Logs-Rolling for more Drinks

Common Room(#32029RM)
This large and rectangular room serves the purpose of Common Room for the Prancing Pony. Red curtains drape down from large windows that look out to the west and the Great East Road, which runs outside the Inn. There are long tables with bench seats for the patrons in the center of the room. Nestled into the wall is a large fireplace, with several bundles of wood piled next to it. The red curtains that hang down from the windows are tied back, providing a good view of the Road outside.
Obvious exits:
Out

Night has settled over Bree, and thus, the Prancing Pony (as it is on most nights, especially those where the outside whether is chill and blustery) is packed with men (and some women) and hobbits, laughing; talking; drinking, singing, dancing and beginning to get out of hand. Yes, the Common-Room looks packed to the seams, but while everyone is having such a merry time- Barliman Butterbur (watching somewhat concernedly to the goings on) isn't going to interfere.
Megan Tasselberry-Thatcher has found her way in there and is sitting on a table (yes, on the table, not at it), glass of wine poised between two slender fingers- bright brown eyes watching the goings on from beneath a mop of curly brown hair which bounces whenever she laughs.

Rodney, carrying a wet rag and clad in a server's apron, strides out of a shady server's door with a slightly regal air. He glances at Barliman hopefully, and begins scrubbing a recently emptied table with a cheer and fervor unseen in hobbits who find themselves forced to work amidst drinking and celebration. A few minutes later, a clang erupts through the common room as a drunken human knocks over a table and the beginnings of an unfortunate conflict are set in motion. Rodney glances up and, seeing that Barliman is quite healthily distracted, promptly tosses his apron off into a strangely convenient hole. He waddles behind the bar and simply takes an unattended pint of ale before shuffling off to an unseen corner.

Barliman gives a sharp nod, and gentle frown to the hobbit- and at the clang goes off to investigate... Megan, meanwhile has finished her wine, and now goes searching for something more to drink- a tiny stumble in her step as she goes- now reaching the bar, she scrunches up her nose with a tiny frown and- with a giggle, orders an ale. Now- reciving this and holding it somewhat uncertainly in her hand (for, she is not one accustomed to drinking ale) she lets her bright eyes drift over all the patrons there- one eyebrow raising as they fall a moment on the hobbit in his little corner, before she (perhaps wanting to appear quite mature, and in with the crowd and what not) raises the mug to her lips and takes a mouthful. A moment later- the glass is lowering slowly, Megan's eyes are opened a bit wider then normal,and she has a particularly unpleasent expression on her face...

Rodney grins at the sight of a wine-drunken lass trying to hold her own against the more formidable taste of fermented hops. After finding one of the unfortunate hobbits that often gamble their way into Rodney's job for an evening, he strides to the bar. Along the way, he connects his gaping mouth with a human-sized intake of ale. He slams the now-empty flask onto the bar and bellows at the server as if he were some sort of deprived nobility, before turning his attention to the ale-novice.
Rodney snickers and taps against her flagon with his. "Don't overdo it, now..." he says before proceeding to guzzle another half-pint in one monstrous sip.

It seems Megan has been barely able to bring herself to swallow the ale- eyes watering slightly, though, once she's done, she gives a little laugh as though it weren't that unpleasent an experience. Eyes blink as the hobbit comes and speaks with her- one eyebrow arching slightly, before she gives another giggle. "Overdo?.. Oh! Nono! No! No no!" and now, she takes another swig- though, more cautiously this time, coughing, choking.. swallowing again. Now- she takes a better look at the hobbit- eyes widening in realisation and surprise- "Oh gosh! It's like being back in the Shire again!" Yes, this is said despite the abundance of Big-Folk squeezing in and out of the doors and corners, dancing all about in their beer-induced excitement.

