Elendor
A Breeman and a duck walked into a bar...
Hunger, conversation, and a duck.
Sort Date: no date set
Location: Prancing Pony, Bree
Game Date: July 25, 1448
IC Time: Midday
Description: Real time: Mon Nov 30 11:02:19 2009
Bree time: Midday <13:06:57> on Hevensday of Summer - July 25,1448
Moon Phase: New Moon
Braden
This young man is one that has finally come into his looks. His brown curls, though soft and loose, retain an untamed quality as they peek out from beneath the confines of his ascot cap. A pair of all-but-pitch eyes gleam beneath brows that are lifted with a hint of mischeif, and his lightly freckled nose is the only departure from his skin's otherwise tawny hue.
His clothes have seen more summers than he, but with a few subtle and strategic mendings, still serve their purpose well. His shirt -- perhaps once white, now dun -- is buttoned over his lithe, but clearly hard-worked, frame. A pair of black suspenders hold up brown trowsers that are just shy of suitable for his long legs. His boots are sturdy, but well broken in with use the laces tied by long-fingered hands that share those qualities.
-----
Saraid
This woman is of slightly below average height and possibly young adulthood. Her skin is dusky and her features are fox-like, with dark eyes and brows. Her near-black hair is curly. This is an understatement. Her hair is in tightly wound coils that end just above her shoulder. If they were straightened, her hair might be halfway down her back, so it springs behind her, a great mass of dark curls.
She has the body of one who has not known regular meals and yet has managed to find enough to keep from being unhealthy. A patched brown cloak with hood is tied about her neck. Her leather belt is wide and cinched around her simple dress of dark blue. The skirt of this ends at mid-calf and shows her patched leather boots that cover her legs.
-----
Belriel
Belriel is a sturdy young man, a hair under six feet tall and built like a wrestler. His hands are callused and his fingernails are rimmed with dirt. Impeccably straight brown hair reaches to his eyebrows, falling center-parted. Unlike his hands, his hair is remarkably clean. Bright silver eyes look out from under his brow. A short scar marks the tip of Belriel's chin, interrupting his short brown stubble with a pink line. Another longer scar runs along the inside of his right arm, in the nook of his elbow.
A well broken-in tunic, forest green, covers his torso. Muddied brown trousers cover his legs. Clay caked boots adorn his feet. A soft green cap is tucked into his belt.
-----
Common Room
This large and rectangular room serves the purpose of Common Room for the Prancing Pony. Large windows along the western end of the room peek out over the Great East Road which runs outside the Inn. There are long tables with bench seats for the patrons in the centre of the room. Nestled into the wall is a large fireplace with several bundles of wood piled next to it. Sunlight streams through the windows to mingle with the smoke that floats above the ceiling beams, and provide an odd sort of illumination that, even in daylight, doesn't quite reach the corners. The lamps which hang down are presently unlit.
Type PHELP for help using the menu at the Pony.
Contents:
Belriel
Saraid
Nob
Dart Board
Obvious exits:
Out
-----
It is noon, high up, and the common room is crowded with people eating, drinking, talking, laughing, quarreling... In fact, several of the kitchen helpers have been pressed into service as waiters, hurrying back and forth with orders.
Nob himself is bustling about - but with all of this help, he has time to stop at each table and chat a bit. Just now, he is setting a tray of ale mugs down at a table where three burly farmers sit, their heavy boots propped up on chair rungs.
Saraid sits at the very table closest to the door, at an angle where she can watch both the room and the door itself. She is nearly done eating a meal, just now tearing off a bit of bread, mug at hand. She eats in a quick, economic way, her eyes darting around to try to watch everyone at once.
A young man trips on the doorframe as he enters the Common Room, catching himself on a farmer and spilling his drink.
Belriel exclaims, "Oh, gosh. Sorry!"
Sitting at one of the stools to accommodate short folks, Boldibad leans over the bar, his hands cradled around a mug. He has somewhat of a sour look on his face, and stares across the bartender's workspace, deep in thought. Moments pass, and he sighs, taking a look around at the crowded room. "Nob," he calls finally, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. "I say, Nob! Where have you got to?"
