Logs-The new Mrs. Thatcher (Tasselberry-Thatcher!)

The Common House of Bree, Common Room
The Common Room of this older house appears to be warm and inviting, and many
people wander around. Along the far wall lies a fireplace with a bright and
cheery fire crackling. The aroma of food wafts up from the large black pot
that hangs over the flame and several hobbits stand in line to fill their
bowls again.

Obvious exits:
Out leads to Stone Houses.
Upstairs leads to Upper Hallway.

================================== Bree Time ==================================
Real time: Mon Dec 15 04:23:22 2003
Bree time: Late Night <about 2 AM> on Hevensday of Winter - December 15,1430
Moon Phase: First Quarter Moon

Breelands Weather
The late night winter air is cold and dry around you. Heavy snows fall down
from the nighttime sky. The moon is above the horizon and in its first
quarter phase.
===============================================================================

Early morning- and the smells and sounds of breakfast drift from within the
common house. Smoke rises from the chimney, and inside the air is alight with
a warm glow- contrast to the bleak outdoor scenes where snow has again begun
fall from the sky, coating the ground in a fresh white layer.

Having found her seat and chatting happily to a hobbit is Megan Tasselberry- a
bowl of something stealing in her hands, into which she occasionally dips a
spoon and raises this to her lips. Not surprisingly, she has chosen a seat
particularly close to the fire, her cloak disgarded on the seat beside her-
her eyes alight and her attention completely absorbed in the conversation.

The door to the common-room opens part-way, then stops - sticking, likely, with
all that snow and damp the wood has swollen. There is the sound of
disgruntled muttering from outside, a grunt, a thud as though a shoulder were
being hurled against the recalcitrant door, and then the door bursts fully
open. Into the room tumbles a snowman, or so one might at first assume, for
untidy hair and beard, bushy brows, thick fleece worn to keep out the cold
and heavy trews alike are all coated in a thick blanket of white. The white
figure sprawls full-length on the floor (though somehow he manages to keep
hold of the crooked wooden staff he was leaning on) and simply lies there
coughing, whilst behind him little eddies of snow are beginning to blow into
the warm room ...

At the sound of the door being bustled open, Megan glances up briefly, though
this is apparently not enough to hold her attention for more than a moment.
It's not until the snow is being blow in and dispelling all the warm air in
the room, that she takes the time to look up again, a frown on her freckled
face- "Close the door, will you?! If we'd wanted to be cold we'd have gone
outside!" She snaps, now taking another mouthful of the steaming broth from
within the bowl.

The figure on the floor is too busy coughing and groaning to respond to Megan's
order. Fortunately one of the hobbits is quick on his feet and has already
started to push the door to, with a friend or two coming to aid him when it
gets stuck. As the door is firmly shut and warmth finally begins to return to
the chilled Common Room, the white-bedecked figure sits up, climbs waveringly
to his feet, staggers to the nearest stool and starts to brush snow away from
head and shoulders. It's old Hugh Bramblefleece, of course, his weathered
features seem to be contorted in puzzlement. "What happened there?" he
murmurs. "Must've taken a tumble - now, why was I 'ere?" Dazed brown eyes
gaze slowly round the room, turning towards the hearth, and the old man takes
a long, deep breath of the broth-scented air.

Megan watches the goings-on with only faint curiosity; perhaps not yet
recognising Hugh being somewhere other than outdoors. Now hearing the voice,
she looks across again, tilts her head slightly and a look of realisation
finds its way to her eyes. "Excuse me," she mutters to the hobbit with whom
she'd been chatting- now standing and wandering over to the stool- flashing a
brilliantly innocent smile, her hair plaited into two, and dimples on her
cheeks. "G'mornin' Mr. Bramblefleece," she says- words that say more than
hello, but include: look! I'm back in Bree! Did you miss me?!

Hugh rubs his head again, then blinks up at Megan, giving her no more than a
cursory glance at first. "What was it - ohh, 'course. Goin' ta visit ole
Henry Gorsefoot, that was it." He peers slowly round the room once more, but
it would seem that 'ole Henry' isn't there, for no flash of recognition
decorates his features. It's a little later the Megan's appearance sinks in:
"Why, good mornin' ta ye, Miss-" the old man breaks off in a fit of coughing,
but eventually manages to gasp out, "-Tasselberry. Didn't know ye were back
in Bree, bin laid up with the chill an' the rheumatics ... oh, me head. Still
feelin' a bit dizzy." He gives the young woman a dazed (and as yet
unobservant) smile.

