Logs-Poisoned!

Parlour
A cheery fire crackles in a stone hearth at the eastern end of this small
parlour. A few low and comfortable chairs sit around the fire, covered with a
light brown and green checked material. Standing in the centre of the room is
a small table with a few chairs set around it, a crisp white cloth laid over
the top of it. In the middle of the table rests a large silver handbell, set
on a platter in between two tall candlesticks. Sunlight streams in to the
parlour from the long window on the northern wall of the parlour.
Obvious exits:
Out

================== Bree Time ======================
Real time: Tue Jan 13 03:30:29 2004
Bree time: Mid Afternoon <about 3 PM> on Trewsday of Spring - March 6,1431
Moon Phase: New Moon

Breelands Weather
The mid afternoon spring air is cool but pleasant around you. A light drizzle
trickles from the sky.
=================================================

It is mid-afternoon, and the scudding clouds outside cast a shifting play of
light and shadow through the windows of the Pony, accompanied by the rattle
of raindrops. If one were to look outside they might see the shimmering arch
of a rainbow - but Hugh Bramblefleece certainly isn't looking. The old man
sits huddled in one of the chairs in the otherwise empty parlour: fleece
discarded, staff dropped by his feet, head tilted back, mouth open ... and a
rhythmic, steady snore emanating. The door to the corridor is still ajar, and
the sound of Hugh's slumbers drifts out and along the hallway, gradually
rising in volume as though it were a summons.

And drawn to the summons is Megan Tasselberry-Thatcher (perhaps, for she is now
creeping curiously along the small passage outside the parlour- glancing up
fearfully at each new snore) as she now comes to peek her head through the
open-door, her eyes widening in surprise and and mischevious delight! Oh the
tricks that can be played on an old sleeping man... and here is she with
(rather conveniently) her basket on her arm- holding who-knows-what
ingredients and tools to create mayhem and trouble..Undoubtedly, if trouble
is what she's looking for, she seems to have come to the right place! Now, to
decide on what to do.. Quietly.. quietly.. she takes another step into the
parlour- holding back excited giggles.

The snoring rises to a crescendo ... the snoring stops, in a loug gurgling
snort! Hugh's head lolls onto his left shoulder, and his withered lips part
as though he were murmuring something. But his eyes do not open, and a moment
later the steady rhythmic breathing of earlier has returned. In.. out.. in..
out.. snore.. out.. A spider, industriously seeking a place to spin her web,
scuttles onto the arm of his comfortable chair, and the old man doesn't even
twitch.

At the snort and the head roll, Megan has already frozen herself into position-
bright innocent 'good-morning!' type smile plastered all over her face...
But, then it is gone again as she realises he is not waking.. yet. She edges
closer- eyes darting over the man in his chair- and there she finds her first
trick! She pulls the teatowel off her basket and (wincing- a look of
something almost resembling girly disgust crossing her face) reaches out to
grab up the spider... A moment later, and it's in position to be dropped onto
Hugh's face..

Old Hugh seems to be dreaming about something. His seamed eyelids flutter, his
right hand twitches and again his lips move, as though he were trying to
mumble something. "Vrr...mnt.." is what comes out. Perhaps in his slumbers
he's out protecting Bree from those dastardly rodents that he seems to fear
so much? "Vrr..." Then his mouth falls open, jaw slack, and a trickle of
drool forming at one corner. Looks like he's out for the count, completely
unaware that he has a companion now - no, make that two companions.

A moment more passes as Megan watches Hugh mutter and dream- an amused look on
her face, and one that becomes even more amused as the spider is dropped, and
now (especially as the old man begins drooling) Megan takes a half-step away,
sets her basket on the floor and takes from it a cream-filled bun... this-
she moves to set in his hand, and then, ever so quietly- her eyes glancing
over her shoulder but remaining (for the most part) fixed on Hugh, she sidles
backwards- hand groping for the door handle- not to escape, oh no! This is
all part of the plan...

The spider lands on the alien terrain of Hugh's cheek, its eight legs waving
indignantly. The poor beastie's first instinct is to seek shelter: somewhere
darker, somewhere warmer ... like that cavernous mouth, gaping open as its
owner slumbers. In it scuttles - and finally the sleeper is roused. His lips
shut, his jaw actually works once or twice as though chewing ... and then the
old man shoots bolt-upright, eyes wide and staring in the formless horror of
nightmare. "Pfagh!" The unlucky arachnid is spat straight out with surprising
velocity, towards whoever or whatever may lie in its path. Hugh's hand
clenches shut in shuddering reflex, sending cream squirting. "What..
where..?" might be the gist of the incoherent mumbling sounds the old fellow
is making now.

