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Harper's Tale - Tuesday, August 06, 2002, 4:41 PM
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The Flying Mug
A few shades too bright for the lighting to ever be called quite dim, the interior of the Flying Mug reveals upon closer inspection the marks of a much-frequented bar. Although the tables all match and the chairs are of a set, one or seven chairs have a wobbly leg, a few tabletops have big gashes across them, and each surface has an intricate pattern of turn-old mug rings. A well stocked, well polished and well maintained bar stretches across the expanse of the wall, facing the series of shuttered windows looking out on the courtyard. The bar stools are better maintained than the chairs, with low backs. And they spin, too! An intricate 'mural' covers the ceiling and there's a 'note' on the wall.
High in the rafters are twenty-four firelizards.
You see ooc note and Bartender Lem here.
Obvious exits:
Dining Hall     Great Hall
You stand in the rather rambunctious Flying Mug.

Dashvard slinks silently in from the great hall.

Liesana is seated at a table in the rather oddly-empty tavern, boredly grading a stack of essays and taking the odd sip from a glass of white wine. This isn't generally good news for the apprentices, however, as a bored Liesana is known to wax wonderfully sarcastic with corrections factual and grammatical. Still, she seems in a good mood, for all the boredom, if her pleasantly tranquil expression is a guide.

Dashvard, off for the afternoon, prowls into the Flying Mug in search of a drink. Upon having secured one, he secures a seat for himself as well. A little nip now and then never hurt anyone, especially when this particular anyone wants to blow off a bit of steam. Just have to be careful not to drink /too/ much, because then you might end up trying to arrest the furniture. "Hey there," he volunteers, as his raking gaze reaches the master harper. "Busy, are we?" Clearly, this 'we' means 'you', as Dashvard himself looks about as not-busy as it's possible to see him.

"Make-work, but better than boredom," replies Liesana, waving Dash to take a seat with her free hand, while her dominant one gently holds her quill as she thinks up a properly amusing comment to write down. "Although admittedly, some of these lower-class essays can be amusing. The MaserHarper of Pern apparently resides at Fart Hall," she paraphrases, poking at the essay and then settling on writing a little note along the lines of "Oh dear, and should we see that the exports of red beans to that Hall are decreased..." before looking up and smiling. "How about you, though?"

Dashvard glances down at his glass as he slides smoothly into a seat neighboring hers, his expression a trifle wry. "I'm wasting some time," he answers cheerfully. "I decided I needed a drink. I was not cut out to be a teacher, young people give me a headache. But doing fairly well, nonetheless."

Liesana gives a sidelong smile in return. "Wasting time is an art that really ought to be thought more highly of," she replies, blitzing through another few essays with a flourish if her quill. Despite the fact that she's grading them perfectly as only long practice can do, her attention is decidedly no longer on the task at hand. In fact, it's quite possible that her hand is just working along all by itself. "So, do I take it that you had to do some training classes today?" she hazards, offering another smile. "My condolences. Beginners in any field are among the most frustrating creatures on Pern's fair face. I'd much prefer to be prosecuting some suitably unsavoury criminal."

Dashvard grimaces mildly - the faint disgusted expression of someone who knows they've done something to themselves but feels the need to complain anyway. "Not exactly had to," he answers, "and just simple stuff, really. But Lieutenant Alethia was up at Gar for some reason or other - they gave us some reason but I wasn't really paying attention - and no one else wanted to do it, so I ... volunteered." He rubs his temples with the first two fingers on either hand, glass first placed neatly on the table. "A mistake I won't be making again in a hurry, I can tell you."

Liesana smirks in a dry sympathy, stacking the essays neatly, and pushing them aside. She'll drop them in the lap of whatever hapless journeyman or senior apprentice Harper happens to walk in next. Rank, after all, hath it's privileges. Or ought to. "Mmm, that's a classic one," she agrees. "Never volunteer for anything, unless you've got a written promise that it's what you think it's going to be." She sips a little more of her wine, and peers thoughtfully at Dash from over the rim of it. "If you /do/ find yourself stuck with it again, I've got a few guerilla teaching tactics that might be useful. I've been teaching for," A quick tally, and a little blink. "Oh, shards, half a decade now." She suddenly looks more wry still. "Faranth, but I'm getting old all of a sudden."

The words come out before Dashvard's even had time to think about them: "Oh, you're not old." He takes a sip of his drink, wondering at himself, before continuing, innocuously: "I'd love some guerilla teaching tactics. I've already figured out some. I think that students can smell fear, and it's a bad idea to turn your back to a room full of them."

Liesana laughs, and replies. "You /do/ know how to make a girl feel special" just as quickly, before a similar flash of thoughtfulness occurs to her, quite apparent on her expressive face. Rather amusing to an outsider to the conversation, no doubt. However, she leaves further pondering for later, and the look is quickly gone, replaced with a twinkle in her eye and a grin just this side of feral. "That's a big one right there," she agrees, leaning forwards with an air of mild and cheerful conspiracy. "Another one... a moving target is harder to hit. Don't stand around and lecture, move, gesture, do the unexpected." She taps her fingers together thoughtfully. "Apply that to your lecture topic as well... don't be predictable. Oh, and this is a really good one. You know how there's always at least one student lost in thought...?"

Dashvard grins briefly, a slight blush beginning to creep into his cheeks, although why he's reddening now is unclear, and it fades quickly enough. "Ah, well," he says, mildly sheepish, "lecturing ... is slightly different than throwing your students across the training room, I suppose ..." He tilts his head ever-so-slightly to one side, as though he's visualizing the class he taught earlier today. "Yes? One student, lost in thought?" he prompts, curious.

Mirella walks with a slight limp in from the great hall.

Mirella walks into the Mug and looks around a bit. Spotting Liesana, she makes her slow way over to her friend. "Mind if I join you?"

