This being a trading mission, there's been trading to be done. Ren's been... well, Ren, now that Martin's semi-family isn't around to be Good for, but it doesn't seem to have hurt negotiations much. In a couple transactions, it actually seemed to help. Go fig. The day began early, catching some of the other traders before the crowds began to filter in, and as Martin packs a last few boxes into the wagon, Ren emerges from a nearby tavern with a rather full-looking swathe of cloth, which he lifts nigh-triumphantly as he approaches. "Lunch!"

Martin has seemed to take Ren's essential Ren-ness in stride. He's avid to explain little details about this and that, particularly in regards to people with whom he interacts. By the time the trading is done, Ren has probably heard little pieces of gossip about everyone he's met, enough to have some idea of who they are at least in Martin's life. He doesn't seem to have anything bad to say about anyone, and when he does, it's painfully obvious he's trying for the kindest spin. As Ren emerges, Martin is fastening the last of a series of straps that hold down the cargo on bumpy roads, and he grins broadly. "A man after my own heart," he replies. "What've we got?"

"Among other organs," Ren agrees, returning the grin, and he climbs up to his seat, kicking back comfortably and very gingerly unwrapping his bundle. Within it, carefully packed, is quite an acceptable looking meal, even for someone of Martin's healthy appetites. There's a loaf of fresh bread, maybe even warm by the way it's dented a bit, some early-spring fruit, small but edible, a good-sized wedge of cheese, and, most carefully wrapped, five hot sausages in buns, with cooked mushrooms and onions on top. Once unwrapped, the smell wafts quickly don the breeze. "Come up 'n' see."

Martin snorts wryly and climbs up to sit beside Ren, taking up the reins and untwisting them, getting the horses ready to drive. He looks almost pained with longing as the scent of the sausages hits him. "Run away with me," he pines. "Wait, I guess you already did. Very well, carry on, then."

Serendipity grins crookedly and reaches over to try and pull Martin close enough to kiss nice and thoroughly -- pulling him instead of moving himself on account of the food, really. "An' I'd do it again," he declares, before brandishing one of those sausages at the blond, teasingly. "...hungry?"

Martin sidles closer at the pulling, indulging in the kiss, though he does tend to keep things relatively chaste in public. Poor prude. "Always," he murmurs as he draws away, eyeing the brandished sausage wistfully. "Tell you what, let's get where we're going, and you make us sandwiches along the way?"

Serendipity does not seem to have any concern nor respect for what the public may think of his displays of affection, so for their sake it's probably good Martin does. He grins again, and nods, settling back into his seat. "Sure," he replies agreeably, and adds, "...where's our next stop?" before commencing to eat the sausage distinctly distractingly. That, at least, he's reasonably subtle about, if only so he can pull off the innocent look that goes along with it. Or try to.

Martin eyes the sausage longingly, though probably not for the same reasons for which Ren is attempting to distract. He's a big guy, and it takes a lot of fuel to keep that rock-solid body so active. With a sigh, he says regretfully, "I really need to talk to that landlord. The matter really is settled, and I don't want him harassing those people."

Serendipity glances toward the sky in amused and openly fond exasperation, and leans over to pop the last of the sausage into Martin's mouth before getting started on sandwiches as promised. "...mmm, yeah, th' landlord that wants t' take it back now that they're startin' t' do okay -- I r'member," he muses.

Martin sighs happily as he munches down the last bit of sausage. "Tease," he accuses fondly, but he gets fed, so he's happy. Poor Ren. "Yeah, him. His office is just on the way out of town. I really have no excuse, except I could better use that time scanning the farmer's market for dried goods. They always need them this time of year in places like Haven."

"So let's go chat with this guy," Ren suggests, "an' if he doesn't seem t' see reason, you can go pick up somea those dried goods, an' I can see 'bout convincing him of th' error of his ways." He sets a completed stack of sandwiches nice and steady in a stack, and then adds, with a wicked grin, "an' I'm =not= a tease. I'm more'n willing t' follow through." He fingers get dangerously close to certain of Martin's fastenings, as if he were intending to prove the claim here and now.

