The Green Dragon inn

Growing food and eating it occupied most of their time.
Forester of Lothlorien
Points: 109 
Posts: 70
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 6:24 pm
Leilani Took


Leilani tossed her long, brown curls out of her eyes as she skipped towards the door of the Green Dragon Inn. She had dropped her shaggy chestnut pony off at the stables just a few moments before. It had felt so wonderful to feel the wind rushing through her hair as pony and rider had raced towards the Inn. They had earned many strange looks from the Hobbits they had passed along the way, but Leilani didn’t mind; she had gotten odd looks her whole life.

It has been too long since she had last been to the Green Dragon Inn, and her brown eyes sparkled as she walked through the door – it was always so exciting to see who visited the Inn. After spending forever with no one but cousins and other relatives for company, she welcomed anyone new to talk to. She ran a hand over her blue-grey skirt to make sure she looked presentable after her ride. She’d forgotten a ribbon to tie her hair back with – her mother would be disappointed – but she had kept her white shirt and golden-yellow corset clean. So she looked presentable enough.

Her mouth watered as she entered the Inn, and she weaved her way through the crowd, finding an empty table to sit at. She looked over the menu. Everything sounded so good! Her tummy rumbled as she thought about the Ale and Stew with taters she’d be ordering.
Characters: Sidra (Elf), Leilani & Elva (Hobbits), Solia (Human)

Hobbit Child
Points:
Posts: 4
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 9:00 am
Rose walked along the path towards the Green Dragon Inn, it was a glorious afternoon, the sun was shining, the birds were singing and her dark brown hair danced in the breeze. "I am eager to sit down with an ale or two and hear all about your news my dear Lobelia"

Upon reaching the establishment she opened the door for her friend to enter then followed her in. Rose smoothed down her blue dress while waiting for her eyes to adjust to slightly darker light.

The inn looked fairly busy for an afternoon, at one table an older hobbit (Eckbert) was asleep, Rose smiled to herself, she noticed a few other hobbits were in conversation, she didnt know them but there was always the possibility of new friendships. She turned to Lobelia, "why dont you fetch us two ales? and I will find a table" she said with a dimpled smile.

Esquire of The Mark
Points: 316 
Posts: 258
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 8:38 am
Seeing Lotho was settled with food, and with conversation buzzing around her, Lily trotted back to the bar to see if there were any new orders to fulfil. It looked like Pearl had capably taken care of Istya's order - what a fantastic addition to the team she was - and a new arrival (Leilani) had sat down but not ordered yet. So she was pleased to see her dwarven assistant (Nerwen) eager and ready to work. "Well, very good to meet you NerGala, you're a rare sight in these parts but it is a relief to know you have plenty of experience in pubs. It does look like we have almost finished this barrel of ale though, would you give me a hand to bring the next one up from the cellar? The hatch is just at the end of the bar there" she pointed behind Nerwen "and there are 12 steps down. I have a candle on a ledge just below the first step if you can get that far without it? Thank you, your help is much appreciated." she smiled.

She surveyed the Green Dragon contentedly - there was nothing quite so rewarding as serving your hobbit friends good food and drink and watching everyone enjoy themselves. She smiled as she saw old Eckbert asleep, and gave a little wave to Lobelia and Rose who had just entered.
Starbreeze ~ Lily Knotwise ~ Itarildë Tinehtelë ~ Peachleaf ~ Isiliyan ~ Aelflaed Goldhawk ~ Dagnead

Forester of Lothlorien
Points: 109 
Posts: 70
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 6:24 pm
Leilani Took


Having decided what she wanted to order, Leilani rose and walked over to the bar. It had been so long since she had last been to the Green Dragon that she forgot if she was supposed to order at the bar or if someone usually came over and took your order. She blushed at herself. Wondering if she was coming off as a foolish Took. She smiled at the Hobbit lass behind the bar (Lily). “Hullo, Lily!” She said brightly, leaning on the counter. “I’d like to order a pint of Ale and a bowl of Stew with taters, please!” She placed her coins on the bar. “I take it your garden is overflowing with potatoes – based on your menu – which is wonderful! You can make so many different things with potatoes!”

She saw Lily waving at two Hobbits who had just entered (Rose and Lobelia), and she gave them a smile. Perhaps she’d be making some new friends!
Characters: Sidra (Elf), Leilani & Elva (Hobbits), Solia (Human)

Brewer
Points: 180 
Posts: 91
Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 7:09 pm
When Menolly offered her a bite to eat to tide her over, Istya considered the offer. Shyly, she nodded, but just as she was about to extend her fork over, Pearl came over with her order of food. And with an extra helping of taters! She sighed happily as she brought her fork over to the newly set plate in front of her, and then dug in. At hearing Pearl's apology, Istya smiled and then thanked her.

"Thank you for considering me," she said after eating a bite of the taters. "That's very sweet! If your owner doesn't mind it, I won't mind paying a little bit more to help cover the overhead of the extra helping. But I do want to thank you for this. I was getting kinda hungry!"

Istya thought about Menolly's adventures to the sea as she took in another bite. "You followed the elves, just like that? I can only imagine the views there! What was it like? What did you see? Was it just as heavenly as it sounds to my ears?"

Suddenly, she blushed in embarrassment when she realized that Pearl had just begun asking about the old Gardening Club. Oh, her pregnant brain! "Ohh, I am so sorry, Pearl. I must have been in my own world there for a moment there, thinking about the sea. But that's a great question! I didn't make it to all the meetings, but I do remember growing carrots and roses at separate meetings. We aren't too far from Michel Delving to ask the mayor about starting it up again. I think many would enjoy that! I know I would."

Ilmarë
Ilmarë
Points: 2 835 
Posts: 2974
Joined: Sat May 16, 2020 9:29 pm
Pearl Brockhouse

"Not to worry," said Pearl, grinning at Istya. "Taters are plentiful and if it comes to it, I'll pay Lily back from my day's wages. Happy to make up for your long wait, and with you eating for two!"

She laughed when Istya apologized for getting lost in daydreams of the sea. "I understand. I myself was a bit lulled into a whole other world just imagining it! The Gardening Club sounds lovely. Maybe I'll inquire about getting one back up and running."

Pearl glanced around the Dragon to check if anyone else needed anything. She spotted an older gentlehobbit (Rivvy) who had fallen asleep in his chair and some new customers who had just entered. All looked well, so she bustled over to Lily behind the bar to let her know about the taters.

"Lily, my dear, I'm afraid I've been costing you a bit extra today! First there was the smashed plate, and then just now I gave Istya some extra taters to make up for the long delay in her meal. And of course," she added, taking the roll out of her pocket and having a bite, "There's this roll I snuck as I hadn't eaten since second breakfast. How much of my wages shall we say I owe you?" She grinned sheepishly.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Chef
Points: 347 
Posts: 275
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 6:44 am
Oh, the sea... the way Menolly described it, Ea felt a longing inside. Istya echoed just the questions that she had. 'It does sound wonderful to go there one day. When the children are older, that is. Right now I am afraid I'd constantly be holding on to them, out of fear that they would fall into the sea and I'd loose them.'
When Pearl and Istya started to talk about the Gardening Club, Ea got enthusiastic. 'Didn't we have great time there?' she said. I do hope that one day we may start again.'
She finished her plate and carefully scraped the last bits of sauce of it. 'That was great!', she said to Lily and Pearl. 'But I was wondering... do you have anything sweet for desert? I didn't see any apple pie or rhubarb crumble with cream on the menu... and if you don't, I might be interested in baking them for you, later on! After all, what better way to end your meal with a sweet desert?'
Please state the nature of the medical emergency!

Chef
Points: 768 
Posts: 439
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 5:03 am
Menolly closed her eyes, remembering the tang of the salty air, the wind blowing her curls across her face, the waves lapping up against the rocks...and found she didn't have the words to express it to Istya and Ea. "It was...well...for a moment I thought I might be brave enough to dip my toes in, but then I thought about what would happen if I fell in the water and was swept away. The waves were beautiful but so strong. I suppose I could have found out what was west beyond the farthest west, but, well, I would have missed my home here in Bywater too much to go floating off, adventuring in the sea!"

The smell of salt faded from her memory as conversations of gardens and sweets sprung up around her. "Oh, I would love to see the gardening club again!" she said to Pearl. "I don't know that I remember the ins and outs well enough to run it myself. I only ever popped in once in a while to get some help and advice on my vegetable garden. But I do a lot more gardening since I've returned to Bywater, and it would be lovely to garden with others and learn more."
they/them/actual hobbit in search of a merrier world

Esquire of The Mark
Points: 316 
Posts: 258
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 8:38 am
Lily smiled warmly as Leilani approached the bar and placed her order. "Hello Leilani, I will get your ale and stew right away. Yes, I always grow more potatoes than I can possibly eat on my own, and there are so many things you can do with them, they'll always have a place on this menu" Lily chuckled as she grabbed a pint tankard and started to fill it from the keg on the bar. "Here is your ale, I'll be right back with the stew" she said and popped into the kitchen, filling a bowl with the rich stew and a hearty serving of taters with it. Lily heard her tummy rumble again, and decided she would have to have a snack herself before too long. Cheerfully she whisked out of the kitchen to place the steaming bowl on the bar for Leilani, "There we go, I hope you enjoy it." she said as she set the food down.

At that moment Pearl came over and began to apologise for breakages, extra large portions and snacking. Lily gave a little giggle as she tried to listen seriously to Pearl's apology, but as she finished Lily just smiled. "My friend, please don't worry about those things - accidents happen, and as long as we don't smash plates every day, we can manage a few breakages now and then. As for portions...well, you know what us hobbit folk are like, portion sizes are flexible, please just serve whatever your discretion tells you - it sounds like you have offered excellent service today. And because you have offered excellent service, I certainly don't begrudge you a roll to nibble on. In fact, I think that is an excellent idea, and as my own tummy rumbles every time I serve a plate of food, I am going to get myself a roll to snack on." said Lily, hoping she had set Pearl's mind at rest. "You're doing a great job and I really appreciate your help".

As Lily started to nibble the roll she had picked up for herself, Eamila came across and started asking about a sweet course. "Oh I totally agree, no meal is complete without something sweet to finish it off. I don't have much time myself at the moment to bake things like apple pie or rhubarb crumble, though I have plenty of apples and rhubarb in my garden that could be used. If you do fancy baking some to be served here that would be wonderful! I know I would certainly buy a slice, or two!"
Starbreeze ~ Lily Knotwise ~ Itarildë Tinehtelë ~ Peachleaf ~ Isiliyan ~ Aelflaed Goldhawk ~ Dagnead

Storyteller
Points: 1 459 
Posts: 1301
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 9:09 am
There was usually only one reason why Dwim travelled up the road to Bywater, and that was to visit the Green Dragon. Ahh, it's been too long, he thought to himself. Too long since his last visit which was already a week ago. He'd been hard at work in the meantime, starting his market stall and brewing his new ale at home. Now that the week's work was done, up the road he came, quick as he could and determinedly pulling a cart behind him.

