Unwrapping [Sakky]

Being a naturally energetic person, Xirofel had practically bounced out of bed that morning. This whole Weyr thing was still a major adventure - he'd been here only one night - and so the need to wander hadn't set in yet. That being said, the need to explore burned hot and bright in him, and he'd started to satisfy it by dashing around the Bowl that morning, earning many a peculiar look from the more lethargic drudges. He'd been done in time for breakfast and a bath, had eaten lunch, and was now attempting to figure out where he was supposed to go for chores. The infirmary, presumably, but where was it?

Garbed in his favourite patchwork jacket (brightly coloured, of course), with a much less spectacular shirt on underneath it, the trader wandered curiously through the tunnels, lost but unwilling to admit it. At his heels, Lakeeti remained a constant, friendly presence, even as her human grew increasingly baffled by the many twists and turns of the tunnel. At long last, she barked to get his attention, and Xiro stopped, turning to her and lifting his brows. "Yes, my dearest?"

Lacky wagged her tail, barked again, and trotted off ahead of her human, leading him back up to the surface. Though her human was smart, and his sense of direction was pretty good, it couldn't compare to her sensitive canine nose or her instincts, and Xiro was happy to follow her direction. Incidentally, she led them right up to the entrance of the infirmary, then sat and looked at her human expectantly. Forever amazed by his companion's senses, her owner grinned and ruffled her fur, making her ears flop back and forth. "Good girl, Lacky. Don't know what I'd do without you!" he practically chirped, and then strode through the door of the infirmary. Acting like he belonged (which, to his mind, he did), the candidate at last found his way to the spot where he was supposed to be rolling bandages. As expected, the other candidate was already present, and Lakeeti's ears perked up, her tail ceasing to wag as she glanced to her master for orders.

"It's okay," Xirofel assured her, and the dog relaxed, settling on the floor as her owner pranced up to stand next to the far taller candidate. "Hello, there! If I'm not mistaken and if the chore sheet didn't lie, you're Qosis, yes?" Tones bright and sunny, just like his personality, Xiro reached out to deftly grab what he needed and begin rolling bandages. Having done this dozens of times while he was traveling with his caravan, the trader was none too slow at it. He was, however, a lot more interested in making friends than in his task, and he glanced up at the astoundingly tall person beside him, totally unfazed by the height difference. "How long have you been here at Dalibor, my good fellow?" Twisting the half-rolled bandage he held, the trader lifted his brows expectantly, allowing his hands to work while he kept his gaze fixed cheerily on the other male. Whether or not the other candidate was in a good mood or not, Xiro certainly was and he clearly meant to infect everyone around him with that same cheer.

Xirofel had heard every insult ever invented, and he merely grinned when Qosis labeled him 'holdless scum.' Was he affected? Not in the least! "Scummy as they get," he agreed cheerfully, "so it's just as well that you, good sir, are better versed in the ways of Hold and Weyr." Voice rising and falling to place dramatic emphasis on 'you' and 'ways of Hold and Weyr,' the trader spun the bandage expertly around the rest of the roll, fingers working quickly and deftly. They, too, spoke of his many turns on the road: traders learned to do everything quickly, from spreading wares, to rolling bandages, to hiding marks away in secret pouches. There were certain mannerisms, too, that marked his occupation: the dramatic flourish when he moved his hands, the easy fluid grace when he turned to peer at the much larger man.

Perceptive as he was, the trader didn't miss the glance Qosis directed down at himself, as if comparing his clothes to Xirofel's. Very interesting, that... he couldn't be sure, but he wondered if perhaps there were jealousy there. Jealousy, or something else? Not knowing the other candidate very well at all yet, he passed no judgment, though he filed the gesture away in the back of his mind to piece together with what he'd glean later. Speaking of gleaning, he had in fact read the other male's name correctly on the sheet, and the trader released a chuckle of triumph. "Aha! And I," he introduced, with a flamboyant bow, "am Xirofel. At your service, sir!" Eyes twinkling with merriment, the trader straightened and resumed rolling the bandage, finishing that one before setting it neatly on the pile and picking up another.

Figuring that the bandages wrapped around his fellow candidate probably had something to do with his slowness, Xirofel didn't comment. Discretion was one of his special talents, though no one would have known it looking at him. But, beneath the energetic flamboyance and glamour, he was a trader, with all the cunning and intelligence of one. If something weren't laid out for him, he wouldn't inquire unless he knew it wouldn't end in a strangling.

But alas, there were things worse than strangling! Xiro's brows shot up at the suggestion that he should get rid of Lakeeti, and he paused in his bandage-rolling to press a hand against his chest, affronted. "I couldn't possibly! Lacky is my darling! I can, however, appreciate that nobody wants her fur in their wounds, having endured it once or twice myself. Lacky, my love," and he turned to the dog, motioned for her to stand and watched with a surge of pleasure as she obeyed. "Go lie down there, by the wall," he instructed, pointing at the spot some twenty feet away, and the canine wagged her tail, trotting off to do just as he bid. Pleased, the trader turned back to his task and his human companion, glancing back at the mention of a stool. Brows lifting in exaggerated surprise, he grinned. "So there is. I shan't burden it with my weight," he decided, and then fell to unaccustomed silence. It didn't grate on him too much -- he'd learned to be silent sometimes, when he wasn't singing, talking, or bellowing about the merits of his wares.