Martin's eyes widen a touch, and he laughs, "Ren! Not while I'm driving." Besides, there is a sandwich nearby, and his affections are clearly divided. "Mmn, let's wait til after we eat. I always lose my appetite after talking to him."

"Aw, c'mon," Ren protests teasingly, "The horses know enough not t' run inta anything. Live a little." He's still grinning, though, and he hands over one of the sandwiches easily enough. "...you gotta eat these sausages soon, anyhow. While they're still hot for ya."

Martin takes the sandwich, giving Ren a stern look as he says, "There are potholes and I value my various pieces of anatomy unjostled at key moments, if you don't mind." The sausage comment gets a slight roll of his eyes, and he digs in to his sandwich with a voracious appetite.

Serendipity ffts. "You have no faith in my abilities. I can handle a few potholes," he sniffs, and offers over one of the sausages, quirking an eyebrow just a touch. He picks up another for himself, without looking, and nibbles at it. Lunch is hearty, but not abundant enough to slow them down much, in the end.

Martin seems accustomed to dining while driving a team, though driving is a strong term. The horses meander at their pace, and he doesn't seem inclined to hurry them. Maybe it's the nature of the task ahead, or maybe befriending two Perunka has given him a new outlook on the treatment of horses. Amidst hearty bites of his lunch, he comments, "Your abilities are not in question, dear."

Serendipity mmhmms an mmhmm full of intense dubiousness, affected as it may be, and munches his lunch, just the picture of wounded pride. Aww, such martyrdom. He's just as good at eating while being a passenger, not that that takes any skill...

Martin gives Ren a 'look', then chuckles as he shake his head. "You're impossible," he says. Lunch is short lived, and then he focuses on driving the team along the road leading out of town, where the buildings taper off, but by no means dwindle just yet. The farmer's market can be seen clearly and, across from the cobbled plaza that houses it, a row of office-type buildings. "There's our landlord," he says with a nod toward a particular office with the door half-open to let in the bud air.

Serendipity mutters something about proper atonement, effusive appreciation not going amiss, and making it up to him later, but can't even maintain the appearance of being miffed all the way to the end of that, which somewhat spoils the effect. By the time they approach the market and offices, he's packed up the sad remnants of the meal and is leaning easily against Martin as they travel. "The one with th' open door?" he asks, studying the place, and its surrounding units. "...tell me s'more 'bout him, he got a lotta properties?"

Martin counterleans amiably, enjoying the contact for all of Ren's grousing, or perhaps because of it. "Aye, he's got lands all over here. Most of it undeveloped." He gestures around to some dilapidated buildings, a few fields visible just out of town. "Lives like a king off of the few he's let go so far."

Serendipity slides his arms around Martin's not insubstantial waist and snuggles in, sparing a little nuzzle and a brief sigh. He seems to have been doing this fairly often over the trip; it seems to correspond with and stave off random waves of melancholy. "You'd think he wouldn't begrudge th' one he's not gettin' back, then," he remarks, slightly muffled, and tilts his head up to rest his chin on Martin's shoulder. "If it turns out I gotta chat with him, am I gonna hafta not tell you all 'bout it after?"

Martin draws Ren in closer to plant a kiss firmly atop his head, as is his wont in response to those sighs. A kiss, a squeeze. They don't go unnoticed. "It would probably be best if I didn't inquire," he admits ruefully. "I don't know why he can't just let these people have their happiness. I think he thinks their success somehow begrudges his own."

Serendipity makes a face. "'s never as fun when I don't get t' talk 'bout it later," he complains, and shrugs. "Figured as much, though. So, a'ight. We'll just hafta see how it goes."

Martin points out, "If you'd like to confess your sins, I would be bound by my conscience to hear you." He kisses Ren on the cheek, then draws the team to a halt and says, "I won't be long. Hold the reins?"

Serendipity nods, and takes them, but looks a little startled. "I'm not goin' in with you?"

Martin shakes his head and says ruefully, "I should at least make an honest effort, man to man. Maybe he's seen reason." He doesn't look confident, but there is this thing about a sense of duty. He smiles up at Ren and promises, "I'll mention you. I'll even point you out. I'd hate for him to mistakenly think you weren't with me. Should you decide to talk to him later, which of course I couldn't stop you if I tried."

