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Harper's Tale - Tuesday, May 21, 2002, 9:47 PM
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Ista Hold Courtyard
Built into the side of a hard granite cliff, Ista Hold looms dominantly to the west. Windows pock the smooth surface of the cliff in neat rows until they get closer to the ground, where they begin to frame the great bronze doors leading into the Hold itself. A sea breeze seems constantly in the air here as the ocean and the wharf lay but dragonlengths to the east. Beaches are scattered to the north, recreational areas for the Hold's residents when not working.
It is a winter afternoon. Patches of blue appear from behind the clouds. A cool breeze blows in from the west.
Perched on a windowsill are seven firelizards.
Blue Padaketh, blue Cerdith, and brown Byndareth are here.
Dashvard is here.
Obvious exits:
Ista Hold Dock         Main Beach         Great Doors         Guard Office         Stables
You walk down a few steps into the courtyard.
You see Dashvard glance your way.

Liesana strolls out the hold doors with a picnic basket on her arm, singing quietly under her breath. Or perhaps doing an impression of an orchestra. The tune is a pleasant one in any case. "Ta rum pum tee, ta rum pum ta, ta rum pum tiddly um tum tee... Afternoon, Dash!"

Fine black brows lift over sloe-black eyes carrying a faint trace of amusement as muscular guardsmen's arms fold across Dashvard's chest. "Good afternoon," he says. "Why so chipper this afternoon?"

Liesana's music-making draws to a close to be replaced by a fey grin. "Was I being chipper?" she inquires. "My humblest apologies. But as for why... well, I've been evicted from the Archives by a pair of apprentices much larger than I am, and told not to return until I've gotten some sunlight. But... I didn't leave empty-handed." she notes, lifting a corner of the cloth covering the basket. There, on top of packets of food, sit three pristine scrolls.

Dashvard gives her a delicate snort. "Ah," he says, and glances momentarily skywards. From the paleness of his skin, it doesn't look as though he's seen much sun ... but that's an illusion: he's seen more sun than most people do in their entire lives. "Looks like you really intend on relaxing."

Liesana chuckles. "I spend a good six hours in the saddle each day that I make a trip between Smith and Main Hall," she notes. "Therefore I see plenty of sun. Actually getting reading done, however, remains somewhat more elusive." The picnic basket is swung gently, and then switched to her other arm. "That, and this looks to be a rather solitary picnic. Unless..." A thought's occurred, apparently, as she tilts her head to one side and eyes Dashvard. "You'd care to join me? If you're not on duty, that is."

The briefest of engaging grins flashes across Dashvard's face. "Why, certainly," he says. Liesana has just offered a guardsman free food. Whether or not it was a wise decision remains to be seen, but one feels the need to point such things out upon occasion. "I'd be delighted to join you in a picnic, milady."

Liesana smiles in response to the grin, not unaware of the salutory effects of food. She, after all, lives in close contact with a large number of Smiths. The basket is raised, and then the Harper sweeps the Guardsman a playful bow in theatric style. "Then by all means let us proceed onwards. To the Gardens, sir?"

Dashvard bows to her, from the waist ... although despite the depth of the bow, sloe-black eyes - glinting somewhat playfully - never leave her face. "Indeed, milady. I would be honored. May I offer you my arm?" Although what she's going to do with it once he's offered it remains a mystery.

Start a collection? Be able to pay at least half the price when something costs an arm and a leg? In any case, Liesana takes the offered arm with a smile, moving to wrap a graceful hand lightly around Dash's bicep while the other hand continues to swing the basket. "You may indeed, sir," she replies, similarly courtly, before moving off in the direction of the aforementioned gardens.

You walk towards the beach.
You stand on the sandy main beach.
You go to the Gardens Entrance.

Gardens Entrance
Pristinely kept, lush, green grass covers the entire area, providing a comfortable seat in any location. A red cobblestone walk crosses to the four cardinal directions, centered at and encircling a large 'fountain'. A preview of what the rest of the garden offers, small flowerbeds fill with blooms of every color, one containing small ornamental fruit trees. A small statuary lines the fences, the 'statues' those of a few of the more famous recent Pernese figures. Delicate scents waft through the entire area, their various sources, heather, honeysuckle, azalea, and even a few white roses. Two wrought iron benches flank the path on each branch, leading to a total of eight.
The smell of freshly cropped grass permeates the air.
It is a winter afternoon. Patches of blue appear from behind the clouds. A cool breeze blows in from the west.
Gliding around are two firelizards.
Obvious exits:
Gather Meadow         Flower Gardens

Xab blinks in from ::between::!
Dashvard slinks silently in from the Gather Meadow.

Dashvard casts a sweeping glance over the area, as though examining it for any glaring defects. "Will this do for our picnic, milady?" It's not traditional for guardsmen to grandstand quite so much, but the game doesn't seem to be over yet, at least, not for Dashvard.

Liesana lifts her hand to her chin, closed in a loose fist, and a crook'd little finger tracing it's outline, as in one indulging in heavy pondering. "Hmmm... I rather believe it shall, good sir. Would you be so kind as to offer assistance to a poor female in the art of spreading a picnic blanket?" One having been produced accordingly from the basket. Liesana's quite capable of blanket spreading, but... the game must be played on.

Dashvard gives her another bow - from the waist, of course - and takes the proffered blanket, spreading it out neatly on the springy grass with a flourish, even as he speaks in that soft penetrating voice of his: "Indeed, milady, nothing would give me more pleasure than to assist ..."

Liesana proceeds to dip a curtsey with a swish of imaginary skirts, before settling gently on the picnic blanket in a neat little heap of Harper, the basket soon taking a central spot. "You are too kind and charming, my good sir," she trills with a wink, removing the scrolls and setting them aside. "But, may I offer something for your recompense?" Translation: Food. "I have, for your delectation, fresh breadrolls, sliced roast herdbeast, a bowl of most excellent fingerroot medallions, and creampuffs, bubbly pies, and a plate of cookies for dessert. Juice and wine as well." Momentarily, the plummy tone drops as she confides with a wry smile that "I have a sneaking suspicion that there's a conspiracy among the cooks to help flesh me out a little more."

Dashvard gives her the slightest of amused smiles, but keeps up the pretense for a little longer: "I would be honored to join you in your repast, my lady, but your company is the only recompense that I could desire for any service I've rendered." The slightest pause as he tilts his head slightly to one side. "I suspect they mean well," he remarks vaguely.

Liesana eyes the small mountain of goodies with a dismay only half-feigned. "Ah, but kind sir, I must fair insist you accept the honour... I do well believe that such a repast as has been provided me would most overmatch my ability to consume it." A chuckle, and she nudges at one of the entrees. "Breadroll?"

Dashvard smiles briefly. "Thank you, my lady," he says, "don't mind if I do ..." He takes the breadroll and examines it for a moment as though he's not sure what it's for, and then commences to eat it.

"Generally, one is supposed to eat them," advises Liesana in deadpan fashion on the matter of the breadroll. Before taking one for herself, shaking her head, and finally starting to laugh, her ingenuity failing due to cracks caused by suppressed chuckles seeping out. The merriment continues for a moment, before she shakes her head again and subsides. "Oh... Oh my," she sighs at last, spent. "I really haven't had a chance to goof off so well in quite a while."

**Exuant Omnes**

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