One Trouble Maker + One Trouble Maker = A Lot of Trouble [Z'jan, Trelanvor]

Trelanvor tried to look casual as he made his way to the Healing Hall. Nothing to see here just a candidate out for an evening stroll. He'd have been less obvious hanging a sign around his neck that said up to no good. For some odd reason people saw his insatiable curiosity as a problem. He'd timed his excursion for after dinner. During would have been better, but he wasn't going to give up a meal. Besides he might have been missed and roused suspicion. Or maybe not.

His pace slowed as he approached the Hall, quietly looking around for any signs of activity. The place appeared deserted, though there was a chance some healer or two was in his office. Trel spent as little time as possible in the place, which meant he was actually there quite often. Being energetic and curious meant lots of injuries. It also meant he knew his way around the hall pretty well. There were a few rooms he'd never been into, and that bother him. He'd ignored the need to know just what was behind those locked doors. Eventually though it juts got to be too much. He had to know. He just had to.

Satisfied that the place was deserted, he eased himself to the ground. Crossing a foot over one knee he pried off a sandal, then repeated the process with the other foot. If you were going to be sneaking around barefoot was the way to go. There was the small chance of a splinter, but being able to move almost silently was worth it. It was also more exciting. Trel grinned to himself, the excited rush of what he was about to making it difficult to hold still. Standing back up he slipped his foot wear off to the side. Hopefully he'd be able to stop and retrieve them once he was done. He peered back into the hall, making one final check before he entered.

His elbow was bleeding again. Not that that was anything new. Bumps, bruises and scrapes were his second attire; he was always sporting at least a few. And a skinned elbow was hardly anything to write home about. The problem with elbows, though... they bend. Making them hard to heal. And apparently leaving blood prints on the dining hall tables was not appreciated. He'd managed to shove a few rolls into his mouth before being chased out by one of the matronly cooks there. Matronly, in the sense that she was threatening to box his ears in. Which put her in the only vein of mother's he'd ever known.

So, escaping with his life and a mouthful of dough, he'd made his way leisurely in the direction of his hut. After all, he didn't need a healer. It was a damn scratch. He has worse ones in worse places at the moment, if anyone was keen to ask. [ghalath] To wrap it... [/ghalath] Ghalath said simply, lazily. She'd been sleeping. [ghalath] ...just take some.[/ghalath]

Z'jan slowed, chewing. It always took a minute to understand what Ghalath was saying. She hardly ever spoke in complete sentences. Ah, a roll of cloth wrap... Z'jan smiled. She had a point. Just grab a roll and take it back to the hut. No one would notice. Probably. And he'd have enough left over to make a makeshift sling next time he needed one. Because  there was always a next time. So he changed direction, heading towards the Healing Hall. He would just pop in, grab a roll, be on his way... he pulled the door open and took a few steps inside. It was quiet. No one else seemed to be around.

Good.

He'd been here enough to know where most things were kept, and headed straight for a known storage closet against the far wall. As long as he walked with his head up and looked like he knew what he was doing, no one would question him. Every real sneak knows as much. But halfway across the hall, a small movement caught his eye. He stopped dead, even though he should have kept walking. But the figure had already disappeared around the next corner. Who had that been? Z'jan tried to reconstruct what he had seen. A healer? Maybe, but... not likely. It had moved too... sneakily?

Forgetting his original objective, he wandered quietly over to where the figure had been. On the floor, just out of easy sight, were a pair of sandals. Odd place. Z'jan looked up again, gazing in the direction that the figure must have gone. He pondered for a moment.

Then followed, of course.

But not before abandoning his own shoes. He stashed them more secretively, under the ledge of a cabinet. No one would find them there. I'm stalking an intruder, Ghalath. If I'm not back in a candlemark, then I might be dead. Call the healers... or... you know. Ghalath was not amused. She grunted in her mind: [ghalath] You act like a hatchling... and you're not funny. [/ghalath] There was more than sleep in her voice this time, there was also some anger. She didn't like 'Zjan's dead' jokes.

