The Farthings and Beyond - Shire Free RP

Growing food and eating it occupied most of their time.
Balrog
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The Farthings and Beyond - Shire Free RP

“I feel that as long as the Shire lies behind, safe and comfortable, I shall find wandering more bearable: I shall know that somewhere there is a firm foothold, even if my feet cannot stand there again.”
The Fellowship of the Ring


Northfarthing
Bindbole Wood - a small wood in the Northfarthing
Hardbottle - a settlement in the stony north of the Shire; home of the Bracegirdles
Long Cleeve - a town in the Northfarthing; home of the North-Tooks
The North Moors - an area along the northern border of the Shire; the one place in the Shire for regular heavy snowfalls

Eastfarthing
Frogmorton - a village on the East Road between the Three-Farthing Stone and the Brandywine Bridge. Notable for its inn, the Floating Log
Willowbottom - a village near the Woody End, on the banks of the Thistle Brook stream
The Brandywine - a river; the eastern border of the Shire
The Marish - a boggy and fertile farmland region
The Woody End - an upland wooded region between Green Hill Country and the Marish

Southfarthing
Longbottom - home of the Hornblower clan, also origin of Longbottom Leaf
Pincup - a small village in the northern corner of the Southfarthing
Green Hill Country - a patch of country in the Shire, marked out by the Green Hills

Westfarthing
Bywater - just over the Water from Hobbiton, location of the Green Dragon
Hobbiton - the quintessential Hobbit village, home of the Bagginses
Michel Delving - the chief town of the Shire, located in the White Downs
Tuckborough - location of the Great Smials, seat of the Tooks and Thain of the Shire
Far Downs - former western border of the Shire
Overhill - a small town north of Hobbiton and the Hill
The Water - the principal river of the Shire
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Outside the Shire
Buckland - ancestral seat of the Brandybucks, between the Old Forest and the Brandywine
Westmarch - land that lay between the Far Downs and the Tower Hills, gifted by King Elessar
The Tower Hills - a range of hills at the west end of Eriador, west of the White Downs, location of three elven towers
The Old Forest - a small forested area to the east of the Shire; the remnants of the vast forests which covered Eriador before the Second Age. Hobbits believed the forest to be somehow awake and hostile
The Barrow Downs - a series of low hills east of the Shire, behind the Old Forest, and south-west of the village of Bree. Many of the hills were crowned with megaliths and barrows

Rules:
Read and enjoy other people’s hard work but respect their privacy (go to the RP Request Form if you would like to join an existing story or start a new story
All races are welcome, timeline is whatever you want it to be for your story
Keep any OOC comments to the Michel Delving Mathom-House
Refrain from using overly bright colors or potentially incur the wrath of the TRs
The above list of locations is by no means a complete list, feel free to use other locations or simply make your own
Anyone can use any canon characters in their stories, there is no ownership in this thread
We are all adults here and can decide for ourselves the stories we want to read so rather than dictate what can and cannot be written in this thread, we will ask that any CW (at the discretion of the writer) be placed at the top of the post
No excessive images and not gifs whatsoever
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Balrog
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The Amaranth Flower
Buckleberry

(Private)

She loved the feeling of morning dew on her bare feet. The squishy, wet feeling was the best thing about mornings, beside getting to climb up on the hill to watch the sun rise, and the sounds of the hermit thrushes singing to each other, and the way the air was warm but cool. Sufficive to say, Ermengarde Brandybuck, commonly called Emmie, loved mornings. In a family of night owls and late risers, Emmie was an oddball. When her mother, father, two brothers, and two sisters (all of them older) were fast asleep, she was out and about, playing make believe with her walking stick and imaginary, companion Humphrey the Beaver. They had all sorts of adventures together. Sometimes they would go to the Brandywine and fish while Humphrey tried to build a dam, creating more of a mud pit anything resembling a dam. Sometimes they would go to the edges of the forest, hoping to catch a glimpse of passing elf maiden and her retinue of otherworldly servants. She loved finding mushroom circles large enough for her to nap in, she loved finding toads hiding under lily pads in secret pools that only she and Humphrey knew about. She loved finding all sorts of flowers and make crowns for her and her family.

But today, Ermengarde was on a mission. She had read a story last night before falling asleep about a magical flower that only appeared to the most special of people. In the story it was seen by an elven princess who was looking for a way to cure her people of a sleeping plague that was sweeping through her forest. She found it in a hidden grove that could only be accessed through a tunnel underground that she had to find beneath a waterfall. But the flower was the most beautiful thing she'd ever seen. It was crimson and deep pink with a golden center. It only grew in secret places and only the most determined and virtuous of people could find it. According to the story, the flower only bloomed once every one-hundred years and had the power to grant the finder a single wish before disappearing. Was there any place like that in the Shire? What if she found the flower? What sort of thing would she wish for?

Little Emmie went to sleep filled with dreams of dancing flowers and waterfalls and secret tunnels lit by giant magical crystals. She woke even early than normal, too excited to stay asleep any longer than was absolutely necessary. She ate a bowl of oatmeal with juicy blueberries while Humphrey munched on a collection of sticks. She stole away some of her mother's favorite mint tea and made paste of it. It smelled lovely. She loved the smell of mint; it always made her smile. She put the mint in her hair and waited for it to turn her hair a secret shade of green. Humphrey thought it looked absolutely spiffy and even allowed her to put a little in his hair. Her mother would understand. The green hair was necessary. The elven princess in the story had green hair in all the pictures and Emmie was leaving nothing to chance. The sun was just peaking over the horizon when they set out, green hair, flower crowns, and walking stick at the ready. Today they were going to find a magic flower!
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
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Stargazers
Bridgefields

(Private with Frost)

The sun was sinking into the sea away beyond the Undertowers, and its dying light streaked the sky with pinkish oranges and purpley blues. As night fell, it seemed to Pearl that the shadowy hues were chasing the blazing sun down toward the horizon. Away to the north, the Water glinted merrily, tossing the last of the day’s vibrant sunlight into the air like sparks. There was something glorious and refreshing about coming home after a long journey; things and places she had seen countless times were brand-new and exciting. When at last she stepped off the Brandywine Bridge and into the lands of the Shire proper, Pearl skipped forward several yards with a cry of glee, forgetting the weight of the pack on her back. She had never in all her life found the Shire so beautiful.

This was all the more remarkable given where she and Jorgy had been: amongst the immortal elves in their pristine hidden valley. The invitation to the award ceremony had been a surprise, and many of the things and people they saw there had been even more astonishing. She had met a man from the moon and tasted horchata! They had heard a rousing, melodic song sung in the great Hall of Fire, and feasted upon mushrooms and elven delicacies alike. Pearl had met some of her personal heroes, and Jorgy had been brave enough both to confront a terrifying elf and to tell stories to a group of (less intimidating) elves. And all those stories were from just one evening! They’d had many a laugh on the road to and from Rivendell, and so the tales she could tell were practically endless! She was quite sure she would tell them again and again - to her family, her friends, and anyone at the Green Dragon who would listen.

They were closer to home, but not quite there yet. At a relaxed pace, they could travel for a few more days - especially if they stopped to sample the ale in all the pubs along the road to Bywater. Tempting as a large mug of ale would ordinarily be, all Pearl wanted for the moment was to savor the lands of the Shire in all their unassuming glory. She paused by the side of the road and looked north. The sun had sunk below the distant mountains now, and the Water rippled serenely but without its earlier luster. Gentle hills rolled between where they stood upon the East Road and the Water, and Pearl found herself drawn to those slopes. A grumbling in her belly made her eager for something to eat, too - even better if it were cooked over a campfire beneath the night sky.

“Well, Jorgy,” she said to the lad at her side. “We’re home! Or near enough, anyway. At the very least we’re in the Shire where it’s cozy and safe. Home just feels right, doesn’t it?”

Pearl hopped off the road and into the tall grasses which lined it. The grass tickled her feet and ankles, and she laughed. “What do you think about camping out here instead of looking for an inn? We’ve got some sausages and rolls left, and we can always drink our fill from the Water. Maybe tomorrow we can find a grove of apple trees to climb to get some breakfast!”
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Balrog
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Stargazers
Bridgefields

(Private with Tara)

Even though it had been some days since he and Pearl left Rivendell, Jorgy still felt like he was walking on the clouds. Throughout his multiple lifetimes, he's been fascinated with elves (or elleths and ellons as he'd learned in Rivendell) but he'd never seen one until that trip. And what a trip it was! The whole affair seemed like it was a dream. He'd accidently gone to the restrooms instead of the feast hall, told a scary looking elf to leave Pearl alone, met the man in the moon, ate some very fun mushrooms, and made a friend of an elleth named Ms. Lilótea. Some might think that this sort of random weirdness was par for the course for young Jorgy and, well they wouldnʼt be too far off, but then there were all the elves. What an experience! Sharing the experience with Pearl had made it even better. It was she, after all, that invited Jorgy to come with her. Of all the hobbits in the Shire, she'd invited him!

The closer they got to home, the more Jorgy realized he was getting very tired. Since he'd arrived in the Shire that day almost a year ago and immediately joined the Walking Club (within that year he'd learned to walk, skip, and run with the best of the hobbits), he'd never actually gone outside the borders. The Shire felt like it was simply the place he was supposed to be; when he left it, he realized it was much more than that. The Shire was his home! He longed for his bed, lumpy as it was sometimes, and to see Jorgyferret again (did he leave food out for the taxidermized oddball?). He wanted to do his dishes. Yes, he wanted to do his dishes, it was weird but Jorgy eventually found that dishes could be fun. Granted it had taken him weeks of piling dishes outside before he came to this revelation but better late then never, right?

None of that, however, was on his mind at the moment. As much as he wanted to be home, he wanted to spend as much time as he could exploring parts of the Shire heʼd never been and get to spend more time with Pearl. “I don't think there's anything better than seeing the Shire still golden and green after being away.” He'd learned a few poetic turns while listening to the elleths and ellons of the Hall of Fire and he was always eager to use them.

He plopped on the grass next to Pearl and giggled as the grass tickled his feet. “I think I would love that very much!” Jorgy had done plenty of camping out in his time, if by camping one considered falling asleep in one's front yard.

His stomach grumbled. When was the last they ate? Was it dinner? Or supper? Perhaps a midnight snack would be in order soon. Some dried blueberries with crisps and nice cold water sounded very good right now. He laid back on the grass and felt the earth wrap around him like a comforting hug. He looked up at the stars and wondered what all their stories were. There was a special star that those in Rivendell loved. What was it called again? Ear and Dill? Maybe he and Pearl could find it, it was a clear, cloudless sky night. “Apples for breakfast sound wonderful!” his stomach growled again. It wanted apples now. Apples, applesauce, apple tarts, and toast with apple butter.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
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Stargazers
Bridgefields

(Private with Frost)

“Camping it is!” Pearl affirmed happily. She smiled to hear Jorgy wax poetic about their home country. He was growing quite eloquent these days! She unslung her knapsack and sat down upon the soft grass next to Jorgy. Close as they were to the road, they could always move up a hill later to start a fire for dinner or to find a good camping spot. The night air was light and fresh, and she heard the breeze whispering through the blades of grass all around her. Jorgy had lain down to gaze up at the night sky, and she imitated his posture, wondering which star in particular he was looking at.

“There are so many of them!” she whispered. All the orange and pink and purple of the sunset had resolved into a deep blue-black night sky, and the stars shone and winked from above. She spied one which looked rather blueish, instead of diamond-white like the rest. “Look at that one!” she said, pointing vaguely in the direction of the distant star. “I wonder why it’s so blue. What gives stars their color, anyway? In fact . . . where does the sky get all its many colors? There are so many questions I want answers to, but I’m afraid I won’t find the answers to them in the Shire any time soon. I should’ve asked the elves!”

They had passed by rooms filled with books and scrolls on their way out of the Hall of Fire on the night of the feast, and it seemed to Pearl that the elves possessed knowledge that the halflings could only dream of. Maybe someday she would make a trip back to Rivendell just to sit by the river and read all those many books! Or perhaps if Lilótea stopped by the Shire, Pearl could ask her all sorts of questions over a pint at the Green Dragon. She had better start keeping a list of the things she wondered about!

Not long into this first attempt at stargazing, Pearl heard a loud gurgling, rumbling sound. Sometimes her tummy made such noises when she was hungry, but it hadn’t been her. It did not sound like any wild creature she could think of, so she remained calm and relaxed amidst the grass beside her friend. Her friend! It must have been Jorgy!

“It’s settled! We’ll have apples for breakfast. I’m sure I’ve heard of groves of apple trees in Bridgefields. But I’m guessing you’re hungry now,” she said with a giggle, rolling onto her side to face Jorgy and propping her head on one hand. “So what do you think about climbing one of these little hills to find a good campsite and some firewood? We can make a little meal - some hot chocolate, even! And the fire will keep us from freezing to death overnight.”
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Balrog
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Stargazers
Bridgefields

(Private with Tara)

With Pearl by his side, the young hobbit looked up at the stars and marveled at them. The night was wonderful and magnificent. They were still at the height of summer, when evenings and nights were filled with sweet, cooling breezes. That was another reason to love the Shire. He'd never experienced summer before, not the way summer was mean to be experienced. Fresh squeezed lemonade in the afternoon, cold beer in the evening, games of tag, catching grasshoppers and lightning bugs. There was magic in the air in summer. Even though there were days where it felt like the heat was going to turn him into Jorgy-goo, he would have nothing else. The skies were wild and blue, the waters of the rivers and stream were clear azure. The trees and hillsides were alight with green, yellow, purple, vermillion, lavender, periwinkle, and thousand other colors. The storms, even though they scared him at first, were gorgeous. Jorgy had never seen a real storm, the things they had in Mordor were nothing compared to the awe-inspiring majesty of a real summer thunderstorm. The first time he'd experienced one he thought the world was ending and ran to the Brockhouse House and told them they all had to make a run for it. Pearl and Daisy had been quick to explain that thunderstorms were natural (Tom of course thought it was hilarious and poked fun at Jorgy for a month until both his sisters locked him outside in the rain during another thunderstorm). They stayed up all night watching the lightning show once Jorgy’d calmed down.

She was right. There were so many of stars in the sky. So, so many. One night, when he was feeling particularly enamored by them, he decided he was going to count them all. That had lasted all of about half an hour, when he got to two hundred and five. And he'd barely scratched the surface! They were as lovely as they were innumerable. Some were purest white, some blue, some red, some even looked like swirls of a dozen colors. They formed condensations… wait that's not the right word, consignments… no, constellations, that's the word! They formed constellations with stories so old that they stretched back to before the sun and moon soared across the sky. “Do you think the stars look down on us and wonder what we do all day? The way we look at stars and wonder what they do?” He tore his gaze away from the thousand thousand stars and looked at Pearl, who was wondering herself about what she should have asked the elves.

He maneuvered himself so that he was laying down with his head propped up under his hand. “You know, I donʼt think elves are as smart as we think they all are. Sure, there are some that are brilliant and wise beyond words, like Lady Lilótea, but there's a ton of things you and I know about stuff that would leave the elves slack jawed and silly! I happen to think you are smarter than the king of Rivendell, Elgrog whatever his name is. I bet you a dozen pastries he canʼt make a good muffin ball.” But then Pearl began to talk about food and firewood and apples and hot cocoa and suddenly Jorgy’s brain could think of nothing else. Whatever profound feelings he had about elves and rustic wisdom were lost in sea of “Apples and hot cocoa! And marshmallows! “I think that's a very smort idea, Pearl!” He jumped up, suddenly full of energy and ready to go hunting for apples and firewood. “Say, whatʼs your favorite kind apple? Gold, red, or green? Or is it something weird like blue?”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Fuchsia Meadowsweet
By the Water, not far from Bywater


The older she became, the more adventurous she grew to her parents' dismay. No matter how much her mother tried to tell Fuchsia that she should learn cooking, gardening and crafts as a proper young Hobbit lady should, Fuchsia could not focus on any one of these things for long enough to master it well. Rather she was drawn to outdoors, and kept taking lengthy walks, which became longer and longer.

"Fuchsia!" her mother often scolded her, grabbing her by the arm to keep her indoors long enough to hear the lecture. "If you keep wandering about you'll end up bitten by a snake, attacked by ruffians, drowned in the river, or even disappear like that old Bilbo Baggins! You should learn skills to make a good housewife to a Hobbit lad of your choosing."

