The Green Dragon inn

[Lirimaer]

Henna Lightfoot

Henna arrived home rather quickly, and soon found out that dream-bouncing round her hobbit hole was not quite as fun as dream-bouncing down the lane in the open air. She had to force herself to calm down and walk slowly, or there would be a terrible lot of bruises in the morning. She locked the door, because even dream-Henna was quite conscientious, and after just a little bread-and-butter pudding and a cup of tea, she lay down in her bed and closed her eyes.

It was still light outside, which was a little persistent of her dream, but she knew crazy dream shenanigans when she saw them. Within moments, she was asleep, curled up like a child, under the covers.

Since it was actually only early afternoon, this was a testament to the advancing age of the elderly hobbit, who occasionally liked to have forty winks in the afternoons, particularly after a large meal. In any case, she was asleep, and it has been said that sleep is healing.

[Eamila Bolger]

(OOC: @Silmarë and @Dwim and @Lirimaer sorry you guys, we've been traveling for a few days and I wasn't able to have much internet time. Back now!)

Ea looked at Tara and Dwim quite suspiciously. 'So you have been drinking this beer yourself? Lately? And it is... doing you well?'
She looked at the last blue feathers on the ground and shivered. She would seem quite impolite if she said 'no' to this offer. But what if she, after the narrow escape with the cake, would end up poisoned by something even worse?
Henna was something else of course. There was no possible way she could get any worse.
'I could of course try to walk over to Henna's place and see if she would accept another drink from me. As for myself: I've had enough for this day, if you don't mind.'
Suddenly she was in a hurry. 'I'll see how Henna is doing!', she cried out as she walked away from the pub and all it's strange visitors. She couldn't wait to tell Istya and Menolly about all this. They sure had missed a lot!

It took her only a few minutes to walk down the lane to the hobbit hole near the willow. With every step, the adventures of that afternoon felt stranger and harder to believe. Had they really happened, or was this all just a bad dream? Would her friends believe the story, or would they just laugh at her?

'Mrs. Bolger! Come look!' A young, happy voice woke her up from her heavy thoughts. It was Peony Hornblower, a little girl that lived nearby. She smiled at the young child.
'What is it, dear lass?'
Proudly the brown haired girl lifted her hands towards Eamila. 'I fwound all these bweautiful bwue feathers!'
Ea swallowed hard. So this wasn't a dream. 'They are lovely, Peony!' she said with a weak smile. 'Take good care of them, for I don't think you will find feathers like that again soon!'
The girl skipped away happily and Ea walked on with legs that as if they were glued to the road. What would she find? Would Henna be there or could she have... flown away?
Upon arriving at Henna's place, she knocked softly on the door.
'Mrs. Lightfoot, are you there?' A last blue feather on the doorstep gave her hope. It looked like Henna had made it home.
A bit more firmly she now knocked. 'Mrs. Lightfoot? Henna dear? It's me, Eamila Bolger. We met at the Inn?'
Then she heard it. A not very ladylike snoring sound came from one of the the windows. Ea felt her heart lift and she laughed out loud. Well. If Henna was that fast asleep... she wouldn't be able to wake her up. But perhaps she would be alright. She would check on the older lady later again.
Relieved she walked back to the Inn.
'Henna is fast asleep in her own hobbit home', she said to Dwim and Tara. 'Let's hope she will be fine when she wakes up. Boy. I sure could use a pint now...'

[Zôrzimril]

Tarawen

"I've not had any of this ale," Tara replied when Eamila questioned the brew. "But I wouldn't say no to a pint right about now." She sat down at last, suddenly weary as the adrenaline from the evening's shocking events wore off now that both Toast and Henna had flown away. She stared at her palms, lost in thought. Had it been worth it to avenge the loss of her Warbler, knowing that it had all turned out like this? She shook her head in answer to this question.

Tara looked up gratefully when Eamila offered to walk down to Henna's home and check in on her. "Thank you, that would be such a relief to know if she made it home safely."

She stood and poured herself a mug of ale, as Dwim seemed too dumbfounded to move. She took a tentative first sip and savored the rich flavor. "McBob McFee!" she said. "Please, help my friends and me." Tarawen did register quite yet that this brew had immediately made her speak in rhyme.

Upon Eamila's return with the good news that Henna had made it home and into bed, Tara beamed. "It's so very swell that Mrs. Lightfoot's doing well! Please, pour yourself a mug or two. Let's all partake of this fine brew!"

OOC: So sorry for my delay in turn, @Eamila Bolger ! I know Dwim is away on a bit of a break and Toast is busy with school, so please don't feel in any rush to reply here.

[Eamila Bolger]

With a big, long sigh Eamila sat down.
'I might as well', she said to Tara. 'Don't you think the staff of the Inn would be too angry if we start pouring our own drink in the yard?'
She shrugged. 'I am too exhausted to go in there anyway and I am not sure whether that stink bomb smell has gone yet.' She leaned forward and took the McBob McFee ale in one hand and her mug in the other. Then she started pouring.
The colour was pretty, she thought. Light and yet with a yellow in it that was deeper than she had expected. The foam layer was just as it should be: not to large, not too small. Carefully she put the ale down and lifted her mug to her mouth.
The first sip was a small one. She was surprised by the rich bouquet. Another sip followed, this time bigger. And another...
'This ale tastes well, I must say! Why did I not hear of it before today?' She shut her mouth quickly, as she felt a sudden urge to sing. Giggling she took another sip. 'Does this make you feel different, Tarawen? I feel like singing, I wonder if I can...

[Dwim]

Dwim had been so deep in thought about all of the commotion that he'd forgotten what was going on around him. When Eamila returned from checking on Henna, he snapped out of it and grinned with relief. "That is so great to hear that the old bird is asleep in her bed," he replied, smiling at Tarawen too. "It's about time we got to relax. I'm still a bit worried about Toast too, but there's nothing else that can be done for now. We can go looking for him tomorrow if he doesn't return"

Then he realised how inattentive he'd been. He'd offered his beer out to the others, but then when they'd decided to take him up on the offer, he'd neglected to pour it for them. Well, at least the two of them both knew how to pull a tap for themselves, so there was no harm done.

He took a seat with a deep sigh, then took a large sip of McBob McFee. "How exhausting this afternoon has been. The craziest things I've ever seen." Oops, he'd slipped into rhyme too. He'd built up a bit of a tolerance to that effect over the last couple of months, but he was exhausted enough now that his brain could not fight it this time.

"Perhaps we shouldn't be drinking for free. But this barrel I'll sell for a smaller fee." He looked at Ea and Tara with a smile. "The Green Dragon has agreed to take on my ale, and now they'll always have it for sale!"

"As long as I can keep up with the demand of course..."

[Zôrzimril]

Tarawen

The ranger hummed tunelessly as her companions began to speak, nay, warble! Their rhymes filled her ears with a pleasant music and her eyes with tears of relief. Henna was alright! Toast had taken flight! (Off to who-knows-where, but at the moment, she had not a care.) Oh dear. Now her internal monologue was rhyming. Hmmm.

Tarawen sipped some more McBob McFee from her mug and smiled at Eamila, glad that her new acquaintance had taken the liberty of sampling the brew. She laughed aloud as Dwim began rhyming, too. She thought perhaps they would make a good show for the rest of the patrons in the Dragon.

"Well my friends, shall we head back in? There may be an audience in need of a grin. Perhaps the stink bomb's smelly stench has cleared, even as the hour of closing draws near."

[Eamila Bolger]

Eamila was more than ready to head back in. She lifted her empty cup to both Tarawen and Dwim.
'Sounds like an excellent idea! There will be enough for you and me!'
This really tasted like more. Sitting outside was wonderful, but inside would be even better.

She had a bit of a problem though. The ale she had earlier and this new one, they both seemed to have two effects on her. On one side she felt pleasantly pleased with just about everything in the world right now. On the other hand she had the unpleasant feeling of a rapidly filling bladder. She knew that something embarrassing might happen if she didn't go to the little Hobbits room pretty soon. Ea frowned. If only she wasn't sitting so comfortably here...

When Dwim mentioned the Inn would be selling his ale, she laughed. 'Sounds like the Dragon will have a real hit, once they start selling this from their pit,' she nodded to him. Why on Arda did she feel so lazy? She needed to get up... she didn't want any accidents happen in front of her new friends.
Carefully she loosened her apron a bit, trying to get some pressure off her stomach, but the unpleasant feeling was now becoming a bit painful.

With a sigh Ea placed her hands on the table before her. 'Now if you'd excuse me, both you two, I've got something important to do.' She tried to stand up and walk away with dignity. But after a few steps she had to stop quite abruptly. Sitting had been okay, but now she was walking, the need hit her three times harder than she had expected.
'O dear, I think I have a problem here.' Her face turned beet red. There was no way to do this dignified. She crossed her legs firmly. 'I'll be right back, please accept my excuse, but if I don't run now, this struggle I'll lose...'
As quick as possible with crossed legs, she hurried away to the backside of the Inn, where she knew the outhouse to be.

