Inspection of the Harper Lounge
A few chairs are scattered at odd intervals around this room, mostly
soft, comfortable armchairs, with a few wooden ones off against the walls. The
center of the area holds a cluster of sofas, arranged with a carefully sculpted
haphazard appearance around a low wooden table. The glowlight shines off
somewhat uneven walls, which sparkle with bits of bright mineral. A table
against the wall holds some bottles of various beverages and a few trays of neat
snacks. Doors leading off the room lead to various harper private residences.
Jueann nods to everyone as she heads for her room only to stop suddenly, "ohhh.... Hello."
Poirot fastidiously brushes the dust from his fingertips and steps closer to take Master Liesana's proffered hand gingerly. "I am honored, Master Liesana. And yes indeed, I am Poirot."
Sarin swivels her head as well and, at the sight of all those master knots, sits up a little straighter. At least until she remembers that they aren't masters of /her/ craft, at which point she begins slouching again. But, wait, they could /talk/ to her masters... Giving a slight shake of her head, Sarin finally just stays as she is. "Um. Hello. Sarin." Who has a title. Really. As if prompted by an inner voice, she tacks on, "Dolphineer. Ista crafthead."
Poirot bows slightly to Sarin, peering at the charms on her bracelet in evident confusion, "Crafthead! Then I am doubly honored indeed! I am a humble Harper Master from Fort visiting to peruse the Istan archives. At your service of course."
Cerran stumbles in from the Balcony Hallway.
Jueann smiles, "Evening Master Poirot, Actaully, I go by either Master Jueann or just Jueann. When I heard Craftmaster, I start looking for Caramak."
Poirot bows. "And a very pleasant evening to you indeed, Master Jueann. I trust you are well today? Thank you so much for showing me the Flying Mug and introducing me to some of your fine apprentices. There is much to see here at Ista."
Master's knots. No doubt a rather impressive sight, en masse. Liesana cants her head to give Sarin a reassuring wink, and the murmur of "It's just an extra loop of the cord." before sitting up a little more to take Poirot's hand in a firm and businesslike clasp. "Well met. And if you're ever in need of help locating things in the Archives, don't hesitate to let me know. They were left somewhat... disarrayed by the groundquakes, although I believe I've seen them mostly reordered by now."
Sarin hasn't been subject to such good manners in recent memory, and thus blushes mildly. "Well met, sir. And thank you." She also peers at her bracelet a moment, "Ah. We use these in place of knots because we're in and out of the water so much," she explains, then grins. "But there is nothing humble about mastery! I'm only a senior journeyman." And she least of anyone understands /why/ she is a crafthead. And now she will shut up and let the harpers get on with their business.
Poirot replies to Liesana, "I have found the archives very helpful, very helpful indeed! Splendid in fact. But I shall certainly take advantage of your offered assistance I am sure, before I return to make my rep... to my duties at Fort." To Sarin he nods his understanding, "I see! It makes good sense, this. The bracelets are easier to work with under the water, it is so? And I am sure that you work /very/ hard to be the finest Crafthead you can be. Leadership is always so difficult, no?"
Cerran shuffles through some hides as he walks into the lounge. He stops short as he almost bumps into a... Master! Wow, and so many higher knots, too. Very intimidating. Oh well, with a distracted and mumbled pardon he shrugs it off and settles himself into one of the couches, his flits repositioning themselves for a nap. He shuffles the pages around, making notes here and there, only slightly overhearing the conversation.
Liesana catches the slip of the tongue on the part of the Fortian master, but beyond a slight flicker of one eyebrow, the young woman shows no sign that she's done so, 'nor filed it away in some mental folder labeled 'Poirot'. "Indeed, if I'm not about the Hall that day, simply send a message along, and I'll be down to help directly. My mentees are quite good about covering teaching the Smith children, should something disrupt my schedule." is all she says, a pleasant bit of trivia, as she too, quiets somewhat, resolving to get the rest of recent gossip from Sarin later.
Kurt stalks in from the Balcony Hallway.
Kurt leaves for the Kurt's Room.
Poirot does a double-take as yet another Master Harper rushes through the room and vanishes.
Jueann sighs and shrugs, "I didn't ask for the position but I have it and I try to do my best."
