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Harper's Tale - Tuesday, October 01, 2002, 4:09 PM
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Ista Hold Stables
As you step into the stables the scent of fresh hay and well groomed runners wafts over you. Rough hewn beams make up the major portion of the stable, over a dozen stalls lining each side of the large room. On the far wall you see several hooks and a shelf for keeping tack and cleaning supplies, everything kept neat and orderly by a dutiful stablehand. Not all the stalls are filled, but the runners which are present seem pleasant and well cared for, whuffling gently to themselves in their individual stalls
To the north, you see a blue and a brown dragon.
In the stalls are 17 runners.
Gliding around is a bronze firelizard.
You see Orill's Wagon and Calysta's Wagon here.
Brogan is here.
Obvious exits:
Courtyard

Brogan gets to work, finding where the brushes are and heads to the first stall, clicking his tongue to let the beast know he's there, to give its occupant all the needed attention he can think of to give.

Liesana strolls into the stables kitted up for a ride, if her outfit of breeches, boots and a sturdy blouse and vest are any indication. Of course, this is also what the somewhat eccentric young Harper Master almost /always/ wears. But she /does/ track over towards where a grey Igenbred mare is stalled, giving support to the hypothesis. "A good morn to you," she greets the working 'hand.

Brogan appears from behind the runnerbeast he's grooming and his face lights up when he spots a face he's seen before. "Master!" he greets cheerfully. "G'day to you too. Is there something this poor stable hand can help you with?" he asks as he puts down his tools and approaches Liesana. "Unless you had intended to attempt to skewer me, in which case I shall make a very hasty retreat."

"Liesana, /please/," corrects the owner of that name, a look of good-natured longsuffering on her face. "Honestly, my title is for formal occasions and that's all, to my mind. Entirely to serious and sober for a woman not yet into her third decade," she quips, sidling into Storm Dancer's stall with a friendly pat and a murmur for her mare. "But no, no skewering intended today. Simply taking my girl Storm back up to Smith Hall with me. How are you today, Brogan?"

Brogan seems pleased that she's remembered his name and hurries to hold the stall door, smiling. "Someone of your young age with such a heavy title should still carry it proudly. If for no other reason than to make people give you the respect such an accomplishment deserves." He seems to think a moment and ask "You don't intend to go riding alone, do you ..." He pauses as if to consider his words carefully, "Lady Liesana?"

"I'm not of the Blood, either," grins Liesana to the middle-aged stablehand as she clips a lead shank onto her mare's halter, and leads her into the aiseway, settling her in crossties with another pat and a tug to her forelock before moving off to locate her tack and grooming kit. "Please, just Liesana. I prefer people to respect me for me, not for my title." she explains a little more, moving suddenly to catch a currycomb threatening to escape from her bucket. "Oooops! Hah. Got it. But I do intend to. I ride alone a part of each day of the seven," she notes airily. Unless, of course, she's riding with her Guardsman 'friend'. Which the Harper shall /not/ be mentioning here.

Brogan's visage is suddenly serious and concerned. "It's not safe, Ma'am," he tries another form of respect, not giving up, "Perhaps one of the hold guards could be found to go with you? That Gahn (ooc I hope I remember his name right) was a guard, wasn't he?" he says with a bit of hope in his voice. "I'd be upset if something untoward were to befall you, Harper."

Ooooh, ma'am. Now that one sneaked by, since Liesana will tolerate it while teaching class. That, and she's currently busy with picking out Storm Dancer's hooves, and laughing as the mare attempts to tug on the end of her braid playfully. She starightens to regard Brogan with an easy smile and a shake of her head. "Nonsense," she says, but kindly. "I've been riding the route between Smith Hall and Harper Hall for five turns now. I know the route, and as a legal specialist, I /also/ know the movement of the Holdless bands. And know informers among them. Besides, Gahn's a good fellow, but he's a recruit. If I wished an escort, I'd simply ask Dashvard. Full Guardsman, and a fine man."

