Gianna is currently playing the fiddle, a jaunty tune. Some people are here already, though they're more occupied with the beer part of the occasion than the dancing part. The mood is... less joyous than it could be, what with the recent and awful death of Oliver Arterius, but not everyone's stayed home. In the Lowers, you get on with life.

Modi would arrive as if a shadow had just stepped through the doors of the community hall. In actuality though, it was just a shav dressed from head to toe in inky black umbra. His clothing starkly contrasted with a series of gemstones that caught the light, framing the man as if he were a night sky on the move. He gazes with unfamiliarity upon the many faces there tonight, curiously crossing from one stranger to the next. In the end he simply wades through, content to explore the outskirts of this gathering for a time.

One of the persons walking about the Community Hall is Traherne Nashe. The large blacksmith has donned his best attire for the occasion, which admittedly are still not very nice. He leans heavily on his cane as he moves across the floor and toward the beer that is out for the taking. He offers a nod of his head toward Gianna, as well as a smile for her efforts with the music.

Merek walks into the hall, with a cloak that is shifted about his features with nice black and silver silks. He also has on his umbra, as well as the star iron waistchain and a scarf woven with velvet and fireweave that blends together. His hood is up, while he moves to find a quiet place to settle in at the moment as he finds a drink.

Apollo arrives with little fanfare, just coming in to take a look around. The leatherworker unbuckles his fur coat and puts on the back of a chair, upon which he sits. He looks around at the others, trying to decide who to approach.

Helia, meanwhile, is leaning against a wall, taking well-measured draughts from the beer mug she's got wrapped in the fingers of one hand. She's steady on her feet and perfectly sober in these early hours of the celebration, with a distracted but personable enough smile on her face as she nods in greeting to all that pass in front of her. Between drinks, her gently head bobs to the music.

Gianna gives Traherne a flicker of a smile as she plays; she's good at making eye contact during performances, which is probably to be expected of a bard, much less the Nightingale, head of the Bard's College. The Whisper has eschewed silk for this evening; she left the sapphires at home, too. A quick wink for Merek, too, whom she recognizes.

Nurie arrives in high spirits, or at least very curious ones! The young Lycene looks about the growing gathering with delight that reaches the depths of her dark eyes. She's come dressed for dancing, as well, her dark hair piled up on top of her head in a lazy twist that's already losing the battle with curly tendrils of escapees. She too drifts over to the beer at first, sniffing a bit at the foam of a nearby one, and almost immediately sneezing. Thank goodness she remembers to do so into the side of her cloak. One foot, however, just can't stop slightly tapping the the beat of the violin's tune.

Attaining a tankard of beer from the table, Trahern seeks out a bit of wall to be a flower upon. Fortune favors him that his position lands him near to Helia as he leans back against the wall tiredly, putting most of his weight upon his left leg rather than his right as he lifts his beer for the first taste. A glance is given aside toward Helia before he offers her a nod of greeting and grunts out, "Happening party, yeah? I'm Traherne."

After some time observing, Modi decides to make his move. The larger Northman approaching Gianna first as she plays that melodious tune. One hand moves to pull one of those steelsilk gloves just a tad tighter up his wrists as he listens idly. A fond smile slowly spreads across his face. "A lovely tune, Mistress Gianna." He'd praise, although the accent made it far more gravelly than kindly given. "Mistress Yasmine spoke of you at the Bard College's party some weeks ago. I had hoped to see you perform when I'd learned of your craft. You do it well."

Taking another swig of beer, Helia then lifts the mug in a small salute of appreciation to Gianna for the gift of her music. Smiling at the Nightingale from across the room, she then turns her attention to Traherne next to her and nods his way. "Certainly is, but I'd expect nothing else." The smile is refreshed once more. "I'm Helia. Good to meet you, Traherne."Not even a peek at his leg before she asks, "So, city-born, or from elsewhere?"

Apollo decides to get up and be social after a few moments of sitting, and heads for the Lycene he heard sneezing. "Are you alright, miss?" His cadence marks him as a native of the Oathlands.

