Logs-Of Talking Birds

Parlour
The largest room on the ground floor of the residence is the parlour. It too
has a fireplace, but this one seems a different use than the one in the
kitchen. Near the fire are a few plump, cozy chairs and an endtable of dark
wood which, like the mantelpiece, contains bric-a-brac of various kinds:
boxes, small framed pictures, a pretty stone or two. Simple curtains are
drawn back away from the room's windows, allowing in sunlight.

Obvious exits:
Foyer

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Fri Dec 26 04:32:13 2003
Bree time: Early Evening <about 6 PM (early dinner)> on Mersday of Winter -
January 12,1431
Moon Phase: First Quarter Moon

Breelands Weather
The early evening winter air is cold and dry around you. Moist snow, perfect
for snowballs, falls down from the sky.
===============================================================================

Twilight lies upon Bree, and smoke is rising from the chimneys of the neat row
of stone houses where the town's Big Folk have their residence. Almost
supper-time - and in almost every house a bustling housewife will be
preparing that supper for her waiting family.

That's certainly the case in the building that Hugh Bramblefleece calls home.
The old man sits in the parlour, bundled in blankets and with one leg propped
up on a padded footstool in front of him, staring moodily out of the window
at the swirling snowflakes and the street beyond with its comings and goings.
"Weather's takin' a turn for the worse," he pronounces loudly.

"Ah, hush your grumbling, Da!" the voice of his daughter Lucy announces from
the kitchen nearby. She sticks her head round the door to satisfy herself the
old man is okay, then returns to her pots and pans. The appetising aroma of
cooking permeates the whole house and filters out onto the street, along with
the welcoming glow of the lanterns (which illuminate the family's
still-denuded garden).

Coming up to the house which could only be Hugh Bramblefleece's (due to the
lawn, obviously), Megan pauses a moment on the doorstep- turning to look at
said lawn reflectivly before letting out a gentle sigh and- it almost looks
as though she would turn away. After all, it does seem rather late to come
door-knocking for whatever reason. Another pause; contemplation and then a
hand is raised to knock quietly at the door. The first few knocks are indeed
quiet, and perhaps she fears she won't have been heard by any inside, and so
the last few are doubled in volume, though not so much that they may sound
violent or aggresive.

"There's someone out there!" Old Hugh's outraged voice raised in alarm drowns
out the sound of Megan's first quiet knocks. "Could be that Thistlewool
fellow back ter see what else he can pinch."

"Don't be silly, Da. It's probably just shadows," Lucy's voice comes
reassuringly from the kitchen - and then the second, louder knocks echo
through the house. There is the clatter of a pan-lid dropping, and then the
woman hurries to her hands on her apron and pull the door open. The strands
of brown hair that have escaped their bun and the redness of her face give an
impression of a busy woman, so perhaps it's unsurprising that her first words
to the figure on the doorstep come out in a gabble. "Hello? Who's there? Oh,
it's you - Mrs Tasselberry, was it? How can I help you? Bit busy at the
moment, cooking dinner and stuff ..."

Megan herself takes a half-step back as the woman suddenly explodes from
inside, and she's met with a rush of hot air and smells from the kitchen. For
a moment she hesitates, blinking and trying to gather her thoughts about her.
Then, they are gathered, and she produces a brilliant smile. "Good evenin'...
Uhm..." She fumbles for a name, but finding none- goes on. "Was just in the
area," (of course, she lives a few houses down the road.) "And thought I'd
come in.. well, visit to see how Mr. Bramblefleece is healin' up, as it
were.. Since I aint seen him about, I was wonderin' if he's doing alright- if
he's on the mend, so to speak..."

"Lucy Cleavehand," the woman supplies, giving Megan a stressed but welcoming
smile in return. "Da's doin' much better now, thank you - though the healers
say it'll be a few weeks before he's up and about again. Were you wanting to
go in and see him? He'd love a visitor!" The expression on her face is hopeful.

The crotchety-sounding, "What is it? Who's there?" that emanates from the
parlour is probably a fine sample of what she's been putting up for the past
couple of weeks. "I'll-"

At that moment there is a sizzling sound, and a cloud of steam billows from the
kitchen. "Oh! My potatoes!" Lucy exclaims now, throwing up her hands in
horror. "If you'll excuse me, Mrs Tasselberry - Da's right through
there." She waves an arm towards the half-open parlour door and rushes away.

