Elendor
Dirty laundry
That funny 'furriner' hobbit by the name of Bywater takes a tumble, and Tansy Cotton's laundry suffers
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Hobbiton
Game Date: Foreyule (December) 27, 1445 S.R.
IC Time: Morning
Description: ================================= +SHIRE TIME =================================
RL (Arizona) Time is Mon Jan 19 15:14:56 2009 (+time).
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IC Time is 07:44:48 on Monday, Foreyule (December) 27, 1445 S.R.
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IC Weather Conditions:
----------------------
A few fluffy white clouds are dotted around the sky, though the sunlight is mostly unobscured as it shines down. The day is suprisingly warm, although it would be more pleasant without the gentle breeze which cools the air somewhat.
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It's a fine, crisp morning here in Hobbiton. The sky is clear, and there has been a hard frost the night before - now icy crystals cling to grass, twig and cobblestones alike, softening their hard outlines. At this hour most folk are still taking breakfast - not all, though.
Up the road from Bywater comes a rotund figure, bundled up well against the cold in a smart silver-grey greatcoat and a feathered hat. A dark green muffler is wound round his face so tightly that it's hard to see anything of his features, save that a long pipe protrudes from the corner of his mouth, sending a little column of smoke into the sky. He pauses by the Water to catch his breath, sniffing appreciatively at the smell of fine baking.
Tansy bounces along the road, an amalgamation of sweaters and scarves of varying sizes and colors, her cheeks bright red in the early morning chill her cheery smile, however, is undaunted. Both hands are dedicated to what must be a rather heavy covered basket.
The figure in the muffler /might/ be smiling, but underneath all that cloth it's impossible to tell. He takes the pipe out of his mouth, and calls out airily, "Ah, good morning to you, Miss. And a very fine one it is too, though I would prefer it a little warmer." He halts long enough to draw breath, then adds gallantly, "Do you need a hand there? These pavements are so slippery ..."
Tansy beams as she draws closer, "It's a -fine- morning!" she agrees, "And I wish you a good one! I'm fine, fine, thank you though. I'm used to carrying much heavier than this, you know - this is nothing, just some clean laundry for my mistress. Nothing smells so good as laundry right off the line early in the morning. Except for breakfast." She laughs, flashing bright teeth, and then laughs some more, for no particularly obvious reason. "Are you sure -you're- quite all right there?"
"Oh. Laundry." The mufflered hobbit's tone is dismissive, and the hand he had extended toward Tansy drops back to his side. The hobbit lass's laugh elicits a somewhat frosty response. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you," the stranger-hobbit announces, his nose in the air.
And then it happens. The hobbit's foot slips on a patch of ice, he flails his arms wildly for balance ... and his pipe, his beautiful pipe, tumbles outward and downwards to land forlornly in the narrow straits of The Water.
Tansy is oblivious to frostiness and laundry disdain alike, but she does burst into a giggle as the older hobbit goes splat. A hand quickly flies to cover her mouth, causing her to drop the basket as she hustles forward to try to help, "Oh dear, oh dear, sir, let me just help you up...oh dear, slippery roads..." she tries to get hold of his arm.
The tumbling hobbit has only two words as he wobbles like a top: "My pipe!" Tansy's hand connects with his flailing arm, and he grabs at it gratefully. It is then, as his feet scrabble for purchase and he tries to heave himself up that one furry toe connects with the laundry basket.
[Tansy(#20085)] The laundry basket goes flying, fresh white linen landing in the mud, as Tansy instinctively grabs hold of the flailing arm, grasping and pulling, her own heels digging into the slick surface as best as possible. The flash of white catches her eye, and she wails, "Mistress's laundry! Oh no!" It's just enough to distract her and allow her to go skidding along towards Torebras.
Tansy skids, the falling hobbit tugs ... alas, it's enough to send the mufflered fellow, at least, back down to cobbles, landing with a thump on his behind.
Silence for a moment. Perfect silence, for long enough to hear the faint burble of the stream. Then, "Oh dear," the mufflered hobbit mumbles, chastened. "I'm most dreadfully sorry, young miss. I'm sure someone - ah, that is, I can help you pick things up in just a moment or two." He twists his neck round in search of his pipe, which by now is bobbing merrily up and down a fair way downstream.