Serendipity half-smiles sheepishly. "I meant more so I could hear what he said when you tried t' talk t' him man t' man, as you say," he admits, "...but I figure you can tell me all 'bout it when you get back."

Martin says brightly, "Hopefully it'll be good news." He swings off the cart onto the ground, and he looks like he's trying so hard to put the best face on all this. Into the office he goes, and there is peace in the city for a time. The farmer's market goes on. Horses and carriages clomp by, people go to and fro. Things from the office are suspiciously quiet. Maybe fifteen minutes go by before Martin returns, stepping out of the office and looking composed, calm as he makes his way back to the cart. "Well," he says once he's close enough to speak in a conversational tone, "I'm sure that God forgives him, and I hope one day he is honored with a vision of the truth so that he might reexamine his life in this world."

"Gods work in mysterious ways, I hear," Ren agrees solemnly, and offers a hand wholly unneccesarily to help Martin back into the wagon. "What'd he say 'bout it all?"

Martin clambers up and sighs, pausing to give Ren another kiss on the head before he replies, "He's not convinced that there is anything I can do to stop him from making a legitimate business deal with a willing third party, and that, if I may quote, 'a book humping do-gooder' asking for him to see reason was laughable." He sighs heavily. "Then he laughed."

"Ffft. You'd get paper cuts," Ren points out dryly, and stretches up to give Martin a kiss on the top of the head of his own. "Well, don't worry too much 'bout it for now. You got dry goods t' purchase, right? I'll just wander about an' see 'bout somea the things I was lookin' for, an' maybe stop in t' see this guy if I, y'know, get bored."

Martin scuffs a foot against the floorboard of the cart and mumbles, "Yeah." This muscular, strapping man looks so much like a doleful little boy it's uncanny. "I guess."

Serendipity looks at Martin for a moment and gives in to impulse, quite suddenly shifting over to straddle the man's lap, take his cheeks in both hands, and kiss him exceedingly emphatically. He doesn't seem inclined to take no for an answer, either, although when he does break the kiss, it's through a general fade into gentle tenderness. "...you're so ridiculously adorable," he remarks, sounding almost surprised about it, and bumps the tips of their noses once, lightly. "Go get sugar an' flour an' stuff for people. Cheer up. One way or another this guy's not gonna get what he wants, a'ight? 'cause we won't let him." He smiles a little, and slides back off of the blond's lap, this time in the direction to drop him off the wagon.

Martin mumbles at the kiss, sullenly and in a full blown pout, but it isn't difficult to bring him around, and he responds, slowly but surely, slipping his arms around Ren and kissing him disconsolately at first, but then more calmly. Though when the kiss dwindles, he sighs. Nose-bumps get a sheepish smile, briefly anyway. "M'not a book humpin' do-gooder," he complains, then he steals another kiss and says, gently, "Okay. I'll go get dried goods and... put my faith in the Lord."

Serendipity grins up at him, after the kiss. "Nah, you're a me-humpin' do-gooder, an' you're damn good at both parts," he replies cheekily. "Gimme sometime t' go do the things I gotta do, an' I'll come track you down in, say, hour or two? An' if you run into any apricots or sewin' needles or pretty fabrics or shiny things, I'll pay you back, yeah?" He runs a hand over Martin's calf, and then turns, strolling away in the direction of... oh, nothing in particular. Really.

Martin sighs yet again, long suffering soul that he is, and Ren's words get a crimson flush of his cheeks. He reaches out to give the Coyote kin a light swat on his backside, grumbling, "Impossible." But then he gets some of his composure back, and he confirms, "I'll see what I can find. I'll meet you back here in about an hour or so, then."

Serendipity strolls around what looks rather aimlessly, examining the landscape as he passes and the buildings as he approaches, making no particular sign of heading to THAT office until he's sure Martin's far enough away not to observe. Even then, he ends up walking around the back of the builing, coming back around from the far side before he heads toward that partially open door.

