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Chaos at the Barber's

Short Summary: See title
Date (real-life): 2010-03-07
Scene Location: Bree
================================Bree Time =================================
Real time: Sun Mar 07 12:54:41 2010
Bree time: Mid Afternoon <17:44:03> on Sunday of Spring - May 14,1449
Moon Phase: Last Quarter Moon

Breelands Weather
The mid afternoon spring air is cool but pleasant around you. A misty rain comes down from the day sky.

Barber Shoppe
The interior of the Barber Shoppe is simple in its design. Wooden walls surround two chairs set in the middle of the room. The chairs are very alike in their design, both with high backs, arm rests and a cushion on the seat; however, the chairs are of very different size: one constructed for the Big Folk, one for the Little Folk. The smaller of the chairs is elevated up, to allow easier access to it for the barber. A small series of steps leads up to the chair.

A few chairs are lined up along the southern wall of the shoppe, facing the door and the only window into the room. Along the western wall is a washbasin and a large oval mirror.
Obvious exits:

This is unquestionably a hobbit, and probably one who takes himself very seriously, if his manner of dress is to be any indication. His considerable paunch is garbed in an expensive-looking bright green waistcoat with brightly-polished gold buttons and stitching of the same color. Brown trousers provide a sanctuary for his stubby legs, stopping about an inch above feet covered only in perfectly-manicured hair.

The hair on this hobbit's head is equally coiffed; some sort of pomade struggles desperately to tame the unruly brown curls into a respectable do. Light blue eyes peer out with interest from his round countenance, set just above a wide and strikingly pig-like nose. A pair of thin, metal-frame reading glasses rest on that nose, completing the aura of propriety that he exudes.

Tommy Roseblossom:
A thick, shaggy mop crowns the head of this teenaged lad. Like many others in the Breelands, his eyes and hair are the matching hue of mud. He wears a scratchy looking tunic that is more patched than not, but appears to be relatively clean. A long bit of rope ties around his waist as a makeshift belt, and it seems to help keep his muddy brown trousers - a size too large - from falling to the ground. The only bit of his wardrobe that appears to fit perfectly is the well-crafted leather boots.

Aaron Roseblossom:
Breefolk, this man is on the short side with brown hair and eyes, and a rather swarthy complexion. His clothes are well-worn and patched in so many places, the patches might be more prevalent than the original fabric; despite the wear, they are clean. Seemingly out of place, a leather tool belt hangs about his waist with several well-polished tools hanging from it. A pair of well made leather boots cling to the man's feet and covers almost up to his knees.

Hraefengar has arrived.
A man in his mid-forties, Hraefengar's looks still speak of youth, for his face bears few lines of age, and he is tall and slender of build, his body wiry rather than brawny. His cheeks themselves are hollowed, and his skin is pale. His full beard is well-trimmed, the same honey-gold as his hair, which hangs down in two pale braids banded with bronze. His eyes are clear and bright, the pale blue of a winter sky.

A warm wool tunic does he wear, dyed sea-blue, with embroidery of forest green and copper knotwork at hem and collar and cuff; his leggings are of a deep green, like meadow sedge. Bands of twined bronze and silver circle his upper arms. His boots are tall and brown, of fine leather, a bit worn but soft and supple. He has a belt to match, which is adorned with bronze finials. Upon his left shoulder he wears a brooch of silver: a horse rearing above a harp. Upon his shoulders is a cloak of grey wool, thick and well-woven, lined with the thick, warm fur of a bear.

[Lodobrus(#16042)] Most mid-afternoons in Bree would see the local marketplace filled with enterprising citizens peddling a variety of goods ranging from the necessary to the ridiculous, but the drizzly rain and cloudy skies that have taken hold on this particular afternoon have driven all but the most dedicated merchants out of their sales booths and into the comfort of the nearest inn.

Of course, some purveyors of service have the luxury of operating indoors, and one of them is the local barber shoppe. The proprietor of the shop is a rather poorly-dressed human whose own hair is not likely to inspire confidence in his customers, being a tousled mess of grey that probably hasn't seen a comb in months. Presently, he floats about another human wielding a pair of scissors, which he occasionally uses to snip a portion of his customer's hair--usually a portion that didn't need to be cut. The customer looks horrified.

