Truth and Consequences [Sakky]

Have enough to eat, finally? Xiro'el glanced down at his dragon, lifting a brow at her as she crawled onto her couch and curled up on it sleepily. Tigreath ate lots, she informed him, and the weyrling chuckled with amusement. She'd be falling asleep soon: one, two, three...

There. Just like clockwork, the hatchling was out like a light, curled up in a bright blue, striped ball on her couch. It was still rather big for her, but as far as she was concerned, this just proved that she was going to be ginormous when she grew up. Xiro sometimes wondered about her trains of thought, but his cyan was marvelously endearing and that was all he really cared about. That, and the fact that she was the other half of his soul. Just a small factor in his love for her, that.

With Lakeeti stretched out at the side of his bed, Xiro was forced to climb over her, but he didn't care. As far as the weyrling was concerned, it was naptime for all of them; he collapsed on his bed without even noticing if his roommate happened to be present. Who cared? He was going to sleep, because he hadn't gotten even a tiny bit of shut-eye last night and he very much wanted some. Faranth. While sneaking into the candidate barracks had been fun, it also wasn't the wisest thing he'd ever done. The purple mark on his shoulder attested to that; who knew that a mug could make such a painful weapon?

Sleeping in a building was never easy for the trader, but it got considerably more difficult when people started yelling for his attention. A familiar deep voice barked out his name, and Xiro cracked an eye open, glancing toward the entrance of the room he shared with J'rit. "Mm," he responded noncommittally, and then paused to reconsider. While he had no problem at all with annoying the other man (and indeed found it rather fun), the scolding was something he didn't feel like letting his roommate witness.

Heaving a tired sigh, Xiro hauled himself off the bed and checked his boot briefly to make sure his dagger was still there. It was. Good, then. The trader took a moment to stretch and shake his head to clear it, then headed off in the direction Q'sis had gone, wondering what on earth the other man wanted. Could nothing wait until he'd had five minutes of sleep? Granted, much of the lack of rest was his own fault, but at least some of it wasn't entirely.

Though he wasn't in the mood to run, the cyan weyrling loped off across the Bowl, not entirely sure he wanted to be doing this, but curious all the same. He had his suspicions as to what was going on, and they made him rather uneasy -- mostly because of the jaunt apparently required for the meeting. That did not bode well, but it would be best to get to the heart of the matter. This thought in mind, Xiro'el slowed at the entrance to the classrooms, and padded in, running a hand through his hair and scanning the room until he found the tanrider's broad form waiting for him. "Q'sis. You want something?"

Given who he was dealing with, and the highly suspect location that had been chosen for the meeting, Xiro'el was not inclined to relax and assume this was going to be a friendly discussion. Despite the dark smudges under his eyes, the trader was now very much awake, not least because of the tan weyrling's suggestion. Close the door? He didn't think so. No holdless with any common sense ever willingly blocked off an exit.

Needless to say, he left the door exactly the way it was -- open -- and left his gaze on the tanrider at the head of the room. Way back at their first meeting, Xiro had pegged the larger man for the sort who liked to be in charge. This, he thought, rather proved him right. Not that it was anything to be thinking about right now, what with Q'sis undoubtedly ready to lay into him for some crime or another. It wasn't like he'd exactly been short on those recently.

Wine. Benden white, by the seal. Xiro'el maintained a nonchalant expression, sure that this was going somewhere but not sure yet where that might be. He did not take the bait, and remained in place when Q'sis offered him the wine, ready to inquire what the price might be. As it turned out, he didn't need to: the other weyrling's arm drew back and a second later the bottle shattered against the wall to one side of him. The sound of it made the cyan weyrling twitch, but he glanced to the other man with one brow slightly raised. "That," he announced, "is a waste of good wine."

Ah, yes. So he had been found out. Still, the trader let only a lazy smile tug at the corners of his mouth, betraying no anxiety whatsoever. Don't let the hounds smell your fear, wasn't that right? As soon as fear was shown, all was lost -- with Sebolaren, it hadn't mattered. Then, he had at least had the assurance that the other man was not going to attack him. In this case, despite Q'sis' generally non-violent nature (that he knew of), Xiro wasn't so sure.