Brogan might be a lowly stablehand, but as a .. more mature man, he feels rather protective of this lovely, obviously talented woman. "I take it you've made it a habit of using the same route? This can be to your disadvantage if someone had mischief planned for you, Ma'am."

Liesana has already encountered more than her share of mischief in her not-terribly-many turns, so perhaps she's not quite as frightened of the thought as a more sheltered woman might be. In any case, her grooming of her runnerbeast isn't interrupted as she continues to converse. "True... but there's only one road from Ista to Smith. It's also a main route from Grinstead to Ista, and from Gar to Ista. So it's rather well traveled. Besides, anyone wishing to do me mischief would be better off to take me alive. Dead, I'm just any other female of my age." Legist that she is, she manages to sound appallingly rational about this topic of discussion.

Brogan knows he cannot stop this harper from doing what she wants and he sighs slightly in resignation. "I could leave my post, Master Liesana, and 'borrow' a runnerbeast and follow you..." he isn't threatening in the least, just trying to ease his mind.

**And here, Brogan had to go. Obviously, Lies won the argument ;)**

Laviira walks in from the Ista Hold Courtyard.
Giador walks in from the Ista Hold Courtyard.

Liesana is grooming her runnerbeast, who happens to be clipped to cross-ties in the middle of the aisleway. The Harper Master probably /could/ delegate this to a stablehand, but she prefers doing the task herself. Quietly, she sings an old Keroonian ballad to the mare.

Laviira walks in, staying in the shadows until she hears a familiar tune. With a curious expression, she wanders over to Liesana. Standing there, she watches Liesana for a while before speaking. "My cousin sings that song all the time." She comments shyly.

Liesana looks up over the back of the grey mare, smiling slightly as she recognizes one of the Harper apprentices. "Apprentice Laviira, correct?" she guesses, continuing to curry her runnerbeast as she asks "Your cousin is Keroonian, then? It's not a common song outside the area."

Giador cleans a few of the stalls with a little firelizard curled around his neck. "Cambern..If you were this silent as a hatchling My ears would be better.." he mutters to the blue as it raises it head towards the runners.

Laviira smiles and nods. "I'm Laviira, yes. My cousin lived in Keroon for some time." When she hears someone else, she jumps. Uh-oh, the stablehand she ran into... She slips a bit more into the shadows, but makes sure she is still near Liesana.

"Hiding?" whispers master to apprentice with a good-natured grin. Liesana beckons for Laviira to come join her behind the screening bulk of Storm Dancer while she keeps an eye on the stablehand, but doesn't distract him from his work. The downside of a Mastery is that people feel they need to obey you and come talk, even if all you want to do is swap comments about the weather. Hence Liesana prefers not to interrupt those at work.

Giador Either doesn't know they are there, Or is simply ignoring them, He just keeps sweeping and cooing to his firelizard. He works with a smile on his face. happy stablehand..

Laviira grins shyly and goes behind Storm Dancer. With a sigh, she admires the beauty. "Horses... horses are wonderful. That's why my cousin like Keroon." Hesitantly, she reaches out to pet Storm Dancer.

Liesana blinks slightly at the apprentice's choice of words. To another Pernese, 'horse' would probably mean 'gibberish', but Liesana isn't a Master Archivist for nothing, after all. "Horse?" she echoes. "Do you know that's the first time I've ever heard so archaic a term for a runnerbeast used, outside of history books? Tell me, where are you from, where the word 'horse' is still in the spoken tongue?" Run. Run /now/, little apprentice. Because Liesana, while still grooming, has a light in her eye that can mean only one thing: Research.

Giador sighs and decides to take a break as he falls back onto a pile of hay. "Say..Cambern? Do you remember that redfruit tree we saw the other day? Can you get me one from the tree? Go get redfruit cambern..Go get some redfruit!" he says to his blue and watchs as the firelizard teleports out.

Laviira groans, she hadn't meant to memorize it so well. She hadn't meant to actually /use/ it! "Well, um, I was just trying to find a way to remember it..." An innocent grin. "...after my cousin found it and taught me it."