Equally horrified is a middle-aged hobbit who occupies a bench near the door for those awaiting a hair-cut. He stares slack-jawed at the barber's inconsistent work, and takes the occasional nervous glance outside as if he is deciding whether to run without saying a word or angrily deride the barber's work. For now, he does neither.

They can be heard before they are seen. "But Paaaaa," whines a crackly voice that can only belong to a teenaged lad. "I don't neeeeeed a haircut!" The boy argues with his father as they enter the barber shoppe. The man, known to many in town, is Aaron Roseblossom, and the boy is his youngest son Tommy. "Your ma would disagree with that," says Aaron casually, and at that statement the boy ceases his whining. He drags his feet, and sighs loudly, but at least he has stopped whining.

Looking at the hobbit waiting by the door, Tommy makes another attempt at getting out of it. "Mebbe we should come back, Pa. Looks like he's busy today, and there's even another waiting. How long you been waiting?" he asks, looking at Lodobrus.

[Hraefengar(#30729)] A tall man walks into the door, flaxen-haired, with just a touch here and there or silvery white. He is thin, finely-dressed, and he looks about curiously. Her eyes flicker at the work of the barber, and he shakes his head, coughing a little as if to stifle a laugh. "Good day," he says softly, his voice oddly resonant, accented as well. He seats himself in an empty chair. The door opens again, and a silken-coated wolfhound enters, comes to the foreigner, and sits down at his side.

[Lodobrus(#16042)] "Too long and yet not nearly long enough!" replies the hobbit in a brusqe tone. His voice is loud, gravelly and altogether unpleasant to listen to, and his bespectacled eyes narrow as he peers up at the boy.

His eyes linger there only for a second before searching out the boy's father, whom he addresses next in a quiet, conspiratorial tone. "I daresay, it might not be such a bad idea to listen to the boy," he says, guesturing toward the barber whose method has left his current customer with a choppy mess of a hair-do. He shows no sign of stopping any time soon.

"I can't for the life of me figure out why that man hasn't said -something-! Look at that awful cut!" the hobbit hisses slyly. Then he nods briefly to the newcomer, as if regarding him as more of a distraction than a person. When the canine trots in behind him, the hobbit's eyes go wide, flittering between the teenager's father and the wolf as if to say, 'are you seeing this too?'

Aaron turns his gaze to Lodobrus as the hobbit speaks to his son. "I promised his ma I'd look after the lad as well as she woulda done," he says, in a manner that suggests he's repeated those words many times since his wife's death. Still, he turns his head to watch the barber mangling the other customer's hair. In a stage whisper, Aaron comments to Lodobrus. "We don't none of us usually say nothing about it, we just keep comin' back and lettin' him cut it again." Oddly though he doesn't offer a reason as to *why* nobody says anything about it.

Tommy's attention, on the other hand, is diverted with the arrival of the stranger and his wolf. Mostly the wolf. Without a word, he shuffles a bit closer to Hraefengar and the wolfhound, staring down at the beast with wide, appreciative eyes.

The dog licks her master's hand, and the stranger laughs softly, then runs his hand along her flank. He shakes his head and laughs again, scratching her behind the ears. Beneath the silken coat, long but well-brushed, the dog's flanks are rounded with pups. He speaks to her inb a slow, musical tongue, then looks back towards the scene. "Was he once able to cut better?" he asks quietly.

[Lodobrus(#16042)] A lack of patience is clearly written on the hobbit's face as he listens to the lower-class human's explanation, and he makes no attempt to hide it. Neither does he continue that thread of conversation (at least for now), as his attention is quite distracted by Tommy's increasing fascination with the canine that accompanied the other man. "Shouldn't you ... you know, stop the child from approaching that ... dangerous -animal-?" he asks Aaron, emphasizing the word animal with obvious disgust. In a barely-audible mutter he adds, "And why is that filthy beast -indoors- anyway?"