Liesana acknowledges the correction with a little nod, spotting Dashvard's blush and rather irritatingly feeling her own cheeks pink a little at having caused it. This mutinous behavior is quickly covered by a rapid-fire return to her discourse on Guerilla Teaching Tactics, assuming that Dashvard will pass them off as excitement about her topic. "Anyways, the daydreaming student..." she continues. "Save the most difficult, evil question you can possibly think to ask about the topic. Pose it to them. They'll most likely look like a bloody idiot, and you'll accomplish the goal of punishing them for goofing off, warning the other students about it, and make yourself look properly athoritative." Her train of thought is derailed by Mirella's arrival, prompting a smile and a bright nod. "By all means. Mirella, this is Guardsman Dashvard, Dash, this is Master Mirella of Dolphin Hall."

Mirella nods to Dashvard, "Well met, Dashvard." Mirella seats herself and promptly has to get back up to dash to the privy. She returns a short time later, slightly flushed from having had to move so fast, "I forgot about that annoying part of being an expectant mother," she grumbles softly as she reseats herself, "As I was saying.. It is a pleasure to meet you Dashvard."

Dashvard nods as though he's taking mental notes. Guard-training is a hard place to prove daydreamy, but some of his students have managed it. "All right. Evil questions. Can do," he says, a wry smile coloring his expression for the briefest of moments before the new arrival catches his attention. "Good day, Master Mirella," he intones politely. "The pleasure is mine." Everything, courteous; although perhaps not as warm as he is with Liesana, the cool guardsman's alertness beginning to percolate his attitude, as with any new acquaintance, whether he notices or even, whether he wants it to or not.

Liesana remains as cheerfully friendly as she ever is, out in public, although her smiles are perhaps more genuine since she's among friends. "I must say that you and Petrin certainly didn't waste any time," she teases Mirella, although the playful toast with her wineglass ensures that the comment is meant light-heartedly. "Although this time, I'll be perfectly willing to let you break /his/ fingers, when the time comes. How is little Xinon doing?" she asks. And, with familial catching-up attended to, it's back to favouring Dashvard with a grin. "So... any other things you'd like to know about the battleground of the classroom?"

Mirella chuckles at Lies's good natured ribbing, and cocks her head at the mention of the battleground known as the classroom, "Oh, you're lecturing on the proper way to terrorize a pupil again, I see." Mirella winks as she places her order for some redfruit juice.

Dashvard looks rueful. "I hope I won't have to," he confesses. "It's a very unnerving place to be. I think I'll stick with patrolling and putting terrifying criminals behind bars, it seems much safer." He leans back in his chair a little, examining his now half-full glass with a quizzical expression, as though he can't quite figure out where all the wine's gone now. "I can use all the help I can get," he adds, dryly, to Mirella. That Liesana is so obviously at her ease with this person makes it easier for Dashvard not to act the cool guardsman in her presence, and it's a good thing too.

Liesana gives Mirella a sidelong grin. "Of course I am... one of the first things any teacher ought to learn, you know. How to keep students on their toes without getting labeled a hag. Or," a wave of her hand towards Dashvard. "Whatever the male form of a hag is. But how are you two doing, I might ask. My own life is finally running smoothly indeed, so I can now be insanely interested in the affairs of others." she jokes.

Mirella laughs, "Well as for myself, that should be obvious. Petrin couldn't possibly be any happier, and Xinon is growing like a weed. He's walking now, you know? Xi that is." My my, Mirella is already starting to sound sleep deprived.

Dashvard lifts one shoulder in a vague, liquid half-shrug. "I'm doing all right," he says. "Not really much interesting happening to me, honestly. I do my job, I hang around on the beach, I eat. That's pretty much ... my whole life, these days." Boredom can be very pleasant, following a life full of incident ... and Dashvard's life used to be /full/ of incident.

Hippolyta> Images from Amber suggest: << Xi lost? >>

Hippolyta> You project: <<Who Xi?>>

Mirella tries to look at the flits draped about her shoulders and arm, "I'm sorry, something has this lot bothered. Would you excuse me? I must leave."

Hippolyta> Images from Amber suggest: << Xi pets baby. Lost?" >>

Mirella walks with a slight limp through a door into the great hall.

Liesana smiles into her wineglass, happily relaxed and at peace, even if she's still waiting to find an unsuspecting victim to finish marking her essays for her. The peaceful expression on her face transmutes to something of concern at Mirella's sudden change of tone. "Of course, by all means... is there anything we can do to help?" she inquires, before Mirella vanishes. She offers a wry look. "And just when I was about to comment on the pleasant effects of peace and quiet," she quips.

Dashvard's expression as his eyes trail Mirella out of the room is faintly concerned, although it turns vaguely rueful at Liesana's words. "I guess," he says, "that we cannot be of assistance." He takes another sip of his wine. "Ah, well," he adds philosophically, "I guess sometimes peace and quiet aren't all they're cracked up to be."

Renrow skitters, with a mischevious smirk, in from the great hall.
!
Liesana is still cradling her own wineglass, the grasp a carelessly refined one that seems to just suit wineglasses. "Apparently not. I'm sure everything's fine, though," she temporizes. "After all, you should have seen her clucking when she was carrying Xinon," she remnisces, before dropping topics obstetrical out of thought for Dashvard's sensibilities. His second comment prompts a little smile, however. "Perhaps not... but I'm enjoying them now. Did I tell you that Kryz and I made up? Friends and friends alone, but... it's easing to the heart." A pause, and a little self-deprecating chuckle. "Sort of makes me feel less of a failure, in an odd way."

Dashvard watches her in silence for a moment. "No, you didn't tell me," he says quietly, "but I'm glad to hear it." He thinks of his own recent heartbreak, and his expression turns rueful in the extreme. "I wish ... but no, I wasn't wrong this time, and I'm not going to apologize for things that aren't my fault /any/ more." He tilts his head. "But I'm glad you're friends again, at least. Now maybe things will look up for you."