He had three matters of business to attend to this evening. The first matter was that he was expecting to meet with two visitors from outside of the Shire, Tarawen and Toast. They were friends of his, though they had serious matters to discuss. Strange accusations had been thrown around, thus why it was important for them to meet face to face.

The second matter, he wished to offer a sample of his ale to the inn-keeper of the Green Dragon, with hope of securing future business with the establishment. That was why he had the cart with him. In the back of it was one keg of his brew, which had affectionately been named McBob McFee.

The third matter was perhaps the most important, and it was that he was thirsty and there were at least six pints of beer waiting to be drunk.

He attended to that concern first, heading to the bar immediately as he entered. "Ah, hello there Lily," he said with a smile and a small, casual bow. "How do you do? Could I please have a pint of ale while I wait for my company to arrive?" And then he found a table in the back, in the darkest corner, which he thought was most appropriate for discussing disturbing issues.
Last edited by Dwim on Sat Jun 20, 2020 9:25 am, edited 3 times in total.

Ilmarë
Ilmarë
Points: 2 835 
Posts: 2974
Joined: Sat May 16, 2020 9:29 pm
Pearl Brockhouse

Pearl grinned at her new boss and old friend in appreciation. "You're the best, Lily! It's great to be back and helping out around the Dragon." She crammed the last of the roll into her mouth, all pretense of dignity forgotten.

Seeing that all the current customers had been attended to, she wandered back over to the table where Menolly was speaking about the gardening club. "I'd probably run that club into the ground, so to speak, knowing my skill with plants," Pearl piped up. "But I sure could use the education!"

Just then, the door opened and a newcomer (Dwim) entered. Pearl could see a cart carrying a barrel through the door; she wondered if he was a new vendor. She gave him a friendly wave in welcome as he headed to the bar to order.


Tarawen

The Ranger walked quickly, hooded and cloaked, through the quaint and quiet lanes of Hobbiton. She'd been here before; the warm light glowing from the windows of each hobbit home was a welcome sight. "Creature comforts," she thought. She didn't judge the hobbits for their love of a roaring fire, a heavy meal, and a large round of ale. It had been her duty to protect their borders for years, after all. It was just that she'd had so few of them, and now her favorite - her Warbler - was gone forever.

Tarawen was here to settle a score with a fiery foe and former friend. Dwim the brewer would no doubt be a trusty ally in all of this, having been falsely accused. If all went to plan, it would be over quickly and without notice. Knowing the fiery one, though . . . she hoped they could move out of the crowded pub before it got too heated.

Arriving at last in Bywater and in front of the Dragon, Tarawen pulled open the door and ducked inside. She found a merry group within, all peacefully enjoying a drink and a meal. Where was Dwim? This had been his suggestion, after all.

Tara headed to the bar to get a drink - she'd need one or twelve - and spied her old friend lurking in a shadowy corner. She nodded in greeting to the barmaid (Lily) and, glancing at Dwim, placed her order. "I'll have whatever he's having, but double the size."

She didn't wait for a response but moved purposefully to her friend. She reached into her pack and procured a drawstring pouch. Dropping it on the table, she hissed, "This is all that's left of my Warbler. I believe that you did not commit this crime. But we must make this quick - I don't want to risk losing any innocent lives to a ka-blooie. Do you think the barmaid would lend us a bucket of water? Maybe the toasted one will confess to his deeds under threat of dousing."
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Storyteller
Points: 1 459 
Posts: 1301
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 9:09 am
Dwim smiled with relief when his dear Ranger friend arrived. It meant that she and ol' Toasty hadn't come to blows on the road, for he was sure such an altercation would not have ended well.

The smile dropped from his face when she approached the table though. Without hesitation she opened her bag and dropped the charred remnants of her Warbler in front of him. It was horrible. Dwim could smell it too. He gave his friend a sincerely sympathetic look. "Oh I am so sorry, Tara," he said. "I wish after all these years that our meeting was not under such terrible circumstances."

He stopped that train of thought, for he suddenly realised the need for haste. "Yes, of course, a bucket!" he agreed. If it was not enough to prompt a confession, it would hopefully be enough to protect the two of them from a mischievous attack. Dwim could hardly believe it had come to this. What had become of his friendship with Toast, when these were the sorts of preparations they were making against him?

The hobbit noticed the new bartender (Pearl) give him a wave and a smile, which he returned as he jumped out of his seat. "Hello there!" he said, hoping it didn't seem like he was jumping her. "Do you happen to have a pail of water you could spare? It's of most urgent importance."

Ilmarë
Ilmarë
Points: 2 835 
Posts: 2974
Joined: Sat May 16, 2020 9:29 pm
Tarawen

She had taken a seat on the woefully low bench, across from Dwim. Her knees creaked a bit, so she stretched her legs out beneath the table on which the remains of her Warbler were scattered.

"It is what it is," she told her brewer friend. "I, too, wish we had a more celebratory reason to reunite. But perhaps we can raise a toast to my Warbler, and then - once this is all over, of course - several toasts to justice finding the Toast."

Dwim responded enthusiastically to her idea of dousing the one with such a heated personality. Tara nodded in approval, then reached for her knife. She placed it on the table, handle toward Dwim, and said, "A bucket may be just the start. Take this, in case it comes to blows."

She looked around, hoping her drink was coming her way.


Pearl Brockhouse

No sooner had she waved at the new hobbit, but a tall and hooded figure entered the Dragon. She hadn't seen one of the Big Folk before, so Pearl was momentarily speechless and stared wide-eyed at the tall person, who turned out to be a dark-haired woman with a sad and serious expression.

She was wondering what on Middle-Earth this person could want when the hobbit with the cart of ale jumped up and accosted her. Pearl gave a small jump. "Oh!" she exclaimed. She took a moment to gather herself, the continued. "Why yes, we have a bucket in the kitchen, and I could fetch you some water." She hurried off as she understood it to be an urgent request and returned just minutes later with a large wooden pail, filled nearly to the brim with water. She was relieved not to have spilled anything.

"Here you go, Mister . . . ah, what was your name again?" she asked, offering the pail to him. "And if I may ask, what is going on? Most guests here ask for pints of ale, not buckets of water."


(OOC: I guffawed at "hoping it didn't seem like he was jumping her" XD)
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

New Soul
Points: 1 141 
Posts: 1049
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:39 am
A not particularly tall (though by hobbit standards, rather large) figure made its way - sneakily - up to the door of the Green Dragon Inn. But how to enter?

As it had been made abundantly clear by his good friend now apparently moderate acquaintance, Dwim, that outsiders were “not allowed in the Shire”, his usual explosive entrance was off the table.

The main problem, besides his height (which, though a bit below average, certainly stuck out here) was his hair. It was something that rather stood out at the best of times, a shock of vibrant ginger hair, tufts out in every direction. He had a beard to match, which was shaven into its usual goatee, but even the small beard had a bit of a mind of its own.

This, however, was not the biggest problem. Occasionally (and sometimes frequently), his hair liked to … light on fire. It would spark and glow, smolder and smoke, sometimes bursting into full flame. He could find neither rhyme nor reason to it; sometimes it related to his moods, and at other times, perhaps was influenced by the movements of the moon and the stars. Truly, who knew. And his hair would be fine afterwards-- though, admittedly, it was best to let it go out on its own. Buckets of water were not well received (either by himself, or the hair and beard. It made them exceedingly grumpy and difficult to deal with).

Right now, his hair was calm. Who knew how long that would last.

He liked to say that his great-great-great-great (he usually lost track around here) grandmother was a Balrog. Others liked to say that he was full of toasty nonsense and probably just carried around pocketfuls of small firecrackers-- the kinds some wizards had oft been so famous for. Well, he did have some wizard blood, but whatever else he was made up of, was an excellent question. Certainly a bit of hobbit, as well. Maybe enough to let him into the Shire. But the wizard blood was more than enough to get him kicked out. Or maybe that was just the fact that his name was synonymous with mischief, and the hobbits weren’t largely fond of it. Perhaps Bilbo would have been. He had always thought that that fellow sounded quite fun at parties.

He paused at the door, and glanced around to make sure no one was watching. From out of his patched satchel, he pulled a large fake beard and hair, and quickly fastened it on his head. The beard and hair were long and grey, and hopefully none of his wild and unpredictable ginger tufts snuck their way out. Dwim would certainly not fail to recognize that. His bright blue eyes, nothing could be done about, but he quickly pulled out a small kit of dyes and paints, and a few brushes. A nearby barrel of water served as a good rough mirror; his own small one was not up to a job like this. In a manner of minutes, he had added small subtle crows feet to the edges of his eyes, and various lines to his face, accentuating the creases that were already there. Always build on what already existed, his mentor had always said. Harder to detect a lie where truth was laid as foundation.

(It must now be admitted that he got so engrossed in his work that he paid no mind to if anyone (outside, or through a window of the pub) was watching him, and his antics were rather noticeable.)

Thus finished with this next step, he quickly packed up his little case with brushes and paints, and slipped them into his satchel, trading his wild patchwork cloak for an old tattered brown one, and tucking the patchwork one into his satchel as well. He took hold of the small knobbed walking stick he had picked up on the way into town, and leaned over, and bowed his legs a bit, taking on a bit of weight in his shoulders and creaking his neck forward a bit.

He blinked owlishly a few times, then added an old pair of bent spectacles to his disguise, and cleared his throat in a register lower than his own, giving a few good ‘harrumphs’. Yes, this ought to do just fine.

Pushing open the door to the pub with the stick, he followed behind it, shuffling his way inside. As he did so, he looked around scoping out the space. He caught sight of Dwim and Tarawen; they were set up in a back corner of the pub. Ha! And they accused him of plotting! He was certain Dwim had chosen the spot. That hobbit was full of plots, for all his fine words.

Shuffling toward the bar, he called out, rather more loudly than necessary, “Ah drink fer a poor old man, if ye please, barkeep! Ah’ll have yer strongest stuff!”
they/he/mischief

Ilmarë
Ilmarë
Points: 2 835 
Posts: 2974
Joined: Sat May 16, 2020 9:29 pm
Pearl Brockhouse

Just as Pearl offered the bucket to the hobbit brewer, she noticed a figure through the front window of the Dragon. It moved sneakily and stealthily, as if it didn't want to be noticed. But how could she not notice when it affixed a giant grey beard and hair to its head to cover its flaming orange locks? And what was it doing now . . . painting its face? This was most peculiar.

