Twas the Night Before Election Day

[Torebras(#25187)] It is the darkest hour of the night - and what a night at that! Rain batters against roofs and windows, and anyone with any sense is tucked up in bed with a towel under the door to stop the wet getting in.

Torebras Bywater\'s hobbit hole is snug and dry, though, and the Mayor sleeps peacefully beneath a snowy white eiderdown, his clothing for the next day laid out neatly to one side of the bed and a little table with a jug of water and a barrel of biscuits (just in case he fancies a post-midnight snack) sitting to the other side.

Out in the living room, all is clean and neat - clearly Mayor Bywater likes tidiness. A banked fire illuminates the comfortable chairs and antique furnishings with a soft glow, for the candles in the silver candlesticks have long since burned down.

There\'s a heavy pounding at Bywater\'s door, the thuds resounding with the weight of a strong fist banging against the wood. Two cloaked figures stand outside the hobbit hole of the mayor of Bree. Their silhouettes are too tall for hobbits and are obviously of men. There\'s a sputtering street lamp that barely illuminates them from behind. One is wearing a hood against the rain, the other a wide-brimmed hat. It\'s the former that\'s knocking.

[Torebras(#25187)] Torebras dreams on, his snores reaching a crescendo, then breaking off suddenly. His quilt-wrapped form twitches, then turns over and he reaches to pull a pillow over his head. Sound sleeper, then.

When no answer comes to the door, the two men look at each other and exchange quiet words beneath the steady melody of the rain. After a moment the man with the hat reaches forward to try the nob and see if it\'s locked. Other hooded man makes a scoffing sound as he does so.

[Torebras(#25187)] Naturally the door is locked - Torebras Bywater is not the trusting sort when it comes to personal valuables.

Within the bedroom, the twitching of the round bundle beneath the covers continues, along with snores that are now more muffled and decidedly more choking.

There\'s more quiet arguing as the hooded man mocks his companion. The man in the hat simply pulls out a slim knife and begins trying to pick the lock. The problem is that he doesn\'t actually know a thing about picking locks. After a moment the hooded man shoves him aside and very solidly kicks at the door, attempting to bust it open.

[Torebras(#25187)] Perhaps all that rain of late has weakened the door hinges. Surprisingly, the door gives way at the first kick, swinging wide to let the lashing rain nto the nice clean hobbit hole.

Torebras\' snores break off abruptly, and the Mayor sits bolt upright in bed, whimpering. After a moment he mumbles, \"Mercy me! What was that? A tree come down?\" Sliding his furry feet to the floor, he gropes for his nightcap.

\"That was really stupid!\" Hatman hisses as he swiftly moves into the hobbit hole after Scarface. \"You\'re a damned fool!\" Once inside he turns sharply about and presses the door closed again, trying to inspect the damage to the hinges to see if it\'s overly obvious that there was tampering.

Scarface only chuckles and moves deeper into the home, squinting through the darkness to find a lantern as he pulls a slim club from beneath his cloak.

[Torebras(#25187)] One hinge has been ripped loose at the screws. It /could/ be screwed back, if one had the time and inclination. The hallway itself is shrouded in darkness, for the faint glow of the fire from the living room does not penetrate far.

Torebras pads from the bedroom into the hallway, an unlit candle stub in his hand. Clearly he\'s heading for the living room and the fire ... He halts suddenly within the circle of dimmed firelight, turning his head at the sound of a chuckle. \"What\'s that?\" he quavers, his rotund body a-quiver. \"Wh- who\'s there?\"

\"Mayor!\" Hatman greets cheerfully, standing up from examining the door. \"My partner and I would like a word with you.\" He approaches Torebras, gesturing towards the living room. \"If you\'ll have a seat? Get comfortable. We have much to discuss.\"

Scarface heads towards the windows in the living room, making certain that curtains are drawn so that none can peer inside. On his way he pokes the club at a decorative vase, casually pushing it off the stand that it\'s on to crash to the floor.

[Torebras(#25187)] Torebras stares round-eyed and white-faced at Hatman. When the vase falls to the floor, he lets out a shriek. \"No!\"

He backs away into the living room, shaking like a jelly. \"D- don\'t hurt me,\" he quavers. \"What do you want? Money? I\'m sure I can arrange something ...\" His retreating form collides with the legs of a fine claw-footed table, and he lets out another shriek.

Hatman moves forward now as the mayor begins to panic, reaching out to try and grab the hobbit. It\'s convenient that they\'re so small. If successful, he\'ll begin pulling Torebras towards the living room and try to push him into a chair.

