A normal day in the Marish's favourite inn (home of the best beer in the Eastfarthing!), the Golden Perch: Marin Hilltop polishing glasses, Marishfolk bragging about the catch of the day, visitors to the area drinking ale. Only one thing is out of place, and that is the old, old hobbit sitting in a corner, scowling at the drinkers, and looking anxiously at a pocketwatch as though he's waiting for someone...

Well, perhaps 'tis a normal day on the inside of the Golden Perch, but the outside seems quite roweled up indeed. "That's right! These Bucklanders are tearing apart -your- reputation! Break -free-!" calls a voice, followed by several cheers (and a few bottles). Leaping from the stump-of-tree upon which he stood, Clodo Baggins walks right up to the door of -- and into -- the Golden Perch. His hat is removed with a sweep of his hand and it is hung onto brass hooks on the wall.

Filby looks up at the ruckus as the younger Baggins enters the inn, glaring at the fellow with one eye through his huge spectacles, watching Clodo's every move, like a cat ready to strike...

Marin, on the other hand, greets Clodo almost cheerfully, grunting a bit after the speech against Bucklanders (his family does, in fact, own some land near Buck Hill across the River), but does his best to look cheerful. He nods to the Baggins, gesturing to a menu nearby on the bar.

"Why thank you, Marlin!" Clodo exclaims, giving the tender a pat on the back as he takes the afforementioned menu into hand. "Such lovely foods after weary travel... perhaps soup would do best, eh? Fix me up then, Mister Marlin," the Baggins lad says to the servant, reclining back into the grasp of the wooden chair in which he sits.

Casually glancing over, his eyes catch sight of a certain hobbit in the corner -- the eyes of whom seem knives more than eyes. "Excuse me, there, sir... but... what seems to be the matter? Perhaps I could get you an ale, and you could come over here and join in this little crowd?" he suggests with a guesture to the throng in seats nearest the door.

From Bar, Marin -- not Marlin -- gets up and walks into the kitchen.

The old hobbit looks up again. "No... you come here."

Seeming a bit startled -- but not too much so -- Clodo slowly stands to his bare feet with narrow and inquisitive eyes. "Well... alright," he concedes slowly, though his brows are still woven with confusion.

At last he approaches the disgruntled, serpent-like form in the seat and takes the chair opposite of him. "What is it?" he inquires, but only then to his eyes widen in realization. It's Filby Pott.

Filby watches Clodo as he moves about the inn. He mumbles, "You don't look like it... but looks can be decieving..." Lowering his spectacles just a bit, the Pott looks piercingly into the Baggins' eyes and says, in a dark tone of voice, "Would your name be... Uer?"

The once knotted brows flatten and raise. "Uer?" questions the Baggins incredulously. "Perhaps I mis-heard you... did you say you 'were' something? Or... Pardon me, but... " Clodo's countenance is an expective one, ears perked toward the elder hobbit, brows in confusion once more.

"Er... one moment." Filby pulls a sheet of paper out of his pocket and unfolds it, reading it over. "Uer, Eru, Reu... ah, here it is." He looks piercingly at Clodo again. "Would your name be... Rue?"

Now Clodo's form is pulled tightly back against the seat and his eyes widen -- light up. "Heavens no! I wouldn't be 'Rue' or any other hobbitmaiden!" he exclaims, but then the light overtakes fury and he leans in closer, a smirk riding his lips. "You didn't happen to get a letter like... -this-... did you?" he askes mockingly, retrieving an envelope with a faded pair of lips on its back side.

Filby looks quizzically at Clodo. "Yes, that would explain quite a bit..." Then he looks at the envelope in the younger hobbit's hand. "My word! How- wha- where did you get that?!"

Chuckling merrily, Clodo relaxes into his seat and places the envelope on the table. "Go ahead -- read it! Everyone got one... at least, all the bachelours in Hobbiton did. That Rue Headstrong... what a tramp! Shows just how queer those Bucklanders can be!" he says, chuckling a bit more.

