The backyard is in a state of refurbishment that seems to be nearing completion, if slowly. Some of the tiles and flagstones that make up the porch have been reseated in a sandy mixture, their newly cleaned surfaces almost out of place amongst the rest of the barely-tamed chaos. A few old, faintly rusted lawnchairs are scattered about, some in more questionable condition than others, and the remains of a construction project have been neatly set next to the tiles and flagstones that still await their repairs against the wall of the house. The previously cut back greenery is staging a comeback now that the winter weather is just a memory, with mint, wild rose, and geraniums trying to cover any surface they can. A battered, absently-repaired slat fence encloses most of the backyard, with an opening that reveals a dirt path leading in two directions: further out to the workshop, and back around to the front of the house. A plain, sliding glass door allows entry to the house proper.
Did someone call for 'tall, dark, and handsome'? Well, dark's fairly well covered, at least. Jet-black hair's pulled into a long, loose tail at the nape of his neck, a few stray strands about the face occasionally drifting into his almost equally dark eyes, the irises of which are a brown deep enough that one needs to look closely to find the pupil. Nut-brown skin that sets off the white of his teeth and eyes -- it could just barely be mistaken for a very deep tan, if one really tried. Tall is a miss; he's still several inches off six feet, and he probably won't ever get there. Handsome... well, not a classic beauty, to be sure, but well-proportioned, with a stunning, frequent grin and deeply expressive features. Slim, but in perfectly good shape.
He's clad in... well, black leather pants. Somewhat faded, well broken in, but nicely cut and really =quite= nicely fitted. A simple cream shirt hangs untucked above them, long sleeved and fastened with a row of small, black stone buttons. Over that, he wears a decidedly well-worn old black trenchcoat, almost too big for him -- the cuffs hang down half-over his hands, when he lets them, and the hem hangs perilously close to his heels. Scuffed black leather boots with worn soles adorn his feet; there's a seemingly random collection of bracelets, all on one wrist, and several piercings along the upper section of each ear -- little silver hoops. His right ear also bears a rather delicate silver earcuff.
A gentleman and a scholar, this one. Neither tall nor short, he's got a solid, broad build, and is currently about as lean as he's ever likely to get in this life. He's probably from a variety of European stock; his face is open and gentle, his nose just large enough to be interesting. He wears a short, neat beard, trimmed close, and gold-wire-rimmed spectacles with expensively slim lenses. Behind the specs, his eyes are a light, tawny brown, almost golden. His hands are a scholar's: large and dexterous, inkstained, callused where his pen rests on his right ring finger. Callused in new places, lately, from rougher work than turning pages. His hair is dark, somewhere between auburn and brown, and nicely thick and shiny. It's usually worn in a glossy waist-length braid. The color is broken by a thick streak of startling, pure-white hair that starts above his left temple and runs all the way down the length of his hair. So much white makes him look older, perhaps in his late thirties.
He's wearing jeans that are worn thin and tattered at the knees, washed nearly white everywhere except the seams, which retain traces of the original blue. His shirt is a cotton, dark green button-down affair with the cuffs rolled to the elbow and buttoned, and his shoes are light workboots. Always within reach, if not actually in hand, is a wooden staff as tall as he is.
He's a big guy -- that's the first impression this man gives. Standing at an even six feet, his build is certainly sturdy, with broad shoulders and beefy arms. There isn't a scrap of fat on him either, and the calloused hands look like they've seen their share of hard work. The second impression he gives is one of youth. His clean-shaven face has a boyish cast, slightly round but with a strong jaw and squarish chin. It's a strange mix of lingering adolescence and budding maturity. His eyes are pale blue, clear and bright, expressive in a way that hints at soulfulness, though he often looks somewhat preoccupied. A tousled crop of blond hair frames his face, windblown and sun-bleached in an array of shades that could only come from nature: the color of honey and wheat sheaves streaked with gold.
His clothing isn't fancy, but he keeps it in good repair, with careful patches covering the places where it's gone threadbare. The black breeches of a dense cotton weave are tight enough to show off the musculature of his legs though loose enough to remain modest. The linen shirt he wears is clean but dingy with age, left unlaced at the collar, with the sleeves rolled up to his elbows. A leather thong around his neck seems weighted down by some kind of pendant, a glimpse of which can be seen through the loose lacing of his shirt. It seems to be made of polished wood, but its shape is indistinct.