"Born in the lands around Pridehall. Called it my home until here about four days ago, you?" Traherne replies toward Helia, his his eyes cast out toward the others who mill about the space. He lifts his tankard back up to take another drink before he turns his body to lean a shoulder against the wall instead, turning his body more directly toward Helia.

Gianna finishes her part in the song; the rest of the bards present continue with it. The dark-haired Nightingale is passed a mug of beer, which she gratefully takes a gulp from. Then she's nodding to Modi. "Hello again. I'm not sure I recall your name, but I'm glad you came to the opening." She raises her mug to Helia, inclines her head in Nurie's direction - with a quick glance at the younger woman's outfit and something of an approving nod. Apollo is also nodded to, since he's just approached Nurie.

Helia has joined the a sturdy redwood picnic table with bench seats.

Traherne has joined the a sturdy redwood picnic table with bench seats.

:takes a mug of the beer, sneezes be damned, after the passing of over of silver and a gently spoken thank you. She too drifts closer to where the Whisper is playing, carefully cradling her mug. Once she's found a comfortable place to plunk herself down to observe, she takes a delicate more-appropriate-for-wine sip. There's a shudder as the more bitter flavors hit, and she sits upright abruptly, smacking her lips a bit. And then promptly take a much less experimental gulp! As Apollo approaches, she grins, raising her mug to him in salute. "Have you tried this, good master? It's quite lovely!" Gianna's acknowledgement is met with a similarly raised salute of beer, but a shyer smile.

Helia takes a seat at a sturdy redwood picnic table, hooking over the bench and underneath it. She plonks her mug down on the surface, nodding pleasantly enough at Traherne, but keeps her body inclined towards the rest of the room, most specifically the musicians. She can still be approached or spoken to if required!

Did someone advertise free food? Because that's what Adora is here for, stomping into the park and probably shouldering aside some dancers to get to that table, grabbing the first thing that looks like it can fit in a mouth, which it turns out is just a handful of peanuts, "Terrible funeral," she opines to someone beside her, "One I crashed last week had meatpies."

"Understandable, I'm told we're a forgettable folk." Modi replied with a warm smile for the woman, his eyes soft. "I am Modi Blackpelt. Or I suppose some might now call me Modi Champagne, but I'm afraid that's a name I don't feel quite cozy assuming. I don't enjoy the biting bubbles myself." He spreads his tattooed hands to either side as he dips down in a polite bow. "Regardless, I just wished to give you my praise, Mistress Gianna. You have a fond talent for gathering folk together that I admire." With that he takes a step back as to not disturb the woman's playing a moment longer, stalking off toward some seating to rest a spell.

Modi has joined the a sturdy redwood picnic table with bench seats.

Apollo shakes his head at the question, "Not yet, not yet at all. I'll have to try it." He smiles and turns his gaze to the musician soon after, and nods in return. "Well, I don't expect any of you to know me, but I am Apollo Oakwood. I run a store called the Leather Paean."

Traherne moves over to join Helia at the table she takes up, though he is pretty slow to sit, arranging his bad leg in such a way that it juts out into the floor in perfect tripping range. He rests his back against the edge of the table, holding his cane between his legs casually. He glances out toward the floor and chuckles before asiding to Helia, "In my younger days, I would have already asked you to dance since no one else is. But with this leg, I'm not very graceful on my feet anymore."

Gianna laughs as Modi retreats. "Forgettable? Not at all," she tells him. "Regardless of your last name. I'd stick with Blackpelt, myself. Suits you more." Gianna downs another gulp of beer and, spying Adora, inclines her head to the woman. There could be more dancing, so Gianna reaches out to grab the hand of a young man to tug him toward the dancers. Still carrying her fiddle, she slings her elbow through his and whirls about.

"Try this!" Nurie suggests to Adora, lifting her beer mug. "It's no meatpie, but maybe it will take away the sting?" There's an impish wink given to the other woman. When Apollo introduces himself to the room she offers him a welcoming smile. "Well met, Master Oakwood. Have you lived in Arx very long?" The Whisper's joining of the dance though, sets her to a restlessness, her eyes moving quickly to the floor, watching the dancers, seeing if she can puzzle out the rhythm.