Tansy has landed on her well padded bottom as well, and bursts into tears as she sits on the hard, icy surface, surveying the fallen hobbit, the dirty laundry and the floating pipe that is rapidly vanishing. "Oh no, no, no!" She drags a sleeve across her wet face and runny nose, eyes wide, unsure what to deal with first. She pushes up to her feet and wobbles over towards Torebras, "Are you all right sir? You aren't killed are you sir? Or broken anywhere?" She reaches again to help him up, and then thinks better of it. "Shall I try to go get your pipe sir?"
The other hobbit is by now clambering up to his feet too, rather more slowly. "Dear dear, this will never do," he murmurs, looking shocked. "Here you are, my dear." Sticking a hand in his pockets, he brings out a scarlet silk handkerchief with a flourish. "Keep it - your need is greater than mine. Only my dignity has suffered."
At the other question he peers again after his pipe. "Do you really think you could?" he asks hopefully. "Get it, that is?" While he waits the answer he potters very gingerly over towards the muddy linen. "And should I .. ahem, fold this?" He regards it cluelessly.
Tansy shakes her head, "Oh, no, no, I could never blow my nose in something that pretty sir! It's much too fine for that." She resorts once again to her sleeve, and then refuses him once again, "A hobbit like you sir, fold -laundry-? No, no, that wouldn't do at all sir." She seems aghast that he should suggest such a thing, "Let me get it and then perhaps I could get the pipe..." It appears though that this is an unlikely possibility. She scurries about, grabbing at the sheets and towels, cramming them back into the basket, "I have to hurry now, if you're sure your'e quite all right. Mistress won't like it if I'm late."
The stranger-hobbit stands still in the midst of all the bustle. "Well, since you insist," he answers, making no move to folk the sheets now that poor Tansy is doing all the work for him. "But please - I insist." While she's bustling, he tucks something in amidst the laundry. "The handkerchief is yours, Miss ... what did you say your name was?" he asks forlornly as she tries to leave.
Tansy replies hurriedly, "Oh, it's Tansy, sir, Tansy Cotton. I'm so, so sorry - please don't go telling my folks sir! If you like I can come and do some laundry for you to make up for it."
The stranger-hobbit looks quite tempted for a moment, going by the glint in his eye - but then shakes his head. "No need, my dear Miss Cotton - it was an accident," he declares magnanimously. "Of course, if you're in need of extra work ... I'm staying at the inn at present. Mister Bywater." And before the hobbit-lass can remark on his peculiar name - what person goes around wearing the name of a /town/? - he is off, picking his way back down the streamside road in the direction his pipe was last seen bobbing off.
RL (Arizona) Time is Mon Jan 19 15:14:56 2009 (+time).
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IC Time is 07:44:48 on Monday, Foreyule (December) 27, 1445 S.R.
-------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IC Weather Conditions:
----------------------
A few fluffy white clouds are dotted around the sky, though the sunlight is mostly unobscured as it shines down. The day is suprisingly warm, although it would be more pleasant without the gentle breeze which cools the air somewhat.
===============================================================================
It's a fine, crisp morning here in Hobbiton. The sky is clear, and there has been a hard frost the night before - now icy crystals cling to grass, twig and cobblestones alike, softening their hard outlines. At this hour most folk are still taking breakfast - not all, though.
Up the road from Bywater comes a rotund figure, bundled up well against the cold in a smart silver-grey greatcoat and a feathered hat. A dark green muffler is wound round his face so tightly that it's hard to see anything of his features, save that a long pipe protrudes from the corner of his mouth, sending a little column of smoke into the sky. He pauses by the Water to catch his breath, sniffing appreciatively at the smell of fine baking.
Tansy bounces along the road, an amalgamation of sweaters and scarves of varying sizes and colors, her cheeks bright red in the early morning chill her cheery smile, however, is undaunted. Both hands are dedicated to what must be a rather heavy covered basket.
The figure in the muffler /might/ be smiling, but underneath all that cloth it's impossible to tell. He takes the pipe out of his mouth, and calls out airily, "Ah, good morning to you, Miss. And a very fine one it is too, though I would prefer it a little warmer." He halts long enough to draw breath, then adds gallantly, "Do you need a hand there? These pavements are so slippery ..."
Tansy beams as she draws closer, "It's a -fine- morning!" she agrees, "And I wish you a good one! I'm fine, fine, thank you though. I'm used to carrying much heavier than this, you know - this is nothing, just some clean laundry for my mistress. Nothing smells so good as laundry right off the line early in the morning. Except for breakfast." She laughs, flashing bright teeth, and then laughs some more, for no particularly obvious reason. "Are you sure -you're- quite all right there?"