Therefore, he was a bit surprised, but pleased, when the other launched his own inquiries. He listened to them all before responding, placing another bandage neatly on the pile and starting to roll another. "It most certainly was, unless someone else is in the habit of racing about in the fashion of a deranged runner early in the morning," he affirmed cheerily. The next questions interested him more, though, and he cast a sly glance at Qosis, a grin tugging up the corners of his mouth to expose white teeth. "So you are a trader! Holdless scum indeed! My wagon of the past turn wasn't in a caravan -- I traveled alone, just Lakeeti and I. My flag was green, white and gold, with a black canine's head, just the same as Lacky's. I don't believe I encountered your caravan, but I heard it was doing well. That is... until a while ago. Odd, that." His tone was unassuming, perfectly nonchalant to anyone who might have been listening, but if Qosis was half the trader Xiro thought he was, he'd know exactly what that tone meant. It was the same one used by traders everywhere to mask a statement within a statement. Regular folk didn't always catch on, but other traders almost invariably did.

He flipped another bandage onto the pile, and started yet another, a bland smile on his face.

Used to far ruder comments and gestures than a mere nod, Xirofel wasn't in the least fazed by Qosis' reaction to his introduction. No, no, instead he went on rolling bandages, gesturing and brandishing and generally being incapable of staying still while he talked. He knew perfectly well that the other male was watching him: after all, that was the entire point of the sweeping gestures and dramatic performances. The other was watching with trader's eyes, only encouraging Xiro to embellish his statements still more. At least, he was encouraged until the comment about his 'sirs' and dramatic inflections came up, at which point the smaller trader merely grinned. "Habit," he explained unnecessarily, "but I can at least stop calling you sir." With a wink, he flicked his attention back to the bandage he was working on, pointedly not commenting on the inflections. Those were here to stay; he didn't even realize when he was using them.

Lacky? Sell his Lacky? Xirofel's eyes widened with horror at the very idea. "I could never sell her!" he announced loudly, and this time there was no exaggeration. He was horrified at the idea of losing his dog. Besides, she only obeyed his commands. She was his special girl, his Lakeeti -- and besides that, she'd helped him out of more than one dicey situation. No, he would never get rid of her! It was one thing to part with his runner and his wagon, but his canine had been a fixture in his life ever since he'd bought her. She'd hardly ever even been out of his sight and he wasn't going to let her go now.

He noted, idly, exactly how large Qosis' hands were, and wondered much less idly how many fights he'd been in. How many people had dared to attack a trader that was built along such huge, powerful lines? Better yet, how well could he fight? Xiro himself was pretty good at defending himself, but it occurred to him that he didn't actually want to find out if Qosis shared the same skill. He'd never gone around picking fights if he could help it, and he'd had enough smaller hands wrapped around his throat that he didn't care to find out what larger ones could do. Longer legs, though... the trader's eyes glittered in challenge, and he lifted his brows with a grin. "Could you really? Outstride maybe, but outrun? We ought to find out." Although he wasn't a hugely competitive person outside of trading, Xiro had always liked races, and this was made very clear by his enthusiastic tone. He became less enthusiastic, though, at the pained expression on Qosis' face as the giant flapped his elbows. "Eight sevendays? What precisely warrants that much inactivity?" Clearly the idea of being mostly slow-moving for that long horrified the trader; he pulled a face and then lifted his brows and frowned deeply at the comment. "I did forget that when I decided to come here," he admitted wryly. A darker expression flitted across his face, and then he grinned wickedly. "If it takes too long for anything to happen, I'll go back to trading, and never again stay still." Was that a naive declaration? Probably, but either the trader didn't notice or he didn't care. Or maybe the glittery cheer was just there to hide his faint panic at the idea of staying in one place for so long.

Xirofel scoffed at the idea of being a Southerner. "Hah! Southern. Don't make me laugh." He rolled his eyes, making a disgusted face. Oh yes, the trader had as much contempt for Southern traders as most Holdfolk did for the holdless, and his tone held the exact same scorn as his companion's had. No way would he ever make his home on the Southern Continent, although he was fully aware that his dark tan made him look like he already did. He certainly didn't miss the other candidate's pointed glance at his cheek, and he grinned playfully. But talk of the other's caravan was a lot more interesting; the trader flipped another bandage deftly into the basket before lifting his gaze to meet the other's. "Oh, that's quite likely. I've heard plenty about misadventures, though." One dark brow quirked just a bit, implying what he suspected but hadn't said. Misadventures, indeed...