The office has been refurbished well from the abandoned building in which it's housed. The carpet is plush, the walls newly painted, and in an antechamber, a woman at a desk types on an old fashioned manual typewriter. Through an open doorway in a posh office. There, a balding man in his forties sits behind a stained oak desk, puffing on a cigar as he reads over what looks like a telegraph transmission.

Serendipity saunters in, hands in coat pockets, and his eyebrows lift just a touch as he takes in the furnishings of the place. One doesn't see this kind of quality in decorating all that often outside the bigger cities or certain houses in highly profitable small towns. He approaches the secretary, flashing her a stunning grin. "Afternoon, lovely. Nice weather we're havin' out there t'day, yeah?"

The woman finishes typing to the end of a line, then slides the carriage back into place to start another. There she pauses and glances up, smiling in the vague, preoccupied way of receptionists throughout history. "Good afternoon." Ren gets an odd look. Not the usual type to come round this office. "Do you have an appointment?"

"Not yet," Ren admits easily, "Didn't know 'til just a bit ago I'd be droppin' by. How's, say, three minutes from now?" He's got a nice, friendly stance going on there, friendly and confident. Type aside, he doesn't seem an imminent problem.

The receptionist looks dubious, but she reaches for her appointment book and thumbs through it, perusing a page before she says, "Well, he doesn't have anything for another hour, so I suppose it would be alright for you to go in." Her tone is indulgent. Clearly this won't take long.

Serendipity inclines his head to her politely, paying no heed to the indulgence of the tone. "Thank you kindly," he replies cheerfully, and heads on toward the inner sanctum, as it were, humming very, very faintly to himself.

The woman goes back to her typing. The man puffing on his cigar glances up at Ren's approach, and he sets the telegraph aside. "Can I help you?" he asks, fairly politely, though with a curtness to his tone that implies that, if he can't help Ren, then Ren is wasting his time, and that doesn't bode well.

Serendipity strolls easily on into the office, and seats himself without hesitation in one of the pair of chairs on the other side of the man's desk. "Oh, I 'spect so," Ren replies, "Otherwise, there wouldn't be much point in me bein' here, right? More t' th' point, I'm thinkin' I might be able t' help =you=."

The man arches a brow. He's not handsome by any stretch, but he does try to make up for it in expensive clothing tailored in a moderately unsuccessful attempt to conceal his broadening middle. "Really," he replies dryly. Folding his hands, fingers steepled, he props his elbows on the desk and regards Ren curiously. "I'm all ears, Mr...?"

"Jones," Ren replies easily, "Serendipity Jones, at your service." He spreads his hands and inclines his head a touch, second cousin to a bow. Relaxing back into his chair, he studies this landlord about whom he's heard so much for a moment or two. "Now, lemme ask you something, humour me a minute here," he begins earnestly, leaning forward somewhat, "How would you describe your business? Off the toppa your head."

The man looks intrigued despite himself. Leaning back in his chair, he puffs on his cigar and studies the ceiling, lazily thoughtful. "Mr. Jones, this is a real estate business. We sell and manage land. That's what realty is."

"Absolutely," Ren agrees, as if the man had just expressed a foundational truth of existence, and punctuates it with the firm strike of one index finger down to point at him for a moment. "And on another level, if you'll forgive me for statin' things so plainly, it comes down t' something even simpler: the business exists to make the maximum long-term profit. Am I right?"

The man regards Ren blandly. For some reason, he looks a touch suspicious, but still curious enough to follow along. "That's the goal of any business," he replies. "To make money."

Serendipity nods again. "Exactly," he agrees, seeming pleased. "You mind if I ask how business is goin', these past couple years? Lots of people buyin' good plots of land, or is there a significant chunk of your investments just lyin' fallow while they wait, as it were?"

The man puffs off his cigar again, and his gaze upon Ren grows more intent. "The thing you need to understand about property, Mr. Jones, is that its value only goes up. Long term, a fallow field can make up to triple what it's worth when you buy it. There's no need to develop it except at your leisure."

Serendipity nods again, amiably. So agreeable, this boy. "Even more if you hold onto it long enough and the local supply of alternatives gets scarce enough, I'll bet," he responds, "...but in the meantime, you've got money tied up in it you can't be buyin' other land with, and it's not doin' a thing to help with that, is it."