Martin gives little warning to his arrival in Haven. He's been scarce for the past few days. Upon arriving in Haven, it was a simple matter of pitching camp and then heading over here with a hefty satchel loaded on his back, covered from the drizzling rain with an oiled canvas. "So the nun tells the priest," he explains to Ren as he heads around the house to take a peek in the backyard (does anyone even knock anymore?), "If that thing rejuvenates life, stick it in that camel so we can get out of here."
There is peeping emanating from the backyard, and splashing. Unusual noises for the Frat House to say the least. Justin's sitting on the patio, an elbow resting on the rickety little table that the boys use outdoors, and his chin in his hand. On the table is a wide, shallow bowl full of water and one small waterfowl, not more than a day or so old at most, all yellow-gray fluff and big dark eyes, and peeping. Justin looks up as people approach. "Evening, lads."
Serendipity laughs, further signalling approval with a sideways bump against the trader. Or else the portion of the load he's carrying is too heavy, though that seems unlikely given the relative sizes of Stuff. "Heh. A'ight, lessee, I got one. So a buncha nuns are visiting this cathedral..." He trails off, and flashes Justin a grin. "Heya, cutie. Been playin' Leda while we were away?"
Martin smiles broadly as he spies Justin, and he approaches, carefully rearranging the satchel so that he can slide it gently to the ground rather than upset the bowl of baby-fowl on the table. "Goodness," he says with a cluck of his tongue. "What have we got here?"
Justin snorts in response to Ren. "No improper actions were involved," he says to the kin, dryly. He explains, "We found him yesterday--well, Miki found him, still in the egg, and then he hatched, and I was the first thing he saw, and..." He spreads his hands. The gosling peeps and paddles over to the side to nibble one of Justin's fingers adoringly. With a resigned sign, Justin strokes its fluffy little head. "Anyway, welcome back, Martin, did you have a good trip?"
Martin's expression goes all sappy as he comments, "Well, he's very cute. Congratulations, mom." He only sounds a little teasing, and not unkindly so. Reaching into the satchel, he explains, "It was damp. Cold. Poor Ren and I had to cling to each other under the blankets just to stay warm. It was wonderful." He draws forth a brown-paper wrapped parcel, roughly book-sized if it's a thick book.
Serendipity just grins more, and gives the little bird a good look as well, thoughtful. "'least it doesn't expect you to breast-feed," he remarks, and wraps and arm idly about Martin's waist. "...yeah, I dunno how we survived it. An' t' think we hafta go back so soon." He shakes his head in mock-regret, and watches the emergence of the parcel.
"It must have been a terrible hardship for you both," Justin deadpans. He watches the bookish-shaped thing curiously. "What have you brought back? Oh, Danny's fired several pieces, I understand you're to have some?"
Martin offers over the parcel, which happens to contain two leather-bound journals, one hunter's green and the other a deep midnight blue, trimmed with gold and silver gilt. The pages within are unruled, a dense ivory-hued paper, well-made. "Has he got them done? That's wonderful. I saw these and thought you might like them. They were going to auction, so I offered the seller a flat fee and he took me up on it. They're kind of pretty, but I don't have much use for them."
Serendipity's arm stays loosely around Martin's waist, and he arches a brow. "What kinda pieces so far? There's some stuff th' farm out there needs, too," he remarks, the last half of the comment to Martin, as well as "Trixie tripped an' broke that big salad bowl th' other day, 's why it came out served already."
Justin's eyes get big when he sees what's in the package. "They're /gorgeous/, Martin! Thank you." He rubs a thumb over the tooling, opens each book to leaf through it and finger the paper. "It's hard to get paper of this quality. Thank you again! What do I owe you for them?" The gosling paddles close to the side of the bowl and stretches its neck over, trying to test the book for edible properties. "No, this is not food. Here." Justin substitutes a palmful of chicken feed for the book, which the gosling eagerly nibbles up. To Ren, he adds, "All kinds of things. He can tell you better, I just light the fire."
After what sounds like a scuffle somewhere inside the house--possibly in the kitchen--Danny slides open the backdoor and reaches the relative safety of the yard, quickly closing it behind him. He's cleaned up for the remainder of the evening, dressed in plain linen pants and an equally plain shirt, but his necklace is still absent, and he's barefoot. His amused expression progresses into a smile of greeting to everyone, and he raises his apparently hard-one mug of tea. "Heya Martin, Ren." Duck-duck-goose, he adds, for the gosling's benefit, wiggling a toe at it.
