the scaled fool’s penchant for lacking cloth or interest in the chill. They would know him for blades of teeth and friendly laughter with hatchlings. He was no ‘sunblinked mind’ of a ‘foreign Au Ra’ like when they had first arrived in The Source.

Again the hand was waved, claws tapping against the metal of wolfish decorations, and the lizard made for that plumed mount as ever before, apparently no qualms to the idea of heading to market despite his vocal distaste.