Return Of The Prodigal Trader

Participants:

Max.jpg Dubose.jpg

Date: 2010.11.24
Location: EW - Beast Caverns
Synopsis: Max and Waine are alerted by a noise in the beast caverns only to discover that Dubose has returned…and is looking for work.
Rating: PG13
Logger: Max

Ah, Evening, the time when evil men can do evil deeds. But it seems that Dubose isn't doing anything vile at all. In the light of a glow basket the big man is tinkering around with a couple open crates. Then again, he might be up to something, there's the faint sound of glass clinking together as he rumages carefully around. With a grunt the big man reaches for the glow basket with one hand, the other remaining deep in the crate. This stretched he's a little short of the reach to fetch the basket, "Well for the love of the first egg…."

Evening finds Max not turned in for the night, so much as working late into it in the far end double stall that has been converted to serve as both office and sleeping quarters. As such the faint clink of glass followed by the sound of someone’s voice draws a deep frown into place and without a moment’s hesitation he’s reaching for the length of two-by-four propped up against the inside of his quarters. Given that it was late at night when Renegade became the target of runner thieves, one can hardly blame him. And so it is, beast manager approaching quietly from the one end, and Waine (who had also been alerted to the presence of another) from the other, the two men close in on Dubose.

Oblivious to the creeping danger closing in at his back, Dubose growls at his inability to grasp the basket, "Come here you sharding piece of…" grumbling more he frees his hand from the crate so he can snatch up the basket. A flare of light illuminates his little corner of one stall as his fingers flick back the cover and he draws the basket closer. There's the group of crates clearly marked with the Driftwood seal in the wood, a couple of the lids open and cast around the man.

Keeping his steps to the straw strewn sections of the aisle, Max is able to muffle his approach. Waine however? He’s a bit of bumbler. Or perhaps due to his sheer size, he doesn’t feel the need to do the sneaking thing. THWACK! the sound shattering the earthy peace of the caverns as he brings the shovel in his hand hard against an empty stall’s siding followed by a bellowed, “Oy!” Its right about then that the beast manager’s attention falls to the seal on the crates, faint recognition for them falling into place and he’s about to call out, to give the man digging about in them a chance to identify himself and state his business. And then his burly stablehand goes and does what he does. “Jays, Waine! Why don’t ya just wake the whole sharding Weyr up while you’re at it? Put that thing down before you hurt yourself!” Waine of course simply sends his boss a smirk, coming to a stop with a hand setting to the shovel’s handle and leaning lazily on it, “You want I should sing him a lullabye first afore I put him to sleep?” Easy banter belying the looks and silent hand signals passing between boss and ‘hand.

Dubose doesn't stop what he's doing, even at the clang of the shovel and the outcry. He keeps his back to the men for several breaths and only turns around once he's found what he was digging around in the crate for, a brown glass bottle from within the crate. His head turns, the scars on his face looking particularly gruesome in the light of the glow, and he sizes up the two men mildly. "Problems gentlemen?" Big fingers wrap around the neck of the bottle and it's weighed in his hand like a club presently as the man waits to see what the others might have in mind.

Dark eyes narrow through the glowlight and as Max steps out of the shadows and into the circle of light created by it, a grin fits into place for Dubose having turned, his face jogging memory. “Well would ya look at what the feline dragged in!” Extending his free hand in greeting as he steps in closer, “Thought for sure the wild ones out there got ya.” He could be referencing the wild felines; then again, considering the recent goings on at the Weyr and its environs, it could be something else entirely. That grin morphs into a smirk, “You gonna hit me with it or drink it?” the bottle the other man has in hand. Waine of course, he just stands there with a perplexed look on his face being as how he’d been elsewhere at the time that the big trader had first made his appearance. “You know him, boss?” sending a questioning look over to the beast manager despite his obviously welcoming words.

"No you dimwit, he usually just strikes up friendly conversations with complete strangers." Dubose drawls to the big body guard to goad him a bit and the butt of the bottle slaps into his open palm with a satisfying clap of glass against flesh. A demonstration of the strength he might tap into should his comment provoke Waine. Waiting a moment before he turns his attention back to Max, "Figured I should come see how the Weyr was doing. Been hearing a few off-colored stories back home and figured I should poke around a bit. Besides, had some orders to fill with a couple of…people." He doesn't answer the question about the bottle, but he also doesn't drink from it, he's still waiting to see how things play out.

Waine is all about the exchange of easygoing insults. However one coming from a complete stranger (to him) is another matter entirely and as such he shifts his weight off of the shovel’s handle and takes a step in closer, hefting the tool turned weapon in his hand as a low growl emits from him. Max sends Dubose a tight look for deliberately provoking the big stablehand and quickly holds up a hand forestalling any further aggression from the usually easygoing man who comes to a halt, open challenge held in blue eyes. “Back it up, Chuckles.” This to Waine. Back to the trader, a faint smirk fits into place as he lends idle tone to his next, “Off-colored, eh?” Rubbing a thumb across his lower lip seeming unperturbed by that. “So you’re here to get the skinny to favour the ears of old gossip aunties with, hmm?” Taunting in friendly manner.