"Oh." Excuse the Master suddenly dropping back down to normal with disappointment. Liesana means nothing personal, she was merely a linguist with dreams of research papers dancing in her head. "Well, in that case, then... Hem. Yes. So..." she drops her tone to a more conspiratorial level. "Why are you hiding from that stablehand, anyways?"

Laviira bites her lip. "It's just I fear he may be angry with me. I came and disturbed his work." Mental images of her crashing into the poor boy fly through her mind. "You're Master Liesana, right?" She asks idly while she thinks on /why/ exactly he'd still be angry at her a few days after the collision...

Giador smiles happily as his little 'lizard comes back with a small bag of redfruit. "Good cambern! You got a bag of them too!" he says happily with throwing a bit of the fruit to the blue as he munchs on his first. Mm..Redfruity goodness..

"That's what my knot tells me, anyways," agrees Liesana with a sunny lack of care as she exchanges the curry comb for a dandy brush, sending up great clouds of dust with each swishing flick of the tool. "And if you want my opinion, as a former stable brat, there's plenty of disturbances in work around a stable, and not too many of them are caused by pretty young girls."

Laviira grins shyly. She tries to turn the conversation around. "Have you met my cousin?" As she says this, she eyes the bag of redfruit Giador just recieved. Mmmm... a good bag of redfruit sounds good... ahem.

Falada pads softly in from the Ista Hold Courtyard.
Synte swings down from Demure's back.

Swish-flick, swish-flick... Dust continues to rise from the grey mare under Liesana's practiced hands, Storm Dancer sighing and beginning to lapse into a doze. "Your cousin?" she echoes to Laviira. "Well, that would greatly depend on who your cousin is, now wouldn't it?"

Falada's curious harper ears bring her in the direction of a conversation she's not involved in. She slips silently in from the courtyard and into a corner.

Giador finishes his redfruit and leans back staring up at the roof. Ladada..Goof off the the teen I am..tralalala..hrm. wait. I can't goof off..Dang. He gets back up leaving his bag of redfruit defenceless against anybody that wants to eat them.. and goes back to work.

Is that -- a bawdy Bitran song, words scandelous enough to make a seacrafter's ears burn crimson, being belted out? Indeed. Synte's deep bass, surprisingly melodic, rumbles out as he leads a certain black-and-white paint gelding back into the stables. The words abruptly cut off as he realises there are /people/ in the stables. Bah. Everyone gets an Evil Eye, before he placently limps towards a crosstie, finessing the bridle off the gelding's head and replacing it with a well-worn hide halter. Clip. Clip. And, silently, the stablemaster proceeds to untack Demure, humming bars of the song 'neath his breath.

Laviira nods. "I bet you have." She waves to Synte shyly. "My cousin is Janicka, harper apprentice..." She waits for 'Oh yes, I've met her.' One thing she didn't undrstand- how Jani /tried/ to make herself known to as many people as possible!

A funny thing happens when Liesana overhears the stablemaster's singing. The Harper Master gets a gleam in her eye that can only be termed mischevious, and, with nary a care for the impressionable young minds in the room, promptly picks up the tune where Synte leaves off, in a variation a touch more scandalous than his, timing her currying to the pace of the words. And looking as if she's singing a full classical aria.

Falada's eyes widen as the words to the song fill the stables and her ears do indeed turn red. You'd think a harper as nosy as she would be used to hearing any and everything by now. However, an embarassed smile twitches her lips as Liesana picks up the tune and she edges forth from her corner, her sketch pad and pencil suddenly appearing in her hands.

Giador hrms at the bitran song and frowns. Show offs. He just keeps on raking and wondering why the stablemaster is here..

Synte doesn't even look up - he recognizes that voice, and the version of the song -- but soon enough, his powerful bass once more picks up, singing a harmony a good two octaves below the Harper Master. Word for word, the ex-Bitran belts out, the rhythm of untacking soon matching itself to the beat of the song. Demure, a Bitran-bred himself, actually starts to fall asleep. Incorrible whelp of a runner.