She heard a series of low coughs from outside the door; soon after, it opened and the strange figure in disguise tottered in. That was definitely not how the figure had been moving about just moments ago, thought Pearl. What was happening? The Dragon was a place of comfort and steady predictability: hobbits came and went, ordering ales and foods and sometimes falling off their seats if they ordered too much ale - but that was about as exciting as it got. All this quiet commotion with buckets and beards was definitely strange.

"Um," she whispered to the brewer (Dwim). "I just saw that old fellow putting on a disguise." She tilted her head toward the supposed "old man," who was now ordering a drink at the bar. "Is he with you?"
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Storyteller
Points: 1 459 
Posts: 1301
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 9:09 am
Dwim was suitably impressed by the way Pearl obliged his request with a matter of urgency. He had expected to be questioned beforehand. Most hobbits would be suspicious of such a request, and it would have been a difficult question to answer. In no time she had returned with a hefty wooden bucket full of water. "Thank you so very much, Pearl!" he said as he took the bucket from her.

He then finished her sentence. "...Took. Dwim Took, it is. Pleasure to meet you." He gave a small bow to complete his introduction. And then came that difficult question that he didn't know how to answer. Why did he need a bucket of water? How could he answer this truthfully? That it may be used later to threaten a confession out of one of the guests? Or that it may be used to douse a flaming table? Both answers were sure to get him and Tarawen ejected from the premises immediately. He decided to bend the truth.

"Well... ahhh... I don't quite know how to say this, but our friend is soon to arrive, and he has a bit of a problem with..." he tried to find a good way to finish that sentence, "...with accidents. And you know, we just want to have some water handy in case a quick mopping up is needed."

That sounded quite unconvincing, but by a stroke of sheer luck, a distraction arrived right on time. Pearl had spotted a strange old man (Lucifer) enter the pub, and she immediately whispered that she'd seen him outside putting on a disguise. Dwim raised his eyebrows. "No, he most certainly is not with me," he replied as the old man brought attention to himself by almost yelling out his order. "I can assure you, this is not the friend I was speaking about."

But how suspicious this all was. Dwim quickly dragged the bucket of water back to the table, shoved it under, then looked at Tarawen. "Look at this," he said, gesturing towards the old man with a subtle flick of his head. "I'll go investigate."

It seemed quite a strange chance that on the night that they were expecting a Toast-sized Lucifer to arrive, a Toast-sized old man arrived instead. One who had been spotted putting on a disguise, no less. Yes, it certainly did warrant investigating. Plucking up the courage in case he was wrong, he sidled over to the man. "Hello there, sir", he greeted him, matching the volume of the man's entrance. He placed his own drink on the bar, then extended his hand upwards. "Dwim Took, pleasure to see a new face here. What may your name be?"

Dwim was good at detecting fake names, and he waited eagerly to hear this one.

New Soul
Points: 1 141 
Posts: 1049
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:39 am
Lucifer Loki Toast, or the great LLT (like an MLT, get it), as he preferred to be known (or did he), was rather startled to find the hobbit Dwim sidling right up to him. He had meant to keep an eye on his two friends from a distance, and feel out the situation before engaging, but it seemed it was a bit late for that. He had noticed the situation with the bucket, and was even less keen on joining the table now. They had thrown accusations, and now they brought buckets of water? This was not shaping up to be a friendly meeting.

He realized he had only half been paying attention, and refocused on the hobbit speaking to him. He couldn't quite tell, but it seemed Dwim did not yet suspect him. He was asking for his name, after all; a perfectly ordinary thing to ask a strange old man who enters a pub.

"Harrumph!" he exclaimed, wafting a floof of dust into the air. (He had not used the grey cloak in rather a long time). He began coughing loudly- at first a ruse to buy himself time as he had forgotten to think of a name, and then in earnest. That dust was... dusty. Out of the corner of his eye, he saw his satchel, and realized a tuft of his multi-colored patchwork toasty cloak was sticking out. Under the guise of the loudest and most ludicrous fit of coughing he could drudge up as a distraction, he smacked it with his staff, hoping that it was more hidden now. Probably. He couldn't see much through his eyes watering from all the dust.

The dust cleared, and his coughing subsided, and he realized Dwim was still staring at him, hand upraised. He took it, keeping his hand quite intensely shaped into a claw (it wouldn't do if the hobbit recognized him from his handshake, after all), and clutched the hobbit's, shaking it up and down, before remembering he still owed a name, which he had forgotten about in all that coughing.

"Ah yes, erm, name, yes my name, that is-" he began, probably quite suspiciously, as he adjusted his bent up spectacles with a claw-like hand. "I yes, well that is, Luci- erm, Lo-, well, now, Toa-, HARRUMPH!" he added loudly on the end, realizing how many times he had almost given himself away. Those names were all known to the other two.

Then, he had an idea, "Ha ha! What do you think this is, young man, free name day?" Where I come from, one does not simply give out a name. You must guess. That is right. Three guesses, you shall receive. And if you get it right, I shan't turn you into a toad!" Toast was laying it on rather thick, but if there was one thing he excelled at, it was committing to the bit. Out of the corner of his eye, he caught a flash of orange, and then a bit of a burnt smell. He quickly patted at his hair, hoping dreadfully hard that the fire would not catch fully. pat. pat. pat-pat. pat-pat-pat. patpatpatpatpatpaptpat. He patted his hair quite aggressively, doing a bit of a dance. "Just a bit of superstition to ward off the rain, you know!" he exclaimed, by way of explanation. Hopefully they would buy it. A few curls of smoke seemed to grow suddenly from his chin.

"ACHOOO!" he sneezed loudly, hoping to scare them away. It was effective, and the smoke dissipated. This was quite a lot of work.

He turned his gaze back on the hobbit, as his drink arrived, and he took a large gulp. "WELL THEN?" he thundered, waggling his eyebrows impressively. The louder and more obtrusive he was, Toast figured, the less suspicious they would deem him. Probably.
they/he/mischief

Hobbit Child
Points: 26 
Posts: 14
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 7:59 am
Lobelia Brindleway with Rose Sandybanks

Lobelia was happily walking along the path with Rose, listening to the bird song in the air, they were nearly approaching the green dragon inn before Rose mentioned her wanting to have a good sit down and let lobelia tell her her news.

As they approached the green dragon Rose opened the door for her and she entered and their ears were met by all sorts of voices and people laughing. The smell of ale hit her nose.

Rose told her to fetch two ales whilst she looked for a table and with that she went up to the bar and ordered from the lovely bar tender,
'Two ales please' then she spotted some nuts and said 'Oh..and a packet of those nuts aswell please.' she said with a smile.

As she waited for her drinks, Lobelia looked around the pub and at where her friend has found them a table.

As the drinks came and her snacks she carefully took the two ales and the nuts towards where her friend was sitting. Placed the drinks down and said ' I got us some nuts to share maybe abit later we can order some dinner here.'

She settled in her seat and took a sip of her ale. The smell hitting her nostrils and the taste hitting her throat. Then turned to Rose and began. ' Ok so the reason we are here is because I wanted to tell you something I have just set up... You know I've always loved baking and I have wanted my own tea room...well...I have set one up today at the Michel delving marketplace. And oh rose...it's amazing!' she continued and placed her chin in her arm and leaned on the table as she continued dreamily to tell her friend about her tea room.
'Mother has been helping me set it up and she's been baking some bread today and I've had customers.' she was talking quite fast now she couldn't wait to get it all out and tell her friend. 'Oh rose you must visit and have a spot of tea and cake!' and she took another sip of ale and waited for her friend to answer.

Storyteller
Points: 1 459 
Posts: 1301
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 9:09 am
Dwim sniffled and wiped his eye. The old man's cloak was very dusty, and the more he flailed around, the more the hobbit's allergies began irritating him. But after a while of waiting, he finally got his answer from the stranger regarding his name. "Lucyerm Lowell Nowtoe-Harrumph was it?" Dwim asked quietly, and it was uncertain whether he'd said it to himself or to the man. It made some kind of sense. Much like that creature Gollum, Lucyerm Lowell seemed to have a strange habit of exclaiming his surname. HARRUMPH! HARRUMPH!! He was not sure if this was deserving of sympathy or not.

But it seemed Dwim was now getting caught up in the lies, as he had temporarily forgotten his suspicions surrounding this whole situation. But slowly he began to wake up to himself and eventually remembered that this was an investigation. Toast had not arrived on time, and yet this strange person was here in his place. And now it seemed that Mr. Harrumph had not actually revealed his true name yet, as he insisted on a guessing game lest Dwim suffer the terrible fate of turning into a toad. Another Gollumish tactic.

It just so happened that Dwim enjoyed guessing games and was happy to oblige. "Alright then," he replied. "I think I can manage this." He had a quick think before making his first guess. "Okay, how about, MOR...pheus? Is it Morpheus!?" No, it couldn't be that. It didn't fit. "Okay, fine, my second guess. What about Old TOA.... Old Toby!!" Hmm, that didn't quite seem to work either. "Yipes, I guess I'm down to my last guess," he thought out loud. "Well then it must be..."

And he left it there, producing no further guess at the name. For it seemed like this man was quite easily frustrated by those around him, and he thought the lack of a guess would irritate him enough that his irritation would actually distract him from fulfilling the threat of turning Dwim into a toad.

But then a genuine distraction arrived in the air anyway. A strange smell was about the place. Something was burning, but he was not sure what. It smelt familiar. Wanting to get away from the smell, he decided it was time to invite his new friend to meet Tarawen, to see what she thought of this strange person. There was a very high chance that this was Lucifer hiding under a disguise, and he knew his Ranger friend was a good judge of things like this.

"Here, you look like you need to take a seat to enjoy your drink properly." Dwim said to not-Lucifer-but-possibly-Lucifer, gesturing towards their table. "I would like you to meet my friend Tarawen. She quite enjoys guessing games too." He gave Tarawen a knowing look as he returned to the table. He was not completely sure if the dusty old man would follow, as he seemed like quite a stubborn fellow, but it was worth a try.

Chieftain of The Mark
Points: 1 177 
Posts: 664
Joined: Fri May 15, 2020 10:53 am
A small hobbit lad, Ernwyst, entered the hustle and bustle of the Green Dragon. He stepped over to the wall by the dartboard, a place where several faded flyers hung. He unfurled a scroll of parchment and tacked it carefully to the wall. Satisfied that it hung just right - within eyeshot of any one making for home - he left the pub.

ARE YOU UP FOR AN ADVENTURE LIKE NO OTHER?

Image

SIGN UP, ME HEARTIES!

viewtopic.php?f=12&t=309

THIS EDORAS SUMMER FESTIVAL CLASSIC
KICKS OFF SATURDAY, 20TH JUNE 2020.

ENTRANTS FROM ACROSS MIDDLE-EARTH WELCOMED

Brewer
Points: 180 
Posts: 91
Joined: Mon May 18, 2020 7:09 pm
With all this talk about the much well-remembered Gardening Club from Ea, Menolly and Pearl, Istya began to wonder if she shouldn't drop by the mayor's office right after her lunch here. She didn't have much of a green thumb, but at least it was neither brown or black!