"But, ma, I don't like any of 'em that way, they're just friends," the lass objected, shaking her brown curls in protest. "Besides, I'm careful and won't get into any of those troubles you say..."

After yet another argument of a similar sort, Fuchsia had made many a polite excuse (she preferred not to anger her ma and pa) to get out, and skipped along the streets and out into the open.
Drown in the Water! Ha! She definitely would not! Fuchsia let out a merry laugh at the thought as she dipped the toes of her right foot into the warm, shallow water. During her roamings, she had found this little narrow stretch of sandy shore where the Water made a turn away. Lifting her skirts slightly, she proceeded to dance around in the water, splashing around in it much like a mischievous pony that had escaped the confines of a stable and found freedom.

@Rillewen
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Steward of Gondor
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@Pele Alarion
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Daffodil Tunnelly
By the Water, not far from Bywater


Daffodil skipped along the road, humming cheerily to herself. She had a long ways to go still, and since her parents weren't expecting her home for a while, she was taking her time. She didn't often get to go off as far as the Shire, but she'd had the wonderful fortune of being asked to escort her little niece and nephew to a visit to their other uncle, who lived in the Shire and had been sending letters inviting the twins to come and stay with him for a while. It seemed his son, little Hubert, didn't have many hobbit children around to play with, and was quite lonely, but the problem was, the cousins lived too far away.

Daffodil could hardly believe it when her sister, Dandelia, had asked her parents if she could do this for her. The little ones, Geraldo and Gerania, had been begging to go visit their cousin Hubert for quite a while, and the main obstacle to this was that there were no adults to spare to take the children there. Daffodil was not yet an adult, but she was old enough to be able to handle a job like this, and she could be spared from helping her father in his store, and though her mother worried about the idea of sending her 15-year-old daughter so far away, where she might be mugged or drowned, or anything terrible might happen, she had eventually agreed, though not without expressing her worries.

Daffodil felt sure that her mother's worries were all for naught. What could possibly happen here? It was the Shire! Nothing happened here. She was in more danger in Bree, where they lived than here. She spun in a circle, happily enjoying the bright sunshine. Was it her imagination or did it seem sunnier out here, than in Bree? The air smelled cleaner, and the ground felt warm and rich beneath her toes. She giggled, feeling just as excited as little Geraldo and Gerania had been when they traveled with her. They would be staying with Hubert and his family for the summer, and Dandelia had confided to Daffodil that she was secretly quite glad for a break. Though she loved the twins, they were a handful, to be sure! Daffodil could understand that.

Suddenly, ahead, the young hobbit girl heard splashing. She stopped short, breath catching in her chest. What was up there? She listened for a moment, then ventured cautiously forward, peeking around a bush, and then let out a sigh of relief when she saw that it was only another hobbit girl, about her own age! How exciting! She didn't know very many others, least of all her own age! She hesitated for a moment, watching, before hopping out from behind the bush. "Hello!" She greeted the other in a cheery voice. "Aren't you afraid the current will sweep you away?" She asked, tilting her head. The bree-hobbit wasn't terribly familiar with water, but had always heard terrible stories of hobbits drowning in water, and wondered how much truth there was to it.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

Black Númenórean
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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Frost)

“We shall!” Pearl had cried, and she and Jorgy had stepped over the threshold of his front door and out into the beautiful Bywater morning.

They wandered along various lanes, stopping every now and then to admire a dew-soaked flower or to breathe in the smell of the air after a storm. They hopped a fence to roam the rolling hills of a nearby farm (Pearl’s family being friendly with the farmer, they weren’t too afraid of being kicked out for trespassing), and saw tall green stalks growing heavy with corn ripened beneath the warm, yellow sun. It was nearly harvest time. Corn on the cob would be a wonderful treat! She and Tom and Daisy would, as a rule, slather their corn on the cob with butter, never mind the mess it made when melted.

“Say, Jorgy,” she said, pausing amidst the cornstalks. “Have you ever eaten corn on the cob?” There was still much Pearl did not know about Jorgy’s life before he’d arrived quite suddenly in the midst of the Shire Walking Club, and she wondered if corn on the cob was perhaps part of the fanciful eleven-course elevensies where he had come from.

Pearl ran her hand over a large nearby leaf, admiring its vibrant greenness. This was a healthy plant! She liked to see healthy plants out and about on her walks, and she loved to watch things grow. I ought to grow a garden! she thought to herself.

“Mmm, corn,” she murmured, a bit absentmindedly. She was daydreaming now of cornbread and corn fritters and popped corn that jumped and burst into fluffy pieces in a kettle over the fire. She wondered if Jorgy had eaten any of these delightful things. If not, he was in for several wonderful treats after the harvest!
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Balrog
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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Tara)

Hopping fences might be one of Jorgy’s new favorite pastimes. The first time he and Pearl did it, he thought he was going to get caught. Both by the owner of said fence and by the seat of his pants. Thankfully, neither of those things happened. Pearl, as it turns out, knew the hole owner and knew it was permissible to cut through their fields, and Jorgy’s pants were made of stronger material than he’d thought. Phew!

Aside from the fencing hopping though, the morning was going wonderfully. Every time Jorgy went out on one of his walks he found something new and wonderful about the Shire. Sometimes it was just a funny shaped bush or a tree with a perfect nook for reading or a patch of particularly green grass that looks as though it was too perfect to be real. He saw dozens of butterflies on his walks and wondered if there were hobbits who knew all the different kinds of butterflies there were. He assumed it was a very big number, probably close to two or three dozen. He saw honeybees as big as his thumbnail and buzzed and bounced on the air without the tiniest care in the world.

This particular morning was rather quiet. But one should never think a quiet morning was a bad morning! Far from it! Jorgy had time to pay attention to the clouds and the myriad shapes they made. They hadn’t sighted any rainbows yet, at least none that they could easily access (Jorgy thought he saw one up north but it looked rather faint and far away, an adventure for another time).

Then they came across the corn. So much corn! Corn as far as the eye could see! It was a beautiful golden sight. From afar, Jorgy could imagine it was, in fact, a field full of shimmering molten gold. When he’d first seen corn, nearly a year ago now, he thought it was a strange variety of cactus and stayed as far away from it as he could. It was only once he’d settled into his home and went to the market that he learned the kernels were actually edible. They tasted like heaven! They were sweet and juicy and tart and savory and so bursting with delicious golden happiness that Jorgy thought he himself might burst. But today was a day for revelations. Corn… on the cob?! Jorgy couldn’t believe his ears. How could… and how did you… with your… oh goodness… oh goodness! Even though it had not been long since they finished their breakfast, Jorgy could feel himself getting hungry again. And this revelation about eating corn straight off the cob was making his stomach gurgle insistently. Not knowing any better (it was Jorgy after all) he plucked an ear off the stalk, tore back the green sheaths protecting the sweet delicious golden kernels and…

“HmmmmmmMMmmmmmm… Pearl, are you sure this is corn?” he tried to bite it was not nearly as juicy and soft as he remembered corn being. Oh no! he knew, he just knew he’d accidently eaten a cactus!!
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Black Númenórean
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Stargazers
Bridgefields

(Private with Frost)

Pearl blushed. Her, smarter than the king of the elves? She’d never thought herself particularly smart. In her own mind, she was just an ordinary hobbit tween who loved baking and walking and playing with her cat. As she got older, she thought she might start her own little garden and begin to cook a bit more, in addition to her baking hobby. But smart? She did like stories, it was true. What stories they’d heard in the Hall of Fire! But she was no cleverer than anyone else in Bywater. And so the thought was amusing given its farfetchedness, but still - she couldn’t help but be flattered that Jorgy had said so.

“Muffin balls were quite the invention!” she laughed, rising and brushing the dirt from her skirt. “I’ve never heard of a blue apple. But I like crisp red ones the best. What about you? Have you seen any blue apples in all your travels?” She imagined Jorgy to have been a great traveler before he’d come to Bywater, given all the wondrous things he’d seen and the way he sometimes acted like the Shire was a foreign place. It must be because he was so used to the habits of other lands!

She couldn’t help but linger on Jorgy’s thought from earlier about the stars. Before he could tell her about his favorite apples, she mused aloud, “I’m not sure if the stars look down at us. Maybe there are star-hobbits up there, though, sitting in their own star version of the Shire and asking similar questions! Maybe one is called Jorgystar, and one is called Pearlstar! Wouldn’t that be strange?”

She offered him a hand to help him to his feet, then began walking up a nearby hill. It was crowned with trees and a thicket of brambles. Pearl plucked some dry twigs and branches and soon had a small fire going. It was a good thing, too, for night had truly fallen, and the light of the stars was not much to go by. She knelt beside the fire and opened her pack, withdrawing a packet of sausages and two rolls of bread wrapped in thick paper. She looked up at Jorgy. “What do you say to some sausages? I only wish we had some butter for the bread.” She removed a small traveling pan and set the sausages upon it. “Once the fire gets going, we can cook these up, and make our hot chocolate for later!”
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

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Fuchsia Meadowsweet with Daffodil @Rillewen
By the Water, not far from Bywater


She had gone on with her water fun for quite a while, quite oblivious to being watched - she knew that most Hobbits did not really venture down to the very shore. And so it was that a voice addressing her caught her quite by surprise. For a while she stood still, her back to the bush, wondering whether she was just hearing voices in her head or whether there was really someone out here.

Turning around she found herself face to face with another Hobbit. "Why, the waters are very calm here, and I do not wade out into the swift current because I am not very good at swimming. This really does feel good on the toes!" Fuchsia claimed and did not even wonder what the other lass was doing here.

Eventually she stepped out on the land again and reached her hand out to the stranger who seemed rather friendly. "Hey, wanna come and try it out for yourself?" she challenged and reached out her hand towards Daffodil. "I am called Fuchsia. And you? Come!"
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Daffodil Tunnelly
By the Water, not far from Bywater


Daffodil was pleased to find that the other girl seemed friendly, taking the offered hand in a handshake. "I'm Daffodil, it's very nice to meet you, Fucshia." She listened with a mix of awe and skepticism as she explained how very un-dangerous the water was. She knew so many who were absolutely terrified of the water, claiming that hobbits always drowneded whenever they tried to do anything on the water, and she'd heard horror stories of foolish hobbits going off on boats which would then spring a leak and drown them, or flip over and they were trapped under it and drownded that way. But it really didn't seem all that frightening, now that Fuschia pointed out that there wasn't any current, and it wasn't very deep.

"Alright." She agreed after a moment's consideration. After all, Big People talked about swimming and stuff, and they didn't ever seem to get drownded, did they? She cautiously stepped into the edge of the water, holding the edge of her skirt up to be sure it wouldn't get wet. After all, it wouldn't do for her mother to find out she'd been wading and get her all worked up in a frazzle about something so nothing-ish. "Do you live near here, Fucshia?" She wondered, curious about her new friend as she stepped very cautiously into the cool water. Fuschia was right, it did feel very nice on her feet!
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Mari
Southeast side of The Hill
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A terrible screeching sound caused Mari to stir and wake. "Mmmph.. what da?" She throws back her covers, hops out of the bed, and investigates for the source... Outside two birds have decided to cause a rumpus on the bush directly on the other side of her window, causing its branches to scrape against it. "Well... not der fault da bushes isn't trimmed. Either way doh.." She taps on the glass... "Get out here birdies! Come back after Mari trims da bushes later!" She pouts a bit as they fly off, releases a sigh, and begins to process the start of her day.

Shortly she is in her signature attire, a common, forest green dress with a brown leather vest and her herb pouch around her waist. She adjusts the bag on her back, checks her pockets for her list of chores, then selects a walking stick from a bin by her front door with an exaggerated groan, "Got lotsa' pickin to do today. Need to find like three different mushrooms, dill, some of those.." As she repeats her list of items to herself, she heads out the door, closing it behind her, and makes her way down The Hill towards the Bywater Pool.
Last edited by Karue Sadyen on Fri Sep 17, 2021 8:44 am, edited 2 times in total.
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(Private with Tara)

Jorgy had never seen a blue apple. He had seen some very deep red ones, some yellow ones, and some green ones (those he did not enjoy) so naturally he assumed there were blues ones somewhere about. He hadn’t seen one in the Shire yet, but he was certain that one day he would, and it would be the sweetest most amazing apple that ever was eaten! He started daydreaming about apples and zoned out for a moment (thankfully it was only a moment) before returning to the conversation at hand. “In my travels?” he sounded confused for a moment. He hadn’t exactly told Pearl that he had been a lava snake in a previous life and hand journeyed for the Shire once he found himself a halfling in the ashy fields. It was not something that simply rolled off the tongue. She, and others, seemed to have put it together that he was not exactly from the local “around here” but he let them think he was just from the deep south of the Shire. It was not a lie, not exactly, but it still meant he had to come up with things to explain his odd behavior.

“Oh! Well I was walking once through a huge green meadow once with an even huger apple tree right in the middle of it.” He stood up with his hands behind his back, apparently now his normal method of telling stories. “It was a very hot day, much like today actually, and I was hoping for some shade. I was younger back then and didn’t know how to tell an apple tree from half a league away. I was just hoping for some shade. I had a waterskin that was about half full and no food. I was a foolish young lad who thought he could traverse a dozen leagues in a single day with just a roast beef sandwich! I ate the sandwich before midmorning, and it was stretching past noon now. Some shade would be lovely, I could rest underneath the cool branches and recover my strength. I sat down against the trunk and an apple fell on my head! I looked up and saw a little finch staring at me. I asked if the apple was for me and he said only if I could turn it into a blue apple. I couldn’t, mostly because I didn’t know that was something anyone could do. Oh, I should have asked the elves if something like that was possible. Oh rats. Well I failed to turn the apple blue so the finch flew down, stole the apple out of my hand and away in to the sun. Since he told me to do it, I assumed that it was possible. Haven’t found any blue apples yet though.”

He had thought his little tale was quite clever, a silly little tale about one of his early trips into the Shire. Pearl though, blew that story out of the tree (so to speak). Star-hobbits?! His mouth actually fell open in shock. He knew Pearl was smart (he’d meant it when he said he thought she was wiser than El-Round) but he was always surprised at just how smart she could be. Star-hobbits! He’d never even thought about that. They must be the coolest most amazing kinds of hobbits that ever were! “Jorgystar and Pearlstar? Why those are the silliest names ever!” he laughed, his cheeks dimpling as they turned red with mirth. “But then again I bet they think plain old “Jorgy and Pearl” sounds silly.” He looked up at the stars, a new sense of wonder. What if there was another version of himself out there in the stars? What would that Jorgy be like? Would he be silly too? A doof who liked to make people happy? Was he a conniving caperer who loved to do magic tricks with cards? He had a lot to think about now. Was this Jorgy best friends with another variant of Pearl? He hoped so. Every Jorgy needs a Pearl, and every Pearl needs a Jorgy.

The fire, once it came to life, was beautiful and mesmerizing. The little orange flames danced and flittered about with cracks and pops and snacks. It was such a relaxing sound. As they watched their food cook, Jorgy could feel his muscles start to unwind and decompress. They had been walking for quite some time and he was eager to rest. His stomach grumbled again, breaking his concentration on the flames. He chuckled and beamed with light hobbit greed at the mention of sausages. “Yes please! There’s nothing quite as good as sausages and hot chocolate with a friend.”

Fireflies came out then, dozens of them, scores, hundreds, Jorgy lost count. They were beautiful, drifting and filtering through the air. It was a theatrical display, a musical of lights just for the two of them. Crickets chirped a soft rhythm. Jorgy could even swear he heard a barn owl hooting in the distance!

What a perfect evening so far!
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Fuchsia Meadowsweet with Daffodil @Rillewen
By the Water, not far from Bywater


"See?!" Fuchsia cheered when Daffodil dared to step into the water; that was an achievement in itself no matter that she stayed on the very edge - the mischievous Hobbit lass had never managed to entice anyone else to even try this much and had given up eventually. "It is especially nice on hot days, but then again I wouldn't splash around when it gets cooler."

As if to prove her point, Fuchsia set about skipping through the shallow water again with little care that her skirts got a fair share of wetness; the sun would dry everything as it usually did, and she did not mean to go home too soon either way.