Megan too glances about for a moment, raising one eyebrow before turning her
attention back to Hugh with a faint smile. "Returned just the other day, I
did...Thought you might have known though, what with my Mam tellin' everyone
she knows about it.." the Breegirl sounds somewhat weary for a moment, two
fingers moving to turn the ring on her left hand about absently- a subtle
movement for any who weren't looking for such things, but she shrugs. "Oh-
well I hope it's not too serious, you'll be alright, won't you?" she looks
concernedly to him- as if he might just suddenly collapse onto the floor from
some kind of sickness..

Old Hugh, for his part, is looking past Megan to the hearth. "Terrible chill on
me today," he mumbles, his shoulders trembling in a sudden shiver; whether
real or faked it's hard to say. "Would ye be willin' ta help an' old man an
fetch me a bowl o' yon stew? I'll jist sit here and get me breath ... back,"
the words punctuated by another set of cough. "An' then I can hear all about
yer little trip ta the Shire. Young Betsy's been missin' ye, ye know." He
beams happily up at the girl, only then noticing her fidgeting. Bushy brows
no less white for the fact that they're now snow-free start to sink down -
but of course, that could just be his eyelids drooping.

Megan's eyes slide across to where the broth is, and she lets out a quiet sigh.
"Alright, stay here a moment." and, with that she wanders over- returning a
moment with it- now full and steaming as she passes it to him. "Betsy?" A
thoughful pause, and Megan licks her lips, scrunching up her nose. "Oh! Of
course.. How's she been then? Keeping out of trouble? I don't know anything
that happened while I was away, though Mam told me the twins were down for
almost the whole time. 'Soon as I get home they pack up and leave again..."
now she takes herself a seat and watches him carefully-strangely subdued
this morning, perhaps the trip to the Shire has changed her? Settled her down?..
Perhaps she just has something on her mind.

Hugh takes the bowl of stew gratefully, seamed features creased in a beam of
thanks. "Ah, yer a kind girl, Miss-" Suddenly his bleary eyes focus on the
hand that had held the bowl to him, a hand decorated by a rather fine-looking
gold ring ...

The old man splutters into the bowl, and its contents slop dangerously from
side to side, though he doesn't actually spill any just yet. "Wha- ... what?"
he eventually gets out, the shock bringing on another coughing fit. "Jist
what have ye bin up to?" he asks eventually. Hardly polite, perhaps a breach
of propriety - but then Megan's hardly been sticking to propriety herself.
And if the girl was hoping to hear any news of doings in Bree, she'll be
sorely disappointed, for Hugh's in no fit state to give any right now.

Megan looks somewhat taken aback, blinking in a startled fashion- perhaps at
all the coughing and fluttering or the unpoliteness of it all.. "Uhm.. well,
I was in the Shire, with Andrick, as you know..doing buisness in the Shire,
getting grapes and what not..." Megan trails off, again turning the ring on
her finger, biting her lip- yes, something is certainly amiss. "But, I
haven't been doing anything wrong- if that's what you're implying... I don't
know how I could have, what with me just arriving home a few days ago, and
with Mam being here 'till this morning..." Perhaps she misunderstood the
question...

And Megan's worried demeanour seems to get through to the old man - either
that, or he realizes that the question he'd really like to ask isn't one that
should be voiced in polite circles. "Sorry," Hugh mumbles. "Bit flustered
today." He raises his spoon to his lips so he can take a sup of broth, and
another, and another ... Eventually he's had enough that he's able to make a
second attempt at finding out where Megan's newest piece of jewelry came
from. "That's a fine-lookin' ring ye have there," he remarks casually - and
without coughing, more's the wonder. "I was wonderin' where ye got it?" He
starts scooping up more broth while he waits the answer.