The commotion by the door brings Nob's attention away from the farmers, and he shouts across the room. "LEK!" A young boy jumps up from the corner where he was trying to stay out of sight, sighs resignedly, and hurries over with a rag to mop up the mess. Nob himself follows, pausing at Saraid's table to ask, "Have everything you need, there?" He doesn't hear his name being called.
Belriel quickly grabs the quarter-full mug and starts patting down the farmer apologetically.
Saraid's dark eyes slide toward Boldibald's voice and the woman is now watching that hobbit up until Nob speaks to her. "Oh?" She blinks down at the little person. "Yes. I have eaten much. Thank you." Her voice has a sing-song accent to it.
"Hey," the farmer growls. "Watch what you're doing there, boy! And give me back my drink!" He reaches for the mug that Belriel has taken up.
Belriel relinquishes the mug, bowing his head submissively and walks off, letting the young staff member mop up the mess.
Belriel takes a seat at the bar, dropping a small shiny object into his pocket.
Boldibad sighs, shaking his head. He downs the rest of his drink and sets it down on the bar. As Belriel sits beside him, he turns, his neck hunched forward, past his shoulders. He looks the human up and down and wrinkles his nose. Then, he spins around in his seat and looks all around the room. "Mr. Nob! Are you finished yet? I need another drink!"
Nob nods and smiles up at Saraid, a bright, impersonal expression. "Good, good," he says, and turning around in a hurry at the sound of his name, he stands on tiptoe and cranes his neck this way and that to try and see who is calling him.
Saraid's eyes snap back toward Boldibald as Belriel sits next to him. She watches the small shiny object slip into Belriel's pocket. A final swig of her mug and her hand slips into her own belt-pouch. She places the correct amount of coins on the table and stands, quietly leaving the room.
Looking nervous, Belriel figits with his hands on the bartop. Dried clumps of mud fall to the ground beneath his chair as he absently taps his foot. He shuts his eyes and takes a long breath and the figiting stops.
"Waiter? What's good here?"
Lek gives the floor a final swipe, grins cheekily up at the disgruntled farmer and takes his mug off to refill it.
Simultaneously, Boldibad raises his empty mug and calls out, "Nob! Mr. Nob! I need another drink!" He places the mug back down and leans his head on one fist, seemingly irritated.
Ahhh, there it is. A mug waves beckoningly above the crowd of heads. Nob heads towards it, fetching up between Boldibad and Belriel. "And what can I get you?" he asks, cheerfully. "More to drink?" Bright brown eyes move to Belriel. "And for yourself, sir? Wanting a bit of lunch are you, or just a drink?"
Belriel hesitates, his hand moving to his pocket. A momentary look of concern flashes across his face, fleeting almost instantaneously.
"Lunch please.. something small."
Boldibad takes another glance at his bar-neighbor. His eyes appear slightly glazed over, as though this isn't the first refill he's requested today. He tugs on Nob's shoulder before he leaves, and says, "This fellow has the right idea--only I'll have something large, quite large. Surprise me, will you? Give me the best thing on the menu." He nudges Belriel, "Though we hobbits are smaller than you big-folks, we have larger appetites."
Boldibad tugged on Nob's sleeve, not shoulder :)
Nob spies the sudden expression, but says nothing more than, "Of course, of course. Lunch." He reaches up for Boldibad's mug, then grins widely at the other hobbit's order, and hurries off to the kitchen.
Belriel's eyes snap toward Boldibad as if seeing him for the first time.
"Oh-oh really? I-I'm not very hungry, had a big breakfast you know. Loads."
A long loud growl rumbles from within Belriel's stomach as his face turns red. More mud falls to the floor as his right foot taps away.
Braden enters the Common Room through the open doorway.
Braden has arrived.
Panting, and laden beneath a tray almost as large as he is, Nob comes staggering back into the room. He is preceded by Lek, who opens the door and makes something of a path through the crowded room. The hobbit slides the tray onto the wooden surface, and stands back, hands on his hips. There is a generous plate full of bread and cheese - very plain, but plenty of it - for Belriel. And there are berry tarts, more cheeses, several herb rolls, a mushroom and egg pie, a bowl of sausage and potato soup, and several slices off a thick roast... this must be for Boldibad.
