Logs-Summer Dance

Large Field

This field takes up most of southeast Bree, between the back of the marketplace
and the outer 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 is thick and healthy, adorned
with daisies, dandelions and buttercups. In the southwest corner of the
field, just inside the hedge, a huge oak stands proudly, providing a large
amount of shade to a portion of the field in the daytime. Around the tree are
eight small thatched shelters, arranged in a circle with the tree at its
head. In the middle of the circle is a large open space.

Obvious exits:
Alleyway leads to Bree Market - South.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Sat Feb 21 17:00:00 2004
Bree time: Evening on of Summer - Midsummer 2,1431
Moon Phase: New Moon

Breelands Weather
The late night summer air is very hot and dry around you. The night sky is
cloud-filled and gloomy.
===============================================================================

The last rays of sunshine have begun to sink low in the horizon- bathing the
field in a warm orange glow. The glow is increased by the fire which sits in
the middle of the circle created by the shelters. There seems to be a buzz of
activity in the warm summer air as evening falls and gradually people have
begun to trickle their way into the field- chattering amongst themselves as
Breefolk do

Beneath the shelters there are tables, and chairs, and some tables are covered
with all kinds of food- meats and pastries and bowls of punch, and several
bottles of wine. Streamers and baskets of flowers are placed about and this
increases the festive atmosphere. Stalls are also scattered about, close to
the shelters and these contain various tradespeople and their wares- all
kinds of bric-a-brac as well as novelty games such as apple-bobbing and
guessing games Music comes from all corners of the field as buskers are
trying to out-play each other and the band sets up for something more lively
when more people have assembled and are ready to dance (this is, after all,
why they are here..), having scored themselves a prime position of the field-
before them is a perfect area for dancing.

Rushing about with flushed cheeks and wide shining eyes is Megan
Tasselberry-Thatcher. Cheerfully she greets those arriving, and occasionally
she finds a moment to stop and talk quickly with those she knows and who are
helping themselves to food, or talking by the fire Her hat still sits atop
her head, despite the lack of sunshine and need to shield herself from it;
though perhaps sunshine isn't the only reason she is wearing her hat,
tonight. The whole Tasselberry family is around somewhere within the crowds;
Rebecca carting things to-and-fro from the bakery; James spreading his
good-mood throughout So far, everything seems to be running smoothly and,
despite the obvious stress that Megan is under, she seems to be enjoying
herself.

Food, food galore. Ham and roast chicken, ripe yellow cheese and firm red
apples, wrinkled and all the sweeter-tasting for that, fresh-baked bread and
still-warm meat pies... Strawberries and rhubarb, honeycomb and clotted
cream, and cakes of all kinds. Behind one of the many groaning tables
presides middle-aged Lucy Cleavehand, staunch member of the Bree Ladies Club,
a big starched white apron protecting her finery and a scarf of the same
material holding back her hair. Prominently displayed on her table is a large
tea-urn, and she purses her lips every time someone passes it by in favour of
stronger drink.

Beside her nine-year-old Betsy jumps eagerly up and down. The child is more
presentable than usual, dressed in a plain but nicely-cut dress of dark
green, and ribbons of the same colour hold her two pigtails in place. "Can I
go?" she is asking urgently. "Can I go and bob for apples /now/? Look,
there's Megan. She'll take care of me."

Randolph lurks in the corner of the fair...at the corner where the shadows lie.
His fingers barelling around a mug handle as he nonchalently sips ale. The
bitter flavours climbing onto his lips and tumbling deep into his belly as he
lets the flavours vex him and his eyes bat between the crowd gathering.

Opal sits at a table near a large leafy tree while gazing at the stars in the
sky. Her long curly brown hair blows in the wind.

Bustling over with another tray of bread rolls is Rebecca Tasselberry, and
carefully she places these down on a spare table. To Lucy she turns, and
frowns thoughtfully- stress lines today etched deep into her forehead as she
then looks over all the food. "Do you think there's enough, Mrs. Cleavehand?"
As if the answer weren't already obvious- what with the food practically
falling off the table now..."A cup of tea would calm my nerves, I think..."
she mutters in suggestion, though she doesn't move to make herself any...

Megan has, meanwhile, walked by and faintly heard her name amidst the babble
of conversation that surrounds...Pausing mid-stride, she peers from beneath
her straw hat- eyes skimming lightly over all those within sight, then spies
Betsy and smiles brightly. "Hallo, Betsy!" she exclaims, glancing across to
where the apple-bobbing stall is- and the crowd that is beginning to form
there.. "You want to go apple-bobbin'? I can take you over quickly, if you'd
like I'll bring her right back, Mrs. Cleavehand.." Megan promises- happy to
have something to take her mind off the running of the event.

Randolph isn't the only lurker. That figure hobbling away from one of the
tables holding a punch-bowl can be easily enough identified as old Hugh
Bramblefleece - the *thump thump* of his staff against the ground and the
glimmers of his snow-white hair are a dead giveaway. He has forgone his usual
fleece for smarter clothing, and perhaps he's unaccustomed to the finery, for
he shivers as he goes, the jerking motion spilling some of the liquid from
his full cup. At that he stops to take a sip: "Hmmm. Not so bad. Now ta find
a spot where a body can take a drink in peace," he murmurs as he heads
blithely for the shadowed corner where Randolph rests.