Rodney's eyes widen. "You've been to the Shire, eh? I'm sorry." He sets down his flask and focuses all of his attention on his attempts to sound clever. "Not my favorite lot of hobbits out there. They love a good drink, sure, but they see more value in a finely crafted turnip than a finely crafted tool." He picks up his drink, waves it around as he speaks, and takes one more conservative sip. "And, of course, there aren't nearly enough of the Big Folk and their amusing antics out westward."
Rodney softly removes the bag of dice from his belt, holds it behind his back, and fails to contain a small grin.

Megan's head nods enthusiastically- curls bouncing as she does so, though it seems as though for a moment her head is seperate from her body as- during this nodding her hand is raising to her mouth again and- with so much enthusiasm going around, the moment she's stopped nodding, she throws the last of the ale into her mouth. After a tense moment, she's swallowed, let out a nervous laugh and then nods her head gently again, now turning to order a wine.. "Mmhuh, my Husband and I.. we just returned... lovely, lovely.. small, very small, and... didn't seen any turnips, no.. or tools, either... " and- judging by the look of pride smearing itself over her features, she has chosen to take his last comment as a personal compliment. "True, true! All they did was stare, like they aint seen any bigfolk before ever! Don't know what they're missing!"
Rodney nods slightly in agreement. "They're jumpy folks. When they meet someone who doesn't live by shuffling dirt around, they tend to get antsy." He slowly brings the bag into view after crossing it behind his back. "And once they're antsy...well then, they'll be staring at anything that doesn't live in a dirt hole and complain for a living."
Rodney finally brings the bag to a central, commanding position in the conversation and slowly begins to open it up. "They don't know the value of a good game of dice, either..."

Now recieving a new glass of wine, Megan again holds this between two fingers, taking a sip- relieved that it is washing away the taste of ale. Again she nods in agreement- the nod full of gusto and understanding as though she's never met anyone who knew anything about the Shire before!!"Well, a lot of Breefolk complain for a living.. like.. Um.. Like.. Mr... Bramble..shoe, I think.. I can't remember his name and..." eyes widen slightly at the little pouch- "I don't reckon I've ever played a good game of dice before... certainly didn't see any in the Shire.. saw a walnut game once, though..." Now Megan falls momentarily into silence, pursing her lips and scrunching up her nose in memories.

Rodney nods. "Walnuts, see? They play around with things best eaten." He opens up the dice and searches dilligently through a group of seemingly identical, six-sided dice, and picks out a fresh looking pair from the bottom of the sack. "You've never shot the dice before? Dear me...and I thought I'd played with the whole of Bree!" He subtly tips one die on its various sides and, content that he has not picked one of his numerous cheater's pairs, lays them on the counter. "Shall we make a friendly wager?"
"For the next round?"

Megan's eyes widen in understanding, and again realisation. "They do too!" she gasps, as if having just uncovered the secret of the Shire. "No.. I.. Nope, I never have.. maybe my brothers.. but, my family don't like it so much"now she watches the die being tipped, and Megan, already quite drunk struggles to watch the going's on- perhaps suspicious that she's about to be cheated, though she wouldn't know what it would look like even if she /was/ about to be cheated. "Well.. maybe but, I don't know how you play... So.."... and now she takes another sip of her wine, giggling nervously, again.

Rodney chuckles. "Ah...well...there are many, many different games, and even more variations on those games. Funny rules about sevens and twos and such..." He clears his throat, and an area along the counter surface long enough for a half-enthusiastic throw. "Given our various states of ale-illumination, we shall play a simple one. You'll throw, then I'll throw, and whoever has the lower total finds him or himself ordering a fresh pair of drinks!" He tests out his makeshift arena with a soft throw, which, to his dismay, comes up a four. "Like that, see, except...you'll probably want a higher number than that" he says with a hiccup and a chuckle. "A'course, we'll both use the same pair of dice. Although I make sure that all of my dice are expertly balanced..." he doesn't specify how "...if you should find these two somehow lacking, I've plenty more for you to choose from." He reaches out and offers a pair of plain, lightly stained, perfectly balanced, hobbit-sized dice.