She then noticed the parchment advertising the White Water Fury being put up in the pub. Oh, what a great adventure that would be ... if it weren't so soon! This weekend? Not very timely with the baby on the way so soon. Why couldn't adventures like these wait for - say - maybe August or September?

"You know, lasses, I am thinking I am going to inquire about restarting the Gardening Club once I leave here," she finally said aloud. "There seems to be plenty of interest in it! As long as no one else has brought it up to the mayor. I may not be able to be in charge of it right now. But I am in full support of it."

Ilmarë
Ilmarë
Points: 2 835 
Posts: 2974
Joined: Sat May 16, 2020 9:29 pm
Pearl Brockhouse

Pearl nodded her head in acknowledgement as Dwim bowed after introducing himself. "I hope your friend will be okay. Please do let me know if you need anything!"

When Dwim denied knowing the coughing newcomer, she raised an eyebrow. She wasn't sure what was going on, but these matters seemed most un-Shire-like. Strangers in disguises? Big Folk casually walking into the Dragon? It all seemed fishier than a fish pie to Pearl.

She watched with apprehension as Dwim dragged the bucket to the tall woman, then approached the disguised person. She noticed that the one with the fake beard was not so tall as the woman, but definitely bigger than any hobbit but the Bullroarer had any right to be.

Trying to pretend that none of this was happening, Pearl sidled back to the table where the group of lasses was chatting. "Sounds lovely, Istya. Thank you. Can I get you ladies anything else?"


Tarawen

Tara took in the scene while leaning back in the shadows, arms folded across her chest. Her hood was still up; she wondered if she should just take it off to look less furtive. Ah, well. Hobbits would make a mountain of a human entering their pub regardless of what she wore.

Dwim returned to the table with a bucket full of water. He called her attention to the stranger who'd just entered the pub. "Looks about Toast-sized to me," she muttered.

She was happy to let her friendly hobbit friend do the talking so far. Tarawen had no words for the Toasted one - not when her Warbler lay scattered on the table, and her flute long discarded in its melty state. She settled in to watch this all play out.

There was a lot of coughing and spluttering from the sneaky fiery one, and a lot of patient questioning from Dwim. Tendrils of smoke issued from the hood of the larger figure; much as he tried to dispel them with POOFs and HARRUMPHs, Tara noticed. It was her job to notice these kinds of things, after all. It was him.

She grasped the handle of the bucket and drew it close to her on the bench. Sneezes and shouts and the smell of smoke came from the bearded fellow as he tried not to blow his cover. So obvious. So not subtle. So Toast.

Dwim was now returning to the table with the "stranger" in tow. She let go of her grip on the bucket and loosened her sword from its sheath at her hip. One never knew. Maybe she'd give that beard a good trim just to send a message.

She stood up to greet the "newcomer."

"A guessing game? How quaint. So what might your name be, good sir? And tell me, do you have any dwarvish blood? The voluminous nature of your beard does make me wonder."
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

New Soul
Points: 1 141 
Posts: 1049
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:39 am
“Lucerm Lowell Nowtoe Harrumph”. Toast pondered the name for a moment. At least Dwim didn’t appear to be too suspicious. Yet.

The hobbit began his guesses with ‘Morpheus’ and ‘Old Toby’. “Ha!” exclaimed Toast, “Those are definitely not my name!” He was rather gleeful about the whole thing. But then the hobbit trailed off, not bothering to give a third guess. What was Toast supposed to do with that? But he was also quite distracted trying to make sure his wig didn’t burn off, so he didn’t spare it much thought.

At the invitation to join them at their table, Toast balked. He tried to cover it with another loud HARRUMPH!, but was uncertain how successful he was. Dwim might not have realized it was him, but up close, he was sure Tarawen would notice. She was a crafty one, that Ranger. He tried to subtly move in the direction of the door.

Before he could slip away, however, Tarawen engaged him with a question about his name and if he had dwarvish blood. He carefully kept himself a good ways away from the table, out of reach of pointy swords and sharp eyes. “Ah, you have not earned it! But I am generous, harrumph.” He was careful to keep his voice crackly and low, so as to be less recognizable. “My name is, erm,” he looked around, and caught sight of a new brew being advertised. “McBob McFee!” he exclaimed. What a good name. She couldn’t possibly be suspicious after this. “But I have come bearing news.”

He cleared his throat, it was now or never. “I heard something terrible befell your bird,” he harrumphed, “And my good friend Toast, who I hear is a very good friend of yours, wanted me to pass his condolences along. They’re sorry they’re late, but will be along shortly.” He leaned in, almost forgetting himself, then pulled back, keeping his distance again. “The culprit… the one you seek… is ME!” And with that, McBob McFee aka Toast pulled a small smoking stink bomb out of his cloak with a wild flourish, and tossed it at the ground.

Nothing happened.

“Oh!” he shouted, surprised at his own failure, (but not that surprised, he was prone to mishaps, and used to improvising), “What’s that over there?” He pointed above his friends’ heads, and hoping they looked, ran quickly in the opposite direction, into the kitchens, where he ducked into a back cupboard, and began changing out of his disguise, and into Toasty Lucifer.
they/he/mischief

Ilmarë
Ilmarë
Points: 2 835 
Posts: 2974
Joined: Sat May 16, 2020 9:29 pm
Tarawen

The Ranger blinked and gave a small shake of her head. "What . . . the Fredegar was that?" she asked, looking at Dwim in disbelief. A large volume of words - some of them nonsense - had poured from Toast's mouth. He'd then procured a failed stink bomb, and practically dove into the kitchen.

Tara stepped forward and picked up the stink bomb, holding it gingerly between thumb and forefinger. She gave it a tentative sniff. Hopefully, if this thing went off, the hobbits wouldn't be suffocated by its fumes. Much to her surprise, the little object gave off a sweet, sugary smell. Almost like the pastries that hobbits loved so much. She sniffed it again.

BOOM.

The little object burst with a spark of light and a flutter of confetti. Tara coughed and gasped and blinked furiously as smoke rose around her.

When she finally caught her breath and had waved the smoke from her eyes, she looked up. All the hobbits were, fortunately, unscathed - this particular device had had a relatively small blast radius, it seemed. And what was this colorful paper everywhere? She plucked a piece from her shoulder, and brushed off her hair just to be sure she wasn't covered in the stuff.

Tarawen turned to look at Dwim to check that he was safe, and she gasped. Behind her friend was a sight she couldn't believe. "What the actual Fredegar!?" she cried (more decisively this time). Where just moments ago there'd been nothing but tankards of ale, there was now a large, bird-shaped cake covered with blue icing.

"How, what, why?" she said, sinking to her knees before the table. "My . . . my Warbler!" For it was indeed a cakeified version of her favorite blue bird, materialized out of nowhere in the middle of a hobbit pub.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Storyteller
Points: 1 459 
Posts: 1301
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 9:09 am
"Your name's not McBob McFee!" exclaimed Dwim, immediately knowing that the old man had been caught in a lie. "Why would you happen to have the exact same name as that barrel of brew there. Just so happens to be my brew." The hobbit finished with a smug nod.

So that was that, there was absolutely no reason to believe this old man about anything further. And there was now even more reason to believe it was Toast in disguise. Tarawen was not at all impressed with his ramblings and his games. As if she wasn't already in a bad enough mood. A confrontation appeared near. He noticed his friend's grip shifting between the bucket and her sword.

But then came the revelation, after a brief moment of mischievous suspense, it was time for a new piece of mischief. Toasty Lucifer revealed his identity. Before Dwim could even think of how he wanted to respond to this, there was a great confusion in the air. Toast had thrown a strange, smoking thing at the ground then darted off to the kitchen, his speed in stark contrast to that of the old man character he'd been playing a moment before.

Dwim looked at Tarawen confusedly. "What on ear..." he began to say, but was cut off when his friend picked up the smoky little ball, which then proceeded to explode in front of them and shower everyone and everything with confetti. "That's not what I was expecting," he coughed as he regained his senses. But when the confetti and the smoke settled, it appeared that everyone was safe, and in fact there was a great, big blue cake in the middle of the pub that had not been there before. And it was the same shape and appearance of Tara's Warbler.

What the Fredegar, indeed...

Was this an act of malice, making fun of Tara's loss? Or was this an apology and an olive branch, in the form of a quite astounding cake? Dwim did not know, but one thing he did know was that he had to jump to action. He knew what it was like to have a hobbit's appetite for sweets, and he knew that as long as this Warbler cake was in the middle of the Green Dragon, it was not safe. A few patrons had already made their way over to investigate and examine it.

"Everyone, away now!" he cried, jumping into the middle of the pub. "This cake here's not yet for eating! Look at it, admire it, but do not touch it." He knew he would be labelled an enemy for insisting that, but this was a delicate situation which demanded delicate actions. "Until we have permission. THEN we can eat it!"

"If that doesn't upset you, of course," he said to Tarawen with a sheepish look. But she was on her knees in disbelief, and he became worried about her. "Are you okay, Tara?" he asked sympathetically.

Newborn of Imladris
Points: 1 463 
Posts: 1319
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Henna Lightfoot

Old Mrs Lightfoot came by once in a while for a jar of ale and a gossip, and today was one such a day. She was carrying her stick and a large basket covered in a large blanket, which she set down by the bar as she looked for the wall clock. Eleven o'clock exactly. A very good time to arrive if one was hoping to meet up with travelling persons.

She bent down and retrieved her own tankard from her basket. "I'll have an ale please, young hobbit," she said, pushing it across the bar. "And I don't want a big head on it!"

She eyed up the current persons in the inn as she waited. There was a rather loud group over yonder, even a couple of big folk, but they didn't look like they were going anywhere soon what with cake and shenanigans. Hither and thither were some hobbit-folk, some eating, some drinking and some sleeping ... it was all rather normal and boring. There were no furtive-looking strangers hoping for company, and that was a pity. At this rate, she'd have to go purchase her own pony and trap if she wanted to go a-travelling.
The Wood-elves lingered in the twilight of our Sun and Moon, but loved best the stars.

New Soul
Points: 1 141 
Posts: 1049
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:39 am
Toast was mid-change when he heard the explosion go off, and couldn't resist peeking back out of the kitchens to where Tarawen and Dwim were standing, now covered in... confetti? What? Where was his stinkbomb?

And, more importantly, where had that cake come from? Something truly strange was happening here. At first, Toast had thought it all in good fun, and even perhaps had thought his friends were creating mischief of their own (it was about time, he couldn't be responsible for all the mischief all the time), but no; they seemed to be serious. And now this? Someone had set him up, and it was about time they got to the bottom of this.

