Logs-A Funny-Looking Man

At the Sign of the Prancing Pony
The Great East Road bends around the southeastern corner of Bree-hill. The Road
leads away to the west and southeast, and where it sweeps past the foot of
the hill there sits a large three storey inn. The inn has a front on the
Road, with two wings that run back, away from the Road to the east, on land
partly cut out from the hill's lower slopes. As a result, the rear
second-floor windows of the inn are level with the ground. A wide arch leads
to a courtyard between the two wings. Above the arch is a lamp and beneath it
swings a large signboard: a fat white pony rearing up on its hind legs.

Obvious exits:
NorthWest leads to North Bree.
South leads to Bree Market - North.
SouthEast leads to GER: Centre of Bree.
West leads to Great East Road.
Archway leads to Archway.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Wed Dec 24 02:16:33 2003
Bree time: Late Morning <about 11 AM> on Highday of Winter - January 6,1431
Moon Phase: New Moon

Breelands Weather
The late morning winter air is cold and dry around you. The day sky is
cloud-filled and gloomy.
===============================================================================

It is late morning, nearly lunchtime and the weather is bleak and dreary-
clouds hanging ominously in the sky, threatening to rain or snow again at any
moment. The air is chill but this apparently doesn't deter busy Breefolk who
are bustling about their business- though, some have found time to gossip and
stand around outside the Pony, rubbing their mittened hands together and
blowing warm air onto their fingers- fingers and cheeks rosy.

Coming up along the road from the Centre of Bree is Megan- rust-red hood drawn
over her head, curls poking out from beneath a skip in her step as she goes,
making her way for the Pony- stopping every now and then to wish passing
folks a good day- a bright smile on red lips, her own cheeks rosy- breath
coming out in little puffs of mist from the cold.

Leaning aginst the wall beside the door of the Prancing Pony, is a some what
tall figure with a wry smile apon his face, as if laughing at some random
thought that entered his mind. Eyes nonshalantly on the ground beneath him,
he lightly sturs at the dirt subconsiously. He slides one hand into the
pocket of his leather and down jacket and looks up at the door, comtemplating
entering the building to stay warm.

A harrassed-looking woman, her head scarfed against the cold, is marching up
the road from the stone houses with purposeful strides. By her side skips a
small girl, perhaps eight years of age or so, whose ginger pigtails bounce
against her shoulders with every step. Her bright brown eyes dart this way
and that, gazing curiously at all the folk standing outside the Pony, and
then her freckled face lights up suddenly. A moment later she's detached her
hand from the older woman's, and is flying towards the figure in the rust-red
cloak. She pauses at the sight of the tall figure in the funny clothes, and
gives him a dubious glance, shuffling a step or two away before she pipes up
uncertainly to the red-cloaked woman, "Is that you, Megan?"

Eyes glance up briefly- momentarily taking in the man by the door and his
laughter directed at... himself? How strange. Megan continues ontoward the
door, however, yet her pace has slowed noticibly, and now- at the voice, she
turns quickly; large brown eyes falling on the girl. Already a bright smile
has found its way to her features- eyes widening in surprise. "Hallo, Betsy!
It certainly is me!" the gaze searched- resting on the woman from who Betsy
was originally walking with- "How is your Grandda?"

The man by the door gives the door its self another glance, but goes back to
his thoughts, just like before. It almost seems as if he's waiting for
someone.

The scarfed woman halts in her tracks to call out an exasperated, "Betsy! We've
not got time to linger, I need to get to the healers' and back before
lunchtime. Come on now," and she holds out her hand again.

The child, Betsy, pouts at this. "Can't I just stay here with Megan till you
get back, mama? Pleeease?" Her head tilts to one side, then she confides to
Megan, "Granda's in his bed. He fell over." Motion from nearby catches her
eye, and she regards the tall man quizzically for a moment before slipping to
the other side of Megan and asking her in an - unfortunately rather loud -
whisper, "Who is he? Do you know him? Why does he look so funny?" Ah, the
tact of the young ...

Megan looks pleadingly to Betsy's mother- her eyes full of trutsworthiness and
innocence- who /wouldn't/ want to leave their child with her?! "I'll look
after her- don't worry! We'll be right here!" A dazzling smile, a quick batt
of the eyelashes before Megan's attention is again directed to the girl at
her side. "Yes, I know! I was there when he fell! Is he feeling any better?
It certainly looked painful, especially after I warned him that there was ice
on the path..." a grimace follows the volume of the whisper, and Megan
replies with a gentle shake of her head. "I don't know.. No, I don't.. I
don't know! He doesn't look /that/ funny...He's just.. laughing to
himself..." Megan's own whisper isn't all that hushed, either.