As the cloaked figure walks in, letting his hood open a bit more, the young man glances around the room quickly, simply out of impulse, as he makes his way with a smirk towards the front. His footfalls slow considerably however, once he passes into hearing range of a very familiar voice, drifting over the usual commotion in the `Mug. He doesn't stop completely, however, glancing over his shoulder and pulling the side of his hood back to peer over. As his eyes pass over Liesana, his smirk grows into a full grin, and as he hears of Kryz, it only grows more. His eyes pass over to the man at the table, Renrow's path winding now towards their table. A curious glance over him as he approaches, then as his footfalls suddenly become quiet, almost silent as he slows his approach - perhaps to surprise Liesana again, there's suddenly a persistant chittering in the air as a small brown appears from between. "/Hasp/! Shaffit...Hey Lies." He greets as he pulls his hood down, nodding in greeting towards the other and, with a quite Renrowesque smirk, his eyes flicker back to Liesana curiously, simply tipping his head with an "Aye?"

"And that," replies Liesana, equally softly, but with a steady gaze at Dashvard over the rim of her glass. "Is exactly how you ought to be thinking, Dash. I can sense so many old scars you carry, mentally... you don't need to add any more to them." And, of course, another blush touches her cheeks at that, much to her private irritation. This time she's saved by Renrow's arrival, providing her old apprentice-mate doesn't catch the flush to her face. Because, knowing him, he'd have a field day. "Renrow, you old miscreant, stop eavesdropping and have a seat," she orders with a grin. And makes another introduction. "Dash, I'd like you to meet Renrow. He's a Harper Senior Journeyman up in Keroon, and a very old friend of mine. Ren, this is Dashvard, he's a Guardsman and a newer freind, but just as dear to me as you."

Dashvard takes another sip of his wine. "Thank you, Liesana," he says softly. "It helps to hear you say that ... I think." Then, the new arrival breaks his momentary lapse into quiet thoughtfulness - he smiles a tentative welcome. But thus far, he's met few harpers he hasn't liked, and most of Lies's other friends haven't been too frightening. Err, well, exactly. "Pleasure meeting you," he says. There's probably more that most people say when introduced, but ... Dashvard's never gotten the hang of it.

His light laughter bubbles out of him as he grabs a nearby chair, spinning it around casually so he can lean forward with his arms atop the back of the chair, "Ach, so if only I'd been here soon enough to, I /jest/ might've left - or rather, shown up - with some fairly interesting information, mmm?" He wags his right brow for a second playfully at his old friend, and nods enthusiastically towards Dashvard after his greeting, "AYE then! So this /is/ Dashvard." A chuckle at Liesana's last words, towards her, with a momentary glint of that old mischeviousness sparking in his eye - but he's nice, he bites his tongue. "Th'pleasure's mine, Dash, glad I finally could!" He nods with a large smile again to Dashvard in greeting, "-Oh, an apologies with the shortened name if..." He shrugs, "because that irritates some. That's just all I remembered of your name for a li'l while." Irritates some? This, coming from the lad who (/MANY/ turns ago of course) would take great pleasure in greeting non-harpers in the ballroom by mixing their names up?

Dashvard smiles vaguely, a little uncertain as his name has brought recognition. 'Tis a terribly rare occurrence for him; he's known enough in guardly circles but not the most socially inclined guardsman out there, so he finds the fact that he's known mildly unsettling. "Er ... no, Dash is fine," he says. "Most people call me that anyway. May as well leave the 'vard off altogether really."

Liesana kicks at Renrow's ankles under the table, smiling sweetly all the while. "Ren, my friend, you have the mental age of a thirteen-turner. We were just having an innocent little talk." And besides, if he spreads information, well, Liesana hasn't pulled a good prank in a while. "Renrow found me in the Archives while I was looking up that copy of Bryson's sonnets I loaned you," she explains delicately. "Harpers that we are, your name got mentioned." And no, Liesana will /not/ be sharing Hall gossip about herself. "But, in other news Ren, how are you and Laurenlee doing? And that kiddy of yours, Rowan, right?"

Renrow nods, grinning in a friendly way towards Dashvard, "Aye, well that's good then - Dash it is." The invisible kick underneath the table simply causes him to shift his leg away and spark up a few rounds of laughter - also covering the 'ahow' that was about to be let forth. "Oooh, well so I may, at times - but that's why everyone loves me. Once the child in all of us dies, there's /NO/ hope for rejoice! NO hope for innocence - at least of the feigned kind. No Hope of a happy, blind-from-worry future!" A deep breath again, as the dramatics continue for the moment, and it's let out in an "OOOOooOohhhoh the /horrer/." He -slaps- his hand down across the table, smirking towards Liesana, and in a normal tone again, "So, what's your excuse? OH! Rowen? Aye, he's growing /way/, -way- too fast. I keep tellin Laur to just...get /smaller/ clothes, maybe, he'll, just - like a lizard, not have much room to grow, so, /won't/ too much." Obviously he knows that's not true, but hey, all in good fun.

Dashvard feels the telltale blush creeping into his cheeks again. "Oh," he says, wishing it would go away, as he's not really sure why it's there in the first place. He takes another sip of his wine, as though this is going to help at all. "All right, then," he says. He wonders, idly, if it's at all possible to drown in a stream of words and enthusiasm; and if this is his chance to find out.

Liesana, noting Dashvard's blush, blushes more, and then clears her throat and delivers a stern mental commend to her capillaries to behave themselves. She dashes back the last of her wine, making her cheeks flush still more, and then idly traces her finger around the wet rim of the glass, setting up a high crystalline humming. "Well, perhaps you'd better not let him get /too/ small. He'll have to survive running with the girls of Keroon Hold, after all. Even the little ones are trouble." A twinkle to her eye as she regards both gentlemen at the table. "I know... I used to be one."

