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Nice evening for carrots

Tags: Brev,  Nob,  Sturlingar,  Glinraen

Short Summary: Brev's pony reveals itself as well-mannered as its owner, and a stranger-woman breaks her journey in Bree
Date (real-life): 2010-03-14
Scene Location: Bree - Innyard
Date (in-game): June 3049
Time of Day: Evening
An open air inn-yard is enclosed in the center of the Prancing Pony's compound. The yard is ringed in by the north and south wing of the Pony, and the eastern section of the building, which is set back into Bree-hill. On the fourth side bordering this yard is an archway, beyond which lies the Great East Road. The stables, which comprise the lower level of the south wing, are accessed through a set of large double doors.

Obvious exits:
 Kitchen leads to Kitchen.
 Downstairs Hallway leads to Short Passage.
 Double Doors leads to Stables.
 Archway leads to Under the Archway.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Sun Mar 14 15:26:51 2010
Bree time: Early Night <22:20:33> on Sunday of Summer - June 5,1449
Moon Phase: Full  Moon

Breelands Weather
The early night summer air is very hot and dry around you. The sky is clear and the moon shines brightly.

A fine summer day is now turning into a fine summer night. The sun has already sunk beneath the western horizon, and the town is bathed in a soft grey twilight. Away to the east, the first stars peep around the bulk of Bree Hill. From the direction of the Pony's Common Room come the merry sounds of speech and laughter, from the kitchen the clatter of pots and pans. And from the Inn-yard ... curses?

There in the yard stand a man and pony, the former tugging at the latter's rope halter. "-said no more, you bloody idiot mule! Or it'll be /you/ in the stew tomorrow." The words are spoken in sing-song Common, and their speaker, Brev, is swarthy and leather-clad (not to mention filthy), hardly the look of a local. The pony, a shaggy beast, flicks one ear and goes back to nosing enthusiastically at the sack of carrots someone had helpfully left outside the kitchen door.

[Nob(#16122)] The door swings open, and a hobbit rushes out, looking around. His eyes light on the carrots and relief fills them - then they lift to the pony, and turn irritated and a little alarmed. "Here you!" Nob says scoldingly, "You can't be eating those, they go in the soup!" He makes shooing motions at the pony, but doesn't come any nearer.

The pony's owner gives a half-hearted tug at the bridle, his gaze flickering toward the open door at man-height. When his focus lowers to take in the hobbit, the corner of his mouth twitches. "He's hungry," Brev informs the hobbit gravely. "Sure you can spare one or two - better carrots than other things, eh?"

[Nob(#16122)] The hobbit looks dubiously at the pony, then down at the carrots. "It /looks/," he says, "like it's already had one or two!" He edges a step closer, bending down to pick up the sack, all the while keeping a cautious eye on the animal.

[Sturlingar(#16522)] A stodgy hobbit of advancing years leans against one of the walls of the stable, happily puffing away at a well used pipe. Smoke ring ascend in blissful tranquility for a time until the young man begins harassing the pony. He stifles a yawn and looks disconcertingly at the bigfolk who does not know how to handle his animal. "Now see here," Sturlingar begins but is cut off by Nob's appearance, returning to his anonymity for a moment to continue enjoying his pipe and enjoy the unfolding scene before him.

The pony lifts its head to stare at Nob with a look of indignation in its eye as the sack is taken away, and noses after it.

Brev, for all his earlier concerns, does not have the grace even to look apologetic. "Suppose he could have," he offers with a shrug. "Looks like there's plenty left, though." At Sturlingar's interruption he turns his head. "Hmm?" He doesn't even appear to be /trying/ to restrain the beast.

[Nob(#16122)] Nob snatches up the sack and moves backwards a few steps, clutching it to his chest. Then he reaches one hand inside and rummages around, coming up with a rather limp-looking carrot and holding it out towards the pony. But when the animal reaches for it, he squeaks and lets it drop.

