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Harper's Tale - Thursday, October 04, 2001, 8:57 AM
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Rilna settles the foaling kit carefully on a bale of clean hay, and then settles on another bale nearer to the man and the gelding, a smile of happy disbelief on her face. "Faranth..." she repeats again. "Faranth, Mavs, I never thought I'd see you again, not after the troubles at our last meeting."

Maverin drops the corner of his mouth slightly at mention of their last day within the same Hold. "Well, those /were/ times in the past," he sighs, turning the gelding into the stall idly so he can continue the conversation without having to worry about the runner getting impatient, "And I can see that you've gotten yourself back in with the runners, eh?" A soft chuckle rumbles from his chest, his eyes sparking humour within the shadow of still seriously-held eyebrows. "How've you been?"

Rilna chuckles. "Aye, you know me well. Never been far from the beasts, even at the worst of times. But I've been well... Busy, but well." She stands, and heads over to lean against the door to the traveler's stall. "They're good folk here at Keroon. Coibre is a fair Lord, and Brellan's an excellent boss... But how about you? How's Crom doing, with Malkan gone so long now?"

"Much better," Maverin replies, nodding sagely, gelding snorting at him from behind in the stall, "Our winter was a little rough but we managed to get through." Once again, he nods and also leans back against the stall door, crossing his arms across his chest. "What've you been up to? Anyone been bothering you?" Protective still.

Rilna chuckles, and leans over to gently and briefly rest a hand on Maverin's cheek. "You've not changed a bit, you know? Good to see that... But no, I've not been bothered since a few days after I left the Hold. Made a clean break, I think, as you're the first person I knew from Crom that I've seen in many a Turn. But I've kept busy. Raised my niece 'til she was old enough to join Harper, and then I took my place in the Beasthold. I've been working on creating a new strain for the Traders..." she intones, sweeping over to the area of the broodmares. Finding someone who not only understand her work, but might just take an interest in it is an occurrence too rare to take lightly.

Maverin crinkles his brow in thought, wandering slowly behind, "How's the young lass doing in the Harper Craft anyway?" Never understanding how a person could endure Craft life, his question seems more for conversation sake opposed to his own interest. "Maybe she'll change her mind and follow her aunt's work, hmm?" he teases, nudging her with his elbow playfully.

Rilna chuckles. "I don't think that's too likely... T'was her idea to join, and she faced down half the family to do it... She's certainly got a share of stubbornness from my brother." No mention is made of whether /Rilna/ possesses that gene. "That, and she's also gone and gotten involved with one of their artists." A headshake. "Don't quite know what she sees in him... The lad has dyed his hair /blue/ and has all sort of earrings stuck in him. Scared of his own shadow, too." And then a smile as she turns back to Maverin. "But what about you, my old friend? What mischief have you gotten up to over the last twenty turns?"

Jaysann strides with confidence in from the Keroon Racetracks.

Maverin shrugs his broad shoulders as he glances over one of the well-pregnant mares, absentmindedly cooing to her under his breath. Speaking up, Maverin continues to stroll about the stables, studying the runners in their stalls and delivering random strokes of friendliness to the four-legged creatures. "This and that, really," he casually comments, making his way back towards the woman only barely younger than himself, "I'm still keeping my distance from the ladies after that one incident, however." He chuckles under his breath, cold eyes briefly watching Jaysann, "I will never help anyone's wife to her cot ever again, whether flat out drunken or not."

Rilna chuckles. "Aye, it can be a little hazardous to your health... Although I recall finding it rather funny at the time, Mavs." And then a nod at Jaysann, the stablemistress rather uncharacteristically laid back. Whether it's intentional, because of the near-term mares, or whether Maverin's appearance has something to do with it. "Jaysann... come meet a very old friend of mine who's appeared in our neck of the woods. Maverin, this is Jaysann, our Head Trader."

Jaysann nods to Rilna, then turns her smile to Maverin. "Well met Maverin." she says.

Maverin shooks a mock of a glare to Rilna. "You would find it funny, my dear, you most definitely would," he mutters, "Remember how I spent the next sevenday sleeping in the stables? I smelled even more like them than usual!" His casual humour is dropped for the time being, his sharp features drawing the regular emotionless expression to his previously smiling cheeks at his encounter with Rilna. "You as well, Jaysann," Mavs comments with a polite nod.