"Oh there's plenty of food!" Lucy is just as inclined to babbling as Rebecca.
"I only hope they eat it all - else it would be such a /waste/ ... Tea now,
I'll get you a nice fresh cup." She beams at the other woman, and is soon
bustling around finding a cup. "It's a pity more folk don't have your sense.
You've not seen Da around, have you?"

Megan's arrival is clearly a relief, for she gives the behatted girl only a
glance before responding, "Oh - yes - you take her then. Thanks ever so much,
Miss Tasselberry!"

Betsy beams and holds her hand up for Megan to take, if she will. "That's a
very nice hat, Megan," she states solemnly. "I wish /I/ had one. Johnny said
I look like a carrot again," and her little face falls. "He had to go home,
he was feeling sick - Mama says it's because he ate too much." At that she
lets out a tiny giggle.

Rebecca looks relieved at Lucy's words- as if she couldn't see for herself
there was enough food. "Oh, I'm certain that will! Especially with my James
here," she says- nodding across to where her husband stands amidst a group of
similarly aged men; all of them looking like they're enjoying a good laugh
and story.. Old friends, perhaps? "Thank-you, Mrs. Cleavehand, that's
awefully kind of you," Rebecca answers, nodding her head and moving a hand to
rub at her temples. At the question, she looks up and around- then points a
finger in the direction which Hugh hobbles.. "Is that him just there? He
seems to be a little shaky- is he alright?"

Megan, however, has already taken Betsy's hand. "No problems at all, Mrs.
Cleavehand." she says- a bright smile sent toward the woman and now she
focuses her attention on Betsy. "Why thank-you! We bought it just the other
day.. And you wouldn't look like a carrot; I think I hat with a green ribbon
would look pretty on you! Maybe there's someone here who is selling hats...
and yes, you have to be careful not to eat too much!" Megan exclaims, and
then begins for the apple-bobbing stall; waiting for Betsy to follow..

Randolph nods his head slitheringly to Hugh as he approaches..."These damned
womenfolk and their pointless pageantry, we council members...have a sad
obligation to such events." he snickers bitterly as he sips with slow and
soft resilience to the coarse flavours. He waits gently as the shadows
reflect on him for a second, gleening darkness from the master!

Lucy Cleavehand, busy pouring tea, does not look up in time to see the
direction of Rebecca's pointing finger. "Here you are, Mrs Tasselberry - over
there? Oh no, I don't think so," she responds, looking towards the area where
the band is setting up. "He was wearing a white shirt, not a dark waistcoat -
oh, I do hope the old man's not doing anything daft!"

"Wha-" is Hugh's initial response as the bushes suddenly speak to him - and
what a speech! "That is - good evenin' ta ye, Mister ... Mister ..." He peers
blearily in Randolph's direction, takes another sip of the punch and
responds, "It ain't their pageantry, it's their darned teetotalism. Can't
even take a drink or two ... or three ... without bein' hounded like a - like
a dog. A gentleman like yersel' wouldn't do that, a'course."

From the alleyway from the marketplace comes Andrick Thatcher, looking
thouroughly awkward in a clean, pressed white shirt, and with a smart, greet
waistcoat, instead of his normal filthy attire. He walks slowly over to the
edge of the circle of shelters, and glances round, with a somewhat anxious
expression on his face. Dances and parties outside of the Prancing Pony are
not this man's strong point. He begins to walk towards the largest of the
shelters, beneath which several benches and chairs are placed, and under
which his father and his brothers are sat, sharing a small keg of ale. He
glances at Megan as she leads Betsy, and smiles, but does not approach her
just yet. He sits next to his eldest brother, Carrick, who says, "Well, well,
well. If it isn't our And all dressed up like the mayor of Bree." Even his
father laughs at the joke, and says, "Your Megan's got you well-trained, it
seems."

The evening shadows lengthen, the lanterns are being lit in the circular series
of shelters erected in the Large Field, surrounding the open space left clear
for dancing.

Betsy, happily trotting along beside Megan, continues their conversation. "But
I don't have enough money for a hat - I can do apple-bobbing though. Maybe if
I win I can take something home for Johnny." Like an apple with a set of
perfect teethmarks? "Or maybe not," she amends after a moment's
contemplation. "When are they going to start the dancing? I want to dance,
we've been learning some at school. Except I don't have anyone to dance with
- do you have someone?" she asks her friend in a great gabble of speech.

Rebecca's eyes roll briefly skyward as Lucy looks in the wrong direction. "Not
there, Mrs. Cleavehand..Oh, he's just walkin'.. or, he were. I can't quite
see him now." she comments- squinting her eyes in a general direction (and a
direction different to the one that Hugh is in. She's well and truly lost him
now), before shaking her head lightly. Andrick's arrival causes another frown
to crease her frown-scarred brow, though this is one almost hinting that she
is impressed that he's tidied himself up for the occasion..

James seems to lose interest in his friends meanwhile and seeks out newer and
more exciting conversations to partake in.. There are two options, of
course.. He could go talk with Hugh again or there is Andrick and his
family.. Well, there's no better time like the present to meet your
daughter's new family, and so over he strides- wide and rather goofy smile on
his face. "Evening, fellows! James Tasselberry at your service.. Megan's
father." He announces, nodding to them all once and holding out a hand to
Carrick (senior.)