Dubose smirks right back and he settles back on his heels and then rocks back and thumps back on his ass. The bottle gets tossed up and caught by the butt so he can bite the cork and unstop the bottle. Seems drinking it is in order. He motions for Max to join him in the clean straw. Poor Waine isn't invited though, tsk. "Wel'p, I am a man who likes to see things for himself, not just listen to tongues flapping in the wind. Besides, a man of my skills might find himself a good gig if the climate is right. Besides, I have things to settle here still."

With Dubose settling himself back down again, Waine simply utters a snort and takes a step back into the shadows though still remains within hearing distance of whatever conversation might unfold between the two. It is his job after all. A short shake of head initially greets the offer of a drink with Max setting the two-by-four in front of him and cupping both hands over its end. His expression however remains deadpan other than the very slight tightening of his eyes at the corners. While he likes the big trader well enough, he can’t afford to make any mistakes by assuming him friend when he could be foe. Or in the employ of foe. Not given his more nefarious title these days. Given evenly, “Might help if you described the type of climate within which your…skills are likely to be useful.” Not a question. A statement.

"I am a man of many skills. Some of them might not be useful around here, and others might be…" Dubose smirks to himself and shakes his head at his own riddles before taking a drink from the bottle. "Listen, I don't even know if what I'm hearing is true or not. But last time I was here, people were being done-in and there was a smell in the air of things not being really on the up-n-up. Now, I have been settling some of my own issues and I had an offer of employment, but I'm not too keen on Bitra."

Max skips over the first and latches onto Dubose’s last.. Tone growing cold and eyes narrowing onto him, “Bitra?” a dangerous air settling about him. “This offer…it was made to you here? In the South?” Because if that was the case, he and the trader were going to need to have themselves a talk. If only to further his investigations into collaring the handlers of his northern competitor still roaming about the continent. Suspicious, perhaps even a little paranoid, but given the familial ties of the woman he currently has under his care, not to mention the threat still on Jaya’s heels, who can blame him? “Who sent you?”

Dubose wipes the back of his fingers across his lower lip to cover for his guaging Max's reaction and interest to his Bitra-ties. His big shoulders lift and fall back down, just as careless as ever before. "The offer has been made to me before, and now is being set onto the table recently with gifts and tokens attached. As I said, the climate of Bitra is a little…harsh, even for me." He frowns as he falls silent, but tacks on, "No one 'sent' me. As I said, I came here to sniff around for myself."

Long and intent the look stayed on the big trader. “I ain’t got no such gifts or tokens to put on the table other than…” lips curl around a tight smirk, “a climate less harsh than that up North.” Moving only now from that stance Max had taken to, he parks himself atop of one of the unopened crates. “Only got two rules.” A finger lifts, “One, full disclosure from all that associate with me and mine. I need to know what shit you’ve been into and who might be on your tail as a result.” Another finger lifts and joins the other, “Two, we run a clean operation down here,” as clean as such a thing can get, “you got a problem with that. Now’s the time to talk. I find out you’re double dealing, a drop Between will sound like a day at a Gather.” He might be young, but there’s a strong willed determination about the beast manager so as to suggest he means what he says. The sound of Waine shifting in the shadows might give hint that he’s discomforted by the turn of conversation.

Dubose puts the bottle aside after drumming his fingers along the side a moment. He squints across the distance at Max and gives him a look up and then down to measure him up and match his words with his appearance. There's no concern in the big man's face for the moment over the threats but his tone doesn't seem particularly pleased. "I don't know that I'm comfortable sharing some of my history with someone I hardly know. And, to be honest, I'm not really clear what it is you might need….you've got muscles over there…." a jerk of his chin, "…already."

A hard look greets the displeasure of the trader as Max stands to his feet once again, though his tone carries an odd understanding to it, “You wouldn’t be the first among us that has secrets, trader.” A faint smile drifting in simply due to the true nature of the work he and his dam carry out and the very reason why any of the renegade title is necessary. Dark eyes flit Waine’s way and a low chuckle filters out, “I need information. To know whose treading across my territory and why,” giving open admission to whatever rumours Dubose might already have heard. “Bring me something I can work with, and we’ll talk again.” Leaving the ball entirely in the other man’s court there. Chances are high, he’ll have someone tailing the man to ascertain his trustworthiness too. That said he tilts the two-by-four the way of an empty stall, “You can use those,” the crates, “for storage in the meantime but you’ll need to see Indira about more…secure storage.” With a glance to Waine, he’ll return to his quarters and the stablehand to his post. “Good to have you back, Dubose.” As if the man were a long lost Weyr resident.



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