Laviira sighs, and listens to the tune for a while before grimacing, and ducking out from behind the /runner/. She escapes into the shadows much like Falada, and spots her. "Hi." Is said shyly. With care not to run into Giador again, she moves for the door. Too many people to sing in front of for her...

Storm Dancer, on the other hand, is behaving like the Igenbred she is, and tossing her head with a series of excited snorts, ears pricked and eyes alert as the singing continues. Liesana looks like she'd laugh, but that would break the rhythm of the song, so she simply pats her on the flank affectionately and capers a jig-step as she pases around to brush the runner's other side. FAlada is spotted, and the Master winks at her mentee and her sketchpad.

Laviira walks to the Courtyard.

Falada jumps, then hastily erases the line scratched across her sketch as she pulls the pad against her chest. She smiles in return greeting at the girl, giving a short nod of her chin as she departs. Her lips twitch in amusement at Liesana's capering about and she lifts a hand in greeting to /her/ as she lowers her pad back down and resumes her scratching.

Giador hrms and ponders leaving..How am I supposed to work with all this racket? grr..Hrm..I got an idea. He whispers to his blue "Cambern, Pick up the bag and fly around with it! Fly around with the bag cambern!"

Synte's singing is muffled as he limps along, saddle slung on one forearm, bridle tossed over a shoulder -- but it returns back in full bellow as he picks up his grooming bucket an' limps back towards Demure, casting amused gaze to Storm Dancer's snorts every now and then.

Thimara walks in from the Ista Hold Courtyard.

Thimara blinks dust out of her eyes, rubbing her left knee to work the kinks out of it. It's a long way to walk from Ista Weyr to get some human interaction.

Liesana breaks off her singing in the chorus just long enough to eye Giador and his plotting sternly, and order that "If you spook my runnerbeast, Stablehand, I'll see that you're polishing tack for a half-turn." And then it's back to singing along to the Bitran tune as if nothing was said. Of course, how a /Harper/ master can actually affect an /Istan/ stablehand's chore roster isn't exactly clear, but... she'll find a way. Storm Dancer continues to prance in place at the singing, but they grey mare's attention has settled upon Demure, who's recieving a full show of feminine whiles from her, with coy little glances in his direction that Liesana is pretending to ignore.

Thimara wipes another stray fleck of dust away. Runners? Stablehands? Large building filled with runners and stablehands... stable... Of course! She'd just wandered into a stable and now she was confused, of course, but it was better than being lost and alone.

Habene wanders in from the Ista Hold Courtyard.

Falada giggles silently, tearing off whatever she had been sketching. She rolls it up tightly and inserts it into one of the leather tubes protruding from her shoulderbag. The sketch pad likewise disappears into the bag as she backs back into her corner and away from the people. More people.

Lies always finds ways to influence things. But contemplating that Synte is Giador's boss, and Synte has a perverse mind and refuses to be influenced. Synte eyeballs Demure, who's busy arching his neck and posturing all macho-male for Storm Dancer. Bursting into the last stanza -- and by far, the most ear-burning of them all -- Synte leans melodramatically 'gainst Demure's rump, brushing out the frosted-black tail as he rumbles out the last few verses.

Thimara, totally out of her element amidst runners, wanders out, preparing for the happy little jog back to the weyr. Shards, there's another place where a dragon would come in handy, but it dindn't really matter...
Thimara walks out.

Either some duty is suddenly remembered, or the song and the crowd just become too much, because shy Falada turns now and slips back out, as silently as she came in.
Falada goes home.