Andrick nods and smiles politely to James, and his father, Carrick, stands to
greet him. "I'm Carrick Thatcher, that's Andrick's father. And," he points to
each of his sons in turn, eldest to youngest, "That's Carrick, Jenner, Carren
and Andrick I suppose you already know." He then points to the ale, and says,
"Will you have a drink, with us, Mr. Tasselberry?"
Andrick stands, and says, "I'm goin' to 'ave a wander, see some people."
Carrick nods, and with that, Andrick walks away. He meanders over to where
the apple-bobbing is, having seen Megan going toward it with little Betsy.

Randolph sips and looks over at the crowd while talking to Hugh..."No sir, I'll
not hound you for your ills of alcohol. I myself am here in the safety of the
shadows...But who would dare halt my drinking?" he chuckles dryly...it's
almost like little droops of whisper punching at the air.

"Maybe your mam will buy you a hat?" Megan suggests, sounding hopeful for the
girl's sake.. "I'm not very good at apple-bobbing, and anyway, I don't want
to get my face all wet... Maybe we'll find some other games that have prizes
and then you can take one of them home to Johnny..." she suggests, nearing
the stall now and stopping in front of it.. "I don't know when. Maybe when
there's more people here.. And yes, I've got Andrick, remember? And some
other friends that might be coming.. Do you dance with Johnny usually?" she
questions- one eyebrow raised, her tone teasing.

James meanwhile nods to all the sons of Carrick. "G'evenin' to you all. Yes,
I've met Andrick before. Just when Megan had gotten back from the Shire,
actually. You must be proud of him, I'm certain." he says, though he is
distracted by the offer of ale. "Oh! Well I'd be delighted to, Mr. Carrick,
yes indeed! I hope you're all finding the food alright- my Rebecca has been
working away in the kitchen for days now!"

"I'd not halt ye," is Hugh's dutiful response to Randolph, the old man
shivering all the more at the dry, hissing speech ... or is it just the fact
that the evening's getting more chill? "Have ye tried this one?" He raises
his cup, slopping a little dark liquid over the side. "It came from yon
place, yon ... yonder," as he stumbles over the words he sends his arm arcing
in a grand gesture, and a small splash of liquid spurts out in Rendolph's
direction. "It's very good - though I say it meself. Don't usually hold with
furrin ... things."

More part of the shadows at the edge of the field stands one who oft maintains
a certain 'distance' from the folk of Bree, whether it be in the crowded
common room of the Prancing Pony Inn, or merely walking along one of the
roads through town.

And it is not that the young woman means to be so distanced, necessarily, for
upon her face is the mild curiosity which weaves from inquiring gaze to faint
smile and back again to question.

With the buzz of the festival guest--visitors and Breefolk alike--Tiriel
Thalatas finds curiosity enough to go around. Twice, perhaps, and shuffling a
step or two forward, she finds one of the stands dispensing wine and ale, and
there helps herself to a mug of the former.

Randolph cringes and steps back as Hugh's drink sloshes....his arm rockets
forward as he pushes the man away from him...Oblivious to how it may harm
Hugh through choice, and stepping away a bit..."Disgusting." he spits
morosely, shaking his head at the drunkar.d

"But apple-bobbing's easy!" Betsy exclaims to Megan, halting in her tracks and
staring up at the woman as though the very idea of not liking apple-bobbing
were inconceivable. "Though I suppose you'd get your hat all wet - all right,
you watch and I'll get the apples - ohh, look!" she exclaims, turning away
from the enticing stall a moment to point. "Is that your Andrick in the green
waistcoat? He's very smart, and it matches your hat. And," her voice lowers,
"his shirt's cleaner than granda's. Mama couldn't get the stain out of it."

Carrick sighs, looking at James, and says, "Well, he seems to have done
alright for himself, in spite of everything." High praise of Andrick indeed,
coming from Carrick. He then orders Carren to get a mug for James, and says,
"Well, I've not tried much yet, but I had one of her rolls when we first
came, quite delicious, if I may say so." He nods, affirming.
Andrick comes now to the apple-stall, and with a brief look at Megan, says
to Betsy, "'Ello little miss! Come to nab some apples, 'ave yer?"

A sudden shocked yelp sounds from the shadows at the edge of the field as
Randolph's push takes effect. Old Hugh, none too steady on his feet at the
best of times, goes down as easily as a feather, if somewhere less gently.
The cup flies out of his hand, sending a spray of dark-red liquid in all
directions, while the old man himself teeters, slides and finds himself lying
flat on his back, with his staff clattering on the ground nearby.

Opal looks around at all the Breefolk and stands up from the small table. She
starts walking towards the apple stall.

"I'm sure it is easy, but.. oh, yes, exactly. It would ruin my hat." Nevermind
the fact that Megan could quite easily remove the hat- obviously she's still
enjoying showing it (and the feather placed in it) off and will continue to
do so for a while longer... Brown eyes glance up and across to where Andrick
approaches; a small smile appearing on her face. "Yes, that's him. He does
look smart tonight, doesn't he.." Now as he reaches them, she shakes her head
lightly to his comment. "We en't nabbing anything. We're bobbing."

Rebecca, meanwhile hears the yelp of Hugh and grabs at Lucy- pointing in
distress, for certainly she's seen him now- and his trip toward the
ground.."Lucy, I think your da just fell over.." she exclaims- her face as
white and shocked as if it were her own father who had fallen!