The hobbit seems further appalled when Hraefengar joins the conversation, and he stares at the much bigger person with an expression caught somewhere between worry and complete lack of comprehension.

Aaron responds to the hobbit first, saying only: "Worst that can happen is he gets his hand bit." He shrugs off the idea, as one that doesn't concern him, then turns his attention towards his son and the stranger. "Years ago, yep," he says, answering the question, before asking one of his own. "Don't remember seeing you around here before." He takes in the man's obviously foreign appearance. "M'names Aaron and this here's my boy Tommy. I'm the town's cobbler, and I reckon you've come far, so if you be needing your boots fixed I'll do 'em up for you real good."

Tommy edges closer to the wolfhound, looking into the beast's eyes, then stops when he's still a couple feet in front of her. Crouching low, but looking up at the man, he asks. "Can I touch it?"

"She is clean, for one thing," laughs the foreigner, shaking his head at the hobbit. Class does not seem to concern him, and, even so, his clothes are rich indeed. "And she is my helpmate, my protector." Then he turns to the lad. "She will not bite, though, and you may. She is to have pups soon, so she liks her sides scratched. And her ears, as she cannot reach them well any longer." He looks then to Aaron and bobs his head. "I am Hraefengar son of Hrothgar, one of the court bards to Theoden King of the Riddermark which is called in the Westron Rohan. You may call me Hraefengar or, if that prove too hard, Raven." He stretches out one leg, showing a boot of fine, supple leather, a bit worn but very well made and fitted. "The soles are some worn."

[Lodobrus(#16042)] All the introductions must have reminded the hobbit of his manners, because he jumps off the bench all of a sudden and proudly interjects, "And I'm Lodobrus Leafturner, son of Bodobrus Leafturner and CEO of Leafturner Holdings el-el-cee!" He bows with a flourish to the collection of big folk and seems ready to speak again when Hraefengar addresses his comment.

"Ah--ahem, yes, of course. Most dogs are," he replies in a tone that might suggest he doesn't necessarily believe what he just said. Still, he keeps his distance from the animal and the foreigner, his countenance betraying his suspicion.

Across the room, the barber loudly announces, "You're done!" to his customer, who tosses a few copper pennies on a nearby counter before standing up. He looks at the crowd by the door with bewilderment and nods politely before he quickly cuts between them and out the door, headed directly for the hat store across the marketplace. "Who's next?" asks the barber, staring blankly toward the entrance. Strangely, his eyes don't focus on any one particular person--or anything for that matter.

The lad tunes out everything said past the word "pups," and is immediately on the ground before the wolfhound. He is gentle and cautious, but scratching one hand over her head and neck, and the other over her sides. In a voice too low for the words to be discerned, Tommy whispers to her. An indulgent smile crosses Aaron's face as he watches his son with the wolfhound for a few seconds before turning his attention to the others.

His eyes seem to glaze over at Hraefengar's introduction, as most of what the man says makes little or no sense to him. "Ridder...? Err. Raven. Right." But when the man stretches out his leg, showing the boot, the man's eyes warm again. He's about to speak when the barber calls out. Looking at Lodobrus, he inclines his head.

"Go ahead, you were here first. Your Elsie will be happy you got your haircut." Then he adds more quietly. "Just don't forget the hat shop across the street. He'll give you a special price today."

[Hraefengar(#30729)] The dog's eyes close and she lifts her head, wriggling in bliss, one hind leg thumping rhythmically on the floor. A soft groan emits from her throat, but then her head jerks, and she whines softly, moving her head to gently nuzzle Hraefengar's hand. The man himself blinks, shaking his head, watching the barber for a moment, a sad compassion in his eyes. Then he shudders visibly, his face going pale, and he leans back in his chair. "I should get to my room in the Pony and come back later," he murmurs softly.

[Lodobrus(#16042)] "That's el-el-cee, as in my -business-, as in limited lia-- oh, nevermind," Lodobrus says, throwing his pudgy little hands out in frustration. When the barber announces he's ready for another customer and Aaron suggests the hobbit should go first, he becomes even more flustered, alternating uncertain looks between all of the bigfolk present.