Perhaps the fact that the spider might actually wake Hugh wasn't anticipated-
certainly not, as Megan's eyes now widen in surprise and disappointment (her
plan was to slam the door and wake him with a start, but now reflecting on
the situation, the chewed-up spider idea seems satisfactory). Though, this
certainly seems to have put a stop to any plans for escape and/or lies she
might have had brewing, and it seems that even now she falters- for there on
the middle of the floor is her basket.. and then, she's got it! "Oh! Mr.
Bramblefleece! I didn't.. why.. What on earth is going on in here?!" and she
steps into the room, as if entering for the first time.

Hugh's eyes are still wild and staring. "Get it off me," he mumbles softly,
scrabbling at his face - he doesn't seem to notice that his hand is covered
in the remnants of cream bun, and doing a good job of spreading it - and then
louder, in wheezing panic, "Get it off!" Ceasing his batting at 'it',
whatever it is, he reaches jerkily down for his staff instead ... of course,
it slips though cream-smeared fingers, and goes clattering back to the floor.
"Rats," he explains, shuddering, as he seems to notice Megan for the first
time.

It appears as though Megan is having a hard time holding back giggles- her eyes
though are the only things laughing (and if they could, they would be bent in
two, slapping at their thighs.. if eyes had.. thighs..) and these are masked
in sympathy. "I aint no rat, and there aint no rats here, Mr. Bramblefleece..
I don't know what you're doin' but you've got cream all over your hand an'...
Maybe I came in at a bad time..." (Of course, despite her words, she doesn't
move, but stands poised as though ready to leave..

"It was a rat! I tell ye it was a rat! Felt it run over me ..." The old man is
clearly distressed, and more than distressed, for his words break off
suddenly and he mumbles, confused, "Somethin' tastes odd." A moment later
he's staggering over towards the fire (without his staff), so that he can
spit there.

Perhaps the walk seems to clear his head, for when he looks back round his eyes
have lost some of the wildness and he mutters, ducking his head, "Guess I
must've been dreamin'." He gazes at Megan, puzzled .. and then at the basket
of buns on the floor ... and then at his own cream-covered hand. "These
yours?" he wonders. "Don't remember orderin' a snack ... reckon they must be
off. Don't taste good."

Megan shakes her head lightly, but figures it better not to argue. Wide eyes
watch as he moves to the fire, taking a half-step forward incase she should
need to intervene (after all, he doesn't appear nearly as stable (in her
eyes) as he usually is with his staff)... Again, the Breegirl nods
sympathetically. "I didn' see anythin', just you wakin' up all a-frightened
as it were," these words aren't defensive, merely explanatory (though a sweet
smile is still offered). "Mine? Oh, yes, but I didn' put them here... I came
lookin' for them- a little.. hobbit.. lad!" (she fumbles for the story) "Ran
off with my basket, and I came in here to find them...I suppose he must've
put that one in your hand there, too.."

Hugh isn't stable, and perhaps he realizes it, for as he totters where he
stands he grabs at the mantelpiece with his clean hand. This steadies him a
little, and gives him the chance to pause for breath and to scratch at his
head with the other hand while he thinks up a response. "Well now - I don't
rightly know, Mrs Tasselberry-Thatcher. Don't remember anythin' much .. jist
sat down fer a moment, give these old bones a rest, and then-" Then rats. Or
spiders. Or something worse, even.

"Ye don't think he put summat in them?" The rheumy eyes widen again, in seeming
panic. "Summat that's not good to eat ... all of a sudden I don't feel too
good." He swallows hard, and indeed his features are rather pale (of course,
that could have something to do with the fact that he was down at the south
Gatehouse till near dawn last night, and probably shared a bottle or two with
the old Breeguard 'on duty').

As Hugh steadies himself, Megan moves forward and picks up his staff, cleaning
it off with the tea-towel she plucked from the basket on her way over (the
very same tea-towel used to pick up the spider, no less!) before taking it
across to Hugh. "Well... I didn't see you actually eat any of that cream
there... maybe a bug, or somethin' dropped from the roof.. and.. and into
your mouth? I seen it happen to my brothers before!" (Because she obviously
didn't have anything to do with /those/ events, either..)

A pause for uncertainty... "Well, no, Mr. Bramblefleece- I don't rightly
think so.. He didn't have all that much time to do anythin'.. I gave chase
and lost him in all these hallways and what-not... But.. Oh dear! Mr.
Bramblefleece, you don't look all too good... Maybe you should come sit back
down!" By now, she is looking guiltier by the second.. after all, if he
died... well, it would mostly be his fault (for crunching on the spider), and
the spider's fault (for being so poisonous and crawling into his mouth), but
she'd certainly have had a major roll to play in his death! "Yes, come sit
down, Mr. Bramblefleece!" An she holds out an arm, hoping to lead him over
and back to the chairs.

