Logs-Stewing

Kitchen
As you stand inside the swinging doors of the kitchen, you look at the white
walls, splattered with food and grease. You look next to the grey and black
stonework of the floor and notice that it appears to be well cleaned, though
one might wonder if the dark colours of the stones helps obscure the grime.
Along one wall of the kitchen, you see a few large metal washtubs arranged
precariously near the edge of the counter, tall stacks of plates, bowls,
glasses, and mugs peeking out over the top.

Obvious exits:
Out

================= Bree Time ==========================
Real time: Wed Jan 07 04:21:59 2004
Bree time: Early Evening <about 6 PM (early dinner)> on Highday of Winter -
February 18,1431
Moon Phase: Waxing Gibbous Moon

Breelands Weather
The early evening winter air is cold and dry around you. The murky sky is
overcast and dreary.
===================================================

Almost dinner-time on a cold, dreary winters day, and it's little wonder that
the Pony is starting to fill up. Servers bustle this way and that, threading
their way between kitchen and common room with plates full and empty.

It appears that one customer can't wait for table service, however. Old Hugh
Bramblefleece stands just inside the doorway of the kitchen, presenting an
obstacle to anyone who desires passage, with a scowl on his seamed face. One
hand leans on his staff, as usual; the other is curled round a steaming bowl
of .. something. "This is chicken stew! I asked fer rabbit. Are all yer
servers deaf?" he demands aloud to whoever's listening.

From somewhere in the passageway wanders a man- his own face beginning to show
tell-tale signs of age (though, obviously not one having recieved as many
years as Hugh) though wrinked also with lines from laughing and smiling- a
miscevious sparkle in his eye as he pauses now- perhaps something inside the
kitchen has caught his eye, so he doubles back and pokes his head in. "Hullo-
what's all this? Ho! Looks like a busy old day in the Pony unless my eyes
serve me wrong!" he comments, now pushing his way forward- weather by
skirting around Hugh or forcing him further into the Kitchen, either way
achieves the same result: that which is his entrance into the kitchen and
where his curiosity lies. Once entered, hands reach to sweep back the
mildly-curled mop of light-brown hair that sits atop his head, and marks him
as not-quite-a-Tasselberry. No, it is indeed his facial features
(frighteningly akin to Jacob and Adrian's) and general body structure that
does that job.

The buxom woman who's serving duty as cook today looks up, wielding a massive
wooden spoon. "Customers belongs in the Common Room, not in the Kitchen," she
announces firmly, planting her free hand on her hip and fixing Hugh with a
glare before she turns back to her stew.

Hugh's head swivels round as the jolly voice comes from behind him, and he
shuffles forward - splashing a trail of what he's claimed is chicken stew
across the floor as he does. "A busy day indeed," is his own response.
"Someone's bin mixin' up orders again. Ye weren't lookin' fer chicken stew,
were ye?" He waves the steaming bowl before the jovial man hopefully.

The man waves a hand at the woman as if shooing her away from her own kitchen
and her duties there- indeed, he looks rather haughty doing so, as if he
owned the place (or wasn't entirely concerned about the consequences of his
actions). Brown eyes widen as the soup is splashed on the floor, and look
almost pained at the waste of food to somewhere that it clearly won't be
appreciated! "Chicken strew? No, no, not lookin' for anything. Becca has to
make some calls and then I'm out again.. It just smelt good in here, so I
thought I'd pop in and.. Oh- well, you weren't looking for chicken stew? I'd
gladly have it for you!" And already he is reaching out as if to snatch the
soup from his very hands.

Hugh's aged arm wavers, sending a splash of stew to the ground at the cheery
man's feet. "Here - steady on. I've paid good money fer this!" he proclaims.

One of the apprentices lets out a nervous squeak, his gaze darting from the
'intruders' to his mistress and back. "Sure it was just some mistake,
mister," he stammers out, adding now, "I'll - ah, I'll fetch you a new bowl
of stew? Just you wait ..." He scuttles over to one of the kettles and starts
ladling a brownish substance into a bowl.

Hugh, somewhat mollified, looks back to the man he's facing, snowy brows
furrowing. "Do I - do I know ye?" he wonders at last. "Can't say I've met ye
afore, but ye look kind o' familiar ..." The furrows deepen.