Nob climbs a couple steps and enters the kitchen through the back door.

Sturlingar pats his paunch and (with some effort) pushes himself away from the wall of the stable. With careful steps, as if he had spent some time inside of the Inn sampling some of its finest ales, he moves toward Brev and the protesting pony, taking note of Nob in turn. He hiccups, but fails to say anything more, looking back and forth between them as if his thoughts were exceptionally slow to form in his mind.

The brown pony is nothing if not slave to its stomach. The beast lowers its muzzle to crunch up the offering eagerly.

Brev watches Nob's reactions, and once more the corners of his mouth twitch. "It's all right," he assures the hobbit. "He doesn't bite. Kicks, sometimes. Strong fellow." Perhaps he realizes that there is such a thing as pushing the Breefolk's hospitality too far, for he wanders over to said beast and puts a restraining hand on its neck, muttering something in a guttural tongue that is not Common. "Might be willing to hire him out, sometimes," he adds. "Know anyone interested?" The sound of a hiccup from somewhere behind him causes one dark brow to lift, and he urges the pony back a little - whether it's to take it further away from the carrots or bring it close to the hiccuper, who knows? It achieves both.

[Sturlingar(#16522)] The change in language awakens the heretofore somewhat ale-dimmed wit of Sturlingar and his eyes fairly pop from his head. Trying to disguise his fearfulness concerning this disturbing turn of events, he pulls his pipe from his pocket and taps out some stray ash from it, patting his hand down the other side in a search for more matches. Finding none, he returns to the uncomfortable exchange, set between him and entering through the kitchen door as it is.

[Nob(#16122)] Nob glances over at Sturlingar - of whom he can only see glimpses beyond the pony and the outlander. "Well, now," he says cautiously, "I heard Farmer Rushlight's beast went lame t'other day. You might check with him." He feels behind him for the door, unwilling apparently, to turn his back on the pony, even if it /is/ farther off now, and, managing a smile and a nod of the head, backs into the kitchen and pulls the door shut behind him. Safe!

[Glinraen(#32271)] The kitchen door opens. A dark hooded head peeks into the yard. Upon seeing the yard occupied, the cloaked figure comes all the way and allows the door to shut behind her. One hand pulls the hood back and the blue-grey eyes study the two there solemnly for a moment. She is a tall woman with dark hair and travel clothes. Her boots are muddy. She nods her head as if in greeting. "Good Even." I was looking for Nob, as I was told her was here, but I see I've missed him." Frowning slightly, she starts to turn back the way she came in, but she hesitates and then turns back to the two there. "I haven't been here in a long while...." SHe seems about to say more, but then stops.

The pony, which had raised its head to sniff toward Nob again, shies at the sudden banging of the door. Brev, caught somewhat by surprise, scowls though he manages to avoid being kicked. "Farmer Rushlight," he repeats with a distinct lack of enthusiasm; as the scent of pipe-ash reaches his nostrils, he wrinkles his nose and turns on the other hobbit. "Careful there. Horses don't like fire. Wouldn't want any accidents, eh?" he suggests, the sing-song Common faintly mocking.

The sound of the kitchen door re-opening causes the pony to look up hopefully, and the one who appears to own it glances back also ... and stares. "Thought you were that wee rabbity fellow. Must say, it's a change for the better. No, Mecsan." He nudges the pony back. At the woman's final words, he chuckles. "I'd offer a guided tour, except ... can't claim to know the place myself. You could ask the gentleman here." The word 'gentleman', directed in Sturlingar's direction, fairly drips sarcasm.

[Glinraen(#32271)] The woman cocks her head but her expression remains neutral, even after the clear sarcasm she hears in the man's voice. If she is curious about him, she makes no sign. In fact, she nods noncommittally when he finishes speaking. She glances at his horse speculatively for a moment. After a long space of silence which could make some folk uncomfortable, she brings back her gaze to the man. "I am called Glin." she says briefly. "It is a wondrous night for traveling, wouldn't you agree?"