Sarin manages a nod. "Um. Yes. Very." And then she latches onto a subject she is rather more comfortable with. "Indeed. Knots tend to get soggy, sometimes even moldy, when they are wet so often. The charms require polish occasionally, but do not suffer any ill effects from the water. And they covey the same information as a knot, if one knows how to read them." She hears the word report, however, and twitches almost unnoticably. But Cerran, a familiar face, captures her attention and she waves.
Poirot is all solicitous now as he says to Jueann, "But of course, Master Jueann! We all must apply our talents to the tasks that we are set. It does not matter in the slightest whether we seek these tasks out or are assigned them. We must do our utmost. I am sure you will agree, yes?"
As Cerran sees something out of the corner of his eye, he looks to finally recognize faces. He waves back to Sarin with a warm smile, and sends nods toward Jueann and Liesana. Cerran sends a wave of greeting to Poirot, and with a sigh, he then grimaces as he sets back to his task.
Jueann smiles and nods to the master, not really sure how to answer him.
Poirot's eyebrows both rise incredulously as an apprentice ... waves at him. He wiggles his fingertips back and one can almost hear the 'click' as the apprentice's actions are catalogged in the man's memory.
"Perhaps it does matter to a degree, Master Poirot," pipes up Liesana from her couch with her wine, having decided it's high time to offer some philosophy in return for all of it being spouted from Poirot's direction. "After all, one must have time to adjust, when a task is granted unsought, whereas there is a level of preparation that goes before undertaking a task one has sought out, no?"
Mamo walks in from the Balcony Hallway.
Rising to the debater's challenge, Poirot replies, "But no, it does not change the amount of effort we apply to the task! Perhaps the result will not be so polished with the lack of preparation, but the degree of effort! That should be the utmost in either case, do you not agree?"
Jueann isn't much on logic and leaves it to the experts. She just listens to the conversation, trying not to look to spaced.
Mamo looking around room he seems to be looking for someone. Seeing Liesna slow walks over. "Umm I have the scroll."
Sarin considers a moment before piping up. "The same effort /should/ be applied, but sometimes there is a certain amount of enthusiasm that comes along with completing a task one enjoys," she suggests. "Of course, such enthusiasm isn't /always/ beneficial..."
Cerran sets aside his concert planning in favor for listening in on the philosophical debate. He leans sprawls out on the couch, sending his firelizards into a loud objection. He remembers the last philosophical discussion he had with Liesana, and how it ended with a little... tipsy. Oh well, with all the Masters here that shouldn't happen again, but this should still be fun to watch.
"Wholeheartedly," smiles Liesana quite serenely. "So therefore, one should study the degree of effort someone puts into a situation. And as you've just said, effort along does not guarantee polished results. Just as a new drudge might miss a nook or cranny a more senior one never would," she theorizes, not entirely out of the blue, as she caught /part/ of the older master's shenanigans with doorframes. "But unless you saw them working, you'd never know which was the case."
Poirot says, "We are in complete accord then! To judge a person's work ... if, that is, one /should/ judge a person's work ... one would need to see what effort they made ... if any. Yes indeed."
Liesana then glances over to Mamo, who very nearly interrupted her thought patterns (Such as they are.) with his arrival. "The scroll? Which scroll?" she asks of the apprentice."
Mamo he slowly pulls a scoll out of his vest pocket. "Here is my 5 page report on Archive Preservation Techniques." He then hands over the the scroll it looks like it has been used as a ball in a game of catch with fire lizzards.
Liesana unrolls a scroll that she is carrying, reads it quickly, and rolls it back up.
Jueann nods Poirot, "If you'll excuse me. I need to get something from my room?"
Poirot says, "But of course, Master Jueann!"
Jueann leaves for the Jueann's Room.
Liesana's primary specialty may be law, but there's still something of the horrified librarian in her gaze as she takes in the condition of the scroll she'd assigned as punishment. "Ah, apprentice Mamo," she notes quietly, keeping her comments limited to their corner of the room. "Would you say this is an acceptable condition for a scroll to be in?"
Mamo glups hopeing that he dosn't get a worse puishment for the condition of the scroll. "You said to bring it to you as finshed."
Mamo says, "No Master Liesan." He looks up at her face quickly trying think of some way to get him out of this fix.