He had just checked his bag, pockets, and secret compartments earlier that day, just before entering the pub. So whoever had pulled the ol' switcheroo had to be in the pub now, or was very very sneaky. The Toast would not stand for this. Shenanigans were all well and good, but this was just plain rude. Tarawen loved that wee birb. Something must be done!

And it was clear now that good ol' Dwim was not at fault (and Toast felt guilty now for ever considering it, of course the dear hobbit would not have done such a thing), and they were all being set up. Who would do this? He had to get to the bottom of it.

Stepping out of the cupboard, forgetting he was half changed out of his disguise, beard partially on, ginger tufts sticking out, and patchwork cloak now dragging behind him, Toast announced loudly to the kitchen, "All right, which one of you pulled the ol' switcheroo on Toasty here, eh? Have you seen anyone suspicious lately?" he peered at all of them, not considering how suspicious he himself looked.

But before he could go any further with his investigation, the answer to his original question suddenly reared its ugly head when a stink bomb rolled its way out of his partially hanging sleeve, and dropped to the ground. Before he could stop it, it rolled out the kitchen door, and into the main common room.

His mouth dropped open in an endless OOOO of horror, and his blue eyes went wider than his face (it's a distantly related to Balrog thing, probably), and then, naturally, as he attempted to step forward out of the kitchen to prevent the dangerous thing that was about to occur, he tripped on his partially changed pant leg, fell forward, managed to execute a perfect roll (what else is Fool training good for), which unfortunately landed him directly on top of the stink bomb.

And it ALL WOULD HAVE BEEN WELL AND GOOD BUT THEN!

His pesky, no good, mind of its own, completely rude and inconsiderate, hilariously ill timed GINGER TUFTS OF DOOM LIT ON FIRE and ignited the stink bomb.

Toast decided they were rather tired of this whole ordeal. "I've been set up!" he cried out, as the stink bomb began to hiss and let out its stinky farty smell. He closed his eyes. "This is the end, I suppose," he added, muttering, "I should have known. That fortune teller said it- not with a bang but with a whimper. And indeed, the stink bomb seemed to be almost making a sad sort of whining sound; it clearly was a bit of a dud.

All the same, it was starting to slowly fill the pub with toot stench.
they/he/mischief

Storyteller
Points: 1 459 
Posts: 1301
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 9:09 am
Dwim heard a commotion coming from the kitchen, which was where Toast had scampered off to earlier. What was his foolish friend up to in there? Was that him yelling at the kitchen staff, which was comprised solely of innocent and highly skilled hobbit cooks just trying to do their job? His brown eyes peered towards the kitchen area, trying to make out what was going on. The pub was a little quieter than usual after the strange circumstance of the suddenly-appearing cake, so it was quite obvious that something unusual was happening in there.

And then, as if there had been any doubt about unusual happenings, the silence in the pub was broken by the sights and sounds of a flaming ginger head of hair tumbling from out of the kitchen, followed by a declaration of innocence.

Dwim looked at Toast, trying to grasp what was going on. The sight was quite concerning. And just as an overwhelming feeling of pity came over him, which filled his heart again with love for his dear friend, a sudden stench also consumed him as the stink bomb took effect in the pub. He retched instantly. "Oh my word, Lucifer!" he shouted with a cough. "I want to believe you and forgive you. But is this another one of your tricks!? If you've been set up, then who the heck is responsible?"

The pub was now a stink fest. Any suggestion of eating the Warbler cake was tarnished by the fact that the cake certainly now smelled like a stink bomb, and therefore tasted like one too. Dwim gulped his ale, not knowing what else to do.

He looked over at poor old Mrs. Lightfoot, who had arrived at the inn very recently, wondering how she was faring amongst all this stink and commotion.

Newborn of Imladris
Points: 1 463 
Posts: 1319
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Henna Lightfoot

The smell in the pub suddenly got so terrible that her eyes watered. She choked, catching the eyes of another uncomfortable guest [Dwim] at the bar just as her gag-reflex was triggered. She dry-retched, but that stench was going to have her bringing up her second breakfast in a moment.

Taking her tankard back, gratifyingly full of ale, she stumbled outside and breathed a few breaths of fresh Shire air until she felt better. This was nicer anyway, she thought, sitting down at one of the picnic tables nearby and watching the comings and goings on the road. Why, anyone might come by, heading for anywhere, and she'd be ready to take off with them. If they came by lunchtime, that is - she wasn't packed up for an overnight stay.

She hoped someone would take her to the market, or maybe even into Bree. If she could buy her own pony and wagon, much of the time she spent loitering with intent would be better spent. In fact, she was so taken with this idea that she went off into an ale-fueled daydream about the places she'd go once she had a bit of freedom.

Ilmarë
Ilmarë
Points: 2 835 
Posts: 2974
Joined: Sat May 16, 2020 9:29 pm
Tarawen

The Ranger sat forlorn on the floor of a pub in the Shire, staring through her fingers at a big blue cake. How had she gotten here? Dwim was currently shooing pub patrons away from the cake, for how could the hobbits resist such a delicacy?

Tara glanced up at Dwim, who had asked for her permission to cut into the cake. Why not? She had not banked on a bird-shaped dessert entering her life, so why strive to keep it?

"Of course, please go ahead, everyone." She stood and moved aside for the hungry hobbits to crowd around the confection, taking a seat at their table. The bucket of water still sat, useless, on the bench. She watched dazedly as an elderly hobbit (Henna Lightfoot) entered the pub and ordered a drink. Loud noises emanated from the kitchens, and then a truly foul odor seeped into the pub.

Tara snatched up the bucket of water next to her - surely a true stink bomb had just ignited, no doubt thanks to the tricks of Toast. At the very least, dousing it (or him...) in water might help neutralize the stench a bit. She rushed toward the kitchen just as Toast stumbled out, hair smoking and shouting his innocence. Tara rolled her eyes as they crossed paths and pushed her way into the kitchen, eyed the stink bomb where it sat smoking, and emptied her bucket over the smelly thing.

She dropped the bucket onto the counter and addressed the kitchen staff as politely as she could, given the circumstances. "I am truly sorry for this. That person who just ran in and out of here is a tricky one, and no doubt he'll make amends for the trouble he's caused." She inclined her head at them out of respect (for the Big Folk weren't strictly welcome in the Shire these days) and hurried back into the pub.

She caught the tail-end of Dwim's interrogation of the flaming one. "Toast!" she hissed, stalking up to him and poking him on the shoulder. "What do you mean by all this? If the cake wasn't you, the stink bomb surely was. These poor hobbits!" She glanced around, hoping that the hobbits would not all pass out from the fumes. "They did not sign up for this kind of nonsense. What do you have to say for yourself?" She hesitated for a moment, then added, "Shall we take this outside, so as to avoid any further casualties?"


Pearl Brockhouse

There was a commotion going on in the pub tonight, and no mistake. Pearl glanced behind her, toward the shadowy corner where Dwim and his companions were sitting. And suddenly, with a flash of light, there was a huge cake in the Dragon! It was like the magic of the old wizard from days gone by - Gandalf! His fireworks had been the stuff of legends.

But before she could rush over to partake of the cake, she caught a whiff of a nasty smell. "Oh, what in the Shire is that?!" she coughed. She watched in dismay as a recently-arrived customer (Henna) took her tankard of ale and left. What a night! "Lily!" she called, gasping and holding her nose with thumb and forefinger. "I'm going to open the windows, this is so horrible!"

Still holding her nose, Pearl staggered around the pub, opening all the windows to let in a cool breeze and hopefully let the stinky smell out.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Chef
Points: 347 
Posts: 275
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 6:44 am
After Istya had left, Eamila had dozed off a bit. The combination of the warm stew and the ale she had, had brought her in the wonderful condition that she called 'after-dinner-drowse'. Istya had mentioned the Garden Club. Oh how she longed to re-open that! She loved working outside. And whether it was growing vegetables, or beautiful flowers, or an orchard of fruittrees: she didn't mind. Oh, if only she had room for another apple tree... perhaps the Brewery could make cider from it. And she could make the most wonderful apple pies and sell them on the market. She loved pies... and cake...

She had no idea when her daydream had turned into reality, but all of a sudden the most amazing cake was standing right there, in the middle of the Pub.
'How on Arda??', she said out loud. 'Where did that come from?' She had meant to ask Pearl if perhaps the Inn had something sweet to eat after her stew. She hadn't seen any pies or cake on the menu. But this... it was merely...
She had no time to give it words. A ranger (Tarawen) - how did a ranger end up here? Had she really slept? - said it was alright to have a bit. She didn't need the encouragement and stepped forward. But just as she grabbed a large bit, a large BOOM could be heated from near the kitchen.
What was that????
Ea saw the face of an elderly hobbit turn greenish seconds before the smell reached her. She realized there was only one good action here. Grabbing another piece of the cake and holding her breath, she rushed outside.

Taking deep breaths of fresh air, she sat down near the elderly hobbit who she didn't know yet (Henna Lightfoot).
'My my', she said. 'I don't know what the cook was trying to make, but I will certainly not taste it before she tries again! That smell was horrible. And did you see that strange person? His hair was smoking as if it was on fire! Strange things are happening in the Shire these days. But forgive me, I haven't introduced myself yet. My name is Eamila Bolger, and I am from Pincup. Pleased to meet you!'
Please state the nature of the medical emergency!

Newborn of Imladris
Points: 1 463 
Posts: 1319
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Henna Lightfoot

Henna, halfway through a mouthful of ale, had a delightfully frothy moustache on her upper lip which she was blissfully unaware of. She gulped her mouthful down and turned to the woman who had evidently also fled the Dragon for the fresher air outside.

"I couldn't see a thing!" Henna exclaimed, outraged. "My eyes were watering and I could hardly breathe. Twas nearly as bad as that time young Maggot set his wheat afire and we all blew black snot into our handkerchiefs for days! I don't know what was going on in the kitchen, but it wasn't their mama's recipe! Did you say someone's hair was on fire? I didn't see that either. Are you sure? I haven't seen anyone rush out and dunk their heads in the ponies' water trough!"

She squinted as she tried to look through the windows, but saw nothing. "The Shire is full of strange folk, but none so weird as the residents, my old Tom used to say. You're a Bolger, eh? Eamila is a pretty name. I'm pleased to meet you, too. I'm Henna Lightfoot. I live just round the corner in one of the smials on Apple Tree Crescent - the one with the big willow fallin' all over the stream. Used to live up in Michel Delving, but me and Tom (that's my late husband) moved here a few years ago. It's not so bad, here in Bywater, despite livin' so close to this place," she indicated the Dragon.

She took another sup. "I was hoping to get out of town today," she mused aloud. "But my nephew was busy, and there's been no strangers by willing to take an old hobbit to market, so I've made a plan!" She leant forward conspiratorially. "I'm going to purchase a pony and trap!" she announced, with all the excitement of a woman long-used to relying on the goodwill of others to drive her places. "What do you think?"

