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Harper's Tale - Wednesday, April 10, 2002, 6:04 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-one firelizards.
You see Dromi, LaughCraft Cap, and Bartender Lem here.
Mynd, Andria, and Remy are here.
Obvious exits:
Dining Hall Great Hall
You stand in the rather rambunctious Flying Mug.

Killian slouches in from the great hall.

Andria waves to Liesana. "hello Lies! See? I've been good."

Liesana returns from whatever urgent summons had called her away with a feral light still playing in her eyes and smile. A decidedly subdued looking apprentice can be seen escaping, out in the Great Hall, quite firmly convinced either that he'll never spill klah on a record hide again, or that Liesana is insane. Quite possibly both. She retakes her seat at the table with a smile for Andria. "Never doubted you for a second, Andi," she twinkles.

Killian sidles in his ever-so-dignified fasion into a chair, slouching there with every intent to actually study.

Study in the Mug? /That's/ a good one.

Caitilin walks with a noticeable bounce to her step. Noone should be this cheerful. in from the great hall.

Andria giggles at Liesana. Holding up her juice glass. "See. Drinking from a glass and not a bottle. Did you see Daddy?"

Caitilin looks around as she finds a place to sit.

Ah, but intent and action don't often suit, of course, especially when uyou're Killian. People are watched from beneath his lashes as he pretends -- yes, pretends -- to read the scroll before him; irrepressible humor twinkles in his gaze as he entertains himself thusly.

Liesana chuckles. "Good... don't let me catch you into the ale bottles." she twinkles. "And no, haven't been up to see your father yet. Had to go clean up after an apprentice boy who'd spilled klah on a rather important record hide. I'll be heading up to chat with him shortly."

Andria sighs. "Daddy is very busy isn't he?" She finishes her juice, smacking her lips. "Is Daddy being good?"

The scream of the Bratling gang isn't uncommon -at least when they chase after their chosen. Poor Remy scowls. "Git' way... "Yes. He really doesn't wanna deal with'em, especially after hiding important items from him because they were shiny. They're worse kleptos than he is! Pity him. Really. Candra plops to the man's head, and exasperately, he whines --seeing Lies. "Liiiiieeeees.." Thief complains lightly, his masculine mouth pulled in a sharp frown.

Andria giggles and shouts "Remy.. Remmmmyyy....Whatcha got for me today?" she shouts at the top of her young lungs

Caitilin looks up sharply at the sudden commotion around her, she had almost gone to sleep. Had she heard right? Did the man just entering call out Lies? Wearily Caiti blinks around the tavern, not really focussing on any one person.

Liesana nods solemnly to Andria. "That he is... And he's been behaving himself. Has anyone been saying he hasn't?" she asks easily. Yes, Liesana will even use children of six as information sources. Her question is deferred, though, at the wail from the thief. Lips pulled into a compressed form that hides a grin, she stands and meanders over to the younger man and the golden trio. "You, you, and /you/," she intones severely. "/Behave/." Hey, it's worked before.

Caitilin has disconnected.

See? Kids love him. C_c; Andria gets a smile. "A pretty new lizard. Enjoy, kiddo." Like that, Scorpio is snatched and extended towards the kidlet. Stare. Scorpio almost pales, squealing and wiggling in the man's hand as she growls, chewing on the thief's thumb. Snaaaarl. Antique goldlet tilts her head, eyeing Andria side-longed. Dun even try it. =_=; Yes. PMSy little goldlet. Gotta love it. Remy ignores the light pain from chewing Scorpio -- That Brat has done worse before. Remy flops down in his chair, releasing the fidgity lizard after a moment or two, before lightly rubbing nipped hand. "How are ya, anyway, Andria?" Thief's thin mouth pulling to a small smile -- For a moment, he was composed --for the Kidlet's sake .. But for Lies.. he'll put on the puppy eyes. Yes .Pity him. He's cute. Really. "Take'em Lies... Or wrap'em in dat' ugly scarf of yers." Yes. You know the one. .that puce colored one. c_c; At the bark of the Harper woman, the trio of queens submit.. for a moment, settling on the table top. (biting at each other, never the less.)

Nufan walks in from the great hall.

Andria bounces off her chair to swarm the young theif. "Whatcha got for me?" She bounces up and down. She giggles as she's petted. Then she sees Nufan, her Nuffanman. "Nufan!" She runs up hugging him. "See! I've been good." Full of energy, this one.