"No need to worry, yessir- haven't had a good bowl of chicken stew in many
years.. hand it over then! There's no point in my payin' for it now- there's
half of it on the floor!" He exclaims- thrusting out a finger to point to the
ever-widening puddle of fallen stew.

Again he reaches out to take the stew, but judging by the expression on his
face (one that suggests he thinks the stew is long gone, and any more of this
splish-splashing will result in there being a whole bowlful on the floor, and
only a thin layer left inside the bowl!) this will be the last such attempt.
"Know me?" hands pause mid-grab. "Oh, no no. You don't look familiar, no.
Plenty of fam'ly all about Bree, though.. where is my Becca!?" he frowns
(only briefly, for as soon as the frown has settled on his face, it is
disolved into that bright and rather goofy smile again) toward the door.

Grudgingly Hugh relinquishes the first bowl of stew to the stranger. "There ye
go. Seein' as I'm gettin' a new bowl," he wipes his hand on his trews, then
looks meaningfully towards the apprentice, who gulps and drops the ladle back
in the pot with a splash, before trudging across the floor towards the conversing
pair. "Does yer Becca work here, then?" Hugh enquires - seems the old man's
'fee' for this bowl of stew will come in the form of pestering with questions.

The man now snatches up the stew triumphantly and looks as if he would hold it
victoriously above his head- light from the kitchen shining golden upon him
and hailing him as some kind of stew god!! But, instead- he takes up the
spoon, and begins to shovel spoonfuls into his mouth- pausing only
momentarily as he forgets to breathe, and again as he forgets to swallow,
then once more as he tries to breathe and swallow at the same time. Only now,
does he render himself capable of answering Hugh's question, though his
answer is preceeded by a laugh- "Becca? Work here? No, oh no! No, she used to
be a baker, yes, she's still a baker, actually, but only over in Combe, yes
yes. Just had some errands to run while we're in Bree," he looks over the
bowl at Hugh to make sure this is a satisfactory answer for now, then goes
back to eating.

"Here, steady on ..." Hugh watches the Champion Eater with something akin to
awe on his lined face, and the poor apprentice has to tug at his sleeve to
get him to accept the fresh bowl. Hugh lifts it to his nose, sniffs - and
then his features settle into a satisfied smile, the sun breaking through
from behind the stormclouds. "Ah, that's much better -thankee kindly, me lad.
Now - ye wouldn't happen ta have another spoon, would ye?" The cook's
apprentice scuttles off again, leaving Hugh to savour the scent of his stew
(at this rate the other man will be finished his before Hugh's had his first
sip). "Jist wondered what ye were doin' in the kitchen here," the old man
explains to his companion.

At the word kitchen, the buxom cook looks up to repeat meaningfully, "Customers
belong in the Common Room. We're busy here, ye know!" though her eyes are
twinkling as she regards the stew-supping fellow.

Steady on. Either the words have no effect, or encourage the man to eat faster
(any faster and stew will be sloshing off the spoon and all onto his face and
shirt- at this rate, small particles are beginning to become airborne.. One
would think he hasn't been fed in days!! And he certainly doesn't show it if
he has, for (unlike many well-fed men in Bree) his girth is not overly
wide)... and yes, it's nearly all finished by now, and so, with a thin layer
remaining in the bottom, he decides to take a break- letting out a long, and
somewhat melodramatic sigh of contentment. "Doing here? Waiting for my Becca
I.. Oh! So sorry! I forgot to introduce myself!" Now, fumbling stew, bowl,
spoon and wiping his somewhat stew covered hand against his pants, he manages
to finally find a balance, and thrusts this newly "cleaned" hand toward Hugh.
"James Tasselberry, at your service!" Now he looks to the cook with a goofy
smile. "Hullo!" is all the compliance she gets.

"She's not been in here yet. Now, along with you!" The buxom woman makes a
sweeping motion towards James with her apron as though she were shooing a hen.