Stopping for a while, she then answered Daffodil's question: "Ya, I do not live too far from here, though it is a bit of a walk. Couldn't do this right before my parents' noses, right?" She flashed a bright smile, and her brown eyes seemed to send off mischievous sparks. "I figure you are not a local? I don't think I've seen you hereabouts."
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Daffodil Tunnelly
By the Water, not far from Bywater


Daffodil retreated back a step, tossing her hands up as if to ward off the splashing from the other girl, fearing she would become soaked. When it became evident that she was not going to prevent herself from getting wet after all, she gave up and laughed, then stepped a little further in, letting go of her skirts. She'd think of something to tell her parents. Perhaps she'd say she was forced to ford the creek, which was somewhat close to the truth, and that she slipped but was absolutely fine. She'd get a lot of fussing from her mother, of course, and scoldings about being more careful, but it was sure to be worth it. Seeing how much Fuchsia was enjoying herself, Daffodil decided that this must be a great deal of fun.

She giggled, splashing a bit herself, though not too much. She still wasn't 100% sold on this water thing, but maybe once she became a bit more comfortable with it, she'd enjoy it more. "It is nice!" She agreed, grinning. She hopped up and then giggled as her feet made a nice splash upon landing back in the water. Then, doing it a second time, she stepped on a slippery rock, and her feet slipped out from under her, and she landed right on her bottom in the water! She gasped, startled and a tiny bit panicked for a second. Then, after a moment's pause, realizing she was totally fine, but very wet, she burst into laughter.

"No, I'm not from near here," She answered Fuchsia, giggling as she gathered herself up to her feet again. "I live in Bree town." She smiled, adding proudly, "My father runs a general store there. I help there sometimes, but this week, I was able to go on a bit of an adventure! I've taken my niece and nephew to go and visit their cousin. My Sister's in-laws, that is. They live in the Shire." She motioned back the way she'd come, vaguely. "I'm on my way to find a ride back now, but I reckon I ought to be able to play for a while, anyway." She grinned.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Marilyn Took
By the Water, not far from Bywater

By the time Mari had made it to the water she had already found half of what she had been looking for. She got down to the edge and let her toes soak while she leaned back and enjoyed the sun for a moment. Before not long at all, she had drifted into a little nap which was quickly awakened by a midge trying to crawl up her nose. “Pfffff!!” She sat up and blew air, swatting and picking it away. “Bleh” She added as she flung it off.

The sun hadn’t moved much at all, but she felt pretty well-rested. She pulled out a mushroom from her bag and began to nibble on it as she regathered her things, figuring, may as well just loop her way back around the other way, and then she would probably have all she needed for dinner for the next few days.

Just as she was about to set off a cry from further down the river caught her attention. It seemed to be followed by another one and Mari could hear splashing. Mari twisted her lips in thought, t’was probably just someones laughing… But... maybe someones in dangers!
She clutched her staff in one hand and held her pouch to her side tightly as she raced down the river bank towards the sound.

As she climbed over a bank, she finally saw the source. A hobbit-las was skipping along the river line, while another seemed to be standing further in. She climbed up further and got her footing, then shouted to them, “Hey der! Dis ones Mari!" She stuck a thumb towards her chest, then waved her hand in a circle their way, “Yous okay?!

It just dawned on her that they were her own size, perhaps a few years younger… and awfully brave to be playing this close to the water… which meant... They were probably awfully fun too! She took a few steps closer and smiled brightly...

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Fuchsia Meadowsweet
By the Water, not far from Bywater

@Rillewen , @Karue Sadyen

It seemed that her silliness was rubbing off on Daffodil just a bit, and while she should have taken it as a warning sign (her parents would surely have insisted so), instead she felt rather proud of the achievement. However, the newly found friend's fall caused her to startle and stare with her mouth open for a few frightening moments, but then she joined the laughter in relief seeing that it was nothing serious.

"Oh, Bree is quite a ways off!" Fuchsia said, a bit of envy sounding in her voice as she had never gone that far. "Wish I could go back with you and explore something further than a stone's throw from my own yard. And a shop too..." She sighed and stood, her gaze set on nothing in particular dreamily.

She was jolted out of her reverie by yet another voice from the bank, and found that their splashing must have been heard for quite a distance to attract attention.

"Aye, we're fine, just cooling off our toes in the stream here," she responded rather seriously, and then added: "I'm Fuchsia, and she is Daffodil. Would you like to join our splashing party?" her voice now regained a touch of silliness again at the mention of the fun activity they were engaging in.
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Daffodil Tunnelly
By the Water, not far from Bywater


As Daffodil regained control of her giggles, she sent a splash toward her new friend. "It is a good ways off, no doubt." She agreed. "At least I ought to have plenty of time to dry out, anyway!" She mentioned happily. It certainly wouldn't do to arrive home all drenched like this, and worry her mother half to death! She was just considering a possible idea, when another voice rang out, startling Daffodil as much as it did Fuchsia. For half a second, she nearly expected her mother to have appeared out of thin air to scold her for being so reckless, playing in the dangerous Water. But to her relief, another girl like themselves appeared, and she breathed a sigh of relief as Fuchsia introduced them both. Smiling, Daffodil waved to their new acquaintance. "Hello! It's rather fun, would you like to join us?" She seconded Fuchsia's invitation.

While waiting for Mari to make up her mind on the matter, Daffodil turned to Fuchsia. "I had an idea, but I don't know whether it could work," She mentioned, a little hesitant. "If no one's expecting you anytime soon, perhaps you might like to travel along with me?" She hardly dared hope that such a scheme could actually work, but it certainly would be nice to have some company, if Fuchsia was up for it! But then, she would absolutely understand if Fuchsia couldn't. Perhaps she, too, had a mother waiting at home to scold her for splashing around like this.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Frost)

With a loud crack!, Jorgy removed an ear of corn from a nearby stalk. Pearl jumped and grinned. She watched him remove the husk and gaze delightedly down at the golden prize within. “Looks good!” she said. “And the animals haven’t gotten at this one. Let’s take it home and . . .” Before she could wrap up her thought, though, Jorgy bit down on the raw corn! Pearl gasped and laughed while Jorgy mused aloud on the mysteries of the corn.

“Of course it is!” she said with a smile. “But it’s raw. You have to cook it first, otherwise it’ll be all crunchy and difficult to eat. We can boil it or roast it or even pop it at home! I don’t know anyone who eats corn raw, except maybe raccoons.”

She plucked another ear of corn from a nearby stalk and tucked it beneath one arm as they continued walking along. “There, now we’ll each have one! And we can prepare them however you like when we get home. I think I’ll have to bake something in exchange for these ears of corn, mind, or Farmer Goodchild’ll take back his permission for us to wander about on the farm! What do you think I ought to make for him? Maybe a pie, or some muffins.”

Pearl made a quick mental inventory of the pantry at home. She would likely need to take a trip to the market to gather supplies, having recently baked up a storm for Daisy’s birthday party. (The cake and cookies had been a great success amongst the invited hobbit children, as well as with sone older guests, including Jorgy. Tom had stomped off in a huff when his mother had given him a good scolding for trying to have some cake before the birthday girl got a slice, which worked out better for everyone anyway as Tom was a bit of a brat.)

Jorgy and Pearl soon reached the northern edge of the cornfield. Ahead of them, the hills of Westfarthing rolled lush and deep green into the distance. Bywater Pool sparkled beneath the late morning sun like a bright blue gem. Soft clouds drifted across the sky overhead, some of them looking a bit greyer than the others. The air was suddenly cool and damp and fresh with the scent of coming rain. “Oh! Rain again. I forgot to bring an umbrella,” Pearl remarked. But then, she didn’t actually mind getting caught in a bit of rain. In fact, she loved to run through rain showers in the summer: the water cooled her off and the dark clouds kept the sun from beating down on her skin too harshly. On such occasions, she would return home from her joyful jogging panting and soaked through but grinning from ear to ear.

Today, though, the sun shone defiantly through the gaps in the scattered clouds. The breeze carried the clouds towards them; the clouds, in turn, bore the gift of rain. “A sun shower!” Pearl shouted gleefully as the clouds opened up and a pleasant, cool drizzle began to fall.
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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Tara)

It had not occurred to Jorgy that the corn needed to be cooked. Once Pearl admonished him for eating raw corn like a raccoon (oh no, blech!) it dawned on him that most things couldn’t just be plucked from the ground and munched on, at least not to any satisfying degree. Once he’d found a patch of wild garlic and munched on them quite satisfactorily, but those instances were rare and far between. He finished the Herculean labor of chewing on the raw corn still in his mouth and swallowed. “Oh that’s good know! I don’t think I could ever eat a cactus.” Now, naturally, all Jorgy could think about was eating cactus and corn. What might those two things taste like together? Maybe with a bit of egg and sausage? With a side of fresh biscuits and gravy? Jorgy truly was becoming a hobbit!

He was aghast at the idea that Farmer Goodchild, a hobbit he’d not met yet, would stop allowing the Brockhouses to use his fields. It was unthinkable! “We cannot let that happen!” he said with genuine urgency. “I will bake him a pie! Does he like rhubarb? I can make him a strawberry-rhubarb pie!” On cue, a vision of a perfectly cooked, red and gold strawberry-rhubarb pie filled Jorgy’s vision. An apple pie or a cherry pie would not be enough, not even a tangerine or chess pie would do. Jorgy had to make sure that whatever pie Farmer Goodchild received in payment for the two ears (they didn’t look like ears, but that was just Jorgy’s opinion) of corn would set him into their debt and pay for several more trips through his fields. “I once saw my neighbor, Old Widow Pumpkinberry, baking one and she invited me to teach me. She showed me how to make rhubarb tea too! It was the weirdest tea I’ve ever had but it was delightful.”

Jorgy hoped that he would be able to bake with Pearl. Baking was one of the most fun things he’d ever done. It was messy and required him to know maths, but it genuinely made his heart swell with pride. Afternoons spent baking were afternoons well spent, and afternoons spent with Pearl were even better. Combining the two would, well they might make little Jorgy burst!

Jorgy did not own an umbrella. To be honest, he was not sure why anyone in all the Shire did. Getting caught in the rain was a delight of his, a pure, unadulterated, innocent joy. When the clouds rolled in as they crossed the field, he could feel the excitement well up within him.

As the rain began to fall, he grabbed Pearl’s hands and, in a delightfully Jorgian fashion, began to dance with her. He was not a skilled dancer, not like a Baggins or Took or a Brandybuck that went to a dozen parties a week, but what he lacked in skill and grace, he made up for in enthusiasm. His cheeks began to hurt from smiling as he laughed, bounding around in something resembling a jig or a jive or a tango. “I love the rain Pearl!” He opened his mouth wide and, as tasted the sweet summer rain.

As he closed his mouth, filled with sweet silvery rain, it occurred to him: rain often revealed rainbows nearby. He gasped!

Pearl! It’s raining! Quick! Look for a rainbow! There has to be one close by!”
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Stargazers
Bridgefields

(Private with Frost)

“Color changing magic would be quite the power, though I daresay your ability to talk to animals is quite special,” Pearl commented. Where had Jorgy learned such things? Was it simply a rustic expression from down South, or could he really communicate with birds and beasts just as easily as he spoke with his fellow hobbits? Jorgy was a hobbit of many mysteries. He was her best friend, but some of his life was shrouded in the mists of the unknown. A less adventurous hobbit than Pearl might have been put off by that, but Pearl found it fascinating.

The sausages sizzled in the pan, and Pearl used a fork to turn them over. The crisp night air grew heavier with the scent of cooking meat, and soon it was Pearl’s stomach’s turn to grumble. She put aside her hunger and her curiosity about Jorgy’s pre-Bywater life to carry on their conversation.

“With the colors, though, it would be so fun to go around changing things from blue to green or red to pink or orange to white!”

She wondered what she would use such a power for. Turning night into day so she had more time to explore and walk and bake and play? No, that didn’t seem quite right. Much as the dark could be scary and feel like a restriction on the things she wished to do, there was peace and beauty beneath the stars, too. On nights like tonight, when she sat near a cozy campfire with snacks and friends and stories to tell, she wished the night would stretch on forever! No, she would not turn nighttime into brightest day. But perhaps she would change the color of Tom’s paints as he tried his best to paint little pictures. That would annoy him so! She giggled to herself at the thought.

“It seems like we’ll have lots of questions for the elves, if we should ever meet them again. We must start a list! If you go in my pack, Jorgy, there’s a little sketchbook and a set of pencils. If you want to, we can write down all the things we want to ask the elves! We can ask what they think of the names Jorgystar and Pearlstar too, while we’re at it,” she added, noting how amused Jorgy seemed to be by this theory of hers. She wasn’t sure she’d ever seen him laugh so hard before, in fact.

She speared each sausage on a fork and placed them into their own little bed of bread. She passed one sausage sandwich over to Jorgy. “Time to eat!” She beamed happily and took a bite of her sausage, then lifted her eyes to the sea of stars above.
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Marilyn Took
By the Water, not far from Bywater

Mari twisted her lips a moment considering their offer... it sure did look fun! But, she didn't want to be too wet for her walk home, so maybe just a little feet splashin... for now would be ok, she reasoned."Fuchsia and Daffodil..." She repeated to her self the best she could, committing them to memory. "Maris' middle name is Marigold, is flower too ya know!" She exclaimed excitedly, setting her pack down. "Otays den... but just for a lil bits" She quickly rolled her pant legs up, slung her pack over her shoulder, and looked for a safe and shallow enough place to cross to her liking. "Just a moments... don't wanna falls..." She carefully made her way, giggling playfully with each step through the cool water. "Gots all dez mushrooms in my bag... don't wanna get dem wet, den dey gonna be all mushy and no goods." She made her way up the other bank by the gals and plopped the bag down, "All safe!"

She wiggled her way to the bank and sunk her feet back into the water. "Much betters! Mari was just picking stuff fer dinner and heard yous o'ber here." She splashed her feet a bit and laughed. "Nice ta have a break!" She swung her feet calmly in the water then laid back and looked up to at the skies watching the clouds for a moment, enjoying their company.

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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Frost)

A cactus! “What’s a cactus? Is that something they have down south in the Shire? You must show me sometime!” Here was more interesting Jorgy trivia: he knew about and did not want to eat a cactus, whatever that was. Perhaps it was similar to corn since he’d brought it up as they made their way through the cornfields?

“We must bake him a pie and a dozen muffins, at least! We can make an afternoon of it, how does that sound? And then we can deliver it all wrapped up nicely in a basket. And I’ll bet he’d love some rhubarb! Strawberry rhubarb sounds heavenly.” Pearl felt her anxiety about the corn and traipsing about through Farmer Goodchild’s fields - however mild it was - lift. She laughed at the idea of rhubarb tea. “Oh, can I try some sometime? It sounds strange, but maybe I’ll like it!”

Before they could make plans for baking and tea-sharing, Jorgy had whisked Pearl into a merry dance. There was no anxiety left now! She was all smiles and giggles. She soon gave up trying to hold onto her ear of corn and let it fall at their feet - it would keep inside its leaves until she was ready to scoop it up again. The rain fell steadily around and on the two hobbits. Droplets ran through Pearl’s hair and began to soak her clothes, but she didn’t mind: she was out for a lovely walk with her best friend, full of a home-cooked breakfast, and with the prospect of corn on the cob for later! She was dizzy with both happiness and dancing.

Suddenly, Jorgy stopped and exclaimed about rainbows. Pearl came to a halt, too, and swayed slightly where she stood as she scanned the skies for a sign of a rainbow.

“Over there!” she cried. She hadn’t seen a rainbow, not quite yet, but there was a bit of sun peeking out from some clouds to the west. Perhaps the rain and the sunshine would meet and dazzle them all with a vibrant, colorful rainbow. “The sun will catch the water droplets where it’s shining through those clouds!” She stooped to pick up her ear of corn. “I’ll race you to the sunny spot!” she shouted, and she began to sprint westward.
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Fuchsia Meadowsweet
By the Water, not far from Bywater

@Purrmonster of Doom ; @Karue Sadyen

"Oooooh, travel," Fuchsia murmured, her eyes gleaming with excitement. "You know... Maybe you can come home with me, dry out a bit and get some food. And then I might try to talk my parents into letting me accompany you - perhaps I can offer to sell the garden wares in Bree or such." However, she was not sure whether that would work at all, and she was pretty certain that she will get a good scolding either way.