Boldibad runs off to speak with a Bree-hobbit he must be acquainted with, but returns as soon as his meal is served. Sidling back up onto his bar seat, Boldibad turns to Belriel, "Pardon me!" He says with a smile. But, all memory of the conversation seems to escape him as he takes notice of the food placed before him. "Ahh!" he breathes, "Mushroom and egg pie, sausage and tater soup. Well," he calls toward Nob, "We'll see how this equals up with such dishes from the Shire, eh?"
A look of unbridled happiness washes over Belriel's face as he sees the plate set before him.
"Thank you, sir!"
Belriel's hands pick up a hunk of bread as if it were made of gold, staring at it for a while before breaking it in two and biting off a generous mouthful.
He suddenly freezes and looks toward Nob and Boldibad sheepishly as he notices he's been moaning involuntarily.
Nob is turning away, but he looks back over his shoulder to grin widely. "Oh, indeed," he says. "I'll just be back with your beer..." And he hurries off again, content in the knowledge that nothing, nowhere, can beat Barley's Best Beer!
Boldibad takes a sip of his ale and picks up a fork. Groaning quietly, he pauses to reach to his forehead and finger a recent scar, a deep-red gash. Shaking his head, he returns to the prospect of eating and buries the utensil into the potatoes. Glancing at Belriel, he lets out a chuckle, and says, "For not being so hungry, you certainly seem excited to have this food in front of you."
Belriel resumes chewing more slowly, grinning fullmouthed at Nob. He finishes his bread and turns toward the cheese, hyperventilating with giddyness. He stops partway through his meal and pulls his cap from his belt, using it to wipe his face before shoving it back into the fold.
It does not take much for the entrance to the Common Room to become the center of the bubble of commotion that seems to follow a certain young man about town.
"Keep your -- er -- voice down, eh?"
"Quack."
"Really! I jus' want some food, huh?"
Stomping off a coat of dirt from his boots at the door that would make his dear sister cringe, Braden Rushlight steps into the common room, his feet trailed closely by a rather irksome looking duck.
Much of the commotion seems to die down, suddenly, as many eyes move toward the newcomer. The hobbit, Boldibad, cranes his neck, leaning back in his seat to see past the other inhabitants of the bar. A throughly confused expression comes over his face and he nudges the human next to him, once again. "Am I just drunk, or did that big-fellow just come in with a... duck?"
Pausing in mid-bite, Belriel takes a chance to observe the sight in the entryway.
"Both, I suspect. What an odd companion for a duck."
Belriel chuckles at his own joke and remains facing away from the bar, gnawing on his hunk of cheese.
The duck suddenly seems to understand its human companion's request pefectly, as it bee-lines for a table laden with food -- that is already occupied by Belriel and Boldibad, of course.
Braden rubs his brow and quickly follows, "No Waddle, my -own-... I'm so sorry, fellas, excuse me--" He manages to scoop the duck into his arms just as they arrive at the table. The animal seems to be eyeing the spread, with an approving ruffle feather at the soup. As for the mushroom and egg pie, well, if duck looks could kill...
Boldibad laughs heartily once Belriel's joke sinks and he looks down, from the bar, at the little creature. Laughter and conversation seems to be at its height throughout the bar now, as well. The slightly-inebriated hobbit pulls a piece of bread from his plate and he drops it to the floor. "What a fine fowl you have there, sir," he says, still looking down at it. "You must be fattening it--they make an excellent soup, after all."
A frightened look overtakes Belriel as he eyes the duck heading toward his food, and he places himself inbetween the bird and his bread.
"What a foul place for a fowl," Belriel says with a smirk. Then, hearing Boldibad's remark about soup, Belriel tilts his head and eyes the bird hungrily.
The duck is clearly upset at the suggestion of soup. "Quack! Qu--"
Braden quickly clamps a hand over its beak to silence it. "Thanks and all, but he's not really for eating. Too much history with this one for that." He pats it affectionately. "Anyway, sorry for the nuisance."
He raises a brow, "But I don't think I've seen you fellas before. You from 'round here?"