With his usual grin present mingling mostly over his left cheek, somewhere between a grin and a smirk, Renrow's eyes flicker between Liesana and Dashvard, his mouth opening to speak as the blushes grow visibly. The movement of eyes comes to rest on Liesana, and his bottom lip is quickly caught between his teeth, lips stretched as he can't tone down the grin. Finally a short bit of light laughter escapes, but he simply lowers his head with a giant smirk on his face - hey, if you know Ren, you're waiting for what he does after his head is brought back up, since he's done nothing /yet/. Although, when he does, his eyes simply swing to Dash for a moment, then back to Lies, and he laughs happily again, patting Liesana's shoulder as he stands up. "Oooh, my friend, you're talking to whom? Hey, if he stays short, he won't outgrow us." A low chuckle, "Which is what both of us are afraid of with the size of the kid /ALREADY/. Wow, seeeriously. T'is creepy almost. -An' aye, aye, but Lies, you dinnae know the /tall/ girls that short li'l /ME/ had t'put up with back near Ruatha." He speaks as his feet begin to take him towards the front again, ever so slightly.

The briefest of amused grins flashes across Dashvard's face. "I'm sure I must not have been a little girl," he says somberly, "at any point." Mirth flickers in sloe-black eyes for a moment, as he finishes off the wine in his glass, and then regards it for a long moment, contemplating getting a refill. He is less inclined to turn the empty glass into a musical instrument than is his harper friend. He has the sneaking suspicion that various participants in the conversation know things that he doesn't, but it's not an unusual feeling and he can ignore it.
Dream blinks in from ::between::!
Dashvard calls to Dream, who flies over and lands on his shoulder.

Liesana, aware of Renrow's quirks of personality, spots the looks and gets the meaning loud and clear. And alas he's now out of range for her to kick him in the shins again. She settles for a mock-glare reading 'We'll Talk Later', before giving Dashvard a solemn nod. "I'm most relieved to hear that," she comments, for lack of a better reply. And then it's time to grin wickedly at Renrow. "Hah. After living next door to you for /five/ /turns/ as an apprentice, I bet those girls were only giving you what you so richly deserved, my friend."

"AH-" Renrow's voice stops, and his smirk grows uncontrollably, "I.../Hey/ now, so -what-." He laughs jovially, and shrugs, "I was jes'a stablehand. I had t'do /somethin/ to keep myself busy." Which is why his pranking and constant exploring/escaping escapades continued through his Hall days, so much so at first that he spent more time doing chores than both in classes /and/ homework together! He pivots, making his way to the bar after holding up his index finger, that he'll be just a moment. He leans forward, and he's actually a few more, him and the current `tender sharing a few laughs over something before the bartender nods reassuringly and Renrow swings his left arm through the air so his hand claps his right, held sideways, with a large beam, then begins heading back towards their table again.

Dashvard sets down his empty glass on the table and leans back in his chair, his expression turning slightly quizzical. Remembering his own adolescence brings only a mirthless smile to his lips, and he shakes his head slightly. "Interesting fellow," he murmurs, soft voice slightly tinged with amusement, as Renrow's at the bar.

"Ah now, you only know I tease you because I love you, Ren," calls over Liesana to her fellow Harper. Renrow, along with a few other close friends, is very much like a surrogate sibling to the only-child master. But now that Ren's off plotting something with the barkeep, Liesana returns to a more restful volume, leaning forwar with her elbows on the table and her chin cupped girlishly in her hands. Her eyes are sparkling warmly as she nods agreement to Dashvard. "Oh, that he most certainly is," she concurs. "Takes a little getting used to, I suppose, but really, he's like a younger brother to me at times. Complete with horrible amounts of teasing and a faint hint of a protective streak..." she trails off to look quizically at the guardsman across from her. "Do you know, I've never really run across any of your friends," she comments lightly. "I'm beginning to think that /mine/ are following me."

Dashvard throws back his head and laughs - a delighted, surprised sound. "That's probably because I don't have any!" he exclaims. "Present company excepted, of course. Carid was really ... the only friend I had ..." A definite wince. "Anyway, that's all and done with now. I'm not really a ... a people person, usually."

Liesana shakes her head, smiling widely and letting lose a chuckle of her own, interupting the singing of her wineglass. "Do you know, that explanation never occured to me," she admits, trailing off into a quiet laugh. "Perhaps I'm biased, but I find you an excellent people person. For the kind of people that I am, at least."

Renrow steps up to his chair again, then sits down with a pleased sigh, smile on his face, "Dinnae miss too much did I? Hrm," he sniffs, "don't seem to be any ashes floating around. So I didn't miss anyhing /good/." He taps his fingers against the back of the chair idly, although, as always, it's to some all-too-familiar song whose words have been long forgotten and many times improvized.

Dashvard gives her a wry smile. "Thank you," he says. "I suppose I just make most people uncomfortable." He lifts one shoulder in a liquid half-shrug. The expression turns somewhat bewildered as sloe-black eyes flick back towards Renrow. "Ashes?"

Liesana smiles softly at Dashvard, and looks very much like she'd pat his hand, were she not separated by a table width. "Then that's their loss," she says lightly, before fixing Renrow with a grin. "Don't suppose you managed to convince Lem to bring by another couple glasses of wine while you were over there, eh?" she inquires, playfully wheedling. "But ashes? No, there were no reputations being burned in your absence." Liesana, like Dash, hasn't a clue as to what Renrow's getting at, but will hazard a guess nonetheless.