Z'jan's sighed. He probably shouldn't be making those jokes anyway. But irreverence was stitched into his soul; it was part of who he was. Still... do you want me to say sorry?

[ghalath] I want you to leave me alone so I can sleep.[/ghalath]

Z'jan put a finger to his lips, pledging silence, even though the green couldn't see him. Then, on tip-toed barefeet, he crept after the mysterious figure. 

Trelanvor crept across the floor, hugging the outer wall. In his mind he was as stealthy as a jungle cat slipping ever closer to its unsuspecting prey. If he actually had been a jungle cat he probably wold have noticed someone else enter the hall shortly after him. He was too wrapped up in his own imagination to give a though not only to who might already be in the hall, but who might come in as well. He slipped around the corner and down a hallway. One of those pesky rooms had been down this way.

He paused, one foot hovering above the floor. He thought he'd heard something, a soft shuffle. When the sound didn't repeat he shrugged it off. Just the wind in the trees or maybe a tunnel snake slithering by on the hunt. A few more silent steps and he was in front of the door he was after. He tried the handle, gently turning it, but it stopped. Locked of course. He grinning happily. Locked doors were much more fun than unlocked ones.

He slipped a hand into his pocket, pulling out what may have been nails or some other discarded metal bits. He crouched down, carefully working his "tools" into the lock. Trelanvor wasn't actually very good at picking locks, but persistence and luck often made up for his lack of ability in the area. Eventually he'd get the door open or get caught by one of the healer. He just hoped whatever was behind the door was worth all his effort.

Z'jan had hardly began his sneaky adventure before he nearly gave himself away. He'd rounded a corner too quickly and found himself far too close to the back of an unknown man than was ideal for sneaking. With a muffled inhale and a swift skitter backwards, he disappeared back around the corner. He placed has back against the wall. Took a few quiet breaths.

Had he been seen? Heard? He dared a peek around the corner, half expecting to meet eye to eye with a none-too-amused healer. But the figure had moved off. The individual was now crouched before a door, fiddling with the handle. No... not fiddling with the handle... Picking the lock!

It was a skill Z'jan had always wanted to pick up. There were no ends to its usefulness! But alas, it seemed the few who knew were apt to guard their secrets. But this hadn't turned Z'jan off as a kid. Merely converted him into a relatively successful pickpocket. Not that he was proving his worth at the moment. Stuck just around the corner, he had no way of getting closer without risking being seen in this man's periphery. Who was he, anyway? Z'jan had never seen him before. Or at least, didn't recognize him from this distance. He looked about the same age. Z'jan squinted. But it was no use. The other was too far away for him to identify what knots he wore, if any.

Z'jan pondered his next move. Maybe, if he moved slow enough, he could stay pressed against the wall and remain unseen. Just sort of... sidle closer. It seemed a good enough plan as any.

Until Z'jan shifted his weight forward and stepped onto the loudest, most cantankerous floor board that a bumbling journeyman crafter had ever nailed into place.

crrrREEEeeeaaaaaAKKk.... Z'jan froze, expression contorted into an obvious cringe.

Well... fuck.

Trel 's brow furrowed with concentration and worked at the lock. This didn't seem like it was going to be one of those times when success came quickly. He wiggled his lock picks, feeling one catch slightly and nearly whooping in excitement. He was getting close. If he could just get the right position he would have the door open in no time.

He gave a startled jump, knocking his knuckled against the door handle and dropping his tools to the floor with a clang. "Shiit!" He raised his smarting knuckle to his mouth as he stood, half expecting an angry healer to be glaring at him. An empty stretch of hall met his gaze, but he knew a floor board hadn't just creaked on it's own. Putting two and two together he decided he wasn't the only one sneaking about the place. If it was a healer they would have just bustled right over, not stayed hidden.

