====October 8, 2013
====Maryam, Sara, We'bey
====Maryam and We'bey pay Sara a visit; the Harper soon ferrets out their intentions.

Who Maryam, Sara, We'bey
What Maryam and We'bey pay Sara a visit; the Harper soon ferrets out their intentions.
When There is 1 turn 0 months and 12 days until the 12th pass.
Where The Handsome Harper, Igen Weyr



The Handsome Harper
A long window reaches across the front portion of the store, with strong foldable shutters on each side designed to close the view when needed. Instruments of all various sizes and shapes hang from carved hooks. Smaller instruments are laid neatly upon tables that run the length of the window. Dark wooden walls showcase pieces of art, each signed with the name of the artist. In one corner sits a shallow desk with pen and paper neatly piled to one side. A pair of hard chars sit in front of the desk. The farthest most corner holds a table with instruments in various states of disrepair, and small wooden boxes holding the most common fixing materials. No obvious counter exists, and unlike many shops, this one has no exit onto the backside of the bazaar. In the center of the room sits a trio of softer chairs. Music, written and neatly ready to be plucked up and used isin a single shelf right next to the door.

-- On Pern --
It is afternoon
It is 3:37 PM where you are.
There is 1 turn 0 months and 12 days until the 12th pass.
It is Winter and 45 degrees. It is cloudy.

Sunlight streams through the window, angled as the afternoon sun makes its gradual way towards evening time. No customers grace the small shop, silence reigning oppressively in the midst of the noise makers. Sara is alone in the back. Her hands carefully tie off a tiny knot at the end of a worn guitar, skillfully looping the string back into place. Quick turns pull the string taunt, though a brief pluck still shows it to be horribly out of tune.

Into this serene (though horribly out of tune) space come visitors! This is Maryam's first visit to the Handsome Harper and though she is veiled (as is proper!), there's interest in the way she looks about after stepping through the door. "One rumor put to rest of them having ransacked the place," she might be heard murmuring to her companion. With Sara in the back, she searches for some way to alert the proprietor to their presence- then opts to stand there, trusting We'bey's familial connections to do more for them.

It is into the quiet that We'bey slips so gently. His general gracefulness which is usually used for show contained now for silence. "Sara, love?" It is the rider's trading card of a greeting for the harper, and even with all the intrigue and clear desire to not be noticed, is delivered with a smile. "It's good to see your door open, love." With Maryam settling back for the moment, the man takes a moment to peer around a corner, and then lean backwards over a display. Once he's sure they are alone he winks a nod at the veiled woman and slips towards the journeyman. "That man is not here?" The slimey one he's heard so much about.

Voices in her shop have the journeyman looking upwards, her eyebrow developing a slight quirk to see exactly who has stepped into her domain. "We'bey, Maryam," Sara greets them setting down the guitar on her work bench with care before shifting from behind to meet the pair half way through the store. "No. Senior Journeyman Peaston still finds himself… indisposed at the moment." A faint smile comes to Sara's lips before she whisks it away, vindictive she may not be, but it is such a relief to have Peaston… indisposed. "How may I help the daughter of Ma'am Sheen and the son of Ma'am Gritta?"

"Journeyman. It is a very great pleasure to see you again, safely ensconced where you belong." With We'bey playing nice cop, Maryam falls comfortably into the role of, ah…formal cop? She drifts forward to take a place at the greenrider's elbow, directing her with-her-eyes smile at the other woman. "And so good to see the Harper open again. We thought we would offer our congratulations."
"So formal with me?" Webs eyes twinkle as he lowers his elbows to the counter to rest his head on top his hands, only then does he offer a fluttered wink, his head lolling to oneside so he can consider the harper. "A proper woman like you in jail, was it glorious or awful? Sometimes the life of a criminal seems so glorious." Suddenly the man pushes himself up to full height again, long strides taking him a few steps to examine some merchandise. "What keeps your friend behind bars still?" Slender fingers mark quotes in the air before he spins back to the shelf.

