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Doot-doot-doot~

Lorrox was walking with a certain bounce in his step in the very early morning hours. Most of the Weyr was still sleeping, though the kitchen drudges and a smattering of crafters were already hard at work. Of course, he had been up much earlier than that. It had taken him half the night to secure the contents of the basket clutched to his chest, but oh, would it be worth it.

He turned a corner down the next hall, struggling to maintain control of the basket and clattering into a tapestry hanging from the nearest wall. "Shards," he cursed to himself, clamping a hand across the top and glancing around to see if the noise had attracted any attention.

The sound of a voice had Lorrox bobbling the basket again. As he got it under control, he whipped to face a girl he knew: Fidda. Oh, hey, so that hadn't been a dream when, drunk on wine, he had sloppily kissed a girl who reminded him of a young trader's daughter he had known as a kid a Sevenday ago or so. Good to know.

He smiled at her briefly, inexpertly staring at her lips for a moment, before narrowing his eyes. "Oh, Fi, fancy meeting you here," he said casually. "Now why don't you say it a little louder so the Weyrleader can hear?" There was a storage closet to his left. He swept back the curtain and gestured for her to follow him inside.

If she wanted to talk, probably best not to do it in plain sight.

Lorrox snorted quietly with a grin. "I make no promises," he said, but only once they were inside. It was a tight space, and the Candidate did not attempt to press himself back against the shelves. Luckily, the large basket he was holding was wedged between their chests and his hands occupied.

It vibrated with movement, and Lorrox clamped down harder on the lid. "So here's the thing," he began, watching her reaction at the sound of a hissing snarl from within. "Did you hear about that journeyman baker's son getting punched by a Candidate in the Great Hall yesterday? Well, that was me." He definitely sounded proud.

Lorrox launched into an explanation of how the fardling wherry of a weyrbrat had clumsily fell into him, on purpose to the candidate's mind, and knocked him clear into a bowl of mashed roots. "Have you cleaned a mashed root out of your ear before? Now I have," he explained. "And that dimglow smiled, Fi, he smiled while his father scolded me and had me sent to the stables to muck out the runnerbeasts' filth. When it was his fetid spawn that caused the issue in the first place. Why should the weyrbrat have the last laugh?"

He gestured widely to the shaking basket, an unmistakable twinkle in his eye. "Come on, tradergirl," he said quietly. "It'll be more interesting than listening to everyone snore in the barracks." Of course, he still hadn't said what was in the basket.

"No," Lorrox said, thinking perhaps a beat too long. Well, he didn't think it was, and he had been punished to clear out tunnelsnakes enough times to be pretty decent at telling the difference. "This is payback, not murder." He sounded more convinced this time. Sure, maybe his moral compass skewed left, but it wasn't broken.

A tiny clawed hand snaked out of the seam of the basket, and Lorrox poked it back in, causing a flurry of reaction. "Sounds like it's ready to be freed -- are you in, or do you need to scamper back to your safe little bed?" The idea of her bed was nice.

Without waiting for a response, he quickly explained that the baker and his son stayed in a room just a few curtains down. They were both up early to start the bread in the kitchen, and since he lived near mostly other kitchen staff, that would be the case for all the rooms in their hall. "We dump the basket and wing out the other way. It'll hide somewhere to comfort itself, and when they get back -- bam! A fair payback." His eyebrow practically waggled as he anticipated her seal of approval.

Given all the trouble he caused over the years, Lorrox should have been more concerned about getting caught. After all, he did get caught. All. The. Time. But like a herdbeast with a skull made of diamond he kept smashing into things. "Are you inviting me to hide under your sheets?" he said in a hushed whisper, letting her tiny frame steer his much large one out back into the hall.

The pair ducked back into the hall, checking it twice. He let Fidda lead the look-out portion. She paid more attention to detail than him, and he was busy making sure the package stayed secure. They crept along the wall as Lorrox counted doorways, finally stopped in front of a curtained enclosure that budded a few other sprawling halls. Soundlessly, save the hissing basket, he swept inside, checked to make sure it was empty and then gave Fidda a wordless signal to prepare to run.

In a swift motion -- hey, he was good at this part at least -- Lorrox flipped the lid, dumped the basket, and watched as the tunnelsnake flipped to right itself on its six twitching legs, lashing toward him aggressively. The Candidate jumped backwards out of its reach and swung a kick toward it, sending the creature scampering deeper into the room.

Lorrox darted out, colliding with Fidda and then scooping her off the ground with one arm to dart around the next three turns and corners until they were cleared of the scene of the crime. Only then did he put her down, grinning stupidly and breathing with far more proud than the stupid stunt deserved. "Oh, yes, tradergirl, having you here just keeps getting better!" he announced, a bit too loudly as he went for the high five.