"Who's there? You'd better show yourself. I am armed!" He called out, trying to sound stern. He wasn't actually armed, unless his own two arms counted. Remembering his dropped locked picks he bent down and snatched them up. Not good things to have lying around. The interruption was ill timed. He'd been so close to getting that door open.

Z'jan listened to the voice echoing down the hallway. Armed? Well shit. This guy meant business. Maybe he really was a thief. But what was he here to steal? Numbweed. Bandage wrap? Oh yeah, that's what he'd come in here for... bandage wrap. Z'jan snorted to himself. How uninteresting that was now! It always amazed him how quickly mundane aspects of life could morph into adventurous, high drama scenarios. Such as a blind hallway standoff between an armed lockpick and a greenriding pickpocket. If that wasn't entertainment...

"I'd ask the same!" he shouted back, but the words came from a mouth that was quirked in a half smile. "And don't think I'm coming around this corner just to get a knife in my chest!"

Though he supposed, if he was going to get a serious injury, this was probably the best place for it. But uggh... healers. He shuddered physically at the thought of being poked and prodded and looked at as though he were little more than a talking slab of herdbeast flesh. Nope, not his favorite, healers. Still, Z'jan couldn't restrain himself. The dangerous, or seemingly dangerous, had always held an irresistible draw for him. Slowly, without any sudden movements, he pressed up against the corner and peered around, just enough to get an eyeline on the other man.

Hm... he did look kind of familiar... from somewhere. Z'jan watched him scoop up the fallen lockpicks. He wasn't sure if he'd noticed Z'jan's head popping around the corner yet. So be made himself more obvious. Because that seemed like a good idea, apparently. He took a tiny step forward, still half shielded by the hall corner.

"So if you're going to chuck a knife at me, at least give me a little warning so I can duck first!"

Z'jan didn't seem to understand the finer points and motivations physical violence. It was as though he thought the whole thing to be some type of macabre theater production, that required orchestration before hand. And his half smile, half eye-brow raise that accompanied his comment seemed only to further confirm this.

This was turning into a bit of a stand off it seemed. The other man had the advantage in that Trel really had nowhere to go. He'd been looking for some excitement, but this was a bit more than he had planned for. "Well I asked first!" he countered, taking a moment to examine his knuckles. No obvious damage, but they did throb from getting whacked. He looked up, an eye brow arched in confusion. A knife in his chest? Oh well he had said he was armed. "I promise not to put a knife into any part of you as long as you do the same." Granted he didn't have a knife, but no need to let whoever was hiding around the corner know that.

Trel slipped his tools back into his pocket. At present it seemed unlikely he'd get the door open tonight. That was disappointing, but it did mean he'd get to look forward to trying again. A moment ahead of him caught his eye. A man, still partially shielded by the corner of the wall was peering down the hall at him. He appeared to be around the same age, which was somehow reassuring.

The man didn't look all that menacing. In fact Trelanvor would even go as far to say he looked like he was enjoying the whole thing. "I'm not going to throw a knife at you. I don't even have one." He admitted. "If you keep sneaking up on people though you probably will end up with something thrown at you." He pointed out with a smirk. He still had no idea who this man was. Likely not a healer since he would have been getting a tongue lashing by now. Trel was also curious as to what the man was doing in the hall.

Z'jan had been going through a mental list of any defensive item on his person that he might be able to utilize. Having removed his boots (his small utility knife tucked inside) he had little on hand that could be used in defense. Which was a bit disheartening. He didn't exactly like the idea of blocking potential knife blows with his bare hands.

But... wait.... he was unarmed? Z'jan smiled. He loved a good bluffer, even if it was at Z'jan's own expense."Oh... you don't?" Z'jan relaxed his shoulder somewhat. He wasn't sure if it was from relief or... disappointment. The idea of a knife wielding intruder had made his day so much more interesting.

Still, though... what was this man up to?