"The mare isn't a nag," he piped up helpfully, letting his smile expand into a grin. "She's a fine animal, not one to be slandered." Of course, defending Requias' status as a fine animal immediately dropped to the bottom of Xiro's priority list. He raised a brow at the continued accusations, keeping a watchful eye on Q'sis as the tanrider stalked towards him. The instant the man got too close, he was entirely ready to bolt, or at least get out the door to the hall where he had a chance of escaping.

But Q'sis stopped, even if his tirade didn't. Eyes fixed solidly on the other trader, Xiro kept track of everything he was saying. The insinuation of what he'd been doing had made him grin, but now... his face underwent a remarkable transformation from mildly amused to astounded to overwhelmed by laughter. Grinning ear-to-ear, the cyanrider chortled in amusement, though he didn't take his gaze off the other weyrling for even a moment.

"Is that what you think I was doing!" He grinned wider still, eyes bright with mirth. "Run off I most certainly did, but it wasn't so anybody could mount me. Actually, I was swimming, stoneblood. Nothing more, nothing less. As for Tigreath being forced to run behind the mare, she was fine. Your tan might lack the strength to go that far, but my cyan does not." The trader paused, eyeing the giant thoughtfully though the grin remained on his face. "But all this begs the question: why do you feel the need to keep tabs on me, tanrider? Afraid I'll leave this fine Weyr before my dragon's grown, and kill her besides?"

Brushing dark hair out of his eyes, Xiro'el let his grin fade back into an arrogant smile, giving Q'sis no reason at all to think he might be afraid of him. For all intents and purposes fearless, he ran his bandaged hand through his hair and started estimating how fast he could maneuver through the door and escape, should the situation turn uglier. Until then, though...

"His name's Sebolaren, exile, not Ruathan. Or has he earned your scorn the same as me, that you call him such?"

"Don't make assumptions about whether I am lying to you, Q'sis. I'm not. Swimming in the lake is fine, but I wanted the touch of the ocean salt instead." Xiro'el scoffed, eyeing the taller man before renewing that careless grin. "Oh, this?" Brushing a finger across the dark shadows Q'sis had pointed out to him, the trader laughed. "These, my friend, are the result of my holdlessness clashing with the Weyr, and nothing more. I assure you I haven't been sneaking off for liaisons with anyone -- not Sebolaren or anyone else." Running himself into the ground, yes, but nothing more had been done those late nights beneath Pern's moons.

If the tanrider was trying to annoy Xiro, it wasn't working. Remembering how loose-tongued his anger had made him last time, the cyanrider blocked any trace of it. One more thing to run off later, wasn't it? Still, the trader's smile faded and he lifted one shoulder in a shrug as the tanrider brought up the subject of his sister. "Considering your experiences with me, I'm surprised you thought I would wait that long. As for my sister, you know nothing about her or us save what she said to me in front of you. Make all the assumptions you want about my feelings toward my family, but don't think that any of them are correct."

"Will it? I'll be the judge of that," the cyanrider responded simply, and then set one hand on his hip at news of the assassinations, gaze no longer mirthful but not upset either. He'd heard of the killings, indeed, but they hadn't fazed him much. Perhaps they should have. Perhaps not. "And what about brats like you, Q'sis? Wouldn't assassins like to take a blade to your tanriding neck as much as my holdless one? You are a more likely target than I. Consider that when you speak to me of murdered weyrlings."

And, to his perceptions, the words were entirely true. What better target for assassins' arrows than Pern's first male sub-queen rider? What better source of scandal and astonishment for almost everyone in Weyr, Hold, and Hall alike? No arrows would seek a holdless cyanrider over a shock-inspiring male tanrider, of that he was sure. Besides that, Xiro'el was quite confident enough in his skill with the blade to believe that he could fend off any danger to Tigreath. Nothing would touch her, because he wouldn't let it. It was as simple as that.

A soft snort of derision, and Xiro'el fixed his dark gaze on Q'sis' olive one. Smiling lazily, he gestured to himself with one dark hand, and raised a brow, as seemingly unconcerned as anything. "I'm surprised you haven't already come to the logical and correct conclusion, stoneblood. It disappoints me -- you seem accurate enough about most things. Most. And yet you haven't taken into account the fact that the fault could be mine -- and is. Who better to come up with plans for an irresponsible dive into the ocean, eh?"