Just fishing

Budge Ford

A small hobbit settlement with half a dozen houses. A narrow plank bridge crosses The Water. The bridge looks a little unsafe if the stream is low, you can also cross at the old ford, which gave the town its name. The trees are in their fall colors, breath-taking reds, yellows, and oranges, with the odd purple here and there. Squirrels gathering nuts for the winter scamper everywhere, with one cheeky fellow jumping the fence that surrounds the Bolger Smial gardens. A few hobbits are in their gardens, bringing in the last of their vegetables, fruits, and taters for the coming winter.

Obvious exits:

Bolger Smial leads to Bolger Smial.

Fife Hall leads to Fife Hall.

North leads to Scary.

South leads to Village of Whitfurrows.

================================= +SHIRE TIME =================================

RL (Arizona) Time is Sun May 09 16:03:53 2010 (+time).

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IC Time is afternoon/evening on Sterday, Blotmath (November) 20, 1449 S.R.

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IC Weather Conditions:

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Not a single cloud can be seen on the horizon. The day is clear, and fairly warm away from the wind which, blowing moderately from the north-west, is enough to chill the air. The moon is hidden below the horizon.

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As the sun inches toward the horizon, a warm wind rustles the leaves on the trees near the edge of the village, and swoops down to disturb Boldibad\'s hair. He sits on an old stump by the river, not too far from Bolger Smial, tying a hook onto the end of a fishing line.

A single rotund figure walks purposefully up the path, the eaves of his coat turned up against the wind (warm or not) and feathered hat pulled well down over his ears lest a stray gust catch it. Torebras Bywater has a pipe stuck in the corner of his mouth, from which the sweet fragrance of Longbottom Leaf drifts, and appears to be out for an evening stroll.

Boldibad receives no more than a polite glance at first, but then he notes the hook. \"Isn\'t it .. ah, a little late in the year for fishing, my dear fellow?\" he enquires.

Boldibad tightens the knot he had been working on and lets the hook dangle, his rod resting over his knee. He glances over his shoulder as he reaches into a small bucket near his other foot. Boldibad chuckles, \"If you\'re a Took, or a Whitfoot, it may be. But, we Bolgers were born to fish--why do you think our ancestors built the Smial right here by the river?\" He pulls a worm from the bucket and grips it in his left hand, pausing to look over his shoulder again. \"Besides, there aren\'t many hobbits on the riverbank in Blotmath--the perfect time to fish in this location without having to compete with others.\"

\"Ah, I see,\" Torebras proclaims airily, the frown on what\'s visible of his face clear proof that in fact he does not. But then there aren\'t many rivers in Bree. He puffs a little in silence, then adds politely, \"In that case, I am delighted to make the acquaintance of such a master fisher. I fear I have not had the pleasure of trying the sport myself. How many have you caught?\"

Boldibad pokes his tongue out of the corner of his mouth as he concentrates on his worm. He stabs the hook through the creature\'s heart section, wraps it around, and hooks it once again. He clicks his tongue then, as he lets the baited hook dangle, and, with one hand on the rod and the other on his knee, he pushes himself up to his feet and takes a step forward. \"None, yet,\" he replies, checking his rod carefully. He takes aim, flips the hook over his shoulder and sends it out into the water. He reclaims his seat and sets his rod up against a forked stick. \"And what brings you to the wonderful land of the Bolgers, Mr. Bywater?\"

Boldibad casts his line 14 feet into the water.

Torebras visibly winces as the worm meets its demise - tender-hearted townsdweller! - and a small trail of ash falls from his pipe to the bare earth beneath. \"Oh.\" Polite or not, the response does have a certain ring of disappointment. As to the other question ...

Torebras brushes down his coat, and straightens himself up. \"Well now, Mister Bolger. I have been doing some business in Whitfurrows of late, and fancied that an evening stroll would stretch my legs. I\'m afraid I must have got rather lost in my thoughts, I didn\'t intend coming quite this far. Although perhaps it is fortuitous ...\" He lets the words trail off into suggestive silence.

Boldibad notices Torebras\'s pipe and pulls his own from beneath his waistcoat. It seems to have already been filled, and he strikes it up into a smoking ember.

