What
Just another day at the Delving General... or is it?

Who
Filby Pott (#29680)...........himself, Edwin Bunce
Stiffroot (#25770)............Socko Goodenough
Oveila Bracegirdle (#25593)...herself
Reginald Bolger (#3470).......himself

[unfinished]

In the general store it's the same as usual. Parents with their children walk in and out, tweenagers running errands, and old hobbits coming to find those necessary items that make life easier.

With a ring of a bell, the round door of the store opens and closes. The soft sound of padding feet can be heard as an aged hobbit clad in a great overcoat enters. He strolls leisurely to the counter, swinging a long, wooden cane back and forth. He stops at the counter and calls for the clerk.

The clerk arrives shortly. A short, fat hobbit with light brown hair he is, straight hair combed back, feet brushed, altogether well-groomed. He wears a faded green waistcoat and a pair of black trousers.

"Good-day, Mister Pott," he says, a cautious tone in his voice. "It's a... pleasure... to have you here as always..."

"Cut it out, Bunce," Filby snaps back. "You know it's my pottery that keeps you in business, Edwin, and if you keep this up I might stop providing."

Edwin grumbles. "See here, Pott, I sell more than pots. And you're not the only hobbit in the business. Even if you did withdraw our deal I could still find a suitable replacement."

"Face it, Bunce, I've got a monopoly on pots in the Shire and you know it," says Filby. "I'm the only provider for the things you've got. But enough of this nonsense. I'm not here to talk, I'm here for a new pair of curtains. Off with you, and return promptly with my purchase." The old hobbit waves the clerk off stuffily into a back room.

Through the door strides a hobbit--no surprises there! He is wide around the waist, his brazen belt buckle barely able to contain him, and tall for a hobbit; even so, he moves with the quiet grace of all young hobbits. He makes his way slowly and gently through the room, even though it seems that moving is not his favorite thing in the world to do.

The old hobbit notes the other's entrance. He mutters to himself and looks at the door to the back room. He shuffles in his place for a few minutes before taking a deep breath and shouting to the other room, "Bunce, you slowcoach! You've got another customer! Come on out here and help him, Bunce!"

A sound of grumbling comes from behind a door. Then a shout: "Well if you're so concerned about him why don't you help him, Pott? I'm getting you bloody curtains! Old fool..."

Filby sighs and grumbles, then looks over to the new arrival. "Edwin just gets like this sometimes. Between you and me, I think there's something wrong with that hobbit. Anyway, I'm Filby Pott... owner of Pott Enterprises, you may have heard of me. What do you need?" He looks down his nose through a small pair of spectacles at the other.

"Good afternoon!" says the newcomer, one Socko Goodenough, followed by a fruity chuckle. "I...well, that is to say that I came here with a list in my head but it seems to have slipped away from my wits. I'll pick it up in a bit though, I'm sure. If you don't mind me loitering about, that is." Then he scratches his head with a thick finger, and pushes a bit of hair out of his eyes.

"Not at all..." Filby mutters. He looks at Socko, then at the door to the back room, then back at Socko. He taps his left foot on the wooden floor anxiously. The aged halfling takes a quick glance out the windows of the store at the growing light outside, and sighs. "Well then..." he starts, in an attempt to make conversation, "I don't suppose you're from around here? I know most Delving folk, and you seem only vaguely familiar. Have we met?" He looks quizically at the Goodenough.

"No," Socko replies with a shake of his head, "us Goodenoughs don't come much to the Delving, I don't reckon. Leastways I don't, but I don't know about my queer sister. She does all sorts of strange things. I think that she is only my half-sister, really. I think father had a bit of a carousing romp with a fae woman. But don't take that to the bank." He hooks his thumbs in his belt and looks around surreptitiously.

Filby grins. "Oh, I won't. All these tales about fairies and elves and such are nothing but hogwash if you ask me." The Pott looks longlingly at the back door as he taps his feet and raps his cane. "A Goodenough, eh?" He says this and looks at Socko, wondering if he is 'good enough' or not. "You're a Marish family, am I correct? I make it down to Stock now and then. Spent quite a few years at the Home for Bewildered Hobbits, too, actually..." he trails off uncomfortably. "Anyway... eh... I don't suppose your sist- er, half-sister might be... what's the name... Calendula Goodenough, I think? In Frogmorton?"

"Well, I can't say that the name rings any bells," Socko says after a moment of wrinkled-brow thought. "My sister is called Carnation Goodenough. She's some sort of healer, or so she says. If she layed her hands on me, I would be none too happy about it. All she does is nag like my mother, may she rest in peace, and that is not at all good." Then he waves his hand around dismissively.

"Yes... yes, that's it. Carnation. The uncouth fool sent my... late son out in the cold when he stopped at the hospital or whatever they call it nowadays a few years ago." He sighs and looks down at the floor, still tapping a foot. He stands up straight then, and calls loudly at the back door, "Bunce, Edwin Bunce, where are you? I'm waiting out here!" He groans and turns back to Socko. "Just between you and me, I think Bunce needs to learn some respect for his elders." He mutters.

"I couldn't agree with you more, Mister Pott!" Socko agrees with several emphatic up and down nods of his head. His chin waggles like that of a feasting turkey. "She is quite uncouth, and she has no respect for her family. Didn't a wise-hobbit once say that familiness is next to godliness? What she needs, I think, is a nice man in her life. But she doesn't seem to have a liking for any of my respectable gentlemen. What a strange person!" His vexation makes him nearly short of breath, although he regains it quickly.

The door bangs open, chime clanging, as a strong gust giving it that extra push to throw it violently back. The ladyhobbit, Oveila Bracegirdle, who opened the door jumps in fright, a small mouse-like "Eek!" escaping her thin lips. Hurriedly she reclaims the door handle, using both hands to tug it back shut behind her, but not before a few errant snowflakes flutter in.