After several cycles of this his gaze settles on the barber longer, studying the aging shop-keep carefully. Following a series of excruciatingly long moments, the hobbit announces without any warning, "You're blind!" as if the thought has just come to his mind and escaped his mouth without filter. It's too late to try a more tactful approach, so he just stands there, his expression both one of satisfaction and remorse.

Tommy is on the floor, showing signs of being madly in love with Fally's pregnant wolfhound. Fally is showing his leather boot to Aaron (town cobbler) and Lodo is squirming and trying to convince himself to get a haircut, but the barber is blind (and we're playing that everyone in town knows he's blind but because he's been the town barber for AGES they all still let him cut their hair, but they visit the hat shop across the street afterwards."

"Yup!" Aaron cries out loudly, and suddenly, standing up straight and ignoring Hraefengar's boot at the moment. He glares at the hobbit, and goes so far as to attempt to stomp on his foot, as he says in an overly-loud voice: "My eyesight SURE is getting bad these days. Why, somedays I can barely see to put the soles on boots." Lowering his voice to a barely audible pitch, he adds to Hraefengar. "If you want to come by my shop later, I can fix them soles for you, else I can take my tools on up to your room. Your pick."

Brev has arrived.
You look on a tall man of perhaps 24 years or or so with a lithe, slender frame. His complexion is swarthy, and his head is topped by a mass of dark curls that have been gathered back and held at the nape of the neck by a plain leather thong, though some have escaped to frame his face. His features are angular: wide cheekbones and a pointed chin, currently covered by a few months worth of untidy beard growth, are balanced by a narrow, slightly upcurved nose. His eyes are an unusual shade: a deep, smoky amber.

He is wrapped in a hooded cloak, the pale grey of granite in hue. His body is protected by a studded leather jerkin, rather too broad at the shoulder and cinched in at the waist by a wide belt; the jerkin shows signs of patching in several places. A folded piece of leather is stuffed into his waistband, and at his other hip hangs a utilitarian dagger, its hilt of bone with a decorative tracery in some blackened substance that, on closer inspection, might be tarnished silver. Around his neck is hung a bear's tooth, worn and polished, threaded on a piece of twine.

[Brev(#30997)] The creak of the wooden door heralds another arrival. This one is not a local; his swarthy skin is a shade or two darker beneath the grime, he is taller than most Breefolk, though he is lightly built, and more to the point he wears a studded leather jerkin that has the look of armour to it. His dark curls, untidily gathered back at the nape of his neck, are tangled, and the scruffy beard that hides his chin doesn't look to have been trimmed.

Another customer? If anyone ever needed a haircut, it is this fellow. However, he simply leans against the door-jamb, amber eyes narrowing slightly as he surveys the place.

"I... I... think..." The sounds become slurred, and Hraefengar's eyes roll back, and his head falls forwards. His limbs jerk spasmodically, constrained by the chair, for several long moments. Then he shudders, going rigid, and a moment later utterly limp. He crumples, slumping forwards and tumbling out of the chair onto the floor. Sweat darkens his shirt. The dog whuffs softly and stretches out beside the bard, licking gently at his cheek.

Lodobrus' cheeks flush noticeably for a moment and he produces a hankerchief out of his trousers to dab a few beads of sweat from his brow. "Yes--erm, of course. I can relate. After all, I -do- wear glasses myself, as you can see," he explains, the words tumbling over each other as they come from his mouth. He gives one nervous glance to the barber--a shiver racking his small form as he does so-- and fishes around inside his waistcoat until he pulls out a large gold timepiece.

"Oh my, look at the time! I'm late for a very important appointment!" he announces, doddering towards the door. Looking up at Aaron, he mouthes the words 'thank you' silently, and nods politely to everyone else as he makes his way toward the exit(taking careful attention to make sure he doesn't get too close to the canine laying on the floor, of course).