"I did," agrees Liesana. "But would you say this is an acceptable condition for a scroll to be in?" she repeats, still quietly and without venom. "If this was for an assignment in class, say, would you turn it in looking like this?" Waiting for a reply, she flashes a somewhat apologetic grin over at Sarin, as if apologizing to her friend for business interrupting their chat.
Poirot's index finger idly twirls back the ends of his mustache and his left eyebrow goes up as he also catches sight of the apprentice's scroll. Horrors! Could that be a bit of redfruit preserves on that corner. He looks away quickly.
"So,," asks Liesana, still quietly and without venom. "If this was for an assignment in class, say, would you turn it in looking like this? Or what would you do to fix this situation...?" Waiting for a reply, she flashes a somewhat apologetic grin over at Sarin, as if apologizing to her friend for business interrupting their chat.
Mamo says, "I would of course rewrite it sir."
Sarin eyes the apprentice, and the scroll, then stifles a grin and has another sip of her wine. She gives a nod to Liesana, her expression stating clearly that it isn't a problem. The dolphineer isn't in that big of a rush to run back to the hall, anyway. Instead, she takes a stab at making conversation elsewhere. "Master Poirot? May I ask how you like Ista?"
"Ma'am, actually, despite my breeches," corrects Liesana with a hint of a grin for the apprentice. "So, if you'd rewrite it for a class assignment, why not for a punishment assignment? Where, in the latter case, I should think making a /good/ impression would be even more important."
Poirot renews his brilliant smile and turns to Sarin, "Ah, Ista is so ... /full/ of fascinating information. I cannot take it all in! It is not at all as I expected! Have you lived here always?"
Cerran has to make a great effort to keep from snickering. He quickly turns and buries his face back in his hides.
Mamo says, "Yes Ma'am I will go and recopy it right now!"
Sarin is more than happy to talk about Ista, and so settles into a comfortable social tone of voice. "Very nearly so. Save for two turns in Igen and a few months at Master Sea Hold, yes. I grew up not too far from this hold, and have been at the Dolphinhall for the past ten turns. I love it dearly." She cocks her head slightly, "What had you expected, sir?"
Liesana eyes the scrolls critically, before handing it gingerly back. "You might also want to have a care with your spelling... and your penmanship could use a little work," she advises. "But now, if you bring me something neat, properly spelled and somewhat readable, I'll be perfectly happy with you. Thank you, Mamo."
Poirot waves the thought away, the smile still unwavering, "One hears talk, one forms impressions, they never compare to the truth, heh? I will remember always my visit to Ista Island and to the Harper Hall here as well."
Liesana hands Archive Preservation Techniques to Mamo.
Mamo he walks slowly out the door. "I will be right back promise."
"Recopying five pages of that handwriting, and he'll be right back?" comments Liesana to no-one in particular with a good bit of amusement as the apprentice walks out. "Hope /does/ spring eternal..." She then joins Sarin in chatting with Poirot. "So, any particular memories you plan to take back?"
Cerran sighs as it seems the conversation has turned back to idle chit-chat. HE goes back to writing in his notes.
Poirot says, "But I have only just arrived! The memory of Ista has not yet been written in my own archives, heh? How long have you been here at Ista, Master Liesana?"
Ah. Talk. Talk regarding Ista... Sarin had best not ask. Some gossip is best left unheard. "True. I've visited several other places, and they are not often precisly as people say they are..." And then she turns to Liesana with a grin.
Mamo he comes back in with a travel desk with a box stacked on it. We walks over to the floor near the back right up againest the wall. Puting to desk down he moves the box over to his right. Pulling a pen and empty scroll out of the box. He sits down and begains to write his paper over again. He is going to finsh tonight because he plans on going to beach when he is done with afternoon choir the next day. He figures this way nothing can happen to the scroll on the short trip to the Liesana.
"Is the the places, or is it just your influence, Srinners?" inquires Liesana of her friend with a wink. "But to answer your question, Master Poirot, I've been in Ista for approximately eleven turns now, although I'm a Keroonian by birth." And indeed, in the young master's brassier moments, the Keroon drawl is still apparent. "And since turnabout is fair play, haw about you? Are you Fort-born and raised...?"