Rilna gives an archly playful look. Rilna. Playful. Good thing there's no stablehands in sight, or they'd be quite sure that she's lost it completely. "Never claimed to be an innocent, Mavs... But smelling like a barn's better than being a pincushion for a certain Guardsman's knives, no?"

Jaysann checks on her mare, although she'd rather listen to this interesting conversation she walked in on. But it's none of her business and she's not going to be nosey. Instead she gets a bucketful of grain for Shaal Mayan.

Noting Jaysann's trajectory, Rilna once more flips over into the Bustling Stablemistress side of her. "One of the Hands was noticing that your lady had a touch of cough the other day." she offers. "Probably nothing, but I thought you might like to know."

"As I remember it, there were forks nearly involved too," Maverin points out with a smirk, folding his arms on the edge of a stall and lounging against its sturdy frame. Attention drawn to the Trader's mare now, he takes a glimpse from over his shoulder. "For a young brat she's mighty helpful, isn't she, Jaysann?" he notes with a wink to the Stable Mistress.

Jaysann snaps out of her reverie, looking up from brushing her mare's black mane. "Huh?" she thinks over what was said. "Yeah, she is. Takes good care of my baby here." she grins.

Rilna chuckles. "If I'm a young brat, my dear Mavs, who isn't a full turn my senior, then Jaysann's nobbut an unborn babe. Speaking of which, how are things developing?" The question obviously posed at Jaysann, rather than Maverin, for equally obvious reasons.

You notice Jaysann looking at you.

Rilna:
Middle aged, but still a striking sight, this woman stands about medium height. Long ebon hair is perfectly straight and still free of grey, while eyes are of sharp and sparkling emerald, with just a few faint crow's feet crinkling into laugh lines. For while this trim-muscled lady is quite a bustler, and often rabid about efficiancy, she also sports a well developed and occasionally wicked sense of humour. Capable arms lead into slender, almost delicate hands, constantly in motion, and adequate for both brute force, and the most delicate movements of haute ecole.
A cream-coloured shirt hangs loosely about her, folds of cloth stopping at fitted cuffs, and hidden by a tailored black vest, leaving just the fabric of the sleeves to flutter free. Black denim slacks are tightly fitted. High leather riding boots, reaching to just below the knee and also dyed in midnight colour, complete the ensemble. Ebon hair is pulled back in a braid, and the entire outfit carries an air of no-nonsense functionality, despite attracting attention with it's sharp simplicity. Perched on Rilna's shoulder is Heracles.
A knot of double cording, golden yellow and peridot green. Bound together with a red thread, and formed into a single loop with a long tail, it indicates that Rilna is the Stable Mistress for Keroon.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Heracles
You notice Rilna looking at you.
Rilna is 42 Turns, 8 months, and 12 days old.

Maverin:
Brilliantly cold ice dwells within this man's eyes, shadows from his dark and serious eyebrows failing to dampen the light mist of his whirls. Fairly pale skin bathes over his lean body, comfortably formed muscle taut over nearly every inch of his 6' tall figure. Maverin is in no way a pretty boy and more correctly described as rough-looking with a strange handsomeness lurking in his spirited eyes. Well-defined cheekbones lead down to his prominent jawline, smoothly squared by not nearly a timid and gentle curve. Full lips matching the solemn emotion of his eyes are tainted a gentle rose and appear near silk in touch like the shoulder-length hair of deep chestnut which has been pushed over the crown of his head, small whisps of the strands falling to frame his face. Barely beginning to show his age, Maverin pays little heed to the few grey hairs sprouting from the center of his hairline and joining the others at the nape of his neck.
A loose white shirt covers his torso, the low neck left undone with its black strings hanging limply and rather crookedly from the loops which fasten the shirt. Dun-colored trousers made of leather fit closely to his thighs and become resonably loose as they fall overtop black boots with thick soles smoothed from Turns of useage. A bracelet made with fine pieces of string dyed an assortment of colors sits around his wrist, worn slightly and barely loose enough for Mavz to fit a finger between his skin and the string bracelet.
He is awake, but has been staring off into space for 10 minutes.
Carrying:
Mavz' Special Cot
Maverin is 43 Turns, 5 months, and 19 days old.