Randolph laughs haughtily and places his hand on his hip, draining his mug
gentrifiedly, and pulling his cloke around as almost a cape of personal fog
before he suddenly appears behind Andrick and
whispers..."Hellothere...Mr...Thatcher." again his voice of old returns to
chill spines.

Betsy looks up to Andrick with a grin. "Hello Andrick. You look /much/ smarter
than granda does," she proclaims with a beaming smile, then looks back to
Megan. "Shall I see if I can get an apple then?" Without waiting for an
answer, she stands on tiptoe to murmur something to the stallkeeper, then
steps up to the tub of apples, takes a deep breath and thrusts her face in.
"Anyone else fer the bobbin'?" the stallkeeper, a red-cheeked and cheery
fellow, calls out aloud.

"It's- what- oh no!" Lucy exclaims at Rebecca's warning, and then bites her
lip. "But I can't leave the stall - help, someone, please," she calls out to
the world at large. "There's an old man fallen over, can someone give him a
hand?" She waves her arms to the crowd as though directing a flock of sheep.
Of course, perhaps if she'd spent less time directing and more time looking
she might actually have seen the dark figure slipping away. As it is, she's
blissfully unaware.

Opal arrives at the apple stall looking at Megan and Andrick. She smiles
"Hello." She puts her hair behind her pointy ears.

Rebecca is off and through the crowd toward Hugh, for certainly no one else
seems to be helping. She arrives at Hugh- eyes wide and rather afraid for his
health as she looks upon him.. "Mr. Bramblefleece! Are you alright?! My
daughter is a healer, do you need me to get her for you?!"

Megan, meanwhile, is watching as Betsy begins her first bob- an almost
motherly concern appearing in her eyes as she watches-- perhaps she thinks
there is the danger of drowing involves when it comes to young children and
apple-bobbing? Distracted though by Opal, she offers a friendly smile.
"Hello.. are you going to bob for some apples, too?"

Randolph cackles jauntily from his little hiding place, waiting for Andrick to
respond as his fingers run up and down his sides with predatory habitualism.

By the time Rebecca has reached him, old Hugh has regained his staff if not his
feet - he's still lying on his back staring at the darkening sky, chest now
stained anew with the remnants of his drink. "Eh?" he grunts. "What did ye do
that fer? I was mindin' me own business, that bein' drinkin', an' then yer
arm came out of nowhere, an- Tired," he mumbles a moment later. "Think I'll
jist have a li'l ... li'l snooze here. No need fer any daughters. No need at
all."

Andrick smiles at Betsy, and says, "Thank yer miss, tha's most kind of yer.
An' yer look a picture yerself if I'n say so. Good luck!" He turns, to look
at Opal, and nods, and smiles, and says, "Evenin' little miss. Are yer 'avin'
a good time?" He starts at the whispered greeting, and sighs warily, slowly
turning. "Evenin', Mr. Greenface." he says, with a groan, "Though that ain't
a way befittin' of a councilman to greet 'is townsfolk, d'yer think?"

"A snooze?" Questions Rebecca, puzzlement written all over her features. After
all, this is a dance, not... not somewhere to sleep! "Maybe I should get
Megan.. would you like me to help you up, Mr. Bramblefleece? There's plenty
of food still if you're hungry.. and plenty of spare seats, if you'd like to
sit in one.. I'm even certain Mrs. Cleavehand could find you a new shirt- a
clean one... 'Else my Jacob could take you home.. I just don't think it's
wise to sleep here. You might get stepped on.. Maybe you'll feel better if
you sit up and come have a seat.." After all, food solves everyone's problems
in the mind of Rebecca Tasselberry.

"Mmmmph ... emmmph ..." Betsy looks up from the tub with two dripping wet
pigtails and a mouth full of apple. "I got one!" she manages to exclaim
delightedly a moment later, beaming up at Megan, Andrick - and even Randolph,
though her grin fades a little at the sight of the dark-cloaked figure. And
then her gaze drops to the figure nearer her own level, the smiling
hobbit-lass. "You can go next," she tells Opal eagerly, happily jumping to the
conclusion that of course Opal wants to stick her head in a tub of cold
water. "It's not so hard."

Opal nods to Andrick. "Yes I am." She looks over at Betsy and smiles "Alright."
"If ye lay a hand on me again I'll knock ye down!" Hugh informs Rebecca's feet
with a baleful glare. "I may be an ole man, but I'm not defenceless ... less
... Ye've changed! Ye was all in black afore." He blinks in bleary
puzzlement. "And what's wrong with me shirt? It ain't the blood, ain't it?
Lucy couldn't ... couldn't get it out."

"Well done, Betsy!" Megan exclaims, "Look at that! A big one, too!" she says-
clapping her hands together twice. Noticing Randolph now for the first time,
a wary frown crosses the Breegirl's features. "I hope you're enjoyin'
yourself, mister.. A dance doesn't seem to be your kind of scene, though..
Don't you have better things to do?".. Ruining houses, frightening Breefolk..
those kind of things, perhaps.. though this is said rather sincerely, there
is a hint of a smirk in her voice.