With a bit of a chuckle, Helia lifts a shoulder at Traherne as if to say that she understands where he's coming from. "Guess you'll have to put up with my company for a few more minutes then." Then, "Me, though. Grew up on a ship, but I'm originally from the Mourning Isles. I've been all over the Compact, though." And indeed, her voice has a bit of an unplaceable accent, though pleasant enough.

Helia also lifts her mug in greeting to Apollo!

Apollo notices Nurie observe the dancers and smiles. "Some time, not very long. I was invited over here because the Marquis needed his best leatherworker nearby." He then extends his hands, "Would you care for a dance, misterious miss?"

On the backfoot, Modi approaches the table that holes the cane-wielding blacksmith and Helia as well. "Pardon, my bones are aching something awful from the journey down here. Would you mind if I joined you for a seat?" The prodigal gently places a hand against the back of a chair, wrapping his black-clad fingers a moment. "I promise I don't provide the worst of company."

"Grew up on a ship?" Traherne repeats with a lift of his brow as he glances aside toward Helia with a slight grin. "I always wanted to sail the seas when I was younger. Turns out the idea was better for me than the actual sailing. Spent all of my time puking instead of sailing. Guess I didn't have much for sea legs. For sure don't now," he says with a grin. His eyes shift over to mark Apollo as Helia waves his way, then turns his attention toward Modi. He gestures for the man to feel free before saying, "By all means. Take yourself a seat. Seems to be plenty of room, though I'll admit I won't be able to stay long. Got a dinner to make here in a little while, and I'm not the fastest mover."

Merek walks on his way, waving to others as well!

Gianna abandons the lad she was dancing with and resumes her fiddling. She struts about the hall as she plays, actually smiling as she goes. It's like music makes her happy or something.

"Oh, are you new also?" Nurie asks Apollo. "Why my lady's household just came here from Iriscal not even a week ago! Your Marquis must think the world of you!" When the offer of hands is extended she will slip hers into his gladly, after setting down her mug, laughing. "Please forgive my manners," she tells him. "I am Nurie, and yes, I'd love a dance!"

Helia's laugh is warm and even a little loud at Traherne's recountings, "Yeaaah, you sort of need a strong stomach more than anything. To be fair, even I've had my moments when the wind got up." She waves over to Modi as he approaches, then cheerily beckons him to take a seat. "C'mon, there's plenty of room." Then with an arch of a brow, "Modi Blackpelt, was it? Helia Andraskp."

"My condolences for your impairment." Modi replies with a lighter smile to Traherne as he takes his seat. "The journey from the lower city to the upper and vice versa is not a kind one. Much ado uphill and downhill. I can see why the peerage does not sully themselves to explore these reaches. I do hope you enjoy yourself, my friend." As he finishes speaking his attention turns to Helia with a similar smile. His elbows prop atop the table so he might join his hands together. "Fond to make your acquaintance, Mistress Helia. Born on a ship, I can scarcely imagine it. The water in the North was often frozen."

Adora nods to Nurie as her hand finds a mug of beer. Is it new? Is it hers? Who cares, she's drinking it! "Lots of newcomers to the city," she notes to no one inparticular. "Is it ever a good time to move to Arx?"

The song reaches a point that involves some voluntary stomping or clapping to the beat. Gianna stamps her boot on the Community Hall floor in time. Dancers stomp, clap, and whirl. The mood is picking up.

There is a chuckle and nod of Traherne's head toward Modi before the man heaves himself up to his feet. "Time for me to get on my way. Likely going to be late, but at least they won't be missing me. If you lot are ever around, stop in at my new shop. The Tilted Anvil. Got armor and stuff," he says, with all the air of a terrible salesman. Then he is heading toward the door, his cane tapping on the floor until he exits the hall.

Traherne has left the a sturdy redwood picnic table with bench seats.

"Fairly new, yes. I'm glad to be here, though; and everything the Marquis thinks of me is simply due to the fact I work hard to repay the debts I owe his house." Apollo answers Nurie, and gets ready to move into a dance. He's not good at it, but he's dextrous enough that he avoids emberassing himself too much. "Not that I ever could, they insist on adding more and more generosity for me to repay, but I have to try. It's good to meet you, miss Nurie."