At the mention of dinner, Fuchsia felt her stomach growl a bit; she had enjoyed quite a morning meal, or two, but then again splashing around in water was hard work. "Mushrooms for dinner, Mari?" she asked and nodded towards the newcomer's bag.

She now felt torn between staying and splashing about for a few moments, enjoying good company and an urge to make a dash home to request something edible urgently. At any rate it seemed that both options would be difficult to do at once, so Fuchsia stood still for a moment, except for scratching her chin in thought.
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Thus Spake Jorgyferret
Jorgy Underash’s Home

(Private)

The storm had built up out of nowhere. The evening sky had been calm and cloudless just a few hours previous, now it was alight with bold bolts of lightning that flashed across the sky in a white so vibrant and so cold that they gave Jorgy chills just glimpsing them. The accompanying BOOM the followed rattled his little home and made the glass of his window clink and clank. These kinds of storms, wild and angry and, unpredictable, used to scare the living day lights out of him. They seemed anathema to everything in the Shire. The angriest he’d ever seen a hobbit was when look of drunken suspicion when told they were cut off at the Green Dragon. But now, after having watched a few, Jorgy felt like these storms were old friends, the kind that liked to put on a show.

He put his plate in the skin, scraping off the bits of potato skin into a sack he could take out tomorrow for compost. He took the candle from his dinner table and set it on the windowsill after a particularly brilliant flash and boom. He didn’t even jump. He wasn’t sure if he was proud of himself or not. He sat in the chair next to the window, an overstuffed thing that made him feel like he was floating on a lumpy cloud most of the time. He’d set it up earlier so he could watch the stars but watching the storm was as good an after-supper activity as anything else. He didn’t have a fire going. By the time he’d thought about it, the firewood he had stored behind his house was soaked and he’d be doubly so if he tried to retrieve any of it. Instead, he wrapped himself in a thick, heavy blanket. He’d made this blanket himself after taking lessons from his neighbor. He thought about going over to check on her but realized that would be useless. Widow Pumpkinberry would be fast asleep just now, snoring so loud the thunder would ask her to keep down the noise so it could concentrate. He smiled. It wasn’t a happy smile though.

He looked at Jorgyferret, the terribly taxidermized ferret he’d “won” at a birthday party. How long had it been since he’d brought the thing home with all the pride of a mother hen? He loved the thing, even after he realized just how ugly and horrible it was. He’d named it Jorgyferret and that made it the most special ferret in the world as far as he was concerned. He’d never seen another ferret before and didn’t have much to go on in terms of size, facial features, or general ferret attractiveness but it didn’t matter. Jorgyferret was his ugly little ferret friend and that’s what mattered. It seemed more and more these days that Jorgyferret was, in fact, Jorgy’s only friend. Everyone was off doing whatever it was they were doing and didn’t seem to have to play or talk or share a few biscuits and tea.

The loneliness crept in slowly, like a frost. How many days had it been since he’d seen any of them? How many days had passed since he had been told “I’m so sorry Jorgy, I’ve been so terribly busy with these new things. I don’t mean to ignore you, but I have so many things to do. I will write you a letter when I can.”? He’d believed it at first and eagerly awaited a letter to appear in his mailbox. He loved receiving letters. He loved reading them over and over and over again. He loved formulating the responses he would give in his head over and over until he finally put pen to paper and write. He loved writing.

He wrapped the blanket tighter about his as the rains came down, a natural chorus of pitter-patter on his window. It was comforting, even as it made him feel the chill in the air.

“What do you think of storms, Jorgyferret?” he asked the inanimate object.

He waited for a response, rubbed his hand together and sighed. “They’re remarkable things, aye.” He said as though his little ferret friend had spoken to him. “They’re so big and vast and wide. I bet they don’t get lonely. Do you remember the raven I talked to a few weeks ago? The one that we found stripping the ears of corn? He said there were people or beings in the storms that liked to sing, but their words and language were so different from us that all we ever heard was thunder. I wander what the people in this storm are trying to sing?”

He remained quiet for some time, listen to the storm rolling over the hills. The wind was sweeping up too, whistling like a dozen songbirds. The world outside was warped and twisted from the rain, it seemed to be melting in some places while shimmering like living flame in others.

“I never thought loneliness could feel so long,” he mumbled, looking over to Jorgyferret.

Again, there was no answer from the lifeless creature. But that didn’t stop Jorgy from understanding that there had been a reply, even if it was his own reply in his head.

“Every minute feels like an hour and every day feels like a year. How long since we’ve seen anyone? Does loneliness do that so it can make some feel just how alone they are? Am I alone, Jorgyferret? All I’ve done for days now is talk to you and go on walks by myself.” He shrugged. How long had it been? It was not just the hours that drew on him. His appetite had fled. He was a most unusual hobbit in the first place, never feeling the urge to overindulge a half dozen times a day. He loved eating and savoring food, but he still had not gotten accustomed to eating so much. He hadn’t eaten dinner and his supper had been a single, plain baked potato. It had been filling, but he was hard pressed to remember if it was good or not.

“What am I going to do?” he asked Jorgyferret.

Jorgyferret didn’t answer. Jorgy hoped (and simultaneously didn’t hope) that Jorgyferret would answer him one day. He talked to the creature because it made him feel less crazy than talking to himself. There was no one else to talk to, no one else to share how he felt. Usually, he would have told his friends how he was feeling (or tried to as he stumbled over exactly which words described how he felt) but now he didn’t. He didn’t have someone to convey his worry to, his consternation, his bewilderment, his confusion, or his pain. Who do you talk to when no one talks to you? There was a piece of him in Jorgyferret, at least that’s how the young hobbit saw things. There was a mirror within the creature. It reflected part of him back to him so he could see it from a different angle. Did it help? Jorgy hoped it did, but with no one to measure against or ask, there was little he could do to confirm it.

He watched the storm as it roiled and rolled and raged overhead. Sometimes he wished he could be a storm. Sometimes, even though he was a perfectly pleasant and happy fellow, Jorgy wanted to shout and punch the air. He wanted to scream and kick something. He wasn’t sure where that feeling came from, but the energy of the storm seemed to seep into him along with the cold loneliness. He wiped at the tear that made it down to his cheek.

“What am I going to do? Am I even home? What is the point of Jorgy Underash?”

A great boom of thunder answered him, as if on cue. He wished he knew what the thunder had said, maybe it was the answer he sought. It would be something like thunder that answered his most basic, metaphysical questions. And of course, he wouldn’t be able to understand a single syllable of it.

“I wish I could go running out in the rain.”

He wanted to. He wanted to run and splash and hoot and holler. But the thought of doing it filled him with dread, his limbs felt ten stone heavier. He was rooted the spot he was at, and that was that. There would be no playing in the rain for Jorgy Underash tonight.

He reached out and touched Jorgyferret’s cold, lifeless nose. It felt good to touch something real and corporeal. It made him feel as though he were real too.

He sighed. “What are we doing. Jorgyferret?”

“Yeah,” he said after a moment, “I don’t know either.”

Maybe tomorrow he would go to the marketplace. He could find a book there or perhaps a gameboard. He thought about talking to people and the notion strangely made him wanted to turtle into tight ball. He loved talking with people. He loved talking to his friends. But his friends were all away and busy. New people would think him odd and weird, not worth their time. But then, it seemed like his friends thought the same thing. It wasn’t a fair thought to have, Jorgy knew, but he felt it all the same.

“We can go to the marketplace and get a pie and a new book.” He said as resolutely as he could, not feeling the conviction at all. “Tomorrow, maybe things will turn around.”

He watched the storm, and scritched behind Jorgyferret’s ear. He wiped away another tear and cleared his throat. “Tomorrow.”

🧚
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Balrog
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Gruß vom Krampus
Within the Village of Crickhollow

His fingers cracked and popped as he released his vise-like grip on the bloody sack. His bones were old and tired and protested movement. It was cold outside, so deathly cold. He was so used to the cold, though, that he was not sure of anything else actually existed. There was cold, and there was his purpose. What more did he need? The sack shifted as it fell to the earth, sagged, and slumped. There was a meek, sad protestation that came from within. He tilted his head and smiled. Though he was tired and sore and cold, there was an emotion the smell of fear elicited within him. It was not quite joy, not quite mirth, a sense of pride in duty. He chuckled, his unnaturally long tongue slithered out and tasted the air like a serpent; snow fell from his horns and scattered across the ground.

This was his time of year. He looked out over the sloping hills and trickling streams. Crickhollow was one of his favorite spots to visit. Generation after generation, this little village produced the nastiest children and the most palpable fear. His role as a behavioral deterrent was secondary, it was the fear that he craved. The wind was blowing, no the wind was howling. It was a cliché, but it was a beautiful sound, roaring with the malicious intent of a thousand hungry wolves. Snow was blasted almost completely horizontal. The sky was completely black with clouds. There would be no lunar or stellar respite for the children of Crickhollow tonight. Again, he smiled. Tonight was the last night of his visit, he had been creeping around the edges of the villages, snatching a vagrant here and there, leaving an obvious and perilous trail. Not one of these creatures would be dare to follow it of course, the weather and the terror would not engender enough courage for even the most drunk of hobbits to traipse into the woods in the dead of night amidst the worst storm of a generation.

There were pinpricks of ruddy orange light, fires built in hearths to ward off the bitter cold within dozens of hobbit homes. The snow felt so satisfying under his feet as it crunched beneath his weight. His breaths came out ragged and wet, massive plumes of steam blew into the air and were instantly borne away by the raging winds. Beneath the sounds of the blizzard he could hear the shuddering of windows, feeble wards against his unstoppable might. He paid them no mind though. He’d already visited those little holes and left warnings and reminders. The smell of fear was spiky and pungent as it blew from the houses. In his mind’s eye, he could see the little families huddled together. Father and mother putting on a brave face while three or four children huddled together shivering and whimpering, the youngest squeezing a wizard ragdoll, useless and threadbare.

There was only one hobbit hole he would be visiting tonight, a house at the end of the lane. There were no lights in the house, no candles or fires or lanterns.

He slipped inside, moving like smoke down the chimney. Once he was inside, he felt his bones and muscles and tendons snap and pop and twist back into his normal shape. He rolled his neck over and felt the satisfying crunch. He flexed his long, nimble fingers. They snapped on their own, the only sound at all in this quaint little home. One might have thought that from the outside the place had been abandoned. The ashes in the fireplace were cold and windows were so frosted over that a tap from his finger could have shattered them and brought the roaring blizzard inside. He considered it. The fractal patterns of ice and cold were beautiful, mesmerizing.

Yet he could not linger. His quarry was nearby. He could smell them. He sniffed the air, his tongue flicking out again. Even without the benefit of light or heat, he moved through the house without so much as a sound. His hooves barely touched the hardwood floors. Despite his stupendous caprine bulk, there was not a creak. Nothing stirred with in the house. It may as well have been a tomb.

He made his way to the bedroom at the end of the hall. He bypassed the grand, master bedroom wherein slept miserly and miserable parents, oblivious and ignominious. He touched the knob on their door with a spindly finger and deftly hung a small, iron ornament, a trade of sorts. He moved on. His quarry, the only child of Mr. and Mrs. Bramblemint, was waiting for him.

The door swung up soundlessly. He crept in, moving slowly along the edges of the shadows cast by various hangings on the walls.

There was a whimpering coming from the middle of the room, from the ornate and richly carved wooden bed, canopied of course.

He moved from one side of the room to the other, make sure to make no noise, but to cast his shadow against the bed. The whimpering turned to mumbled prayers of protection and promises of better behavior. The fear was rank as it filled his nostrils.

He’d been here seven nights previously, getting closer and closer each time, pulling more and more fear from the rotten child. Each time he stayed back as the child hid beneath a well-insulated blanket, shivering and mumbling.

It was time for Krampus to reveal the truth though.

The blanket never helped…
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Balrog
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A-Wassailin’
Hobbiton Village, Solstice Night

(Private)

Winter had settled over Hobbiton in the most spectacular and picturesque way. Fezziwig could not have painted a better picture (mostly because he was not much of a painter). The entire world was a yuletide kaleidoscope of whites and greens and reds. There was snow on the grandpines piled just the right amount. There were billowy white snowbanks as fluffy as clouds and twice and inviting. There was a smell of timber and roasting poultry, it permeated the air and made his stomach gurgle in anticipation. He could smell winter apples, ripe and sweet and juicy, he could smell cinnamon and nutmeg and cardamom and cloves. He loved this time of year. He loved the merriment, the chionichor, earthy and vibrant, he loved the cheer and the festivities, the games, the comradery, the beer. Oh, Fezziwig Willowfoot loved the beer. He loved beer on any other day of the year, but on Solstice Night? There was something special about beer then, something no other night all year could even come close to. It was hard for him to put his finger on, perhaps it was the company, perhaps it was the notes of caramel and toffee with a robust malty flavor. Whatever it was, he was always sure to have lots of it. Lots and lots and lots. He did not consider himself a brewer, not by a long shot, but the ale that bore his name was a sight to behold. And to drink. This year, having been a particularly trying year, he made sure to make even more of it than before. There had to be enough to go around and then some. The world around was full of crunching snow, giggling children, and jingling silver bells. It was, in short, as it ought to be.

Fezzy was brought out of his reverie by his granddaughter, tiny Daisy Willowfoot, tugging at his jacket sleeve. She was adorable, and so tiny and precious. His smile could not have been wider. “Grampa?” she asked in a voice barely a foot tall. “What house are we going to next, Grampa? I’m getting very hungry. Mama said not to fill up on sweets and cider. I think Finnic is already half full and I think I might be next.”

“Oh no!” Fezzy cried, his toothy grin still wide. “Let me check something.” He bent close and tapped her leg and, upon analyzing the sound said, “Well my sweet little one, I think we will be safe. Your leg’s not quite a third full yet and we’ve only one more house to go.”

Daisy’s pink, snow-crisped face beamed with childhood glee. “Oh fantastic! My feet were beginning to get tired too.”

He narrowed his eyes and looked at with suspicion. “I think you’re just trying to get a free pig-a-back ride from you Grampa!” He picked her up and tickled her through her thick woolen coat. The giggles nearly overtook the singing and caroling around the Mari Lwyd.

Young Thom Merrigold had been joined the wassailing cavalcade about halfway through after they’d come to his hole and song a song requesting cider and cake. He burst out of his home with a fearsomely accurate facsimile of the hobby horse and sang a rebuttal from underneath the decorated skull. Fezzy, his grandchildren, and Lavinia Dewfoot sang again, another requesting sustenance on a cold wintery night. They had gone back and forth, as was custom, for a few more songs until finally Thom relented and brought out the most delicious cakes and the most spiced of ciders. The merry little band of musicians then went on their merry way with a merry Mari Lwyd in tow. Now it was wassailing done right! Fezziwig had explained to his children about the tradition, taking great lengths to make sure they would not be frightened by the ghostly and ghastly horse skull. They thought it was all a good jest. They asked him what the Mari Lwyd was supposed to be and where it came from and he distracted them with sugar plums (because no one really knows where it came from or what it’s supposed to mean).

Wisteria Pumpkinberry was the next house they went to. His grandchildren only knew her has Old Widow Pumpkinberry, but he and Wisteria had known each other for many a decade, far too long for him to refer to her as “old”. She relented almost immediately in their duel of carols and gifted everyone with a warm hat affixed with silver, jingling bells. They would have gone to Jorgy Underash’s house next but according to Wisteria, a knowledgeable woman with eyes and ears sharper than an owl, the young oddball had accepted and invitation from the Hollyharts and the Muirs to participate in a Midwinterblot. They were odd folks from the Northfarthing, almost as north as north could get in the Shire and held older customs than those within Hobbiton.

And so it was that the whole crew arrived on the doorstep of Cotton Smallwood. He was an older hobbit, not quite as aged and wise as Wisteria and Fezziwig, with tufts of grey in his cinnamon brown hair. His eyes, though, were sharp with mischief and merriment. He made them sing four full songs before he relented. Finnic in particular looked as though he was going to die of hunger and want if he was not let in.

