Logs-Muddy Fields and Huts on Legs

Large Field
This field takes up the majority of the southeastern corner of Bree, stretching
from the inside of the western hedge to the back of the buildings in the
marketplace; and from the south side of the Great East Road to the lower
hedge. It is large enough to comfortably accomodate a few hundred people,
making it a perfect place for social events in the village, assuming the
weather is suitable. The grass here is lush and green, and seems to be kept
well-groomed by one method or another. In the southwest corner of the field,
just inside the hedge, a large tree stands proudly, providing a large amount
of shade to a portion of the field in the daytime. Around this tree, the
grass is worn down a good deal, perhaps indicating that this is the busiest
portion of the field.

The day sky is clear with only slight wisps of clouds overhead. The mid morning
spring air is cool but pleasant around you.

Obvious exits:
Alleyway leads to Bree Market - South.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Wed Feb 04 01:23:32 2004
Bree time: Mid Morning <9:10 AM> on Highday of Spring - May 12,1431
Moon Phase: First Quarter Moon

Breelands Weather
The mid morning spring air is cool but pleasant around you. The sky above is a
glorious pale blue/
===============================================================================

It is a beautiful late spring morning, with hardly a cloud in the sky. The
sunlit air is pleasantly warm and filled with the twittering of birdsong,
accompanied by flutterings and rustlings from the direction of the hedge as
its inhabitants fly in and out with twigs in their beaks, or in a few cases
worms. And there's another, more human sound - the thumping of a staff as old
Hugh makes his way round the perimeter of the field, stopping every now and
then to watch the birds. He would appear to be on his own.

Skipping merrily into the field comes Megan- curls bouncing about as she
enters- then stops and looks about- eyes wide and excited; obviously she's
acting on some kind of thought she had earlier in the morning and has only
just found the time to come and investigate... Cheeks and face are bright and
fresh and full of a morning glow as- with a bright smile she turns to wait
for Andrick- beginning to chatter rather loudly:"And then, we could have it
in here- I thought so anyway; that way, we wouldn't all be squashed in if
/everyone/ turned up and everyone could be dancin', and eatin', and chattin',
and.." obviously she is talking about the spring dance, and pausing briefly,
she lets her eyes sweep the field- drawing in a quick breath as she spots
Hugh- "Mr. Bramblefleece!" she calls- waving a hand.

Andrick follows Megan, a little way behind, and grinning. He looks about the
field, as though it were his first time having seen it, and nods, and calls,
"Aye, it's not a bad spot this, providin' we got some players loud enough to
make 'emselves 'eard out of doors." He looks past Megan as she calls out to
Hugh, a distasteful look on his face. He slowly ambles over towards Megan's
side, in no hurry to speed up his interaction with the man.

"Huh?" Hugh turns too quickly at the sound of Megan's voice, and it's only the
spiked end on that spanking new staff he's carrying that stops him from
falling face-first in the mud. "Why, good mornin' te ye, Mrs
Tasselberry-Thatcher," he exclaims heartily - it's far too nice a day to be
grumpy, after all. "And Mr Thatcher." Andrick gets a nod too, for a wonder.
"An' how are ye keeping? Beautiful mornin' fer a walk, isn't it?" He beams at
the pair, then wonders nosily, "What's this ye were sayin' about dancin'?"

"Oh, they will be, I'm sure.. And anyway, the music don't matter as much except
for where everyone's dancin'," Megan replies to Andrick; shooting him a
warning look as she sees his own one of distase toward the man... Again
brightening as she turns to Hugh she draws up near him and comes to an abrupt
stop, "Mornin', Mr Bramblfleece! It's lovely, yes! I were just tryin' to find
the place for that Spring Dance..I thought we could bring it out here."

Andrick nods to Hugh, with a weak smile, but only as a result of Megan's
glare. He stays at Megan's side, but looks at the grass beneath his feet, or
the blue sky above, or the great tree at the centre of the field as he walks.
"Mind," he says, still looking around, "We'd 'ave to 'ave tents an' such out,
in case it were rainin' on the day. Can't 'ave ev'ryone gettin' soaked now,
can we?

"Out here?" Hugh looks startled at that suggestion. "But - it's all muddy," he
complains with the stubbornness of the elderly. "I had thought maybe the
Market Square or somesuch place - ye know, down where the Town Hall used ta
be ... but then if it rains ... hrrm." One can almost see the wheels ticking
in his brain as he raises a hand to scratch at his head. "I suppose yer
right," he offers at last to Andrick, his tone grudging. "There'd be plenty
o' room ta put up a tent or few in here. Is that in yer line o' work, Mister
Thatcher?"