[The Good Hunter]

Ceru, the Spider

She peaked out of a tiny, tiny hole in the wall. It was a busy night tonight. It was loud and rambunctious in here in a way that it had not been in quite some time. Ceru didn’t know if that was good thing or not. The comings and going of “Hobbits” as they called themselves usually didn’t matter to her as they were not her normal food. The only thing she ever had to worry about was getting squished by their massive, hairy feet. She had managed thus far to avoid them in pursuit of her own prey, but it was the constant fear when she peaked her eight eyes out of her little dwelling. She was hungry. She had finished off the last cricket several days ago. She raised her fuzzy pedipalps high in the air, tasting and sensing her surroundings. There was something tasty here, something juicy and succulent. And near. A fly was struggling on the floor, its wings had been damaged in a wild fray from earlier in the evening. Ceru could feel the struggling insect through the floor, the vibrations acting like a beacon. She could feel the venom in her fangs as she inched forward, the anticipation of an easy kill sent a rush through her small, brown body. Did she dare leave her nest though, leave the safety of her web for the dangers of the wooden floor? She was hungry. She would have to risk it. Onward she scuttled, moving as fast as her eight articulated legs would carry her across the vast,yawning gulf.

[Dwim]

Dwim was pleasantly amused by the rhyming effect that the brew was having on his friends. Hearing them in conversation like this reminded him of that fabled day when Bob the Cow himself had blessed the ale. He'd let himself fall into the habit of rhyming again too (after a few drinks, it became easy to do).

Tarawen suggested heading inside. Eamila agreed, although quickly dashed off in the opposite direction. He thought he knew why (if her uncomfortable stance had been anything to go by), but he did not want to assume anything, so he gave her a nod without making eye contact and went to head inside. He turned to Tara before going through the door. "I'm just going to try and find Miss Pearl. What a stressful evening for that young girl." In the midst of all the ruckus he had not thought about the pub staff, but now that they were heading back in, he found himself feeling very much like he needed to apologise for what had happened.

As he stepped inside, he had the sudden worrying thought that the magic cake may not have been taken care of yet. But he was hugely relieved when he saw that it was no longer there in the middle of the pub. He hoped that meant it had been hidden away in the kitchens, and not that it had been finished off by the hobbits. But looking around he noticed no further signs of birdlike behaviour, so it looked like things had mostly returned to normal.

He approached the bar, thinking Pearl may be in the kitchens. "Pearl, is that you back there?" he called out as politely as he could. "I have something that I'd like to declare!" This time he didn't even notice that he was still in rhyme.

[Lail]

Zweet the Wren

Tap. Tap, tap, tap. TAP, TAP, TAP.

The wren drummed her beak on the window. She was only a wee bird but she could make a lot of noise when she wanted to. One of those naked, featherless upright walkers inside must have keen enough ears to hear her!

The lights and smells of the feeding ground drew her to this place where so many of the un-feathered often gathered in flocks and went on eating frenzies. It was a nice place to grab a few tasty morsels with little effort. They may not know how to grow feathers or fly, but these folk (what did they call themselves again? hoppips? hoppeeps? hoppits? yes, that was it, hoppits.) knew a thing or two about food.

Tap, tap, tap, she continued until someone let her in...

[Zôrzimril]

Tarawen

Tarawen drained her mug and placed it onto the table before her, smiling as Eamila rhymed about Dwim's new brew. She wondered vaguely where the name McBob McFee had come from. "I hope one day you'll tell the tale of naming your new homebrewed ale," she said casually as they stood and made for the door of the Dragon. With her hand on the door, Tara looked around at her companions and noticed that Eamila suddenly looked quite uncomfortable. The hobbit lass suddenly rushed off toward the outhouse, at which Tarawen could only grin. She knew that feeling all too well, though she supposed her bladder must be a bit larger than the average hobbit's.

Entering the pub once more with Dwim, her brewer pal rushed off to check on Pearl, the lass who'd been helping them prepare for the antics of Toasty. Tarawen slumped back into the booth at which they'd sat earlier. She breathed deeply and recalled that it had been rather hazardous to breathe in here earlier - the stink bomb must have dissipated! Finally. Now, where had Toasty gotten to? Tara sat back to observe the goings-on in the bar. Many of the hobbits were still holding close conversations with each other, though she thought she heard a vague knocking sound coming from somewhere toward the back . . .

Pearl Brockhouse

Pearl peeked around the kitchen doorway. The blue cake was safely ensconced inside a cabinet, where she hoped no one would touch it. It simply wouldn't do for anyone else to go floating off into the night. What was Lily going to say! Her first night on the job, and all this had happened. She thought sadly of the spilled food from earlier and wished that had remained the biggest of her problems! Fortunately, the stink bomb smell seemed to have leaked out of the pub once she'd thrown the windows wide, so at least she had that going for her.

It seemed that the group including Dwim and the ranger had split up, with the bearded-then-not-bearded one and Mrs. Lightfoot having disappeared into the night. Dwim had reappeared, calling her name from the bar. It sounded like he was reciting a verse! How strange. She was just about to emerge and find out what that was all about when she heard a tap. Tap. Tap. TAP. TAP. at the kitchen window. Oh! A wren (Zweet) was perched on the sill, pecking insistently at the glass. She supposed that the bird might be looking for crumbs to eat but wondered what would happen if the little wren ate some of the cake that turned people into flying, feathered creatures. Hmm. Pearl was not one for mischief, but her tweenish curiosity got the better of her. Maybe the bird would become hobbitlike? This seemed to follow on logically from what she'd witnessed earlier. She went to the cabinet and sliced a small piece of the blue cake, being careful not to let the frosting get all over her hands. She left the cake on a plate atop the counter, then cracked open the window. What the bird might do was anyone's guess, but she hurried out to say hello again to Dwim.

"Hello, Mr. Took!" she said, emerging from the kitchen in a rush. "How can I help? How are you and your, um, friends doing?" A scuttling movement caught her eye and, before Dwim could reply, Pearl hopped up onto a nearby chair and shrieked, "SPIDER!!!!"

[The Good Hunter]

Ceru, the Spider

All of the sudden, things looked very, very bad for little Ceru. She had only wanted to catch and eat the fly but that was not to be her luck today. No, she had made it halfway, her spindly, sharply jointed legs could only carry her so fast, when she heard that fateful TAPTAPTAPTAP on the window. Her eyes all turned at once, her body moving to face the direction of this new potential threat to see the worst possible thing imaginable: a wren! Oh no! Oh great mother spider protect her! Fear suddenly hit little spider like a wave. What could she do? If that terrifying bird it’s way in here…

Things suddenly went from bad to worse. The worst. The absolute worst! One of the Hobbits went to the window and opened it! Ceru's pedipalps fluttered in terror as she felt the sudden shift in air pressure. There was now naught but a few feet of empty space between Ceru and her death. Quickly, the little spider turned and darted forward. She was too far from her little hole, she’d never make it in time. Instead, the little katipō spider decided it was best to make for the table. She could hid in the space between legs and the table. She was small and nimble perhaps she could…

That avenue was suddenly cut off when a scream erupted. Ceru stopped dead in her tracks to see one of the Hobbits, the very same that had opened the window, jump up into a chair and continue screaming. Ceru knew she was doomed now. Between the arena and the Hobbits, what could she do to escape? With no other presentable options, she raised her front pairs of legs in an aggressive stance and charged forward, moving rapidly closer to the Hobbit and away from the wren, perhaps if she got close enough she could play dead and they would lose interest or simp,y lose her.

[Eamila Bolger]

It had only been a couple of minutes, right?
Eamila wasn't sure what this wonderful ale was doing to her, but in her memory it was only a short time ago that she left for the outhouse. She expected the Inn to be as good as normal. No more blue cake or feathers all around. No more stink bomb. Just... a couple of Hobbits and big folk having a drink together.

She couldn't have been more wrong.

The moment she entered the Inn through the back door, a shrieking sound filled her ears.
SPIDER!!!

Pearl was standing on a chair with an expression of complete panic in her eyes. Dwim was looking at her quite surprised, as if he had just been in a conversation with her and wasn't exactly sure what was happening. Tara was back in the booth where she had been sitting before. At least that part of the scene was normal.

'Miss Pearl?' Ea tried to raise her voice above the shrieking sound. 'Where is that spider now? Shall I catch it for you?'
She wondered how big the creature might be, seeing as it had such an effect on Pearl. 'A pity we Hobbits don't have shoes, or I could smash it for you. I might lend one from Tara here? Or if you have a duster, I could perhaps catch it and bring it outside?'
She walked over to the counter to see if she could find anything useful. At that moment her eye fell on a small plate. A plate with a lovely, delicious
slice of cake on it. It looked to good to just lay there... No, wait. Was that... the blue cake again? It couldn't be, right? No-one would be that cruel?

[Dwim]

Dwim sipped the last of his beer until Pearl emerged from the kitchen. "Oh no," he mouthed as she came out holding a slice of that blue cake. Surely she wasn't about to try some for herself? He thought he'd seen the last of that cake. And so he was hugely relieved when she put the plate down on the counter and turned away from it. But why had some of the cake reappeared now? He'd been so glad to find out that it had been hidden away. Oh well, he was sure the lass had her reasons.

Tap tap TAP. Dwim heard the noise in the background, but put no thought yet to what was causing it. The pub was usually full of interesting noises. "Hi there, Pearl..." he replied when she greeted him. He was then about to apologise for his part in all of the mayhem (he had after all been the one who'd arranged the fateful meeting here today). But his chance was gone in a flash when all of a sudden she was up on a chair and shrieking "SPIDER!!!!"

Dwim snapped his neck around. "Where!" he cried out with concern. He looked down at his shoulders and brushed the back of his hair wildly. Not on him, surely! But then he saw where Pearl was looking, and sure enough there it was (Ceru) scuttling out and about in the open. Eamila had returned just in time and was quickly offering to deal with the problem. But things were all happening very quickly tonight, and in a moment she was distracted, for she had come across the slice of cake.