The man nods gravely, explaining as one might to an eager but clueless apprentice, "Which is why you invest in other business opportunities on the side. Shipping, manufacture -- things to pay the bills while the value of your property increases."

Serendipity nods again, actually looking somewhat the eager apprentice role, if more in enthusiasm than cluelessness. "Which leads me to the question: if you were lookin' for a plot of land of your own, not t' sell but t' live and work on yourself, given otherwise equivalent plots, which would be worth more t' you -- a plot that's been mostly untouched for decades, let t' go t' seed, or one that's been bein' worked to keep the ground fertile, maybe even has a house an' barn already in reasonable repair? Me, I'd lean toward the latter."

Ren is watched shrewdly, the man chewing the end of his cigar as he considers his unwarranted guest. "Sure, if you're willing to invest the time and money into setting up an operation like that."

More agreement, if that nod's any indication, and Ren leans forward a touch more, almost conspiratorial. "Of course; any new endeavour's gonna require a certain investment of time, effort, and money. But let me suggest a scenario t' you. This's the biggest city in a decent area, local hub of trading, what with the rivers an' all; you know that, obviously, but what it means in this case is, people tend t' wash up here from various places around, down on their luck a lot, lookin' for a better life. Now, I know, what concern is that of yours? What concern it is is this: you've got land doin' nothin' while it waits t' be bought. They've got nowhere t' be an' nothin' t' do. Say you contract with 'em, work out that they can stay on certain plots if they take care of 'em, plant an' harvest the fields, take care of it properly. You invest a little in the inital start-up of it, an' in return, you get a decent portion of what the place makes, and you don't hafta lift another finger 'til someone comes by wanting to buy the place. You make the deal, your workers move to a plot you bought meanwhile, bring the seed and tools an' all with 'em, do it again, hardly any investment, this time. An' if there aren't a lotta bites for a property, wait long enough, they'll buy it from you, save up their parts of the profits over the years an' hand 'em right back t' you for the plot. Meanwhile, there's more of 'em comin' into town..."

The cigar is chewed on some more, and then the man removes it from his mouth, puffing a bit of smoke casually toward Ren's face, by accident surely, before he says, "The problem with that scenario, Mr. Jones, is you need someone on your payroll to keep the flotsam in line. Otherwise they're more of a burden than not, and that's money spent with little return. Whereas hiring a crew to come in and clean out the worst of what's left behind is cheaper in the long and short run. Course, you always get squatters, and you've got the law on your side throwin' 'em off your land if they don't have any work wrapped up in it. See what I mean?"

Serendipity doesn't seem to notice, let alone be bothered by, the smoke. He shrugs, "Hiring a crew, maybe you're handin' out less money up front, but they're not bringing you in any profit, themselves. Squatters may be easy t' throw out, but that's effort you're spending an' you're not gettin' anything from 'em while they're there. Make a good contract with 'em instead, they'll be makin' money for you while you hardly hafta promise more'n the chance t' make their own livelihood an' that you'll even be so kind as t' let 'em keep doin' so on another plot of land if this one's sold. As for havin' someone on your payroll t' keep 'em in line..." He stretches a little. "First off, it's in their best interests t' keep things running smoothly; it's their profit as well as yours, an' they're gettin' a purpose an' a place t' stay outta the deal, too. Second, you make a contract, if they break it, they're squatters again an' you have 'em removed an' replace 'em. Third..." He looks thoughtful a moment. "Third, I saw there's a couple charity lookin' places in town, places for the poor an' such. Now, workin' with them you'd wanna be careful with arrangements, 'cause obviously they'd be inclined toward the workers, but if you're offerin' 'em a fair opportunity, they'd be in a position t' fall all =over= themselves makin' sure it all went well. Bet they'd even help people out if they didn't know everything they needed t' do, yet, which'd mean better crops an' better returns for you. AND, if you sold a property near the enda the year, the workers could go back there over Wint 'til the weather was good enough t' let 'em move on to a new plot. An' I bet those places wouldn't charge hardly anything, if anything at all, for the privilege of handlin' that stuff. Maybe a few token bushels of crops a year in appreciation."