Andrick shakes his head, and says, "No, can't say as it is. We're growin'
grapes now, fer wine, me an' Meg, but, me old man, an' me brothers, an' all
the rest o' me fam'ly're thatchers, mendin' roofs an' the likes, an' I'd know
what I were doin' with roofs. Tents, I don't know 'bout, but I daresay a few
of us could put up some littler shelters, jus' posts an' a good roof really,
though, it'd keep folk dry, an' yer could 'ave a fire under, what you
couldn't in a tent." His imagination has run away from him, and looking at
the tree brings him back to reality, "What is it yer do fer a livin',
Bramblefleece?"

A glance is sent between Andrick and Hugh, as if Megan were feeling some kind
of tension between the whole meeting (though, whether it exists for the other
two or not is another matter...).. "Tents would be a good idea.. for the food
and maybe some for people to stand under...and I already thought of
everywhere else, Mr. Bramblfleece and there en't anywhere what'd be
suitable..."... now as Andrick talks about his huts, one brow is raised and
she reaches out to place a hand on his arm- "Dear, I don't think we need,
uhm.. huts, as such.. I reckon tents would be fine.."

Hugh stiffens at the manner of Andrick's address (whatever happened to the
polite 'Mister'?). "Well now ... Bramblefleece are sheep farmers. Best wool
in Combe, we produce," here his chest puffs up in boastful vanity. "'Course I
don't do so much these days, what with me old joints - Sally an' Henrick run
the farm now." Seemingly considering that conversation over, he turns towards
Megan, "Know Lucy's bin thinkin' about the food an' stuff already. Organizin'
a whole army of cooks! Ye should have a word with her, offer yer bakin' or
somethin'," he suggests eagerly. Oddly he doesn't get involved at all in the
'hut' debate.

Andrick says to Megan, "No, I ain't talkin' bout 'uts, jus' roofs on legs,
basic'lly. An' they needn't jus; be fer the dance, they could be left up fer
people in case anyone else wanted them." He talks enthusiastically, evidently
enjoying this plan. He looks a little taken aback as Hugh non-verbally
proclaims the conversation closed, but makes himself content enough by
turning and measuring distances and making plans with his eyes.

Eyes roll momentarily into the sky and a sigh escapes Megan's lips as she
resolves to look around the field herself- as if trying to imagine what
Andrick is imagining... "Huts on legs...?" she repeats critically; though the
critisism is nearly hidden behind a mask of doubtfulness instead.. Eyes move
briefly to Hugh and only /there/ do they convey the critisism of her
partner's whole idea.. Though, this is gone quickly and she shrugs- "It could
work, I suppose.." and just like that, she's jumped onto the next
conversation; "I've been meanin' to talk to Lucy, but I haven't found time,
yet.. And I'm invitin' my family down from Combe, so mam might be able to
bake for it..."

Hugh listens to Megan with a nod and an indulgent grandfatherly smile. "That'd
be nice," he responds happily - then stops, and frowns. "Huts on legs? What
sort o' a nonsense idea is that? We don't live in swamps, ye know." He sniffs
loudly and waits for Andrick's response to that.

Andrick grunts, clearly feeling got at for his brainchild. "Nah, I ain't
talkin' bout 'uts, jus' roofs, so people can come an be sheltered 'ere even
when it's rainin', an' we can 'ave 'em up in time fer the dance, so as to
make it so folks can shelter under 'em if it rains on the night. I reckon
it's a decent enough idea, even if yer two don't. I'll talk to me old man
about it, see if I can get 'im int'rested."

A giggle is stiffled behind Megan's hand at Hugh's comment about Bree being a
swamp, though finally she decides it's about time for some kind of approval
toward Andrick's idea- and with a gentle smile (the one often given to
halfwits to reassure them.. though, not quite as extreme) she nods her head-
"Well, you do that.. but if it's too mcuh effort, we can find some tents
somewhere I'm sure.. though it'd be nice t' have somewhere to sit when the
dance isn't on and shelter from the weather a bit..." apparently she has
warmed to the idea.. "It could work, anyway- and we could put tables and
chairs underneath for the food..." though her party-planning mood is fast
running out of steam...