Sarin laughs. "Perhaps a little bit of both," she allows. "Crom... I don't believe I've ever been there. Most of my travels have been farther south. What is it like?" Another sip, and her wine is finished, the glass set aside.
Cerran was about to offer his own roots, but stops short. Perhaps he'd better not say anything. Something about this Master Poirot from Fort irks him, though he's not quite sure what.
Poirot chuckles, "Crom is cold and dirty, as I recall. I do not miss it."
"My aunt spent a few turns working in Crom in her youth, if I recall her stories," contributes Liesana. "During the time of Lord Malkan, so her reports on it are likely a good bit more unpleasant than it is now." The point of this story? Who knows. Small talk is rather like that, isn't it? She lets the conversation swirl around her for a moment, drinking some more of her wine, before posing "So why exactly is it that you've come to Ista again? You must realize I find it somewhat odd that a Master from the Fort Hall should make the trip solely to see our Archives, when it would just as easy for you to task a journeyman to it,"
Sarin grins. "Well, it would probably be a bit pompous to assert that Ista is spotless, but it is definitly warm." She nods toward Liesana, "That's true. I don't know many masters who would make a long journey when they didn't /have/ to."
Cerran's curiousity is peaked, and he listens in more closely to the conversation, though keeping the appearance of studying his hides.
Poirot laughs breezily as he replies, "Oh, I am such a poor master that I am easily mistaken for a journeyman!"
Cerran raises an eyebrow. My, how humble of the Master. He realizes that he's listening a bit too closely and may be caught for eavesdropping, so he goes back to scribbling in his notes.
Liesana laughs as well at the sally, but something isn't adding up for the chestnut-haired harper, and Sarin's confirmation of her first question only makes the balance even less accurate. "Oh, but surely you don't believe that?" she asks, tone light.
"/Myself/ I could see being so mistaken, but you, sir? No, never. You carry yourself too much like a Master."
Sarin smells an excuse but, poor master or no, he is still a master. And Sarin is not, so she doesn't pry, wheedle, or otherwise attempt to extract information in an underhanded manner. Instead, she's blatent about it. "I am forced to agree with Liesana, sir, and I still wonder what brings you here. Not that Ista isn't lovely, but..."
Poirot says, "It is lovely, certainly. The sea air is perhaps a bit stronger here than I am accustomed to but the sunsets are quite spectacular. I must write home about it all."
A distressed-looking apprentice sporting a dolphincraft charm bracelet pokes her head into the lounge. "Sariiiiiiin, you said you'd be in your oooffice," she whines. "Allllpha's got a blooooodfish," is added. Sarin glowers at the girl, but her expression softens at the mention of her partner. "Shards. I'm terribly sorry, I have to run. Alpha calls... Liesana, I'll find you one day soon? It was good to meet you, Master Poirot." She gets to her feet and, apprentice in tow, heads out. "Goodbye!"
Sarin meanders to the Balcony Hallway.
Cerran hmms, and makes it look like he is perusing his notes. So, that question was dodged neatly. So, what other talents does the Master have? He waves and realizes that he, too, must go. Oh well, a mystery that must be solved another day. He gathers up his hides, and with a wave to Lieasana, he stalks out, flits following close behind.
Cerran goes home.
Mamo snaps out of the trance that has allowed hime to finsh the transfering the report to a new scroll. He quickly glances at his work making sure that is is neat and clean taking a small jar of sand out of the box he sprankles the sand on the scroll to promote drying. He stands up and quickly shakes the sand in to the box. Then rolling up both scrolls and puting the ink and sand in the box back on top of the lap desk. He walks over to the two masters.
Poirot says, "Ah me, I should find a bit of food to sustain me and then return to my work. Master Liesana, I leave you reluctantly. And you as well, Apprentice Mamo, is it not?"
Mamo bows, "Yes sir nice to see you again you were right I did get in trouble."
Liesana gives a slight nod to Poirot, keeping her expression open and friendly, and not the fishy look it would otherwise be displaying. "By all means, Master Poirot. Oh, and if you enjoy bubbly pies, tell the cook you're a friend of mine, and she'll serve you some excellent ones..."
Poirot chuckles brightly. "It is how we learn, no? We are tested and found wanting, we learn and we try again. Such is life."
Poirot walks to the Balcony Hallway.
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