Boldibad laughs once again at Belriel, "Why, you're a regular comedian, sir--for a Breeman!"
To Braden, the hobbit nods his head, "It's no trouble for me, though I'm not sure what ol' Butterbur would have to say about it. And, I certainly am not from these parts--I hail from the Shire, some ways to the west. I'm Boldibad Bolger, of Budge Ford, collector and dealer of fine Shire antiques and pieces of history--at your service."
Belriel grins at Boldibad, then turns to address Braden.
"I grew up in Archet, but.. I am staying in Bree now." Belriel's face reddens and his eyes drop for a moment, coming to linger on the protesting duck.
Braden shrugs. "I know exactly what Butterbur'd say... we have a kind of deal." He seems slightly taken aback at the hobbit's formal introduction, but nods politely, "Well, pleased to meet you mister Bolger. I'm Braden Rushlight."
He turns to look at Belriel, "Really? I'm from Archet too, originally. Your family hunt at all? My pop is Danton, Rushlight." As if that would mean something.
He finally releases the duck's beak, and if animals could huff indignantly, then this one does, returning Belriel's look with a glare.
Boldibad nods, "Well met, Mr. Rushlight." He turns around to scoop more of the potatoes into his mouth, and takes a swig of his ale.
His face reddening more, Belriel replies, "Nah, no hunters. Pa is a carpenter, named Ballo--you'd know him if he worked more, been busy taking care of Mama though. I am Belriel."
Braden nods slowly, "Ah, sorry. Hope she's alright."
The waterfowl shifts impatiently in the young man's arms, and he rolls his eyes. "Right. Well, I should probably get back t'business, but it was nice meetin' you both," A smile breaks across his face, "And let me know if you need anything while you're here, I'm around and stuff."
And just as strangely as he had entered, the Rushlight turns and walks off, duck in arms.
Boldibad nods, "Good day, Mr. Rushlight." He takes another bite of his food, and sighs. "And, I'm afraid I have too much on my mind to finish eating at the present. Sir, it's been a pleasure speaking with you," he says to Belriel. He stands, leaves a few coins on the bar, and makes his way toward the door, rubbing the scar on his forehead.
Belriel nods to the hobbit and inches towards the remains of the fancy platter.
"Good day, sir."
Bree time: Midday <13:06:57> on Hevensday of Summer - July 25,1448
Moon Phase: New Moon
Braden
This young man is one that has finally come into his looks. His brown curls, though soft and loose, retain an untamed quality as they peek out from beneath the confines of his ascot cap. A pair of all-but-pitch eyes gleam beneath brows that are lifted with a hint of mischeif, and his lightly freckled nose is the only departure from his skin's otherwise tawny hue.
His clothes have seen more summers than he, but with a few subtle and strategic mendings, still serve their purpose well. His shirt -- perhaps once white, now dun -- is buttoned over his lithe, but clearly hard-worked, frame. A pair of black suspenders hold up brown trowsers that are just shy of suitable for his long legs. His boots are sturdy, but well broken in with use the laces tied by long-fingered hands that share those qualities.
-----
Saraid
This woman is of slightly below average height and possibly young adulthood. Her skin is dusky and her features are fox-like, with dark eyes and brows. Her near-black hair is curly. This is an understatement. Her hair is in tightly wound coils that end just above her shoulder. If they were straightened, her hair might be halfway down her back, so it springs behind her, a great mass of dark curls.
She has the body of one who has not known regular meals and yet has managed to find enough to keep from being unhealthy. A patched brown cloak with hood is tied about her neck. Her leather belt is wide and cinched around her simple dress of dark blue. The skirt of this ends at mid-calf and shows her patched leather boots that cover her legs.
-----
Belriel
Belriel is a sturdy young man, a hair under six feet tall and built like a wrestler. His hands are callused and his fingernails are rimmed with dirt. Impeccably straight brown hair reaches to his eyebrows, falling center-parted. Unlike his hands, his hair is remarkably clean. Bright silver eyes look out from under his brow. A short scar marks the tip of Belriel's chin, interrupting his short brown stubble with a pink line. Another longer scar runs along the inside of his right arm, in the nook of his elbow.