The brown pony nudges at the man's shoulder, and when that elicits no response the beast simply steps round (and out of Sturlingar's vicinity. Despite the threats, it seems not at all bothered by the pipe-smoke). The man snorts and murmurs something to it in a guttural speech, "<Dunael> Oi there, lad. No more carrots tonight, they're wise to you now. Later." To the woman he offers, seemingly in explanation, 'It's not you he's after, it's what's in the kitchen. In some matters, horses have no taste.' And one side of his mouth pulls back in a half-smirk.

It is gone quickly, for at the final question he glances up at the twilit sky, now dusted with glinting stars. 'Suppose it is that,' he concedes. 'Come far?'

[Glinraen(#32271)] "Nay, not too far this night. And I will likely stay for a while, to rest." She leans against the wall near the door and continues. "By your speech, you have come far. Come tell me where you are from. It is not from here."

 She cocks here head as if listening. "I fear that Nob may not come back soon. I might tire of waiting for him, if I stay here." She says, with amusement.

The pony takes another step toward the door, and the man rolls his eyes and moves after. Again it is muttered, guttural speech that he uses in attempt to restrain the beast. Perhaps not entirely successfully, for the animal does not appear to be paying him much heed, but at a tug on his rope halter he stops.

Only then does the man, Brev, respond to the newcomer. "I'm from the lands down south. Came up by road. Food's scarce there of late, figured I could pick up a job or two in these parts. There'll be more like me, as time passes." The words are spoken matter-of-factly, neither threat nor promise.

The speech pauses, then suddenly he grins. "If Nob's the wee rabbity fellow, reckon he'll be back when I'm gone. He's feared of Mecsan here." He jerks his head in the pony's direction. "He'll find you a room in the Inn, if you've the coin. For those of us who don't, it's the stables."

[Glinraen(#32271)] Glin nods casually. "There are jobs, I expect, for those who want for work. You will sleep here then?" About the rest of his words, she makes no comment, but her eyes go to the animal. "Nob afraid of a pony? That must be some fierce pony." She pauses for a moment and then says. "I've got this." She drops her dark head, and rummages in her pack a moment. Pulling out a wizened apple, she holds it up. "Would this due to hold the beastie at bay?"

At the woman's initial speech, Brev shrugs. "Been sleeping here for the last few weeks, noone's yet stopped me. But the jobs are few and far between. Heard there might be more work out east." He glances that way for a moment, his expression abstracted. "And the wee fellow's feared of /something/."

The pony takes the chance while he's distracted and trots forward toward the apple, leaving Brev to lunge after. "Oi there, lad," he tells the beast, this time in Common. "You don't get something for nothing in this life." As he strives by dint of mere human bodyweight to hold the animal back from the apple, he adds, panting slightly, "Think that was a 'yes'."

[Glinraen(#32271)] "I do offer this freely." She holds out the apple unconcernedly. Whatever Nob fears, she seemingly does not share it. For the first time there is a hint of something other then amusement in her voice. Innocence, perhaps? "But of what can he fear in this place, friend."

Brev snorts, releasing his hold on the pony, who reaches out his muzzle to devour the apple on the woman's palm in a single crunching gulp, then noses at her pack as though expecting more. "Chancer," the man mutters under his breath, very softly. Then, aloud, and accompanied by a shrug. "Kiern knows. Perhaps you should ask him, when he puts in an appearance."

There is a moment's silence, then he adds, casually, "If you're in to offering things freely, then there's something I'd have. News of the road."

[Glinraen(#32271)] If Glin catches anything said in the man's mutterings, she gives no sign. Her blue-grey eyes are on the pony as he nudges her pack. "There's no more in there, alas, my four-footed friend."

She then looks up at the man and says. "I know no Kiern, but then I am better at faces than names. Speaking of name, I have none to call you. I suppose I could ask Nob, if he knows. I would rather have it from you." She pauses.." Give me that and I would gladly share what news of the road, I have, such as it is. I will also add, I would do so in any case."