To Modi, Helia grins. "I'm to be taking a trip up North up North soon, so we'll see how I weather that, I suppose!" Then with a smile and a nod to both Modi and Traherne, her attention is taken elsewhere, towards some random commoner woman over at the end of the room. With a little nod towards said woman, who reciprocates in the manner that signifies familiarity, Helia finishes the last of her beer. Smiling sweetly, she gives an apologetic nod of her head to her new drinking buddies, then begins to stand. "If you'll excuse me a moment, I owe someone a dance." And then it's over to her mystery friend, linking hands with her, then out on to the dancefloor to engage in some dancing that is more about enthusiasm than elegance.

Helia has left the a sturdy redwood picnic table with bench seats.

Captain Nine -- a sleek black ship's cat leaves, following Helia.

"Ah, I have heard those with skilled hands do not long stay in debt here in the city," Nurie tells Apollo, happily tugging him along to the dance floor. "But yes, some debts are not so easily repaid with coin, I know." It seems that not only are Apollo and Nurie a match in height, but they may be a match in skill level. What Nurie lacks in graceful dancing ability, she more than makes up for in enthusiasm, which is probably just about right for a foot stamping song. She will happily reel with Apollo until she's breathless and flushed, her dancing skirts twirling around her.

Sir Floppington, the soulful hound arrives, following Rowenova.

Modi has a fond smile as his brief companions depart, waving them along with as those runic tattoos flash again. His attention turns now to the dance floor as the night begins to get bumpier. Literally with how some of those around them were grooving. He seems content to watch, entranced with interest at all of these festivities.

Dancers are reeling, people are drinking beer, and various people from the Bard's College are playing a rollicking tune perfect for dancing. Gianna is strutting about, fiddling. She's left her silks and sapphires behind for the evening. There's beer and there's peanuts!

Nova and FLop show up, filtering back toward the book shelves as they wave to everybody here, or at least the human of the two does so.

A messenger arrives, delivering a message to Rowenova before departing.

Arielle comes bounding cheerfully through the doors with a spring to her step. She might be a tiny bit over dressed in her gown. Her hair has been put up in a simple but stylish loose bun and circled with fresh lavender blooms that have been expertly worked into the hairstyle. Wandering in she glances around curiously looking to see who is dancing.

Rosaline, former contortionist of Tor arrives, following Blacktongue.

Apollo laughs, "Strictly speaking they're not proper debts. They just feel like debts." He smiles as he dances, enthusiastically and with more instinctual base competence. His heavy boots a fine match for a stamping song, though he still manages to keep them clear of Nurie's feet. "I doubt they'd agree with the assessment, but it doesn't matter."

Adora does not dance and looks vaguely offended that people are having a good time. "There aren't even any meatpies," she mutters and shoved more peanuts in her mouth, washing them down with beer.

Thank goodness Nurie only wears soft leather shoes tonight, because while poor Apollo might be adept at keeping his boots from crushing her toes, one can be sure she might end up trodding on his a time or two! Her laughter is sweet and infectious, and when the dance draws to a close, she will lean forward to brush a chaste air-kiss to his cheek if he allows it, those naughty Lycenes. "You are the first person I've danced with here, in our new city," she informs him. "It was an honor to share this moment with you!" It's hard to not spot the lovely golden haired Arielle as she enters, and Nurie murmurs to Apollo, "Have you met Mistress Arielle yet? I met her at a shop opening. She's simply enchanting. Shall we see if she wishes to dance as well?" Though her eyes fall on Adora also, who's not dancing, narrowing shrewdly. Ruh-roh.

Rowenova offhandedly notes, "I love meat pies." as if Adora just made her day. "When I took my man for a tour of the kitchen of Halfshav Hall, we made one, a meat pie. With bear bits."

Adora eyes Rowenova as she munches on her peanuts, "If you're hoping I ask you about your love life, I'm more likely to ask you for the recipe. If it was any good. Is bear any good? Seems a lot of trouble when rats are plenty available."

