Craft and Silvertongue [Cath, Rii, Sakky]

His eyes flash over Gess’ and take in that emotion; and impart a bit of his own: Mostly gratitude, because if anyone will soothe Daymar pre-Impression it will be G’dan, and also comfort—because really the tinkerer’s work was fantastic. Even if Sebol didn’t make hide nor hair of most of it. Now that Daymar was situated more in front of him, he could turn his attention willingly back to the table of food. Delicious meat pies, meat rolls, meat pieces, meat…meat…sweet sweet meat. The happy little food song rang in his head. He should’ve been a sharding Harper.

Still; he felt compelled to stay until Daymar was well and truly distracted by G’dan and his mysterious drawings. It wouldn’t do a lick of good to abandon his post and find the Candidate tagging after him nervously babbling about how he might be in G’dan’s way or wasting G’dan’s time and G’dan would obviously be too kind to tell him off but didn’t want a thing to do with him now that Sebol was gone. Or this, or some of that. More of even that.

His eyes scanned the room purposefully; looking for people he knew, studying those he did not—seeing how many drudges were glowering at him and brandishing their cooking utensils should he even appear to be heading for the kitchen. Such a shame. He could’ve spent entire days eating while on duty if they hadn’t kicked him out permanently. He hadn’t even filched anything like some certain Traderfolk he knew. Just destroyed entire trays of somethings. Ah well.

Ah, and there it was. All of his hard work come to frutition before his eyes—and just as exceptionally as he had known they would. Really; it was a good thing people listened to him so well: Where would everyone be without him? Aside from not caught in storms, bleeding, crying, throwing themselves from tall objects, or otherwise detained and bruised, and angry. Come to think of it; maybe it was a bad thing they listened to him so readily—but at least they listened. Yes. And right now they should be listening to each other while he listened to his stomach and went off in search of food. Exactly.

Which is precisely where he was turning to go when Xiro skidded to a halt next to him. He stared down at the trader for one long second, perplexed, and then heard the general commotion coming from the kitchen. “Nicely done, Xiro—you’ve brought me food.” and with that he plucked the plate from the Trader’s hands and pulled the man to his other side. Once he had his knee propped on the bench and had assumed a lazy sort of hunch the man was hidden from the questing drudges. Who wouldn’t come and bother him—they knew right well he’d make it his objective to go and inspect the kitchen for whatever the scoundrel had ruined—probably ruining everything during his investigation.

Ah, but sweet meat. Watching the drudges warily out of the corner of his eye as they milled about and gazed out the doorways trying to find the retreating dark-skinned man; Sebol simply tucked in to the fresh rolls that Xiro had brought as some pre-ordained offering. At least he had good timing, and good taste. “These are fantastic!” He stopped chewing briefly when he realized that Xiro had a flit on his head; pink like the sunrise and apparently hungry because she soon lept to his head. “You never told me you had a,” and he trailed off giving the back of Daymar’s head a significant look; then stuffing that pink mouth with a bit of meat to keep it quiet.

The eyes he finally leveled on the trader said everything he didn’t need to voice and more. I swear if you ruin this I will personally hunt you to the ends of Pern and stare at you until you go crazy. Do you know how long it takes to get him down here? If this is your flit get rid of it. What where you even thinking?

And so everything fell apart quicker than he could say ‘hey there, look at this lovely meat, why don’t we eat it together’. Nope. No sharing of anything at this table. There wasn’t much he could do aside from watch as the flitter escaped his grabbing hands to land on top of Daymar—then flew with the Candidate's hat onto the Trader while Daymar escaped under the table. His eyes flashed over G’dan’s and showed a matching displeasure ‘should’ve known better than to try this,’ but then they were again drawn to Daymar; or what would have been Daymar had the table not been in the way. Out came the mug, thud it went against Xiro’el’s face, and slap went Sebol’s palm over his eyes and forehead.

Fantastic. He sat down heavily beside Xiro, fingers plucking the offending mug from his grasp and setting it well out of reach of –well any of them—before catching the Trader’s chin in his hand to look at his cheek. The man’s pronounced facial bones had let him down this time; there was a slow yet sure trickle of blood coming from a darker hued area of crushed blood vessels. Sebol set his lips against scowling and snagged one of the rags from the table using it to swipe clean the blood; again his hand returned to the table catching up a chilled empty mug and pressing it to Xiro’s abused face even while the man was quite distracted with the flit—which saved Sebol from his kneejerk reaction of swearing Daymar out from under the table: It sounded like G’dan had that well in hand.

“You’re going to have a lovely bruise; though not as lovely as this little one.” his eyes went sort of wistful as he looked at the little Pink. “I’ve wanted a flitter for as long as I can remember, the occasion has just never presented itself—they at least are less dependent than hound or runner. I wonder to whom she belongs.” Eyeing the shadow of the man under the table and G’dan’s bent form he cast his voice a little louder; giving the Trader a meaningful look. “She must’ve been distracted by the hidework, looks like she’s happy to just stay still now. No flying around.”