"Thank you dear, It is good to be open again." Sara's gaze flicks from the young veiled woman then move to follow the slight rider as he moves through her domain. There is a particular wariness to her gaze and her hands move to lay upon the back of the chair, resting lightly, though, perhaps too lightly. "Unfortunately, Senior Journeyman Peaston has found himself on the outs with a particular bronze rider with a rather large knot on his shoulder. Something about misplaced comments in the living caverns one evening." There is a long pause as Sara continues to watch the pair.

Maryam tilts a look of chiding at her friend. "Webley. There is nothing glorious in the brig, I can assure you." Gentle, gentle scolding, that was, softened with just a hint of amusement for the greenrider's mannerisms. His prowling through the shop sees her looking to Sara again, smile returning. "You must be relieved to have him gone, good to hear he has had his comeuppance. And they allowed you to open again? As it should be. We," she says, meaning The Steens, "were concerned when they closed your shop."

"A large knot, love?" We'bey's response to the woman's wariness is to drop down next to her again at the counter, leaning over it, his eyes locked onto the top, "Look, love, no worry on our parts. I know whatever it is they got you for is unfounded, the only trouble you've been in , is with me. And no offense, love, but The Flight would be a much bigger take than this." At least he's spreading his cards out on the table, even allowing his fingers to slide over the imaginary deck as if to demonstrate what he is doing. "But I know you aren't that kind of girl. Not like me, love, you're made of the good stuff." It is now his glance flickers back to the harper, a soft smile playing about his mouth. "A large knot?" He repeats again, his eyes float to Maryam. "A'lory then."

Sara taps a finger against the back of the comfortable chair as she listens to Maryam beat around the bush and We'bey lay it all down. There is silence in the air as she considers the pair, her gaze wary. She nods once to We'bey's guess at who the large knot is, then speaks her gaze moving from one to the other as the speaks directly to them. "There is little need to be concerned, the troubles in this shop are well in hand. You will have to excuse me We'bey or is it Webley at the moment? Little good has come of speaking out in this time. I have no desire to find myself having to watch the backdoor as well as the front. How may I help you?"

It's likely true that Maryam thought We'bey to be a closer friend of Sara's than he's proving to be- but then, she thinks that of everyone that We'bey knows. He has a knack for people that she, quiet ice maiden that she is, seems to lack. So when the harper shuts him down so effectively, she raises her eyebrows and briefly meets the greenrider's glance before returnint her focus to Sara. "I wish to know if you bribed Segam to see the doors of your shop open again," she says in that same soft feminine voice she always uses. As if she were inquiring about the price of a gitar.

If the coldness from Sara affects We'bey he isn't the sort of boy to show it. "Webley, love. In the bazaar I will always be, Webley." One elbow again is leaned against the counter his body stretching out at an angle as he considers the woman before him. His brows barely moving as Maryam finally stakes her claim on the knowledge being sought. "It's like this, love." His head inching backwards so he can smile at the veiled woman, before turning back to Sara, "We're only here to help. The whole bazaar. Segam has suddenly become a nuisance, one whom we'd like to get rid of." But clearly they need her help. Or at least, are banking that she can help them. "We think someone may be threatening him…" His eyes flickering back to the Steen as he filling the gaps before her question.

Sara watches the interplay of gazes between the pair, the calm she envelops around herself belied by the tension in her shoulders and the way her finger gently continues to tap on the back of the padded chair. "A wise woman once warned me to never exchange in this bazaar without arranging for payment in return before ought is traded. What you are asking for, if it should exist, could easily fall back in ways which would damage this shop and my standing in my craft if it falls into the wrong use. Though I doubt not the discretion of the children of the bazaar" Sara nods just slightly to each in turn, "I find myself hesitating. You, Maryam are well known to be the voice of your mother. A cold woman by all accounts, what assurance do I have that this information will not be used against me? And you, Webley, is not your allegiance to the weyr not the Bazaar? I wonder at your stake in this matter- is it only the love of your grandmother and business which motivates you?