“Come, my fellow gentlehobbits! Feast with me and fill my home with song and light and joy!”

He was met with a chorus of “Huzzah!” and “Happy Solstice!” as the wassailing crowd entered. The hearth was roaring with an aromatic fire, popping and snapping with such regularity Fezzy could almost swear it wasn’t real. The hole smelled of roasted pheasant with sides of cranberry sauce, oyster stuffing, and plum pudding. Old Cotton’s family was already waiting with hungry eyes behind their respective spots at the table. With a great “Let the feast begin!” everyone sat and began to pile their plates high with food, conversation, and holiday cheer. Cotton gave Fezzy a wink, the signal to bring up the secret weapon from the liquor cabinet: three full barrels of Fezziwig’s Signature Ale.

As he was coming around the corner, he paused by a door frame to get a better hold on the barrel (a dropped barrel of ale was a portent of the most tremendous doom possible in Hobbit culture) and was immediately kissed by Wisteria Pumpkinberry! Fezzy was so taken aback by her forwardness, though she did have the grace to blush with an enormous smile after she’d done it, that he didn’t realize under what he’d been standing: mistletoe! He guffawed and blushed himself. It had been quite some time since he’d been kissed like that. There were some solstice traditions that he loved more than others. He only realized how much he liked this one.

“Oh my!” was almost all he could say (as well as not drop the barrel of ale). “I… Mrs. Pumpkinberry… I… well I mean. That was… oh my!” He felt flustered, but in the best way possible, at his lack of a response.

“Oh you old goof! When was the last time someone kissed you? You’re all blushy like a hobbit just out of his tweens!” she laughed and touched his arm. Fezzy blushed even more. He was quite sure that he was almost the same hue as the cranberry sauce.

“Well,” he said, clearing his throat in an attempt to regain some dignity (which was rather difficult with how wide he found himself smiling), “Wisteria, I just… well it’s been a while, and, uh, and I just didn’t expect…”

She shut him up again with another firm peck on the lips. “You’re still standing under the mistletoe Fezziwig Willowfoot. Come along, the natives are getting restless. They’re missing out on that delightful beer of yours! You only make it once a year, don’t make them wait too long or they might come after you with spoon and fork.”

She grinned and turned to go, he followed her, still processing what had happened. It had been a very long time indeed since anyone had kissed him. He had to admit, it filled him with a very cheery delight. She seated herself next to him, in between himself and Jannic, who was already halfway through a mug of mulled cider. The top was lifted from the barrel to much applause and aplomb. The ale was dispersed amongst adults, much to the chagrin of young master Jannic who assured everyone that he was quite old enough and his mother had even said he was allowed a single glass. He was reward with a look of disapproval from his (older) sister and a look of amusement from his Grampa. He was, however, given a full mug of cider to replace the one he’d already downed, and he was soon placated. The feast went on and on with stories of how the harvests went, how the mill was doing, how school was passing, how the market was faring, and of course, all of the snow! This year had been especially bounteous in that regard. There had been more snow this year than the last five! There was even talk of carving out a place to ice skate on one of the local ponds. Daisy and Finnic thought it was the best idea ever, while Fezzy suddenly remembered all the tumbles and bruises he’d received in his youth. Drinking hot cocoa whilst watching his little grandchildren sounded much more his speed. His gaze went inadvertently to Wisteria, who just happened to be look over at him at the same time. She smiled and nodded as though she had been reading his thoughts. He blushed and tried to hide it behind a long swig of his ale.

“Oh Grampa! We must go! We must!” pleaded Daisy.

“Please! Won’t you take us skating Grampa?” echoed her brother.

Thom, now bereft of sheet and horse skull, looked up from his conversation with Mrs. Smallwood and threw in his support. Lavinia Dewfoot was next, followed by the Smallwood children and Cotton himself.

“Well, I suppose we all must now!” he acquiesced. There was a chorus of “huzzahs” before the conversations all turned to new subjects. Fezzy could not help but smile. An afternoon spent with his two favorite tiny hobbits in all the world did not sound bad at all. In fact, it sounded like a perfect way to spend more time in Hobbiton Village. He’d been considering moving back after his time in Crickhollow. He wasn’t content to only see them on summer and winter holidays. He wanted to be close to his family again. This last year had been a lonely one, not just for him he was sure, it had been felt all over the Shire. The loneliness helped give him focus though, it helped him understand what he wanted to do with the rest of his days, however long or short they might be. He wanted to brew full time; he wanted to sit with his grandchildren and watch the stars; he wanted to see old and new friends; he wanted coffee in the morning with bacon and scrambled eggs; he wanted to go on walks with his grandchildren and explore the groves and riverbends.

The Yule Feast was spectacular. Of course it was. They were hobbits, after all, and they’d been planning this event for more than a month! Once dinner was over and all the conversation had been had, they moved into the parlor where the fire continued to pop and crackle like it was preening to model for a painting. They all sat around the fire wrapped in the softest, most cuddly blankets that had ever been sewn. Mrs. Smallwood, Petunia as she insisted on being called, had found them at the Marketplace just the other day and felt it was an opportunity she couldn’t pass up. Fezziwig was glad of it. He was tempted to ask if he could have it, he’d never felt material so soft but so warm. It had a maximum potential for coziness. After singing a few carols by the fire, slow and mellow ones that reminisced about the old days of yore and the solstices of the past, it was time to open presents.

Daisy was gifted a crown of green and red holly and bleached and polished deer antlers. She was so confused at first that she didn’t want to accept the crown.

“Oh little one!” Fezzy said, reassuring her. “That’s the holly crown, given to a new girl each year signifying that she will be the Holly Princess until the coming of Midsommar and the Oak Princess.” Her eyes were so wide and green as he told the tale. Wisteria joined in, telling the hobbit lass about the time she had been Holly Princess and what a lovely time she had.

“Will I have to do anything?” she asked, her voice so full of wonder and innocence. “Like a real princess would?”

Cotton beamed. “The Holly Princess can do whatever she likes! But tonight, she must dole out the presents!”

She squealed with glee and broke into a fit of giggles who’s like the Shire had not seen in a generation. She adjusted her crown, then adjusted it again, then once more for good measure, then began to read the present tags. She dutifully, and admirably, handed out all presents to their proper recipients (even her little brother). The group then descended on the wrapped goodies, unveiling and unsheathing all sorts of wonderous gifts. Fezzy was gifted a recipe book filled with baking tips and ideas. Wisteria was gifted a new set of floral teacups. Daisy and Jannic were gifted each a wooden puzzle box with iron rings fixed to the side that must be dislodged for the puzzler to claim victory. It was a wonderful and boisterous time. “Thank you” and “Oh, you shouldn’t have” and “Oh my favorite, how did you know?” filled the jolly air. Hugs and handshakes were given and received with aplomb. The night had been a perfect one. More cider was passed around to the children and more beer for the adults. Wisteria herself made sure Fezzy’s was never less than half full, a gesture that, in Fezzy’s memory, was tantamount to dating. He found he didn’t mind that and did the same for her. They sat next to each other as the children played parlor game after parlor game: Charades and Throwing the Smile and Hide and Go Seek until they tired themselves out completely. They were snoring lightly, pressed against each other in the corner as Petunia and Lavinia came back from the kitchen with sugar plums and roasted sugary chestnuts. The children were up in an instant, ready to devour yet more sweets. Fezzy remembered when he was their age, how much he could eat and eat and eat without ever feeling full. He laughed and clapped ate more than his fair share of plums and chestnuts.

Soon though, the night was getting on and the children were well and truly passed out. Cotton and Petunia put their children to bed, tucking them into festive blankets and enough pillows to make a decent fort.

“I suppose it’s time for us to be off as well,” Fezziwig said. “Cotton, thank you so much for your delightful hospitality. You have been the most gracious host anyone could ever ask for. I am in your debt.”

“Oh come now, you supplied the ale and the children, not an easy task either of those. We were happy to have you. It’s so good to see you out and about. You really should consider coming back old boy, I know your grandchildren are not the only ones that would benefit from it.”

Fezziwig laughed merrily. His cheeks hurt from all the laughing and smiling he’d done today. “You might not see the last of me yet, young Cotton!” they laughed together and shook hands. “It’s wonderful to see you again, old friend,” Fezzy said in earnest. “This time of year reminds us all who we are and who helps us stay who we are.”

Just then there was the sound of a horse, and not any horse. It was not the horse of one of the big folk, nor was it a pony from Buckland. It sounded massive, and it sounded close. They all froze with the sound, their instincts kicking in and telling them to freeze. The sound grew closer and closer. The horse must have been huge. They could all hear the sounds of footfalls but the sound was so deep and sonorous that it sounded like eight hooves rather than four. Jannic was the first to wake from the noise. He rubbed at his eyes and nose sleepily.

“Is that the Holly King?” he mumbled, his voice thick with sugar induced sleep.

“I daresay,” said Fezzy, relaxing. “I wonder if it is.”

“Then we had better go outside and see,” suggested Wisteria, a sleeping Daisy in her arms and hanging over her shoulder.

“I’ll lead the way,” said Fezzy, filled with ale courage.

The air was cold and frigid outside. His breath plumed like a mighty furnace. Yet there was no sign of a horse or a rider. Fezzy went out further, scouring the ground for signs of hooves or boots. When he was nearly at the gate, he turned to look back at the house. That’s when he saw it. He laughed and charged up the side of the hobbit hole, Wisteria, Cotton, and Thom close behind him.

“Little Jannic was right! It was the Holly King, and he’s left us a present!”

Atop the hill, next to the chimney, was a red velvet bag almost bursting with wooden toys, from soldiers to puzzles to swords and spoons.

“Happy Solstice to ye!” they all shouted, but all they heard was the jingling of golden bells and the laughter of a jovial old man.

🧚
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Balrog
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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Tara)

“A cactus is a prickly, unpleasant, and spiky vegetable in the southern, dry regions. However, a good chef knows exactly how to de-prickly them and turn them into a lovely addition to things like eggs, soups, stews, and all sorts of things. Depending on the kind of cactus, the plant can have a waxy flavor that helps enhance the protein of a dish.” Jorgy was thinking this and was even about to say it (in his own Jorgyian way of course) but all of it quickly zipped out of his head the moment Pearl pointed toward the sun. The hunt for a rainbow was on and nothing, nothing could stand in the way of that, not even a cactus!

He'd never seen a hobbit move so fast as Pearl when she dashed off. Well, once he’d seen Sandy Gingersnap nearly plow through a white picket fence when she heard that there was only one more bag of powdered sugar at the marketplace, but that doesn’t really count. His little hobbit heart was suddenly and delightfully filled with a sense of completeness. The most important thing Jorgy had learned about being a hobbit was the search for all things that made one happy and content. The Shire was a place where the simplest things can often bring the most joy. Hunting rainbows and having long, slow walks after a hearty breakfast might sound like a day wasted in the places outside the Shire where work and earning take a front seat (and a back seat and a side seat), but Jorgy could think of no better way to spend his days. Even if he never caught a rainbow, he knew the pursuit would result in a feeling of joy and happiness that he could never find elsewhere.

He was thinking all of this and, for the moment, not running after Pearl. Jorgy was so wrapped up in enjoying the moment that he was not actually enjoying the moment. It was a moment of meta-realization to brought him out of his reverie and back into the real world, the world where he was a rainbow hunter and there was a rainbow afoot!

He dashed off, following Pearl who was already several paces ahead of. Again, Jorgy had never seen someone move so quickly. Jorgy ran like a butterfly, never in a straight line and meandering all over the place at the slightest distraction. Pearl was like an owl, she moved with grace and speed and Jorgy had no chance of catching up to her. He reminded himself (after getting momentarily distracted by a very yellow splash of corn) not to get into a foot race with her, she would leave everyone in her wake and be done with the race before they even crossed the starting line. He broke out into a fit of laughter and let his arms swing about wildly, as one does. It slowed him down even further, but he could feel the sun’s golden rays on his skin as he did so and in that moment, running fast didn’t matter. Shire summers were the best. A soft gust of sweet wind reminded Jorgy what he was doing, and he bounded after Pearl.

He hadn’t actually seen a rainbow or a glimpse of prismatic color, but he followed Pearl with confidence. He would follow his best friend anywhere, knowing she’d never lead him astray. If she caught sight of a hidden rainbow, or a sneaky rainbow, or even an invisible one, he knew they’d catch it in no time.

Soon though, but not too soon, Jorgy found himself running out of breath. He hadn’t properly stored it before breaking into a mad dash and his energy was depleting. Pearl always stored her breath much better and was able to run further and faster than him. He was going to have to ask how she did that. She must run often and knew all the tricks of the trade. He huffed and puffed (but didn’t blow down any houses).

Pearl! What do you see? What colors was the rainbow? Wait for me!”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Balrog
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Star Gazers
Bridgefields

(Private with Tara)

What would the elves think of hobbit names? Sometimes Jorgy noticed that elves could be quite snooty about names, that bathroom attendant had looked at Jorgy like he were a badger that had gotten loose in the feasthall, and that his name had been suitably country-bumpkinesque. On the other hand, Jorgy had also observed that elves had some of the silliest, nonsensical names he’d ever seen. Some of them were so long it felt like saying hello to them was like reciting a monologue from one of Old Laird Ashford’s theatre plays. “Some bells and me” and “Typey finger peal, find this” and “I ground this thing”. Really it was quite a silly process. Jorgystar and Pearlstar looked quite reasonable and proper next to some of those. He smiled. Maybe he should make up long silly names for he and Pearl.

“I think they would find the names a most welcome and proper categorizationalism.” That was the longest word Jorgy had said in a while, and more over he felt like he’d actually used it correctly. His time with the elves had definitely made him smarter. He could feel his brain moving faster. “Have you noticed they give a million different names to the same thing? Instead of just calling a cat a cat they give it a million other names that all mean cat in round about ways. Do you think it makes them feel smart and silly?” Jorgy was about to go down a rabbit hole of naming conventions when the smell of delicious sausages brought him back. He loved the smell of sausage. There was something about it that was unlike anything else. There was hints of cheddar and apple and chicken all wrapped up in a smoky jacket. Being outside made it smell even better. It mingled with the million and a half smells the outdoors had to offer. Rain and grass and grasshoppers and streams and moonlight and honeybreeze and pollywogs (and Wally Pogs). Hobbits should cook outdoors more often he mused to himself. They could call it a cookout, because they’re cooking out!. He beamed to himself with his cleverness. He would have to tell Pearl the pun. She would roll her eyes and laugh. She was always a good sport with his silly puns, even if they were more silly than funny.

“There are so many things we have to ask the elves!” Jorgy said with a mouthful of bread and sausage. He balanced the sausage on his knee and began to rummage around Pearl’s pack for the sketchpad and pencil. He was not nearly as balanced as he thought he was and his meal tumbled into the grass before he could yelp with surprise. “Oh no!” he cried in false dismay, “I’ve got salad on my sausage!”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Fresh Potatoes
Outside Jorgy’s Home, Bywater, A Bit Ago

(Private)

Today was going to be an exciting day. Today Jorgy was going to start planting potatoes! Who doesn’t love potatoes? They were the best kind vegetable, or were they fruit? Sometimes it baffled Jorgy to learn that most vegetables like tomatoes and peppers were actually fruits. Were all vegetables really fruits? Was it a secret conspiracy to call them vegetables so that people would put them in soup (because one would never put a fruit in a soup)? Such categorizations went over Jorgy’s head. All he cared about was getting to work on his garden and play in the dirt!

Jorgyferret was sitting in the window, sensibly away from all the muck. The little taxidermized ferret was not one for playing in the dirty and getting covered in all sorts of who-knows-what. But he was very enthusiast to watch Jorgy doing whatever it was that Jorgy was going to do.

It had been some manner of debate as to what Jorgy would plant in his garden. For days and days Jorgy went back and forth between blueberries, tomatoes, potatoes, and okra. There were benefits to all three. Blueberries would be sweet and add a much needed splash of color to his little home, but they were harder to grow and having a bush in his garden seemed a little more than he was ready for. Tomatoes would add the same bit of color, but they were so fragile, from what Old Widow Pumpkinberry told him, that he was afraid he might squash them on accident (or eat them all straight off the vine and never get to sell them at the market). Okra was fancy but ultimately Jorgy didn’t feel like it was a food he would eat much off. So, naturally it was potatoes. Potatoes were fantastic. They were perfect in soups and stews. They went with eggs just as easily as they went with peppers and rice. They were the most versatile of vegetables (which may or may not be fruit in disguise).