A polite nod of greeting now. "Megan Tasselberry-Thatcher... but, you already
knew that, I think..." Another warm smile- one returned and sympathetic to
Lucy's situation. "Oh, why I'd love to go and see him! I mean..." a pause
now, as the voice comes from the parlour. "D'you really think he wants
visitors?" Of course, by now, Lucy's already had to dash off, and Megan is
left standing on the threshold- after all, it's dangerous territory she's
about to enter, what with the whole missing lawn buisness... Which she had
nothing to do, mind you. Eyes flick to the parlour door, and again she
hesistates, before finally stepping in and closing the door behind her.

Rust-red cloak is hung on the hook, and (somewhat cautiously, perhaps?) Megan
edges her way toward the door- now peeking her head in with a bright and
cheerful smile. "Good evenin', Mr. Bramblefleece..."

Old Hugh turns his head slowly as a figure enters the parlour. "That you, Lucy?
I want-" The words break off at the realization that this isn't his daughter.
A moment's silence while he clears his throat, "Why, it's Mrs Tasselberry
...Thatcher." (That last name added in an undertone.) Then slowly a smile
spreads across his seamed and lined features. "Have ye come ta see me? Ah,
yer a good girl. Sit down, sit down," and he thumps the arm of his own seat,
then points to the empty chair at the other side of the fireplace. "I hope
ye've bin keepin' well?" Eyebrows rise in query.

A relieved sigh- hardly breathed before Megan is entering bravely into the
parlour; her own bright smile dripping with sweetness. "I have indeed, Mr.
Bramblefleece.. Came to see if you were gettin' any better.." Eyes drift to
the empty chair, and within moments she's fetched it and dragged it closer,
now sitting herself down- back straight, hands folded in her lap- looking the
perfect young lady all wide-eyes and innocence. "'t must've been a terrible
shock for you, Mr. Bramblefleece, that you're still kept up in bed like
this... but... oh, yes I've been well, I.. " here, a deep breath is taken, as
Megan is obviously about to launch into some story.

"Oh! Oh my! I nearly forgot! You won't believe this, but today, we was down at
the west gate- Andrick and Tathar, and that Glover fellow, and Mr. Hamfist,
we was all there, and down comes these two giant birds- like these giant big
eagles, I tell you- bigger than any man I ever seen... and the nearly ate that
Glover fellow," a smug nod, "He threw stones at one of them, then he called
them 'poultry' and all things, and.. well, then one of them, he spoke to me
he did! I aint never felt so afraid, but I was so proud because he only
talked to me and that Glover fellow, and when he was talkin' to the Glover
fellow he was only makin' threats but he didn't talk to Tath, or Andrick or
Gaunt- just me! And.. well, Mr. Bramblefleece, they was awefully scary-
because of their beaks, and they were so loud, and one crushed a whole rock
with its claw, but if they hadn't been so angry I would have liked to talk to
them more, but they flew away because they were so angry at that Glover
fellow..."

"Not gettin' any better at all," Hugh grumbles sourly. "These old bones o' mine
ache more every day- what!" He falls silent, mouth hanging slightly open, as
Megan's fantastical tale unfolds. "Yer not makin' sense, girl," he tells
Megan at last. "Birds don't talk. Next ye'll be tellin' me ye've been holdin'
conversations with the sheep." He shakes his head at the very thought of it.
Though his next words reveal that he's not as unconvinced as he claims: "What
size o' birds, did ye say?" He even leans forward so he can see Megan better,
groaning slightly at the effort.

Megan looks sympathetic, though is now much too wrapped up in her tale to care.
"I am- they talked! I swear they did! First they was just talkin' to
themselves and it was all sqwakin' and screechin', and then they started
talkin' to Eustace; just as much as we're talkin' now. And he said I should
warn Mr. Glover about bein' more careful with his words and I said: It is his
own folly if he choses to speak so to such creatures as yourselves, and it's
true- they did speak!" A pause as Megan tries to imagine them again. "They
was much bigger than any men in Bree.. Probably if you got me, and then got
another one of me, and put the other me and stood her on my head, then that's
how tall they was!"

Hugh's eyes raise to the level of Megan's head, then he tilts his head and
looks even higher, as though he were trying to see through the ceiling. "That
big? Sounds dangerous - what if critters like that decide ta make a meal o'
me family's sheep? Out in Combe, that is. Hope the Breeguard's doin'
somethin' about it."

Megan too, looks up, then gives a nod- satisfied that she's rightly judged
their height. "That big- it's true. Oh, and I reckon they was dangerous! They
came flyin' low and dust went all over, and they was clacking their beaks
shut and... well, they probably /will/.. when they're not eatin' us, that is!
I don't know what the Breeguard /can/ do, Mr. Bramblfleece! They're much too
big and dangerous, and I reckon there's a whole flock of them somewhere.. and
if we were to anger them.. well, who knows what might happen to us!" A
fearful look has now swept over Megan's face as she imagines ten of the great
birds deciding to take up residence in Bree...