Ah, but attention was being drawn back to his own situation, and a smirk began to tug at the corners of the trader's mouth right from the first word. At the last, Xiro could no longer contain himself, and he threw back his head with a rich laugh, green eyes flashing with mirth. Lifting the hand that was currently in possession of the bandage, he pointed it at the other trader with a snap of the wrist, just as if he were holding a sword. "Aha, so that's what you think! Me, an exile! Granted, it's a fascinating idea, but there was no agreement to kick me out. No, no. I'm good at what I do and they never would have sent me away. So," he tossed the now-finished bandage onto the pile, flinging his hands wide, "I left! Took my marks and my dog and left the caravan. Oh, I imagine they're still annoyed with me about it, but there was nothing they could have done to stop me." Smirking, the candidate tossed a few locks of hair out of his face, lifting his brows conspiratorially. "And that is how I ended up alone, under my own flag, with just my Lacky to accompany me." He knew perfectly well what kind of outrage that was likely to cause, but he was proud of the fact that he'd left. Few traders did so; even fewer became successful after they'd split away from their train. Knowing it, Xiro winked and deftly snatched up another bandage, carefree as could be.

Xirofel winked at that, shaking a finger in playful rebuke. "Don't underestimate me. My legs aren't as long as yours but I'm quick." All the same, his tone was more cheery than challenging, and he smiled at the other candidate's remark. "So would I." Races were fun, whether or not he lost, and honestly he liked the idea of testing his speed against that of Qosis. The other trader's wit made him grin, and he cocked a brow. "Ah, but I haven't been gawking," he pointed out cheerily. "So your charge is null and void."

Nothing had ever stopped Xiro from wandering when he felt like wandering, and he turned toward the much taller man, lifting his brows significantly. "You can be sure that I'll have wandered over every inch of this place by the time a sevenday is out," he promised sincerely, and then laughed. "I will. You'll probably be the first to know if I decide to go catch myself some hypothermia." There was, however, a note of seriousness under that. Hypothermia or not, it was clear that if he wasn't given a reason to stay, the candidate would in fact risk trying to swim off the island. Yes, it would take forever, and yes, he would probably drown or something, but he'd certainly make the effort.

Eggs soon, indeed! The trader was pleased at that, but his cheer faded significantly at the comment 'just a few months.' Bright eyes darkening, he tightened his lips and looked down at the pile of bandages in front of him, saying nothing. He knew better than to think his wanderlust would remain absent for that long. It was the lust, after all, that had driven him to leave his caravan, his family, and especially his little siblings, and there was no reason to suspect that it wouldn't strike again soon. For all he knew, he'd be longing to escape again by tomorrow morning. None of this, however, made it into words: it was readable only in the faint tension that pulled at his shoulders, and the slightly less energetic movements that found another bandage landing on the pile.

"Pride," Xirofel remarked smoothly, "has never been a great concern of mine." He wasn't at all bothered by it, and in fact being insulted in such a manner raised his spirits somewhat. Somewhat. The idea of being trapped here was beginning to bother him again, though he was fighting to push away the feeling for fear that it would bring on an urge to wander. Fortunately, Qosis was providing a nice distraction, and the younger trader fixed his attention solidly on the other man's words. "I'm sure you would," he agreed amiably, his tone hinting at nothing beyond affirmation.

He knew a challenge when he heard it. Or, if not a challenge, a demand to step down. As terrible as he was at actually heeding orders given by anyone but a true superior, Xiro quirked a brow and glanced up at the other trader, expression thoughtful, though his characteristic smirk still twisted up the corners of his mouth. "I've often heard that definitions of 'unusual' vary widely," he remarked smoothly, "so perhaps caravan misadventures are different for you than me. But..." Xiro's gaze flicked downward, casually resting on the back of one huge scarred hand before it returned to Qosis' face, perfectly neutral except for his usual cheery grin. "Drunken harper tales may be all I've heard. I wouldn't know." Not at all intimidated by the other trader's stare, he deftly finished rolling another bandage.

It wasn't long before the other candidate glanced at him again, and Xirofel automatically lifted his eyes to meet him halfway. The comment was clearly a joke, but all the same, a smooth grin pulled at his features as he lifted the edge of his jacket to casually reveal the belt knife he wore there. "Oh, but so do people, if you cook 'em right," he remarked mildly. One hand slipped down to unobtrusively brush against the knife's hilt before the bright jacket was back in place, just as if nothing had ever happened.

Sensing that the conversation about their respective caravans was over, Xirofel let the subject drop. His expression, however, indicated that he certainly wasn't done thinking about it: there was a pensive look to him, the one that would tell anyone familiar with his habits that he was sifting through statements, attempting to sort fact from rumour. No, he most assuredly was not done with this, and he'd quietly catalogued all of Qosis' reactions to his statements. He'd think about them later, in private, and see if he could discern the truth or not. If it turned out to be the latter, the other trader would find that Xiro became rather closemouthed on the subject. It did not do to perpetuate rumours; he dealt only in hard fact if he could.

Well versed in the ways of subtlety, Xirofel appeared perfectly nonchalant as he reached for another bandage, calmly rolling it into a tube before his gaze caught the other trader's once more. "Really," he affirmed insincerely, brows quirking. "I doubt that you're that forgetful. Those who forget don't often do well on the road. Or so I've heard." Shrugging as if this had nothing to do with him at all, Xiro nonetheless laughed with Qosis at that comment, throwing up his hands in a gesture of bewilderment. "I suppose the starvation drove me mad a few turns early." Chuckling still, he shook his head and grinned, then lifted his brows.