Renrow laughs at Dashvard's single-word inquiry, one that would obviously be asked by nearly everyone that hadn't heard the saying (way) too often before. "Aye." A few beats, then as he's sure the answer should be supplied, he chuckles, "The Hall's still standing." A few blinks though as his mind returns to Dashvard's first words, "You? Och. Well, no' me. I'm jest fine around ye." His accent seems to be wavering between thick and thin, but always present, evidence to those who know him that he's come from someplace he felt very relaxed around, probably straight from Keroon. He glances over his shoulder, then back again, blinking as Liesana asks the question afterward and glancing over the table now. "Oh." He notices the absence of wine-bottle, then glances with an inquiring expression towards Lies, but shrugs it off, deciding to stop a drudge himself. "No," he says as the drudge departs, and tips his head back towards the bar again, "Just talkin with Pathin, seeing if Master Lared was in at the moment. T'was the whole reason I even took this trip here, as it's only brief." His explanation ends there as the drudge arrives with a bottle of 'what they were having' as Renrow asked, and the Harper simply takes it from the Drudge's hand (which was in the 'ready-to-pour' position) with a grin and tosses the mark onto the tray with a nod of thanks.

Dashvard looks wry. He suspects that Renrow's the type that'd be right at home with just about anybody. "Well, thank you," he says. "I think." To Liesana he gives a warm smile of his own, gleaming in his dark eyes, although like most of his such expressions it's quite fleeting. "And to you, thanks as well." Ahh ... more wine.

"Ah, Renrow, you are an oddity and a gentleman," is Liesana's comment on the arrival of the winebottle, as she lifts her empty glass for a refil. "But I'm glad I managed to catch you, on this brief trip of yours then." she grins. "Oh, and if you're legging it back to Keroon, d'ye think you could take something back with you?" she asks, rummaging in her carrysack for a moment. "It's my aunt's daughter's third turnday coming up, and I made her a little present with some odds and ends of wood I had leftover from making my latest gitar..." She glances up to flash Dashvard a quick, almost embarassed grin. "You're welcome, I suppose. Not that I said much of anything special."

Renrow stands briefly to refill the two glasses, then stares at his open space of table, bottle still poised and ready. A couple of beats pass before he sits, then stares at the bottle, holding it slightly away from him with one hand and tipping his head a bit, pondering. Although, as his eyes flicker towards Dashvard, he shrugs (barely visibly though) and sets the bottle back on the table again. Releasing a sigh before he notices it, he glances back over his shoulder again, "Aye, aye I suppose I could." His eyes return to Liesana's, "Although I've no clue jes' how long I'm going to be here." Eyes flicker to the ceiling as his lips draw taut, mimicing frustration and impatience even though it's actually faintly present. "OH! /Really/? Wow, I'll have t'catch Rilna next time Ah'm out in the stables then for suuure."

Dashvard shrugs his shoulders. "Any words can be special," he remarks quietly, "if you hear them in the right light." He nods acknowledgement to Renrow for refilling his cup and takes a brief swig of his drink. Alcohol can occasionally be a great reassurance when you're worried you might've just said something rather stupid.

"Ah! There it is!" With a smile of dazzling triumph, Liesana pulls a small flat wooden board from her carrysack. Glancing at the two men a little sheepishly, she comments inanely that "It's a puzzle." Obviously. A shape-puzzle of a runnerbeast, carved with the skill of an instrument crafter and not a woodsmith, but with much love and care evident in the staining and carving. Quickly, it's handed over to Renrow. "Not much, but I thought Illianne might like it, what with her breeding." And then Dashvard's quiet comment reaches her ears, and Liesana is silent, looking surprised, but rather pleased, and settling at last on a warm smile.

Renrow's eyebrows go up as she states what it is, and his smile parts his lips, "OH-hohoh wow, Lies, he this is cool, I'm sure she'll love it. I would've, that's for sure." He nods, slipping it inside one of the folds of his cloak, apparently to a hidden pocket. His name is called from behind him, at the bar, and he stands again, his finger lifting once more as he departs for a moment. Happy words are exchanged between him and another older man recognized as the Master Vintner at Ista Hold, Lared, joking, ribbing and the likes, before they slip into a seat right beside where they were standing as they talk, near the door and out of hearing range.

Dashvard glances after Renrow, an expression of faint puzzlement coloring his face. "You know, I kept getting the feeling that he was ... expecting something to happen," he remarks. "Or ... or something." He scratches his head, trying to bring clarity to his slightly muddled brain.

Liesana grins as Renrow moves off, before sipping at her replinished wine, and sighing slightly, the blush returning in full force, and not the half of it alchohol-induced. "Er, he probably was," she comments, before shaking her head, pinking a little more, and laughing quietly. "Ah, I guess you probably are aware of the Harper rep for being fond of gossip?" she asks, somewhat rhetorically.

Dashvard regards her quietly for a moment, his cheeks beginning to color again. "Er ... yes," he says slowly. "Oh dear. Is my existence providing fodder for that?" Hmm. More wine seems to be a good idea right about now. He drinks a bit more of it.

More wine is undoubtedly an excellent idea, if the run that Liesana makes on her own glass is any indication. Swallowing, she gives a little nod, before, true Harper, attempting to explain in more detail. "Mmhmm... You see, I'm a fairly popular teacher amongst the apprentices. They like me, they're interested in what happens to me. At times, they try to mother me. Add in the fact that I'm the only one of the young Masters that's single, and my love life, or lack of one, is a matter of great discussion and speculation. After word got out that I was sharing poetry with a handsome guardsman..." A wry, and blushing, sweep of her hand in his direction. "And really, your name /does/ lend itself /far/ too well to alliterative puns," she adds in. Dashvard the Dashing? "Er, apparently we're running the gamut from secretly in love to secretly handfasted, and I'm expecting our first child." The last comes out in a rush, mingled with laughter at the sheer absurdity and embarassment of the situation. And the dratted fact that she keeps blushing.

