Who Hanalee, Orrion
What (Backdated) Boll harper Hanalee assists glasscrafter Orrion, newly arrived amidst a spring gather.
When Late Spring, 2722
Where Gather Square, Southern Boll Hold

 

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Southern Boll Hold - Gather Square
Built alongside the road leading to the Courtyard and just outside of the lush pasture land that surrounds the Hold, the Gather Square is just that — a square. Several squares of land that are kept well tended in preparation for the Gathers that are held here from spring to autumn, should the weather permit. There are squares set for the Crafter and Trader stalls, others for food, refreshment and dancing and then, of course, there is the largest square of all that is cordoned off for the picket lines and several stalls and stables for the myriad of runners, herdbeasts and other animals brought here can be safely housed. Beyond this are the infamous fields that hold Southern Boll's race tracks.


Late spring, 2722, and the season's gather at Boll is in full-swing. It's warmer here than it is for those nearer Fort's mountains, and riders from farther north are quick to shed their gear in favor of something lighter so that they can join the throngs making their way along the main square and surrounding paths. The sights, sounds - the smells that tantalizingly waft from the food stalls are surely a feast for the senses, perhaps especially for the local holders who have come up to Southern Boll proper for the day to take part in the festivities. There are plenty of harpers present from the main host and its smaller holds, but not all are engaged to present entertainment. Some, like the blonde journeyman who's been helping a young girl choose a treat from a sweets stall for at least the past ten minutes (because these are hard, important decisions!), might be here purely for fun. "That one, " the child says with all the surety that one can carry at the age of perhaps six, and her accompanying harper sounds markedly relieved as she confirms their order, giving her young charge of the moment a half-exasperated smile. "Don't drop it, " Hanalee cautions, taking the little girl's hand as they make to rejoin the foot traffic at large. "And save some for your brother, hmm?"

There's foot traffic, and then there's island traffic: a reasonably tall young— glasscrafter, by his knot, though that knot couldn't be much newer. The journeyman is just standing there, not quite in line for the now quicker-moving sweets, but not out of the way of the main thoroughfare; he's clean-shaven, his hands are at his sides, and there's also a thin line of white showing all around his irises. He's also counting under his breath, by twelves. Until— "You." Could be the harper, could be the girl— no, it's the helpfully-knotted harper's arm he reaches for as the two pass by. "Jani. You know Jani," ought to be a question but hasn't that sound at all.

It's slow progress through the crowd, and not just because the child keeps pausing to ask questions between nibbles of her special treat. Fortunately, the harper catches sight of a woman waiting a few yards away with a boy perhaps a turn older than her small companion and the two adults exchange inaudible-to-each-other shouts and gestures. "There they are, " says the harper with no little amount of relief, returning her attention to the girl just in time to see her drop a piece of her sweet into the dirt - and in the way that small children do, she's absolutely intent on retrieving the lost precious. "Don't!" yelps Hana just in time to give the girl a look, and that's about where she finds her arm caught, turning wide blue eyes on the other young crafter. "Jani, " she repeats very helpfully while attempting to tug her arm back to her side, thank-you-very-much. "Janis? Jeni? The person in charge of the crafter stalls? I — " She has her hands full at the moment, one literally, and blows out an impatient breath. "I haven't seen her since I checked in with her this morning, but - " There's a pained smile for the dark-haired fellow. "I could help you find her after I get this one back to her mother, " presumably the woman who's given up on waiting not so far away and is wending her way toward them with another child in tow.

It's the second tug that makes him think to free her, or maybe it's the false assurance of the repetition; the glasscrafter tags along, with less white to his eyes now but a growing furrow between them. "Might have been Janis," he supposes. Or Jeni. "Didn't write it down," which in his baritone sounds like a crime. "Might be— That's dirty," he gets distracted enough to direct to the kid, because that will surely make her feel better. Back to the harper, "—Good. Do that." Missed beat. "Thank you."