\"Business in Whitfurrows, you say?\" Boldibad puffs on his pipe to get the smoke rolling out thickly, and takes a small puff. \"Well,\" he says after a lazy look over the rippling water, \"Fortuitous--I would tend to agree. It\'s been some time since we last had the opportunity to speak.\" He puffs, and puffs on his pipe again. \"Ah,\" he says, straightening up and looking sidelong at Torebras, \"it\'ll be dark soon. I\'ll have someone set up a guest room for you tonight. I\'m afraid you\'ve already missed second supper, but I\'m sure we can find something for you in the kitchen.\"

Boldibad\'s line sits motionless on the water.

Torebras feigns surprised pleasure. \"Really, Mister Bolger, you don\'t - ahh, that would be very kind. Very kind indeed,\" he rattles on before Boldibad can use his half-formed denial to retract the offer. \"I am very much obliged As they say, a friend in need is a friend indeed.\" He bobs to the other hobbit, sending a wavering trail of smoke winding after Boldibad\'s thicker one, then adds, clearing his throat, \"Why, I still remember how helpful you were over that .. ahem, unfortunate business with the letters last summer. You offered to help me improve my reputation, as I recall?\"

Boldibad chuckles as he lays a hand on the fishing line, as if checking to see if it\'s taut. He says, \"That\'ll be quite enough, sir. The hospitality of the Bolgers is unparalleled. I won\'t hear another word about it.\" He pulls his pipe from his mouth and places a hand on his thight, leaning slightly on it. \"Letters,\" he says, sounding unsure. \"Of course, of course. Er--I remember quite well.\" He glances away, and it may be obvious to some that he doesn\'t actually remember at all.

Boldibad\'s line sits motionless on the water.

Torebras follows the direction of Boldibad\'s gaze, brows raising slightly at the sight of the line resting unmoving. What, no fish yet? At the final remark, though, he permits himself a thin smile. \"Yes, indeed. You know, I\'d appreciate a bit of advice about the differences in etiquette between here and Bree, any local customs that I as an- an incomer might be unaware of. I hear that the Bolgers are great upholders of tradition.\" Is that a subtle reference to the (already growing with the telling) rumours regarding the Yule log?

Boldibad replies, \"Why, Mr. Bywater--you\'ve been in the Shire for quite some time now, haven\'t you? Well, I suppose I can understand... not many folks around here are very eager to speak with Outsiders--if you don\'t mind the word. Anything you\'d like to know about life in the \'Farthings, I\'d be happy to tell you all about.\" He puffs on his pipe again, and another small breeze blows it out over the water. \"I can\'t argue with that--what you\'ve heard about my family is absolutely true. Watch what you hear from those Proudfoots, though--they\'ve made a fine fortune through various ventures, and it seems to have gotten to their heads. They seem to think quite highly of themselves, these days...\" He snaps his fingers then. \"Speaking of tradition, we\'re going to have a celebration for Yule this year, which should be quite out of the ordinary. Why, you would be more than welcome to attend!\"

Boldibad\'s line sits motionless on the water.

Torebras stiffens at the word \'Outsider\', and a sharp puff of smoke escapes from his lips. As Boldibad continues the former Breelander seems mollified, however. \"I see. These Proudfoots are-\" he glances round, lowers his voice, \"one of the lower orders? I\'ll be sure to bear that in mind.\"

His features, previously screwed up in distaste, brighten immediately at the talk of celebrations. \"Why, my dear Mister Bolger, I would be delighted to attend. Especially as the event is being hosted by such a fine hobbit as yourself ...\" No, he\'s not above trying a little flattery.

He glances again at that line lying so still on the water, then demurs, \"But I\'m afraid I am distracting you from your fishing. Perhaps it would be best if I waited for you at your smial?\"

Boldibad lets out a grin, \"I don\'t suppose you could call them low class. But, they certainly aren\'t as old and distinguished as some of the other families. Just because they have so much money--they didn\'t always, you see, they think they are the most wonderful folks in all the Shire! But,\" he chuckles, \"let\'s keep that between us, if you please.\" He reels in his line and sighs, \"Just doesn\'t seem like anything is biting at the moment. Oh well! That\'s fishing, I suppose. Come, I\'ll take you inside and the servant will show you where you can sleep for the night.\" He gets up to his feet and puts together his fishing tackle.

Boldibad\'s line sits motionless on the water.

Torebras wisely refrains from saying \'I told you so\' and instead waits politely until Boldibad is ready, puffing out the occasional smoke ring. And the talk of the Proudfoots? Of that he says nothing at all.