The man sighs heavily, shaking his head, though the gesture isn't necessarily an outright negation. "Mr. Jones, let me ask you this: what do you get out of this? Because enterprising young men don't just wander in off the street with a pitch that'll help everyone out unless they're getting a share of the pie. So what's your cut? Why are you telling me this?"

Serendipity grins, spreading his hands open for a moment. "I was wonderin' when you'd ask me that," he admits, "and you're right, of course, though my position in this all doesn't interfere with any of what I've laid out so far. Crops an' livestock an' other produce don't get to market all by themselves. Someone's gotta do the actual trading. That'd be where I'd come in, helpin' to make sure the products go where we're all gonna get the best deal from it."

The man now looks distinctly dubious. "For a modest cut," he ventures. The cigar is puffed again, and he says, "Tell you what, Mr. Jones, make an appointment with Elizabeth out front and we'll talk -- after you've made a viable business model and are ready to present it. I want to see the money trail before I put forth a single coin."

"Unremarkably modest," Ren agrees, with a small grin, and nods once, firmly. "Sounds fair to me. Be a couple-few weeks, I suspect, as I've things to tend to out of the area for a little, but I'd figure I can have just about the entire thing fleshed out when I return." He seems unfazed by the dubious look.

The cigar is puffed again, and the man's chair creaks as he leans back. "Very well," he says, as though the matter wasn't terribly significant, but worth at least some acknowledgement. "When I see your business plan in a few weeks, I'll tell you if it's feasible."

Serendipity inclines his head in acknowledgement, and stands offering a hand. "Thanks for seeing me, sir. I think I can confidently say that if you go with my plan, it'll be one of the best choices you ever made," he remarks, flashing a smile.

The man rises, clasping Ren's hand firmly. There is an businesslike air to the gesture, certainly -- business is business -- but he also has a condescending look about him. "Well, it's always nice to see young folks looking to make their way in the world," he replies. "Impress me, Mr. Jones, and it'll go well for you."

Serendipity grins again. "Pleasure meeting you," he replies, and heads out into the main office, humming very softly to himself again. Elizabeth gets a cheerful, "Thanks again... be seein' you," as he passes, heading back out that open door into the outside world.

Where Martin finishes loading up the cart with sacks of flour, rice, and other dried grains, working up quite the sweat. He's all about the honest day's work, poor sucker. As Ren leaves the office, Martin hauls up the last sack and pauses, wiping his brow with his kerchief and leaning against the cart heavily.

Serendipity strolls from the building to the road, and nods to Martin in a friendly way as he passes by -- friendly like a stranger, not like his usual kind. He adds a covert wink to it, though, and murmurs, "Pick me up a little down the road, handsome, a'ight?" without pausing. Once he's a decent distance away, far enough that he's sure the landlord and his secretary can't see, he leans against the trunk of a tree, and waits.

Martin eyes Ren in passing, looking blithely confused, and he looks like he's about to call out and greet him warmly, but Ren beats him to the punch. "Um. Okay," he agrees readily. It isn't too much longer before he's got the cart loaded up and he sets the horses in motion, ambling them down the road to where Ren waits.

Serendipity doesn't even wait for the wagon to come to a proper stop before he grabs onto it and swings himself up on board, plopping into his usual seat and giving Martin a big, distracting kiss. He grins broadly, then, settling back. "Hi."

Martin eyes Ren dubiously, but he slides his arm around the kin's waist and kisses him on the head warmly. "Hi," he replies. "Should I drive fast to avoid pitchforks and torches, or is all well?"

Serendipity laughs. "All's well, so far. It's just that yon landlord seein' me with you now might mess up all my groundwork, y'know? Can't have him s'pectin' my motives!" he remarks, eyes going wide and innocent, and then grins again. "...I gotta chat with you 'bout what I said with him, an' we maybe oughta stop by the Farm again before we leave town, but if it all works out, it oughta handle things." He leans in against the other man, and looks fairly satisfied. "Tradin' go well?"