The distraction of the joke had been quite pleasant, but it was clearly over now, judging by the gravity of the other's tone. Although he wasn't exactly accustomed to being given any sort of advice, Xiro considered what was being said to him with a great deal more seriousness than might have been expected of such a flamboyant person. "They must, if they bothered to Search me. I sincerely hope that no rider on Pern is stupid enough to mistake a trader for a holder when he's actively engaged in trading." Still, the trader's expression was thoughtful, eyes on the bandage in his hands even as he adjusted himself to half-face Qosis in a similar fashion to the other trader. "We'll see what morning brings," he said quietly, for the first time using no gestures save for a slight shrug when he spoke. It was clear that he was pondering the other's words, doubtless weighing them against the wanderlust that echoed in every movement he made.

Relieved that he could focus on something other than these somber thoughts, Xiro lifted his gaze to catch that of the other at the mention of his knife. One brow lifted, ever so slightly, and then he threw his head back and laughed, motioning at his own chest with the bandage roll he held. "Aha, and the Weyr has grown on you so much that you won't trust a fellow holdless to run around with sharp things, either! Or does that extend only to blood-traitors like me?" Though he wasn't insulted by the term, seeing as it was true, the trader surreptitiously dropped the arm on that side to the level of the blade in his belt. No holdless liked to be without a weapon, and he was no exception to the rule, regardless of his general amiability.

"I'd be more wary of the little people, myself," the trader remarked with a grin, grabbing his stack of finished bandages in both hands and depositing them neatly in the increasingly full basket. "They're more likely to need blades than you are." The sheer size of the man dictated that he probably had exactly two types of enemies: those who wanted to challenge him, and those who bore their hatred in silence. For hatred was inevitable; every tradesman had at least one enemy. He himself probably had dozens, for the simple fact that he was a kin-traitor. Blood-betrayer, exile, holdless scum -- all of those terms applied one hundred percent to Xirofel. And yet not one of them fazed him in the slightest, as was evidenced by the lazy smirk upon the trader's features. He could handle being insulted, attacked, and hated. What he couldn't handle was being tied down to one place for the rest of his life, and the fear of that fate glowed in the pure energy of him, the way every movement was quicker and wilder than it had to be. Oh, there was nothing in his face to give him away, but everything else about him screamed I need freedom! In Qosis, it was invisible -- but was it present? Or had Weyr life drained all of the wanderlust of a tradesman from him? Except for that one remark about running, Xiro hadn't consciously noted anything about the other trader that hinted at any kind of restlessness. That worried him.

Not all bad. Xirofel rolled his eyes at that, but said nothing yet, choosing instead to focus on the task at hand. Roll, roll, fasten, toss -- it was a pretty monotonous job, but the conversation was making it somewhat more interesting. And at the very least, he could see why it would be necessary. Considering how many people lived in the Weyr, all these bandages were bound to be used eventually. A fair number of them already seemed to have ended up on Qosis, stiff and painful as the giant's movements seemed to be.

Xiro wasn't watching him really closely at the moment, though, being half lost in thought. He did look up when the other trader spoke again, though, and spun a bandage in his hands, expression resting somewhere between thoughtfulness and wryness. "I saw that one coming. It seems to me there's a bit of a chain, shall we say, that runs from we holdless up through holders to the dragonriders. They all happily look down on the people they believe to be lower than they are. And yet," he grinned wickedly, "they still want flings with the people at the bottom of the food chain. I take it you're not into crazy girls?" The trader laughed, waggling his brows in cheerful suggestion. Whether Qosis actually answered or not didn't particularly matter to him.

An infestation of bugs concerned him a little more. Having learned to swim rather early on in life, Xiro had taken a liking to it and he'd intended to continue that activity here. "Bugs? What sort of bugs?" He hadn't heard about pillies yet; Holdfolk didn't often hear about Weyr affairs and what couldn't be learned from holders or holdless tended to not be heard of at all. This was the case here.

Pondering that, the trader was almost taken off guard by Qosis' sudden shift in manner, and the dark eyes flicked up to catch the other's. The younger of the two paused, and then grinned wickedly at the thought of being able to fly away on dragonback. There was no doubt that he'd do it, too, if he got even the slightest chance and happened to be in a wandering mood. "How true... assuming I Impress, I'll make full use of that capability." How traderlike, to automatically want to milk something for all it was worth. From his dog's guarding abilities, to his own intelligence, to a future dragon's wings... Xiro refused to let anything go to waste if he could help it.

Having a head for news and a vested interest in hearing more about those Records, Xirofel didn't let a single word slip by unnoticed. His gaze was focused closely on Qosis' face; when the sudden surprise appeared, the trader sank his greedy claws right into it. "Think of something interesting?" The inquiry was smooth, but pointed and silently demanding. An interesting thought passed through his own head, and the trader flipped yet another bandage onto the stack, filing the idea away, just in case he needed to use it.