It takes a considerable amount of snuffling and nosing before the pony comes to the same conclusion. Then the beast raises its head to stare again at the kitchen door, known source of carrots.

The man, watching it, chuckles suddenly. "My name's no secret - it's Brev. Plain and simple, just like me. None of this flowery stuff. Yours?" He quirks a brow in question. "And I'd appreciate the news. South I know. There's war down there, back where I come from. Not a good place to be. But as to north, east, west ..." He eyes the woman levelly as he waits, without any trace of the mockery shown the hobbits.

[Glinraen(#32271)] "War, you say. No wonder you came here." She says musingly, I did tell you my name when I first spoke to you. It is Glin. As simple as yours and serviceable I think, or it always has been thus far. Brev." She repeats. "Well then, Brev. you seek news of the road. There are no wars where I have been, but there are many folk moving from one place to another on the roads. I have just come from the Shire and before that the Blue Mountains. I have seem dwarves, and even the elves on the road. What this means, I do not know."

At the woman's summarizing of her name, Brev lets out another chuckle. "The Shire," he repeats. "Heard the name. That's the land of the rabbit-men, isn't it? Kiern grant I won't need to go there." He digests the rest of her information, features carefully blank, then adds, "And eastward the village of the shepherd-folk lies in ruin. There's talk of rebuilding it, figure I-"

The door to the kitchen opens a crack, then shuts again smartly. The pony whinnies.

"-I should be on my way, else the rabbit-men will run out of food. Likely they've already eaten yon place bare." He gives a sudden smirk, then dips his head in a nod to his companion. "Might see you again, never know. They do say a rotten apple keeps bobbing to the surface." He offers a crooked grin. "Goodnight." Turnins away, he reaches for the pony's rope halter and leads the beast (somewhat reluctantly on its part) into the stables.

[Glinraen(#32271)] Glin nods, smiling slightly. "Yes, Good Night. Safe Journies to you. Perhaps we will meet again here."

=== Sturlingar's DESC ========================================================
A stout hobbit with a crop of curly brown hair which riggles and writhes upon his crown. A bare patch and white along the edges are the sure signs that youth has fled him, but his face maintains a jovial hue. His nose is broad, but not unmentionably so, his forehead and chin squared. His general appearance is of one well accustomed enough to work and leisure, with filled cheeks and a bright and ready smile. He stands nearer to three foot tall than four, and his limbs testify to enough time spent in physical activity - even if his paunch reveals that he also enjoys a good meal, on occasion.

He wears simple clothes. A linen shirt of a brownish hue is worn beneath a fuzzy blue woolen vest with wooden buttons. His breeches are plain, and a darker shade of brown. He wears no shoes, and the grey which is hinted at on his head is declared loudly in the bright hairs on his feet.
=== Glinraen's DESC ==========================================================

Tall and slender this woman stands. Long raven-hued hair is pulled back into a thick but loosely woven braid that usually rests on one shoulder. Eyes of a steely blue-gray fringed by dark lashes can be seen when wispy bangs aren't hiding them. Cool and serene her gaze often slides from one thing to another rather quickly, which seems to add to her air of restless energy. Unfathomable her eyes seem, belying the impression of innocence and maybe even youth given by the generous set of her mouth.

Clothed simply in a worn but well made tunic of a forest green, with slim brown breeches covering her long legs, she often looks dusty down to her boots of black leather, perhaps bringing to mind images of roads much traveled. At her belt a soft and faded black leather pouch hangs, while a small dagger with a plain sheath juts out just barely visible on the opposite side. Her only evident jewelry is a bracelet of silver. Although in most lights, a gleam of silver at her throat could catch the eye if one were close enough. When outside a cloak of the darkest green, so dark as to look almost black, is pinned at her shoulder by a silver starred brooch.


Date added: 2010-03-16 09:29:47    Hits: 73
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