New Soul
Points: 1 141 
Posts: 1049
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:39 am
At least Dwim seemed to believe him. Or at least wanted to, and that was comforting. But as for the hobbit’s question-- who was actually responsible, he hadn’t the slightest clue. He looked around at the mess of the pub, and felt a flush of chagrin cross his cheeks. The inn was filled with a revolting stench, and some hobbits (Henna Lightfoot) were starting to cough and hack and move outside.

Tarawen suddenly came running forward and tossed a bucket of water on the sink bomb, likely in hopes of lessening the stench. Toast thought it made the stench smell… wetter. She was hissing something intently at him now, about further casualties (his ginger brows shot up in alarm- what casualties? He didn’t want any of those!) Before he could respond to her question, and think of something to say for himself, she suggested they take this outside. But he couldn’t leave, not before he had said something.

“I’m sorry everyone!” Lucifer Toast called out, as the rest of the wig slowly slid off his head, revealing the fiery beard and hair. “I’m extra sorry that the toot smell is ruining the cake! However, I don’t know where that cake came from in the first place, so who knows if it’s actually safe.” They weren’t quite sure what their next move should be, only that they weren’t likely to ever be invited into the Shire again. How could they prove they were still a friend to the hobbits? The idea sprang down from above like a thunderbolt of… thoughts.

“Have no fear!” he called out, choking a bit as he inhaled deeply to speak, “I know all you hobbits do love a good cake, and since I’m unsure if this is safe, I will be the one to test it for you.”

In the midst of his speech, he saw a hobbit (Ea) grab a piece of cake and run outside with it. “Wait!” he tried to call out, but he wasn’t fast enough. Well, he had to try it now, in case there were any adverse effects. And if there were, he could run outside and knock the cake out of the hobbit’s hands… or something. He definitely wouldn’t be invited back after that.

There was no time to be wasted. Reaching forward, he scooped up a large helping of cake, and took as big a bite as he could manage (had to make sure he got enough of a sampling, of course, for safety). Blue frosting covered his face as he quickly chewed and swallowed; the cake was delicious! (if a little farty).

For a few moments, nothing happened. He had squeezed his eyes shut in anticipation of something horrible, but there was nothing. Toast was just beginning to open them again, exclaiming “I’m all right! The cake is safe to-” when suddenly he felt something tickling his arms. A rush of wind seemed to go down them, and then an intense fiery itching sensation grew. Glancing down, his eyes went wider than they ever had been before. Light blue feathers were beginning to sprout down and across his arms.

And they didn’t appear to show any sign of stopping.

“AHH! NOBODY EAT ANY CAKE!” he cried out, as the feathers continued to sprout.
Last edited by Burnt Toast on Mon Jul 13, 2020 2:19 pm, edited 1 time in total.
they/he/mischief

Storyteller
Points: 1 459 
Posts: 1301
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 9:09 am
This evening was just getting ridiculous. When he invited Toast and Tarawen here to resolve their dispute, Dwim had expected a bit of angst. Some harsh words, a sombre mood, and maybe a settling of their disagreement. But he certainly had not expected this! The pub stunk of fart, there was water all over the floor, Toast's hair was on fire again, and the magical cake which had somehow apparated into the middle of the pub not only now smelled of fart, but appeared to be poisoned!

Dwim had caught Henna's eyes for a moment as she looked at him, but then she dry-retched, all of this obviously becoming too much for her. The sight of a poor old lady retching, when all she'd probably wanted was a peaceful evening and a nice drink, was not great to see. He felt sorry for her, and was glad that she decided it was a good time to go outside. Tara's solution to the issue of the fizzling stink-bomb was to douse it with water. She was a wise ranger, and Dwim was glad she was here with him. She'd known that a bucket of water would be required some time through the night. It didn't help the smell too much, unfortunately. It just seemed to change the smell. But at least it rendered the bomb safe.

Some of the patrons, including Eamila, had began taking pieces of the cake, and for a moment he was glad that things seemed to be returning to normal in that aspect. But it became clear that all may not be well with the cake (aside from the fact that it had sponged a bit of the fart smell), as Toast apologised then felt it necessary to perform a public demonstration in testing the cake. All appeared to be well for a moment, until his friend's eyes became wide and panicked, and suddenly he was yelling out in horror and warning as blue feathers began to sprout down his arms.

"Oh my!" cried Dwim in response, quite startled by this and hardly believing his eyes. He looked at Tarawen. "Quickly, let's get Toast outside!" He did not want the patrons to see more of this than they needed to. One of the Big Folk causing a great disturbance in the pub then suddenly sprouting blue feathers was the sort of tale that would stick around the Shire for years.

He led the way outside, tankard of ale still in hand. He pushed the door open with his other hand and felt sudden relief as fresh air filled his lungs. He took a deep breath, then a deep sip of his ale, then looked back at Toast with concern, hoping he hadn't completely transformed into a giant warbler by now. "Tara," he said, "We need to keep a close eye on Toast." He then turned to the feathery one, "And you, if you begin feeling the sudden urge to take flight, make sure you let us know immediately!" He pictured his friend growing wings, and himself and Tara having to hold him down as he tried to fly away. He hoped it would not come to that.

Then he had a moment to look around, and saw that Eamila had not just one piece of cake in front of her, but two. "Eamila!" he called out desperately. "Do NOT eat that cake, for it is CURSED!" He knew it was a difficult thing to try and stop a hobbit from eating cake, and he just hoped she would listen to him without being too offended by his demand.

Chef
Points: 347 
Posts: 275
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 6:44 am
The cake was blue as heaven and looked really tasteful. Why had she decided to introduce herself to Mrs. Lightfoot instead of eating first? Was it polite to stuff her face while waiting for Henna's answer?
Eamila knew that she was old and wise enough to wait patiently. She was after all in her forties now and not some irresponsible girl in her twenties. Her mouth started to water. She swallowed it and smiled.
'Oh, that's a wonderful place to live! I love that willow, it makes the place look so picturesque! Hopefully not to many mosquitos in the evening? But it must have been a big step to move here from Michel Delving. Sorry to hear about your husband...'
She shook her head and forgot about the cake for seconds. A few seconds only, then the sweet smell filled her nose again.
'I say, that's a great plan! I believe there's a farmer to to far from here, Bob Proudfoot is his name, who has a lot more ponies than he can handle, in my honest opinion. They're sweet, calm creatures, no wild stallions that would run through country instead of following the road. I could take you there later on if you like to? I can imagine you don't want to...' The smell was becoming more and more intense. Eamila closed her eyes for a second, trying to resist the urge to take a bit before finishing her sentence. '... don't want to ask your nephew for help all the time.'

Then she got a brilliant idea. She had TWO pieces of cake after all. 'Would you like to try some of the cake they were serving inside? I do believe that horrible stench didn't ruin it much and it looks absolutely fabulous!'
She stretched out one hand to offer Henna the biggest piece. Somewhere inside the Inn a rumor started. That strange guest was yelling something about the cake. What was going on??
Her other hand didn't seem to want to wait anymore. Without realizing what she was doing, it moved all the way up to her mouth. She closed her eyes, opened her mouth and...
'Do NOT eat that cake, for it is CURSED!' Dwim's words were loud and clear.
'Cursed???? What on...'
But then she saw Toast. The blue feathers. The look on his face. Her mouth fell wide open and she jumped up and dropped the cake right away. But what about Henna?

Please state the nature of the medical emergency!

Newborn of Imladris
Points: 1 463 
Posts: 1319
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Henna Lightfoot

"That would be very nice, young lady. I believe I will come with you to see Bob Proudfoot - I wonder if he will stable them for me too? Do you think he will, I don't have a stable, although I suppose I could build ... but no, I'm sure he'd look after it if I paid for the upkeep. Oh - thank you, dear!"

Henna took the cake Eamila offered. It looked very blue, but cakes often looked a lot weirder than they tasted in these modern times, with people squishing all sorts of things to get the garish colours they wanted. It smelt wonderful.

"Whose birthday is it?" she wondered aloud, taking a bite of the cake and tasting the psychedelic icing. It was very nice. But my goodness, what was Eamila doing, throwing her cake on the floor like an irresponsible tweenager?

Henna swallowed her mouthful and frowned at the mess on the ground. "You'll need another slice of that!" she said, already lifting her own to her mouth again with a grin. "This one seems to be disappearing!" And with that, she ate another bite.

It seemed a little cool and breezy all of a sudden; Henna glanced up into the sky, but no cloud covered the sun. How very odd. She shivered suddenly.

Ilmarë
Ilmarë
Points: 2 835 
Posts: 2974
Joined: Sat May 16, 2020 9:29 pm
Tarawen

Tara rolled her eyes as Toast sprang from the kitchen to apologize, then proceeded to shove a massive piece of cake into his face. If this was all just a trick to ensure he ate a lot of dessert, she'd be furious.

Her irritation was short-lived, however - before the eyes of the gathered crowd, Toast began to sprout blue feathers in exactly the same shade as the cake. Her eyes widening in astonishment and robbed of speech for the moment, she let Dwim shepherd her out of the pub alongside the rapidly transforming Toast-bird. She nodded when Dwim pointed out the need to watch out for their friend (for Toast was still her friend, she supposed - at least until they finally got to the bottom of all of this).

She pulled a length of fine rope from inside her pack and tied one end securely around Toast's ankle. "This should do the trick, in case you decide to take flight. Remember that you're still answerable for damages to my Warbler and flute, you rascal, whether you're bird-shaped or not." She held the other end of the rope tightly in her hand and wound some of it around her wrist for extra security. Toasty would not be getting away.

Tara jumped a bit when Dwim shouted at the two hobbit women nearby who'd settled down with some cake. Her mouth dropped open in horror as the elderly hobbit (Henna) took not one, but two bites of the stuff.

"Quick, Dwim!" she cried, using her free hand to rummage for another rope (her last remaining bit) and tossing it toward her hobbit friend. "Secure her in place before she can try to fly away!"

Turning to Toast, whose mind she hoped was still somewhere inside the increasingly bird-shaped form, she snapped, "What are we to do about this, eh? Can't you use some of your weird magic tricks to reverse the transformation?"


Pearl Brockhouse

Pearl watched the scene with the hobbit brewer, the ranger, and the individual in disguise unfold with her mouth hanging open. Now that the stench of the stink bomb had dissipated a bit, her first priority was to prevent anyone else from taking a single bite of that cake.