The door of the hall is flung open and through that wide swing steps Blacktongue the Harlequin. His head is held high, possessing all of the regal bearing one would expect from someone of a far higher station than the lowly jester of the Velenosa court. His eyes shift from one person to the other, and finally settle upon Adora. "There aren't any meat pies?!" he gasps, a hand lifting toward his chest before he says, "Do not fear. There will be rioting in the streets over this. How is a party a party without meat pies?"

Rowenova grins back to Adora, "Oh no, you already told me you were not into me, and no means no." She chuckles lowly, "It was good, yes. Bear is amazing, and you can get more meat off one than some grimy rat."

Modi slowly strokes at his bearded chin. "Meat... in pies?" This causes a brow to tick. "I only know of berries in pies. Hm. I suppose life must give to make a pie good as well."

"Oh. Good. The harlequins are here to bore us all to death." Adora drawls, casting a flat look over at Blacktongue and asiding to Rowenova, "Puns." As one might say 'rabies' or 'Prince Niklas.'

Gianna didn't bring meat pies. Just music and musicians. She didn't actually bring the beer, either, though she may have had a hand in the barrels of peanuts for some reason or another. Gianna comes to a halt at the edge of the room, fiddling a madly complex tune. The Nightingale tosses her head to clear her dark hair out of her eyes.

Arielle wanders towards those that are currently dancing with a smile on her lips. That smile brightens when she spots Nurie and she gives the woman a wave before heading over that way. "Hello again! Its good to see you once more."

Rowenova looks up and over toward the Harlequin, "oh, I love puns!" say she, most likely to the chagrin of the woman to whom she has been speaking so far! "Greetings!" says she as she waves toward those who just arrived, doing so from her seat on a stone by the bookcases. "These are damn fine bookcases."

Nurie is overheard praising Gianna: Thank you for the wonderful beer and dancing event! It's really great to see the Whispers entertaining and socializing with the lowborn and baseborn folks!

"Awww... how you wound me so, wound me so," Blacktongue says with an overly exaggerated frown toward Adora. "And here I was prepared to raze the streets with you until there were meat pies provided at every social engagement, now doomed to leave with nothing but a broken heart," he says, blinking his eyes in a slow, sad fashion. He glances toward Rowenova as she greets him, and that frown is immediately wiped from his features and replaced with a wide, toothy smile. "Greetings to you, dear girl," he says to Rowenova, "Blacktongue the Harlequin, at your service." His arms sweep across as the man stoops into a low and flourishing bow.

Adora is overheard praising Gianna: It wasn't a total waste of time.

Apollo turns his attention to Arielle and smiles brightly, "I have not yet met Mistress Arielle. Hello there, I am Apollo Oakwood. A pleasure." He turns his attention to Nurie, "Really, the first? Well thank you for the great honor, but I'd have thought it would be difficult for you to last any length of time without being invited to a dance."

"Mistress Arielle! Have you met Master Apollo?" Nurie introduces the pair if they're not already acquainted. "Master Apollo, Mistress Arielle is also a sister artisan! And with quite a unique calling, but I'm sure the demand will skyrocket as soon as she gets established in her shop. Have you been settling in well? Did you win anything at Mistress Auda's gathering?" she inquires of Arielle. "I don't often have time to get away," she explains to Apollo. "But I certainly will carve out time for more, I think!"

Rowenova lithely drops onto her booted feat as she relinquishes her seat from the stone stump and regally bows before Blacktongue. perfectly timing it so that they may rise up to their full heights at the same time together. "Hello. Scout Rowenova of the Ranging Wolves under the direct command of Lord Arik Halfshav for whom I am the loyal retainer, scribe, and messenger when in Arx, a House Servant to his family, too." Then, she motions sideways toward the soulful hound who comes wagging up to see the Harlqeuin, "And this is the amazing Sir Floppington. Together, we form the best back alley beatdown that you might ever find." It is the Lowers. She can say so, right?

The current song ends, and Gianna lowers her fiddle. She had a beer around here somewhere. She's not entirely sure where, and to be honest, someone's probably taken it since she put it down. Possibly Adora. The Nightingale brushes her forearm over her brow to wipe away some sweat. With the fires and the dancing and the people, it's quite warm in the Community Hall.