Amongst the chorus of Tavern sounds, Renrow's laughter can be picked out if an ear perchances to be familiar with it, and after another short while, the scraping of chairs being pushed back. Another voice, richer, might be heard drifting over the noise as well at this point, "Yes, /no DOUBT/! ... ... Renrow, ... ... meet AGAIN! ... /NOT/ ... shardin long next time." Renrow' laughter joins the other man's as it begins, then, "Always ..., now. Gotta have it, gotta have it!"

Dashvard blush darkens to a deeper and much more noticeable scarlet. "Oh," he says. "Good grief," he adds. Hmm. He takes a long swig of the liquid in his glass, leaving very little left. "Our first child?" he says weakly. "Well ... really ... gosh. The next time I'm secretly in love with someone I'd like to know about it first."

Renrow begins walking towards the table, and as he draws closer and his eyes fall on Liesana's face, he begins laughing again, mostly by the fact that /so much of that/ has been drawn out of him that it's just his body's natural response at this time, being in the great mood he is. "HOH-hoh, Liesana..." He begins, grinning to beat anything, and then as his eyes flicker towards Dashvard - who also is quite red - he simply stifles his next happy-induced-laugher to more of a muffled chuckle, and bites whatever words he may've been going to say to poke playfully at Liesana about her blushing. He sits at his chair, and now is when the two wineskins are noticed slung over his arm, setting one beside him on the ground and uncapping the other to take a drink. "So." And NOW come the ever-appropriately-timed words, accompanied by his usual wide grin, "I take it I missed something?"

Liesana looks to be in severe danger of an aneurysm if this keeps up. She casts a furtive glance over at Renrow, seeing him returning, and manages to murmur a quiet, and even now somewhat amused. "Myself as well... after all /however/ would I organize a 'fasting in the dark like that." by way of banter and lightening the embarassment, no matter how funny her player finds it. But now Renrow's back, and by some miracle of acting, she manages to un-blush and give her old friend a prim little beam. "Oh, nothing of import. I was just telling embarassing stories about you behind your back,"

Dashvard nods briskly, giving Renrow a wide-eyed look. "Positively scandalous," he says helpfully, although the dark red blush is slow to recede. Earnestly, he adds, "I should've slapped her face when she told it to me." His painstaking onesty does not apparently apply to games of this type.

Taking a long drink from the skin, Renrow lets his eyes slide shut and he releases a dramatic sigh of satisfaction as he finishes, the resulting expression being akin to a sleepy firelizard who awoke to eyeridge-scritchings, meatrolls, and sweetsticks. Until Liesana's last words are heard, and sink in after Dashvard adds his part, and his brows lift considerably. Eyes swing to Liesana and he smirks, "Och! Not...nooo, no you wooouldn't..." A beat, then rapidly, he swings his focus towards Dashvard, "/OH/ wow, hey, you should've BEEN there this one time! Liesana, this one time down at the beach in Gar, she-" and he cuts off quickly with light laughter as he scoots his chair audibly /AWAY/ from Liesana's reach, then waves a hand, dismissing his last playfully-made comment. Another drink, then, "Dashvard? Heeehe...you like cider?" He tilts his head back, offering towards Liesana as well along with a brief explanation, "Lared, haven't seen him for a while, having, what, only visited the Hall here a handfull of times since Ah returned from Fort a few fortnight' ago. E's finally starting to take my advice about investing in a, heheh, rather Profitable exchange with Gar."

Liesana offers Renrow a sweet, sweet smile after winking to Dashvard. Pure innocence, really. And since this smile dates back to apprentices days, whenever she was plotting a particularly heinous prank, this smile is to be feared. "Oh, finish the story, Ren," she offers, still smiling. "I'm sure I can arrange to have some of my Keroonite contacts smuggle a herdbeast with intestinal problems into your office." But then she relents with a chuckle, and a sip of her wine, interest perked at the mention of booze. "Oh...? Do you know, I was just commenting earlier about how Gar had rather good pressings this season...?"

Dashvard is a little more hesitant. Holding his liquor has never been his strongest - or come to that, his weakest - point. And he's had two glasses of wine already ... But then he shrugs his shoulders. A little drinking never hurt anybody, after all. And he does like cider. "I'd love some, if you're offering," he says mildly.

At Liesana's first words, Renrow's eyebrows disappear behind his bangs, his mouth slightly parting as well in a grin, and his eyes flicker towards Dashvard as he actually ponders it for those few seconds. Until her threat is said, which only brings laughter, rather than the story, from his mouth - and that only increases happily at her last words, nodding rapidly, "Oh shardin wherryfeathers is it ever! T'is nearly as good as th'Turn before last's!" He takes one more drink, then nods towards Dashvard, refilling his wine glass with something that looks like a dark apple cider - and smells like it, as well, only, more pungent. He hands the skin over towards Liesana as he usually does, although, oddly for him (and perhaps her as he never does this), he also motions towards her own empty wine-glass and lifts a brow in silent question. "I suppose I can still stick around for a while longer, too. I mean, hey, you don't just decide to depart the presence of Ista Hold's Master Vintner himself for /nobody/."

Liesana smiles, and takes the cider skin but doesn't pour herself a glass just yet. "I think I'll have mine heated," she qualifies. "Tastes just as good, but less risk of my embarassing myself with too much alchohol." And so a drudge is summonned, and a quiet request for a mug made.

Dashvard looks down at his glass for a moment. "Hmm," he says. "Sounds like a good idea to me. Although ... can they heat glass?" This is a young man who can't remember the last time he saw the inside of a kitchen.

Brinleah strides confidently in from the great hall.

The Scene: Dashvard, Liesana and Renrow are all seated around a table. Wineglasses and skins of cider are present, and laughter can often be heard echoing over from the trio's corner of the busy tavern.

Brinleah enters sighing lightly as she has finally finished her afternoon chores. Yes. She glances around in the doorway for someone she knows.