And I've got my potatoes
more exciting than tornadoes
Potatoes!
Potatoes!
Buy my fresh potatoes

He couldn’t recall where he’d heard the little song he mumbled as he dug holes in the ground, perhaps it was at the marketplace. He very much liked the song, wherever he’d heard it and whomever he’d heard it from. It made him smile as he sung. Maybe when he went back, he could find the person who sang the song, and they could sing it together! Jorgy could share his potatoes with them, and he would gain a new friend. The thought of new friends always made Jorgy happy. There were so many people in the Shire that were wonderful, and he wanted to be friends with all the wonderful people.

The sun was warm today, the perfect kind of warm, not too hot to make him all greasy and sweaty, but not cool enough to make him shiver while he tried to make a dozen or so tiny holes in the ground. It had been hard work getting his garden into garden shape. When he’d first arrived at his home the garden was not so much a garden as it was a bramble of weeds, random roots, and overgrown vines. He’d set about cleaning and clearing once he knew what he wanted to do with it, often getting himself so covered in mud and dirt and random green stains that he wondered if perhaps he was about to turn into something else. Luckily though, after a thorough bath and a fresh change of clothes his hobbit-ness was reaffirmed.

And today was the day he was planting his potatoes! He’d finally cleared everything out and turned the soil over, just like Old Widow Pumpkinberry told him to, and it looked like a real garden!

Jorgy went about digging and humming then switched it up to humming and digging until he had planted a good two dozen potato bits. He stood up, stretched his back, and looked at his work with an immense sense of pride. Aside from learning to eat six meals a day every day, this was going to be his biggest step toward hobbit-hood. He couldn’t wait to tell Old Widow Pumpkinberry! And Pearl! And maybe his backyard neighbor, Mr. Puddlefoot! They were all surely love to see the progress Jorgy was making.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Frost)

Cactus eggs! Cactus stew! Jorgy was a never-ending source of fanciful, delightful ideas! As she sprinted through the rain, Pearl laughed aloud at the idea of eating a spiky plant. She laughed, too, at the image of Jorgyferret perched on the mantelpiece, at the thought of this morning’s food fight, and at the memory of a game of tag gone horribly wrong one fine summer’s day.

Before she met Jorgy, Pearl didn’t know how much she could laugh - at silly things both big and small, at funny mistakes and wizards and all sorts of things besides. Jorgy’s friendship was like the sun breaking through the clouds on a rainy day: a pure, golden beam of joy that warmed anyone lucky enough to bask in its light.

Pearl ran and laughed and laughed and ran until she was completely out of breath. She was a long way from the rainbow still, but she thought she’d closed the distance at least a little bit. She stopped and turned to wave at Jorgy, who was trailing after her and had slowed down to shout. “Over here!” she called. “It’s a beautiful rainbow, Jorgy, you’ll see!” Pearl turned, grinning, to gaze upon the pale rainbow splashed across the sky.

Perhaps we could have some cactus eggs for breakfast sometime, she thought. If we can find any cactus at the market, that is. The reality was that they might have to wait for a traveling cactus salesman to bring some into the Shire. After all, Pearl had never heard of - let alone seen - a cactus in all her days of walking the rolling hills of her homeland. Cactus and eggs and visits to the market, though, would all have to wait until she showed Jorgy the rainbow she’d spotted. That was the main mission, now!

“Pink and red and orange and yellow,” she murmured, naming all the colors she saw in the rainbow’s stripes, “green and blue and violet!” It was a tremendous sight. And really, there was no reason Jorgy ought to miss it. It was wide and high enough in the sky to see for miles around, despite the clouds and the drizzle. She turned back to Jorgy again and pointed skywards.

“Look up, Jorgy! Look up!”
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

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@Pele Alarion
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Daffodil Tunnelly
By the Water, not far from Bywater


"You know... Maybe you can come home with me, dry out a bit and get some food. And then I might try to talk my parents into letting me accompany you - perhaps I can offer to sell the garden wares in Bree or such."

Daffodil's smile grew upon hearing this suggestion. "Oh, yes! That sounds like a marvelous plan. I'm sure my father would be delighted to have fresh vegetables to sell, and that would allow me to avoid having to hear my mother fuss about me getting wet." She laughed in joy at the thought that her problem had been solved, as well as hopefully providing them both their families with a means to profit from it all. "I'm sure my mother wouldn't mind if you stayed with us for a night, either, if your parents are alright with it." The girl added, eager to make sure they had covered every potential problem that might arise.

"Would you like to play in the water for a bit longer, or shall we set off now?" Daffodil wondered, glancing around curiously. The other hobbit that had shown up seemed to have dozed off or possibly wandered off, but she hadn't really noticed where she went. Fuchsia had gone quiet though, and Daffodil was wondering if she was alright. It seemed that suppertime was probably not too far off, she decided, and wondered if maybe her new friend was thinking she had best get back home quickly.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Stargazers
Bridgefields

(Private with Frost)

Pearl watched the stars sparkle and shimmer while she ate. How long have they been up there, anyway? she wondered. Who put them there? Old tales told of a great lady with stardust in her hair setting the brilliant things in the firmament, but Pearl never knew how much truth lived in such legends. Often, she thought that some imaginative hobbit had simply made up such tales as bedtime stories to amuse her children. Or perhaps some old scholar with glasses and white hair had speculated on the origins of things from within the Undertowers.

She listened as Jorgy reflected on the categorizationalisms of the elves. What a word!

“You know, I think you’re right, Jorgy,” Pearl murmured. “The elves are wise and all, I’m sure, but they certainly do go out of their way to sound grand and important, don’t they? I wonder if they would give us clear answers to our questions, or if they would talk us in circles with their unknowable elvish ways?” She reflected on their time in Rivendell. What a marvelous, eye-opening journey that had been! Lilótea had not given off that sort of impression. No, she had instead introduced Pearl to the wonders of horchata! If anything, she had a soft spot for the simpler things in life - perhaps she had more in common with hobbits than her fellow elves! The Lady of Horchata must be an exception to the rule, Pearl mused.

She finished the last of her sandwich and sat up. A rustling of paper and canvas told her that Jorgy had gone to fetch her sketchbook and pencils. But then, she heard Jorgy cry out in alarm. She let out a gasp of surprise at first, then giggled at his mention of salad.

“Salad! You never said you’d put together a salad, Jorgy! I would’ve loved some to go with my sausage!” She scooted over to sit next to him. “We must make you a fresh meal, if your sandwich has been ruined! What shall we make? And what questions do you want to write down for the elves? Oh! How about . . . where did the stars come from? And why can we only see them at night?”

She glanced over at his familiar features, illuminated so strangely in the firelight, and smiled.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Tara)

RAINBOWS!! He heard the word from his friend and the word unlocked an inner vault of energy within the small hobbit. Rainbows! There was no better word for him to hear when he was on the edge of exhaustion. It was a key to the treasure chest of excitement. Rainbows! In the same way some hobbits heard “pie!” or “tea!” or “coffeecakes!” and came running with the speed of the wind behind them, Jorgy needed to hear that single word and he was as light on his feet as a falcon. He was nearly caught up to Pearl when he saw it. Rainbow! There were so many colors. So many colors. Reds and greens and blues and violets and magentas and purples and yellows and oranges and so many other colors that Jorgy didn’t have names for.

Light was all around them by the time he caught up to Pearl, nearly crashing into her. It would have been a wonderful symmetrical event seeing as when they first met, he nearly crashed into her because his feet were working as wonky as a newborn horse.

But there was no time for that! No time at all! There was a rainbow! Not just a rainbow, no sir. This was the rainbow. The rainbow to end all rainbows, the rainiest rainbow that rained and bowed (bowed, not bowed). This was a rainbow that artists dream about, a perfect bow with a dozen colors refracting and reflecting It was so picturesque and so vivid, he had to stop and mentally pinch himself (physically doing so would be a bit of a problem) to make sure what he was seeing wasn’t, in fact, a very large painting Pearl had found. So many colors! Jorgy laughed so hard tears began to squeeze from his eyes. He’d seen dozens and dozens of rainbows in his time in Bywater, but this rainbow was the best. This rainbow was the embodiment of joy and hope and openness and light and happiness. It shone and glistened in the moist air, a great, natural monolith of good times.

He sighed deeply. It was a sigh of deep satisfaction and contentment. He’d never felt so good in all his days (at least those days he could remember). The air was warm and inviting, the grass was wet and friendly, a rainbow so perfect it put all other rainbows to shame was shimmering above him, and his best friend in the entire world was there to share it with him. He took her hands and began to do a sort of running dance thing he’d seen other hobbits do at parties. He didn’t quite have the rhythm down and he wasn’t much of a dancer to be sure, but what he lacked in skill he more than made up for in enthusiasm. Life was good. Life was better than good! Who could imagine a better kind of day? He laughed as he tried to dance and whirled about until he was so dizzy and giddy, he tumbled into the grass. He rolled down the hill and a bouncing, giggling ball of green. He landed on the spongy grass near the bottom and sighed again, the same sigh of complete contentment. This was what life was really meant to be. Finding the best things to enjoy and experience. To be outside and see the world through eyes of wonder. There was magic everywhere, especially if you looked for it under rocks, in snowbanks, or in the pristine prismatic spray of a rainbow.

“Oh Pearl!” he shouted aimlessly, throwing his hands up at the sky. “It’s perfect! This is the most perfectest rainbow ever! You found the best rainbow the clouds ever gave us! You are the very best rainbow hunter the Shire ever had. There ought to be songs and sagas, even ballad about you and your skills!”

He laughed and laughed until he was out of breath. The momentary quiet settled on him and a calmness spread through his chest. He was quite ready to tell Pearl something else too. Something that had been on his mind for quite some time.

Pearl,” he said, sitting up still covered in grass. “I think there’s something else I’d like to tell you, if you don’t mind?”
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

Balrog
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Star Gazers
Bridgefields

(Private with Tara)

A wicked grin found its way onto Jorgy’s face. Well, maybe not wicked as Jorgy would never be capable of anything like that. Sneaky, perhaps? Wily? Mischievous? Those were all better words. A wily, sneaky, and mischievous grin found it’s way onto Jorgy’s face. Pearl gave him far too many opportunities to be silly, it had to be by design. She knew just how much he liked to be silly and so she must give him all the chances. He was not about to let this opportunity to go to waste either. He hunched over, doing his best to make it appear like he was working on something in the kitchen, chopping veggies and such (Jorgy knew there were more ways than one to chop but he was still getting a hang of it without accidently nicking himself). He pulled up as much of the grass as he dared (it was never okay to pull up too large a clump of grass because that’s when all the dirt and mud and worms came along for the ride), stifling a giggle as he did so.

“Would you like some salad with your sausage sandwich Pearl?” Without warning (at least in his mind, there was likely more than one warning), Jorgy turned and threw the grass into the air so that it rained down green blades for nearly a full thirty seconds. “Salad!” he declared loudly before bursting into a fit of giggles. To punctuate his point, he grabbed a few strands that had fallen into his hair and chomped down on them.

Jorgy had never eaten grass before. He wasn’t prepared for it to taste like, well it didn’t really taste like anything. He expected something close to spinach, but instead was treated to a mouthful of viridian greenness. He chewed and chewed and chewed. A little oil lamp went on in his head, this must be why cows chewed so much. Finally, he swallowed. He hated the taste of grass, he decided. Actually, he’d decided it halfway through this mouthful, but he was not about to crass and spit it out, not in front of Pearl! What sort of gentlehobbit does that, even when eating outdoors by a fire? No, he dutifully chewed and gagged it down. In the end, he smiled so wide and bright he hoped nothing would be amiss (except maybe for the wincing look in his eyes).

He smacked his lips, the taste of grass still on them. He could really go for a drink of something cool and sweet. His mind went immediately to Lilótea and the delicious milky drink she’d shared with them in Rivendell. It was too bad she had decided to stay in the valley for a little longer before setting out to the Shire. Did elves eat grass? Jorgy’s mind was beginning to wander a little too far afield. He smacked his lips again and broke into a giggle. “I’m not sure I’m much of a salad cook,” he confessed. “What are salad chefs called? A baker bakes, a sauicer makes sauces, a saladin?” The suggestion rhymed with paladin, for what it was worth and Jorgy thought himself very clever. He told himself to tell Lavinia Dewfoot about his discovery. She might think him clever.

But it was onto a much more important topic. What questions to ask the elves? Hmmmmmmmm. That was difficult. He wanted to ask them all the questions, but if he did that, he would likely get all the answers and he was not sure if he was really ready for something like that. Knowing lots of things could be dangerous. Ignorance was briss, or bliss, or something like that. “Did the lady that made the stars have help from the fireflies? Is the moon a giant star? What about the sun? Is it a star too or something else? What about the man in the moon? Is he real? I bet that guy we met was just some elf pretending. Do elves like to play pretend a lot?”

Jorgy realized a huge stream of questions was about to bubble out of him, so he took a huge bite of sausage (and some grass) to stop it from overwhelming Pearl.
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Fresh Potatoes
Outside Jorgy’s Home, Bywater, A Few Weeks Later

(Private)

Jorgy was outside before the sun was up. He had been every single day since he planted his potatoes. When Mrs. Pumpkinberry told him exactly how to plant them, he’d paid very close attention, he could even remember what was in his hand when she told him (a cup of cinnamon apple cider), but when she went into detail about how long it was going to take for the potatoes to start growing, he’d gotten a little distracted (in his defense the butterfly that landed on Mrs. Pumpkinberry’s stained glass window was very colorful and fluttery). In lieu of asking her again, which would have served as a potential embarrassment to both parties, Jorgy decided that the best way to know when his potatoes would grow would be to go out every single day and check on them. By happenstance (not really, but you know), Mrs. Pumpkinberry also told Jorgy it was a good idea to give them a little water every day.

But a little water was the least of what Jorgy thought he could do. He was determined to make sure his potatoes were the best at being potatoes that a potato could be. What better way than to read to them everyday whilst he was out doing Jorgy things (he had a lot to do you know)? The first day he decided to read a book of poems by Anony Mouse, but they were hard to figure out so Jorgy gave up after trying to read four or five of them. The second day he tried singing but soon found that he could only remember about five songs and that would not be nearly enough to entertain the potatoes through their long gestation. The next day, he picked The Wild Adventure by Milo Wildblossom (it was a very clever punny title with, naturally Jorgy loved). It was the story of a hobbit’s journey to the Shire by way of Rivendell almost a thousand years ago! Jorgy didn’t even know there were hobbits back then. It was a grand adventure story, and he was almost engrossed in the tale as the potatoes were. They all particularly like the chapter where Milo visited Rivendell and met an elf named Figwit and they made cherry pies.

They were almost halfway through the book now and it was getting really, really good. The last chapter had Milo getting captured by trolls and the only way for him to escape was to trick them in an arm-wrestling contest. Jorgy had wanted to continue the story yesterday, no one can stand a cliffhanger like that! But the potatoes all agreed deep in their little hidey holes that the rules were one chapter per day. Jorgy (and Jorgyferret) grudgingly agreed. He cleared his throat, readying his reading voice, and was about to sit when he noticed a new bit of color in his little garden patch.

He put the book on the ground and examined the little green shoots and soft purple flowers. They were growing where his potatoes were planted, in little hills of mulch and soil and crunched up leaves. He squinted for a moment, eyeing the little flowers with suspicion. Had some other flowers come in the middle of the night and potato-napped his garden? Had some devious hobbit child (aka Tom) come by and replaced all his potatoes with flowers?! He was certain that when his potatoes grew, they were have little potato fruits and they’d be bigger than this.

Yet, Jorgy was careful by nature (haha, just kidding) and decided it was best to ask Mrs. Pumpkinberry. She was the smartest hobbit ever to do hobbit things. He knocked on her door frantically, not realizing just how early it was. She answered the door in her besquirreled robe with a steaming mug of tea.

“You think that, let me make sure I have this right, someone potato-napped your plants?” she eyed him funny, like he was making a joke. She took a long sip of her tea then shooed Jorgy off her porch. “Alright, let’s see what’s going on here.”