"Oh. Laundry." The mufflered hobbit's tone is dismissive, and the hand he had extended toward Tansy drops back to his side. The hobbit lass's laugh elicits a somewhat frosty response. "I'm perfectly fine, thank you," the stranger-hobbit announces, his nose in the air.
And then it happens. The hobbit's foot slips on a patch of ice, he flails his arms wildly for balance ... and his pipe, his beautiful pipe, tumbles outward and downwards to land forlornly in the narrow straits of The Water.
Tansy is oblivious to frostiness and laundry disdain alike, but she does burst into a giggle as the older hobbit goes splat. A hand quickly flies to cover her mouth, causing her to drop the basket as she hustles forward to try to help, "Oh dear, oh dear, sir, let me just help you up...oh dear, slippery roads..." she tries to get hold of his arm.
The tumbling hobbit has only two words as he wobbles like a top: "My pipe!" Tansy's hand connects with his flailing arm, and he grabs at it gratefully. It is then, as his feet scrabble for purchase and he tries to heave himself up that one furry toe connects with the laundry basket.
[Tansy(#20085)] The laundry basket goes flying, fresh white linen landing in the mud, as Tansy instinctively grabs hold of the flailing arm, grasping and pulling, her own heels digging into the slick surface as best as possible. The flash of white catches her eye, and she wails, "Mistress's laundry! Oh no!" It's just enough to distract her and allow her to go skidding along towards Torebras.
Tansy skids, the falling hobbit tugs ... alas, it's enough to send the mufflered fellow, at least, back down to cobbles, landing with a thump on his behind.
Silence for a moment. Perfect silence, for long enough to hear the faint burble of the stream. Then, "Oh dear," the mufflered hobbit mumbles, chastened. "I'm most dreadfully sorry, young miss. I'm sure someone - ah, that is, I can help you pick things up in just a moment or two." He twists his neck round in search of his pipe, which by now is bobbing merrily up and down a fair way downstream.
Tansy has landed on her well padded bottom as well, and bursts into tears as she sits on the hard, icy surface, surveying the fallen hobbit, the dirty laundry and the floating pipe that is rapidly vanishing. "Oh no, no, no!" She drags a sleeve across her wet face and runny nose, eyes wide, unsure what to deal with first. She pushes up to her feet and wobbles over towards Torebras, "Are you all right sir? You aren't killed are you sir? Or broken anywhere?" She reaches again to help him up, and then thinks better of it. "Shall I try to go get your pipe sir?"
The other hobbit is by now clambering up to his feet too, rather more slowly. "Dear dear, this will never do," he murmurs, looking shocked. "Here you are, my dear." Sticking a hand in his pockets, he brings out a scarlet silk handkerchief with a flourish. "Keep it - your need is greater than mine. Only my dignity has suffered."
At the other question he peers again after his pipe. "Do you really think you could?" he asks hopefully. "Get it, that is?" While he waits the answer he potters very gingerly over towards the muddy linen. "And should I .. ahem, fold this?" He regards it cluelessly.
Tansy shakes her head, "Oh, no, no, I could never blow my nose in something that pretty sir! It's much too fine for that." She resorts once again to her sleeve, and then refuses him once again, "A hobbit like you sir, fold -laundry-? No, no, that wouldn't do at all sir." She seems aghast that he should suggest such a thing, "Let me get it and then perhaps I could get the pipe..." It appears though that this is an unlikely possibility. She scurries about, grabbing at the sheets and towels, cramming them back into the basket, "I have to hurry now, if you're sure your'e quite all right. Mistress won't like it if I'm late."
The stranger-hobbit stands still in the midst of all the bustle. "Well, since you insist," he answers, making no move to folk the sheets now that poor Tansy is doing all the work for him. "But please - I insist." While she's bustling, he tucks something in amidst the laundry. "The handkerchief is yours, Miss ... what did you say your name was?" he asks forlornly as she tries to leave.
Tansy replies hurriedly, "Oh, it's Tansy, sir, Tansy Cotton. I'm so, so sorry - please don't go telling my folks sir! If you like I can come and do some laundry for you to make up for it."
The stranger-hobbit looks quite tempted for a moment, going by the glint in his eye - but then shakes his head. "No need, my dear Miss Cotton - it was an accident," he declares magnanimously. "Of course, if you're in need of extra work ... I'm staying at the inn at present. Mister Bywater." And before the hobbit-lass can remark on his peculiar name - what person goes around wearing the name of a /town/? - he is off, picking his way back down the streamside road in the direction his pipe was last seen bobbing off.
Players: Torebras, Tansy