Oh, yes... that was exactly what Xiro had been thinking of when he agreed to come here. The trader's gaze followed his companion's, but the longing that was there was genuine. When Qosis' gaze dropped to meet his own, the quick green eyes were waiting for it, and a similar gleam of mischief appeared in them. "Are you quite sure you want to encourage me like that?" he inquired with a note of wicked amusement. After all, he was already a runaway and a kin-traitor -- there was no evidence to support the idea that he'd stay here. And with a dragon to carry him away... the very idea made Xirofel laugh aloud with sinful delight. Runaway, indeed -- his label as kin-traitor would be nothing to the lawless name he'd probably make for himself if he fled the Weyr.

Would he do it? Absolutely. The other trader's remark about this place being his last stop made Xirofel's wanderlust burn hot and bright, lighting up his eyes with the starvation for freedom. Knowing he couldn't stop it, the trader gave in to the feeling, an almost-mad grin flashing onto his face as he whirled to fully face Qosis. "Never doubt for a second that I would! Call me kin-traitor if you like, because it fits and I'll be the first to admit it. But never," and here the trader's face darkened and he stared hard at the other's face, "never imply that I'd hurt anyone without due cause. I'm a traitor, not a murderer, and if anyone decides to harden your skin further, it won't be me."

Rather than pursue this point, the trader replaced his stubborn expression with a broad grin, and returned to rolling bandages, nonchalant as could be.

"Aren't you?" His tone was rhetorical, nearly flat. Although he hadn't precisely meant the comment that way, it was an interesting thing to think about. Chains, indeed... how many of those had he broken for the sake of freedom? He'd left everything behind, broken every tie to his family... did that make him crazy, too? Probably. Not quite in the manner Qosis was describing, though. Giant shelled bugs, eh? They didn't sound appealing in the least. "Crazy woman indeed, letting giant bugs crawl all over her." The jewelry idea was interesting, though -- maybe if he managed to catch one of those wild creatures he would find out about it. He'd have to find a smith or someone to work a shell into jewelry, of course... but perhaps it would sell somewhere.

He was thinking like a trader again. Not that this would have surprised anyone at all, but it was strange for Xiro to remember that he wasn't actually trading anymore. Granted, he still had a few of his wares hidden away in his room, ready to be sold on the day he decided to return to the Northern Continent, or otherwise earn a few marks. Most of his stuff, however, was gone. Gone in the name of adventure and dragonriding, which still seemed interesting enough that the candidate was willing to stay... for a while.

But oh, freedom! Freedom, the love of his life, was apparently something that should he Impress, the other trader was determined he wouldn't touch for more than a Fall at a time. The words were threatening, that was undeniable, but Xirofel had heard thousands of threats uttered against him. Mere words didn't bother the trader in the least; it was more the idea of losing his freedom so completely that rubbed at his nerves. The unwavering smirk on his face betrayed little, however, and Xiro eyed the older trader impudently. "Will you really? Don't be so sure of yourself, Weyrlover. Arrogance is a thing of fools."

The next threatening little comment only made Xiro grin, eyes flashing with savage amusement. "Restoration of the nonexistent is an impossible task -- but I invite you to try if you think you can," he challenged. Although his voice was perfectly amiable, just as always, there was an iron refusal behind it. He could not and would not be trained to halt on command like a spirited runner; there was too much wildness in his bones for that. Qosis could try as hard as he liked to control him, but it was made clear by the younger trader's expression that any attempt to contain him would result in failure.

Qosis was not, however, failing to annoy Xirofel. The smaller man's expression didn't change from its lazy grin even when the other's hand landed on his shoulder, but something dark flashed through his eyes, and the muscles in his back tensed slightly. "What does any holdless know of honour, my fellow exile?" Xiro smiled lightly, refusing to step back even when Qosis stepped closer, looming over him with that huge bulk. He didn't turn away, either, refusing to show any signs of intimidation -- for good reason, because he wasn't scared in the least.

Scared or not, though, Xiro supposed he could do as he was asked, and he lifted the basket easily, letting his annoyance begin to fade. No sense in holding onto something that wouldn't make a profit, right? Besides, although he suspected that he was being given this task partly because Qosis wished to be the more dominant of them, he didn't particularly care. Traveling on your own tended to subject you to a lot of tasks you didn't really want to do. Xirofel didn't much care; he whistled for Lacky, who came immediately to his side, and then loped up alongside the other trader, basket propped lazily against his hip. "So, while we go in search of what others don't wish us to have... have there ever been any Gathers at this marvelously lethargic Weyr? Or is even that much motion unheard of?"

Even with the huge man staring down at him, weighted by all that confidence, Xirofel didn't back down. In fact, he smirked, lifting a brow thoughtfully at the comment. "I don't think so. Age doesn't mean everything, and it won't give you any kind of an advantage when my dragon's wings can take me between." He stared at Qosis for a moment at the next threat, though, and then lifted his brows with a half-amused and half-disturbed expression on his face. "Is that your intention?" he inquired with excessive and deliberate politeness. Really? The tone in his mind was exactly the same as the other trader had used on the very same word not so very long ago.