Martin looks curious, yet worried. "It went fine," he replies. "The farm's the other way, but I guess we could stop in again. We won't get out of town before dark though," he warns. "Do I want to know what's going on?"

"You're gonna have to," Ren replies, innocent again, "seein' as you're the technical owner of the Poor Farm an' all. We got deals to make. That guy's never gonna leave the place be outta the goodness of his heart, but he will if it's for the good of his pocketbook. Simplest way to sort it out's make the place worth more t' him independent than his, an' make it worth more t' the inhabitants t' have it than t' risk selling it back to him. Right? And I can't say the prospect of bein' forced t' spent another night with you is exactly the kinda thing I find worrying." Grin.

Martin shakes his head, looking mystified. "I have no business savvy, Serendipity, but as long as whatever you've got in mind is honest, I'll support it." He pauses, then reiterates, "As long as it's honest."

Serendipity gives Martin a wounded look. "Have I ever been less'n honest with you?" he asks, and stretches his legs out. "I told him he could be makin' money on the land he's got that's just waiting t' be bought, if it were bein' worked, producin' crops an' stuff. An' wouldn't y' know it, there's a lotta people in this area with nowhere t' go and nothin' t' do who'd prolly be happy t' be officially allowed t' live on that land until it's sold, growin' things an' splittin' the profit with him. An' he wouldn't hafta put in a lot of effort havin' things in line if some charity -- say, the Poor Farm -- was involved with makin' it happen. That they prolly wouldn't want much t' do it. Didn't mention they'd also be there t' help make sure people aren't gettin' taken much advantage of. Or that it'd make things less crowded for 'em an' give people better chances of gettin' their own place someday." Pause. "An' I figured we could do the changin' crops inta cash part of it."

Martin considers this. He's a slow thinker, but a thorough one, and when he eventually surfaces with a reply, he says, "That could work. I'm a little concerned about people getting shuffled around as land is sold. It's hard on people to lose their homes. If we found a way to ensure that wouldn't happen harshly, it could work."

Serendipity nods. "Well, I figured, when they earned enough, they could always buy the land. Meanwhile, at the very least, the contracts could say if their plot is sold, they get to move to another of 'em. Maybe require a warning period. It's not ideal, 'zactly, but it's definitely better'n having nothing at all, yeah?"

Martin nods slowly, then smiles as he says, "I never would have thought of any of that. Do you think he'll go for it? It would have to turn quite a profit, I'm afraid. He's not exactly a generous man."

Serendipity grins a bit wryly. "Noticed. Think he can be convinced, but he wants a fully laid out plan showin' the money trail, as he put it. Which is actually a good thing, 'cause it puts me in the position t' tell you an' the resta the Poor Farm about the idea without bein' obvious about my personal connections in it. ...plus," he grins more, sly, "he's actually the least important parta this, y'know. He can't buy what the residents won't sell, right? If they like it... well, there's other real estate sellers, yeah? Not t' mention if they managed their profits right they could start doin' the whole thing themselves, technically. I mean, not that I ever had that much money, but I get the theory. They don't =need= him. They just gotta understand they're in the best position this way, not his."

Martin shakes his head, looking promptly lost, but pleased nonetheless. "Well, if they agree to it," he says. "I wasn't really thinking that far ahead. I just had the money and he was going to kick people off the land, and... Well, I never would've thought of it, is all I'm saying." He grins a bit, adding, "We make a decent a team."

Serendipity grins back and hooks his arm through Martin's, heedless of such things as reins. "We do," he agrees cheerfully, and squeezes. He's silent for a moment, thoughtful, and then he leans up and kisses the trader's cheek, gently, with a quiet, "...thank you."

Martin carefully readjusts the reins so that this is possible without steering the cart off the road. The kiss gets a bright smile, mildly surprised, and he tilts his head toward Ren to rest lightly against his own. "What was that for?"

"...I dunno. Bein' you. Keepin' me sane. Takin' me away. Lotsa things, I guess." Ren shrugs slightly, glancing off into the foliage lining the road -- but not moving enough to dislodge the lean of Martin's head, or any such. "...'s gonna be weird, goin' back. Don't do that much goin' back t' places to start with."