Martin waves a hand dismissively as he replies, "They're yours. You've been beyond kind to me in the past, and it's a pleasure to have a favor to return." He slips an arm around Ren's shoulders casually, offering Danny a warm smile as he emerges. "Good evening, Daniel. Justin said you have some pieces ready?" Toward Ren, he adds in a thoughtful undertone, "Remind me to make a list. I can't keep all these things straight."
"Well, hey, 'round you, who c'n blame 'em?" Ren replies in a rather more teasing undertone, and flashes a grin at Danny as the perunka greets them. "Heya. You takin' care of my kumimate for me?" he inquires cheerfully enough.
Justin looks around for a place to set the books down, but there are no immediate flat surfaces that aren't rather grubby or occupied by waterfowl, so he lays them in his lap. "For a trader, Martin, you make a great philanthropist," he observes. "Come on, there must be something I can do to compensate you for your time and money."
"Yes!" Danny says brightly to Martin. "I have some of the more porous pieces, for gardening pots and the like, and the good, solid stoneware and porcelain too. Maybe, two full sets of dishware, and we'll be firing two more next week I hope. Just let me know when you need help carting them on down there." He tells Ren, "Absolutely, although she's been out talking to all the other Corax, lately. She's going back out tomorrow, from the sound of it." He hides any displeasure he has with that fact in a sip of tea.
Martin eyes Ren with vague puzzlement, but then he just smiles, clueless but not unhappily so. The kin gets a kiss atop his head before Martin's attention turns to Justin to reply, "Well, I might ask you to come visit me in Millinocket sometime. I would value your advice on a few things. The good Lord didn't see fit to bless me with the insight of a wizard." He regards his satchel with a slight frown, then apologizes to Danny, "I'm afraid the batch of taffy I was going to bring over is still at camp. I'll bring it before I go. I'll bring up a cart on my next trip, so that I can haul more down. Should be doable for ceramics."
Serendipity nods at Danny. "She told me she was gonna be doin' that. If you see her t'day, let her know I wanna check in with her t'night, 'fore she leaves?" he asks, and looks quietly pleased at the kiss.
Justin chuckles. "I don't know about insight, but yes, of course. I'll come visit you and do what I may, although Merlin, I am not." The gosling takes this moment to start scrabbling against the bowl, peeping frantically. Justin mutters, "Oh, calm down," and lifts it out. The little bird promptly scuttles into the crook of his elbow and settles down, fluffing up, as content as a cat in a sunbeam.
Danny makes a happy sound, and wiggles slightly. "More taffy, excellent. Everyone loves it, Martin, and you're a saint for bringing it to the otherwise candy-less folks of Haven. Don't worry about carrying all that stuff down yourself, I can manage to haul a buckport and make the trip. Between you, Ren, and me, it'll go a lot better." He nods at the house, telling Ren, "Actually, she's in there now, but she's working in the kitchen." There's a slight emphasis on 'working in the kitchen' that isn't quite ominous, but almost.
Martin darts a glance toward the kitchen, and though he eases his arm from Ren's shoulder should the kin wish to take his chances, the trader seems inclined to stay out in the rain. "I suppose it'd be worth waiting a few days," he replies. "There's nothing too pressing in Millinocket that can't wait til the end of the week, at least." He gives the gosling a glance, and he shakes his head. "So cute," he laments. Then, sounding genuinely lamenting this time, he adds, "I hate to visit and dash, but I'm not sure I put the waterproof covering over the lean-to, and it looks like it's going to come down harder tonight." He squints up at the sky dubiously. "So I'd better be on my way. Ren, if you'd rather meet up with me later, that's fine. Though I wouldn't mind an extra set of hands."
Serendipity hehs at Danny. "Got it. No way I'm gonna interrupt when she's Workin' In Th' Kitchen, not when it's got knives an' all an' I'm not prepared. Just let her know for me when y'go back in, yeah?" He catches Martin's hand as the arm tries to ease itself away, and draws it back into its previous position. "My hands're all yours, han'some."
Justin nods to Martin, with a smile. "You're forgiven. Beautiful books make up for a multitude of sins. Let me know when you'd like my company in Millinockett, and I'll go. Maybe I'll even bring Kal; it'd do him good to get out of town for a bit. If he'll go. At any rate, enjoy your evening. Ren, make sure to keep him warm," he instructs the kin, sternly.
"I certainly shall, Ren. Stay warm, or Aurelia will beat the tar out of you." Danny takes a longer drink of his tea, and raises the mug again, this time in farewell. "It was good to see you both." He makes an inquisitive sound at the gosling, leaning over to give it a closer look.