Kire smirked at the foreman, entertained at the sight of fear and greed fighting over his expression. Once it was clear that the foreman had finally taken stock of the situation and figured out what was in his best interest, Kire smiled sweetly and sheathed her sword. “Thank you for your kindness,” she replied. The man, grumbling under his breath, beckoned them to follow him into the warehouse, indicating with gestures to his men inside to direct them to their supplies. Kire smiled in earnest this time and set to work, inspecting the lumber with Ruli, asking questions of the foreman’s laborers, letting Ruli look things over and make decisions. He knew the people of Ziad, he would better know what Envy and their refugees would need. 

She was about to ask them what was in the other section of the warehouse, having peeked inside and seen more wood and furniture when the foreman’s voice boomed at them. “Hey now. Don’t you be takin’ all the good ones!” the foreman huffed. “I said only the ones in here, not those. Those over there, they’re not to be touched.”
“And why not?” Kire asked, hands on her hips. “Not even for—”
“None a’your hagglin’. We’re selling the best of the lumber to the men of Lord Itallo.”
“Who?”
The man looked like he wanted to tear out his beard. “Bleedin’ tourists. The head of the Council!”
“Alright, alright, fear not, my good man, we won’t take all your lumber,” Kire said, rolling her eyes. “But we might be open to giving you a bit more coin, after all. Do you have a wagon we could borrow?” Kire flashed him one of her sweeter smiles, though it took a bit more convincing and negotiating for him to finally agree.  “Well. Not bad!” Kire said, feeling rather chipper as she watched the foreman bark at his men to load up the borrowed wagon. There was less grumbling, now that the gold was in his hands. “What’s next?” 

By the time the wagon was out of their sight, the foreman had inspected and counted the coin thrice already. The tourists have gotten crazier and crazier every year, but at least they had the coin. “Oy, ‘e’s here! Lord Itallo’s man!” 
“About bloody time,” the foreman muttered, though his gold-sweetened grin was still on his face. “Show him up.”
A young, well-dressed man, accompanied by guards of the Council, walked towards the warehouse. His dark brown hair was slicked back neatly, his collar high and stiff, giving him a rather severe look for someone who appeared to be just in his twenties. “Lord Itallo is grateful for your service,” he said, smiling. “You have the goods?” 
The foreman flashed him the biggest smile his cheeks could muster and bowed a little; if he had any qualms about giving obeisance to someone half his age, he didn’t show it. “Anything for the good lord and his trusted men—err—” 
“[i]Gavin.[/i] Just Gavin,” the young man replied, with a smile that didn’t quite reach his eyes.