But Hugh's party-planning (or rather ordering others to plan, much more
satisfying!) mood is only just beginning. His response to Andrick's words is
a grunt and a muttered, "If it rains the night afore, mebbe this place will
be a swamp," while at Megan's ramblings he looks interested. "Tables an'
chairs - now where'd we get hold o' those? I reckon ye need ta talk ta Mr
Butterbur up at the Pony about that, ye know." He nods his head sagely, then
ducks as a bird whizzes past his head with a beakful of words. "Eh, I can see
another reason yer roofs might not be such a bad idea," he concedes to
Andrick with a dubious glance up at the sky to see if there are any other
birds waiting to daub him or his companions.

Andrick nods, absent-mindedly to Megan, and then to Hugh, and says, "Aye, I
reckon it'd be a good idea. Any'ow, I'll talk to me old man, if 'e don't want
to do it, it won't 'appen, so, we'll 'ave to see." He too watches the bird
nervously as it flies past, a worried expression on his face. He then stares
into space after it has gone, looking worried.

To Hugh, Megan shrugs lightly. "I don't know.. I suppose Mr. Butterbur'd be the
best place to go.. I don't know, I hadn't really thought about it..And, Oh! I
reckon we need to put flowers all about an' make it pretty and full of spring
and.. well, d'you think we should have it during the night? Or the day?" at
this thought, Megan scrunches up her nose- though as the bird flies out, she
lets out a startled yelp and takes a half-step back; her foot connecting with
a particularly slippery mud-patch and already she has begun to lose her
balance- arms flying up in the air, though not yet falling but instead
teetering on the brink..

Hugh's still staring at the sky. "Start it in the day, o' course. Then folk can
stay as long as they want, an' ..." His words trail off as he suddenly
realizes that Megan's startled yelp has been followed by silence, and he
jerks his head back to observe the spectacle of the teetering Megan. "Are ye
all right there, Mrs Tasselberry-Thatcher?" he queries worriedly, his own
staff-clutching arm wavering in sympathy (or perhaps anticipation of him
doing the same). "Eh deary me! Aren't ye goin' ta help her?" he demands
suddenly of Andrick - without offering a hand himself of course.

Andrick says, "Aye, I reckon the day'd be the best time to 'ave it. Then we
could jus' let it go on into the night, an' folks could stay as long as they
want." He watches as Megan begins to fall, and starts, jumping to reach out
his arm to attempt to steady her. He calls, "Look out, Meg!"

Of course, being shouted at to 'look out!' only makes matters wose, for Megan
is expecting to be crashed into by a flock of birds or something along those
lines.. So- snapping her head around to try and see what she's meant to be
looking out for, and unbalances as she already is- she begins her descent to
the floor- grabbing at anything that might help stop her before she hits the
floor- this of course, means fingers and hands outstretched toward Andrick's
arm, and shirt..

Andrick lunges to catch Megan, and as she successfully grabs at him, he
attempts to take her weight, and fails miserably, slipping up himself, and
falling face down in the grass, with a deep grunt. "Ugh" he says, spitting
out a small mouthful of dirt.

What is an old man to do when faced with such a situation? What Hugh does is to
hobble forward towards the falling pair, shaking his head sadly and
tut-tutting as he does. "I told ye ta help her, not tackle her like a
ruffian!" he retorts to Andrick. "There now, Mrs Tasselberry-Thatcher, need a
hand up?" He extends his staff as though he expects her to grab it. It's at
that moment that he receives his come-uppance for being so uppity, as
something falls from above and lands with a soft splat on his bent head.

Now having fallen into the mud with Andrick- Megan bursts into a fit of
giggles. Of course, it wouldn't have been so funny, had she fallen on her
own, but having dragged Andrick down with her makes it amusing and laughable
(of course). And, at Hugh's words, she laughs more- at the idea of being
tackled by a ruffian.. "Are you alright?" she asks across to Andrick as he
spits out dirt- now she sits up and tries to brush dirt and mud off her
back.. Glancing up to Hugh, and about the answer his question, she apparently
sees the 'something' fall from above, and this leads into a new fit of
laughing and giggling.

It's a bright and sunny morning, and what better time to take a walk and enjoy
the warm spring air and twittering and chirping of birds? The trio down by
the hedge don't seem to be walking, though. In fact, Megan and Andrick
appears to have found the muddy ground far more attractive, judging by their
tumbled positions, whereas old Hugh stands holding out his staff to the pair
and shaking his head, which now bears a fresh decoration, courtesy of one of
the nesting birds swooping to and fro.