Megan shrugs off the appology, though keeps her eyes lowered for a time, before
attempting a faint smile- meeting Hugh's eyes only briefly. "Everyone seems
to be appologising, lately.. Andrick, well he appologises all the time, if he
thinks he's said something wrong, and half the time I don't even know what he
thinks he's done..." she says, a certain fondness in her voice- something
that speaks of love, perhaps? Now Megan's eyes travel to the ring, and she
lets the other hand move away, pushing this into a pocket- for a moment
looking at the ring.. "Dwarves made it, I think... Andrick gave it to me, on
my birthday, I turned eighteen, did you know? And he.. and it was.. well, it
was a beautiful day, one I'll never forget, ever.."

"Andrick." The old man's lips turn down as though he'd tasted something sour
(though from the way he was tucking into that broth earlier, surely it can't
be to blame?). His bushy brows rise and fall, no doubt indicative of thought
somewhere within the depths of his slow brain, and he takes a few more gulped
mouthfuls of broth before he responds to Megan's words. "Ye mean that Mister
Thatcher, do ye? Ah, ye oughter watch 'im, Miss Tasselberry, he's up ta no
good I'll warrant. Don't ye be lettin' him lead ye astray!" Then, no longer
able to suppress that suspicion that perhaps it's too late and Megan has
indeed been 'led astray', he asks slowly, "Yer not - engaged, are ye?" His
tone is completely appalled.

Megan bites her lip and nods her head slightly. "Yes, Andrick Thatcher.. and
no, you don't know him at all, not like I do- no one does, he's changed." She
says, defensively, the hand moving back again to the ring, eyes flicking
briefly to the door as if calling in a saviour or thinking about retreat.
"I'm perfectly fine on my own, Mr. Bramblefleece, I.. I don't, well, I don't
exactly need your advice; I'm not a little child.." This seems certainly
uncharacteristic of young Megan, though it's true that she's certainly in a
strange mood this morning. "Uhm.. well, we got married, as it were.. in the
Shire..." and now, she waits for his disapproval, looking like she's close to
becoming teary-eyed.

"Ye - what?" Perhaps it's just as well that Hugh's almost finished his stew.
The spoon drops back into the bowl with a loud 'chink' of metal against
crockery, and he stares at Megan, eyes wide and mouth part-open. "I .. think
..." a cough shakes him, and belatedly he brings up a hand to cover his
mouth, "I think I'm not hearin' right today. Thought ye said somethin' about
married ... can't get married without an engagement, o'course. A good /long/
engagement ..." Eventually he remembers to close his mouth, at least, though
it's still got a ring of orange-brown broth round it.

Megan bites her lip, casting her eyes downward again. "We got engaged, on my
birthday.. and then married a bit after, just before we left for home..."
Megan explains quietly- though, despite her words there's no shame in her
voice- perhaps pride, hidden underneath that quiet tone it's taken on. "And,
if it's right, I don't think it matters about time or anything, so long as
it's right and good..." she tries to explain, giving a gentle shrug- though
not daring to look up.

Hugh's having none of Megan's explanations. He stares at the unwontedly quiet
girl, shakes his head and remarks, "Terrible. Jist terrible." A moment later
he maybe realizes how that sounds, for he clears his throat and clarifies,
"If that Thatcher feller forced ye inta somethin', it's jist terrible. But ye
won't be bound by it. Can't have a proper weddin' without an engagement. Aye,
that's it ... don't ye worry, lass. I'm sure yer ma will set things ta
rights." Hugh reaches out one gnarled hand as though to pat Megan's arm,
knocking over his bowl in the process. A thin trickle of orange-brown oozes
onto the wooden table.

Megan glances up- eyes cold for the briefest of moments, until he clarifies, at
which time the coldness dissipates again.. "He didn't force me into anything,
and we had a proper wedding, and we're going to announce it here; we're going
to have a party.. you're welcome to come along, if you'd like.. and, well, I
didn't need any more time and, well, mam is happy with it- I think she almost
likes him, too. She met him for the first time just yesterday and I think she
took a shine to him... he's not a bad person, Mr. Bramblefleece, and I know
what they all think about him, but it's not true at all, really it's not..."
though, at the hand on her arm, she gives a slightly appreciative smile-
perhaps it's a programmed response of some kind, though it hardly lasts, as
she moves to put the bowl back the right way, now moving it a safe distance
away from the edge.