She moved quickly for an older hobbit, there was a pep in her step that Jorgy had to bounce to keep up with. She squealed when she saw Jorgy’s garden. He knew it! It was the scene of a horrible crime and someone had taken his…

She began to laugh and giggle and grabbed Jorgy’s hand. “Oh Jorgy you silly goose! You had me going there for a moment, you young rascal!”

Jorgy squinted, confused. He looked at his garden and the flowers were, in fact, still there. How was there not a crime here? Jorgy was very confused, flummoxed, even flabbergasted. “So… my potatoes…” he began, having no idea how to ask if his potatoes had been stolen.

“Those flowers are the potato plants! And they look wonderful. Jorgy I am so proud of you and all that you’ve done. You are doing a fantastic job.”

A lantern flashed in Jorgy’s mind. He opened his mouth with a grin as wide as his face. “Oh! So the potatoes… oh! OH!” the worry that had been coiling in his tummy suddenly burst into a flowery cascade of excitement. His potatoes had not been stolen, they were growing and even had flowers! Jorgy was beside himself with joy. His potatoes were beautiful and whimsical. He began a little hopping dance, grabbing Mrs. Pumpkinberry’s hands and pulling her in to join him in the jig. Jorgy was elated! He had set his mind to a task and through all the way to flowers! He wasn’t sure how to proceed with the potatoes, but in this moment nothing could bring him down!
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Frost)

The sound of Jorgy’s laughter was, to Pearl, as sweet as cool rain falling on parched fields at noon in midsummer. He must be truly pleased with the rainbow she’d spotted! And why shouldn’t he? The thing stretched like a massive ribbon across her entire field of vision, so wide that you could race three carts along it and still have room for a crowd of spectators lining the path. The colors were so vibrant that it looked like it had been knitted of freshly-dyed yarn that has never been washed. Had Pearl found Jorgy the perfect rainbow? She certainly hoped she had! She could not think of a better way to repay him for the delightful breakfast (and the ensuing chaotic glee of their food fight).

Soon enough, he caught up with her, still grinning widely, and pulled her into a dance the likes of which she hadn’t danced since her cousin Maybelle got married last spring. (There had been a dancing contest, and Pearl had very nearly won!) This dance - much like her dance partner himself - was free and unpredictable, lighthearted and merry. Pearl did her very best to keep up, and a stream of giggles and shouts burst from her as they went. Eventually, Jorgy rolled away down the hill, and Pearl decided to try it, too. It had been a long time since she’d gone out hill-rolling - perhaps even before Tom had been born! I can’t let this much time pass before I do this again! she thought as she stood up, swaying slightly with dizziness.

She flushed with pride when Jorgy proclaimed her the best rainbow hunter in the Shire, though she had to admit she was probably not the first to spot this particular rainbow. Still, she was happy that Jorgy was happy. Once he’d stopped giggling, she remarked, “I’m so glad you like this one! I think we timed our food fight just right - we made sure we got out of the house and away from the mess just in time to catch this!”

Pearl took a deep, satisfied breath and looked up. The air smelled of fresh rain and flowers. She was happy exploring the Shire with her best friend. And then he spoke again.

“Of course I don’t mind!” She smiled at him encouragingly. “Why should I mind anything you had to say? What is it, Jorgy?”
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Tara)

Was there a such thing as a perfect day? A day in which everything that happens is wonderful and the timing of the day works just so that each little thing has its own moment to shine and be experienced? Surely there must be a few of those for everyone. At the very least, everyone deserved at least one perfect day in their life. Even the people that were always grumpy or mean like Mrs. Lobelia. Everyone needed a day where worry didn’t exist and the world opened its wide, warm arms and gave them a hug. Jorgy knew the world didn’t always work that way and that sometimes even the best people didn’t get to have perfect days. That’s why he loved today so much. He and Pearl were having a perfect day. From the delicious breakfast he’d made to the food fight, to the dancing in the meadow, and finding the most perfect rainbow of all time (Jorgy was convinced they were the first to see it and no force in the Shire would convince him that this was wrong). Everything worked out perfectly and everything made him feel a well of emotions that he didn’t think was possible. The last time he felt this good was that singularly odd afternoon that he’d decided to join the Walking Club with Master Dwim and all the rest. That’s where he’d met some of the most wonderful people in all the world. And then there was Pearl. She was in a category all to herself. It had been proven that there was no better friend, no stauncher ally, no more devious partner in crime, or more willing partner in pranks. Finding Pearl that day meant the world to little Jorgy. His life had changed so magnificently that day, he couldn’t imagine what life might have been like otherwise.

That’s what prompted him to tell her what he was going to tell her. He hadn’t planned it; he hadn’t even thought about it himself until that moment. Maybe it was part of the perfect day. He wanted to tell her something about himself that he hadn’t told anyone. He wanted to share a part of himself with his best friend that meant to world to him.

He took a deep breath and pulled himself up so that he was leaning back on his elbow. It wasn’t the best story telling posture, but it would do for now, after all Pearl wasn’t an audience member but a participant in a conversation. “I like you a lot,” he began. He had no idea where he was going or when he was going to get there, but the more he spoke the better he felt. “I think you are fantastic and you’re the best friend a goofy little hobbit like me could ever have. I want to thank you so much for that. You’ve given me the space and the inspiration to be courage and tell you something. I’m not really sure how to say because it’s a feeling that doesn’t really have a lot of words to describe it.

“There’s a part of me that feels invisible. I look at all the hobbits on my street and in Bywater and they all look so happy and content. Mr. and Mr. Sagebridge and their three kittens; Mr. and Mrs. Deepdale; Professor Archibald; even Mrs. Pumpkinberry and her special friend Mr. Fezziwig Willowfoot. They all have someone that make them feel whole and complete. I don’t feel that sort of thing. Not to say I’m not complete,” he added hastily, lest Pearl think he was unhappy, “I just don’t feel the urge to have a partner like that. Like…” he made a face and sighed, trying to think of the words to express what he meant, something he hadn’t counted on. “Like if I were to get married one day. I would be happy, I would because I would get to be around someone who I think is the best and wonderful and love them more than all the rainbows in the world, but… but I don’t think that’s what would make me complete. I would want that person to be complete and fulfilled, but I don’t think that’s what would make me feel complete. I think I would feel complete by… by making them as happy as I could.

“And maybe I won’t get married. Maybe I’ll just be like Mr. Bilbo Baggins and his cousin Mr. Frodo Baggins. They never married but they lived very happy lives. They were always so cheerful and happy from all the stories I’ve heard. They seemed like they might have been the same as me. They would have been so wonderful to meet. I wonder if they felt the same way. I hope that they found ways to feel happy and complete. I wish that for everyone, even Mrs. Lobelia or your little brother!” he chuckled, feeling a little bit better, especially with a prime example like the Bagginses to help demonstrate how he felt. “They’re sort of role models, in a way. I’d love to have met them. Even though that special part of them might be invisible, even though some people might call it something different altogether or say they just haven’t found the right person for them, I think they were like me. I think they were born without that need of another person to feel complete. They were happy to have lots and lots of friends and found joy in all sorts of places. I want to be like that. I want to find joy in all sorts of places.

“And I do find joy. I find it in so many places Pearl. Especially with you, on days like this. I think it’s the most important thing, to find yourself and to find the things you love and share them with the people you love. Mrs. Pumpkinberry tells me all the time I should share more of me with people and tell them how I feel, especially you. She thinks I need to tell you that I think you’re the best hobbit that was ever born and the best friend I could ever ask for. She says telling people how I feel and telling them more about myself can help me understand who I am, can help me understand where I’m from and where I’m going. It’s hard to define how I feel sometimes because there’s no books or poems that talk a lot about it. Sometimes I feel like maybe I’d like to live by myself and have lots of cats, then other days I think I would like to be married and have a companion that I can have fun with all the time. I know that this invisible part of me is big; I know that it’s important and that whoever wants to go on adventures like that would have to know and maybe that would be hard for them because they can’t see the invisible thing and I’m not very good at describing it, but maybe they would see the invisible parts, the way people can see the way the wind blows and they’d think that that invisible part of me is a wonderful part.”

The moment Jorgy closed his mouth, letting his words sink in (and hoping they made any sort of sense at all), he felt a huge well of emotions. He felt so happy and relieved. He exhaled like he’d been holding his breath for a full ten minutes. Sharing this much of himself wasn’t unnatural, even if this was the most he’d ever said in a single mouthful, but he felt like this was a very momentous thing to share. He felt like he was coming out of the darkness of his closet and into the bedroom again, dressed like a proper gentlehobbit. He felt good, he felt so good that a little tear bounced off his cheek before he even knew it was there. Of all the people in the world, he was glad that the first person he told was Pearl. There was no one more important in his life than her. It felt good and right.

⭐
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Fuchsia Meadowsweet
By the Water, not far from Bywater

@Rillewen

Just for a little while Fuchsia had stopped splashing around and stood quietly, listening to a bird singing its heart out somewhere in a nearby bush, and so she had momentarily forgotten everything else. She returned from her daydreaming, though, when she heard Daffodil speaking to her.

"Ah, I'm sure we could convince my parents. They are used to me doing all sorts of silly or adventurous things, or both, even when they don't like it. They say I would not be a proper Hobbit lady if I do not learn to behave," she said with a slight shrug of her shoulders. "Ain't nothing bad coming out of some splashing, right? Even when you fell?"

Fuchsia wriggled her toes in the wet silt of the riverbed some more, and smiled at the tickling sensation the sand caused between her toes. "S'pose we should get going, if you are coming with me?" she eventually asked. "Else ma will not be happy if I come later for the meal; and then no amount of pleading would convince her that anything good would come of letting me go further than the reach of her own arm."
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Daffodil Tunnelly
By the Water, not far from Bywater


The plan seemed foolproof, and Daffodil was delighted. "Oh, I can't wait!" She grinned. "My parents wouldn't care for it if they knew I was doing anything remotely adventurous, but this is so much fun." She smiled. "Even when I fell." She agreed. It had taken some doing to convince them to let her venture away from home, but eventually she had succeeded and now, she had made a new friend and everything.

"Are you sure your mother won't mind a guest showing up for supper, unexpected-like?" She paused, worrying about that as she waded back toward the bank. That might pose a flaw in this 'foolproof' plan they had concocted, but she figured if Fuchsia's mother was similar to her own, then she wouldn't mind overly much, and so she took a moment to wring out what she could of her dress, though it was a bit of a hopeless case. "If you're sure... then, lead the way." She was starting to get rather hungry, and the prospect of going to a friend's house for supper and getting dry clothes was far better than finding an inn.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Frost)

Pearl plopped down onto the grass beside Jorgy. She’d been thrilled by the chaotic, flavorful breakfast war and amazed by the sight of the rainbow stretching across the sky above them. Now, she was delighted by the tickling blades of rain-soaked grass; the moisture clung to her clothes and limbs after her long roll down the hill. She realized with a chuckle that she didn’t even mind that her clothes were grass-stained and muddy! Spending time with Jorgy was always like this. The worries and frustration stemming from her brother Tom’s bad behavior, her desire to be squeaky-clean and presentable for her job at the Green Dragon, her wish to be the greatest baker in all of the Shire . . . a day spent with Jorgy was like a magical potion that made her usual cares melt away. He felt everything with such depth and saw the world with such wide-eyed wonder that she couldn’t help but be swept up into similar expressions of vivacious joy.

She leaned onto her side and faced Jorgy, still smiling from all the hill rolling. She picked a little white and yellow flower from a cluster of the pretty things, and spun its stem between two fingers. Its petals flew into a blur of white against the green grass. Lifting it to her nose, she inhaled deeply. It smelled like happiness.

It was then that Jorgy began to speak. “I like you a lot,” he began. She opened her mouth to reply and tell him he was the best friend in the world and of course she liked him very much, too, but Jorgy was already moving on. So she closed her mouth, smiled appreciatively at all the kind things he was saying, and listened. She listened to his every word. As she listened, she realized that Jorgy was sharing a part of himself that he’d never talked about before - or at least, Pearl had never heard him talk about it. But he seemed to know exactly what he wanted to say, and that is how she knew it was important to him. When he finished speaking, she sat up and plucked another flower from the earth and entwined it with the first. Then another, and another, until she had constructed a long chain of flowers. She tied it into a circle and reached over to place the delicate flower crown on Jorgy’s curly hair. All the while, she was hoping what she was about to say would be a fitting exchange for everything he had just shared with her.

“Jorgy,” she said at last, sitting back so she could look him in the eyes. “You are my best friend in the whole Shire. And the whole world! Even though you’re my best friend, there are things I never knew about you. I never knew about this invisible part of yourself. And I still don’t quite know where you are from. But I think I understand you a bit better now, thanks to you telling me all of this. Thank you for that. Mrs. Pumpkinberry is a wise old woman and I’m so glad you took her advice!” Pearl smiled and reminded herself internally to bake Mrs. Pumpkinberry the finest scones and muffins in her recipe box. She plucked another flower from the ground and spun this one in her fingers, too.

“I will always be here for you, no matter if you have a wife or a husband or a thousand cats or a magical ring like Mr. Bilbo and Mr. Frodo did. Anyone - even a magic ring - would be lucky to share their life with you if you ever choose to do that! I hope you know I think you are wonderful just the way you are, without anyone or anything extra! You’re just as wonderful as the day I met you - back when you were completely unprepared for the Walking Club! You are my best friend, and I will do my best to always remember what you’ve told me today and to see that invisible part of you.”

She then wrapped him in a big hug, hoping her embrace would convey all the things she hadn’t been able to say with words.


⭐
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

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Fuchsia Meadowsweet
By the Water, not far from Bywater
@Rillewen


No matter how fun splashing in the shallows was, hungry stomach was more demanding, and Fuchsia followed Daffodil out of the water. Sand of the shore soon stuck to her feet, but she did not care much for it, as she stood awhile and watched her new friend attempting to get excess water out of her dress.

"Well... I don't bring friends home with me every day, besides what is one more hobbit to feed any way," she shrugged at the expressed doubt. "I'm sure she won't mind, even if she grumbles a bit - but don't you mind her. C'mon then!"

Fuchsia crawled up the steep bank without looking for an easier way and then skipped off homewards, turning around now and again to make sure she had not lost Daffodil along the way.

"I live right here!" she said, opening the gate to the garden to let both of them in. "Daaaaad!" she then called, seeing her father further away pruning some berry bushes. "I've got a friend with me. We're gonna go in!" Taking Daffodil by the hand, she all but pulled her friend towards the door of their small home. The window of the kitchen was open, and a scent of something delicious baking wafted through it and tickled the Fuchsia's nose, making her belly growl in response.
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Jorgy Comes Out
Bywater

(Private with Tara)

Jorgy unleashed the breath he’d been holding without realizing it. While he knew and trusted Pearl with his very life, there was simply now what of knowing if she would accept a part of him he’d kept (unintentionally) hidden. She was the first person he’d been able to tell and that initial explosion of words (a phrase that Jorgy would thereafter overuse to great effect) had happened so suddenly that he wasn’t quite sure where he was going until he got there. It was normal for Jorgy to succumb to what Mrs. Pumpkinberry called “word vomit” but he’d never gone quite so far as today. There was a twinge of fear in his eyes as soon as he finished talking as soon as he’d opened himself up in a way that he didn’t fully understand. What would Pearl say? What would she do? What would she think? The brief period of time between him finally shutting up and her responding felt like a thousand years, even though it was likely no more than a second or two at most. It was the longest, more terrifying moment of his life aside from his first memory of waking up covered in ashes. The fear, however minimal, of rejection gripped him so strongly that he wasn’t sure which way was up by the time Pearl hugged him.

It was the best hug he’d ever been given, that he could remember. It was warm and inviting, and spoke of a friendship that would never fade, no matter how many years passed, of love and acceptance and joy. It felt like a hug that opened the world up even wider than before. Jorgy didn’t know it right at that moment, but this moment in the field, hunting rainbows and dancing in the rain, would be a seminal moment in his life, a point in time to which he could always look back and feel that things were right and good, that no matter how dull grey a sky became or how badly burned a pie was, there was always happiness around the corner, if he only knew to look.