Xiro's brain hadn't even registered the other candidate's sudden movement when his right hand automatically snatched the dagger from his belt. In a split-second, the trader was half-crouched, the blade in his hand pointed straight for Qosis' back and the basket lying on the floor next to him. He didn't attack, but he'd seen the familiar motion and his body had responded accordingly. There he remained for a moment more, watching the huge man in silent stillness before he sheathed his blade once again. At his side, Lakeeti growled warningly, and he lifted a hand to quiet her. There was no need for a fight right now; if one was to come it would be in eight sevendays or more.

"Interesting of you to comment on togetherness," Xiro observed lazily, picking up the fallen basket, "when you only just reached for a knife that isn't there. Curious, that... or are you still more of a trader than you like to let on?" Rubbing the warm hilt at his side thoughtfully, the trader lengthened his stride to match that of the other man, although it was a bit of a strain on his much shorter legs. Not that he'd ever admit it, of course, and he strode along, moving his legs more quickly than usual to compensate for his shorter paces.

No Gathers? Xirofel, aghast, almost stopped moving. He lived for Gathers, festivals, and celebrations: anything that got him into a big crowd was much appreciated. Whether or not he was actually selling wares, it would have been nice to at least see people who weren't already bonded to dragons or whers and who weren't drudges or something similarly boring. Even Holdfolk and their disparaging insults would have been nice. "Heh. I traded on the Northern Continent, not the Western. I doubt I'd be recognized -- and even if I was, why should I care?" Xiro already knew that he could take care of himself, and he certainly wasn't afraid of the scorn of his fellow traders. After all, he'd already endured it for some time, and had a fresh dose of disgust for exiles heaped on him today.

It didn't take all that long to reach a room full of unwrapped, tangled bandages, and it didn't take any longer for Qosis to issue a totally unnecessary command. Now deciding that the man was probably just doing it to establish dominance, Xirofel shrugged and crouched next to a box, lifting swaths of white bandage out of it and depositing them in his basket. Lakeeti sat behind him, eyes fixed unwaveringly on the other trader. Unlike usual, her tail wasn't wagging and there was no friendliness in her posture. She didn't need to be commanded to protect her human; she did it out of love. And protect she did; the big canine didn't take her eyes off Qosis for a moment.

Obliged to keep his back to the other trader for the sake of his task, Xiro was nonetheless listening intently to everything Qosis said. Handfuls of unrolled bandage material found themselves being dropped constantly in the basket, but the trader's attention was on the man standing somewhere behind him. He seemed to have an interesting point, and Xirofel sat back on his heels for a moment, gazing pensively at the mountain of boxes before him. "Perhaps," he murmured slowly, "their riders just don't know the meaning of freedom. Therefore," he tossed another handful of bandage material into his basket, "they don't care." Of course, he did care. He did want his freedom, even if not a single sharding rider in this Weyr did. Safety wasn't a necessary requirement, and at the other's remark, Xirofel laughed. And he kept laughing until he'd thrown the last bandages into the basket and stood, balancing it against his hip.

"Catch me if you can, stoneblood. Meanwhile," he hefted the basket and whistled to Lacky, striding past the other man, "you can keep dreaming about your manhunt while we roll some more bandages. After all, it's our sworn duty to the Weyr." He grinned, and kept striding down the hall, his dog trotting at his side. He didn't even bother to glance back at the other trader, but his free hand rested lightly on his side, just over the knife that sat concealed there.

Although not unaware of the other trader's eyes on his back, Xirofel wasn't unduly alarmed either. Were he still living holdless, he never would have turned his back on anyone, even with Lakeeti here to guard him. That was suicide. Here, though, it was presumably frowned upon for candidates to actually kill each other, and so he wasn't too worried. Besides, Lacky was watching Qosis for him. Between the two of them, he and his canine were a team: they watched each other's backs, they worked together, and they trusted no one but themselves without a darn good reason.

There did have to be other traders here, and Atenna had even mentioned yesterday that there were, but Xiro had so far seen no sign of them. Given his brand-new status, however, that probably wasn't much of a surprise. "Presumably there are. I've heard tell of 'em but haven't seen any yet... except for you and I, of course." The trader winked, and then swaggered by Qosis, using the very gait that made it abundantly clear that he was still holdless to the core. It was a trader's walk: all confidence and fearless ease, betraying none of the nerves that might be lurking below the surface.

It didn't take long for Xirofel to realize that the sound of footsteps behind him had disappeared. He wrapped his fingers around the hilt of the blade at his hip and glanced back over his shoulder, but Qosis was nowhere to be seen. One brow quirked curiously, and the trader reached down to ruffle his canine's fur, figuring that if the bigger man wanted to jump him he'd do it outside of the infirmary. That did not, however, mean that he dropped his guard; the holdless' blood sang with alertness, and he sharpened his focus, concentrating on every tiny sound he heard. He wasn't jumpy, not by a long shot, but his hand remained at his side, ready to seize his blade and defend himself with it should that become necessary.