"I haven't even touched you, Mr. Bramblefleece!" Rebecca exclaims, startled. "I
haven't changed at all! I'm Rebecca Tasselberry. I think you've had too much
to drink.. maybe you knocked your head in the fall." Now she stands to her
full height to see over to the crowds and back to Lucy. "Oh, well you spilt
the punch on yourself.. now, listen. Your Lucy is worryin' about you.. do you
think you might like to come and sit down so she can see you're alright?"
Something in her tone suggests she's still considering going to get Megan for
help..

It is almost fully dark now. All over the field folk are happily chatting,
eating and drinking (though the small group gathered by the apple-bobbing
stall aren't all looking cheery, and the old fellow sprawled on his back near
the edge of the field is merely looking dazed), and the off-key sounds of the
band tuning up drift on the air to mingle with the general babble.

Randolph peels his lips back in a grin and pats Andrick on the shoulder
curtly..."I can greet anyone as I wish to, Mr. Thatcher." he smirks
offhandedly, before slipping back a little to commence in smirking from the
shadows for a while.

Betsy looks from Megan to Andrick to the other man, the one she doesn't know,
mouth wide open in an 'o'. One piece of the conversation only seems to
register ... "Would you like it?" she asks Megan, holding out the
tooth-marked apple, then returns to watching Opal whose turn it is to bob for
apples now.

Her grandfather, meanwhile, is growing more agitated by the minute. "Mrs
Tasselberry! I was jist .. jist mindin' me own business - an' there ain't no
need ta get Lucy." That thought galvanizes him so much that he levers
himselff up to a sitting position. "If ye give me a hand up I'll go an' sit
over there," he waves an arm, sadly free of any cup of punch this time,
towards the corner of the field furthest from Lucy's stall. "Everythin'll be
quite all right, ye'll see."

"No thank-you, Betsy. Though it's kind of you to offer." Megan says- eyeing the
teethmarks.. "And anyway, there's plenty of cakes and things I'm going to
have later- I don't want to get full up on apples!" she exclaims..

Rebecca is becoming increasingly frustrated by Hugh, however and now frowns
across in Lucy's direction. "I'm certain you were minding your own business,
Mr. Bramblefleece, and you've taken a fall.. and I think Lucy would rather
know you're alright than to think you've broken up your arm-or some such.."
So speaks personal experience... "Alright, I'll help you up, and we'll go
find you a nice seat somewhere.." she suggests; ignoring the fact that he
motioned elsewhere- she would just have to lead him in the direction she
wanted to go!

Opal steps up to the tub and takes a deep breath and puts her face into the
tub.

Faced with Rebecca's logic, Hugh simply holds out an arm for Rebecca to 'help'
him up, poking at the ground with the staff in his other hand.

Betsy, undeterred by Megan's refusal of the 'gift', takes a large bite out of
the apple instead and then starts calling out instructions to Opal. "You've
god do open your mouf as wide as id'll go - and don'd forged to breaf," she
tells the hobbit-lass between mouthfuls.

Andrick stares at Randolph, and says, with his eyebrows raised, "Aye, yer seem
to be able to do jus' about owt yer please round 'ere with yer bein' on the
council an' all, Mr. Blackstream." He watches him for a moment as he moves
away, then turns to Megan, and says, "That feather's lookin' nice in yer
'at." He smiles and then says to Opal, "Good luck! Maybe yer'll do as well as
little miss Betsy 'ere. S'a nice apple yer got there Miss."

Randolph reappears from the shadows slanting next to Megan..."Well miss...I am
not sure whether you have seen me dance, but I can move as beautifully as any
flower caught in the wind." he says, voice delicate as water flowing over
porcelain.

Megan smiles proudly at the compliment about her feather. "Thank-you! I weren't
sure if I should wear it- I didn't want to ruin it, but.. well, I'll take it
out later, before the dancin' starts..." Though, she turns her attention to
other matters now, as Randolph reappears. "Hm. That is a strange thought..
What about flowers caught in a strong wind- they don't look particularly
beautiful in my eyes; thrashing about like they're about to be pulled up from
the ground. Is that how you dance, mister?"

Reaching one hand down, Rebecca takes his arm and begins to pull- any
resistance that Hugh may have (and that includes not helping himself to
stand) will be met with the bulk of Rebecca's weight, and many years of
having 4 children running all about has taught her to keep her balance..

Opal takes her face out of the water with a medium sized apple in her mouth.
She bites into the apple and takes it out of her mouth.

"Ooof!" grunts Hugh as he is hauled bodily to his feet. He teeters slightly,
but then his staff manages to find purchase on the ground and his position
steadies. "Awful uneven ground this," he mutters nonetheless, then, "Thank ye
kindly, Mrs Tasselfeather. Now I'll jist go an' find a li'l seat ..." He
starts trying to hobble off across the field, regardless of the fact that
Rebecca is still 'attached'.

As Opal comes up with the apple Betsy exclaims cheerily, "Oh, well done,"
sending a spray of chewed apple-bits flying. "It's not difficult, is it? I
want to go again ..." Hopefully she steps up to the tub again, her half-eaten
apple clutched in one fist.

As Hugh begins to make his escape, the music from the band suddenly begins in
an explosion of notes and excitement. "Oh! Listen Mr. Bramblefleece! There's
the band started.. let's go this way, shall we?!" Her voice leaves no room
for protest, and gently (so as to stop him falling again) she gives him a tug
in the direction of Lucy's stall.. All around, the crowds have begun to move
into the dancing area, though not yet dancing- waiting for someone else to be
brave and start them off...