Perhaps it was down to him to deal with the situatuion then. He'd missed his chance to apologise to Pearl, but maybe he could make things up to her in a different way. By rescuing the pub from the spider threat. It was only a little spider anyway, he tried to convince himself. Sure, he could quickly shoo the spider outside. Or better yet, smash it and squish it quickly. No, he couldn't squish it. He'd done that before in front of ladies and gotten in an awful lot of trouble. It seemed like most girls didn't like spider guts being squished all over the floor, and it was usually in watching that moment of violence that they would feel a small amount of sympathy for the creature.

He realised the best course of action, as much as the thought frightened him, was to try and catch the spider (Ceru). His tankard was now empty, so he decided to utilise it. Just as he began to move towards the arachnid, it charged towards Pearl. "Yikes!" Dwim called out as he leapt to action and charged towards the charging spider. He managed to get in between it and Pearl, then jumped towards it and tried to land his empty mug over the top of it, so as to contain the creepy thing inside. But in his panic his aim was slightly off, and instead he only managed to smack his mug into the ground causing it to bounce up and away, leaving his own hand vulnerable and exposed, right in front of the spider's upraised front legs.

[Lail]

Zweet the Wren
“Tewee-tewee-peep-chirr-peep-cheep-zweeeeet!” The wren exclaimed in excitement when the hoppit (Pearl) let her into the feeding ground. Zweet fluttered about Pearl’s head to express her appreciation. Hoppits were such strange creatures, wrapping themselves in the fur of other animals because they couldn’t grow their own feathers but Zweet was glad this one had let her in.

And left out unattended food. What was it? The wren didn’t know what the cake was but it smelled edible and sweet. Sweeter than her usual fare of crickets, caterpillars and seeds. So she stuck her little beak into it and began to nibble away first at the sticky substance on top and then into the fluffy inners. Yes, much tastier than even the finest caterpillar.

But the more the bird ate, the hungrier she felt...how odd! (Hobbit-ifying effects of the cake?) Maybe there’d be more filling treats where all the hoppits flocked together. She fluttered along and landed on a table. There was still blue frosting smeared on her beak. Spotting a pond of murky golden-brown liquid, she suddenly felt compelled to drink whatever it was. When none of the hoppits were looking, she dunked her beak into the foamy liquid (and added some ale-foam to her blue-frosted beak).

The slightest movement beneath the table caught her eye (Ceru). PREY! Out there right in the open! The scrumptious-looking spider would be the perfect meal for her nestlings! Her hunting instincts took over and she fluttered down to the ground in pursuit. The spider would not get away from her.

But something (possibly the ale) addled her senses and instead of diving straight for the spider with a fatal strike of her beak, she dove head-first into a holder of foamy liquid (Dwim's mug) instead. Zweet fell over, feeling quite dazed.

[Eamila Bolger]

Before Eamila could grab the cake and throw it away for good - or eat it, she wasn't sure yet which to choose, a big black bird flew close over her head and landed on the plate. Ea shrieked and covered her hair with her hands, stepping back as quickly as she could.
'Bad bird! Why are you in here?'
The wren didn't seem to be in an obedient mood and started eating the blue cake. In a few bites the last bit was gone and the bird went on to have a drink.

On a normal day she would have asked the inn-keeper what kind of business this was, where the birds were eating and drinking from the table. But this hadn't been a normal day so far and the inn-keeper was still standing on a chair.
O dear. The spider. She had forgotten about it because of that cake. Just when she looked back at the place where Pearl seemed to think it was, Dwim came in to be the gallant knight helping out the lady in distress. Ea grinned and decided to watch. And that was worth it. Dwim made a dive that was prettier than the one she had seen Daisy Longbottom do when she tried to catch the bridal bouquet of her sister Lilac, two weeks ago. Ea raised her hands to cheer for the victorious hero. But then Dwims tankard bounced away and he fell nose down on the floor with his hand and face closer to the spider than he probably liked.

Only seconds later Zweet joined him, shoving it's head right into the tankard.

Ea looked at the spider, Dwim and the wren and made a decision. As quick as she could she took an empty jar from the bar and rushed back. Hopefully she wasn't to late yet. Spiders weren't so bad usually, but she had heard of ones that bit. Kneeling down next to Pearls chair she carefully placed the jar above the spider. No sudden movements now. She held her breath as she slowly lowered the jar. When she was almost there, she swallowed and closed her eyes.
With a soft 'plop' the jar landed on the floor. She opened her eyes again and breathed out.
'Got it!', she said with a smile. 'You may step of that chair now, and if you have a piece of paper I can bring this beauty outside.
She wanted to stand up and help Pearl down the chair, but then she looked again. What was that? Why didn't she see the spider in the jar?

[Zôrzimril]

Pearl Brockhouse

A lot of things happened in very quick succession after Pearl hopped up onto the chair. First, the scuttling spider (Ceru) paused and raised its front legs as if inviting a battle. Pearl hopped from foot to foot with nerves as it did so. Please, please, please don't climb up onto my chair! she thought desperately. If there was one thing she could not abide, it was creepy crawly creatures!

Eamila then had the brilliant idea to squash it, but before the lass could ask the tall ranger to borrow a shoe, Dwim dove toward the spider, empty tankard in his outstretched hand, in an attempt to capture it. At the same time, the bird Pearl had seen tapping at the window reappeared, blue frosting smeared over its beak, and dove with twitters of delight to try and catch the spider for itself. Everyone wanted to catch that spider! Even Eamila had returned with a jar with which to trap the eight-legged fiend.

"Oh, oh, oh!" Pearl squeaked anxiously as Dwim landed on the floor and the spider somehow evaded all attempts to capture it. "Please be careful, everyone! We can't have nearly all our guests injured here tonight!" She looked around nervously to see if Lily was still on hand. Perhaps her old friend and new employer would know from experience how to deal with these spiders.

Tarawen

Tarawen had been feeling sleepy - no doubt an unintended side effect of McBob McFee - and her eyelids had just drooped shut when she heard a cry. "SPIDER!!!!" Tara's eyes shot open, and she swung her head back and forth to find the source of the shout. Young Pearl was standing on a chair, looking antsy and alarmed. Tarawen stood and strode over to the group of hobbits (and the bird? When had a bird appeared in the pub?), in the middle of which lay Dwim, who appeared to have cast himself valiantly between Pearl and the spider.

"What in the world?" she asked Eamila. "It's just a spider!"

[The Good Hunter]

Ceru, the Katipō

Things were looking dire for Ceru. She was charging the screaming Hobbit but only because the noise so confused her. The articulated hairs on her tiny legs quivered uncontrollably. She was disoriented with all the sound. The little katipō had no idea where to go. She’d gotten lost in her panic and no longer knew where her little web was. Then something else happened. Another Hobbit (Dwim) loomed massive and terrifying in front of her, most likely trying to defend the one that was screaming. Ceru had observed this behavior several times throughout her lifetime. She never understood what it meant or what it was supposed to accomplish but now that she was face to face with it, she understood. It was a protective gesture. While she had no idea why a female needed protecting, especially from a male, the tiny spider knew that she needed to get out of there, even if she ran off in the opposite direction of her home. She cursed her forgetfulness. She hadn’t spun a strand that linked her back to her web, thinking the trip to the fly would be quick.

In the midst of her thoughts she missed the ceramic mug careening down toward her. She was trapped! She couldn’t move. She was frozen to the spot as the great shadow of death loomed over her. She closed all her eyes in anticipation of the end. But then… it didn’t come. The shadow continued on over her. The mug must have slipped from the Hobbit’s hand. It crashed to the floor behind her. She could feel the vibrations through the floor.

In the confusion, Ceru leapt up on the Hobbit’s hand, hoping to be able to crawl around on his outer garments (Hobbits were very particular about not being touched on their skin by spiders or bugs) and hide in plain sight while the commotion died down. She could escape later, of course. She would have to abandon her old home though. She was so disoriented now that she would never be able to find it again.

The Hobbit’s hand shifted or twitched, and instinct took over. Despite her innate reluctance to bite in self-defense or something that was not food, she did. She bit down on the Hobbit’s soft, fleshy hand. She could feel the venom course through the chelicerae and into the poor Hobbit’s hand. She released her fangs quickly and scuttled as fast as eight legs would carry her.

A third Hobbit then appeared (Ea). Where was the bird, Ceru suddenly realized. The wren that had started this whole fiasco had disap –

It was right beside her! Ceru leapt back, front legs raised in an aggressive posture once more, her fangs exposed. But the bird didn’t seem to be moving. Was it asleep? In the commotion she must have missed something happened to the bird, but it was unmoving now. Ceru would count her blessings later. She had to get out of here before a…

A jar whirled over and nearly slammed down on top of the kapitō. The fastest of reflexes saved her from being trapped on the wrong side of the glass. She scurried up to the top, only be stare directly into the face of this new Hobbit.