"A bug?" Hugh is looking paler by the moment. "No, no, can't 've been that," he
mutters as Megan trudges towards him, and he forces his weathered features
into a smile. "Thank ye kindly," he continues as he takes the staff - by now
most of the cream is wiped off onto his face and hair, so his fingers manage
to get a grip this time - and transfers his other hand from the mantelpiece
to Megan's outstretched arm. He starts to hobble across the room, but then
halts again, swallowing hard, and admits shamefacedly, "Eh, think I'd better
make a little trip to the privy instead. Can ye give me a hand along the
corridor? Seem to 'ave come over all wobbly."

"Can't have?" Has he got some evidence Megan doesn't know about?! The Breegirl
falters momentarily, before returning his own smile with a sweet one of her
own. "Not a problem, Mr. Bramblefleece! A terrible injustice to us both,
today! Can't even sleep in--" she is cut off from her grumpy (and much too
akin to Hugh) mumbling to start and falter again. "The.. oh, well yes, I'll
give you a hand, certainly... I'd be feelin' wobbly too after eating bugs, or
spiders, or poisoned cream-buns.." Ops.. a little too specific there,
Megan... she quickly distracts attention elsewhere by leading him on.

Hugh stumbles along under Megan's guidance. "Ye reckon they /were/ poisoned,
then?" he queries. "Eh, stands ta reason - wait." They've reached the door
now, and he pauses to look over his shoulder towards the basket of cream
buns. "Mebbe ye should destroy 'em," he suggests, jerking his chin towards
the basket and swallowing hard at the sudden movement. "Chuck 'em in the fire
or summat - before anyone else does themselves a mischief."

"Poisoned? Oh.. no, no I don't think so.. I wasn't being serious, you know..."
Though now they've stopped, and Megan offers a joking grin. "Really, I don't
reckon they was poisoned.. and like I said, I didn't see you eat any of it..
No need to destroy them! And I can take 'em down to Butterbur later and he'll
be able to tell me if'n they were poisoned or not. They should be fine just
there- worst thing could be we come back and they're all eaten.."

"Worst, indeedy. Ye want the whole town ta come down sick?" Hugh demands ...
but then his stomach gurgles liquidly, and the old man looks decidedly
uncomfortable. "Eh, think we'd better ... hurry ..." he mumbles, dismissing
the matter of the 'poisoned buns' for now. He's fairly dragging at Megan's
arm as they move along the hallway in search of the outhouse (or maybe just a
bucket if things get really desperate). Looks like the old man is heading
towards the common room - well, it's probably the shortest route; of course,
it would also give the afternoon tavern-goers the chance to gawp at the
spectacle of a cream-smeared, rat-chased madman. Poor Hugh ...

Megan blinks in surprise- once, twice, then three times again, and then brown
eyes travel briefly to Hugh's stomach and she nods quickly in agreement- then
is dragged along.. Doesn't really seem like she even needs to be there- after
all, when it comes to it, she's not doing all that much supporting... And
indeed, Megan has to be seen with cream-smeared, rat-chased, spider-chewing
madman. Poor Megan!!

The old man's plight is urgent enough that he's making rapid progress now,
towing Megan in his wake - for he has a tight grip on her 'supporting' arm.
The pair burst into the Common Room, causing heads to turn, and then Hugh is
heading for the little door on the far side of the room, releasing his
carer's arm and muttering quickly, "Thank ye ... eh, 'scuse me." With a
clatter of staff he wobbles through the doorway, bangs it shut and is gone
from view.

In the corner, elderly Haribold Longholes glances up from his pipe and pulls
his furry feet down from his chair with a thump. "Now, what was /that/ all
about, ma'am?" the old hobbit and champion gossip demands of Megan with a
curious eye.

In she is tugged, stumbling and tripping before coming to a stop and offering
another 'No problems' nod to Hugh, before stepping away (fearfully?) from the
door, eyes moving to Haribold as she begins to make her retreat (back to the
parlour, for her basket lies there still).. "Uhm, he.. well.. he was
sleepin'.. and.. hobbit stole my basket.. and he woke up, and had a cream
pie.." she lifts up her hand to demonstraite. "In his hand.. and, well,
tasted somethin' terrible.. I think.. maybe a bug? I don't know.. Oh- it's
you.." apparently she has just realised the mistake she's made by blurting
out the story to the gossip, and so now turns and fleese the scene-
disappearing the way she had come.

And thus the seed is planted for the sad and sorry tale of Hugh and the
poisoned cream buns! Likely the tale will grow in the telling ... well, this
/is/ Bree after all.