A well broken-in tunic, forest green, covers his torso. Muddied brown trousers cover his legs. Clay caked boots adorn his feet. A soft green cap is tucked into his belt.
-----
Common Room
This large and rectangular room serves the purpose of Common Room for the Prancing Pony. Large windows along the western end of the room peek out over the Great East Road which runs outside the Inn. There are long tables with bench seats for the patrons in the centre of the room. Nestled into the wall is a large fireplace with several bundles of wood piled next to it. Sunlight streams through the windows to mingle with the smoke that floats above the ceiling beams, and provide an odd sort of illumination that, even in daylight, doesn't quite reach the corners. The lamps which hang down are presently unlit.
Contents:
Belriel
Saraid
Nob
Dart Board
Obvious exits:
Out
-----
It is noon, high up, and the common room is crowded with people eating, drinking, talking, laughing, quarreling... In fact, several of the kitchen helpers have been pressed into service as waiters, hurrying back and forth with orders.
Nob himself is bustling about - but with all of this help, he has time to stop at each table and chat a bit. Just now, he is setting a tray of ale mugs down at a table where three burly farmers sit, their heavy boots propped up on chair rungs.
Saraid sits at the very table closest to the door, at an angle where she can watch both the room and the door itself. She is nearly done eating a meal, just now tearing off a bit of bread, mug at hand. She eats in a quick, economic way, her eyes darting around to try to watch everyone at once.
A young man trips on the doorframe as he enters the Common Room, catching himself on a farmer and spilling his drink.
Belriel exclaims, "Oh, gosh. Sorry!"
Sitting at one of the stools to accommodate short folks, Boldibad leans over the bar, his hands cradled around a mug. He has somewhat of a sour look on his face, and stares across the bartender's workspace, deep in thought. Moments pass, and he sighs, taking a look around at the crowded room. "Nob," he calls finally, his voice barely audible over the din of the crowd. "I say, Nob! Where have you got to?"
The commotion by the door brings Nob's attention away from the farmers, and he shouts across the room. "LEK!" A young boy jumps up from the corner where he was trying to stay out of sight, sighs resignedly, and hurries over with a rag to mop up the mess. Nob himself follows, pausing at Saraid's table to ask, "Have everything you need, there?" He doesn't hear his name being called.
Belriel quickly grabs the quarter-full mug and starts patting down the farmer apologetically.
Saraid's dark eyes slide toward Boldibald's voice and the woman is now watching that hobbit up until Nob speaks to her. "Oh?" She blinks down at the little person. "Yes. I have eaten much. Thank you." Her voice has a sing-song accent to it.
"Hey," the farmer growls. "Watch what you're doing there, boy! And give me back my drink!" He reaches for the mug that Belriel has taken up.
Belriel relinquishes the mug, bowing his head submissively and walks off, letting the young staff member mop up the mess.
Belriel takes a seat at the bar, dropping a small shiny object into his pocket.
Boldibad sighs, shaking his head. He downs the rest of his drink and sets it down on the bar. As Belriel sits beside him, he turns, his neck hunched forward, past his shoulders. He looks the human up and down and wrinkles his nose. Then, he spins around in his seat and looks all around the room. "Mr. Nob! Are you finished yet? I need another drink!"
Nob nods and smiles up at Saraid, a bright, impersonal expression. "Good, good," he says, and turning around in a hurry at the sound of his name, he stands on tiptoe and cranes his neck this way and that to try and see who is calling him.
Saraid's eyes snap back toward Boldibald as Belriel sits next to him. She watches the small shiny object slip into Belriel's pocket. A final swig of her mug and her hand slips into her own belt-pouch. She places the correct amount of coins on the table and stands, quietly leaving the room.
Looking nervous, Belriel figits with his hands on the bartop. Dried clumps of mud fall to the ground beneath his chair as he absently taps his foot. He shuts his eyes and takes a long breath and the figiting stops.
"Waiter? What's good here?"
Lek gives the floor a final swipe, grins cheekily up at the disgruntled farmer and takes his mug off to refill it.
Simultaneously, Boldibad raises his empty mug and calls out, "Nob! Mr. Nob! I need another drink!" He places the mug back down and leans his head on one fist, seemingly irritated.