[Eamila Bolger]

It was suddenly quite silent in the Inn. Eamila sat on her knees and stared at the spider, who was only centimeters away from her nose. 'Easy now... easy...' she whispered. 'Don't be afraid... I won't hurt you.'
It sounded almost as if she was singing. 'You will be alright. I will bring you to a safe place. Just sit very, very still now.'
In the background she heard Tarawen's question. ''Not just a spider!', she said with a low voice. 'It's a kapitō and they are nasty creatures. I mean: they are quite harmless but they can bite, if they feel like they are in danger. And this poor little one here must be quite scared right now...'
Very, very carefully Ea stood up. She took the jar that was still upside down.
'I won't hurt you and I won't kill you. I will just walk out with you and let you go, alright?'
Her mouth felt dry but she didn't dare licking her lips or swallowing. What if the spider thought she was going to eat it? Her upper lip was getting wet from the sweat as she continued walking to the door of the Inn. Five more steps. Three, one... there she was. Still very carefully she bended down and placed the jar on the ground. The spider was still there. Good. Ea pushed the jar to the side of the path a bit, near some bushes and hoped Ceru would climb of. She didn't wait for it, but went back inside.
'There now', she said with a sigh of relief. 'I'll come back for that jar later. Come on Pearl, you can get of that chair now! Please bring me something to drink, I could use it after all this. What about you, Dwim? Dwim?! Are you alright?'
Suddenly she felt more anxious than she had been with that spider so near. Dwim looked horrible. What had happened?
'It didn't bite you, did it? Dwim??????'

[Dwim]

"Ouch!" yelped Dwim as the spider (Ceru) found its way onto his hand and bit him. "Accursed thing!"

He shook his hand in panic to fling the spider away. Now he'd done it. He was sure he'd never been bit by a spider before, let alone one as nasty looking as this. She was small, but he did not know if she was poisonous or not. Tarawen strode in and firmly reminded everyone that it was just a spider. She was right. There was no need for panic. He tried to put the thought of poison aside. Sure, the bite stung like hell, but the pain would go away soon, surely.

Eamila was carrying out some heroics of her own, albeit a bit more skilfully. Apparently she had the spider caught on the jar, and he was glad when she brought it outside. When she returned, she was very concerned about him being bit. "Yes, the blasted creature got me," he informed her as he looked down at his hand. The tiny little wound where he'd been pricked was already red.

"It's okay, Pearl," he said reassuringly after Ea told her to get off the chair and fetch a drink. "Yes, I need one too," he agreed. "Have we got any spirits here? I need something strong to calm my nerves and forget this bite."

A good drink would settle him down. The pain from the bite will go soon, he reassured himself. No harm done. Save for that poor dazed bird (Zweet) on the ground there.

No harm done. If only that were true...

[Lail]

Zweet the Wren
Everything was warm and dark. It was a little like being in her momma-bird's nest back when she was a wee hatchling. Oh, those were the days hunkered down in the nest, getting tasty food delivered to you and being tucked under a blanket of warm, fuzzy feathers with her brothers and sisters.

The wren was lost in this place of warm happiness until she opened her eyes. Blinked, startled. Her vision blurred and everything swam around her in circles when she tried to stand up on feeble legs. She took one step and stumbled. Took another and tried to flap her wings for balance.

When she could finally see again, she saw she was not tucked up in a nest but was inside... a tree? With some strange creatures. Oh. The hoppits. The spider! Her memory resurfaced at last. Zweet dashed forward in search of the spider but was unable to walk in a straight line and kept circling in the same direction and was wholly unable to chase the spider who seemed to have escaped somehow.

“Te-hic-wee-peep-chrrrr-hic-zweet?” she sang in faltering tones. The little wren was really not feeling well. She fell forward on the floor and buried her beak in her feathers in shuddering fear. Blue cake, ale and a head injury seemed to be too much for the little bird.

[The Good Hunter]

Ceru, the Katipō

For a very long moment, Ceru did not know what to do. She was carried away by the Hobbit and deposited on the grass outside. The ground was soft and spongy, even with her small size, the little katipō spider could feel the softness beneath her feet. Against her better judgement (which told her to run, run, run as fast as she could) she stayed right where the Hobbit had left her, watching the events unfold as well as she could. Her pedipalps flickered back and forth, helping her make sense of what was going on around her. She felt very bad about having bit that other Hobbit. In truth, she had not wanted to do it, had reacted on pure instinct and did what she thought she had to do in that moment. She had not injected much venom into the bite, though it was unlikely he would see it that way. She normally only used that venom to subdue and devour her food. Her ability to scurry away quickly and hide was her best defense mechanism.

She hesitated with the bird stirred. She felt the movement in the tiny, almost microscopic articulated hairs that ran along her legs. It was time to move. If the wren was awake, it would be on the hunt again. Ceru prayed to the dark mother of spiders that the bird would find a grasshopper or a nice fat bumble bee to devour instead.

She turned and skittered into the underbrush. She saw massive tree looming nearby whose roots would be a perfect place for her to hide and spin her webs, a new home.

[Eamila Bolger]

Pearl still seemed to be a bit shaky from the shock, so Eamila thought she'd see if she could pour them all something strong.
'Why don't you sit down next to Dwim and Tarawen for a while?', she said to Pearl. 'I'll see if I can find a bottle of rum somewhere and then I'll make those who like it a cup of hot chamomile tea with rum.'
Ea hurried towards the kitchen and put the kettle on. 'I'll be right back!', she shouted. 'And perhaps I'll see if there's some apple pie as well, my treat!'

The kitchen was tidy as she had expected. The fire in the stove was hot enough to have the kettle singing within minutes. From a cabinet she took four nice mugs that had the name of the Inn painted on them. Were the owners afraid that visitors would take them home secretly. Wait a minute... hadn't she seen a mug just like that at her neighbor's place one day?. Ea shrugged.
Ah, there was the bottle of rum, right next to something that looked like gin and a warm red port. She decided that it was always good to know what you gave your customers, so she she took a little sip from all three bottles. The rum warmed her throat all the way trough and went straight to her stomach.
'Perfect for the tea.'
Soon she walked back with a tray full of apple pie, cream, rum, mugs and a fancy looking tea pot with green dragons painted on it's side. 'Isn't this thing fantastic?', she chuckled. 'Where on earth did you get it, Pearl?' She pointed at the steam that came out of the dragon's nose, which was also the spout. 'Just let me know who wants the tea and who wants the rum or a combination of both.'

After putting everything on the table, she stepped backwards. But as she did that, she felt something soft against her legs, just under her skirt.
'Whaaaa! What's that!' The yelling was loud enough to get everyone's attention. Ea blushed.
The wren! She only just missed it!
'Kssshhh... get lost you, stupid bird!', she yelled at it, angry for having over-reacted. But something was not right. Ea had a better look at the bird.
That wren looked just like her uncle Will after he had spent the night at this very same Inn, with his best friend Bob. It's a miracle they still find their way home at night, her mother always said. One day they will end up in the Grey Havens and wake up in some boat on the great sea, those two.

'I guess this poor animal had a bit too much of your ale, Dwim', Ea laughed. 'Sorry 'bout the yelling, little one. I had no idea you were in a state like this. Come on, I'll help you out.' Carefully she picked it up and brought it to the window.
'Here, breath some fresh air! And when you want to, you can have a bit of my pie. But you look like you better rest a bit first...'

With a sigh she finally sat down. After putting a large amount of whipped cream on her apple pie, she started eating.
'This is good! Where did you get it, Pearl? From the Market?'
She had expected Dwim to start eating right away too. But Dwim was silent. And there was something about his face. Ea wasn't sure of it, but... was he looking paler than before?
'Dwim, are you sure you will be alright? You don't look so well...'

[Dwim]

"I'm... I'm ok," Dwim replied to Ea's concern. He nodded his head attempting to look confident about it. In actuality, his hand was burning, he was beginning to get the sweats, and he felt a bit lightheaded. "At least, I will be after a drink of this." He grabbed the bottle of rum and poured some into his own mug. Perhaps a little more than one would expect. "Thank you for gathering all this," he said with a small smile, admiring the assorted treats that she'd brought to the table, including tea and apple pie.

He took a good sized sip of the rum, then poured some of the tea over the rest of the rum in his mug. "Aahh," he sighed. "This'll set things right..."

He sipped the tea and watched Ea helping that pour creature (Zweet) who looked in a worse state than he did. "I think you're right, perhaps a bit too much of my ale. I can't be sure, but I think I heard the bird singing in rhyme before."

As he continued to watch the bird getting tended to, Dwim sunk back into his seat then looked at his dear friend Tarawen. "I don't feel so good..." he said to her slowly and quietly. Either the rum was going to his head very quickly, or he was about to faint from that spider toxin.

[Lail]

Zweet the Wren
Zweet peeked out from behind her feathered wings and saw the feeding ground whirl around her as she was lifted up into the paws of a hoppit (Ea). Then she was deposited back where she began this adventure. It was dark and cold and lonely out there and it was drafty by the window. She sat there cuddled up until the draft chilled her to her hollow bones.

The little wren took a step toward the edge of the windowsill and teetered there for a precarious moment. “Peep-peep-chireeep?” she called as she held out her wings and took the great leap...and....flapped her wings, once...twice...teetered on the third flap…!

And then climbed into the air!

Ahhh, Zweet could fly again after some much-needed rest but her flight path was rather more zig-zagged than usual. (Most likely it was an effect of the ale but avian intake of fermented beverages has not been well-studied.) She flitted among the hoppits flocked together in search of a warm, cozy spot. And possibly a few morsels of food...she still felt very hungry, almost ravenous. (But those were big, mean birds that spread nasty rumours!)

This hoppit’s head was too round on top and another was wearing a strange upside-down straw nest on top of its head (what odd creatures!). No, no, no, that hoppit head was very naked indeed and had almost no padding at all on top except a thin wisp of fur! Why didn’t these hoppits just grow feathers on their heads?! They’d make much cozier perches for little birds like her that way.

The bird bounced around landing on a series of curly-haired heads in search of the most perfect perch...