Hugh, meanwhile, has to decide how to respond, with a full bowl of stew in one
hand and his staff in the other. "Tasselberry!" he exclaims, mouth falling
open in shock (and, perhaps, horror?). "Eh, pleased ta meet ye," he
eventually mumbles without relinquishing his grip on the stew. "Hugh
Bramblefleece - I know yer girl Megan a bit." He carefully avoids mention of
the rest of the Tasselberry family. "Wh-" He breaks off as the apprentice
plops a clean spoon into his bowl, and murmurs a quick, "Thankee, lad," to
the boy. "I'll - eh, I'll jist go an' sit down, now I've bin sorted out," he
proclaims to the world at large - well, of course. He could hardly eat his
stew with no free hands. "Care ta join me, Mister - eh - " His brown eyes are
focused on James's stew-decorated shirt and he doesnt finish the sentence.

Eyes widen as he is shoo'ed, and James practically stumbles backward- what is
left of the stew flung in all directions as if the gust of air from the
cook's apron was enough to send him flying! Perhaps she didn't know her own
strength! "Steady on!" he cries, echoing Hugh's words of before- bowl of stew
tediously clutched between two fingers, the other hand gripping onto the door
frame as if afraid of another onslaught.

Of course, he is quickly over this eppisode, and winks unconcernedly at the
cook. "No harm done, eh? We're goin'!" now he nods his head quickly to Hugh
again, "Yes, very pleased, indeed. Megan? Oh yes, she's living in Bree.. yes,
yes. Just got married, you know! Lovely fellow that Thatcher.. Kept the
Tasselberry name though, bless her soul." and here, James' voice is infused
with a fatherly pride as he strides haughtily from the kitchen. "Certainly
I'll join you, yes indeed! Wait for my Becca to finish, yes!"

Hugh hobbles more slowly after him, once again leaving a thin trail of stew in
his wake. Old hands aren't too steady sometimes, after all. "I hardly think
the Thatcher feller is ... lovely," Hugh grumbles, shaking his head.
"Bone-idle, more like. Ain't done a decent day's work since he came 'ere.
Still, Megan's a good girl, perhaps she'll reform 'im." With that they're at
the door to the Common Room and he has to pause to ask, "Ah, would ye mind
holdin' the door open fer me, Mister Tassleberry?"

"Oh no, he's quite charming! Goin' to be doing some vinnery! Yes, indeed! Up at
Ms. Ivyleaf's farm. Even Becca took a shine to him, yes, and she's very
sceptical! But he seemed a right and down-to-earth fellow, and so long as my
Meg is happy, well, I'm happy!" James has already bustled through the door as
Hugh asks him to open it he turns on his heel and returns, pushing open the
door and stepping aside- eyes widening again as more and more stew is spilt!
How can one man be so wasteful!!

You push open the door and enter the Common Room.

Common Room
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. Overhead, lamps hang down from roof beams, but their light is dim, and
half veiled in smoke. The chief source of light comes instead from a logfire
crackling in the hearth. Despite the light sources there are still shadows to
be found, and these fill the corners of the room.

Obvious exits:
Out

Very easily. As old Hugh Bramblefleece stumbles past the jovial James
Tasselberry, staff in one hand and bowl in the other, another splash of stew
slops over the bowl-rim - unfortunately this one lands on James' shirt. "Eh -
sorry 'bout that," the old man mumbles sheepishly, refraining from mentioning
the fact that the shirt was stew-bedecked enough already for the new splash
to make little difference.

The old man looks round the busy common room - for it is early evening on a
grey, overcast day, and many folk fancy coming to the Pony tonight for a bite
and sup - for a seat.

As the stew is splashed onto his shirt (something that would send Megan into a
rage), James simply lets out an exhaggerated (and unconcerned) "HA!" and then
attempts to wipe the stew away (for all the good it does), shaking his head
finally- "Ah, well.. No harm done, eh Mr. Bramblefleece?! Plenty of shirts
back home, yes indeed, and this one wasn't new or unstained either!" Yes,
everything about this man seems rather over-done.. from his gestures to his
speach; nothing can be kept at a normal or subtle level, and thus his voice
has caused some heads to turn and some hands to wave in recognition of the
man. "Shall we find outselves a seat, Mr. Bramblefleece?! That one over there
looks a go--" and with that, he begins toward said seat.