'Hrrmm.' Hugh grunts in response, but he withdraws his hand swiftly from
Megan's arm at her declaration that Andrick is just 'misunderstood'. "I'll
believe that when I see it," he murmurs very softly to himself, then his head
jerks up so he can look at the girl properly again. 'Oh .. ah ... thank ye.
I'll be havin' a word with yer ma, o' course, once I'm back on me feet. Sure
she'll want ta talk about all the details, wimmen are like that ... ' His
rambling cease, and he shifts uncomfortably on his stool, for once without
further comment.

Megan frowns lightly at the muttering- even leaning in slightly so that she
might hear him better, though- apparently she fails at this, so sits back
again. "You met mam while I was away then?" now- with a faint and somewhat
distant smile, she imagines the two meeting. "And, what exactly are you
having a word to her about? The party? Or the wedding?" now Megan takes a
deep breath and looks across to Hugh, very briefly again- "I do love him
though, you know, more than anyhin' else..." she says in all sincerity-
apparently she doesn't feel too much like lying today.

Hugh shakes his head, and is too distracted by the girl's final declaration to
answer her earlier question. "Aye well, seems ta me that this Thatcher
feller's jist after yer money - or the protection of yer family name. Wasn't
he in a spot o' bother lately, down at the Pony." He pauses, then adds, "He's
jist ..." he's overtaken by coughing and has to stop for a moment, "Jist ...
not ... a suitable match fer a respectable young lady, an' it's a pity he's
taken advantage o' ye in such a way." His brown eyes radiate seeming sympathy
at Megan's 'predicament'.

"Money? Oh, no, Mr. Bramblefleece!" And indeed, Megan seems perfectly appauled
by the idea- "Not at all! He's got his own money, and we're goin' to be
planting grapes- over in Combe, and makin' wine, and, well you should have
heard him talking to Mam yesterday- he said the sweetest things.. promised to
take care of me and that not one in Bree would be able to look after me like
he could.. And, all that buisness at the Pony- he was being mistreated- he
quit, though I know what you heard, all the rumors; they weren't true- they
hardly ever are.." and now she comes to a crashing hold at his last comment-
finally a tear sliding down her cheek, which she quickly moves to brush away-
though whether she managed to hide it or not is another question. "I.. he..
he hasn't taken advantage of me! Not at all, I tell you, you won't find a man
as sweet and caring as him in all of Bree, you just don't know him! He's
perfectly suitable..."

"Poor child," Hugh murmurs before he can help himself, and once again reaches
to pat Megan's arm awkwardly. Thankfully this time there's no bowl of broth
in the way. "Don't take on so, lass. I ... I hope ye'll be happy." That's as
much of a 'blessing' as he can manage, and somehow he doesn't seem convinced.
He goes on more briskly, "Anyway, thank ye fer yer kindness in bringin' me
the broth. Feel much better now - musta just been the cold as made me head
light there." He's back into 'rambling' mode. "Now, what was it I was goin'
ta do here again ...?" He rubs his brow.

Cold eyes again, sent briefly in Hugh's direction. "I aint no child, Hugh, nor
am I poor.." at the hand patting at her arm, she draws herself away and
stands up. "I will be happy- perfectly happy. I'm happier now than I ever
have been and I don't reckon there's anything that can go and spoil that..."
now she pauses and takes a deep breath, smiling sweetly (and sadly) to Hugh-
"I just wish you'd approve- you're like a grandda to me now, y'know? Feels
like my own family who's disapproving.. if only you'd see him now- he's the
perfect gentleman..I think you were comin' in to see someone? Either way, I'd
best be making my way home, it's getting late on and I have to clean up the
house- afore Andrick comes around..." A pause as she makes for the door-
"It's been nice seein' you again, Mr. Bramblefleece," she says, with a polite
smile, now hovering in the doorway a moment more before struggling with it
briefly and pushing her way outside and into the snow.

"Good day ta ye, Miss- Mrs- Thatcher." Hugh gets the hated word out at last,
accompanied by another fit of coughing; by the time he's got it under control
again Megan is outside the door. "Visitin', visitin'," he murmurs, clearly
trying to collect his memeory. "Ah, that was it. Now where's that Henry got
to ..." He climbs slowly and creakily to his feet, and his mutterings trail
off into silence.

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

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