Opal steps down. "No, not at all." She takes another bite out of the apple.

Randolph dissipates back into the shadows after this insult, his body and
clothes dissolving into the shadows they are so used to as he is ...gone.

As the band strikes up, Andrick looks at Megan, and smiles sheepishly, but
then looks down at the apple-barrel before him. He says to Betsy, "Yer be
careful now, we'd not want yer gettin' sick on apples, now, would we?" He
says to Opal, "S'not bad fer a first time, eh? Not fer me though, I don't
think."

The word that the band is finally ready spreads across the field. "Dancin's
about to begin," a helpful passer-by informs Hugh and Rebecca, and at this
the old man halts, blinking. "Yer askin' me ta dance? Why, thank ye Mrs
Tasselhead. Not often I get asked ta dance by a ... by such a fine young
lady." The drink must have smoothed his tongue there. Beaming, he sets out
with renewed vigour - not for Lucy's stall, but for the centre of the dance
floor itself. The fact that he's still clutching his staff doesn't seem to
worry him one whit.

Betsy, meanwhile, has shoved her face in the tub again, ignoring Andrick's
words of warning, but this time she seems to be taking rather longer .... a
trail of bubbles appear, and then she jerks her head back up, coughing and
spluttering. "They all got away," she gasps out indignantly to her three
companions, and then she looks back at Andrick, frowning. "The music's
started - you're supposed to ask her to dance." Nothing like a little helping
hand ... or voice.

Opal looks around searching for someone to dance with while she finishes her
apple.

"Well, no, I... Oh dear," Rebecca seems to be drawn into the dance with Hugh
against her will, yet she goes along none-the-less (perhaps it is his
compliment that stops her from complaining), looking worriedly over her
shoulder to James. James, at seeing her predicament, merely laughs-
completely unconcerned, before it looks like he too, is about to go searching
out a partner for the first dance...

"Never mind, Betsy, you can always try again later!" Megan reassures, though
she is much distracted by the music now, and has begun to edge her way
over..Up on tiptoes she stands- searching out familiar faces and then, at
Betsy's words, she looks back to Andrick- one eyebrow raised.

Hugh's seamed features split in a wide grin (and this is the same Hugh who told
Megan he 'wasn't one for dancin'?). He stops suddenly, looking at the staff
in his hand, then throws it in the direction of the nearest shelter. Just as
well noone was standing in the way!

Already the crowd has started calling out the names of their favorite dances:
Staddle Stomp, Archet Two-Step, Rounden Reel ... or will the band play safe
with that old favorite, a Waltz?

Betsy herself hasn't moved towards the dance floor, nor does she seem to be
seeking a partner - she's far too interested in watching Megan and Andrick.

Andrick looks sheepishly red-faced at the barrel, and then at Megan. He looks
at Betsy and smiles, then winks, and looks back at Megan. He breathes in, and
says, "Well, then, I s'pose, erm...d'yer want to 'ave a bash?" He nods
towards the almost empty space before the band, and smiles at Megan, saying,
"Though yer know I won't be much good." He grins, and shrugs, and looks
towards the couples already assembling.

She finishes the apple and throws away whats left of the apple. Opal looks
over at Hugh and Rebecca and grins. She then looks over at James.

Well, perhaps Rebecca is a bit excited by the idea of dancing (though she could
certainly thinking of better parterns to be dancing with!).. Though she
doesn't join in the yelling for a particular dance, she glances around at
those assembled and hopes silently inside that whatever dance is chosen will
be one where she doesn't have to get particularly close to her dance
partner.. He is, after all, rather old, and somewhat drunk..Finally the music
is chosen- it's a reel. People grab up their partners and take to the floor.

Hanging back a moment is Megan until finally asked to dance by Andrick. She
reaches out a hand. "Well that's what we're here for isn't it? And, I don't
mind if you en't good.. Just so long as you dance."..

James, meanwhile is searching out his partner still.. Eyes fall on Opal, who's
eyes are on him, and he grins widely. "Aint found yourself a partner for the
dance, little hobbit lassie?" he askes, striding over.

Betsy beams proudly as Andrick finally gets round to asking Megan to dance.
However, she doesn't even notice James's approach, for instead her eyes are
fixed on one unsteady figure now standing in the dance area. "It's granda!"
she exclaims. "Look at granda! Oh, I've got to find Mama and tell her, it's
so funny." Giggling, and with no more than a farewell wave for Opal and the
rest, she dashes off to be lost in the crowd.

Andrick takes Megan's hand, and begins to walk slowly toward the floor. He
looks at Megan, and says, quietly, "Yer know, I've never actually
danced...prop'ly that is. D'yer reckon yer could show me 'ow it's done?" He
then, for the first time, notices the coupling of Rebecca and Hugh. He looks
at Megan, with his eyebrows raised, and grinning. He says, "'Ello, Mr.
Bramblefleece, Mrs. Tasselb'ry. Can't say as I thought I'd see yer dancin',
Mr. Bramblefleece." He grins, and winks.

[Opal] She slightly smiles "No, not yet." She looks up at James with her eyebrows
raised.