"Unfortunate, " agrees the harper, sounding quite distracted as they finally all meet halfway and she can release her well-behaved charge, who gives the strange man a stare for the reinforcement, back to her mother's care. "You're a dear to fill in for Gerrold with them today, " the older woman says while wrestling with the sudden quandary of two children, one treat. "It's such a shame that he took ill so close to the gather. We'll see you later, Hana, and thank you!" As the little family is absorbed back into the flow of people, the younger woman spares the lost crafter a longer look that's faintly apologetic, head tilting toward the stalls at large with an amiable enough, "Shall we?" She's obviously searching the people around them for someone familiar as they set off and exchanges a wave with one of the musicians accompanying a little knot of dancers along the way. "I'm not with the vendors today, but I'm sure she can't have gone far. She likes to be easily accessible in case someone needs - wait, maybe that's her by the tanners, come on." If her recognition of the back of that head of orangey-red curls is accurate, Jani(s) is either checking on the booth's vendors, shopping, or multitasking and managing both tasks simultaneously (quite possibly the latter).

The glasscrafter takes the kid's stare in stride, and the handoff, nodding to the older woman with slightly-delayed politeness and absolutely no move to insert himself into their business— more than he has already, anyway. He even comes up with something like a smile for Hana, and a quite definite, "After you." Not that he stays behind her, keeping up with a sparing glance to the musicians, tension abating somewhat with her as a mainstay. "Did you want to be?" The vendors. "Or more children…" has an underlying vein of humor, one soon overridden by, "Don't see her yet. Tall, red kerchief? …Right, you said the stalls. Not the selling-stalls. The stalls they keep crafters in. With a good helping of hay, so we don't leap the fence at night."

Hanalee makes a little face. "Oh, no. Not this time. I helped last season, covered a couple of extra shifts while some of the others rotated through as entertainment. The plan was just to enjoy the gather like everyone else, " and her return smile turns wry. So far, that plan probably hasn't quite borne fruit. As not-Jani concludes her business, there's a look of askance from one journeyman to the other. "Feeling a bit like a pack-runner, are we?" Weaving around a boisterous group who's making their way through with beverages in hand, she wrinkles her nose, brows knitting as her gaze roves from one passer-by to the next. "Maybe we should try near the entrance - where did you meet up with her originally, anyway?"

"That was apprenticeship," he says seriously. "Now, they think they can trust me to not buck off a rider. — Careful," as automatic as though she were getting too close to a torch instead of just a frothy stein (and never mind that she's the one at home here). Once they make it out of the most crowded part of the square, "Back in the barn — the complex, that is; then there was the kitchen; then she walked me out here; then one of the headwoman's helpers wanted to talk, to her I mean. She said she'd be right back. I'm Orrion. Got here last night. Late. 'Hana,' she said?"

A snort escapes the harper, amusement warming her features and brightening the grin she aims back to him. "Do they, now." Nearing where the main square meets the hold proper, she pauses to survey the people who move to-and-from the path to the building, lower lip catching briefly between her teeth. "The question, " she decides while lifting a hand to shade her forehead, "is whether she meant 'right back' in her time, or everyone else's." That hand drops soon after in wake of the introduction so that she can stick it out in greeting. "You're well met, Orrion. Journeyman, I presume, " even as she glances briefly to his shoulder to confirm. Breezily, "Short for Hanalee, " with an affable shrug.

"That is the question," Orrion agrees. She's looking; he looks too. She reaches out; he meets her with a firm handclasp. "What do you want me to call you?"

There's a pause while she apparently gives some consideration to his question; perhaps, no one's really outright asked in a while (or ever). "Most everyone I work with calls me Hana, " the blonde settles for saying after a moment, "but I answer to either, I really don't - " And she clears her throat a little, a rueful curve to her mouth for the borderline prattle. "Hana's fine, " she concludes. Her own grasp of his hand is equally firm, sure. "What do your friends call you?" Not that they are such yet, anyway.

