Prompt #20: Hamper
Even in moments of stillness, Wazo's energy needed its outlet. Shaded within the small copse of rugged growth, the leaning man endured the rough, spiny bark pressing up against their back as they observed the dusty road below. One hand twisting in absent, intricate flicks of motion that let the balisong sing as it rolled about fingers in a long dance only emphasized by the clack of handles meeting before they were sent into motion once more. Mindnumbing boredom only increased his anticipation for the shimmering heat of that distant turn to resolve itself into a plodding wagon moving up the path.
Once, it was undoubtedly covered in cloth and paints as colorful as they were garish, but sun and sand had scoured much of those vibrant shades to muted tones that stubbornly lingered. Joined soon by one, then another, before the small caravan began to trundle its way along the road. It was readily apparent they were not merchants, as few would have brought small children among the dangerous roads of Gyr Abania. Just as well for a man like him. Wrestling with figures was a more miserable waste of time than waiting for opportunity.
Sauntering out toward the leading carriage, he stilled the blade to vanish back into a pocket before raising the emptied hand in a slow wave of greeting, "Oy! Might want to turn yourselves 'round, friend. Nothin' but trouble up the way."
Without any true concern, the young man would have walked right up to lay hands on the flank of those hungry looking birds yoked in place, it hardly seemed the old fellow guiding them had any touch of worry in the way they regarded him. But the stone-faced fellow riding beside him had a gaze hard enough to break bone. It seemed giving them a proper berth was the best way to ensure good health.
Lifting both palms placatingly, Wazo offered a cheery grin, "Don't eye me so, brother! Been a bit of fightin'! Taking leave of it, myself. Figured you would 'ppreciate the friendly warnin'."
"That so, little man?"
A sculpted arm leaned out the window of the second wagon, attached to a brawny shoulder. The owner of that impressive appendage at least seemed a touch less likely to snap something he would rather remain hale, even if they looked capable of doing it easily enough. That taunting smirk on their lips was just far too alluring to think twice.
Though his approach seemed unconcerned, the man had not survived so long on the open roads without developing a skill for reading others. The guardian in front seemed willing to let him approach the speaker, so he made good use of that chance. Rolling with effortless grace to hop up on the step, elbow raised to lean in against the side and get a good look at the traveler within.
Lass might well have a fulm of height on him, and ponze to spare should they have the space to stretch out. It was enough to send a little flutter through his chest as he lowered his voice to a more intimate tone, "From Rhalgr's mouth to your ear. Bit of a long walk to the next village, though. Mind a passenger?"
Her gaze shifted up and down as if to weigh his worth, "Got any skills to pay your way?"
"Charmin' conversation an' fast fingers."
"So just the fingers?"
Delivered with such a smirk, it was impossible for Wazo to take their reply as a personal slight. Just a touch of cheek kept the chatter interesting to him. Enough to dull the itch to play with that butterfly knife again.
"Got some malms to convince you otherwise." It drew a chuckle, which he found just downright lovely. "Grab my bag an' meet you back here?"
She gave him a light pat on the shoulder, enough to shift him with the gentle force, "Not going anywhere. Wagon is, though. Best be quick."
There was an extra bounce in his step when the highwayman made it back up to the shelter of the trees. A rakish smile across his face as he plucked up the worn pack that carried all his earthly possessions. Most were knives, of course, but it paid to have interests.
"Where you going, Wazo?" One of his compatriots, former ones at this point, growled out.
"For a ride, mates. Lovely lass down there. Real soulmate, would reckon. Give it a few turns an' it'll be bondin' ceremonies an' fat babies." It had been a while since he had last felt so cheery, a shame the rest of his brother bandits thought less of that fateful meeting.
"Cut the games, jackass, grab the coin. Burn the wagons. Easy as."
There was no killing that pleased smirk upon Wazo's face as he shook his head to the lot of them, before sliding a cap onto his head. Wouldn't do to go wandering off without his lucky hat.
"Lads, be happy for me! Least we can do after all this time."
Angry fists squeezed tight about the handles of long knives, axes, and other tools of great, grievous harm. There was just no convincing some people of the right and proper way to handle things. Not when that thirst for blood and plunder was burning up their throats. Knowing what sort they were it was hardly any surprise, but a disappointment all the same.
"For old times' sake." The joviality slipped from the Highlander's voice as a flick of his wrist had knives appear as magic, slipping between each knuckle. "Don't get in my way."
Garnering a good reputation with a blade was a long, difficult journey. Especially when those that would best spread the message had a habit of not being in a speaking way when the dust settled. At the very least his bag would be a touch heavier when those thieves decided not to delay him any longer. Neighborly of them all to give up a little gift. Having a sweaty jog through the oppressive heat was far from comfortable, but at least he caught up again before they had gone too far down the trail, leaping up to claim his spot by the window once more.
"Now where'd we leave off?"