Megan giggles, completely lost within all this die and game gargin, though at the end of it all, and seeing a throw being made, and managing to hear and understand the object of the game, she gives a little nod (though, looks somewhat fearful as to what the outcome of her throw will be). "I think I get it... and oh! Look, I have enough for some more drinks.." Megan giggles again- she certainly was acting silly. "Balanced? I.. Oh, I don't understand. They look fine." She says- defeated at last and now she takes the dice- peering at them suspiciously for they were certainly a tad smaller than she'd been expecting, then- giggling again, throws them along the counter.

Rodney glances at the surface of the counter and grimaces. Nine. He's beat higher than that, even without trickery, but the odds are not in his favor. "Ah, not a bad throw for a novice!" he exclaims as he raises his face from its stoop, replacing his painful contortion with a drunken grin. "Seems that I'll be out a few coppers afore this night is over, but I've not yet had my throw..." he picks up the dice, rattles them around a bit for dramatic effect, and tosses them.

Megan, upon seeing the numbers, lets out a heart-felt moan, perhaps assuming she's already lost. Maybe she counted wrong, for looking again and hearing his words, she claps her hands together and cheers quietly, bouncing on the spot- curls bouncing with her. A delighted giggle and Megan finishes her wine off in anticipation of being supplied with (or supplying) the next round of drinks! Eyes watch-wide and afraid as the dies are rattled and thrown....

Rodney watches the two dice tumble across the wood. After years of playing these games for the lion's share of his living, he is able to discern which die is destined to fall a few split-seconds before the other just after they leave his hand. His eyes follow the lead die until it hits a knob in the counter and thuds to a halt. Six. Rodney's face lights up and, in a brief moment of premature celebration, his carefully trained eyes lose track of the second die. When he's finally come down from his mental cloud a few moments later, he arrogantly glances over. Two. Although his mind is far too muddled by alcohol to complete such a difficult equation, he knows from thousands of dice throwings that this pattern of numbers only gets him eight. Eight is less than nine. After furrowing his brow and briefly regretting his unwillingness to cheat such a painfully easy mark, he mournfully mumbles an order of two fresh ales to a passing human server.

Again, another wail of failure and defeat as the die fall and she's obviously miscalculated.. again. Hands move to rub at her eyes and she takes a second look at the die, now throwing her arms into the air with a loud: "HURRAH!!!" Which is answered by several folk sitting at tables- all of whom raise their mugs and go back to talking and singing, and whatever else they were doing. Megan now prances around on the spot, does a little dance, clapping her hands in delight. She certainly was a gracious winner. At least she didn't start poking her tongue out and pointing her finger at the hobbit and shouting across the room that he'd lost..."That was fun!!" Megan exclaims, eyes alight with excitement as she now stumbles, giggles and straightens herself up again.

Rodney manages to force a sort of half-smile, and collects the two flagons from the server. "Indeed it was..." he says, buying time with which to quickly determine which cup has the most ale, if only by one more second of the pitcher's pour. Again, a feat of extreme perception and again, something that he's done many, many times before. He hands the imperceptibly lesser ale to his exuberant new friend before standing up and pushing his stool in. "Rodney Redberry, at your eternal service, must take his leave for the evening." He extends his hand jauntily, seeming to have overcome his brief bout of melancholy.

Megan takes her own ale and drinks the top quarter quickly, choking and pausing before deciding to drink again, before having to ssearch into the deep and muddled recesses of her now drunken mind.. "Um... I.. Megan! Megan Tasse.. No, wait.. Megan.. Mrs! Mrs.. Um.. Megan Tha.. No, wait a moment.. Just got a new name.. and.. Mrs..Megan Tasslbrrythtchr..." the last name is said in such a rush that whether it's been understood or not isn't clear, yet Megan too, tips herself off the stool and nods her head politely. "Nice to meet you.. Rodney Redfordhead... Oh dear..." and with that, Megan retreats back to her original table.