Allowing himself no tangential thoughts lest they allow him to become a victim of some half-expected fate, Xiro headed swiftly back down the tunnels they'd followed, in reverse order. Being in the confined dark like this, unnervingly suspicious of a back attack, was making the trader increasingly tense, and it was only when he re-emerged back into the bandage stores that he let the tension drain from his muscles.

Unexpectedly, Qosis was there. The younger holdless' brows drew together in surprise, and he cocked his head, pausing his stride for just a moment before he continued forward. Obviously there'd been another passage here, and the other candidate had taken it... but it still severely annoyed the trader that the other had managed to get here first. He concealed it with his customary smirk, sent Lakeeti back to her spot by the wall, and dropped the basket on top of the table with a thunk. From there, Xiro deftly abducted a pile of bandage materials and dropped them on his side of the table, beginning to roll them hastily.

Although he never would have admitted it, not in a thousand Falls, Xiro was struck by Qosis' words. He'd thought of that before, naturally -- what trader hadn't? -- but having someone else speak the words to him made the younger man hesitate for just one telling moment. Hidden by jet-dark hair, his eyes flashed with something akin to anger, but there was pain there too. As much as he was loathe to admit it, Qosis was right. The sharding man was right -- no matter where he went, as soon as the Pass arrived, the very idea of true freedom was nixed. Riding a dragon was the only way to even glimpse true adventure again.

Even thinking that made the trader grit his teeth in helpless rage, and he forced himself to finish rolling the bandage in his hands before he responded. When he did, there was tension in his voice, a strained quality that he couldn't quite conceal, and he didn't look up from his task. "Perhaps I will. As I said, we'll see what morning brings. And you... if you fail to Impress a dragon, will you go back to your whers?" No, he hadn't missed that little comment about whers' mental voices... and now seemed like the perfect time to point that out. Time to see what kind of a reaction he could get out of that one.

Fighting to contain the unaccustomed rage that burned in the back of his throat, Xirofel did not respond to the cool comment that was directed at him. Though one hand twitched in irritation, the younger trader said nothing, instead choosing to focus on the soothing monotony of rolling the bandages. Roll, roll, roll. One, two, three. He wasn't accustomed to being irritated, and he didn't like the feeling. More than that, though, he didn't like that he'd been fool enough to let on about what he knew. It wouldn't happen again; even if he didn't prevent them in the first place, Xiro learned from his mistakes.

Silent, but able to let his anger ebb slowly away, the trader worked diligently. The unnecessarily quick movements of his hands slowed to become motions performed in the same lazy grace that he'd exhibited before they both decided to start insulting one another. Another completed roll found itself being stacked on top of the pile in front of him, and Xiro reached for yet another length of bandage. The task seemed endless -- and actually it probably was, given how many boxes of material there had been back in the storage room. Ah, well. Monotony was something that was easy to get used to, even if it was boring.

About to grab up his own stack of bandages and carry them over to the basket, Xiro glanced over when several abruptly vanished from sight, snatched by the other trader's huge scarred hands. The holdless didn't comment, instead opting to pick up the rest of his bandages and carry them over himself. He had to take more strides than Qosis, but the distance still didn't allow for much of a swagger, and he was obliged to drop off his pile of bandages without much of a flourish. Xiro did, of course, brush his hands together idly as he was taking up his spot again, just in time for the other candidate to propose a drink.

There really weren't many bandages left to be rolled, were there? And a drink would be nice. The question was, did he actually want to grab one with this half-annoying and half-intriguing giant? Xirofel considered for a few seconds, glancing over at the other, and then grinned as well. "Offered like a true trader. Maybe you haven't lost your holdless streak entirely -- don't think I don't know that everything in the kitchens is free." A wink and a laugh, and the trader was for all intents and purposes back to his usual merry self.

Thinking over the offer, what did he really have to lose? Thieving a bottle and some mugs from the hearth drudges and then sneaking off to go have a drink -- albeit with another untrustworthy holdless -- did seem like a bit of fun. Granted, given their conversation, Xiro wasn't sure if he actually liked the other trader or not. He was interesting, even if he appeared to have turned into a stoneblood and a Weyrlover.

All of this passed through the trader's mind in just a few seconds, and he shrugged, lifting his hands in a gesture of total carelessness. "Why not?" Why not, indeed? Might as well see what gossip and rumours he could drag out of the other trader, or at least figure out if they could survive for five minutes without insulting each other. Granted, Xiro rather enjoyed tossing insults back and forth, even if it annoyed the shells out of both of them.

'Just make sure it is not underground, deep in the stone,' Qosis added, and Xiro grinned wickedly, stealing the other trader's bandage, rolling it, and tossing it across the table into the basket all in one fluid motion. "Done and paid for. There'll be no unnatural stone ceilings over us." With a wink, the smaller man picked up one of the last bandages to be rolled, and started to spin it easily between his fingers, quickly rolling it into a tube before tossing it cheerfully past Qosis and into the basket on the other side of the table. Only a couple of bandages left to finish, and they were done quickly. As soon as they were, Xiro flitted around the table, grabbed up the basket, and disappeared with it, leaving Lacky by the wall. He returned in under a minute, basketless, bandageless, and grinning as impudently as ever. "Need we roll more, or do you care to get that drink?"