Scarface double-checks all the windows, and then goes over to the hearth, picking up a fireplace poker with a sudden grin on his face. \"This will be useful.\"

[Torebras(#25187)] Hobbits may be small, but they are amazingly nimble - even one as fat as Torebras. He ducks out of Hatman\'s reach, puts his head down and begins to run. Unfortunately, in his blind panic he does not seem to realize that his steps are taking him not out of the open door but into the living room, towards the fire and - worse - towards Scarface.

Hatman misses his grasp and utters a foul word beneath his breath, but luckily the mayor is fleeing in the wrong direction. He moves to stand in the doorway, blocking the exit. \"Mayor.. please. You\'re only going to force us to take drastic measures that may end up with you in a lot of pain. Do you want to be in a lot of pain?\" His tone is bland, despite his frustration moments earlier.

The man at the hearth reaches down to set the poker into the fireplace, so that the tip is in the hot coals. He straightens again and lifts the club to the mantle, dragging it along the shelf without regard for anything valuable that\'s knocked to the floor.

[Torebras(#25187)] Pain. That word seems to register, for Torebras freezes like a scared rabbit. \"N- now, there\'s no need to go talking like that, is th-there?\" he quavers. \"I\'m sure we can work something out ...\" The words fade as he stares, appalled, at Scarface\'s actions. \"Stop! Stop! Please!\" he begs, staring at the carnage of broken ornaments and soot-stained pictures. \"That was my grandfather\'s.\" Outrage quivers beneath the fear as he reaches for a little wooden clock that has tumbled to the floor.

\"Sit. Down.\" Hatman says, pointing at a chair. \"Or you\'ll find more of your grandfather\'s belongings on the floor.\" He reaches to pull the hat from his head, shaking the water off of it before slapping it on again. \"We must talk, and the longer you delay things, the more we\'ll convince you not to.. you see?\"

Scarface reaches to snatch up small wooden foot stool and shove it into the hearth.

[Torebras(#25187)] Faced with that ultimatum, Torebras sits, the broken clock still clutched in his hands. \"Stop! Stop!\" he pleads as Scarface shoves the wooden footstool into the fire. \"Do you want to set the hole on fire?\" And then it registers - they probably do. \"Why?\" he asks miserably.

Hatman leans against the door frame, not about to give Torebras an escape route. \"The election is in two days, Mayor. Quite simply, you have a job to do. It will be your last job as mayor in Bree, in fact. You\'re going to cheat.\" He explains, smirking. \"We suspect you\'re already cheating, but this will be more obvious. You\'re going to cheat so that people -know- you cheated. You\'re going to make sure you get caught, and when you do you\'re going to decide to move to the Shire as soon as possible.\" He glances over at towards his companion, and Scarface reaches down to pull the poker from the fire.

Hatman rolls his eyes, \"That\'s a bit cliche\', don\'t you think?\"

Scarface laughs, \"Aye, but it works, don\'t it?\"

[Torebras(#25187)] \"Wh- what?\" Torebras stares at the two thugs as though unable to believe his eyes. \"That\'s outrageous!\" he protests. \"That\'s - that\'s extortion! Did Brenden put you up to this? I never believed even a Ferny would stoop so low.\"

He pauses for breath, clinging on to his clock for dear life, then asks haltingly, \"What if I don\'t agree t your demands?\" He glances nervously at the poker.

\"Extortion? Why.. yes. Yes it is.\" Hatman grins widely, crossing his arms over his chest as he continues leaning against the door frame. \"But consider.. What would happen to you or your family if you didn\'t agree to this? Think of your younger brother.\" He pauses for dramatic effect, then continues, \"Life has been rather easy for you lately, Bywater. Consider how quickly that could change, if... \" He lets out a soft sigh and gestures towards his companion, \"You were unable to speak for having your tongue burned out.\" The last is spoken with a trace of annoyance.

[Torebras(#25187)] Torebras\' eyes widen, and he covers his mouth with both hands, dropping the clock. Only a whimper comes out at first. \"And if .. if I do as you say, you\'ll leave me alone?\" he asks, stuttering the words and barely able to speak. That\'s it?\"

\"We\'ll be watching to be sure that you leave for the Shire by the end of the month. It should be simple enough, Torebras. Get caught trying to slip extra ballots into the box.\" Hatman makes a gesture towards his companion and Scarface tosses the poker down to the floor as he moves to leave now.

Hatman lingers, watching the hobbit, then laughs, \"I suppose you should have done something about your bandit problem. You might not want to have guests over tomorrow.. if anyone is suspicious of us the deal is off.\" He lifts a hand to tip his hat to the mayor, then pushes away from the door frame to depart along with his partner.

[Torebras(#25187)] Torebras, ashen-faced, sits perched in the armchair and watches the pair of ruffians leave without a word. When they are gone he sits in silence, covering his face with his hands, then begins to sob. Poor Torebras. With all that clearing up to do - not to mention all those extra ballots to write - it will be a long night.