Filby looks at the paper he holds in his hands... "'My dearest darling, beloved Filby! - How long I have waited in silence to express my true feelings about you - and how my heart falls out of my chest onto the floor even now as I attempt with shaking hand to pen the words. . . .' My word, I've been had! That girl shall pay... in court!"

"Now, now... don't get carried away Mister Pott. Might hurt your... " Clodo leans closer. "candidacy." Still a slight smile rides upon his lips and he sits up to his full height. "Now, now... I'll go and pay for you some things to eat and drink -- you get up to a room and get some rest!" he insists.

"Nonsense! Poppycock! Jabberwocky, blatherskite, hooey!" The irate Filby stands up quickly, frumious in his rage, causing nearly everyone in the Perch to stare at him curiously. "I am leaving now, to return to Michel Delving in a fortnight. The Headstrongs shall pay dearly for this offense, I shall see to that!" With these words the aged halfing stumbles slithily out the swinging doors, slamming them closed!

~~~

The Letter:
The following letter, written in a rather formal but elegant script, arrives, sealed with perfume - and dare one note LIP PRINTS on the seal?!?!

My dearest darling, beloved Filby! - How long I have waited in silence to express my true feelings about you - and how my heart falls out of my chest onto the floor even now as I attempt with shaking hand to pen the words. . . . For some time now, I find that I cannot. . .simply cannot. . .stop thinking of you, even when we are apart - especially when we are apart!. . .My every thought is of what it would be if - if you returned my feelings. . .and were perhaps willing to - be my little seedcake. . . . I know you may think me plain and poor of words. . .but truly, dearest, there is nothing in the world I would not do to be worthy of your love. . .without you, I am but a dinner without mushrooms. . . .

Please, oh please, my most beloved. . .do not say a word. . .but answer me with your eyes when next we meet. . .for I cannot live without your love -

Always and ever,
Your beloved,
Rue

The Response:
A letter comes to you from young Terry Winkle, of the Quick Post, who quickly scurries off to deliver more mail.

You look at the envelope... it is white paper, signed in large, cursive letters: Filby Pott, 22 Elderberry Row, Michel Delving. As you open the envelope and remove the letter, unfolding it, you see that it is written in dark blue ink, in a steady, elegant calligraphy and signed in shiny green ink. It reads:

***

Dear Madam,

Thank you for that most... interesting of letters. I do not know who you are or why you feel so about me, but if it will quell your 'desire' I suggest we meet somewhere and discuss the formalities of the matter. I am currently leaving Tuckborough and an heading toward the Marish district, specifically Stock. The Golden Perch Inn would be most convenient.

A few items I expect of you, as per orders from the O.L.C. and certain rules set by Mistress Menegilda Brandybuck:

1) You will not speak to me until introduced. I shall have the innkeeper, Master Marin Hilltop, introduce us.
2) A ladyhobbit should never be alone with an un-married gentlehobbit. I shall ask Marin to remain in the room, though in a far corner so as not to overhear anything. This rule holds unless you are aged over forty, in which case Marin will be allowed to leave.
3) A ladyhobbit never makes social calls upon a gentlehobbit alone. You will bring a companion, though he will be allowed to remain outside.
4) A ladyhobbit should never let a gentlehobbit see more of her legs than her ankle. It is considered vulgar. If you do not own any dresses long enough to do so I suggest you buy one.
5) Neither you nor I shall wear shoes, boots, socks, stockings, galoshes, sandals, moccasins, or any footwear of any sort. It is considered vulgar.
6) A ladyhobbit never paints her toenails, that is considered vulgar. If yours are painted I suggest you remove the paint.
7) A ladyhobbit never wears glass jewelry. It is considered vulgar.

If any of these rules are broken I will notify the O.L.C.

You will recognise me by my appearance (post-centigenrarian with bald head and feet, large pointed ears) and my dress (large spectacles, red suit and green trousers).

If you are a Breelander, a Big Folk, a Dwarf, an Elf, a Goblin, a Troll, a Giant, an Ogre, or any sort of speaking animal or legendary creature you need not come.

Filby Pott

***

(OOC: Sorry for all the rules and the attitude. Filby is a supporter of the O.L.C. and an old curmudgeon, and I wanted this to reflect his persona.)