"A whole flock o' them!" Hugh's features are appalled now, and he takes several
wheezing breaths before his jaw sets in determination. "Well, I ain't goin'
ta let it happen, d'ye hear?" He thumps the arm of his chair. "I ain't goin'
ta see my daughter an' her family starve while these- these - aargh!" He
clutches at his leg, grimacing in pain - seems that in his agitation he's
moved it more than he should have.

"Sorry," he mumbles after a long pause, his head bent, and his next words are
thoughtful. "Are ye quite sure these monsters spoke ta ye?"

Megan seems quite startled at his outburst; eyes widening in fear- perhaps
afraid that, out of anger, he'll suddenly spontaneously combust or explode or
something along those lines.... Luckily, it doesn't happen; he just manages
to hurt himself a bit, so a flood of compassionate expressions makes
themselves noticed on her face as she watches him. "I'm quite sure, Mr.
Bramblefleece. You can ask any of them what were there. I even answered. I
wish we had talked for longer, though.. Mr. Glover got to speak for a plenty
long time, and he didn't even have anything good or polite to say." Megan's
tone is laced with a frown, and something that suggests she wishes they'd
actually finished the job and eaten him.

"Then mebbe - mebbe -" Is old Hugh's mind starting to wander again? He glances
to Megan, then shifts his gaze away and stares into the flames for a long
moment. "Mebbe ye can reason with 'em," he suggests suddenly, turning his
head back. "Tell 'em that we're decent folks round here, an' our flocks
aren't fer their dinner. Ye could," a spark of an idea glimmers in his eyes
now, "Tell 'em there's other places with much better eatin' fer 'em.
Anywhere, s'long as it's not here." That suggestion made, he falls back into
contemplative silence for a moment, only to break it again with the query,
"Who's Mister Glover? Don't know the name ..."

Megan seems delighted by the idea- "Why, that would be..." she struggles for a
word, "Amazing! If they come back and are flyin' around and what-not, then
I'll talk with them if I can, I would very much like to.. they seem so proud
and regal, and they're so big- they must have seen all the world and have so
many stories.." It appears as though Megan has already labled herself
official Bree-Eagle ambassador, and head of Bree-Eagle affairs and relations,
and other such important titles.. "He's Eustace... theatrical fellow..."

"Hrrm ..." Hugh makes a noncommital noise. "Long as our sheep aren't et, that's
the main thing. As fer stories, well ..." He shrugs - but the way his eyes
have lit up suggests that he too might like to hear such stories. If he
weren't laid up with a bad leg, that is. "An' don't think I've met that
Eustace feller," he adds in afterthought. "Anyway, that's not important. Tell
me, have ye seen Mister Thistle-"

At that moment the parlour door opens and Lucy stands there, twisting her apron
in her hands. "Begging your pardon, Mrs Tasselberry-Thatcher," seems she at
least has a good memory for names once she's been told them, "were you
wanting to stay for supper? It's ready to serve now."

Megan too shrugs in her own dismissive fashion, though it's quite obvious that
she's itching to hear whatever stories the birds have to offer. "Oh. Well,
he's not really worth meeting and no I haven't, not yet- though I've been on
the lookout.. Have you heard any words from him, yet?" A pause now as Lucy
enters and Megan stands slowly- smiling politely. "Thank-you kindly,
Mrs..Uhm.. Cleave...hand...?" A momentary pause- waiting for conformation,
"But I'd best be headin' off, as it were... My Andrick's sittin' at home
waiting for my right now and I've already been gone much longer than I'd
expected..." Now she drags the chair back to it's original position and turns
her attention to Hugh with a warm smile- "I hope you feel better, Mr.
Bramblefleece... if I see them eagles, or Mr. Thistlewool I'll come and tell
you right away... Have a good night," this last comment is directed to both
of them as the girl gives another gentle smile and moves to the door, takes
the rust-red cloak off the hook and steps out through the door and into the
night.

"It was good o' ye to come and see an' old man, Mrs Tasselberry," Hugh
reponds as Megan stands. "Ye take care o' yerself, mind? An' I hope ye'll be
round again sometime." As for Andrick? He's not even mentioned.

Lucy, meanwhile, bobs her head in a nod at Megan's identification of her, and
can't quite hide the sigh of relief that she won't need to conjure up another
portion of dinner. "Thank you for visiting - you'll see yourself out?" That
last probably falls on deaf ears, for Megan already has. "Now, Da," she turns
to the old man, "I'll just prop you up a bit and tuck this napkin in here ...
yes, you do need it! Can't have ye spilling stew all down that shirt ..."
Life in the Bramblefleece (or should that be Cleavehand?) household is back
to normal.