Hannah, Sven


Hannah walks in on Sven having a little discussion.


It is evening of the twenty-eighth day of the second month of the seventh turn of the 12th pass.


The Harper's Solarium

OOC Date 17 Feb 2016 05:00


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"Who was she? The girl who fled?"


The Harper's Solarium

The sunlight never shines so bright except when to showcase the displays of art and hand-wrought delicacies that man can bring to bear: here, then, it shines the brightest, through sweetly cunning skylights slanted through the roof high above, producing a quality and quantity of light that is an unnatural marvel given just how cozy this room is well-within the boundaries of the craft complex. It is a long stretch of a room, capable of handling several exhibitions simultaneously, and often filled with people admiring the pieces displayed — and Harpers hovering to guard these treasures from sticky fingers. To the south, a discreet doorway exits into the craft shops; to the north, the bold blue of the Harper's Wing beckons.

Hannah slips into the Harper Solarium, the relief at the respite from Southern's heat easily seen in the way her expression relaxes and she takes a moment to enjoy the cool surrounding stone that makes up this most austere place. Pale hair is piled atop her head while her clothing consists of a pale pink sundress that allows as much breathability as possible. Around her neck is a golden falling star pendant and in her hair are pretty silver combs. The Weyrwoman looks more at ease than formal where she comes to rest.

The Harper's Solarium is such a peaceful place most days. It encourages quiet contemplation and as such, most people speak in low tones. It's that aspect of this environment that marks such a stark contrast against the voices that can be heard across the room. A man and a young woman's, harshly spoken words cut through the space. "No. Never again. You're a liar." See Sven, the journeyman harper arguing with one very attractive blonde woman, also a harper. But down a rank if the knot is spotted properly. "Lacie-" He's imploring her not to leave, but there's traces of frustration on his face as she storms out of the room, passing Hannah without noticing her. He presses his index and thumb finger together and pinches the bridge of his nose.

Hannah dodges out of the way just in time, one hand bracing against the stone or bench or something, while her expression shifts pensive at the fleeing harper. Her attention then turns to Sven, as confident as they are careful. "That seems to be complicated," the goldrider murmurs, watching Sven thoughtfully. "Lover's quarrel? Or craft business?" A hint of curiosity lingers in her eyes, but she's careful not to look too overtly nosy. At least not by much. "Hannah," she murmurs, fingers tangling in the golden chain, introductions given with another quick glance.

Sven watches the blonde's departing back, pensive until she's out of sight. That's when he drops his hand to direct attention onto Hannah, appearing quite embarassed by this entire episode. "Weyrwoman." He begins, sucking in a big breath of air. "Ah," There's a pause of hesitation before he answers her inquery. "It's complicated." His tone is apologetic and he lifts his shoulders. "Journeyman Harper Sven. We've met before, Weyrlingmaster T'zaim introduced us?" It was awhile ago, in the living caverns. An overturned table. No one there knocked it over, of course.

"Complicated?" Hannah's query is polite and soft, though she does raise a brow in Sven's direction. "She looked upset." A simple observance, though rife with leading intent. "Did we? Oh, right, we did." She smiles a pretty smile, though probably she doesn't entirely remember the incident. The weyr can get pretty crazy at times. "You are recently here to Southern? Or am I embarrassing myself by confusing you with someone else?" A quick grin is part self-depreciating and part something else.

"Complicated." Sven confirms with a close-lipped smile, the kind a person produces when they're uncomfortable. He's happy to try and shift the conversation from one subject to another. "Ah, not so much anymore. I've been here several months, which I suppose is still relatively recent when compared to some." There are so many people at the weyr, no one can fault Hannah for not remembering every face. "In fact I'm leaving again to return to Harper Hall in less than two weeks." A fact that he seems extremely pleased about. Who wouldn't be happy about going home?

"Leaving," Hannah's tone holds regret, as if she personally feels the lost of the harper for his soon-to-be return home. "We're sorry to see you go, but hopefully, you'll return, yes?" She trails a finger against some stone'd artwork, pausing to look at the Journeyman over her shoulder, expression carefully neutral. She doesn't press, but it's clear she isn't satisfied. "Who was she? The girl who fled?" No, Sven. It's not so easy to shift topics. Though she does follow with, "Have you enjoyed your time here?"

