Mitsuru followed behind his new companion without so much as a sound. Upon seeing the blatant hostility demonstrated from a man who was most likely appointed either by Ryo himself or the king's father only set to cement his own unease.
I am going to die here. Gods, and it was a harrowing thought. He had survived a collection of tropical storms, run-ins with pirates and swarms of sea serpents. Had pushed his way through the bowls of a ship and its crew that seemed insistent on torturing him, only to face his demise at the very doorstep he'd done all of it to reach. But I mustn't. He couldn't die. Not yet. Even if it took his life, his limbs and his own head, Mitsuru wasn't going to be leaving or keeling over anytime soon. The goal was simple; get peace. Get out. And go home.
He seated himself softly, arms folded on the table-edge in reluctance. His voice was a bit friendlier after the strike to Ryoichi but still contained an edge of anxiety. "I was well aware of what I walked upon, your Highness," the man began softly. A deep, hollow exhaustion had set it in his eyes, only brought further forward once he'd sat himself comfortably on the first chair he'd had in nearly five months. "A man does not simply slither up to a den of snakes expecting them to be tame enough to pet. There is much work to be done, on my part. In undoing all the tragedies and falling-outs that our ancestors are responsible for."
A deep sigh followed as the sound of a door clicking shut sounded as the chef shuffled his way angerly from an entrance to the massive dining room. Feels empty, with only two people inside.
"The first and only topic I'd like to present, at this moment in time, is the matter of trade routes." Direct and to the point, Mitsuru did nothing to soften himself. I may die here, either by assassination or poison, the very moment I wake from whatever quarts this Wanderer decides to set me in. There was no use pausing himself when time was so precious yet limited.
I am going to die here. Gods, and it was a harrowing thought. He had survived a collection of tropical storms, run-ins with pirates and swarms of sea serpents. Had pushed his way through the bowls of a ship and its crew that seemed insistent on torturing him, only to face his demise at the very doorstep he'd done all of it to reach. But I mustn't. He couldn't die. Not yet. Even if it took his life, his limbs and his own head, Mitsuru wasn't going to be leaving or keeling over anytime soon. The goal was simple; get peace. Get out. And go home.
He seated himself softly, arms folded on the table-edge in reluctance. His voice was a bit friendlier after the strike to Ryoichi but still contained an edge of anxiety. "I was well aware of what I walked upon, your Highness," the man began softly. A deep, hollow exhaustion had set it in his eyes, only brought further forward once he'd sat himself comfortably on the first chair he'd had in nearly five months. "A man does not simply slither up to a den of snakes expecting them to be tame enough to pet. There is much work to be done, on my part. In undoing all the tragedies and falling-outs that our ancestors are responsible for."
A deep sigh followed as the sound of a door clicking shut sounded as the chef shuffled his way angerly from an entrance to the massive dining room. Feels empty, with only two people inside.
"The first and only topic I'd like to present, at this moment in time, is the matter of trade routes." Direct and to the point, Mitsuru did nothing to soften himself. I may die here, either by assassination or poison, the very moment I wake from whatever quarts this Wanderer decides to set me in. There was no use pausing himself when time was so precious yet limited.
He/Him
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
Trans/Pansexual
18
Work full-time, not on until evenings!