[Jerome] Looks up with a grin at the sound of the whisper, and gives the little girl a
wink. He then raises his head and reaches his hand out to shake the hand of
the lady in the red hood and says to both her and the child, "Jerome's my
name".

"Well ... I don't know ..." Betsy's mother still sounds harassed. "You're the
girl who helped bring da back in the other day?" She's frowning, glancing up
the road and back, and one foot has started to tap.

Betsy, distracted by the speech of the tall man, doesn't actually answer
Megan's first question, instead maintaining, "He /does/ look funny. His
hair's all funny, and he's too tall, and ... those funny white clothes ..."
Betsy's own blue dress is spattered with mud, so it's pretty obvious why her
mother doesn't dress her in white. Damage limitation ...

One slender eyebrow is arched in question as Megan regards the outstretched
hand, before placing her own into it and shaking lighly- "Megan
Tasselberry-Thatcher..." Now Megan's gaze sweeps across to Betsy's mother
again; the expression for 'polite introduction' dropped, and replaced with
that dazzling innocence again- "Yes, I brought him in... I was helping him
investigate..." now the girl trails off and gives a sympathetic shake of her
head. "Now Betsy," attention shift again- motherly tone adopted, amused smile
in place.. "It mightn't be his fault about all that, and there's plenty of
folk in Bree who are tall! Look at you- funny red hair, funny blue dress..."
the words are said teasingly- after all, she doesn't want to upset the girl!

[Jerome] Hunches his back over and crouches a little bit to try and act shorter. With a
grin on his face he attempts to walk around like this in a comical fashion,
but cannot take more then a few steps. He gives a chuckle and says, "It aint
so bad being tall. You get to see over everyone and make people feel small.".
He rubs his hands together a little bit and says after a pause, "Looks like
nasty weather...".

"Ahhh," Betsy's mother exclaims to Megan in comprehension. "You're that
Tasselberry girl? I know Da thinks highly of you. Well, if you don't mind ...
Now, just you be a good girl," she admonishes Betsy before hurrying off.

Betsy gives her mother a cheery wave, then turns back to Megan and Jerome.
"What's wrong with a blue dress? I have a green one too, but Johnny says I
look like a carrot when I'm wearing that." Her little face screws up in
disgust. "Anyway," she proclaims now to Jerome, tilting her neck back so she
can look at him directly, "Granda says tall people aren't trustworthy." Well,
that might explain a lot of things, including old Hugh's attitude to a few
folk round here ...

Megan gives a gentle nod to Betsy's motther. "I don't mind at all, I'll take
perfect care of Betsy," another bright smile, now looking down to Betsy's
blue dress. "Well... Nothing's wrong with it.. it's a bit dirty, I
suppose..." Megan can't talk, after all- wasn't it that she'd just got
Andrick to pay some for her own new Blue dress? Megan giggles quietly at the
idea of Betsy being a carrot- "But that doesn't make sense! Because the green
is meant to be at the top of the carrot! Maybe if you had green hair and an
orange dress, but that'd be silly!" Megan's own eyes move up to take in
Jerome, before glancing back to Betsy- "Oh, he did, did he? Maybe that's why
he doesn't like Andrick, hm?" At Jerome's comment about the weather, Megan
gives a tiny shrug- "It's winter, what can you expect?"

[Jerome] Lets out a little chuckle and says to the girl, "Trust me, I'm trustworthy.".
Smiling, he nods his head just a little bit before suddenly realizing what he
had said. "Wait...". His eyes look upwards as if trying to figure out what
wasn't correct in his sentance. After a moment, he gives a shrug and responds
to Megan - "Aye...I say it should either be sunny or be snowing.".

[Jerome] "That doesn't make sense," Betsy tells Jerome, her head tilting. "If you aren't
to be trusted, you'd be lying when you said you were, and ... Hello, anyway."
Seems she's got over her initial wariness of the 'strange man', for she
flashes him a grin before turn back to Megan with a nod. "Granda says
Andrick's a- a- I don't remember the word." She shrugs in unconcern, then
rattles on, gaze darting between both her grown-up companions now, "Did you
hear about our garden? It's all bare and muddy an' stuff - Mister Thistlewool
stole our turf! At least, that's what Granda says. Da," she pauses, gazes
down at her feet and gives a sniffle, "Da said he'd wallop me if he found out
me and Johnny were involved. But I wasn't!" Brown eyes lift again,
appealingly innocent.