He hugged her back just as fiercely. He hadn’t known just how deeply the fear of rejection was rooted in him until it was ripped out. With that hug, he felt something inside him vanish, a coiled-up serpent that whispered things to him when he was sad or lonely, telling him that no one wanted him or liked him. Anxiety and fear might always be a part of him, but in this moment, both of those things scattered like minnows in a pond. He felt so light and airy, if he wasn’t quite certain he was a hobbit, he might have mistaken that feeling for becoming a cloud.

Jorgy was loved, and Jorgy was wanted. Those were two things that everyone should have, no matter who they were. Everyone deserved a best friend, and his best friend was Pearl. He was lucky, he knew that. He was luckier than all the stars in the sky and all the grains of sand on the beach. He adjusted the flower crown that had gotten tilted as they hugged and beamed with pride. He’d always wanted a flower crown. He’d seen so many people wear them during festivals and parties and at the market and now he got to wear one! If the hug had not been the ultimate sign of friendship and love (which it was), then the flower crown was the second most ultimate sign. He could barely feel it as it sat on his head, bouncing in his curls, but he knew it was there and it made him feel like a prince in one of the stories they told at the Library or at the Green Dragon. He’d never thought about what it must feel like to be a prince or an elf, but hew as quite certain, in this moment, that this was exactly how it must feel.

“Thank you, Pearl,” he said, a tear of joy rolling down his cheek. He laughed as he wiped it away. “You are the greatest friend and ally anyone could ever have. I don’t think anyone in any of the stories was so lucky as me.”

Then, in a flash, he pulled both himself and Pearl up and, in the light of the rainbow and the afternoon sun, went on another dance. He danced and danced until his legs turned to jelly beneath him and he collapsed back onto the soft, welcoming grass. Today, as he had predicted, was amazing. As he laid there, watching the clouds roll by and caught his breath, he wondered what new, weird, and exciting adventures tomorrow would bring him.


-FIN-
Strange Fruit got holes in the flesh but it ain't gonn' spoil cause it never was fresh

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Daffodil Tunnelly
By the Water, not far from Bywater


Daffodil smiled as she wiggled her toes in the sand. There was no sand in Bree, and she found it a strange feeling, soft and shifting, yet not oozy like mud. She would have enjoyed spending a little time playing with that, if her stomach hadn't been so insistent on following Fuchsia. Soon she was skipping along with her friend, happy at the thought of having made a friend her own age. There were not any hobbit lasses that she knew of, her own age, in Bree. Her sister had been much older than her, already married and with her third child on the way! Dandelia never was much of a playmate, so this was great!

"Hello!" She greeted Fuschia's dad in passing, waving cheerfully as her new friend practically dragged her along with her. "Ooh, your home is lovely!" She exclaimed, inhaling deeply as she caught a whiff of something delicious. "And it smells lovely, too." She added with a giggle. "Have you any brothers or sisters?" She wondered, curious how many folks to expect to meet today. Would it be just Fuschia's mother and father, or a whole clan of siblings as well? She glanced around curiously, unsure what to expect.
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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@Rillewen
Fuchsia Meadowsweet
Bywater


"I got two brothers, both a little older than me," Fuchsia explained, as she opened the door to let both of them in. "But they are so often away doing their mischief and visiting their own friends that I am often bored. Boys..." She rolled her eyes, and then headed straight for the kitchen. "MUUUUUUM!" her call echoed through the house and made it sound as if she needed immediate help.

"Found me a friend!"
she happily announced, nearly bumping into her own mother who had approached the kitchen door to see what all the yelling was about. "Her name's Daffodil, and she comes from Bree, no less. An' not real strange, as folks say about them living that way, too."

Fuchsia's mother stood wiping her hands in her apron and looked Daffodil over as if to make sure that there was really nothing strange about the newcomer. "Well, good day, Daffodil. It seems that Fuchsia here has brought you in right for a meal."

"Oh, and she can stay over night, yes? And I could go with her to Bree tomorrow, yes?" Fuchsia shot out the questions rapidly. "I could sell something for you and bring back money or get you something that we don't have here. Yes?"

"Wait. What?" The questions seemed to have stunned Fuchsia's mother, and her brown eyes settled on Daffodil as if to verify that she had heard correctly, or to find some explanation on the matter.
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Daffodil Tunnelly
By the Water, not far from Bywater


"Oh, you have brothers!" Daffodil wondered what it was like, having brothers. She only had a brother in law, but he had a brother and he was nice, and she knew other people who had brothers and somehow it always seemed that she had missed out, though it was definitely nice having a sister. "I've only got a sister," She explained to her new friend, before being swiftly introduced to her mother. Daffodil watched, slightly amazed, as Fuchsia gushed out several questions and statements in what seemed like the same breath. Her mother seemed a bit caught off guard by the whole thing, and Daffodil felt a tiny bit sorry for her, imposing on them like this.

"Good day, ma'am," Daffodil replied with a bright smile, hoping to at least live up to Fuchsia's claim that she wasn't at all strange as folks apparently said. She couldn't help blinking at that, and found it quite amusing. Strange? She almost giggled. "I do hope you don't mind my coming, Mrs..." She paused, suddenly realizing she had no idea what her new friend's family name might be. She turned to look questioningly at Fuchsia, her face growing a little pink. "I'm sorry, I think you only told me your first name." She had done the same, too, she realized, but she tried to remedy the situation with an introduction, now. "I'm Daffodil Tunnelly, ma'am," She informed Fuchsia's mother with a polite curtsy, as seemed proper. "My father runs a general store in Bree, and Fuchsia was saying that you might have some vegetables or something you'd like to sell... I'm sure my father would be interested in buying any excess harvest you have."
"I don't know half of you half as well as I should like, and I like less than half of you half as well as you deserve."

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@Rillewen
Fuchsia Meadowsweet
Bywater


"Uh..." Fuchsia realised that perhaps she was not going about it the right way, so she made attempts to make things more acceptable somehow. "My family name is Meadowsweet," she half whispered to Daffodil.

Fuchsia's mother sat down on the chair at the kitchen table and thought over the information she had just been fed. "Right. Do I understand correctly, that you are trying to set up business behind my back?" she asked her daughter, who was now busy trying to prod a hole in the floor with her big toe. She blinked innocently in return - now, she could not really say that all she had wanted was to get off on some adventure and only had thought of trading as a backup solution.

"Mum, I just thought it would be nice... we have so many potatoes and beets, and... you could bake some apple pie?" she muttered almost under her breath.

For a moment silence reigned in the kitchen, and then Fuchsia's mum rose with a sigh. "Well, go ahead and sit down at the table, you two. I'll think of it and discuss it with Father to see if we would agree with the idea," she said, and then turned to her pots and pans to stir the food.
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An Eastward Journey
(Private)

His eyes were bright and alive with the light of eternal youth.

Pale-brown and dancing as he strode out with a will, they took in every inch of the landscape with delight. It had been many years since Capalimo had spent much time in the Shire, and he never tired of it when he was there. Such a peaceful and prosperous place was the stuff his youthful dreams had been made of, and he had often thought that hobbits had the best idea about how to live. There was something, too, about the land itself: green, calm, and full of the kind of music that one couldn’t hear, but seemed to seep from every hill and tree and neat stone wall. Each breath of sweet, clean air flooded his lungs and limbs with rejuvenation, and Capalimo inhaled them deeply. A long glaive was propped over his shoulder, but rather than being prepared for battle, at the end of its pole below the blade was bound a bundle that contained all the wayward Silvan required. The dirk at his hip, too, bore an air of utility, as if it had seen much more recent use as a kitchen knife than an instrument of violence— as indeed it had. Unruly locks of weathered grey-brown hair fell about his face and scattered in the breeze as Capalimo walked, and his jaunty whistle, no longer able to contain his enthusiasm, turned into strident song.

“I’m a shepherd and I rise ere the sun is in the skies
I can lamb the ewes with any of them all!
An I like my flock to feed, an look fair and fresh indeed,
But I wish the cold east winds would never blow

I can smear me sheep and dip, I can udderlock and clip,
I can lamb the ewes with any of them all,
I can parrock, I can twin, aye, and cheat them with a skin,
But I wish the cold east winds would never blow,
Oh I wish the cold east winds would never blow!
I can parrock, I can twin, aye, and cheat them with a skin,
But I wish the cold east winds would never blow!"


“Oy!” another voice rang out, and Capalimo looked about, to see a hobbit leaning upon a wall up ahead, shaded by a battered hat and chewing a stem of wheat. “Are you really a shepherd?” Capalimo grinned.

“I have been! I daresay I’ve known my way around a sheepfold longer than you can imagine.” His speaking voice was both rich and dry, slightly reedy, and full of humor. The hobbit snorted.

“Care to earn yourself dinner? One of my hands is down sick, and I’ve a right mess of sheep need shearing.”

“Say no more!” Capalimo shrugged the glaive from his shoulder and, shaking his lanky limbs into a swift trot, set its end against the ground before the wall and neatly vaulted over. Shaking the hair out of his eyes, he extended one long hand to the farmer. “Capalimo, at your service!” The hobbit clasped the Silvan’s hand in his own gnarled and muscled one, and looked up at him critically.

“You’re one o’ them elves, eh?”

“Aye, will you hold that against me?” The hobbit snorted.

“Not so’s long as you can work! Farmer Noakes, glad to ‘ave yeh. Come along then.”

And along Capalimo went with the farmer, discarding his glaive and its bundle against an outbuilding near the sheepfold. As they walked they had picked up the company of two wiry sheepdogs, who had instantly circled Capalimo, and after the briefest of whosagooddogs to each of them, rolled over in the grass to allow him to lavish attention upon them. Noakes had paused briefly to comment how his dogs didn’t usually take to strangers, and Capalimo flashed him a grin. “No dog is a stranger to me!” With a briefly admonishing word and a whistle from the farmer, the dogs had leaped back up and back to business, running ahead and out to the distant field where a snudge of white indicated the presence of a large flock. Now as Capalimo stood rolling up his sleeves, he listened with appreciation to the varied whistles coming from the farmer, who stood his hands in his pockets, brow furrowed as he watched the dogs and the sheep from afar. Swiftly they drew closer, each dog instructed by a series of pitches and lengths of sound from between the farmer’s teeth.

“You have a great skill, Master Noakes!” Capalimo exclaimed, but Noakes merely hunched his shoulders.

“Me dogs is well trained,” was all he said, but Capalimo saw the slightly flush of his neck and turned away to hide his amusement. In scarcely a blink, the flock had arrived, and Noakes focused on guiding the dogs to cut a dozen into the sheepfold, through the gate he had instructed Capalimo to open. Capalimo watched the fluffy white backs hustle through the opening, then dragged the gate closed behind them. By this time two other halflings had appeared, clearly Noakes’s other hands, and introduced themselves with much tugging of forelocks as they climbed the wall into the fold. Eagerly Capalimo took up the shears he was offered, and each of them set to catching their first sheep to shear. It was but the work of a moment for the wood-elf to capture a creature and twist it to clamp between his knees. It had been some time since he had shorn a sheep, but with shears in hand and a sheep at the ready, he found the skill had not left him, and snipped away merrily, taking great care to leave no nicks and take every scrap of fleece. Moments later with a final pat to its flank he released the sheep, and immediately sprang upon the next as it trotted past.

It was a good company of shearers Capalimo had found himself in, all greatly skilled, and the younger two more readily jovial than Farmer Noakes himself, though periodically as they laughed and sang at their work, the farmer too could be heard joining in on snatches of song. In a steady rhythm they worked, catching, shearing, releasing; the dogs too skilled and zealous at their work as they rotated the batches of sheep in and out of the fold. Finding themselves with an elf tall and strong amongst them, the hobbits had no scruples about pressing Capalimo into service to wrangle the more intractable of the sheep, but he merely laughed and did as they slyly asked, noting that he expected to be paid in pies for his trouble. They broke for lunch at midday when Goody Noakes, the farmer’s wife, brought them out a cool jug of ginger-water and an array of meat hand-pies, as if she had heard Capalimo’s request. He exclaimed over them in raptures that send the lady away giggling to herself. It seemed that no sooner had they returned to work than the sun began to sink towards the horizon, the afternoon’s work flown by in good spirits. With a final click of the shears, Capalimo released his final sheep, and it ran to join the rest of the flock, all fuzzy-naked in the shifting light. The quartet raised a cheer at finishing the flock, and fell about clapping each other on the back in congratulations. Then the two hired hands pulled their hats and jackets back on and climbed over the wall waving and calling their farewells, off to their own homes after a long day’s work.

“Well,” Farmer Noakes said, turning to Capalimo, “Come along then and have your supper!” Eagerly he followed the hobbit back to the farmhouse; Capalimo had enough experience of Shire food to know that this was likely to be the best meal he had until he reached his destination. And Goody Noakes did not disappoint: roast chicken, potatoes that had been boiled, slightly crushed, and crispy fried; fresh, peppery salad of garden greens and herbs, fresh and crusty bread, miniature mince pies, delicately sliced squash, cheese, tomatoes, and other things that made the table groan as Capalimo sat down beside it. His knees came almost up to his chin in the hobbit sized chair and Goody Noakes began to fret, but he turned and took her hands.

“Madam,” she said absolutely sincerity shining from his eyes, “I would sit on the floor with the dogs if it meant getting a taste of this supper. You are truly a magician!”

“Now then!” she cried, snatching her hands away and slapping the Silvan lightly on the back of his own hands, then bustling away with a deep blush. Capalimo grinned and took the plate the famer offered him, and set to the good food with a will. After the meal, Noakes invited him out to the stoop to share a pipe, and Capalimo readily obliged. They sat in the gathering darkness, the last remnants of sunset just peeking over the horizon, almost subsumed by night’s purple fingers. The air was still and quiet, only occasionally stirred by a light breeze. Distantly came the call of a sheep, but even that seemed muffled by the night air. All was calm and at peace. Capalimo leaned back against the wall of the house, exhaling a deep sigh and a cloud of sweet-smelling smoke.

“Peaceful, eh?”

“Truer words were never spoken, my friend,” Capalimo smiled, passing the pipe over to Noakes, “The Shire never fails to remind me what life is for.” Noakes gave a grunting chuckle at this philosophizing, but nodded his agreement. After a pause, he spoke again.

“Will you not stay on for the season? Could use an ‘and like you.” Capalimo laughed and shook his head.

“I’m afraid not, though I take the compliment with great honor. I’m afraid I have somewhere to be, and in any case I couldn’t rob your sick man of his work. No, a night in your barn if you’ll allow it, and I’ll be on my way. But I shall remember you when I pass through next!” There was disappointment in Noakes’s nod, but he didn’t argue. Night had fully fallen by the time the pipe went out, and Capalimo retired to the barn with a final good-night word to Goody Noakes.

Within the barn he found a plethora of cats, with whom he was soon fast friends, a few chickens who seemed to like him but not the cats, and a massive mound of hay in the loft. Accompanied by several cats, Capalimo bounded up to the loft and burrowed himself a nest. Well fed and well contented with the day’s work, he was asleep nearly as soon as the boldest cat had nosed its way under his arm to curl against his chest. A deep sleeper, but seldom a long, he awoke before dawn. After picking the hay of his cozy bed from his hair, Capalimo made his ablutions in one of the barn’s water-troughs, glad to be embarking on the day’s travel refreshed. After making sure to farewell each cat and chicken, he slid open the barn door and stepped out into the crisp air, where the sky had begun to lighten. There he was greeted by the two sheepdogs, who upon seeing him charged him in silent, wiggling delight. After an extended session of whosagoodboy and belly rubs, Capalimo stood from the ground and wagged his finger at the dogs.

“Now chaps I really must be going. Be good!” After each thrusting their heads beneath his hands one more time, the dogs sped off. Capalimo laughed aloud and shouldered his glaive, its bundle much augmented with Goody Noakes’s excellent pies. He strolled across the yard, his head swiveling about for a last observation of the picturesque farm, until he reached the wall beside the road, which this time he opted to cross by virtue of sitting atop it and swinging his legs to the other side. The firm road beneath his feet once more, Capalimo turned his face to the east, and strode out again into the golden rising of the sun.

His nephew was getting married, and he wouldn’t miss it for the world.
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Evil is a lifestyle | she/her

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