"Oh, I get thinks thrown at me all the time," his response was dismissive, as if he found that whole affair not worth explaining further. "Though it's usually for being a bit of thief... being pelted for sneakery would be a new one." He tried out the word, thief, just let it hang in the air for a moment. Maybe he would get a rise out of the other man.

With caution, but not overt fear, he moved out into the hallway, hands half raised. The gesture was obvious. He looked curiously between the other's pockets, and the door he'd been previously trying to force open.

"So..." he started, a sly smile creeping up, "it seems you've forgotten your key?"

Trel thought the man may have been a bit disappointed by his opponents lack of an actual weapon. It must have just been a trick of the lights. "Nope. Didn't think I'd be needing one." He explained, an eyebrow arching upward in amusement. He wasn't a violent man so even if he had a knife he would have used it unless he'd be given no other choice.

"I see." He didn't really, but the other man spoke as if the fact things were thrown at him regularly was common knowledge. "Oh. Well I doubt there is any real difference between them. Though I've only been pelted for the later of course." Trel went silent for a moment. Though he wasn't suppose to be here or trying to open a locked door, he hadn't been going to take anything. He wasn't sure if the same could be said for this man. "Is that why you were here? To steal something?" He asked, keeping his tone neutral. Trel may have been a rascal, but he liked to think he was an honest one.

He glance from the man to the door, a sheepish smile on his face. "Hmmm actually I never had one in the first place." He admitted, absently scuffing a toe against the floor. "I was just curious about what they keep in there." He waved toward the still locked door as he spoke. "I'm Trelanvor by the way." He gave the man a studious look. "Oh shit are you a rider?" He asked, suddenly rather alarmed. A rider catching him trying to pick a lock could be a very bad thing.

"Steal? Me?" he feigned a look of innocence. But he also lowered his voice and took a step closer to allowed himself to still be heard. "Only sometimes," he winked, "though today I'm afraid you caught me white-handed." Well, at least currently... there's still that bandage wrap.

Slowly, Z'jan lowered his hands, now that it was clear the other man was neither armed nor particularly aggressive. In fact, he seemed to Z'jan more of a co-conspirator than an adversary. Hm...

Never had a key? Well, that wasn't the right answer. Not for an aspiring sneak. Z'jan tried to contain himself, eyes glinting mischievous. "Oh, course you did! Musta just dropped it along the way. Happens all the time. People are always misplacing things" he rubbed his chin innocently "--and it seems these doors are always getting stuck, don't you think?"

Once the man offered his name, Z'jan approached the door without any further preamble. Friend, not foe. Most definitely. "Z'jan" he said clapping Trelanvor on the shoulder and giving it a bit of a squeeze "And just pretend you didn't see those knots on my shoulder, eh?" He released him, a candidate judging by his own knots, and approached the door. Z'jan gave the handle a jiggle, then a little shove with his shoulder. It didn't budge.

"Nope, you right. Seems this door is right... stuck." He looked back, glancing suggestively at Trelanvor's pocket. "Maybe we should... unstick it? You know, save them the trouble." 

Trel chuckled, amused at the man's feigned innocence. He'd tried that often enough himself, though it rarely worked to get him out of trouble. "The night is still young."

"Huh?" He gave the man a confused look. What was he going on about? Trel was beginning to think the older man was just a bit crazy. After a few confused and worried moments things finally clicked. "Oh yeah right. I must have dropped it on the way here." He agreed, smiling widely. "Humidity does it I think. Especially with doors that don't get used all that often." He was eager to point out.

Trelanvor winced as Z'jan gave him a friendly squeeze. He was a rider, but not exactly the sort Trel imagined most to be like. He seemed more likely to help than turn him in. "What knots?" He winked, happy enough to follow the rider's lead.

He watched as Z'jan leaned his shoulder into the door without success. "Hmm that does seem like the most helpful thing to do." He agreed as he slipped a hand into his pocket. "Oh I forgot I even had these." He pulled his make shift picks out of his pocket, bouncing them in his open palm.