Martin points out wryly, "If you do this deal, you'll be coming back to Millinocket, too." He untangles his arm so that he can slide it around Ren's shoulders and draw him in close, handing the reins one-handed. "That's what I like about trading," he muses quietly. "Having a home wherever the road takes you."

"Home's people, not places," Ren replies almost absently, slipping his arms around the blond's waist and leaning his chin on that shoulder of convenient height, as seems to have become almost habitual. He closes his eyes. "'s not so much goin' back, it's goin' back after leavin' for a reason. Still dunno what I'm gonna do when we =are= back. Y'know?"

Martin gives Ren a squeeze, murmuring against his hair, "Take it one day at a time. That's all anyone can do. Get there, then see what's what. I'll be in Haven awhile, at least a week. You know. If you feel like coming around."

Serendipity squeezes back, and smiles faintly, eyes still closed. "'course I'll wanna. Could stay with me if y'want, dependin' whether... well, dependin'. But definitely gonna be comin' around." And without innuendo, even. A pause. "C'n I ask you somethin'? 've you ever been in love with someone?"

Martin considers this. Again not a very quick thinker, but one gets the impression no aspect of the question is left unconsidered. "No," he says eventually. "Not... not really, no. I've wanted people. I've loved people, but not like you mean."

Serendipity nods slightly, in the process of turning his head to rest his cheek against the shoulder instead, eyes still shut. "Wish I could still say that," he remarks wryly. "Stupid thing t' do. Shoulda known better." He sighs, then squeezes and straightens a little, as much as he can without actually changing position. Mopey kin are not much fun. "So. D'you think we should talk t' the people at the Farm before we go, or wait 'til next time? Told the guy I'd drop by in a few weeks, make an appointment t' show him the business plan thing."

Martin eyes the sky briefly, then says, "Well, it is on the other side of town, and I can't imagine camping out with you tonight, all cuddled up together, could possibly be a bad thing." He pauses, eyeing Ren sidelong. "Love is never stupid," he says gently. "It hurts because it's real, and it matters. Broken hearts mend, but loveless hearts never do."

"I've =loved= lotsa people," Ren replies. "...still do. Nothing ever made me wish I wasn't me before, though. Coulda done without that. Could do without a lotta things. Woulda made everything a lot easier. ...Doesn't matter. Just wish it'd stop hurting." He makes a face. "Where're you going? Next week, I mean."

Martin smiles sadly. "That's how I felt before," he admits. "But it wasn't love. I was just miserable. I hated so much..." He sounds like he's about to elaborate, but instead says, "Probably back to Millinocket. It'll depend on what the boys need, and if there's anything that needs shipped down in a timely fashion."

Serendipity nods a little, the only movement. "...who'd you hate?" he asks, after a few moments of silence. "Or what, I guess."

Martin says wryly, "Myself." He's quiet a moment, then explains, "Oh, I didn't think of it that way at the time. I just thought I was too cool to care, you know? I traveled with rough company then, and it was every man for himself. You didn't show weakness if you wanted to survive. Makes a man hard inside. Makes him stop feeling anything at all."

"Well, I don't hate me," Ren remarks with just a hint of humour, "I got plennya other people t' save me the trouble. Suitably outta range. But I dunno, you seem pretty hard t' hate, 'least these days. Feelin' again?"

Martin nods quickly and says, "Oh yes. All the time. It's part of my path. My faith. To feel, to live. To love, actually. I believe that it's the most important thing in the world. In the universe."

Serendipity makes a noise halfway between a sigh and a laugh. "...mine too, I guess. Though I dunno whether love's the most important thing in the universe or not. I'd hafta think about it. Either way, I got a feeling your love's =nicer='n mine." He finally shifts an appreciable amount, to lean up and kiss Martin. He doesn't actually have to watch the road, does he? Surely the horses can handle that.

The horses seem to know where they're going, fortunately, because Martin takes a moment to indulge that kiss, lingering. "Mmn, the love you've shown me has been nice," he counters gently. "In any case, I'll try to love us enough for us both."