Jerome tilts his head in supprize. "Why would anyone want to steal your turf?"

A gentle shrug is sent in Jerome's direction- apparently she has better things
to discuss than the weather? "You don't remember the word? Was it bad? I
don't think he likes him very much... Every time I say his noise he goes.."
and here, Megan emits a little snort- Much akin to that which Hugh usually
produces upon meantion of Andrick's name. "Well, yes I came around to your
house and saw it was all pulled up! Have any of your family talked to Mr.
Thistlewool yet? I was helpin' your Grandda track it all down, just afore he
slipped over!" a pause now- eyes sympathetic (almost.. guilty?.. No, not at
all.) "Oh! Of course you weren't! I believe you! You and Johnny wouldn't be
able to lift a whole garden on your own! And you don't do things like that
anyway!" Of course not.. but who /would/ be able to lift an entire garden..
hmmmmmm....

[Jerome] "I don't know why they'd want to," Betsy answers Jerome. "Are you a gardener?
You don't look like a gardener, you're too clean." That thought's so
fascinating that she forgets (or chooses not) to answer Megan's first
question to her. She does at least answer the second one. "I don't think
anyone's talked to Mister Thistlewool yet. They're all fussing over Granda -
he's /so/ grumpy! Mama says its cos his leg is hurt. But," she adds
reflectively, "grownups don't tell me things, sometime." Another sniff.

In responce to Betsy, Jarome smiles warmly and says, "No, gardening isn't
really my thing... It's not that I can't stand to get dirty... I was just
never real keen on it. Do you have a garden?".

Megan's brow furrows for a moment, and she glances about- somewhat bewildered
as if she awoke from a dream and only just realised where she was. "Oh, I
see... well, Maybe I'll bump into him and talk with him later then... Well
I'd be grumpy too if someone pulled up my garden!! He certainly did take a
tumble, though..." Now Megan- who had been bending more and more in order to
talk with Betsy, straightens up and glances around from beneath her hood. "I
really should be getting inside- not only am I about to freeze to my death,
but I was meant to have met someone inside for lunch... Jerome, was it? Do
you mind if you look after Betsy before her mam comes back? This is really an
important meeting..."

[Jerome] "Not at all." He says with a smile, as he pulls open the door for Megan.

"Not one of my own," Betsy responds gravely to Jerome. "Just the one that
belongs to everyone - the one that was stolen, and the bit round the back
where Da grows vegetables. Oh," she exclaims suddenly, "isn't it lucky it
isn't vegetable season right now? Da would have been raging as a bull if
anyone had touched his veg."
As Megan speaks, Betsy pouts, pulls away from Jerome suddenly. "But I don't
want to stay with him! I want to stay with you," she complains loudly.

Fortunately, it's a decision that doesn't have to be made, for at this point
Betsy's mother reappears, looking just as flustered as before. "Ah, there you
are - come along, Betsy. And thank you, dear." She gives Megan (and the
nearby Jerome) a harried nod, and waits impatiently as Betsy calls a hasty
"Goodbye" to her two 'friends'. Then the pair are rushing off down the road
and out of sight.

"Goobye Betsy! Have a nice day!!" Megan says, waving frantically as Betsy is
dragged away. Now Megan begins to step through the doorway- offering a polite
smile and nod to Jerome. "Good day." and, with that, she's disappeared under
the archway.

[Jerome] Waves to Betsy and calls out, "Nice meeting you!". He then turns to Megan and
give the head-nod and a smile, and says in a much lower voice, "And you as
well.".

=== Megan's DESC =============================================================
This young woman is not unlike many others in Bree, but to most meeting her,
her face would be memorable. A tangle of tick brown hair falls just below her
shoulders and is tied there with a bright green ribbon, though the rest
frames her face; wild and apparently untameable. Wide, almond-shaped brown
eyes peer out, often cheeky and mischievous though at other times thoughtful
and reflective, sometimes even cold and uncaring. Her face is lightly dotted
with freckles along her cheeks, and this gives her a somewhat childish look
though she would be about 17, this and the fact that she's somewhat shorter
than the average Breefolk.

Green is her colour of choice for this season, though the material is quite
simple, it suits her well- tunic coming halfway down her calf, light and
perfect for warmer weather. On her ring-finger sits a small gold band, with a
small, well polished, and smartly cut, green gem set in it.. On her feet she
wears simple leather sandals or small boots and occasionally she has a
rust-red coloured wool cloak over her shoulders, depending on the state of
the weather.