(OOC: feel free to provide a head perch or be a sad, rejected hobbit head)

[The Good Hunter]

Fezziwig Willowfoot

What a time to be alive! Fezzy bounced his way to down the street, grandchildren giggling and laughing as they followed as far the front gate. They were all singing, and all singing different songs. It was an awful mishmash of badly out of tune voices that had yet to grow into their own and Fezzy loved every single screech and every single off key note. “Go night little ones! Good night! I’ll be back around for elevensies!” The hobbit children, all five of them, cheered uproariously. He grinned ear to ear. “Bye Grampa!” “See you tomorrow!” “You can sit next to me if you want!”

He blew them all a final kiss goodnight and waved to his daughter and her husband who stood in the doorway, pipes in hand for an evening smoke. “Goodnight Ophelia, goodnight Marteen!”

He was off again, bounding down the path. Whatever it was that possessed young children to have such a rapacious amount of energy had infected him after spending the entire evening with his grandchildren. He was visiting from Honeypuddle and had planned on only staying a few days, but after such a fun night with his family, how could he not stay longer? Something to bring up at elevensies, and if he threw in a good barrel of Green Dragon Ale he was sure he’d be welcomed as long as the children could stand him. They’d played tag all afternoon, even missed afternoon tea because they were so busy playing. Playing was serious work when you were a child and it had to take precedence over other things like eating or naptime. There was simply no way around it. So little Jasmine had told him at least and who was Fezzy to argue?

He sighed with great contentedness. He had put off this trip for far too long. He was afraid that it was going to bring up too many sad memories of his late wife Bedelia. There were a few sad memories here and there that pull at the heartstrings, but those were few. There were far more wonderful memories waiting around the corner and new memories to create besides! He laughed and his stomach gurgled. It was almost time for a meal again, and some thick brown ale to wash it down, something sweet with ginger and other baking spice notes, something molassey and a good mouthfeel! If the Green Dragon was still as legendary as it was when he was a tween then he was very certain he’d find that exact beer!

The place looked alive and abuzz with activity when he arrived. Something must have just happened. Oh drat! He’d missed it. He entered and sat down at an empty table and immediately noticed… was that a… yes! Yes it was! He laughed and watched the little wren hop from one hobbit to the next, seemingly unsatisfied with each cranial perch. He rubbed his balding head, knowing he’d not be too much better than any of them but he patted the table, trying to call the bird’s attention nonetheless. It was an evening for making new friends.

And speaking of new friends, Fezzy was famished! “Sausage and taters sound lovely,” he mused dreamily, “along with that wonderful winter warmer.”

[Zôrzimril]

Pearl Brockhouse

Still standing atop a chair, Pearl took in the scene:

Tarawen brushed off legitimate concerns about a (probably) venomous spider (trust a Ranger to worry so little about scary critters...). Eamila took said spider outside, easing the tension in the room considerably, then went into the kitchens to prepare a pick-me-up for the startled hobbits. Dwim shook off a bite from the spider. The little bird (Zweet) she’d let in earlier swooned on the ground but was rescued by lovely Eamila and brought to the windowsill.

What a night! Pearl would have to write this all down to remember it. It would make a fine tale for hobbit children one day. They would never believe all the things that had happened in the ordinary Green Dragon!

She hopped down from the chair at Ea’s bidding and joined the little group at a table for refreshment. “I’m sorry about that,” she said to Eamila, “I think I was just too stunned to move for a while! We’ve never had a night like this at the Dragon, I can tell you that much.” She took a bite of pie and chewed thoughtfully as Eamila asked about first the teapot and then the whipped cream and pie. “You know, this is all Lily’s good work!” she said, referring to her friend who’d hired her that very evening. “I’m sure she could teach us a thing or two about running a pub.” Strangely, Lily had been nowhere to be found for quite a while this evening. A curious night just became curiouser!

Before Pearl could mentally wander down the lane after Lily and speculate about where she’d gone, Dwim swooned as suddenly as the little bird had earlier. “Oh no!” Pearl shouted, wringing her hands. If things continued like this and Lily returned, she wasn't sure she’d have a job in the morning... Right! She had a job to do!

She let Tarawen and the others see to Dwim, for a new customer (Fezzy) had just bounded jovially into their midst. Pearl slid off her chair and went to see to him. “Good evening, sir!” she said with a smile. “Did I hear correctly that you were looking for some sausage and taters? If so, I’d be glad to bring some out for you!”

Tarawen

For a people who so disliked disruptions and disturbances, these hobbits were baking quite a lot of them into one evening. Tarawen watched, bemused, the same scene which Pearl had observed and been a part of. She was still sleepy and was about to make her apologies and head on out for the evening when Dwim turned to her and said, “I don’t feel so good…”

“Dwim!” Tara cried, watching as he slumped back in his chair. “Oh, for fred’s sake,” she muttered. At least the side effects of McBoB McFee (specifically, of speaking in rhyme) seemed to have worn off. She had not envisioned her friend suffering this kind of injury when she proposed confronting the Toasty One at the pub tonight. “Please, please don’t faint!” she said, waving her hands energetically in front of his face to maintain his attention. “We’ve got to keep you conscious and get you some medical attention right away.” She looked around and asked the room at large, “Where are your healers? He’ll need to see one of them as soon as he can.”

In her worry over Dwim, Tara did not notice the bird now fluttering above them and making its way for her head…

[Lail]

Zweet the Wren
Zweet landed upon Tarawen’s head. Here was a very lush nest of dark fur just waiting to be cozied up in! And it was much taller than most of the other perches around the feeding ground. That made it all the better for it was more like a nice tree than all the hoppit heads which were only as tall as bushes and shrubs.

“Tewee-tewee-peep-peep-peep!” she sang out in pure joy.

The wren nestled herself into the fur. Ohh it was so very soft she might want to clip a few strands to twirl into her nest! This unfeathered one should teach the others how to properly preen and look after their fur. These hoppits had so much to learn unlike a very wise little wren who was an expert preen-er.

This perch on Tarawen’s head garnered her a wide view of the entire feeding ground. Feeding ground, feeding, feeding, FOOD! Zweet needed food not a perch!

A hoppit with very little fur on top of his head (not a prime perch at all) was waving his naked little appendages at her that looked rather a lot like worms. Mmmm worms. Worms were a delectable treat full of gooey goodness.

Zweet took off and landed on the table in front of Fezzy. She flicked up her tail-feathers and waggled it back and forth in a little dance. “Tewee-chirp-chirp-zweeeet!” If she could distract him with her dancing and singing, she might be able to nab one of those fat worms...

[Zôrzimril]

Tarawen

Before anyone replied to her queries, there was a rustling and a sudden light pressure atop Tarawen’s head. And then there came the bird noises.

“What in the world?” Tara exclaimed. She had almost forgotten that there was a bird (Zweet) in their midst - and not just any bird. This was a cake-addled, spider-chasing, head-bonking little bird. The poor thing! No wonder it had settled in on a human head with no inhibitions or hesitation. Tarawen laughed. In all her travels, she’d only once been still enough for a bird to dare landing on her: she had been asleep, and a pigeon had had the audacity to wander up and begin pecking at her mouth and nose. This was, all things considered, more pleasant for Tara. Still, she worried for the bird.

Its song of “Tewee-tewee-peep-peep-peep!” sounded rather contented, though, so the ranger shrugged and leaned back in her seat. The silly little bird could stay as long as it liked. If Tarawen wound up with a head full of bird shire, well, she’d seen and experienced worse. And it would be a fitting way to cap off this particular evening, too. Before it could relieve itself in her hair, though, the bird fluttered off to bother a gentlehobbit (Fezziwig) who’d just entered the pub. “Ah, well,” Tarawen sighed. “At least she still has enough of her wits about her to fly!”

[Fuin Elda]

Drabo Burpless

The jar had been no good. No good at all, and his neighbour had told him as much. Which honestly such things happen when one is making preserves and pickles, she likely hadn't even been upset by it but it was just the culmination of his day where so many things had gone wrong. He was just trying to keep it together after that. He replayed what she said in his head over and over again worrying that he'd been a bother with asking her how the jar of pickles was that he'd given her.

He'd honestly been hoping for good news with the question after his day thus far but instead it had not been good and he'd done his best to put on a brave face finish the pleasant small talk that she carried on, which bothered him even more because he was certain that he was just being bothersome and she was being a nice and dutiful neighbour.

Drabo was looking rough, there was a stain on his jacket which normally wasn't there as he staggered into the Green Dragon a blank look on his face as he glanced around at all of the patrons of the pub for a moment his brown eyes seeing there were a good number of people there he tucked his head down and went and sat near the corner after getting an ale at the bar.

He sat down and tried to get comfortable only to notice the stain on his jacket. He hadn't even realized he'd put on this jacket, why would he have put on this jacket with this horrible stain? It was his favourite indeed, but he'd been wearing it this morning when... when the first pickle problem had arose and he didn't really wanted to reminded of that failure as well. He sat very very still his lips pressed together and his head bowed, the only movement was his hand worrying around the edge of the stain on his jacket as he ale sat untouched.

[The Good Hunter]

It had been a very exhausting day. It a day full of adventures. Emmie had climbed a tree with Humphrey, and they sat on the highest branches and ate acorns until an older hobbit threatened to tell her parents that she was being an ill-behaved hooligan. Why were older hobbits so grumpy? Ermengarde didn’t have an answer, neither did her imaginary best friend. She tried to share some of the acorns she had left over with the old man but he was having none of them. He almost chased her away! Well that was enough of that! She and Humphrey left the tree and its angry hobbit (he was probably hungry but didn’t know it yet) behind. They found some sticks and staged the most amazing and dashing sword fight ever seen in the Shire. That’s what Humphrey had told her anyway, and he wouldn’t lie.