With a quick grin he knelt down before the door and began working at the lock. "Soooo how long have you been a rider?" He asked, gaze focused on the lock as he adjusted one of the picks.

Humidity... what knots? This guy was good. Z'jan's type of co-conspirator. He gave the handle another experimental jiggle, glancing back at Trelanvor with an 'I know, that you know, that I know' look and flashing him an honor among thieves smile.  Yeah, this was going to work out just fine. Any remaining thoughts about knives, tattletales or partypoopers was banished from his mind.

He stepped aside slightly, allowing Trelvanor to kneel beside him take another stab at the keyhole with his lockpicks. Z'jan's shoulder-method had been rudimentary, sure, but lacking his own lockpicks it had been the best he could offer at the time... a show of good faith. After all, Trelanvor deserved some dirt on him, in case they got caught. If Z'jan hadn't so much as touched the door, how would Trelanvor know Z'jan wouldn't just go skipping off if trouble came knocking?

Z'jan leaned back against the wall next to the door, keeping an eye on the intersecting hallways. He was look out. He could handle that. Even if it meant standing still. Or sorta still. He rocked slightly against the wall, alternating between his hips and shoulders in a distracted whumpthwump pattern. His listened to the tinkering of the lock, occasionally bending his neck to stare at the blond head.

"Mm, not so long. Still a weyrling, mostly in name though. I can't think of a green from our clutch that hasn't risen." Except Ghalath he added silently, and to himself. "What about you? You can't be a day older than me or call me a wherry. Did they snatch you up too?" Z'jan delivered the last line casually. It wasn't that he didn't have feelings about the stolen candidates... but what did it matter now, to him? He had Ghalath. And that was that.  Still, he knew many others viewed things quite differently. So he played a little carefully. He didn't need to piss another person off about stolen candidates. He'd already done that with S'cer, unknowingly at first. And that hadn't exactly worked out so well... namely, he hadn't seen the man since.

He thumbed his bottom lip, stealing a glance down at the other man, trying to gauge his reaction about the whole issue without looking too obvious.

Unfortunately, that gesture alone made him look obvious.   

His brow furrowed in concentration, Trel worked at the lock. There was a gentle clink and scrape of metal as he tried to find just the right position to produce that almost magical click. He was glad to have Z'jan as a look out since it meant he could focus more on the task at hand. If anyone did happen to come along they would still be trapped in a dead end hallway. He worry about that if it happened. For now his concentration was on getting the door unlocked.

Z'jan's presences disturbed some distant memory. Sure he'd probably seen him around the Weyr. Katila wasn't that big, though not everyone paid candidates much attention. They were basically just staff unless they impressed. He nodded absently, taking a second to glance up at the rider, "She'll rise eventually I suppose. I'm sure there are some who wouldn't mind having a late riser. Not saying your one of them of course." He'd never been put off by flights like some candidates could be. He had the son to prove it. He may have enjoyed them a little too much in the beginning. After Tenmar's birth he's eased back a bit. He didn't regret the child, but he didn't want more kids running about than he could keep track of.

Trelanvor paused, leaning back on his heels and flexing his hands. "Yup, few turns back now. Seems like a lifetime ago sometimes." He replied, looking toward Z'jan. "You were stolen too weren't you." He paused, searching his memories. "Not too long after me. Though you seem to have had better luck." He sighed softly as he set back to working away at the lock. Trel's first couple turns at the Katila had been a little wild. He'd fully enjoyed the freedoms of the Weyr and common sense had taken a backseat to enjoying himself. Stupidly breaking his wrist and missing a hatching had been a bit of a wake up call. He wasn't exactly reformed, but he wasn't nearly as reckless as he had been.

Z'jan found Trel's calm reaction to the topic of stolen candidates welcoming. The little knot that bounced in his stomach went away. Why had he been so worried? They were just talking. Z'jan wasn't the best at talk, sure, and lately he'd felt like everytime he opened his mouth he said something he shouldn't have. But this guy was different. They were on the same level, the same page. More or less.