Killian lifts head and brow at Remy and his trio of gold squabblers. "Handful, there?" He asks sardonically.

The raucous noise of firelizards floats through the open door as Nufan enters, hurriedly swinging said door closed. From the several thuds that soon follow this, one might assume that his firelizards were so distracted by the arguing that they didn't notice the door closing. Eheh. Sure enough, it's only a few heartbeats later that a fair of greens blinks in from ::Between::, oddly silent. They're.. sulking. "Oh, get lost, all of you.. If you're going to stay, you can sit here and be-- Andi!" Beam. He opens his arms to hug the girl, nodding. "Of course you have. You're always good!"

Hippolyta notices Killian looking at her.

Liesana feels vaguely tired just /watching/ Andria. Old lady of 25 that she is. A firmly pleased look at the trio of golden brats, and one hand is lifted to pat the well behaved queen settled on her own shoulder. Not that any firelizard of Liesana's would be anything but. Well, except the bronze, but he's a moron. "Ohhhh no. I am /not/ taking that trio of hellions, even if it were possible. I've enough with my own earnippers."

Eefle. As Andria briefly pounces near him in a random bounce, the man laughs, grin growing slowly and watching as Andria scampers off. Wheee. Remy grows quiet, ordering up both a drink to sooth his sore nerves, and something for the shiny-gals to chew on. (something other than themselves. He'd not put it past them to canniblize each other. o_o; Yesssss. ) As the tender comes with desired items, the bowl of random scraps (both cooked, raw, fat, gristle, and regular meat...) is placed on the counter beside Remy. His lips touch his drink's glass, taking a slow sip and trying to relax. Sure. Rub it in, Lies.. YER queen listens.. His are hell children. C_C; Stare. "You know ya want'em, Lies. Jus' think of'em as a gift from me to you." He brow wiggles at the woman, indulging in another sip.

Andria giggles as she runs around the Mug, hugging her friends. Can we say a sugar high here? She hugs Nufan, giggling, then she's off again.

"No." intones Liesana firmly. "If I have to be given a gift of gold, I'd prefer it to be of the variety that doesn't attempt to eat my nose." She's got a rather nice nose, thanks, and would rather like to keep it. Hugged by Andria, she rises, and makes her escape while the getting's good. "Well, now that the wierd sisters are sedated, I'm off to actually get something useful done. See you around, Remy. Watch out for the Guards."

You go to the Lord Warder's Office.

**TRAVEL SPAM**

Lord Warder's Office
Beach wood forms stark lines, marking a new hand in the spacious office. A mix of cheerful rosewood and pale beach wood brightens the stone of the room. A large desk dominates the view, arranged in the corner to face the entrance and a door that leads off to private rooms, scattered with hidework and surrounded by glowbaskets should the light falling through the large window fall at night or be obscured by clouds in day. On the side of the wall stands a large white hearth, set deep into wall to hold a cozily crackling fire should Ista's temperatures verge on chilly. A variety of chairs and a small couch furnish seating for visitors around the middle of the area.
You see Rucksack and Antique_Chest here.
Obvious exits:
Admin Hall Private Rooms

A knock on the door and an "All's clear, the dancing girls have gone home?" herald Liesana's entry into the office, her usual armload of scrolls and reports present in it's usual amount. Which means A Lot. She breezes over and deposits them on Andron's desk, before pulling up her usual chair, and propping her boots on the edge of the desk as well. "I've been doing some research," she notes.

Actually, one dancing girl is left! Scantily clad! But she's only about 2, and on the arm of a nanny, who is apologizing for the death of some priceless vase or one another while the little one clambers for a glass on Andron's desk. But that's not the point. He waves away the explanation with a slight smile and a shake of his head, brushing aside the worries and dismissing the Nanny -- who is in a rush to get the girl to things less-breakable. Andron glances up and smirks slightly. "Oh dear." What else can he say?

Liesana gives a nod to the departing Nanny and tot as well, ignoring any odd looks at her lack of formality in seating arrangements. Smith Hall, after all, has ruined any natural formality she once posessed. "No, no, this is a good sort of research. Found a few historical cases that might help save your arse, if things get nasty," she intones.

Andron of the Bare Feet has pretty much ruined the idea of formality as well. "Aaah, I knew there was a reason I loved you," he intones, making a swooning motion and draping against hte side of his chair with a slight smirk before getting up, sliiiding over the desk, and dropping into a chair near Lies. "Do tell. What cases?"