Hugh blinks slowly as the reel is announced. "Eight steps ta the right - or is
it left? Ferget which is which sometimes," he mumbles. "Eh well, sure ye'll
help me, Mrs Tasselfeather. These ole legs are a bit shaky at times." As if
to prove it, he lurches, clutching at Rebecca for support - and that's how
they're standing when Andrick approaches them. "Good evenin' ta ye," is all
he manages to the newcomers. "Nice weather fer dancin'-" And as if on cue the
band plays the first chord. Time for any latecomers to join the dance at once!

Most of the couples on the field start to circle to the right - has Hugh worked
out which foot that is?

"Well I don't reckon I can dance with you, miss. I'm much too tall- I'd just
lift you up and you wouldn't be touchin' the ground!" James laughs, though
moments later he falls serious again. "But, I don't reckon it's right if you
en't got anyone at all.. What about him, there?" He asks, pointing to a
tweenaged looking hobbit boy, standing at the sidelines.

"Mam?" Questions Megan, as she and Hugh come over (much like giddy new lovers,
by the looks of them!!). Almost instantly, her eyes search out her father
who, from this distance, appears to be asking a hobbit to dance... Oh yes,
her family was certainly bizzare at times! "I can show you, it's easy.. Just
follow where everyone else is goin', and do what they're all doin' until you
get back to the start, and then go all over again!" Megan says- encouraging.

Rebecca meanwhile, takes a half-step back to try and avoid being fallen on-
though her size means that this doesn't quite work, and she has to catch Hugh
and stop him landing on the ground anyway (after all, Lucy wouldn't be
impressed if she let him fall, again!). "Oh. Hello, Megan.. Mr. Thatcher..
we're just about to start the dance.. It's the right, Mr. Bramblefleece,
we're going to the right.. are you ready? Off we go!" And she makes to launch
into dance- Megan making to follow close behind.

Andrick looks carefully at the other couples, and makes an attempt to copy
them in the way that he holds Megan, before slowly and awkwardly, whilst
still watching the others, beginning to attempt to move in the same general
direction as them. He whispers to Megan, "I still don't know what I'm s'posed
to be doin'." He then grins and whispers, "Your mam and Mr. Bramblefleece
dancin'? I'd never 'ave thought."

Opal looks at the young Hobbit then looks back at James. "I feel a bit
sleepy.. I think I'm going to go home now." She smiles and steps back walking
towards the trees.

For Rebecca and her dancing partner, troubles start almost at once. As Rebecca
tries to guide him right, Hugh tugs stubbornly left, causing them to bump
into the pair behind. "Would you watch where you're going!" a screechy female
voice admonishes them. The old man gulps, looking down at his feet (and of
course halting proceedings even further). "They both looks the same to me -
eh well, I'll jist make it up." With unsteady energy he's off again, jerking
poor Rebecca this way and that: one moment pushing, the next pulling. She'll
be lucky to get out of this without a trampled toe.

Around them the dance flows on, mostly as it should be. A circle to the right,
a circle to the left, and then the couples split up to weave intricate
figures-of-eight around each other. Quite easy when you know how - the
majority of folk seem to, but here and there there is a little eddy, a break
in the smooth pattern, where someone stumbles or slips.

It's probably lucky for Rebecca that she's partaken in many, many dances in her
day (and many of them with James), and so, she is used to a bit of clumsiness
here and there, and knows how to keep her feet out of harms way. "That's it,
Mr. Bramblefleece, just like that.." she says- halting her speech abruptly as
she is pulled again in the wrong direction.

"Don't worry about it," Megan replies, a reassuring smile on her features.
"Just go like this, then like this.. spin me, like that..." she instructs-
moving with the music and going through the steps carefully and deliberately
to demonstrait to Andrick. "I don't know why Mam is dancin' with him.. Maybe
he bullied her into it." she says- looking over her shoulder to regard her
mother..

Andrick's face furrows in deep lines of concentration, as he tries to get the
hang of the steps Megan is teaching him. He manages to follow her vaguely,
albeit clumsily and without any real rhythm. He says, "Oh, I'm gettin' it all
wrong." He then says, "D'yer reckon so? But why'd yer Da stand fer somethin'
like that? 'E's stood on 'is own, not doin' owt." He watches Megan's feet
intently, trying to follow them with his own, but not doing a good job.

Hugh's lurching progress round the dancefloor is interrupted by a sudden cry of
pain. Yes, seems the old man has finally trodden on someone. Rebecca? No,
looks like the victim was that poor hobbit-lad who's hopping out of the way
clutching one furry foot. Oh dear ...

And the old man doesn't even seem to notice, dancing on with an enthusiasm
unhampered by his lack of coordination. Finally (and not a moment too soon,
anyone in his path would say) the music stops - and Hugh stops too, halted
like a marionette. "You're a very ... energetic wimman, Mrs Tasselfoot," he
tells her in slurred admiration. "Must do that again some... sometime." But
then he groans and clutches at his head. "Everythin's still spinnin'," he
announces worriedly. "Round 'n round ... think I'll take a li'l rest." With
more farewell than that, he staggers off, out of sight. Doubtless someone
will keep an eye on him and see he comes to no harm.

=== Megan's DESC ===
This young woman is not unlike many others in Bree, but to most meeting her,
her face would be memorable. 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 18, this and the fact that she's somewhat shorter than the
average Breefolk.