Xirofel grinned at that, and bowed solemnly. "Tis my pleasure. Cooperation is one of my many talents... when I want it to be." He laughed, and upon returning, slapped his thigh lightly. Lakeeti, watching him, responded instantly and rose, trotting to his side just as she'd done so many times before. One hand found her head and ruffled her ears affectionately, and the canine wagged her tail, following along beside her master as he strode to keep up with Qosis.

When the other trader put on his jacket, Xiro had to wonder if he let it hang there out of simple laziness or if it just hurt the other to put it on. Either way, he didn't inquire, deciding to save those questions until later. Perhaps he wouldn't ask them at all -- if Qosis were half as adept at lying as Xiro himself tended to be, he probably wouldn't get a straight answer anyway. And really... what fun were straight answers? At least, what fun were straight answers when your life didn't rely on the answer or some such nonsense?

Well, the other candidate had been right when he said he could outstride Xiro. The smaller candidate was forced to break into a jog, loping up alongside the longer-legged man. Once he had his legs moving fast enough, it really wasn't that hard to keep up, and as fit as the smaller trader was, it didn't tax his breathing in the least. Besides, it was pleasant to be able to move at any kind of speed in these tunnels; it helped keep away the claustrophobia that haunted him. So did Lacky and, though he probably didn't know it, Qosis. Between those three factors, Xiro was finding it possible not to panic. That, and there were glows lining the walls, keeping the place nice and well-lit.

At being spoken to, the trader glanced over to his companion, still trotting along to keep up. A grin appeared on his face at that remark, and he winked. "I should say so." While he was wearing a brightly coloured jacket, that could be taken off at a later date. There was no way in the world to disguise Qosis' astounding height. And that was exactly why he was being sent on the stealthier part of the mission. Honestly, Xirofel didn't mind. As flamboyant and attention-whorish as he was, he was also capable of being sneaky when the situation required it. "You needed to tell me that? Every decent trader knows better than to touch Tillek." He winked, and halted as Qosis did, Lacky halting beside him. He heard and reluctantly obeyed; a soft "stay" issued from him and the canine settled her haunches on the ground, ready to stay there until her owner returned.

Thus freed of worry, although he doubted that Lacky would have presented a problem, Xiro followed the gigantic man down the tunnel. He too kept close to the wall, but on the other side and a short distance behind the other, walking at a different pace. It wasn't hard; Qosis outdistanced him within a few strides and he was henceforth able to look like he wasn't doing anything noteworthy. At least, he managed to do this until the other trader intercepted a drudge, drawing all attention onto himself, and he watched the other's hand carefully for some kind of a signal.

It came, and Xirofel duly noted which tunnel he was supposed to be heading down. No problem. He moved quickly and easily, and slipped past the scolding drudges to disappear down the side-tunnel. This presented a new adventure: while the storerooms lay straight ahead, there were also bound to be drudges in there getting supplies. Keeping that in mind, Xiro slunk noiselessly along the wall, keeping close to it until he reached the door and could glance into the storeroom. There was indeed a drudge there... right in front of the bottles of wine. Shardit. He slipped into the room, but edged behind a shelf, crouching slightly so he could watch without being seen. She seemed to take forever to get what she wanted and get out, and when she did, she came dangerously close to his hiding place.

Flattening himself against the wall next to the shelf, Xiro held his breath and waited for her to pass, then scurried around the corner and up to the shelves of wines. Right. Which one, which one... well, if he were going to be stealing booze, he was going to get something good. Naturally, this meant that the trader snatched a bottle of Benden white off the shelf. Hopefully no one would miss it, and he didn't mean to get caught on the way out. Stashing his prize under his jacket, the trader started heading back towards the door. Unfortunately, a pair of drudges, chattering grumpily at one another, squeezed through the entrance just at that moment. He hesitated for just a split second, and then pressed himself against the wall, hoping fervently that they wouldn't come around the far left shelf.

They did, of course, and their eyes widened at seeing an unaccustomed visitor in the stores. "Hey!" one exclaimed indignantly, stepping towards the intruder. Without pausing for a second, Xiro shoved through them, causing both to yelp and swat at him. He ducked, raced through the tunnel, and swerved around a drudge coming his way. All three of them were now pursuing him, shouting threats, and the trader shot down the main tunnel, bottle of wine clutched protectively to his chest. He definitely wasn't going to drop it and completely destroy the plan.

And he didn't. Though the drudges were shouting fit to wake the dead behind him, Xirofel was far quicker on his feet, and he fled down the tunnels until he reached the spot where he'd left Lacky. At this point he slowed, laughing like a cretin and still holding the Benden white close to his chest. Success! Now he just had to wait for Qosis and see if he'd managed to get some mugs. And hope that the drudges hadn't gotten a good enough glimpse of his face that he'd be banned from the kitchen or something similar. But at least he had their booze and such a dose of adrenaline that he'd still be grinning like an idiot when the other trader made his appearance.