Jaysann:
Child-like wars with feminine, frailty with strength. No larger than a twelve Turn old child and small boned, her face does not look remotely close to her true age. Leaf green eyes stand out in a tanned face, her fine lilting nose covered in a sprinkling of freckles. High cheekbones set off her lips, not too thin, nor too thick for her oval face. Surrounding it all is a long mass of wavy obsidian hair, curls like corkscrews bouncing down past her prominent shoulders blades, all tamed by a brightly colored ribbon that holds it back in a ponytail. Her thin arms contain strength, toned and tanned, with a white scar running the length of her forearm on the right one. Small breasts lead down to a thin waist that flairs out a bit at the hips, but no more than a young teenage girl's would. Her legs are also muscular, testimony to her love for riding, angling downward towards the tiny feet that confidently stride her across the ground.
Rainbow colored skirt, swirling with uplifting bright shades drapes over midnight sky leggings, perfect for maintaining modesty atop the saddle of a runner. Barely noticeable below them are black wher hide boots. Bloused out forest green tunic, tucked carefully into the colorful skirt sports a sweeping neckline, low enough to showcase the silver pendant of a galloping stallin, mane and tail trailing forever behind him. Matching silver hoop earrings grace left lobe, but not right. Perched in ghostly mists on Jaysann's shoulder is Normeiny. Perched on Jaysann's shoulder is the still wind of Larz.
The twisted cords of peridot green, golden yellow, and white on Jaysann's left shoulder denote her as Keroon's Head Trader.
She is awake and looks alert.
Carrying:
Utility Knife Larz
Normeiny
Jaysann is 32 Turns, 3 months, and 27 days old.

Jaysann laughs. "And Faranth knows I'm far from being an unborn babe. Only carrying one." she pats the small bulge on her stomach. "Three sevendays down, six to go. And Gavrick's driving me crazy already. Can't do anything involved with traveling." she sighs and rolls her green eyes.
Sevendays=Months?

Maverin nods, "It's only natural for him to keep you from any work," he explains, "Most men get like that when having to deal with their own children." But of course not Maverin. The middle-aged man shifts his weight slightly, "Have any ideas for names as of yet?" For never having been a father, Maverin is quite curious about Jaysann's own unborn.

Jaysann shrugs. "A few boy's names picked out. He so wants a son." she grins. "The thought of another daughter following in our trader footsteps bothers him."

Rilna, naturally, takes the side of fellow female Jaysann in being mildly amused and mildly exasperated. Also, understanding. "Of course," she comments, looking droll. "It's up to us as to whether or not we listen. I never did." Just when, where, and how Rilna had a child is not touched on. "Sons are something every father wants." she offers. "Just as mothers want daughters. Best compromise is to have one of each, no?"

Jaysann nods in agreement. "We've got one. Now if we can get the other so I never have to go through childbirth again." Raising babies is not Jaysann's forte. Older children she can handle.

Maverin stares at the Stable Mistress, fingers beginning to fidget with the cuffs of his sleeves. "Did I just happen to hear you say 'I never did', referring to you having a brat of your own?" he wonders, confusion sweeping over him. It /has/ been many Turns since they had both seen each other but Maverin would've never suspected his old Crom Hold friend had any litters of her own. He raises both eyebrows at Jaysann in question, "You could very well torture the poor man and refuse to give him more children you know." Beam.

Rilna's mouth tightens slightly as she realizes the big fat tidbit she's let slip. And then she relaxes again, after sternly ordering herself to do so. "I did, but it's a tale best left to another time, no? Suffice it to say I can sympathize." she smiles. "Ah, but then, Mavs, poor Jaysann wouldn't have any fun either."

Jaysann laughs. "I have more than my share of fun. Just forgot the precautions this time." she shrugs. "It's not like I'm expected to give anyone children. I'm not handfasted or anything." Jaysann's views on relationships closely resemble the views of those in the Weyrs.