Orrion listens steadily, giving the harper all the time she needs— or at least all the time she'll take. "Hana," he agrees, then suddenly swallows an awkward laugh of his own before he can clarify. "Orrion. Just Orrion. 'Orr,'" acknowledges the joke. "But we're using up your enjoy-the-gather time. Unless you get credit for non-little strays." Who knows what harpers might do!

If Hanalee's inconvenienced by having her plans for the day interrupted, there's no expression spared for it in her good-natured, "'Just Orrion, ' unless you intend for us to search for your quarry the entire day, I'll still have time to grab some of those kabobs I've been eyeing and do a little shopping before it's time to go home." But she's nevertheless clearly all for expediting the search process, flagging down someone who's making for the hold with arms full of empty crates to ask if they happen to see Jani on their way in-and-out. "First posting away from your hall?" she guesses in the interim - he looks young, after all.

He meets that with a wry pull to his mouth, but it's good-natured too. An incipient foot-shifting, as she starts to relate her goals, becomes less restless when she flags down the passerby; "Nice," Orrion says as fact. "And sort of. Arno— my mentor— we've been to some other places beyond the Hall, but it's the first on my own, or at least as a real journeyman given that it's still under someone else so not entirely on my own, and—" before that can head further into the weeds, "Where have you been? And what can you buy?" Journeyman with an income.

"Well, " says Hana sensibly, "we can't very well just hope she'll pass by the remainder of the morning, can we." Stuffing her hands into her pants pockets, she divides her attention between keeping a lookout for the return of the newest member of their little search party and their conversation. "Hmm." It's a thoughtful sort of sound, followed by a flash of a smile. "It's not a bad region to spend some time in. I've been here about three turns. I'm with a smaller hold about an hour and a half away by wagon. It's pretty quiet, but we come up this way every few months. It's my first post on my own, too, " but spoken with the comfort that comes from no longer being new here. "I traveled around the Fort area with my mentor while training at the main hall, but mostly in and around the mountains." For his last, there's an amused, "Probably what I can afford - which isn't a great deal, but I've been saving here and there between my salary, some odd jobs, helping at gathers; I'd like a new journal, but I'm afraid I'll have to put my marks into a new pair of boots, instead." Alas.

"Exactly!" Orrion says with pleased, even relieved, surprise. He follows her cue enough to look around, but isn't as adept— or perhaps as willing— to split his attention beyond a stride or two past them; after all, there are crowds out there. Besides, she's saying something important. He's listening. "You sound settled," he puts out there only when she's done, to contradict or not as she wills. "Walking boots? Or riding? Never bound a journal myself."

Hanalee almost looks taken aback for a second or two. Settled? Settled. "I suppose I am, " she says with a little laugh, as if she hasn't given the concept much consideration lately, looking toward the hold proper with an expression that's briefly unfocused. Blinking after a moment, she recalls herself and returns her attention to him. "Walking, everyday sorts of use. I'm not much of a rider, myself - I mean I can, of course, in an emergency, but I went to the wrong place to learn about animal husbandry." In the wake of her shrug and wry amusement, the person she drafted to help their cause emerges again onto the main path, arms free of crates. There's someone not far behind him - is it Jani? They're still over twenty feet away - time and their approach will tell.

"They're smelly anyway," Orrion makes to reassure. "We've done a bunch of riding, least, when the runners aren't just tied to the back of the wagon." He thinks to add, "All the gear and all. Anyway, it does get old. Maybe not for a harper, you can sing about more than bottles of beer on the wall." He says it with a straight face; perhaps glasscrafters really are that devoid of imagination. "Any tips for traveling songs? Actually, any tips?" this as he gestures to the whole great Hold at large. If someone beyond his field of scope happens to have their attention caught, well, hopefully he's collected more guides than enemies in this short span of time.