Renrow crinkles his nose and swipes a hand through the air, "Aaach, donnae worry about it Lies. You can't embaress yourself aaaanymore than you've already been before around me." Although a beat, then a laugh, as he remembers the current company as well. With a glance towards Dashvard, he nods, "Aye, it is really good heated too. Oh," He turns back around to Liesana and the drudge, "but tell'm to put in a pinch of klah bark! Theeeeen it tastes /really/ good. MMmmhmhm." He brushes some hair that had fallen into his face before continuing, "Besides, it's not like riding on a runnerbeast's back is any challenge when you're rather intoxicated. It's actually rather fun, I find. Quiiiiiite the trip." Yeah - until that day when Renrow finally gets /way/ too tipsy, and has /too/ much fun holding his runner at an extended lope, and gets jostled off somehow.

Dashvard blinks. "Well, that's one thing I've never done," he says mildly. But then again, he doesn't drink much these days - only rarely, and even then not all that much. All courtesy, he asks for his cider to be heated as well, and then with a sheepish grin he turns back to his table companions. "Well, then."

Brinleah goes home.

Liesana offers a smirk to Renrow. "Nevertheless, it's not you I'm worried about embarassing myself in front of," she notes. "A Master of the Harper Hall has a rather tedious duty to uphold the dignity of the Craft, after all. So I'll stick to getting drunk and silly at private parties," she qualifies with a wink, before chuckling. "Ren, that might work for /your/ runnerbeast, but mine begs for a clear head in the saddle..." she trails off to smile at Dashvard while she waits for her cider to be prepared in the kitchens. "Did I ever ask you if you know how to ride or not?" she questions, a propos of... something.

Jaryn stalks in from the great hall.
Ciara walks gracefully in from the great hall.

Dashvard nods, giving her a brief smile. "You did, and my answer is and was yes," he says. He raises fine dark eyebrows at her, curious. "Why?"

Ciara walks in, looking around, and smiling all over. She sees people and bounces over to greet them, hoping they'll be as nice as the last people she talked to, but if they aren't, ah well. She looks at everyone, and grins. "Good Evening." Ciara says, maybe just a little bit too cheery.

Tall, lanky yet muscular: short-cropped blonde hair. Weird eyes. It can only be Jaryn, of course, lumbering in with those typical long strides, pivoting into the bar and shuffling past Lem. "I'll get it, I'll get it. Don't need to bother you, old man," he cheerfully states to the bartender, grabbing a bottle of some random unlabeled bottle, and returning to the proper side of the bar.

Liesana smiles back, a touch amused at her own expense. "So I did," she agrees. "But I actually had it occur to me that I could use your help with something, if you were willing, of course." The Harper Master grants Ciara a smile and a nod of greeting, before turning back to finish her conversation. "I've recently been given a runnerbeast as a Mastery gift. He's all of three turns and a bit of an idiot, so I'm still using Storm Dancer for my runs between here and Smith. But I'd really like to start getting Hadrian used to travel, and the best way to do that is have an experianced beast go alongside him. Which, naturally, requires a second rider..." she trails off to tip a wave to Jaryn as well, who she knows vaguely.

Glissande strides, grinning, in from the great hall.

Dashvard looks somewhat surprised, but fairly gratified. "Surely," he says. "I'll be sure to get some leave from Alethia. When do you want me?" There seems to something vaguely ... not right about the phrasing of that question, but being unused to alcohol has left his brain somewhat muddled in the course of drinking it.

Glissande pauses for a moment in the doorway, and then makes her way in through the crowd to the Vintners. "Hilo, all." She says by way of greeting.

Jaryn glances sideways, before snapping off a mock-salute to Liesana with a cheery grin - he can't recall her name, but the face doesn't spring forth with bad memories, so he goes with it. Settling down at his 'typical' table, he spreads hides about. "You know, those girls are just insane. We couldn't do it /there/.. the gardens are expanding thattaways." He makes crude markings on the map, pondering this and puzzling over that. "Gliss! Where the /shell/ is Lylana and Sirri and Luari expecting to put their vineyard, again?" Peeved look. He hates being out of the loop. Honestly.

Renrow chuckles deeply and nods solomnly at Liesana's first words, although as the reminder of her current rank is said along with the following sentance, his chuckles lift into laughter, his hand lifting to his forehead as he leans slightly back, his current surroundings along with her current /rank/ hitting him again. "Of course, wow, time flies by faster'n a proddy gold." With a shake of his head, he wags a finger at Liesana, "Ach, not what I think at all. T'isn't the clear head in the saddle, t'is the ingrained bonding between th'seat and the seat." Rather deep he is at the moment. He takes another drink of his cider and specifies quietly, "Second seat being the horse, of course." His eyes flicker to Dashvard, then Liesana, as they speak, then he perks at hearing of Liesana's gift, "No way. Wow, three turns - is ...he, or a she? He? Well, is he broke yet for riding yet?" He nods in return greeting to each that enter and catch his eyes.

Glissande looks blank. "Uhhh... North?" She suggests. "Or was it south? West, maybe?" You can tell Gliss doesn't know a thing about it.

Lylana walks in from the great hall.

Ciara walks over to Glissande and Jaryn, looking for a place to sit. "May I sit here?" she asks, merely looking for company, but she is also intrigued by the conversation."

Jaryn is now very annoyed. "You have no clue, /do/ you, Gliss?" Lesigh. "Ly! Just the person I'm looking for.." Despite the ominous fact that it's his turnday, things are /not/ going too well. Lesigh. "Lylana. Where'd you plan to put that vineyard?" He holds up the map. 'E needs to know, honestly. A brief glance upwards to Ciara, and he gestures to the chair across from him. "Have a seat."