Maverin shrugs and nods to Rilna. Conversation of Rilna's child left for now and he replies to Jaysann, casually. "Do as the Apprentices do-- take the green stuff," he suggests, "It tastes horrible from what I've heard but will keep your stomach empty of any little infants." His gelding which he has turned into the Traveler's stall shuffles around in his stall a little and Mavz's attention turns on the dun runner although a simple stare is given and the gelding returns to nibbling on the grains before him. He's innocent. Really.

Rilna leans back against her own beast's stall, and Backdraft paces forwards, whuffling proprietarily over /his/ Rilna. Silly stallion. "Frankly, the idea of children being some sort of property exchange, or payment for a gold mark seems a little... outdated to me. Fine for the Lords, and their ilk, but a child shouldn't be made unless it's wanted." Rilna, quite comfortably sure of producing no further citizens of Pern, is allowed to spout philosophy now and again, no?

Jaysann agrees. "I'm no broodmare nor would I want to be. We traders have herbs to take too. Just got too drunk to remember to take 'em." she blushes a bit. "This is the last one I'll have, I could have gotten rid of it had I wanted to. But it's nice having a child around. Well, once they start walking and talking and all that. But I'll endure the baby stage."

Maverin chuckles softly at Rilna and shakes his head. "I agree full-heartedly," he exclaims, turning around to lounge on his elbows, back to Backdraft as he leans against the stallion's stall, "ALthough I think I'll be keeping my single life and die without anyone to become a runner lover after me. Rather sad if you think about it. Too many folks going off to become artists like your neice's male friend there, the one with green hair? No, blue."

"Hey!! Back, you brat!" barks Rilna, snaking out a hand and dealing Backdraft a sharp slap on the shoulder, the stallion's teeth snapping shut a few bare inches from Maverin's shoulder. "Faranth, I should have warned you... He's a little too posessive of me, this one." And then a chuckle. "Aye, blue. He's a decent lad though, and a good artist. Got a portrait done by him. Couldn't let my niece keep him to herself."

Jaysann watches Backdraft with an amused smile, green eyes shining.

From Backdraft's Loose Box> Backdraft whuffles indignantly, a light flashing in dark eyes for a long moment, before he bobs his head, and returns to nibbling at Rilna's shirt.

Jaysann nods to both Rilna and Maverin. "I should get back to my duties. I'll be seeing you around the hold." *ooc feel free to gossip as well :)*

Maverin amusedly watches the stallion, deciding perhaps facing the stall would prove to have less consequences.  Maverin considered possible competition to a runner? Now then. What were they talking about? Backdraft is eyed carefully before he sighs and pushes himself up from the stall. He blinks as Jaysann dismisses herself and nods. "It was nice meeting you, Jaysann."

Japhet blinks in from ::between::!

Rilna nods to Jaysann. "Aye, indeed, and don't let Gaverick stick you on bed rest just yet!" Pernese Girl Power... Baby. And then she reaches over to play with the coal black forelock of the blood bay Backdraft. "So... where were we?" she inquires of Maverin, with a smile.

Maverin nibbles at his lip, trying to recall anything from before the meeting with the Trader. With a chuckle, Maverin replies casually, "I've no idea. Where did you pick this stallion up from? He couldn't possibly be from Crom, could he? He's well trained, just as I expect out of all runners of yours." It's yet another friendly tease from the Crom man. He settles down beside her. "I'm sorry, I can't help but ask.. Do you have a --" He pauses momentarily, "Husband, boyfriend.. If you have a kidlet they must have a sire, aye? Why didn't you mention it before? I would like to meet the person who stole the woman all us Crom lads had an eye for." Teasing... /again/.

Jaysann has disconnected.
Jaysann props herself up in a corner where she dozes off virtually unnoticed.

Rilna continues to play with the stallion's forelock, face becoming all but expressionless as she intones.  "I /had/ a husband.  And a son.  Many turns ago.  D'you remember Gheriddian?"  she inquires, before returning her attention to the runnerbeast, smiling softly as he snorts at her.

Maverin offers his hand out towards the stallion to become briefly accustomed to one another or more for the stallion to become more accustomed to Mavz without believing him to be competition. Meanwhile, Mavs studies Rilna and frowns slightly. "Ah, I see," he mutters and moves his free hand to rest on the woman's shoulder and give an encouraging squeaze, "Sorry for bringing it up."