But it was getting late. The sun was starting to go down and the more dangerous critters were starting to come out. It was best to start getting closer to the houses were all the noises were. Oh! Emmie just had the most wonderfulest idea! She could stop by the Green Dragon and maybe have a few cups of strawberry cordial! And maybe they still had some bagels with jelly or maybe a tart or a bit of cheese. That sounds like a very excellent and full meal to the small hobbit child. She darted off, tiny feet verily bouncing off the grass pathway, visions of sweets dancing in her head. Normally she wasn’t supposed to go to the tavern this late, that’s when the adults liked to drink their funny drinks and tell their stories, but she was sure her parents wouldn’t mind, especially if she brought them all some cordial to share in front of the fire tonight! It was a fool proof plan and that’s all she needed to think about that.

She burst in the doors and beamed a huge white smile, nearly the size of the tiny hobbit lass herself. Humphrey, as ever, was right behind her. He climbed on her shoulder and sat pigaback.

That’s when she say the older hobbit (how much older she couldn’t tell, he didn’t look as old as her parents, but he was surely older than her oldest sister who was nearly out of tweens) sitting by himself (Drabo). He seemed so still. Was he okay? Emmie didn’t like the sad look he had on his face. He seemed very worried about something.

“Excuse me, mister,” she said quietly, standing a few feet away, “do you mind if I sit with you?” She had a feeling, a hope, that she might be able to see what was the matter and maybe she could help him?

[Fuin Elda]

Drabo Burpless

He was so engrossed in his head that he didn't hear anyone coming in , which everyone else most certainly did, with how the little girl entered the Dragon. A good number of older hobbits undoubtedly looked at her entrance in shock, after all she was mighty young to be in the pub this late even if her parents had been there but Drabo did not he was watching the bubbles rising to the top of his mug.

He blinked when suddenly there was a very quiet voice near by, it had taken him a moment to realize that they had been talking to him. He licked his lips and did his best to put on a brave face but honestly he didn't do a very good job of it as he turned and looked to see a little hobbit lass standing a few feet away. His first reaction was to look and see if she had a parent about somewhere when that wasn't the obvious case he pushed the other chair at his little table back a bit.

"No feel free." He said as calmly as he could, honestly he wasn't sure that this was going to be good. He wasn't sure that he had the energy to be cheerful for a child, he took a hold of his mug of ale and took a sip of it looking at the little girl. "So uhh - what's your name little one?" He asked trying his best to be polite after all he figured her parents were some where in the pub, after all why else would she be here? He honestly didn't have it in him to get yelled at by the girls parents for being mean to their little . He set the ale down, his lips still pressed together and he drummed his fingers on the table top to try to keep the tears that had been threatening to spill out back.

This was either the best thing that could happen or the worst, he wasn't entirely sure yet.

[The Good Hunter]

He looked so sad, so lost. Emmie climbed into the booth opposite the man and sat quietly for a moment with her hands in her lap. Before she sat down, she and Humphrey had had a hundred ideas to cheer him up, from dancing on the table and doing a tumbling routine to telling a silly joke that would make him crack a smile. However, as soon as she sat down, she could tell none of those ideas were going to be any good. He was not sad, not the kind of sad that people can get sometimes when things go bad or when an outcome isn’t what they hoped for. He was a deeper kind of sad. Emmie wasn’t sure what she could do to help that. She was only seven years old after all.

“My name is Ermengarde Brandybuck, but everyone calls me Emmie. I was named after my mom’s favorite aunt who must have been two hundred years old to have a name like Ermengarde.” She smiled and put her hands on the table. He was drinking one of those sour grown up drinks (she snuck a sip of her father’s ‘stout’ one time and thought she as going to gag to death) but he didn’t seem to be very interested in it. “What’s your name, mister?” She’d always been taught to say “sir or ma’am” but he didn’t look old enough to be a sir yet and he might think she was making fun of him and that was the last thing she wanted.

There was a boom of laughter at the other end of the tavern, Old Mr. Fezziwig must have told a very funny joke that everyone was laughing at. The sudden sound of merriment caught her off guard and she jumped. All the laughter sounded a million miles away. She looked at the young hobbit’s eyes. The sound didn’t seem to reach him. She pursed her lips for a moment and looked at the empty space her beaver friend was occupying. “One of my favorite things to do is sit by the Water and look at all the fish swimming by. I like to make up stories about them as they go. What sort of things do you like to do?”

[Fuin Elda]

Drabo Burpless

"Emmie Brandybuck?" He said still trying very much to be polite and hold himself together after all it wasn't like a wee hobbit child should have to try to fix his problems. How would she even do something like that it was a silly thought to even cross his mind. "Oh. Um I'm Drabo. Drabo Burpless." He said with a bit of a nod trying to think of if there were any Brandybucks a ways back in his family tree, since that sort of thing tended to be important to a lot of hobbits knowing who they were related to as far back as they could figure it out.

There was a bout of laughter and Drabo looked over in that direction as Emmie jumped a bit shocked he supposed at just how loud the laughter was, it was, almost grating and he was glad he was off in this little corner where people wouldn't get too offended if he didn't join in their laughter and merry making. He noticed her look at... well he wasn't sure what she seemed to look at perhaps she had some toy there that she was interested in before she talked about sitting by water and looking at fish swimming by.

"That's really nice sounding Emmie." Drabo said softly still working on keeping from crying, indeed he use to do similar though it was more with birds and coneys for he was not really one for going too near the river probably because there wasn't a drop of Brandybuck to be had in him he was utterly afraid of the water unless it was in a nice copper bathtub. "I uh..." What did he like to do? He had to think on this. "I like cooking and making things like pickles, but I, I don't think I'm very good at it." He said finally.

[The Good Hunter]

As soon as Drabo said his name, Emmie felt the urge to burp. It wasn’t her fault really, the word just sort of put the idea in her mind and for a moment, all the tiny hobbitess could think about was not burping. It would have been unimaginably rude and inconsiderate of her. Her mother would have bopped her on the butt with a paddle if she ever did something like that. She glanced at Humphrey who had now climbed on top of the table and was looking right at Mr. Burpless. One of the perks of being imaginary, Humphrey didn’t have to worry about being rude. He burped. Emmie did her level best not to giggle. That would be so mean! And Drabo was already looking as glum as an picked carrot. She wanted to make him feel better, not worse!

“Oh you know how to make pickles?” Emmie perked up and grinned from ear to ear. Maybe there was a chance that if he talked about the things he liked to do, he might feel better. It was worth a shot anyway. “I love pickles very much. My mother says if I eat too many of them, that I’ll turn into one. I think she was just trying to stop me from eating the last pickle in the jar. But my hair is green so who knows?” She shrugged. Now she wanted some pickles to go with her strawberry cordial. Maybe they could share a plate of them?

“I bet you’re pretty good,” she said, trying to sit proper whilst leaning forward eagerly. “What’s your favorite kind of pickle to eat?”

[Fuin Elda]

Drabo Burpless

He sat swirling the drink in its mug looking at the young green haired lass who was now once again grinning ear to ear as he mentioned pickles. Which honestly any other day would have been the best thing to get him talking he got really excited talking about pickles but today had been... Well a pickle of a pickle.

"I uh. I thought I was." He said. "And I have a great big order and my pot developed a hole in it that I make the brine in." He said with a sigh. Honestly that was just the beginning of his troubles but he figured news about his brine pot would give the little girl an idea of why he was upset that was where things started to go horribly wrong today. He wasn't sure if he could make the big enough batch anymore with his little pots and if he could make enough would they even like them? His neighbour had said they weren't really good.

He was a bit confused by the last question. What was his favourite kind of pickle to eat? "Dill with Garlic." He said with a nod. Indeed that was the type of pickle he'd been trying to make earlier today. "What sort is yours?"

[The Good Hunter]

”My favorite kind of pickle…” Emmie began, then stopped to think. What was her favorite kind of pickle? There were so many good kinds. She liked the sweet ones, the ones that made her tongue go numb, and the really sour ones. “Well,” she began again after a heartbeat, “I think I like all of them. I think pickles are just the absolute best! If I were to chose which to put on the perfect sandwich though, I would have to say the sweet and hot kind. My mama says eating as many peppers as I do will stunt my growth. I think she’s just pulling my leg though. What do you think, Mr. Burpless?”

Again, she realized she was bombarding him and being intrusive with all her talking and questions, but he wasn’t telling her to go away or get lost like a lot of the adults would if they didn’t want a weird little girl hanging around them.

“I’m very sorry about your pot though. Is there any way you could fix it perhaps? Or, oh, I’m sure my mama would be able to loan you one of hers if you needed it. She has so many pots, like seven of them!”

Emmie knew very little about cooking (she was only seven after all) but she knew about pickles. When she found out that pickles came from cucumbers she was quite literally floored. How could the best tasting snack in all the Shire come from the most boring vegetable? There had to be some magic involved. That was the only explanation. Her mother, though, never told her that secret. Maybe Mr. Burpless would?

“I can ask her if you’d like me to.”

[Fuin Elda]

Drabo Burpless

He gave a nod absolutely confused by this child, sweet and hot ones, he had made a few of those but they weren't among his favourite, and there were others that made them better as far as he was concerned. "I uh, I've never heard of anyone not growing because of peppers." He said "though my mother said that I'd turn into a pickle with the number I ate." He said thinking about how his mother had looked shaking a wooden spoon at him when she'd found him feet up stuck in a pickle barrel.