Glissande scoots over in her seat a little. "Sure, have a seat." She seconds Jaryn. She looks up, "Hallo! Lylana! Sit with us! Answer Jaryn so he stops bugging me about something which I know nothing of!" Hinthint. Just then a drudge appears to take Gliss and Ceara's order. "Mmm, cider, for sure." She says. The drudge turns his attention to Ceara.

Ciara sits down, and listens intently as she pulls out her embroidery and sits stitching tiny stitches with tiny fingers. "Nothing for me, actually, thankyou." she says, just loud enough to be heard, her energy almost brimming over.

Liesana would normally pounce on a grammatical shuffle such at Dashvards, and make some cheeky and off-colour comment in reply, but she's just managed to go ten minutes without blushing, and isn't going to try and break the record stretch. Although... the blushing really only started today. So she just sips at the last of her wine, and devotes herself to conversing about things equine, a rather happy ex-Keroonian. "Just under three turns, actually. Nice looking gelding. And he's definitely broke to saddle. Poor Kurt actually managed to ride him over to me without killing himself, although it was a near thing..." And then amber gaze dances about the room briefly, before shifting, along with her attention, to Dashvard. Consideringly, she muses. "Well, the actual ride shouldn't take more than four hours. Probably best to do it in a morning, when it's cooler... Hmm... I know Seargent Siallon has a route that takes him by Smith Hall. Any chance you might swap with him for a day or so?"

So much for sneaking in and grabbing some klah... Lyl grumbles something under her breath as she heads over to sit and be social and all that. "Why, if it isn't Gliss and Jaryn! Now, what are you talking about, and why do you think I can answer your question?"

Ciara laughs softly at the woman's obvious dislike for her situation, but stifles the giggle, accidentally poking herself with the needle. A tiny 'ow!' comes form her side of the table, but she keeps that quit too. She's here to listen and learn, not to annoy... yet.

Dashvard nods briskly. "Sure," he says, "that'd probably work. I like riding in the morning anyway." He leans forward a little in his chair, regarding her with the bemused curiosity of the slightly drunk. "So ... a morning sometime soon, I suppose?"

Jaryn shifts, lanky form shifting over his map. "Ly, just point out where this sight that you and Luari and Sirri keep on talking about for a vineyard, and you can go along and do whatever loser-ly activity that you so enjoy." A mock-sweet innocent expression.

Glissande turns her attention to the person who slid into the bench next to her. "So.. I'm Glissande, call me Gliss." She holds out her hand.

Ciara grins brightly and takes Glissande's hand in greeting. "Hi there. I'm Ciara." she says. "Hearing about vinyards, I assume you all are vintners then?" She mbeams, memorizing faces.

Renrow's brows lift again before laughter bubbles out of him, "Ol' Krut didn't do a horseback-dive again? Awwwwwwww. Oh well, at least I couldn't miss it then." His eyes sweep around the room, then return to the table, only to cause him to lift a brow in the faintest way in amusement and turn in his chair - both to politely hide the smile and avoid grinning more. So, taking another drink from his skin of Gar cider, he still pauses, waiting for a few moments before deciding to speak again rather than hold his words. "Hey Lies. What's his name? Ohhh yeah, Hadrian - well, E's outside in the stables now, isn't- oh wait...you probably just rode Storm over here didn't ya?"

Lylana rolls her eyes. "Jaryn, dear," she explains in that overly patient tone one uses with children and other losers, "you know that the vineyards are Sirri's and Luari's baby. I'm just along for- actually, I don't know why." But, just to placate the boy, she reaches across the table and points to a random spot on the map.

Glissande nods, "You've got it!" The cider arrives. "Would you like something to drink?" She offers, and the drudge stays put.

Jaryn looks.. irritated. Is anything new? Definitely not. "Luari says that Sirri knows, and Sirri says that she's along for the ride for /your/ baby project, Ly. It's.. a roundabout. Honestly." A few cursewords are loosened under his breath. "I hate business. Y'know that? I really hate business."

Glissande reaches over to pat poor Jaryn's hand. "It's okay, just attack them all when you can catch them all together." She nods emphatically, then leans forwards and whispers, "What's this I hear? Is it your Turnday, Jaryn?"

Ciara sighs. "I'm fine, actually. So.. All three of you are vintners?" she says, a mischievous glint in her eyes. "So am I." she says, trying to bother them all into less-stressdom.

Jaryn folds gauntlet'd arms over his chest, and shifts his gaze from Ly to Gliss. "Yes, it's my turnday," he snaps. "Is it of any consequence? Just a day of the turn." Sounds like he's badly attempting to convince himself of that. Poor Jar. "Oh, so you are?" A 'brow lifts at Ciara's words, a bemused look finally fastening itself over disgruntled features.

Liesana nods to Renrow. "Aye, the old girl and I are still a team. Once Hadrian's trained, I'll probably retire her to a life of munching grass and perhaps teaching my mentees to ride, but we've spent thirteen turns together now..." she trails off, thinking fondly of her mare. A true Keroon-bred, it appears. But then it's a sudden snap back to reality, with the realization that. "Faranth's headknobs, but I've just gone and spent an entire afternoon sitting in a pub. Ren, Dash, it's been lovely, but I need to get on my way back to Smith and the Smith brats before they all break into my workshop and paint the walls with instrument stain. She begins to rise, before stopping and giving Dashvard a smile. "A morning soon indeed. Three days' time...shall we call it a date?" And, one for the road, the blush returns, in a mild form. "Er, set that as the date for the ride," she amends.

"It's not my project!" Lyl insists and all but throws her hands up in the air and screams. "Why does everyone think it is?" Okay, breathe, find a new subject to carp on... Aha! Ciara. She turns to the stranger. "Great. Are you one of the new transfers from Fort? I'm Lyl, in case you haven't guessed."

Dashvard blushes in return. "Er, yes," he says, "in three days ... and I'd better get back to work, too." He stands a little too quickly and tips an imaginary hat to all assembled.