But his escape is blocked by two factors: first, the latest arrival to the shoppe whose position in the doorway makes exit impossible, and second by Hraefengar's apparent seizure. "Oh my!" he exclaims, having noticed the man's jerking body on the peripherals of his vision. He wheels around, staring slack-jawed for a moment before yelling, "Well don't just stand there! Somebody get a doctor!" to no one in particular.

Though he's still frowning at the hobbit, he grudgingly nods his head in acknowledgement of the silent "thank you." "Yup, no shame in not being able to see," he adds unnecessarily, then takes a step towards the barber's chair. "If you can't stay," he says, watching the hobbit make his cowardly escape, "I 'magine that means I'm up next." He takes a deep breath and bravely walks forward. He takes his seat and starts to speak to the barber when the shop door opens again.

Tommy, still on the floor in front of the wolfhound, doesn't pay any attention to the opening door, nor the newcomer. But when the blonde stranger begins to twitch and convulse, he sits up in alarm. "What just ... is he ..." and *then* his eyes look up to the newcomer. "WHY'D you DO that?!" he asks loudly, in an accusatory voice.

[Brev(#30997)] The new arrival focuses on the man on the floor, and his lazy posture stiffens suddenly, his eyes narrowing. His mouth sets in a thin, hard line.

At Lodobrus' demand, though, the corners of his mouth twitch, and he answers the little fellow in sing-song Common, "Why waste the effort?" He steps sideways along the wall, without actually approaching the prone man, then remarks in a tone of distaste, "Still breathing. More's the pity. Nice bitch, there," he adds, gaze lingering admiringly on the canine guardian.

Tommy's question leads to a quirk of the eyebrow. "Do what?"

The bard groans softly, shivering again, and perhaps small wonder, as he is drenched with a cold sweat. The wolfhound presses closer to him, though she does turn her head to flick a licking tongue at Tommy. She stiffens, however, as the newcomer looks at her, and she stares back at him. Her lips curl back to reveal her fangs, and she growls warningly.

Cobwidge has arrived.
Somewhat of a tall hobbit, about 3'6" perhaps, with a medium weight, round face, thin nose, small beady eyes, and a chin with a cleft. Three or four whiskers exist on the lower half of his face. His hair is coarse and unruly, a dark shade of brown, and curls messily around his ears. His fingers are long with narrow tips, but the fingernails are longer than many hobbits prefer to keep them.

He's wearing a thick tunic, colored a deep red. A leather strip secures the article to his waist. A pair of leaf-green trousers cover up his legs. Being somewhat loose-fitting, the cuffs dangle around his ankles. A small pair of brown leather boots adorn his feet, laced up with leather cords. They barely raise up to the center of his shins.

[Cobwidge(#16349)] Slowly, the wooly head of Cobwidge Tunnelly appears outside the window, rising up from below until his beady eyes are jut able to see what's happening inside the shop.

Nob has arrived.
A short round fellow, whose face is set in permanently happy lines. Even when he is angry or frightened, his essential good cheer seems to show through. Brown eyes, brown hair, brown skin - his clothes are the only colorful things about him: A bright yellow waistcoat, red trousers and a green jacket. Often, he has a white apron tied around his waist, as well.

[Lodobrus(#16042)] "-I- didn't do anything, you little delinquent!" exclaims Lodobrus, obviously unaware that Tommy's comment was directed at the newcomer. He wags a pudgy finger at the teenager and then rushes over to the center of the room, his hurry made even more urgent by the dog's growls.

"This is no time for a hair-cut!" the hobbit yells at Aaron, motioning for the man to stand. "Can't you see we've got an emergency here? Somebody get that dangerous animal outside double-quick and send for a doctor!" The urgency in his tones makes his voice even more unpleasant to listen to, and as if that wasn't enough to indicate his opinion of those around him isn't very high, the scowl on his face leaves no doubt.

[Nob(#16122)] Just at this minute, the door swings open, and Nob comes bustling in - only to stop on the doorstep, his eyes going very round as he looks around. One foot feels behind him - turning right around and leaving again might just be the best option!