Z'jan nodded in acknowledgement to his own stolen status. "I guess you could call it luck. But..." he trailed for a minute, staring down at the empty hallway,"...it's just different, that's all. I mean, I don't think I was ever supposed to be a Dragonrider. But here I am: a Dragonrider. Is that luck?" he shrugged "Maybe you're supposed to be something else. Maybe not. But either way, I can tell you one thing for sure:" he looked down at the blond with a smile bordering on sheepishness "...I never thought I'd be a green rider, you know? Blue sure, maybe brown and no-way bronze. But green?" He gave a little laugh, almost a nervous laugh, then went awkwardly quiet.

Trelanvor's comments about his green rising circled his mind. Only at that moment did he realize: he wasn't waiting for Ghalath to rise; he was praying that she wouldn't.

"I wouldn't trade Ghalath for the world, of course. But... it's just weird how much your dragons color dictates your life here. What people expect from you. Like it's all big a game or something. I dunno. I miss my old life sometimes. The sea. Ships, seacrafters, rope burns and fish guts..." he gave a quiet chuckle, drifting off on a wave of nostalgia.

Recovering himself, he drummed his fingers against the wall, trying to think of a quick and appropriate seque. He couldn't, really. He cleared his throat a little, rubbing an eyebrow. "So... bout done there? Or should I give it another shove?"

Trelanvor was glad he and Z'jan had decided to visit the hall on the same night. Things had started off a little rocky, but he sensed a similarity with the other young man. Some times he felt out of place among his fellow candidates. Many seemed to resent having been stolen, something Trel simply didn't share. It wasn't an ideal way to become a candidate, but it was pretty dam exciting.

He wanted to believe he'd impress, someday. It made being stolen and leaving behind friends and family worth it. To have to be something other than a dragonrider would be a big disappointment. He seen the faces of those who impressed enough times to want that moment for himself. To be denied that wasn't something he wanted to consider. Trel stared thoughtfully at the lock when Z'jan went quiet. "I must say I've never seen what was so wonderful about Browns and Bronzes. Sure they are big, but honestly who wants to be saddled with all that responsibility. Besides running the risk of ending up Weyrleader. Greens and Blues have it made. No one really gives a dam about what you do." He looked up at the man and grinned. "Think about it if you were a Brown or Bronzerider you would not be trying to get into a locked room."

Trel focused on the door, twisting and adjusting his lock picks as he tried to find the right configuration. He knew Z'jan was right. Impressing would change everything. Right now he if he ended up back home he could pick up where he left off. If he impressed then his future was pretty much decided. There would be no going back to how things were. "Seriously you miss fish guts?" His face contorted into a disgusted grimace. "Come by the kitchens some time and you can find all the fish guts you like." He shuddered. "If it is a game I guess we'll both just have to play our parts. Not that I've ever been very good at following rules."

"Why because your last one was such a big help?" Trelanvor teased, eyes upon the lock. He leaned forward, carefully rotating on of the picks. He was close he could feel it. A resistance slowly giving way to the pressure he slowly applied. He felt more than heard a slight click as the locks inner workings finally slide into place. Trel bounced to his feet, a wide, excited grin splitting his face. "I got it! I can't believe this actually worked!" He slipped his lock picks into his pockets, his free hand wrapping around the door handler. With a turn and a shove he pushed the door open, staring into the darkness within. "A light, we need a light." He spun in a circle, spotting a glow hanging conveniently on the opposite wall. He bounded over, nearly ripping it off it's hook in his haste.

He flipped the glow open a bit further, shooting Z'jan an ecstatic grin he stepped into the room. With the glow swinging in front of him Trel examined his discovery. One would have thought he'd just discovered some secret room. The light from the glow basket illuminated rows of shelves filling the room. "Looks like a supply room. Bandages, redwort, some numbweed." He rattled off as he studied the shelves. It may not have been anything out of the ordinary, but his grin never faded.

@Bramble

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SP Team