"Sorry, sorry!" she exclaims nervously, to no one in particular, losing the thick golden scarf tightly hugging her neck. After briefly perusing the room and its patrons, she begins to browse. She starts by examining some silverware on a display near the door, tapping idly on the case. Then she strolls a little to the right and sees something that seems to really perk her interest- a clothing rack. She mulls over it for a second, inspecting each article carefully, before turning around.

"Excuse me, where is the store clerk?"

Pott puffs up considerably. "Of course; indeed, I believe that it was my great-great-great..." He pauses to count on his fingers. "...great-great-... well, my ancestor, Baron Feldo Pott who said that. A great hobbit he was, some few hundred years ago, and knew the King, they say. Well, not very well, of course, but... oh! The clerk?" He turns to see Oveila walk in.

"The clerk? What cl... oh yes, you mean old Eddie. He's in the back, looking for-"

Filby is cut off as the back door bursts open and a great heap of walking curtains stumbles into the main store. The lump of cloth shuffles past the counter and up to Mister Pott, and a muffled voice comes from inside...

"Here's your curtains, Pott, take your bloody pick!" With these words Edwin Bunce, the store clerk dumps the curtains about Filby, turns about, storms into the back room, and slams the door behind him.

Filby sighs. "I told you there's something wrong with that hobbit..."

Socko Goodenough watches the clerk strangely, "Rather so, Mister Pott! Quite strange indeed. I wonder...which side of the Water is he from? But no matter, at least he keeps a good store." Then he looks at Oveila for a minute, simply because she is there and standing in front of some items that he remembered he needed to get.

"Hold-" Oveila wails, bounding up to the counter to catch the store clerk, arriving at the desk just as he exits once more. "....Up," she mumbles quietly with a sigh, leaning up against the counter. The heap of curtains looms behind her like a mountain. "Something wrong with him?" she mutters bitterly, glancing at the elderly hobbit. "There most certainly is something wrong with him! I've never seen such a merchant! The service I've recieved since I came to this town..." She shakes her head slowly, with distaste. After a moment of thought, she brightens a bit, looking at the conversing pair. "Well then- could either of you help me find the mittens? The only clothing I see is hanging from that rack, and as mittens can't hang, I really do wonder where they are kept."

The annoying jangling of that little bell suspended above the door prognosticates the entrance of yet another customer, his arrival timed shortly after Mister Bunce's departure. The thick purple cloak in which he has wrapped himself and the scarf wound around his neck make the dandy nearly unidentifiable. Still there is that obnoxious pink feather jutting from his wide-brimmed purple hat, backstabber, betrayer of the hobbit's identity. "Fhat phubbit thure wash inna wush!" Reggie exclaims as he fumbles to unwind his scarf with mittened hands.

"Mister Bolger...?" Filby turns his attention away from Socko, Oveila, and the heap of curtains at his feet to look at the new arrival. He almost staggers as he sees the gaudy hat. "Reginald, is that you? Well, come in old chap, long time no see..." He motions for the Bolger.

Turning back to Oveila he says, matter-of-factly, "Just between you and me, Ed's not all there."

A shout comes from the back room. "I heard that, Pott!"

"Butt out, Bunce!" Filby cries. "You must excuse him, his manners aren't what they should be. As for mittens, I'd suggest you look... over there..." The Pott points to a box of clothes a few yards away.

"Thanks very much, sir!" Oveila walks over to the box, fishing around for a pair of gloves. At last she finds a thick green pair, which she promptly tries on. "A perfect fit!" she exclaims, returning to the counter with them still snug around her hobbit hands. She reaches into a pocket of her purse and produces a few coins. She tosses them onto the counter with a shout- "Master Bunce! I am purchasing a pair of mittens! Your payment lies on the counter!"

And so, with a nod to the other patrons, she exits, much more quietly than she came.

Teeth like tombstones are revealed as the Bolger finally manages to unwind his scarf enough to take a deep breath. "Hello there Mister Pott!" He greets enthusiastically, bending himself somewhat at the waist. The eccentric salesman's mobility is obviously impeded by the many layer he wears, as he is forced to waddle forwards. "It has been a long time. An AWFUL long time! You seem to be in prime physical condition however Mister Pott!" Green eyes shift to Oveila as she departs, he offers a smile but is too late.

"I wonder," muses Socko loudly enough for Master Bunce to hear, "if he would notice if I accidentally slipped these little coins into my pocket?" Of course, he is a Goodenough and would never think of doing such a thing.

"Don't even think about it." A voice comes from the back room.

"Come now, Ed, you know the lad's just having some fun there! Spoil sport..." Filby calls.

The back door opens a crack and the clerk leans out. "Spoil sport? Need I remind you which one of us is not only a member of but the -political champion- of the Nobottle Temperance League? Take that and choke on it, Pott!" He pops back into the back room and slams the door.

"Cracked fool..." Filby mutters, "...but no matter. Reggie, old boy, old chap, how have you been? It has been far too long."

Plucking the feathered hat from his head, the dandy tucks it beneath his arm. "I've been well enough I do suppose. As well as can be expected with this absolutely HORRID weather that is!" Despite his negative outlook on the current weather conditions the bright Bolger's smile fades not one iota. "And what of you Mister Pott? How's business?" He asks conversationally.

Shifting to peer at the shelves Reginald manages to spot what he entered for in the first place. He is a little hesitant at first about climbing the ladder, but conquering his fear of the rickety item he manages to retrieve a flint and steel set without injury. "Ah.. there we go." The hobbit says, dumping soem coin on the atable and shuffling towards the exit. "I'll be seeing you Mister Pott! Take care now!" HIs voice then becomes considerably muffled as the scarf is rewrapped around his face.