Johnny
Fredas in Whiterun meant two things for Shei - the weekend was full of sleeping in, and that now, he had to get cracking on gathering wood for the mead hall's pit before the day turned to night. Food and drink would be the main focus of the Companions tonight, as the Circle goes off to do whatever esteemed activities they usually did at late hours. The city orc seemed to be getting a good grip onto things now as a Whelp, and he was beginning to look more like a Shield-Brother too - ever since a bear swiped across his face, some of the Nords gave him more respect. Crumbs of it, but it was enough for a bard.

The green one had spent a while already going up and down the steps, through the market, loading and unloading what firewood he could carry into the meadhall. This stack ahead would be the last - one more firelog to split would be enough for tonight. Wiping the sweat off his forehead, Shei held his axe and stretched his back, looking at how business in the square was doing. He hoped he'd have time before Arcadia's Cauldron closed to restock on smoking herbs.
Denise
*A young man was standing in the market square as well, holding a quill pen and a leather-bound journal. He was speaking to one of the locals, occasionally pausing to write something down in his journal. After a few moments of more conversation and more writing, the local departed suddenly, and the young man was left sighing with a somewhat dejected expression on his face. But, he shook it off quite quickly, and returned to looking around the market, tapping the feather of the quill pen to his chin. He seemed to be sizing up the locals, or at least looking at them up and down. But the rather classy jacket and the rest of his outfit implied he wasn't a thief at all. He looked too naive to be a criminal. Still, he carried a fine looking rapier at his hip, sheathed in reddish leather.*
Johnny
Noticing a reflective glint of a handle, Shei noticed when the standing Breton shifted his gait, scribbling away at a notebook of sorts. By his focused expression and perhaps subtle look of dissapointment, the orc pondered if the man was a criticist, writing the pros and cons of marketplaces, or even of Whiterun in itself. Perhaps the man merely liked writing as a creative outlet. Whatever it was, the rapier at his side had quality, and the fellow looked as though through his life thus far, had experience in venturing about. 

Focusing on his task, Shei lifted his axe and cut the last chunk from the wide log down. He shimmied his woodcutter's ax along his belt, carrying seven decent chunks beside the General Goods shop before getting a better grip on them as he walked through the marketplace. He could have sworn he felt something small crawling up his sleeve - a small spider must have been living in the wood's bark. He'd have to pat himself before stepping in the hall, as some of the Shield-Siblings had a fear of bugs. 

The writer was immersed within his journal, so as Shei happened to walk closer, he had conflicting itches of how to socialize - the artist side of the orc wanted to say "Here on sabbatical?", but the *Companion side* Wanted to pull out the ol' reliable "I see that blade, are you an adventurer? The Companions are always looking for brave folk like yourself!" But all the while, the man looked as if maybe he'd prefer little distraction as he moved his quill through a page. It led Shei to socially hover for a few seconds, few too long, unfortunately cursed with a Resting Brute Face when in thought, and unfortunately in fur-pelted garb that did not make his passions clear.