Liesana doesn't back off on the last verse of the song, no matter how bald and offensive it gets. Nope, the Harper doesn't often get a chance to trot out her memories of tavern songs, what with the dratted concept of Behavior Fitting To One's Rank hanging about, so she's not about to turn up a chance like this. Storm suddenly seems interested in singing along as well, as she turns in her cross-ties as much as she can to offer a teasing whinny to Demure. She adds in a descant line on the final chorus, whipped up on the fly but not sounding all that bad. Indeed, tavern songs are pretty much written with the idea in mind that a blind drunk could sing them properly. As the last notes die out, though, she takes in the suddenly emptied stable and smirks. "Tsk, these Istan folks have no sense of fun,"

Habene wanders in and over to Vidur's stall, peeking her head in on the large grey. "And how are you today, deary?" she asks teasingly as the big gelding wuffles gently.

Vidur nickers a greeting.

Synte turns about, smirking with the utmost of happiness. "Ahh, nice finale," he calls out to Liesana, giving an only /slightly/ mocking bow and applauding. Demure whickers back at Storm Dancer, tossing his head just /so/, so that black forelock falls o'er his dark eyes. "No sense of fun whatsoever," comes the heady Bitran brogue. "Mmm, a sad thing, indeed, but - it's good to hear that the good songs haven't been totally lost on Harpers," is flippantly called.

Habene swings up onto Vidur's back.
Vidur plods to the Courtyard.

Liesana steps from Storm Dancer's side long enough to deliver a proper theatrical bow with full flourishes. "Thank you, thank you... now I /really/ must have some water. And where is my scarf! The drafts here are something /terrible/." she decrees, holding the prima-donna pose for a moment, before giving a chuckle and returning to herself once more. She begins combing through her mare's mane, hindered by the continued showing-off a little, but favours the stablemaster with a more genuine smile. "Lost? Not while /I'm/ around... I have too many fond memories of Bitran taverns to let /that/ happen."

Giador walks to the Courtyard.

"Prima donna," Synte calls out with a chuckle to his tone, idylically settling brush aside, nimble fingers starting on a surprisingly neat hunter's-braid. "Stand still, y'dolt, or I'll never get it right," he murmurs to the posturing Demure, who whuffles and flares delicate nostrils at Storm Dancer. "Would you stop flirtin' with her for a /minute/?" Growl. "Hmm. I've many fond memories of Bitran taverns, myself," he conversationally states. "Though I haven't been in one in.." He pauses for one moment. "...nearly two turns."

Liesana is pulling Storm's mane, a process greeted by much ear-flicking from the mare, despite it's painlessness. "Stand, you, I'm going to make you more gorgeous than you deserve, if you'll let me," the Harper chides her runner fondly before glancing up and across at Synte. "You're one up on me... it's been... ten turns since I visited." A blink after she calculates that. "Faranth, I'm starting to get /oooold/. But yes, seventeen turns, in the keeping of an absent-minded journeyman..." A wicked grin covers her face for a moment. "Every girl ought to spend a summer in Bitra, I think."

Synte scrutinizes Liesana for a moment. "You can't be that much older'n I," he states, flatly, before adding up the figures and chuckling. "Mmm, I miss Bitra, though," he sighs. "I visited, summer before last, and met up with several old fighting buddies. They've not changed a bit," he fondly states, tugging out a piece of twisted yarn. "If you make me mess up, it's your fault," he clips to Demure. "Every girl -- spend a summer in Bitra? The world would have much less nonsense in it, I think," he declares, "If that did happen."

"And possibly a few more infants..." Is Liesana's reply to that, a twinkle in her eye and a pit of an off-colour smile on her lips as she concentrates on back-combing the longer mane hairs into a suitable group for grabbing and pulling. "But I'm 27 and a bit of loose change. Thirty in three turns. Scary, that." Oddly, she doesn't sound too scared. "But aye, send young folks to Bitra... or at the very least let them /travel/ a bit."

Synte gives an amused snort, twisting the very end of the gelding's tail up, looping it carefully, and tying it off. "There. You're such a handsome thing.." Demure's rump's patted, before he leans against it. "Atleast travel, yes. Too many problems happen when the holdbred cool their heels when they should be moving around, enjoying life, seeing Pern."