Megan's laughter is infectious, and Andrick is quickly chuckling as well. He
rolls over onto his back, revealing a muddied shirt and trousers. He looks at
Megan, and nods, saying, through laughter, "Aye, I'm fine. And yer?" He does
not see the escaping bird, nor does he immediately notice its droppings on
Hugh. Instead he looks at Megan, with a confused expression on his face.

Hugh watches Megan's giggles with his bushy brows raised in incomprehension.
"What's so funny?" he demands of her irritably - thumping his staff back on
the ground, since it's not been needed, and sending dirt flying. "Ye've got
yer nice clothes all dirty now," he remarks mournfully. "A right
disreputable-lookin' pair ye make, not that some folk wouldn't be used to
that." He sends a meaningful glance in Andrick's direction, then reaches up a
hand to scratch his head ... "Ugh!" His seamed features screw up in a sudden
grimace.

"I'm fine, too," Giggles Megan, eyes moving from Andrick to glance meaningfully
at Hugh's head- hoping he'll get the idea and look over... "Oh it aint
nothin', Mr. Bramblefleece... and dirty clothes' nothin' a wash can't fix..
and I'd thank you not to call me disreputable. There's plenty more
disreputable folks around than a few Breefolk who've fallen in the mud- and
/their/ clothes mightn't even be dirty!" and now, as he finds the surprise on
his head she bursts into laughter again.

Andrick finally catches on, and grins, shaking his head. He says, "Aye,
there's plenty worse lookin' an' better lookin' but worse actin' folk than us
about. An' yer clothes ain't clean as snow, neither, Bramblefleece, so yer'll
want to keep quiet 'bout that. Yer 'ead, neither." He smirks, then looks at
Megan, and slowly stands up, offering his hand to help her up as he does so.

A nice morning, but not an idle one for all. Though the ambling figure of Anice
Thistlefeather seems to move at quite a comfortable pace from the edge of the
market, there is a basket on her arm that might indicate business other than
a walk out in the sun. A few more swaying steps and she stops, a slight frown
on her face, before approaching the peculiar group by the hedge.

"My .. head." Hugh gives Andrick a fierce scowl for reminding him of his
predicament, then wipes his hand on his trousers and starts rummaging in his
pockets. "Handkerchief, handkerchief ... now what in the world did I do with
me handkerchief?" Thus preoccupied, he's got little attention to spare either
for his muddy companions or for newcomers. "Ah, this might be it ..." He
draws out something from his pocket, but alas it's no handkerchief. The
crumpled piece of paper looks rather more like a shopping list. Crestfallen,
the old man lets out a mournful "Oh," and looks up - just in time to catch
Anice's frown. "Eh, good mornin' ta ye, Mrs Thistlefeather," he offers her,
trying to shuffle a step or two away.

Megan places her hand in Andrick's own, and stands- busy for a moment brushing
herself off, though not so preoccupied that she doesn't notice Hugh's
fuitless search. Perhaps not wanting to find herself in that situation, she
moves a step closer to Andrick- as if he would shield her from anything
unpleasent falling from above.. Her attention is distracted, however, at
Anice's arrival and (almost warily!) she watches the woman's approach- the
face familiar, but not familiar enough for her to put a name or memories to..
"G'mornin'.." she sayy- though it is no overly enthusiastic greeting, and nor
is her hand raised to wave. She simply watches.

Andrick, too, brushes himself down lightly, and glances at Hugh's head,
grinning. He then looks at Anice, and with no more than a barely polite nod,
looks away again, and attempts inneffectually to brush his back clean of mud.
"I definately reckon we ought to get up some shelters round 'ere. Give the
ground chance to dry. Can't 'ave folk slippin' like that from their dances in
their party clothes, can we?"

The frown on Anice's face deepens some, but she says nothing yet as she
produces a clean, folded piece of cloth from the sleeve of her dress and
offers it out to Hugh. "There you go, Mr. Bramblefleece, can't have... that.
And so early in the morning." she coughs, then gives a stare at the
mud-bespeckled and oh-so impertinent pair standing by. "Not that everyone has
the manners to offer it, of course. A fine morning to you."

Hugh stares at Anice's clean and well-folded handkerchief, his face slowly
turning beet-red. "I can't take that off o' ye," he mumbles, ducking his head
- until he remembers that will give everyone a good view of the bird's 'gift'
and he jerks it up again. "It'd not be fit ta use again. I - eh, I'll jist
use this old scrap o' paper or somethin' ..." The redness doesn't diminish,
and there's a note of desperation in his voice as he continues, "We were
talkin' about the community dance an' all. This feller here," - that's
Andrick, of course - "wants ta put up some sort o' wooden shelters aforehand,
instead o' tents. An' has my Lucy spoken ta ye about bakin' an' stuff yet?
She's bin round half the town by now, I reckon."