Blacktongue is overheard praising Gianna.

Modi is overheard praising Gianna: A fine song and a fine gathering!

Adora gives Rowenova a critical look, "Are you trying to say the worst possible things?" then she looks back to Blacktongue, "Adora." her tone is still pretty flat as she takes another swig of her beer. "And that seems like a lotta words for not interested."

There's a little flurry of activity, with a messenger arriving from outside, spotting Nurie in the crowd and making her way over to murmur something quietly in her ear. "A thousand pardons," Nurie says, with a genuine note of regret. "But I'm needed at home, unexpectedly. It was so lovely to meet you, Master Apollo. I shall have to call upon your shop soon! And we shall just have an excuse to catch up another time, Mistress Arielle. Have a wonderful evening, and may the gods smile upon you until our next meeting!" If Nurie can catch Gianna's eye, she will drop a near-curtsy, the fingertips of one hand brushing over her heart in gesture of respect. And then the whirlwind of a tailor is heading for the doors of the hall, to go back out into the night.

Gianna inclines her head to Nurie with a quick flash of a smile. The bard seems quite content. Maybe even borderline cheery, her face flushed. Someone thoughtfully provides her with another mug of beer. Even when she's not playing along, she can't quite keep her foot from tapping in time to the music.

As the evening and merriment presses on, Modi raises. He moves on the outskirts of the dancefloor just long enough so he might bow politely before Gianna. "Marvelous party, Nightingale. I will look forward to attending another in the future. For now, I must press on. The stairs back to the city are many." With that he turns and stalks out.

Modi has left the a sturdy redwood picnic table with bench seats.

Adora finishes her beer and dumps the mug unceremoniously on the table behind her. "Well, you ever want to see bookcases that aren't shitty, come by Bell Bookcases and Cabinets," she advises Rowenova before heading for the door.

Rowenova turns away from these bookcases to look over toward Adora, "Where is that place? Who is Bell?"

"Never mind!" Adora calls out before beating a more hasty retreat!

Gianna has a gulp of beer, smiling at Rowenova. She's in too good a mood to be snotty, it seems. "She is. Adora Bell," she tells the Scout.

Rowenova looks up to Gianna with a smile, "Thank you, Mistress Gianna. How are you doing?" She and Flop move closer. "The music is wonderful."

Gianna has another gulp of beer, shrugging a shoulder. "I'm doing well, thank you. You seem happier than the last time I saw you," she remarks.

Apollo sees his dance and conversational partners leave and smiles to the others, "Thank you for the party, but I best get back to work. It's a lot of work getting a fresh shop up and running, but visit the Leather Paean on Valardin Way if you ever need some fine leather wares."

Rowenova ayes quietly, "My beau and I worked out an eventual compromise, and the wedding bells are more audible in the distant future, now." Then, there is a sparkling smile not only from her pristine teeth but her shining eyes. "Anyway, many apologies for that particular day... I hope it did not cause political stress... I know I left a bad impression... one I did not mean to."

Rowenova says, "I am not very good at the romance Thing. yet. one day!"

"I'll take a look," Gianna tells Apollo with a faint smile. Her usual leatherworker is dead, after all! But her nose wrinkles at Rowenova. "Marriage? Ugh. And not to worry, you didn't cause any stress."

Rowenova slightly tilts her wolf-framed face, "You do not like marryings?" says the curious scout, and then she nods softly about that last part there.

"I don't really see the point," Gianna tells Rowenova with a shrug of one shoulder. She has another bit of beer - just a sip, this time. "I suppose it's less annoying for commoners. The formal arrangements between nobles? I'm glad I don't have to deal with that."

Rowenova somewhat agrees, "Aye, I feel blessed to be a common woman who can freely decide when to marry and when not to. I would like a family group, though, so a common marriage it is!"

"Well, best of luck to you then," Gianna says in a mild tone. Clapping starts up again, which means a particularly popular dance, which means Gianna really ought to be playing now. She has one more gulp of beer, sets the cup down, flashes a smile at Rowenova, and goes to join the other bards.