"Indeed. Our project is just about finished, we're wrapping up the loose ends now." The word 'project' is probably enough of a hint of what Sven is into. Surely Hannah hears from Ione and Clementine about the damn harpers and their poking around in the weyr. As for his time here, "It's been full of opportunity." Pause and then, "Will you be coming to our celebration, ma'am? I certainly hope so." When the Weyrwoman brings it back around to the fleeing girl, his smile tightens again. "Her name is Lacie. She's one of my apprentices."

"Ah, right. Your project. I've heard you've started putting together an unveiling?" Hannah leans against the wall, hands clasped behind her back. "Have you found anything interesting in the belly of my weyr?" Her tone is quiet and the smile is friendly, but the hint of possession that saturates the 'my' can't be so easily ignored. "Of course, I will come to the celebration. I do so love celebrations. "Lacie." Beat. "Will she be leaving the weyr too?" The dots can probably be connected that if Sven isn't going to give up the goods, she might ask Clementine to ferret it out.

"Yes. Cocktails and fancy little sandwiches and other things." Sven seems pleased with the upcoming food spread. Talk of the project has him more relaxed than the discussion of his apprentice. "We barely scratched the surface of your weyr. But it did give up some gems, which will be on display during the unveiling." About the girl, he tips his head forward. "The entire team is scheduled to return to the hall, barring there are no extenuating circumstances." He doesn't seem to expect there to be any. And sadly, Clementine has a low opinion of Sven that involves her nodding off sometimes when he talks. Or at least she pretends to.

Dammit Clementine, you're supposed to be able to dish about your own alts. "Mmmm, I do hope you are slated to return." Hannah raises a brow, lips quirked into a bare smile, "Especially if you've yet to barely scratch the surface." She swishes her skirt, thoughtful. "Small sausages too?" Because what is a conversation without a little bit of phallic awkwardness? NOT A CONVERSATION! "I do so like stab small sausages with forks." Blinky-eyes.

"I'm potentially looking at a posting to Fort Hold. So I don't know when exactly I would have time to return to Southern." And hey, maybe Clementine does know something. She couldn't be unconscious throughout all her interactions with him… could she? "Master Bryce might be prepared to begin another round sometime in the future." Sven's expression is tight when he mentions the master, in fact he's been largely uncomfortable through most of this exchange. "Ah, yes. Small sausages too."

"Sven," Hannah steps forward, the mantle of responsibility firmly settled on her shoulders as her voice holds within it the steel of a woman sensing something about the man. "Is there anything I should know about before walking into this opening?" Her eyes narrow, not missing his discomfort regarding his master, but she presses her lips together and stays her curiosity with: "You act as if the whole weyr is about to collapse into a giant sink hole." She's rather observant, see.

Sven affects the look of a man that's gently surprised by such a question, he shakes his head and lifts his shoulders in a shrug to cast off suspicion. "I wouldn't open the door in the back of the room. There's bound to still be some boxes there even when the party is on-going." Her last prompts a round of quiet laughter from him, he ducks his head and smiles boyishly at her. "No, ma'am. I don't think the weyr is going to fall into a hole. I'm just a man excited to get back to cooler climes before the heat strangles the life out of me." It's such an innocent thing, really.

Hannah's eyes narrow. "Don't open the door at the back of the room." The words fall from her lips in dire desire: guess who will be opening the door at the back of the room? This girl! Her brows draw in at his boyish smile and round of laughter. This weyrwoman is onto him! Or something. "Mmmmmnnnn, well. Okay then. I guess." Maybe it's because of the shift in demeanor (though seriously, there's a moment where even Hannah can appreciate the boyish nature of the journeyman), or what, but she's suddenly retreating. Maybe her spidey-senses are going off, but what she finishes with is: "I do hope your stay here is pleasant. I will make sure to have some of our weyr guard linger around as you finish up your work." As she turns to go, she looks over her shoulder at Sven, cunning held in emerald green eyes. "You know." Beat. "Just in case." Is that a subtle warning held in the Weyrwoman's tone? If so, then perhaps that is the glint of suspicion in her eyes that give the man a cool regard.

Sven relies heavily on that boyish smile at times and he doesn't make the mistake of letting it fall now, even if she does begin to look suspicious of him again. "Not unless you want a bunch of dusty boxes to topple on you." He manages to look sheepish at their poor housekeeping skils. "Thank you for your consideration. I'm afraid I might just end up using them to help me back." He watches as Hannah departs, much in the same way he watched Lacie storm away. When she's gone he breathes out slowly as if beginning to deflate. A sharp glance is thrown around the room, as if he's checking for someone, before he too leaves.

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