Liesana neatly catches the scrolls sent rolling by Andron's fine demonstration of bodysurfing, and replaces them on the table before speaking. One is retained, however, and unrolled to be displayed as she leans over towards the Warder, pointing out cogent points now and again. "Well, plenty of boring ones that I nearly fell asleep over, but still help support your claim. The most interesting was the case of Lord Silverhooves..." she intones, trailing off to chuckles quietly.

"Silverhooves?" Andron repeats blandly, scanning over the hide once before following the trail of the pointing finger to the various points. "I'm glad I have someone like you to read weed out the chaff," he adds with a slight smirk, tipping another wink in Liesana's direction before reaching up to straighten the piles he knocked askew.

Liesana chuckles. "That, my dear Lord Warder, is why I'm the archivist, and not you. But Lord Silverhooves was a runnerbeast, actually. Dying Lord named him his heir in favour of his imbecile of a son. His reasoning, on his last breath, was that if any runner's arse could do the job, why not the whole runner..." she trails off again. "Alas, Lord Silverhooves only reigned for about two months, before a mysteriously fatal case of colic got him."

"You can -not- be serious." Andron just stares for a few minutes, before promptly folding over and -snickering-. You'll have to forgive him. High stress job and all. So he's laughing for a bit longer than the story deserves before he straightens, all solemn again, but with a decided smirk. "Right. Lord Silverhooves. I bet straw and hay were high-priced commodities during his reign."

Liesana's face is preturnaturally solemn as she intones that "I'm quite serious, my good Lord Warder. The case is an excellent example that a Lord or Lady's choice of heir or warder is binding." And then she, too, gives a good laugh. "Still, I don't think I'll present that option to conclave. Silverhooves, after all, was one of those Lords that always voted, ah... 'neigh'."

"How-- interesting," Andron finally says, a muted laugh still lingering in his voice as he straightens -- only to slouch in the other direction. Good posture-having, he ain't. Work out the grammar as you will. "That's very interesting. But the pun--" He pauses, then just turns a long-suffering look on Liesana. "That was -terrible-."

Liesana sketches a slight bow from her seat with her feet up. "My pleasure, sir. Consider it a touch of revenge for all of those /lines/." An unrepentant smile. And then down to business. "But, puns and ponies aside, I've decided that's going to be my main defence. That you were the Lady Charis's choice of Warder, and that is that. Nabol may decide to trot slander out, but we'll meet that with sweetness and light, as it were. Oh yes," she adds. "I've managed to narrow it down to Nabol that will likely be coming against you. I don't know who'll stand with him, though."

'Puns and ponies' is repeated silently, Andron moving his lips to form the words with a roll of his eyes before leaning forward slightly. "Nabol? Why Nabol?" he asks curiously, arching an eyebrow as he thinks back. "I don't think much of Nabol, either way." Which could be the problem, since due to that they slip through a lot of trading cracks and don't get much. But he's not that clever to think of it. "Wave around the autonomy clause and all? You know, Alain was upset for just that reason. He felt they didn't have any business bringing it up."

Harpers just have a way with words, after all. "Nabol," intones Liesana with dry amusement, perhaps just a tad severely. "Should be one of the Hold you know most about. Next to Bitra, their politics are some of the crookedest on Pern. Worse still, they carry grudges. They are also incredibly opportunistic, historically, and their current Lord Holder fits the pattern nicely. Nabol will want the riches of Ista under his control. The best way of doing that is to have one of his surplus sons take over Ista." She taps her fingertips together, and offers a wry smile. "Ah Alain... Poor fellow seems to see the world in black and white. Wheras politics exists wholly in the grey. Yes, they've no business bringing it up, but that isn't going to stop them."

"Defiantely black and white," Andron says a bit sourly, wrinkling his nose as if suffering from a sudden headache before the expression fades as he shifts back to the business side of things. A sweet, innocent: "Oops?" That's about the Nabolese -- or whatever. "So what are their exports? What do they want out of Ista more? Maybe a subtle -- or not so subtle -- bribe of trade relations can be brought up before they even get to the rest." He pauses, then shakes his head slightly before glancing up at Liesana. "I swear you enjoy this."