He shook his head. "I'm afraid not I'll just... I need to get a new one I suppose but not your mama's, that wouldn't be proper by any means, goodness knows she probably needs them with everything coming ripe soon." He let out a sigh. "No I'll need to purchase a new one and hope it does as well as my last one it was one of my mothers years ago." He said looking through Emmie as it were.

There were a good many hobbits that would call him strange and queer for talking to and entertaining the little Brandybuck girl with her questions and curiosity, but honestly. If he was entirely truthful with himself, she had done a better job of keeping his mind off of everything that had gone wrong and had given solutions to his problems even if they were not solutions that he would particularly use. He sipped his ale less preoccupied by what he could possibly do when everything was going wrong and where he was going to purchase his new pickle brine pot from.

A few moments later he came back to the present and looked at the little green haired girl that was sitting there across from him looking at him quite sweetly. "I uh.. I suppose that I should get something small to eat while I'm here... are you wanting anything? " He asked realizing he didn't really have any other way thank this hobbit lass for now. perhaps once he had his new brine pot he could have her taste test a batch of his pickles.

"

[The Good Hunter]

She laughed, a high clear sound (as is often the case of hobbit children) that bubbled out of her. “Turn into a pickle? Oh that’s the funniest thing I’ve ever heard!” her grin was as wide as her laugh had been. “Mr. Drabo Burpless, the Pickle-Man!” she thought for a moment, looking at her new friend in the light. “I bet you’d make an awesome pickle man if you wanted to be. What do you suppose pickle people do?” the last sentence she’d said out loud but had meant the question more to her imaginary beaver friend who was still watching intently, occasionally slapping his tail soundlessly (to all the adults of course) on the table. Perhaps it was because she was still young, only seven, but the thought that a friendship between an adult hobbit and a little girl being odd never entered her mind, and Mr. Burpless was a definitely a friend. Emmie had decided this as soon as he said his mother told him he’d turn into a pickle one day. She giggled again, imagining Drabo with green bumpy skin.

“Are you sure you don’t want me to ask? My mama wouldn’t mind.” She knew he’d say no again, but it felt important to let him know that it was okay. Her mother was a generous soul, always lending things to her friends and neighbors, and had installed that sort of giving attitude in all her children (especially young Emmie who encountered more people than the rest of the family combined in all her adventures and imaginary quests).

There must still be something she could do. She scrunched her face, placing a finger over her lips as she thought. “Ah! What if I helped you? My da told me he was gonna send me to the post office to be a junior ‘prentice, but I think junior pickle maker would be a much more interesting job. And I might already be turning into a pickle with my green hair!” She beamed her bright smile, sure that she’d found a wonderful solution. Even Humphrey thought it as a good idea.

“Now that you mention it,” her tummy grumbled as if on cue. “I came in here for some strawberry cordial and maybe a pastry or two. Are you hungry too? Eating something sweet always makes me feel a little bit better.”

[Fuin Elda]

Drabo Burpless

He sat thinking on the question that Emmie had put forth for a moment, and before he could stop himself from the bit of wit escaping (which had gotten him in trouble more than once with his own mother) "I 'spose they'd spend most of their time trying to stay away from people that like eating pickles as that would be a mighty dangerous run in." He gave a small laugh at his own joke. He gave a nod.

"Aye I'd need it for a terribly long time so I'll be needing to buy a new pot anyways." He said confused at the face that she was making suddenly he frowned slightly. Junior Pickle Maker. Who'd ever heard of such a thing? He certainly hadn't but, he had to admit despite how odd it was that he was sitting there talking to child, she had managed to make him feel a little better about everything. Which honestly was something his own friends had utterly failed to do, perhaps because they were too set in what should happen and how it must happen, and perhaps that was why Drabo was all pickled up.

"I suppose so, we should talk to your parents first though before we go doing something like that, especially if your pa is trying to get you on with the post." Drabo said A small smile cracking his face as she commented about already turning into a pickle with her green hair. "My mother would say you're half way there to be sure!"

"I think something to eat would be lovely Emmie, lets go get some of those cordials and some pastries. This ale isn't doing a thing for me." He said pushing himself back from the table and hopping up waiting for the young girl

[The Good Hunter]

Emmie’s smile was infectious. Well, she hoped it was. Her mother and father always told her was (her sisters and brothers merely rolled their eyes and closed the doors to their room). In this instance she hoped it more than usual. Some innate sense inside her head told her that Mr. Burpless needed all the smiles he could get. She knew that smiles and cheerfulness didn’t always make things better or didn’t solve all the problems one could have, but they could mean a hundred different things for a hundred different people. Emmie knew that sometimes a sad smile conveyed more understanding and sympathy than a hug or a hand-squeeze. Sometimes it told a person that they weren’t alone and that no matter what happened, no matter how rough things got, there were people out there that cared about them. Emmie knew, too, that it was okay to be sad and anxious and to feel like the sky was going to fall on you and that no amount of cheering up would help that feeling or make it go away. Her pa once said “sometimes you just have to muck your way through a swamp”. Emmie thought to add “and sometimes it’s okay to be in the swamp and not do anything”. Every person was different and how they shifted from happy to sad to angry to happy in their own way. The little hobbit girl knew that was okay. She wanted Mr. Burpless to be happy. She wanted all the people she met and befriended to be happy and cheerful, but even at just seven years old she knew being sad or upset was okay, that being happy all the time, no matter what, could hurt people worse than being so angry you threw things.

“I know what we could do!” she said, her eyes sparkling. “Tomorrow, we could go to the market and see what they have available? I think Old Mr. Mallard Twofoot will have some good cast iron. I once tried to see if I could fit into one of his pots when he wasn’t looking. The lid was so heavy I couldn’t get it off! I bet if we both tried, we could do it.” She emphasized we as if it were already a conclusion that she was know his apprentice, a junior pickle maker in the making! “I can talk to my pay tonight when I get home for supper! I think he’ll say yes. Oh I’m so excited!” she giggled and clapped her hands. Humphrey laughed too and slapped the table. She wondered then, did Mr. Burpless have an imaginary friend too? Someone to help keep him company when he was bored or alone? She hoped so. Not everyone had them, she was aware, but those that did always seemed a little more present in the world, a little more full of color and brightness. But it was rude to ask someone if they had an imaginary friend so she just had to hope.

She bounced off the stuffed seat and stood up, a whole thirteen inches tall! “Ready to order?”

[Fuin Elda]

Drabo Burpless

He looked down at the little hobbit lass he eyes agow with far too much excitement at a pickle brine pot and settled his lips into a thin determined line as she suggested that they go to the market tomorrow to look at Mr. Twofoots wares. Indeed that was a fantastic idea and he nodded though he wasn't so sure that he needed a pot big enough to actually brine Emmie it was a fantastic story and that small determined line let lose into a loud laugh and a smile finally split his face. She was quite certain her father would say yes to getting on as a Junior pickle maker, which he wasn't entirely sure on but he was not about to say no to her as he was quite happy to have a helper, and perhaps she would help him figure out how to make different types of pickles to sell.

Maybe he would pickle beans and peppers. That would be quite the thing indeed.

"OHHH Emmie we certainly don't a pickle brine pot quite that big! But we will get a nice big one so we can make a lot of brine and a lot of pickles." She nodded as she stood up beside him asking if he was ready to order. He absolutely was and he motioned with a bit of a sweeping bow that he'd seen from the odd dwarf that came tromping through the Shire to Emmie motioning for her to lead the way to the pub where they would be able to order a bite to drink and those cordials that she had been talking about.

[The Good Hunter]

While it was certainly unusual for him to show up in the midst of the hobbits’ tavern, it was most certainly a necessity. He’d been on the road for weeks and hadn’t had a chance to bathe in nearly twice as long— no, he’d had the opportunity, he’d just declined because of his adherence to aesthetic. All of that to say he was tired, and he wanted a dry place to smoke his pipe, maybe even a mug of ale, but that remained to be seen. The weather outside was frightful, and the thought of a fire was delightful. It wasn’t Yule, it was closer now to Beltane, but a good crackling fire was good all year round. There was a storm on the horizon. Why were there so many storms passing through the Shire? It was an oddity for sure, some demiurgical thing probably had nothing better to do than to make it rain for dramatic effect. And speaking of dramatics, he could not afford to be overly so tonight. While it was often his wont to enter a room in the most dramatic, soul (and loin) stirring way, being overly dramatic in the proximity of hobbits often lead to misunderstandings, and misunderstandings could only be unraveled with a multiplexity of polysyllabic words, and he was not in the mood for those tonight. As the air filled with the scent of petrichor, he was filled with unease. There was a certainty deeply bedded in his soul that he was not the only man travelling the cold, dark roads this night. He hurried on, wrapping his billowing cloak tighter around him. He cut quite a figure in the pale moonlight, he almost felt like dancing, but that would have been far, far outside his comfortable aesthetic.

He slipped into the Green Dragon, knowing all the doors and hallways well enough in his eighty some odd years now to avoid detection. The room was filled with the little folk, the music was boisterous, and conversation was rowdy. In sort, it was a normal night at the Green Dragon. There was a problem though, with all this activity, there was only one darkened alcove for him to brood and smoke in. It wasn’t that big a problem though, who else but Aragorn, Strider to the folx of the Shire, would need a darkened nook ringed with the spidery wisps of good pipe smoke?