Eustace enters the Common Room in the manner of a dog entering the master's
house, as if he feels he should shirk and shouldn't be herein..His hands
shrimping through his pockets looking for something. And then he brings out
the coins, after all even he needs to eat sometimes...and slip in front of
the fire.

Hugh obediently follows James, plonking himself down on an empty chair with a loud
sigh. "Ah, these old bones aren't gettin' any younger," he complains. "Now
fer that stew ..." A slightly trembling hand raises the spoon to his lips and
he takes a cautious sip, and then another (he's only slurping slightly). "Ah,
that's the right stuff. Now, what were we talkin' about?" His bushy brows
draw together in a frown of concentration ... one that deepens as he recalls
something else. "Megan said yer whole family'd bin taken ill - I do hope Mrs
Tasselberry is feelin' better?" He gazes earnestly at James (though if
'Becca' is out on errands today she can hardly be at death's door), before
turning round as the door opens again, letting in a draft. He eyes Eustace
with mild curiosity but little sign of recognition.

James too throws back a seat and sits himself down with all his usual gusto,
watching a moment as Hugh eats (as if watching an old man eat was the most
interesting thing he'd ever seen. Ever.) before nodding his head slightly.
"Yes, yes, much better. Meg did a wonderful job of takin' care of us all,
though I'm much happier out of that house. I tell you, Becca and Anna are a
tad overwhelming sometimes, yes indeed... Yes.. indeed..." Now James trails
off as his brown eyes fix attentivly on Eustace and his entrance- a bushy
eyebrow raising in question and curiosity- but, after a moment more spent
studying the thespian, James looks away again, after all he was just like any
other patron entering the Common-room.

Eustace slumps into a chair in front of the fire as he bears himself into the
fire with rubbed hands. His eyes curl themselves into a doze before a
waitress asks him if he'd like some food or a drink...and he orders a bowl of
meaty soup and an ale.

Hugh, for his part, watches Eustace a little longer, even going so far as to
mutter, loud enough that it carries across the room during a lull in the
conversations, "There's somethin' about that feller - eh, never mind. Old
memory's playin' tricks on me today, see." He taps his head, looks away and
returns to eating his stew, slowly enough that he can savour every mouthful.

"Aye, my Lucy's good at the lookin' after too," he mumbles to James between
mouthfuls. "So's Sally up in Combe, come ta that. Best form o' insurance a
man can have, daughters who'll take care of him when he's past his workin'
days. Ye mark my words. Even if ye do have ta pay fer their weddin's." He
watches his companion carefully for a reaction to that last statement.

Eustace does not look around as the soup is swivelled into his hands, and his
eyes mark the piece of bread and spoon before he begins to eat it all slowly
and carefully. His eyes scanning it for random morsels and the like as he ale
is plonked on a table next to him.

James nods lightly in agreement- "Yes, indeed. Though usually it's our Anna
that does the looking after, but she was sickly too, so we had to call Megan
over and.." a pause now, one marking a moment's thought as he considers the
question. "Well, I didn't have to pay for my Megan's weddin'! And I haven't
seen Anna with any suitors yet, no indeed... Yes, Megan married off in the
Shire, don't you know? I presume Thatcher paid for it all, yes..." eyes stray
briefly across to Eustace again, and back, a frown settling over his features
before he shrugs it off. "Where's my Becca?" he asks again, more to himself
than Hugh or anyone else.

Eustace senses James and peers back round for a moment before falling back into
the realm of the soup eater, and gently relaxing himself against the fire.

Hugh lets out a grunt of surprise at the mention of Andrick paying for
anything, then ducks his head and returns to spooning up stew whilst his
companion is gazing round the room.

At last his bowl is empty - and the old man sets it down on the table with a
thump, causing the spoon to clatter against the sturdy pottery. "Well ..." he
pauses, "I'd best be goin'. Else they'll be sending little Betsy out ta look
fer me." He gives a rheumy chuckle at that thought, and rises creakily to his
feet. "Nice ta meet ye, Mister Tasselberry. Mind an' give me regards ta yer
wife, when ye do find her." (And not Adrian and Jacob.) With that, and a nod
of farewell, he's lifted his staff and is hobbling on his way, leaving behind
nothing else save the gust of cold air that blows into the room as he opens
the door.