"Move away, everyone!" she shouted loudly, waving her arms at the gathered crowd. "This cake is full of tricks, and I'll not have any innocent hobbits flying away into the sky tonight!" She picked up the cake (making a mental note to wash her hands thoroughly later) and marched back into the kitchens.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Loremaster of Gondor
Points: 295 
Posts: 235
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:40 am
Grandpappy Holcolm McFolcolm Flubbergrubberfoot had had a long day out in his fields, and his back was absolutely aching. He was getting too old to be out working every day, but he sure as the Shire wasn't going to turn the farm over to his good-for-nothing grandson Branlo. Not, at the very least, until he matured and could show he was responsible enough to run the farm. He would grow in time, but seeing as how he was twenty two and only a few years into his tweens, he had plenty of time to grow up. Besides, Grandpappy Holcolm McFolcomb Flubbergrubberfoot was only sixty eight years old, and his body hadn't given up on him yet. And so each day he was out at sunrise tending the fields and working up a healthy appetite, which was usually halfway eaten by his grandson and field hands before he could get to it, so tonight he decided to make his way into town to the Green Dragon Inn and get himself the largest meal he could.

He was tramping down the road a solid pace, his hairy feet moving as fast as they could at the mouthwatering thoughts of the food that awaited him. He finally reached the door and heard the loud hustle and bustle of the guests already inside, but he never expected to see what he saw as he opened the door. He was confronted with a commotion, and was completely unprepared for what appeared before him. A large, bird-like creature squawking and running around the common area, while others tried to wrangle it.

"What in the wide, wide world of Shire-sports in going on here?" He shouted at the top of his lungs.

Storyteller
Points: 1 459 
Posts: 1301
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 9:09 am
This situation was quite intense, but Dwim found it hard not to burst out laughing at the sight of Tara tying a rope around Toast-bird's ankle and the other end around her own wrist. That sure was an effective way to solve the problem!

He was saved the embarrassment of laughing when Tara called him to action and threw another bit of rope to him. "Oh, umm..." he replied uncertainly as she ordered him to secure Henna in place too. "Well yes, I suppose nothing else can be done for it." He shuffled over to Henna uncomfortably, then looked at her apologetically.

"I am so sorry for this indignity, Mrs. Lightfoot," he said to her. "I wish you hadn't eaten that accursed cake. But you've seen what's happening to this man here." He pointed towards the feathery being known as Toast.

Before she could argue too much, he dived down to the bottom of the table that she and Eamila were sitting at, and pulled the rope around Henna's ankle, hoping she wouldn't put up too much of a fight. He was sure she still had a good kick in her. He could hear some shouting going on in the background from someone (Grandpappy) but he was too distracted to pay any notice to it.

Newborn of Imladris
Points: 1 463 
Posts: 1319
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Henna Lightfoot

Henna, far from paying attention to the goings on of the drunken partygoers in the Dragon, was paying close attention to her cake. Her new friend Eamila was giving her a look of horrified disapproval (and while Henna felt that was a bit much, since the other hobbit had thrown her cake on the ground, she was much too polite to point out the other lady's social graces were a little lacking).

Suspecting Eamila of wanting her cake slice instead, Henna took another bite. It was lovely, and seemed to be more delicious with every mouthful. In fact, she suspected some sort of witchcraft had gone into the making of it, because she was surely going to be tracking down the maker and demanding more, more and more!

It was getting hot though, despite the lack of sunshine, and she was wearing far too many layers. She shrugged off her shawl and loosened the buttons on her jacket. It was only light, and she had a lovely loose short-sleeved blouse underneath which would be fine. She was just tucking into another bite when that young Master Dwim mumbled something at her, then dived under the table and began doing goodness-knows-what to her ankle.

With a maidenly shriek, Henna leapt up, arms flailing, and tried to get away from being interfered with. "Gaaiiiii!" She cried, alerting the Bounders on the Shire's borders. "What are you doing?! Master Dwim git away from me ankles! I'll have none o' your sauce, young man - I remember when you used to run about in your birthday suit and your mama despaired of ever making a gentlehobbit of ye! Don't be going back to your wild ways now!"

When this entreaty didn't result in her release, she tried again in a different direction.

"Eamila, help me!" she said, turning soulful eyes to her friend. "No, not the cake!" she said, holding the cake away from her as she saw the glint in the woman's eyes. "My leg. This baggins has tied me to a picnic table! Was ever a woman so mistreated? In broad daylight, no less!"

Loremaster of Gondor
Points: 295 
Posts: 235
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:40 am
He had only been in the inn for a brief moment when he saw the blue man-bird start to be corralled by two other folk he did not know, Tarawen and Dwim. The exchange was rather humorous, as Tarawen managed to secure a rope around the blue man-bird's ankle, then curiously tying the other end around her own wrist. That all seemed good and well, if a bit strange, but she then proceeded to throw another length of rope to Dwim and jerked her head in the direction of an older hobbit lady. He couldn't quite make out who it was, not with his eyesight, but she looked suspiciously like Henna Lightfoot. He couldn't be quite sure, but as he watched the young rascal dive under the table with a rope and attempt to tie it to the hobbit lady's ankle, he felt confident that he could not just stand around doing nothing.

"Ho there, ya young fella! Whattar ya doing down there? Unhand the lady, or it'll be your hide!"

Chef
Points: 347 
Posts: 275
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 6:44 am
Things were going a bit too fast for Eamila. With horror she saw how Henna took a big bite of the cake, and then another one. That happy, content smile...
'Wait!', she tried to step in. This was going so very wrong! 'Dwim says it's cursed!' But as she spoke those words, she started doubting them herself. Why on Arda would a cake be cursed? How could it be, when there were no wizards around? Wasn't it just very lovely, and blue, and looking so tasteful! For a second she thought of picking her fallen piece off the ground. She reached out and grabbed it. Carefully she had another look. Surely there was nothing wrong with this cake? It smelled so sweet and tasty. It looked just about perfect. No, it couldn't be...
But then the door slammed open and both Dwim and Tara rushed out, with a blue feathered... person?? tied on a rope with them.
The horror of it! That was the same strange man with the fiery hair, now covered in blue feathers and acting very... birdlike! For the second time she dropped her piece of cake, carefully wiping her hand on her apron afterwards.
But poor, poor old mrs. Lightfoot... Ea's stomach felt weak. Hopefully Henna would be alright. How many bites did she have?

'Stop, please stop eating!', Eamila pleaded. 'Mrs. Lightfoot, that cake is doing strange things!'
She was passed by the tall ranger Tara, who dived under their table with a piece of rope.
'Now surely, that won't be necessary?' Ea asked. Another Hobbit (Grandpappy) arrived and came to help.
Quickly she explained to him what was happening.

'You must forgive them... but it seems there was a cursed cake in the Inn, that poor Mrs. Lightfoot here has eaten from.'
She pointed at Toast. 'Hé had some of it as well, and you see how that turned out. I think that is why mister Ranger here is doing that.'
She looked at Dwim and Tara again and said: 'But surely a respected Hobbit will not be affected by... OH!!!'
She hid her face in her hands. Something was happening that she did NOT want to see. There was a blue feather on Henna's cheek. Just one. Yet.
'O dear, o dear, o dear...' was all she could say now. 'Henna... I mean, Mrs. Lightfoot, how are you feeling?'
Please state the nature of the medical emergency!

Newborn of Imladris
Points: 1 463 
Posts: 1319
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Henna Lightfoot

Sensing an avenging angel close by, Henna peered beadily around until she spied the old farmer coming closer, brandishing his stick, her arms fluttered as she waved him over.

"Holcolm, is that you?" Henna screeched. (It was strange - her voice had never gone that high before.) "Save me from these whippersnappers and their tomfoolery!"

But no, Eamila seemed to be trying to calm everyone down, instead of stopping the madness! But Henna wasn't fooled; she had seen the woman pick up her discarded cake, salivating wildly before dropping it again. Defiantly, she ate another bite of cake and squawked, what? No! cried out for help.

Eamila was now giving her the soulful eyes, as if Henna was the one who needed to listen!!!

"What do you mean, how am I feeling?" she screeched again. "I'm tied to a table by crazy persons and you're letting them do it! But if you mean, 'How is that cake?' then the answer is DELICIOUS! I have never eaten such caaaaaaakk-" *cough* "excuse me, cake!"

Henna sensed a loosening of the rope around her ankle and made to escape. Light as a feather, surprisingly, she jumped up onto the seat of the picnic table as if she was in her tweens, but the rope pulled taut at that point and she could go no further. She almost fell, but a little whirl of the arms had her upright again. Curious, she hadn't had such good balance for years.

She perched atop the seat, surveying the persons below warily, her head jerking from side to side when anyone moved in her peripheral vision.

"You will let me go," she said imperiously. "Now. Or believe me the Mayor is going to hear of this, and he's not going to like it!"

And with that, she swallowed the last piece of cake in her hand and wiped her feathers clean with a quick gesture.

Storyteller
Points: 1 459 
Posts: 1301
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 9:09 am
Dwim thought he'd sufficiently apologised and explained in advance, but Henna was having none of it. Nor, for that matter, were some of the other older patrons of the pub. It was indeed an incriminating sight, a hobbit lad diving at the feet of a much older lady and attempting to tie her ankle down. "My intentions are noble! Hold still!" he pleaded desperately as she jumped and kicked about. But she only thought he was up to no good. It was a helpless situation. Yet somehow he managed a knot and then she was secure.

Grandpappy Holcolm was now getting involved, and Dwim suddenly felt like a child again after receiving a tongue lashing from both he and Henna. "I mean no..." he began to say as he stood back up, not really knowing how to dispel the outrage and suspicion coming his way. But before he could finish pleading his case, Eamila had stepped in to try and explain. He greatly appreciated the help. "She's right," he said to everyone, while giving her a look of gratitude.

Henna was beyond convincing, and at first the escalation of her screeching and squawking just seemed like a result of her increasing levels of panic and outrage. But then it became clear, something was up. She was much smaller than Toast but had eaten just as much of the cake, and suddenly it was obvious that she was behaving very bird-like.

"Oh no, it's happening..." Dwim said with horror, mouth agape. Blue feathers started to appear, and before they knew it, Mrs. Lightfoot was trying to take flight. Suddenly his outrageous actions felt very justified, as her leg yanked at the rope but could not get free.

He looked towards Toast, who had not had as severe a reaction just yet, but he was fearful he was about to get worse too. He then turned to Tara with his arms extended helplessly. "What do we do?" he asked her. "Do we wait it out and hope the curse wears off? Oh if only that Wizard, Ducky, were here! He'd know what to do."

New Soul
Points: 1 141 
Posts: 1049
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 2:39 am
Toast didn’t truly know what to do besides follow Dwim outside and nod as the hobbit requested he inform his friends if he felt the urge to take flight. He glanced up at the sky, feeling a strange tug in his gut. The sky did look mighty fine, today. He quickly shook the thought away. If he took off now, who knew when he would return?

Nearby, he watched another hobbit take several bites of the cake, but was distracted by the fact that Tara was now tying a bit of rope to the end of his leg. That was wise, as not only were there deep blue shimmering feathers sprouting everywhere, but he was beginning to feel… lighter. He reached up with a strange wing arm, and felt the top of his head. A strange tall crest of varying shades of blue feathers had sprouted there. He imagined it made him look like some sort of bird king.