Ahhh, there it is. A mug waves beckoningly above the crowd of heads. Nob heads towards it, fetching up between Boldibad and Belriel. "And what can I get you?" he asks, cheerfully. "More to drink?" Bright brown eyes move to Belriel. "And for yourself, sir? Wanting a bit of lunch are you, or just a drink?"
Belriel hesitates, his hand moving to his pocket. A momentary look of concern flashes across his face, fleeting almost instantaneously.
"Lunch please.. something small."
Boldibad takes another glance at his bar-neighbor. His eyes appear slightly glazed over, as though this isn't the first refill he's requested today. He tugs on Nob's shoulder before he leaves, and says, "This fellow has the right idea--only I'll have something large, quite large. Surprise me, will you? Give me the best thing on the menu." He nudges Belriel, "Though we hobbits are smaller than you big-folks, we have larger appetites."
Nob spies the sudden expression, but says nothing more than, "Of course, of course. Lunch." He reaches up for Boldibad's mug, then grins widely at the other hobbit's order, and hurries off to the kitchen.
Belriel's eyes snap toward Boldibad as if seeing him for the first time.
"Oh-oh really? I-I'm not very hungry, had a big breakfast you know. Loads."
A long loud growl rumbles from within Belriel's stomach as his face turns red. More mud falls to the floor as his right foot taps away.
Braden enters the Common Room through the open doorway.
Braden has arrived.
Panting, and laden beneath a tray almost as large as he is, Nob comes staggering back into the room. He is preceded by Lek, who opens the door and makes something of a path through the crowded room. The hobbit slides the tray onto the wooden surface, and stands back, hands on his hips. There is a generous plate full of bread and cheese - very plain, but plenty of it - for Belriel. And there are berry tarts, more cheeses, several herb rolls, a mushroom and egg pie, a bowl of sausage and potato soup, and several slices off a thick roast... this must be for Boldibad.
Boldibad runs off to speak with a Bree-hobbit he must be acquainted with, but returns as soon as his meal is served. Sidling back up onto his bar seat, Boldibad turns to Belriel, "Pardon me!" He says with a smile. But, all memory of the conversation seems to escape him as he takes notice of the food placed before him. "Ahh!" he breathes, "Mushroom and egg pie, sausage and tater soup. Well," he calls toward Nob, "We'll see how this equals up with such dishes from the Shire, eh?"
A look of unbridled happiness washes over Belriel's face as he sees the plate set before him.
"Thank you, sir!"
Belriel's hands pick up a hunk of bread as if it were made of gold, staring at it for a while before breaking it in two and biting off a generous mouthful.
He suddenly freezes and looks toward Nob and Boldibad sheepishly as he notices he's been moaning involuntarily.
Nob is turning away, but he looks back over his shoulder to grin widely. "Oh, indeed," he says. "I'll just be back with your beer..." And he hurries off again, content in the knowledge that nothing, nowhere, can beat Barley's Best Beer!
Boldibad takes a sip of his ale and picks up a fork. Groaning quietly, he pauses to reach to his forehead and finger a recent scar, a deep-red gash. Shaking his head, he returns to the prospect of eating and buries the utensil into the potatoes. Glancing at Belriel, he lets out a chuckle, and says, "For not being so hungry, you certainly seem excited to have this food in front of you."
Belriel resumes chewing more slowly, grinning fullmouthed at Nob. He finishes his bread and turns toward the cheese, hyperventilating with giddyness. He stops partway through his meal and pulls his cap from his belt, using it to wipe his face before shoving it back into the fold.
It does not take much for the entrance to the Common Room to become the center of the bubble of commotion that seems to follow a certain young man about town.
"Keep your -- er -- voice down, eh?"
"Quack."
"Really! I jus' want some food, huh?"
Stomping off a coat of dirt from his boots at the door that would make his dear sister cringe, Braden Rushlight steps into the common room, his feet trailed closely by a rather irksome looking duck.
Much of the commotion seems to die down, suddenly, as many eyes move toward the newcomer. The hobbit, Boldibad, cranes his neck, leaning back in his seat to see past the other inhabitants of the bar. A throughly confused expression comes over his face and he nudges the human next to him, once again. "Am I just drunk, or did that big-fellow just come in with a... duck?"