Liesana notes the sour expression, and matches it with a wry one of her own. "Do we need to go off and bitch about boys to each other?" she inquires dryly, before returning to business. "Oh, offer trade by all means, but don't expect it to do any good. Nabol shan't be so easily dissuaded. Nabol's exports are similar to our own. Produce, some livestock... Perhaps some of their woods might be of interest, but that's about it..." She trails off to give a grin. "You'd swear correctly. This is what I've been trained to do, after all."

Andron grins in return, skipping to personal before business; since it's not exactly pleasant to bitch 'n all, it doesn't ruin the important business before pleasure bit. "Perhaps. You bring the glasses, I'll get the wine. White, of course." A face is made at her agreement to the whole bit, before he holds up a hand as if swearing. "I'd be the last person to argue against you enjoying it, particularly not when it's of my benefit," he says, a bit dry perhaps but definately honestly appreciative. "I think I'd be ousted in a day without you. We don't have much use for wood, really. We use more woven reed furniture, wood is expensive."

Liesana chuckles dryly and pats her bag. "I always have the glasses." she assures. "And I think you've muddled through well enough on your own so far. Faranth, you've done better than most /Blood/ Holders your age. But... we'll squash the Nabolese if at all possible. Now wood... Not for furniture, but for shipbuilding, and for the Smiths."

Andron tips his head, a regal acknowledgement that's decidedly teasing. "Why, thank you, Liesana," he says with a faint smirk, before nodding again. "If they're in charge of this, definately moving for a squashing." How -- eloquent. Good thing he'll have Lies to speak for him as well. "Ah. I hadn't thought of the shipbuilding. You're quite right on that. Rather, ah, reliant on ships for any real trading with the mainland." That happens when you're an island, though.

Liesana nods, her eyes twinkling. "Yes, I believe they tried to establish a wagon route once, but the runners had trouble making the swim... So, I'd advise offering a concession to Nabol... blacksand for lumber, but I doubt it will do anything. Still, it will show that you're in the right. We hope. Now... What have you heard, with regards to marriage prospects for Risana?"

"Hah hah." Andron doesn't think much of Liesana's joke. Honest. Ignore the amused twitch of his lips. "Blacksand for lumber, eh? You think that'd be enough? I'd have imagined emeralds and sapphires or something, delivered in the middle of the night." Sarcastic? A tiny bit. "As for Risana -- well, so far Charis has had minor fits at the thought of her baby growing up. Her letters were a bit icy." That's a minor fit? "Risana -- she finds the idea horrible." And as for actual would-be-grooms? He's getting to it! "And so far, of all people, -Nabol- and, uhm... I forgot." He ducks behind his desk to fetch the all important -messages-.

Liesana gives a snort. "Personally, I tend to side with Charis and Risana... Handfasted at 15? Barbaric.  I'm a decade past that, and only started thinking myself of an age for that very recently. Of course, that requires someone to be handfasted /to/..." she trails off in a mutter, before jumping back to business. "Still... that's the way of the Blood. And I pity the groom. So, Nabol, and...? Personally, I think she'd eat a Nabolese suitor for breakfast."

"So do I. She's got a sharp tongue on her," Andron mutters, faintly amused, faintly affectionate. After all, you can't spend a turn working with a young lady and hate her. Usually. "I think she'd be likely to extort him for a cut of Nabol's goods, then arrange an accident," he drawls, -definately- amused that time. "Ah. Here it is. Igen. Nasty place, mostly."

"Good people, though," allows Liesana, attempting to get a glance at the missive. "The Lord is probably one of the greatest humanitarians on Pern. Allows those that are Holdless to shelter in one of the large cavern systems there. My aunt and her first husband used to work in his stables before she came home." She places her scrolls back on the desk, and stands. "I've got a class I promised to cover, so I'll need to duck out, but /do/ read my reports?"

Andron grins slightly, a faint twist of his lips. "So how're his sons, though? Ever heard of the gentle father, black sheep son type of thing?" So he mixes metaphors. It works! "I do agree with you, though. I respect the Lord of Igen greatly. I can't imagine how he found the resources for the Holdless, for one." How -- practical of Andron. No humanitarian here. "And Liesana, your reports are like the sweetest ballads, the most lyrical poetry--" More mixing of words? "--and I read them like my very life depends on it." Lines, in revenge for the puns, which were in revenge for the lines. Clever.

Liesana chuckles. "If their father has raised them well, they'll be decent. And the desert life should have made them tough enough to withstand Risana... Plus, the Igen men can be quite... charming. I played at a gather there once. Most memorable time." And with that, she says nothing more, heading out the door with a "I'll report in later."