Even Maryam has to allow, "Wise words indeed." Her veils flutters before her lips, the sigh unheard but all too easily seen in the ripple of light fabric. Her eyes, by now, have returned to We'bey and fixed there. As if she were trying to communicate telepathically with the man but falling far short of doing so- though there is a shade of disapproval in the set of her eyebrows, a hint of tension between them to mark frustration. "I swear on my mother's life that what you say here will never reach her ears, unless carried there yourself, Journeyman Sara. What is the price for a yes or no answer?"

We'b knows his grandmother's words when he hears them though the grin that momentarily graced his lips falls, there is no need to hide what hurt crosses his face. Eyes glancing downward as so rare a frown passes by. It is not the first time he has heard those words since his unwelcomed impression, now will they be the last, and the hardened look of his dearest friend piercest even the strongest of hearts. "Honestly, love, I thought my presence would make it easy for you. I can see now I misjudged. You are right to be suspicious of a rider, though wrong of me, love. Very wrong indeed." The man's fingers interlock round his scarf as if it were a blankie. His apologize, however, is to Maryam alone. "I should not have come, m'dear. I will leave you to your business, though I would suspect this information coming from a rider would fall on much more open ears." A glance back at Sara, oh was that point to be made? "I'll take my leave of you ladies." Slender hips sashaying as he moves toward the door.

If the consequences were not so high for the Journeywoman, she might find some hint of humor in this. "We'bey." Sara says quietly. "You might find time to talk to the Weyrsecond if the thought takes you. You might find it enlightening." It's all the bone the twice burned Harper can offer up. Her voice lowers as she turns her full gaze to the woman before her. "You must understand. I hold my knot only by the grace of a hall which would rather I did not exist. My place is not assured, no matter the connections which I have within the weyrleadership." She gently touches the ring upon her finger, gaze never leaving the woman. "I must be above reproach. This is my price. Not a word will carry to the hall of misdeed on my part. If a name must be shared it will be that of Senior Journeyman Peaston."

The probability of Maryam not being endeared to Sara, after this, are unfortunately high. But having been trained to her position, she remains standing utterly still as We'bey takes his leave of them. Her hands remain folded at her waist, her gaze remains steady. There is that slight knot between her eyebrows, mark of either thought or emotions- but she gives no true sign as to which. The only possible words of reproach that she utters is a soft, "You Oldtimers are a strange lot." Then, just as quietly, she says, "Of course, Journeyman. It is understood here among those who count that when one hand washes the other, that water is considered precious. Say yes or say no, but never will your name be uttered as a source."

The silence between the woman could easily have been sold to hold down papers at a fairly good price. Finally, without a word said turns to her desk. A drawer is opened and a single piece of paper, the sum total of the contents of the drawer, is withdrawn. "I have paid a bribe to the guard, yes. The first was called a "fine" and you ought to find official record of it. The second was for silence." She lays the paper down on the table gently, and reaches for a soft piece of marking chalk. Gently she rubs the paper with the chalk. Words rise from the paper, faint, but clearly legible. They lay out the terms of the deal Sara had struck, along with the sum paid. Once done Sara offers the paper to the woman. "Use this how you will."

Proof. Exactly what they'd hoped to find, hanging there in the air for the taking. Maryam waits only a moment before reaching for the paper, handling it with the delicacy it deserves and scanning its surface. Once that's done, she looks up again. No more smiles are offered but she does tender a nod. "You will not be bothered by the guards again, nor by anyone in the Bazaar. My word on it." Three times she's made a promise; she's bound by that. Bound and disinclined to tarry, with We'bey to follow after and console. "Thank you, Journeyman," she says before she turns to go.

Trust. A hard commodity for Sara to dish out, but the deed is done. Sara only offers a nod in return, and watches the young woman leave her shop. It is only when the door flutters closed behind the woman that Sara relaxes just a bit, letting out the breath which she had held and the tension within. "Damnit, I still need to get my hands on that book to prove Peaston the troublemaker."

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