kris

Wu Yifan, His Tall Eminence, Bane of All Artists, and Benevolent God of Grease, stared down suspiciously at the dark umber brew in his cup. Yifan was a talented man of many languages--some more urban and slurred than others--yet now his vocabulary failed him. ___________________________________________ 'Is this some dark magic?' he questioned the merchant sharply. The smoky aroma filled his nostrils; a dragon's exhale, he thought. But before he could find himself lost beneath the heady scent, a sharp peppermint cut its way through to clear his senses. 'It's very potent. I mistrust anything with this kind of power.' ___________________________________________ 'Naturally, Your Holiness, thus I added a pinch of sweet vanilla to temper the taste, and a few rose hips as well because I'm worried about Your Grace's daily intake of vitamin C. I trust Your Brilliance knows that the land is currently suffering from explosive bouts of--' ___________________________________________ Yifan cleared his throat. The merchant tended to blab too much. He awkwardly lifted the little teacup in his big hands to sample it again, this time more thoughtfully. Yes, he had to admit, it was quite good. It reminded him of himself. ___________________________________________ 'I will grant your request,' he decided. 'This is of fine quality, and I believe my subjects will enjoy it as well. Perhaps it can even revive this country's languishing economy.' ___________________________________________ The merchant shifted uncomfortably. ___________________________________________ 'Your Majesty, with all due respect, they are alpaca.'