"That's a good idea," Begins Megan to Andrick, though- looking about the field,
and the sheer size of the place, she scrunches up her nose with a doubtful
frown. "But I don't reckon.. well, you can't shelter the whole place, can
you? That'd be silly." she decides, with a sharp nod of her head. "You're a
baker, Mrs. Thistlefeather?" she asks- attention turned again to the
newcomer- ears perking up with interest..

Andrick scowls at Anice, unimpressed at her indirect criticism. He cannot help
laughing again at Hugh's predicament, and his clumsiness in attempting to
hide the dropping. He looks at Megan, and says, "Oh, aye, we'd not cover the
entire place, jus' bits where folk could eat, an' enough fer a few people to
dance under if the earth were sodden, as it were, an' enough room fer the
others to set when they wasn't dancin'." He turns then to Anice, and mutters,
loudly, "I doubt she'd go near a bag o' flour with a pitchfork."

Andrick might as well have ceased to exist for all the attention that Anice
does pointedly not give him anymore. She brushes an invisible speck of dust
off her sleeve, then nods at Megan. "I'm that, and not one of the sort who'd
stir the dough with dirty pitchforks, either. But," here she turns to Hugh,
her round face screwed up comically in concentration (though certainly not
intendedly so) "I can't for the life of me remember, Mr. Bramblefleece, havin
seen your wife. What's she wanting from me?" The folded hankerchief
disappears into her sleeve again, and she seems to delicately avoid the
unfortunate topic of the top of Hugh's head for the moment.

"Me wife? Eh, no, Lucy's me daughter. Busy woman, always's bustling around -
eh, if ye saw her ye'd know her, I'm sure." After all, the whole world must
know Hugh's family ... or all those that count anyway. "She was wantin' folk'
ta do bakin' and stuff for this dance - ye know, I'm not too sure what." His
hand lifts to scratch his head, comes away smeared with bird droppings and he
surreptitiously wipes it on his trousers before turning to Megan, "Do ye know
what sort o' stuff Lucy'd be wantin'? With ye bein' a woman an' all?" Hard to
tell whether his ignoring of Andrick is deliberate or plain simple-mindedness.

"Oh... of course," Megan replies to Andrick- sheepishly- distracting her focus
momentarily to a stray curl, before she redeems herself and carries on,
"Maybe I can finally meet your Da," she teases, nudging him- though her voice
isn't lacking in serious. "I'm not sure.. Maybe you should talk to her, hm?"
she replies to Hugh and apparently now well and truly sick of party planning
(after all, it wasn't her idea to help plan the thing- Hugh roped her into
that!) she looks to everyone, and then up to Andrick.. "I'm goin' to get
goin' back home.. I still have things to do.. you can stay here if you'd
like.. Have a good day Mr. Bramblefleece.. Mrs. Thistlefeather.."

Andrick notices the cold shoulders he receives from Hugh and Anice, and so
decides to follow after the warm shoulders of Megan. He nods and curtly says,
"G'day" to the other two, and follows after her, saying, "Aye, I'm sure
that'll be a barrel o' fun fer the both of us." The enthusiasm in his voice
is non-existent.

"Your daughter then." Anice nods, and then after a glance after the muddy pair
hefts her basket higher onto her arm with an audible sniff. "Let's go and
find her, aye? Perhaps we can find some kind of kerchief for you too, such
bad luck, there..." she gestures back towards the busier market area.

"An' yerself, Mrs Tasselberry-Thatcher," Hugh responds to Megan's parting
words, with a bit of a pause before he adds, "an' Mr Thatcher."

Turning to Anice then, he shakes his head regretfully - then stops as something
slides from his hair. "Uh - I've got errands ta run," he excuses himself
quickly. "Mebbe ye can drop in on Lucy by yerself? Over by the Stone Houses -
ye'll know which house is ours, lawn's still regrowing." A scowl flits across
Hugh's craggy features at mention of that, and he mutters something under his
breath before adding in more normal tones, though at high speed, "Anyway, I
wish ye a pleasant day." With that he's hobbling away as fast as his stiff
legs can carry him. As he heads into the distance, it can be seen that he's
scrubbing frantically at his head with a crumpled piece of paper ...