He opened his mouth to say so, but all that came out was a loud, “SQUAWK!”. He snapped his beak- mouth? Beak? - shut again. This was not going well.

But, it seemed, the changes were slowing. He had had a large bite, but just one. He was still mostly human shaped, but his arms were mostly large wings now, and the crest of feathers across his head, (which were beginning to smoke, naturally. Tufts of fiery ginger hair still stuck out betwixt the shimmering blue feathers). He reached a feathered hand up to his mouth and was relieved to feel no beak there. He did, however, have the urge to squawk and chirp.

He watched in awe as Henna finished her piece, and began hopping up onto the table. She looked like she was about to take off. The sight of it brought forth an impulse in Bird-Toast, and he took a quick leap up, and felt his heart soar, even as his huge human wing arms began to make mighty flaps, starting up a hefty wind that began to blow over unsecured chairs and mugs. He made it up a good dozen feet before it pulled taut and wrenched at his ankle. He chirped angrily and looked down, seeing Tara’s wrist being tugged.

Below him was a mess; items blown and strewn every which way (not getting better, as his giant wings continued to flap), and some sort of tussle going on betwixt a newcomer, (Grandpappy Holcolm), Dwim, and Henne. He let out a laugh of delight, which came out a mix of human chuckles and bird chirps; it might be a bit of a mess, and he had no idea who had caused it, but what excellent mischief!

That said… he still had no idea how to fix it. But perhaps… he could fly off and find a wizard? His vision seemed to have sharped, and if he could release himself from the rope, he could certainly cover a lot of ground in his search.

He chirped loudly down at Tara to release him, but realized his chirps probably sounded like, well, chirps. Besides, she wouldn’t be likely to let him go right now, whatever he said.

Just then, he noticed the familiar smell of smoke, and saw that not only was his hair on fire, but it was spreading to his feathers. At first, he was concerned, but as the fire made its way across him, it left in its wake smoke, a bit of ash, and fiery streaks of red and orange feathers. Strange. Though no stranger than any other day in the life of a Toast, he supposed. He was now multi-hued and more ostentatious than over.

At that moment, the fire spread its way along the feathers all the way down his legs, and began burning the rope end. He flapped his wings harder and gave another tug.

In a few moments, the fire would burn through, and the Toast-Bird would be free...
they/he/mischief

Ilmarë
Ilmarë
Points: 2 835 
Posts: 2974
Joined: Sat May 16, 2020 9:29 pm
Tarawen

The walk leading to the Green Dragon was in sheer pandemonium now. The elderly hobbit (Henna) was screeching and shouting at Dwim when all he'd tried to do was help, and moments later, she'd begun rising into the air. Thankfully, she was attached to the rope despite her earlier protestations. Then, there was an old curmudgeonly hobbit who was scolding them all. Dwim looked a bit overwhelmed (with good reason). Tara found herself holding one end of a rope attached to the squawking and flaming Toast bird. If hobbits had had balloons, they might think that she and Dwim had gotten hold of some most excellently lifelike ones.

In her most commanding voice, Tarawen cried, "Everyone, PLEASE STAY STILL. Mrs. Lightfoot, stop this nonsense of scolding Dwim. He's trying to help keep you safe! Good sir," she said, rounding on Grandpappy Holcolm, "this is none of your concern. Move along inside for your drink or along down the road, now! Eamila! Do you think that maybe, just maybe, a glass of water each will help to cure this nonsense? Staying hydrated does work wonders for preventing hangovers, so I dunno, it can't hurt to try." She shrugged.

Last, she faced Dwim. "A wizard would be great right about now," she said. "This is NOT what they said to expect when I became a Ranger."

"OH WAIT!" Tara cried suddenly. "What about the beer you brought? Wasn't it named after some magical cow? Could it perhaps be magical by association? Would you spare a glass or two for poor Mrs. Lightfoot and Toast?"

But Toast, it seemed, would not be sampling the McBob McFee tonight. Tara shrieked as the rope in her hand caught fire and nearly burned her. She let go instinctively but realized a moment too late that Toastbird was now loose on the world, sprouting both blue and red-orange feathers. And she'd thought it couldn't get any weirder.
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Newborn of Imladris
Points: 1 463 
Posts: 1319
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 10:54 am
Image Henna Lightfoot

Henna was flabbergasted for at least a minute, and then she went supersonic.

"NONSENSE!?" she shrieked. "I am tied to a bench and you side with my captor! YOU might like that sort of thing, young lady, being of the feckless, dissolute Big Folk, but WE hobbits are not used to attacks on our persons. And we DO NOT LIKE IT!"

With that, she grabbed for her stick, which was propped up on the table and brandished it threateningly. "Do not leave me like this, young Master Dwim! Release me now, or I'll do it myself and woe beti-"

At that point, Henna's eyes were drawn to the fire that erupted off to her left, and was flabbergasted some more, for a man, sprouting feathers like a chicken, was floating and on fire. Then he flew higher, to much shrieking from the ground-people. There was also some talk of magic beer.

"I'm asleep," she said to herself, in some relief. "I am, in fact, asleep. I shall wake up exhausted."

After trying and failing to wake herself up, she gave her stick handle a twist and drew out the little blade inside it, swiping it neatly through the rope on her ankle and leaping from the seat she was standing on. She landed gently a few yards away, arms outstretched like she was flying. "This is a pretty good dream," she said to herself, "but Henna, my dear, you'll want to go to market in the morning, and we'll never get up if we stay up all night at the Dragon."

She skipped off toward the lane, intent on going back home, but even her skips here huge - she was taking great leaps which - though slow - meant she covered the whole lane quite quickly. She was giggling like a loon. "I can flyyyyyyyy!" she laughed as a particularly big bounce had her rising over the hawthorn hedge and giving her a good look at old Marjoram Hardbottle's extremely orderly garden.

I shall be home in no time, she thought as she saw her willow in the distance. Perhaps I shall even have time for some proper rest before tomorrow comes. And maybe a little less of the honey brandy before bed.

Chef
Points: 347 
Posts: 275
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 6:44 am
Eamila realized it was indeed no longer time for soothing words, but for action. She hoped that somehow Henna would forget this - if she ever turned back to becoming a normal Hobbit again. But she couldn't just STAND there anymore.
'Right', she said as she sided with Dwim. 'Give me some of that string, will you? I'll try to tie her other leg. And let's make sure the rope is tied well, this table is strong enough to hold a birdlike lady...'

But she was too late. Henna got angry and seemed to have some kind of little blade inside her walking stick. She cut herself loose before Ea could say raspberry crumble and then she skipped off. If it wasn't so serious, Ea would have laughed out loud. The poor lady had spoken of buying a pony and cart, only minutes ago. She needed transportation to get around in the Shire. I looked like she found herself that quick means of traveling without knowing it herself...

Ea stood there, her mouth wide open, her nose filled with the smell of burnt feathers that Toast had left behind. A blue feather came drifting down from the sky and ended on her nose. She picked it up and studied it. Then she looked at Tara and Dwim.
'Eh... right. What should we do now? I am not sure about your mate up there in the sky... I somehow have the feeling that he will be fine. But I am not sure about Henna Lightfoot. I could follow her to her hobbit hole, but I have no idea how to solve this situation. I only met her for the firs time here... but I feel I cannot just leave her with it now. What was that about magical beer you said?'
Please state the nature of the medical emergency!

Storyteller
Points: 1 459 
Posts: 1301
Joined: Thu May 14, 2020 9:09 am
After a brief flurry of chaos, suddenly the two feathered cake eaters were free. Henna had quickly disappeared down the lane, and it was staggering to think of an old lady moving so quickly. No one knew where she was off to, but they could only hope she was going home. Toast was a different story. He had caught alight, as he was wont to do, but he had never looked so much like a phoenix before. The rope had burned, and he was now free to flap about wherever he wished. Dwim could only imagine where he would take off to.

Tarawen's suggestion about his ale had certainly been worth some thought, but for now unfortunately it seemed too late. Unless they could keep track of where the two squawkers would go, which was becoming increasingly difficult.

Eamila sounded interested in the idea of magical beer. Dwim turned towards her eagerly. He was always keen to talk about beer.

"Why yes, my beer," he replied with a series of nods. "Tarawen is referring to my most famous brew, McBob McFee, named by and after the legendary magical cow. It's a most excellent ale, if I don't say so myself. I've never thought of it as having magical properties before, but as Tara suggests, it could be possible. I must say, I have been feeling particularly healthy since I started drinking it myself. There is every chance it may have been blessed, for Bob is a special cow of which special tales have been told. I brought a barrel of it here with me tonight."

Dwim wouldn't have been able to get away with telling a story like this before now. Not many in the Shire would have believed him, for it did sound very outlandish. But before tonight, no one would have believed it was possible for a hobbit and one of the big folk to both suddenly transform into bird-people in the middle of Bywater.

"Toast-bird!" he called out suddenly. "Come down here! I'd like you to try that new brew I was telling you about." He hoped it would work. Perhaps, even as a bird, he might still have a taste for alcohol. A curious patron of the pub had been listening, and in the meantime had dragged the barrel outside where they were gathered. Dwim put his large mug under the tap and filled it.

"Here now, who'd like a taste? And how do we get some to Mrs. Lightfoot?"

Ilmarë
Ilmarë
Points: 2 835 
Posts: 2974
Joined: Sat May 16, 2020 9:29 pm
Tarawen

Tara gaped slack-jawed at Henna as the elderly hobbit gave her a good dressing-down and revealed a knife concealed in her walking stick. The Ranger didn't have a chance to get in a word before Mrs. Lightfoot freed herself and took off down the road.

"Um, right," she said in sum. She was beginning to resign herself to the fact that this visit to the Shire would be notorious, to say the least. She at least had the help of two hobbits - Eamila and Dwim had both tried to rope down the rogue birds, but with little luck. Tara longed for some ice to cool her burned fingers and for the ability to go back in time and undo this mess.

"This is not a problem I've ever faced," Tara admitted (unsurprisingly) when Eamila asked what they should do and Dwim pondered aloud how to get some possibly-magical beer to Mrs. Lightfoot. "I think we might need to trick her into trying the beer in case it does prove to be a cure. Eamila, do you think you would be able to get her to drink some? It's unlikely she'll trust me, given what we just heard and saw."

She bit her lip. "Dwim, I'm truly concerned about Toast. We came her to accuse him of heinous crimes, but now he seems to be the victim of some cruel joke. Who would be capable of this kind of trick? It stinks of wizardry, all right. Oh, and I'll have a pint of that beer while you're at it. Maybe it'll imbue me with some powers of my own."
she/her | Esta tierra no es mía, soy de la nocheósfera.

Post Reply