He slipped down, extinguished the little candle on the table, made sure his hood was thrown up around his face to frame his mysteriousness perfectly, and made sure to sit just out of the light of the window behind him, an eerie silhouette surrounded him. Good, good. He lit his pipe and inhaled the invigorating smoke with a deep, satisfied breath. Yes, this was what he needed tonight.

[Moriel]

It was a dark and stormy night. An oddity for the Shire, which seemed always bucolic and pleasant, but perhaps the land had decided to match the drama of the man stalking its byways. His hair was white, his eyes yellow, his face scarred, and his cloak billowed as the wind itself seemed to conspire in the ominous tension of his appearance on the rise in the hill above the Green Dragon. The moonlight rippled across his hair from behind and glinted off the hilts of his swords, but not a thought of dancing entered his head- that was a different sort of drama altogether. He wanted ale, and a dark corner in which to brood. His eyes fell upon the Inn, and he groaned internally, knowing what he would find inside. But, though the company was not ideal, the ale was the best around, and the ale won. He stalked down the hill, across the yard, and through the door. Immediately the noise of a raucous evening in a halfling pub struck him; dozens of voices raised in song and loud conversation, the sound of dancing feet, clinking glasses, and all that sort of thing. A number of voices even called out in welcome, despite his mysterious entrance darkening the doorway, as mysterious entrances are won't to do. Geralt looked about at the rowdy, well-lit pub with something like despair.

Hmmm. F-

Before he could complete the thought, a large hobbit (by which this meant slightly more than waist height on him) barreled into Geralt after being shoved genially by a compatriot. In slow-motion the ale in the halfling's mug (rather a larger mug than one usually saw in these parts) sloshed up, over the side, and onto Geralt's trousers and boots.

"Ohoho, sorry friend!" the hobbit cried, staggering back and bobbing his head. The ominous man stared at him briefly, impassively seeming, though internally he was calculating how many halflings it might take to dull the edge of his sword. Not looking forward to that kind of maintenance, Geralt instead reached out and yanked the still-mostly-full mug from the halfling's hand. Then, after a moment's consideration, plucked the pipe from his mouth as well, and turned away. He ignored the mutters of "strange folk abroad" and quick looks that rippled around the room, but the former noise and jollity rose again quickly, and he turned towards the lone dark corner. Strange that there was only one, but no matter, he only needed one. But as he stalked toward it, he became aware of a silhouette. Curses! Had someone arrived in this corner before him? Well, there was nothing for it now- he was stalking determinedly and it would be foolish to stop now. Geralt arrived at the table, with its curl of smoke both from the recently extinguished candle and the pipe of the man he could now make out in the corner (Aragorn), hood pulled forward to obscure his face, and thumped his ass into the seat opposite. Geralt slide as far back towards the wall in his seat as possible, took a deep swallow of ale, smacked the mug onto the table, and thrust the stem of the pipe into his mouth.

Not quite looking at the other man, he grunted.

[Periantar]

Hobold Chubbs Hobblefoot

Noticing suddenly that there was actually a Green Dragon Thread (of course there is, how could there possibly not be) Hobold wanders in, dusty from his time tending his bee hives all afternoon, (and perhaps a little sticky for having sampled his own goods), and takes cosy seat by the fireside, stretching out his legs in their rich green, but well worked, breeches, and warming his hobbit feet with their dark brown curly hair by the fireside.

Hobby draws quietly on his already lit pipe, and, blowing an understated smoke ring, catches the innkeeper's eye, "One pint of the Dragon's finest ale if you wouldn't mind, and maybe you could scare-up a hot meal with some taters."

[Silky Gooseness]

Silas Hardacre

“No, mother,” Silas had said firmly, as he hustled his way out of the hole: “You do not need to come with me.”

Closing the door firmly in the face of his flustered parent, who had been half-inclined to hold him by the hand as he went down the road - as though Silas were not a hobbit well in his tweens and with a job, to foot - he strode into the Green Dragon with more confidence than his usual wont, only to nearly bump into a stranger at the fireside where he was accustomed to sit; already with a lit pipe and ordering a plateful of dinner.

“Hello,” exclaimed Silas cheerfully, plumping himself down nearby; “I think I’ll have the same, innkeep!”

[Periantar]

@Silky Gooseness

*Realising that, after after only a few weeks back in Middle-Earth, he had already confused himself, (and possibly others), Periantar quickly went back in this thread, and edited his posts so that this character turned into Hobold Chubbs Hobblefoot, a homely and respectable gentlehobbit, who loves selling honey, and eating stuff made with honey; and also stuff not made with honey. Of course, Periantar can't be attempting to start an RPG located at the Green Dragon in the free RPG thread* whilst also sitting in the Green dragon relaxing in this thread. My humble apologies if I've caused any confusion.

Hobold Chubbs Hobblefoot


Hobold had aparently dozed off in his chair. After all, the seat was cosy, the fireside glowing warmly, and the comfortable hum of the Dragon a veritable lullaby. The food here, of course was well above par for your average small town inn, but the service certainly could've been a little quicker.
"Ahh, hullo, hadn't noticed you sit down. I guess I must've fallen asleep."
Hobby carefully refilled the generously sized bowl of his pipe, gently tamped it down, and lit it with a burning twig from the fireside. "And what might your name be my young hobbit? You look like you could do with a pint of some fine ale.
"Bar keep! A Pint of that wonderous ale for my friend here, and maybe another for myself. This one seems to have become empty entirely of its own accord.
"So, my good friend, while we're waiting on that ale, what might be your name, and what is it that keeps you busy in the Shire. You look to be barely in your Tweens, I'm half surprised you're not out in the streets playing hookey from Hobbit-school."
Two pints arrived sitting on a simple tray, condensation glistening by the fire and a thick foam sitting on top. Hobby took a deep, refreshing drink and sat back in his chair.

Whilst Hobold and Silas sit by the fireside, an argument, or rather "an impassioned discussion," is overheard (from a different thread), something about Dragon smoke, does this pique Silas' interest? Is this the real reason Silas is out enjoying a pint, is he looking for an uncomfortable adventure?

[Silky Gooseness]

Silas Hardacre

The other hobbit came-to, re-tamping his pipe and filling the already hazy atmosphere with the rich and mellow scent of pipe weed. Not at all put out at being disturbed, he ordered another pint for himself - and for Silas - whose eyes grew fairly round at the sight of an entire pint, being himself more used to half-pints. Still, not wishing to reveal himself as a naive youngling, he gamely picked up the heavy, glistening tankard, promptly giving himself a frothy foam moustache as he took a sip. Ah, it was good! Maybe Silas could drink a pint, after all.

“Thank you, good sir,” he said politely. “I’m Silas Hardacre, and don’t worry, I left Dameschool a few years ago, and work now at the Mathom-house, recategorising and labelling items. But recently I’ve visited the Beekeepers and it seems an interesting job - maybe I might do a little work there, if there’s time. I did once attempt to set up a detective agency,” here Silas gave a half-embarrassed cough, “but it never really went anywhere. I’m interested in many things, though, perhaps too many! What about you, sir, what brings you to Hobbiton tonight?” His ears perked up. First an unfamiliar Hobbit, and now some mention of Dragon-smoke? Likely the gaffers were merely gossiping: but then again, perhaps not.

[Periantar]

@Silky Gooseness

“So, interested in honey are ya, young lad? I was around there at that honey market, not but a few weeks ago with a trolley full of the lovely stuff. What I’m doing in Hobbiton is simple enough, I came up, a few weeks ago, from my cosy little hobbit-hole down by the southern most banks of the Shirebourn. Now, don’t take me amiss, I’m not a great one for messin’ about in boats, I hear as they can be mighty unruly things in the right hands – and downright dangerous in the wrong ‘uns. Just as my Great Aunt Dahlia used to say, thrice removed on my father’s side don’t you know…
“Now that is a funny story… Great Aunt Dahlia, thrice removed on my, er, ah. Well, anyhow, she once went out on the Shirebourn – crazy old hobbit the became – and that was the end of it. Never came back. Now whether she left, she had been hanging around with some unsavoury sorts – hobbits what…”
Hobby whispered, and lent in closer at this point; close enough to nearly bump young Silas’ pint right out of his hands.
“…had adventures don’t ya know. So anyhow, she goes off one day down the river, in a boat no less, and never comes back. I say, one way or another, the river took her. Either it done her in, and ended it all; else it took her off to some fancy adventure and never brought her back.”
Hobold leans back, with apparent self-satisfaction at a bit of ancient family history well told, and draws deeply once more on his pipe, wriggling his toes.
Silas, with a little excusable hobbitish hastiness, asked Hobold again, “So what brings you to Hobbiton tonight?” Clearly, although that agency may not have done too well, the youngster still had a little detective curiosity in him.
“Ahh yes, now that’s what we were talking about. My honey, that brought me to Hobbiton. THE finest honey in the South Farthing, taken to THE finest honey market in the Shire – what could be better?”
Hobby leaned in once more, “Now I’d wager, young Master Silas, that you’d have a rather canny interest in that conversation over there.” At this, he inclined his head toward the Hobbits by the bar, arguing and discussing dragon smoke. Hobold continued quieter still, “And I’d wager, anyone that wanted to hear a little more about it all, might want to make the acquaintance of this dusty looking traveller.” This time he inclined his head toward the stranger intown, who was now himself whispering with old Bill Turnfoot.
Hobold and Silas both made their way over to the stranger, who was waiting quietly in The Farthings and Beyond – Shire Free RP thread.