Pausing in mid-bite, Belriel takes a chance to observe the sight in the entryway.
"Both, I suspect. What an odd companion for a duck."
Belriel chuckles at his own joke and remains facing away from the bar, gnawing on his hunk of cheese.
The duck suddenly seems to understand its human companion's request pefectly, as it bee-lines for a table laden with food -- that is already occupied by Belriel and Boldibad, of course.
Braden rubs his brow and quickly follows, "No Waddle, my -own-... I'm so sorry, fellas, excuse me--" He manages to scoop the duck into his arms just as they arrive at the table. The animal seems to be eyeing the spread, with an approving ruffle feather at the soup. As for the mushroom and egg pie, well, if duck looks could kill...
Boldibad laughs heartily once Belriel's joke sinks and he looks down, from the bar, at the little creature. Laughter and conversation seems to be at its height throughout the bar now, as well. The slightly-inebriated hobbit pulls a piece of bread from his plate and he drops it to the floor. "What a fine fowl you have there, sir," he says, still looking down at it. "You must be fattening it--they make an excellent soup, after all."
A frightened look overtakes Belriel as he eyes the duck heading toward his food, and he places himself inbetween the bird and his bread.
"What a foul place for a fowl," Belriel says with a smirk. Then, hearing Boldibad's remark about soup, Belriel tilts his head and eyes the bird hungrily.
The duck is clearly upset at the suggestion of soup. "Quack! Qu--"
Braden quickly clamps a hand over its beak to silence it. "Thanks and all, but he's not really for eating. Too much history with this one for that." He pats it affectionately. "Anyway, sorry for the nuisance."
He raises a brow, "But I don't think I've seen you fellas before. You from 'round here?"
Boldibad laughs once again at Belriel, "Why, you're a regular comedian, sir--for a Breeman!"
To Braden, the hobbit nods his head, "It's no trouble for me, though I'm not sure what ol' Butterbur would have to say about it. And, I certainly am not from these parts--I hail from the Shire, some ways to the west. I'm Boldibad Bolger, of Budge Ford, collector and dealer of fine Shire antiques and pieces of history--at your service."
Belriel grins at Boldibad, then turns to address Braden.
"I grew up in Archet, but.. I am staying in Bree now." Belriel's face reddens and his eyes drop for a moment, coming to linger on the protesting duck.
Braden shrugs. "I know exactly what Butterbur'd say... we have a kind of deal." He seems slightly taken aback at the hobbit's formal introduction, but nods politely, "Well, pleased to meet you mister Bolger. I'm Braden Rushlight."
He turns to look at Belriel, "Really? I'm from Archet too, originally. Your family hunt at all? My pop is Danton, Rushlight." As if that would mean something.
He finally releases the duck's beak, and if animals could huff indignantly, then this one does, returning Belriel's look with a glare.
Boldibad nods, "Well met, Mr. Rushlight." He turns around to scoop more of the potatoes into his mouth, and takes a swig of his ale.
His face reddening more, Belriel replies, "Nah, no hunters. Pa is a carpenter, named Ballo--you'd know him if he worked more, been busy taking care of Mama though. I am Belriel."
Braden nods slowly, "Ah, sorry. Hope she's alright."
The waterfowl shifts impatiently in the young man's arms, and he rolls his eyes. "Right. Well, I should probably get back t'business, but it was nice meetin' you both," A smile breaks across his face, "And let me know if you need anything while you're here, I'm around and stuff."
And just as strangely as he had entered, the Rushlight turns and walks off, duck in arms.
Boldibad nods, "Good day, Mr. Rushlight." He takes another bite of his food, and sighs. "And, I'm afraid I have too much on my mind to finish eating at the present. Sir, it's been a pleasure speaking with you," he says to Belriel. He stands, leaves a few coins on the bar, and makes his way toward the door, rubbing the scar on his forehead.
Belriel nods to the hobbit and inches towards the remains of the fancy platter.
"Good day, sir."
Players: Nob, Boldibad, Saraid, Braden, Belriel
Located in: Breefolk