Liesana finishes grooming Storm Dancer, and lets her back into her stall, after checking to see that one of the 'hands has been by to clean it and tend it. She settles on her tack box beside the door, though, apparently enjoying the discussion and reaching up to stroke at the grey mare's nose now and again. "Very true. I was lucky in that I was an only child to parents who were journeymen herders. And they /journeyed/. You get these cotholder apprentices coming in, practically faint at seeing anything not completely familiar to them. And I'm supposed to make them mediators?" She shakes her head and chuckles. "But, I know your opnion on my craft. Suffice it to say, if we sack out runners, why not people too?"

"Mmm. I was lucky. I grew up in a caravan. Traveling is kind of a... well." A roll of mismatched eyes. "Mmm, so you've got mind-boggled cotholder apprentices to get all nice and learned up, hmm?" Synte chuckles. "Sacking out people. Hmm. Good idea," he states, thoughtfully. "You've got something there." Oh, gawd.

"Get a couple of greenriding fairy-boys and wave them around the cotholder's heads, you mean?" inquires Liesana with a twinkle in her eye, a grin in her tone, and phrasing a little less politic and more Keroonian than is her wont. What can we say? Synte has that effect on the Harper Master. "But yes indeed. Asking them to display empathy and open-mindedness is about as easy as teaching watch-whers to dance, and I think the watch-wher's attitudes would be better about the whole thing."

[OOC:] Liesana modifies and slips in the Obligatory Star Wars Reference. ;)
[OOC:] Synte /snickers/! Good one. I've gotta go back and re-read the X-Wings, pretty soon. I've lost all my quotes. * sniffle. * ;P

"Mmm. Greenriding fairy-boys.." That's a fairly predatory look in Synte's eyes. "Wonder if Psyra would mind too much if..." Sigh. "She would have my hide. And something far more precious," is reflected, before he snickers. "But, yes, we should wave them around.. their heads." A snicker. Oh, yes, his mind is evil. "Watch-whers... dancing? Well. I'd like to see you try that one, tell you the truth." A snort of bemusement. "Watch-whers. Dancing." Cackle.

"Psyra? Oh, she would, and then she'd quite likely fly it from the hold standard, just as an object lesson," supplies Liesana cheerfully, fairly well acquainted with the Headwoman. She chuckles again at the image of dancing watch-whers, and a gleam appears in her eyes. "I ought to keep that in my bag in case I have an apprentice who's really /really/ in need of a little torture." she decides. She's not touching greenriding fairy-boys and... heads. Just because she's still Craftbred herself, though she hides it. Yep.

"Oh yes. Object lesson." A roll of his eyes. "Hmmm... Well, I know a guy who know's a guy who's just about the most flaming gay of all greenriders. Well, the guy hates the gay guy, but... Yeah. He still knows him. Up by the High Reaches way..." A low chuckle. Oh, Synte /would/ touch greenriding fairy-boys -- more's the scary part.

"High Reaches, eh? One of my mentees is from there, actually. Hynolonie. Good kid, if a little prone to over-analysis. Of course, I should talk," admits Liesana with a twinkle, replaced by surmise. "Hmmm... wouldn't want to spook them /too/ badly, poor little cotholders. Break them in gently and all. I suppose I could call up an ex-Harper. Head of that harem of greenriders at the weyr /here/..."

"Hynol--oh, yes. I had a /quite/ interesting chat with her the other day," Synte comments idylically. "Quite an interesting lass," he comments lowly. "Though she could use a good steady man to keep her walking straight," he contemplates. "Hmm. Break them in -- gently? Oh, but that saps all the fun out of it."

Liesana muffles a chuckle behind her hand, then stops when she realizes that her hand in it's present condition probably shouldn't be placed anywhere near her mouth. "Ah, don't tell me she got you into one of her famous 'discussions', now?" she smirks, leaving off stroking her mare's nose to wipe her hands on a dust rag. "Those can go on for hours at a time. But if you want to have fun, go have it with some Healer or Weaver apprentices... I've got to actually /make/ something out of my bunch of backwoods boys." she winks.