“Well, with Q’sis running off to tell the Candidatemaster that I’ve mounted you every time he witnesses us together; you could tell him that I beat you this time.” The brow he arched bespoke the jest of his words; even if the trailing thought was serious indeed. He listened to Xiro swoon over the flit with mild amusement—such words for a Holdless who would gladly stab a man that tried to spoil his hound; yet both had given the little pink meat.

He merely nodded when offered welcome for the cold mug; keeping it pressed to the man’s face even as his eyes wandered from the Pink firelizard to G’dan and the slowly appearing Daymar. He offered his room-mate a warm smile. “G’dan is correct, Xiro’el gets far worse from Tigreath, you’ve done nothing wrong. “ His grey eyes flashed across Gess’ with gratitude and then returned to the Trader.

“I don’t recognize her either, though…come to think of it, I haven’t made friends with anyone who owns a firelizard. I have to admit, it’s an interesting change of pace to see you spoiling a creature—though I suppose there isn’t work she could be fouled from such as wagon pulling. Treats are likely an ideal method of ensuring message delivery.”

He watched the Trader’s expression and knew Daymar had made a miss-step even as he heard the words come from the boy’s mouth himself: Ah, that wouldn’t go over so well, would it. He followed the man’s eyes back to the Pink firelizard—then met them with soft laughter. “He’d probably be more thrilled to know I’ve resorted to beating you in his stead; rather than—“ Daymar’s commentary told him that he should most certainly not finish that sentence as he wanted to, and instead allowed at least his eyes to show Xiro how amused he was: Their backs mostly turned to the men on the other side of the table made it easier to express hidden emotions. No reason to alienate Daymar when he obviously felt quite badly—in his own way.

Besides, Xiro and he could leave the pair to their own devices. Sebolaren was okay for a short walk to the Dining Hall, leading the man as if a high strung courser, but in terms of overarching depth in relationthip; he and Daymar weren’t meant for that. The mounted comment had been a slip of the tongue due to being in comfortable company; he’d well dust the entire gathering if he wasn’t more careful. So he steeled himself against crass vocabulary and gave the Trader an imploring look—though perhaps once Daymar was settled…again…they could slip off elsewhere.

His attention was reclaimed by a shift in tone which implied Xiro’el was once again speaking to him and not to G’dan or Daymar. Spoil indeed, a smile flourished at that: He had seen how the man doted over Requias when they went out with her; it was in his nature to love on animals. “I heard that your class found flitter eggs on the beach, or members of it had…one of the classes—anyway. I plan on hunting for some; I’ll let you know how I manage. I really wouldn’t mind, as long as it could be trained as loyal as a runner—and was somewhat intelligent.” Sebol lifted his free non-mug-holding hand to touch the flit gently, a chuckle breathing out between his lips as he strove to remain mostly still. “Feel as if I might break her with one large finger if I stroke her too hard.”

He too turned to G’dan, nodding in agreement to what both had decided, “quite friendly, which I suppose is for the best considering what mischief she could get herself in to,” The image she had sent him stuck inside his head and was neatly filed away for later—it wasn’t anyone he recognized, but that only meant a new acquaintance could be made. He was recalled from thought again by Xiro and he laughed. “I’m fine, it’s keeping me mostly distracted, besides—you’ve your hands full.”

His jaw tightened visibly. Of course Xiro was not joking; he had already witnessed some of the damage Q’sis had wrought to the young man simply by interacting with him—it was enough to drive Sebolaren into a protective fit. Even worse that he could do nothing about it; aside from hope that his words with K’var had not fallen on deaf ears— or those the Candidatemaster had spoken to the Weyrlingmaster in turn. Perhaps Impression would yet prove good for the large emotionally stunted man—perhaps not, regardless it was best pretend he didn’t exist: Which wouldn’t be hard what with him flying in the Queen’s Wing within the next few turns.

“It’ll be a secret between the two of us that there are better ways to sway a man’s loyalties,” and he left it at that, speaking again only to answer the man when directly questioned. “I’m sure we’ll find plenty of occasion to be on the beaches, and never worry; I take you with me on most expeditions so I have someone to point the finger of blame toward,” the grin lit his face at the jest, and he knew his friend would not take it poorly. It was certainly true that there had been plenty of opportunities for Sebolaren to throw Xiro’el to Thread if he’d truly wanted it done.

He quieted and simply listened as the man continued to coo at the Pink; and receive similar treatment from her if his face showed any indication: His hands only moving to allow the bruised cheek some moments to breathe before applying a fresh chill mug to his flesh; his head running past a quick litany of fifteen on five off—at least for runner bruising. When the little Pink turned her attention on him with a happy trill, he obliged her with more fingers along her small body and a warm smile on his face. She really was a darling of a thing.

“Too true, good man, too true,” of course Xiro would see straight through his actions, over the past moons they’d both gotten to know each other far too well; neither the Trader’s silvertongue nor the Herder’s quiet resolve worked on the other. Which was probably for the best else the Cyanpair would coerce him into even more trouble at every available moment.