A rather simple dress-simple in material and cut; yet it is elegant, fits over
her body now and is a pleasant blue in colour falling to her ankles. In this
dress, Megan looks more of a woman than the young teen that she could be
mistaken for. On her ring-finger sits a 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.

Today seems to be something special for the Breegirl however, for there are a
few things different scattered about the usualOn her head, for example, she
wears a straw hat- complete with blue ribbon (and strangely, a rather large
red-hued feather protrudes- tucked and held between the ribbon and the hat..
this is a feather that doesn't look like it's come from any ordinary
bird!..), and, when removed her hair is loose- brown and curly as ever, yet
some of it is plaited with ribbons, and other parts have flowers placed
carefully here and there- arranged just so.

=== Hugh's DESC ===
A first glance at this man reveals that he's broad of shoulder and girth, and
perhaps an inch or two shorter than average for a Bree man - though that
could simply be the burden of age, for his shoulders are slightly stooped,
and his gnarled hands are most often curled about a stout crooked wooden
staff. Despite that, his movements are sprightly, and the twinkle in his
brown eyes bespeaks a lively mind. His face, what little of it can be seen,
is seamed and weathered like an old oak from time spent outdoors ... the
remainder being hidden by a bushy beard. This, like his hair, is snowy white,
and tangled as a bird's nest.

He's clad in simple homespun garments - dirty linen shirt tucked into a pair of
oily brown trews, in turn tucked into strong leather boots. A fleece rests
across his shoulders for added warmth in all but the warmest weather.

=== Randolph's DESC ===
Black hair is combed a little roughly on top of this man's head, coming down
like without lankness but more with a deficiency of stature. His face is
thin, pale and has a light tipple of stubble scraped almost to oblivion
encaping his cheeks and jaw. His eyes are a sturdy green with little therein
but dull glimmers of leaf-like hue. His hands have spindly delicate fingers,
and softer aristocratic palms than most. He's built like a pole. Tall,
swaying. Thin, yet lean and lithe like a cat burglar would be if you ever saw
one by sunshine. His face is dignified and well-carved into shapely masculine
guidelines leaving him with a sculpted handsome appearance. But his skin
almost appears sickly.

He wears black in general, with a stately set of robes and tunics laced around
his person. Leather and cotton seem to be the main blackly themes, while
there is little else to detail. It's not unusual, it's just Breeware in black
chummers.

=== Opal's DESC ===
She looks around three feet of height and nineteen years of age. Her long
combed curly dark brown hair goes down to her waist and some falls into her
bright, keen light brown eyes. She wears a soft cotton long sleeved dark
green dress that goes down to the ground.

=== Andrick's DESC ===
This man is tall and gangly, a little over six feet, with thin, bony limbs. He
has well tanned skin, with a rough complexion. His head is completely bald,
and his ears stick out sharply, highlit by the lack of hair to cover or
surround them. His eyes are dark brown, and sit below big, bushy black
eyebrows, that hide the eyes themselves to an extent. His cheekbones are
sharply pronounced, with a ruddy hint to them, framing his thin and bony
nose. His upper lip has a small scar on its right-hand side, and he is
missing a tooth right under the scar. His chin is square, and has a very
short beard on it, that peters out as it goes up his cheeks and down his neck.

The man is wearing a long-sleeved white shirt, open necked at the front, with
a filthy collar. Over the top, he wears a long, brown waistcoat, unbuttoned,
and resting on his body as it would on a coat-hanger. On his legs he wears
long, dark brown trousers, with patches over both knees, and several small
holes in them. He wears scuffed and worn brown shoes.

==============================================================================
Mail Message Number 1 (Message ID #: 937694)
FROM: Hugh - Tue Feb 24 02:33:59 2004
SUBJECT: Summer dance
TO: (Bree-rp)
MESSAGE: ---------------------------------------------------------------------
The summer dance has been and gone, and to most folk at least it seems to have
been considered a success. The Thatcher clan were there en masse with Carrick
Senior (Andrick's dad) at their head, keeping an eye on their carefully built
shelters, while Lucy Cleavehand (Hugh's daughter) and Rebecca Tasselberry
(Megan's mum) were among the members of the Bree Ladies Club seeing that
everyone was supplied with food and cups of tea. Stronger drink was available
too, of course (and much more to the taste of the likes of RANDOLPH and HUGH,
sitting drinking in a quiet spot at the edge of the field).

There were stalls of all kinds - Hugh's grandaughter Betsy and the hobbit-lass
OPAL spent some time bobbing for apples, while the Councilman Randolph seemed
more interested in sneering at ANDRICK and trying to charm MEGAN, both of
whom were looking unwontedly smart (and what /was/ it with Megan's hat? A
very nice hat, to be sure, but why wouldn't she take it off?). Could the
Councilman have had anything to do with old Hugh lying flat on his back at
the edge of the field? Most likely the old man simply fell after partaking of
too much punch, going by the stains on his shirt. And did you see him
dragging Rebecca Tasselberry into the dance area? What must her poor husband
have thought? Scandalous! Megan and Andrick were quite decorous by
comparison, and carried themselves creditably in the dancing once nerves
overcame them (even if Andrick did seem quite reluctant to actually ask his
wife to dance).

The only folk grumbling now are the ones left to clear up the mess ... oh, and
the ones with troll-sized hangovers.