"They are, " smelly, "but I imagine riding one for pleasure wouldn't be a terrible experience." Just maybe not an experience for her. He may have an excellent straight face, but Hana certainly does not; hers dissolves into a genuine laugh that reaches the corners of her eyes. "You think so?" Mirth still illuminates her features as she considers his questions, the corners of her mouth twitching up in the way of someone who's trying to regain their composure. "Music isn't my forte, Just-Orrion, so I'm afraid I can't help you with songs for traveling." There's a more thoughtful glance spared for the buildings ahead. "I'm just here every now and then, but - once you get settled, I'd find, " and she takes a few minutes to describe one of Southern Boll's harpers. "There's hardly anyone here he doesn't know, " she concludes. "He'll probably know your name by tomorrow, " which might not be an exaggeration. "Found her, " says the worker as he finally gets within earshot, nodding to the two as he rejoins the crowd in the squares. And the portly lady hurrying in his wake manages to look positively distracted and apologetic all at once, red kerchief a bright pop of color against her coppery hair. "There you are, Orio, " she says, having the good grace to look abashed with a quick smile for them both. (She probably means it.) "It's been one thing after another today so far and I quite lost track, that is - where were we? Has anyone helped you settle in yet?"

"Then what is?" the glasscrafter promptly asks of the harper's forte, missing the pun entirely but catching what she calls him with a not-unamused wrinkle of his nose— and no correction. He goes so far as to pat his pockets for what proves to be a little notepad, upon which he scribbles the other harper's details (and Hanalee's own name, nickname underlined, though he doesn't get all the consonants right). "Thanks. I'll give him a couple days to recover," this with an unadulterated smile. "And—" it's not the unnoticed worker who makes him stop, it's the older woman, and that smile disappears into something very carefully polite. His posture gets more stilted, too. "Madam," he greets, adding with reluctance a low, "'Orrion,'" that nevertheless has its syllables accentuated. "Not yet? We only just got out there," in the wilds of people. "So I'm at your disposal. But… Journeyman Jus'ana," he doesn't quite look at Hana, "has been incredibly helpful."

Hanalee's expression brightens as one's can tend to do when someone asks what it is they enjoy doing best. "Stories - folklore, archives, history, " she answers, and certainly looks as if she'd gladly say more on the subject - but here's the person they've been seeking, and she watches the two interact politely. Let it not be said, however, that she doesn't look quite amused at the woman's approximation of the other journeyman's name, a look which turns into sidelong askance his way for 'Jus'ana.' "Well, someone should give you the quarter-mark tour, show you where you can leave your belongings, at least, Or-rye-on, " says the woman older than both crafters, being too careful with those syllables, this time. "We're not keeping a standard schedule today with the gather on, but you should meet the others running your stall. They'll probably want your help to break it back down tomorrow. And you, " to Hana, "I want to see you go enjoy yourself, young lady. I thought you said you had the day off from duties." The harper has a sheepish smile in response to that, a small shrug. "And so it would have been a completely free day for me, if my colleague from the next cothold over hadn't taken ill. But there's still time yet to make the most of what remains."

And Orrion would have asked more— but. "'Or-ree-uhn,'" the glasscrafter tries again, aiming to add emphasis to the first syllable without biting anything off, then goes silent in favor of letting Hana be the distraction. In the end, "Listen to the woman, Journeyman. She's just thinking of you. And the kabobs, calling your name." He gives her a grin, a quick and real one. To the holder, "I will meet them. Over dinner, hopefully." Or breakfast. Just don't make him go out there again now. "And I'll definitely help." He will, too. Tomorrow. With that, and, "Thanks again," he takes his marching orders and makes to get gone, before it's him instead who's roasted on a stick.

"The kabobs are awfully talkative, " concedes Hanalee cheerfully, nodding a farewell to Jani(se) who, with one last finger-waggle, makes a hurry-up motion to the young fellow to urge him up the path toward the hold. There's a fair chance the holder is liable to get distracted again before they quite make it to the residential hallway given how many people she stops to speak with - and they've not even made it to the doors to the great hall; the harper, meanwhile, watches them go for a moment with a casual, "Good luck, Or-ree, " before retracing her steps toward the gather square, still amused.


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