What
Three Mayoral Candidates, Filby Pott, Willemina Took, and Firobrus Clayhanger, meet on the road.

Who
Filby Pott (#29680)..........himself, Rod Prudhomme
Timothy Twofoot (#29051).....Willemina Took
Firobrus Clayhanger (#???)...himself

The grinding of wheels can be heard as a large pony-drawn coach approaches from the south. The wagon slows down as it enters the town of Budge Ford, stopping about fifty yards from the bridge over the Water. Filby Pott hops off and walks slowly to a large tree off the road, which he sits down beneath, relaxing.

A figure leadind a pony can be barely made out in the distance under the dim light of a lamppost. "Niiirrrrrmm," whinney's the hoofed beast, apparently tired and displeased by his burden of heavy saddlebags and a wooden chest. "Easy now, Beauty," calms the voice of a ladyhobbit, "once we're in Frogmorton I'll scrub you down with some nice peppermint oil."

Filby looks up from his nap at the noise. "Hrmm? What was... oh never mind..." He slumps back down again. As the sounds grow louder, though, he sits up to see what it is.

Willemina draws her lantern towards Filby's general direction and calls out, "Hullo, who's there?" Backing up against her pony, the ladyhobbit peers into the darkness beyond her light. The pony remains indifferent and takes interest in the grass growing at the side of the road.

"My word! Who-- wha-- " Filby sputters, "Turn off that light!" The Pott flails a bit before rising to his feet. "Who are you, and what are you doing interrupting me sleep?"

A soft chuckle can be heard as the ladyhobbit lowers the lantern in her right hand. "So that was your snoring I heard, sir?" Resting her eyes upon Filby, she continues, "I'm sorry if I disturbed you, but I knew not of your slumber. My name is Ms. Willemina Took and I'm on my way to Frogmorton."

"Sorry? I should hope so..." says Filby, rather frumiously. "And another th-- Took, you say? Willemina?" The aged halfling thinks for a moment. "I don't suppose that you're running for Mayor... are you?" He looks quizzically at the ladyhobbit.

"Well I am sorry, sir and yes I am running for Mayor," the ladyhobbit replies. With a ring of laughter, she remarks, "Who are you sir? You vaguely remind me of my uncle, Peligrim."

Filby looks at Willemina with a queer look in his eye. "Your uncle? Why, to liken a Pott to a Took is a dire insult," He straightens up. "My name, madam," this word he spits out with contempt, "is Filby Pott, patron, wealthy," this word he emphasizes, "and mayoral candidate."

Firobrus comes up from the south, from the Village of the Whitfurrows. He notices the harsh words between the two, and comes up behind Filby quietly, then says rather loudly, "Yada, yada, yada! Riches mean nothing if you can't be nice to ladies and such, ya alespot!"

Filby says, "Oh, no, not you again..."

Willemina frowns, "Sir, an insult? Nay, I meant no insult to you. There's no need to be so angry and I'll let you back to your sleep if it would you happy."

Pott groans and slumps back down under the tree. "I wish I could sleep, but with Clayhanger here, I don't know..." Filby shakes his head in contempt, trying to concentrate on sleeping.

Firobrus replies quite calmly, "Aye, with me around, you might not want to sleep, I see. You're scared of everybody, aren't you, Mr. Pott?"

Willemina smiles apologetically and unties a small pouch. "I'm sorry that you cannot sleep sir, but perhaps a seedcake might help you feel better." She holds out the bag to the Pott.

"Keep your food, girl, I'm not hungry..." Filby folds his arms and slumps down beneath his tree. "Blasted Tooklanders think they're all high and mighty..."

Firobrus looks up, replying quite calmly yet again, (Doesn't he ever get mad?) "Who's high and mighty? May I remind you of a rather bad attitude you had in the Bridge Inn a few days back, sir. You were rather rude, if I may say so."

Filby grunts and begins to snore.

Willemina shrugs and shakes her head, "As you wish, sir, but I do not consider myself so high and mighty. I believe that I'm no better than any other hobbit."

Firobrus nods, "As do I, Ms. .... Took, I understand from our exchange with Mr. Pott here. Would you by any chance be Willemina Took, my fellow mayoral candidate?"

Willemina nods to Firobrus, "Indeed I am, sir. My goal is to restore the bonds between the Shire and Buckland. We hobbits ought to be making merry instead of quarreling."

Firobrus extends his hand, "Well said, Ms. Took! I believe exactly the same thing, to the letter! Though, sometimes it's better not to be merry, as it can make you careless in important matters."

Willemins says, "Of course some things must be taken seriously, but there's been too much of that in recent months and I believe it's time that we went back to our roots. We need a balance somewhere."

Firobrus nods, "Even now, I am trying to stop whatever is in Buckland, killing all the Bucklanders. I'm absolutely conviced it isn't a Dryad, but what is it?"

Filby mumbles in his sleep, "Queer... Bucklanders..."

"Something unatural I warrant," Willow replies, "but not magical. Have any hobbits even examined the body for clues to what could have done it?"

Filby wakes up. "Rod? What are you doing here? Get back home now!"

Rod says, "Sorry, uncle... I'll be going now..."

Rod Prudhomme rushes off in response to the call of another customer. "I'm getting run ragged these days!"

Firobrus shakes his head, "I fear not, they are all too afraid of the /Dryad/," he says with some contempt, but not of you, "I just can't understand why some hobbits must cook up every superstition, just to avoid a confrontation with the real culprit!"

Willemina shrugs, "I haven't an inkling, but if elected, I would take immediate action if I were elected as mayor." Midnight Beauty whinneys and stamps his foot with discomfort. "Oh Beauty!" Willemina exclaims, "I ought to be making for Frogmorton at once. My poor pony's been dragging that heavy load all afternoon."

Looking up from his seat Filby grumbles, "Good ridance to both..."

Firobrus shoots one last disdainful look in Filby's direction, "You, sir, do not deserve to be mayor. I hope you don't get a single vote, sir."

Filby says, "Wishful thinking, Clayhanger, wishful thinking..."

Willemina chuckles, "Oh Mr. Clayhanger, I'm sure he's just got a bad bark, with hardly any bite." Before mounting her pony, she tips her hat and says politely, "Good luck to the both of you in the elections. May the best hobbit win."

Firobrus nods, "Probably not me, then ma'am. Mayhaps you, but I fear I'm a might too mean for my own good." He nods respectfully once more, and watches her ride off.