"I'm not no delink... link ... errr, that thing!" yells Tommy to the hobbit who has not gone out of his way of endearing himself to the lad. Nor, for that matter, has the swarthy newcomer. After gently patting the wolfhound on her head, he stands to his full unimpressive teenaged height and puffs out his chest, then stands directly in front of the wolfhound as if he means to protect her. With a look more adult-like than his age, Tommy sizes up the newcomer and warns him. "You best be leaving them alone or else."

Aaron stands from the barber's chair and says hurriedly to the barber. "Just wait here Flloyd, I'll get this mess straightened right up, don't you worry none." He makes his way to the front of the shop and leans down in front of Hraefengar. Gently nudging the man's shoulder, he says, "Don't you worry none, I'll send for the ..." and just then, the door opens again to admit Nob. "You there," he calls out loudly, "Get the healers! Can't you see this man needs one?"

[Brev(#30997)] The newcome man ignores the hobbit-yells completely - at least, he does not dignify them with a response. His gaze shifts to Tommy, noting the wolfhound's lick, and he queries softly, "Your Da?" He makes no attempt to hide the curl of the lip, but in his amber eyes there is something akin to pity. "Best put something under his head, lad. When he stops twitching turn him to the side, might breathe easier that way. Figure if he's not died yet he won't." He lets his breath out in a snort.

Aaron's shout may have been intended for Nob, but for some reason it is the swarthy man who responds to it. "The healers don't wish to be torn life from limb by yon beast, beauty though she be." A jerk of the head indicates the dog, then, making eye contact with it, he actually takes a half-step back, as though to indicate the warning has been heeded.

Cobwidge stands up straight, exposing his whole face to the window, and peers at the goings-on inside. After Nob enters, and the call for a healer is made, he dashes away from the window and runs up behind Nob, standing in the doorway with his arms and eyes wide. "Don't do it, Mr. Nob," he says. "You're one of the only ones I trust around here, an' I don't mind tellin' yo, this is a trick--don't listen to these fools!"

[Nob(#16122)] "Ah, healers?" Nob manages to say, standing a little uncomfortably on first one foot and then the other - still half of a mind just to go away again and pretend nothing is happening. And Cobwidge's strange behavior doesn't make him any more comfortable. "But.." he says, craning his neck to see the man on the floor, "What kind of trick? He doesn't look like he's faking... whatever... to me."

Notably, the dog does not growl at Aaron, and merely whuffs softly at him, wagging her tail a little. Then she lowers her head and nuzzles the bard, who is now lying quite still, save for occasional shivering. He gags a little, and then a bit of spittle comes from his mouth. There is another moan, and the dog wriggles again, under his arm, sh that it drapes over her. She nudges his limbs, his head, almost as if trying to get him more comfortable. Hraefengar's arm tightens a little around her, though, and she goes still, just licking his cheek over and over.

[Lodobrus(#16042)] Complete disbelief overwhelms Lodobrus' countenance and he dabs furiously at his brow with the nearly-soaked hankerchief. "How many people could possibly need a hair-cut today?" he asks incredulously, and then shouts in a louder voice, "Everyone who's not helping this gentleman needs to -get out-! And take that mangey animal with you!" The hobbit throws his hands up in frustration again and pushes his way through the crowd of bigger people by the door. "There's no trick here! We need a doctor, I say, and preferably one quick on his feet, if you can find one!" he tells Nob once he makes it to the exit.

With a rather annoyed huff, Aaron stands to his feet and looks around at the bevy of people. "Tommy, come," he orders his son. "She'll look after her Master, and I'm not leaving you alone with all these ..." he seems to hesitate a moment before adding "people." to the end of his sentence.

Tommy has heard that tone from his father before, and doesn't begin to argue. Still, before obeying his father, Tommy leans to the wolfhound again and tells her: "We just going to get a healer for your Master, girl. We'll be back real quick and I'll even bring you a bone." He stands again and fights through the crowd of Little Folk to the door. "But we need to get her a bone from the butcher too, Pa," he says, and the Roseblossom men push their way out of the door and into the market, both of them at a run.

Date added: 2010-03-09 17:22:34    Hits: 71
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