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"But you can't! It's an open cot!" the scrawny Candidate protested, his voice tinged with desperation. "You can't take the entire alcove to yourself!"

"It's not open," Okassis growled mirthlessly, tossing the large leather satchel of luggage to the bewildered boy. It connected solidly with his chest, then thumped to the floor.

"W, where am I supposed to go?" The Candidate was trying to seem properly pathetic. He already knew, by experience two minutes earlier, that he was far too light and inexperienced to keep Okassis from forcing him out. The Hold-bred boy had a build better suited for the Harperhall than the Weyr, and certainly had nothing on Okassis's bulky form.

Unfortunately, he also didn't have the proper shmoozing technique to convince the stubborn Trader. "Go lie down between for all I care, you aren't sleeping here!" His face was hard-lined, his arms were crossed; Okassis stood before the bunks with his feet planted, looking a touch draconic himself as he glared down at the feeble boy. Defeated, the Candidate picked up his things and slunk off, searching for some other open bed.

Okassis didn't budge an inch until the boy had scurried off to start begging someone else, after which he quickly closed the curtains to the alcove and let out a slow, frustrated hiss of air. He couldn't keep this up long - not just because fighting off the slew of would-be invaders was exhausting, but because it would only be a matter of time until a sore loser took it to the Candidatemaster. But it had only been one sharding day! They could afford to give him a bit of time to find his own roommate - because Okassis had no doubt, he'd have to find one sooner or later. He was hoping later, though.

Dropping off the pack from his back, Okassis sank down to sit on his cot and began unloading his goods. He'd been busy all day, collecting ingredients for their lice cure - bartering honey and klah grinds with some of the extra numbweed he'd collected along with some odd spices and a grainy powder he'd been assured would disguise the texture and smell, as well as to mute the stickiness of their active ingredient. The smell of the resulting compound would be medicinal, spicy, earthy, and delicious, but supposedly, unidentifiable.

Bug Beater, Okassis thought to himself, laying out the ingredients. No - Lice Smite. Itch Fix? Pausing, he smiled and nodded. They - or more likely at this point, he - could call it Itch Fix, then. That was a name that ought to sell well....

Stifling a yawn, the blond wondered at the time. It was pretty late - after spending an all-nighter the night before, he probably shouldn't push his luck tonight. Better to start on making the miracle mixture tomorrow, then. Even if it seemed like he'd be doing it alone....

The Trader had just began packing away the supplies when he'd caught the motion of the alcove curtains brushing aside. His head snapped up, already bristling as he prepared to throw out another unwelcome would-be roommate - and promptly froze, catching sight of a more familiar, but much more confusing, face there.

"... Sovann?" Okassis asked disbelievingly, forgetting again to use his friend's new honorific. He addressed his mistake quickly enough, though; "S'van! Shards, what're you doing here? Forgot something?"

The simplicity of the need was painfully obvious, now that S'van had pointed it out. Okassis's face went from surprised to calmed, to alarmed, to sympathetic; and then, very suddenly, flat. Had it really been necessary for him to be reminded, again and again, that he hadn't Impressed?

"You're right. It would have been a risk," Okassis agreed slowly, continuing to pack away the things. "I understand." His tone said it was a lie; he didn't understand, not really, and was harboring frustrations that he wasn't talking about.

"... I don't know," Okassis answered honestly. "You're one of my best friends too - shells, now, probably my only." There was a bit of a slump in his shoulders, and his face seemed less self-absorbed, more... thoughtful. Uncertain. Vulnerable?

Oh shards this was going to be awkward.

Okassis swallowed, then, slowly and surely, spat out what was on his mind: "I do not like getting left behind." There it was - in all its innate selfishness and absurdity. The Trader didn't like to see his caravan going on without him. Okassis was terrified of being unable to go with his friend. The separation wasn't new, but the sides were - Okassis was far more comfortable with the idea of walking away from someone he cared about, than having to watch them go on without him.

Okassis smiled, but it was more than just a touch bitter. "What, you still worried I'd run off?" he asked his friend, his voice gently teasing. He broke the physical contact, pulling S'van's hands off of him before dropping his hands into his lap. "Not even a choice. Father'd never let me back in the caravan now, and there's not much else I know. The Weyr's all I got to work for."

"You mean, it'd be like a Trader," Okassis argued, his voice picking up a bit of persuasive energy. "I'd never headed off because I wanted to! If I had my pick, we'd've always worked in that area, and I'd've never been gone more than a few weeks. But when the wagons move, everyone goes, you know?" He looked to his friend, unsure if he could. As long as Okassis had known him, S'van had always lived in a single seahold until he'd come to the Weyr. All that his friend had ever wanted was to get out, explore. Okassis... he couldn't lie. He loved much of his life growing up in the caravan, and living at the Weyr - with the same scenery around him every day, the same strangers - was a truly unique, but sometimes boring, experience for him. But that didn't mean he hadn't wanted to be with his friend, and it didn't mean he'd have left, if he'd ever had a choice!

"... You think so, huh?" Okassis echoed with a faded smile. S'van was so earnest. The worst part was, Okassis knew exactly what he was talking about. He'd had those wishes too, and after so many years of daydreaming together, S'van had been a feature. The two of them, both Bonded together with dragons - always bronzes in Okassis's imagination of course, if sometimes featuring a green in his jokes - together in the sky. But flight wasn't enough for him - it was what they did. All the things they could do. The changes they could make, the people they could speak for, the use of that status of being a dragonrider, to shake people from their complacency, call heed to the warning signs - yes, and they could really do it, they could be heroes--

But it all hinged on Impression. And Impression hinged on the unknown. From what S'van could make of the unknown, apparently, Okassis was an ideal dragonrider, even if he'd failed to Impress. From what Okassis could see, though....

"I'm not so sure."

Caught in the act as it were, S'van could only turn to stare at Nandeli. Oh it's her! I like her. S'van, can she come play? the cheerful if somewhat tired brown enthused. Nan's interruption was a welcome one as far as he was concerned. His rider had been sulking, hadn't he? He had been about to say something soulful and deep before she had completely derailed his thoughts. Opening and closing his mouth, the weyrling blinked. "... What present is that, Nan?" Oh dear. If it came from her, could it really be good? Worriedly, he glanced at the weyrbrat, attempting to determine what motivations might lie behind her scheming eyes. ... Gall had asked him something. "Sure, Gall, she can come play." Oh Shards, how was she likely to take such an invitation?