Blue Goose Inn A large and spacious bed and breakfast, this is the only inn in Buckland. The corner nearest the door contains a huge fireplace, boasting a roaring fire. Numerous tables and chairs made of solid oak are scattered across the inn, and on the west wall a large bar is lined with worn stools bolted to the floor. The tables are decorated with pale blue tableloths and small arrangements of Bucklebury daisies and wildflowers. A narrow staircase snakes upward to a small reception area. Topaz handles the establishment, pouring drinks and waiting tables.

The inn is somewhat empty, with only a few hobbits spread around the tables in front of the fire.

Type THELP for help with the tables.
Contents:
Merry
Topaz
The Shire Chronicle (paper) - Blue Goose Inn Copy
Obvious exits:
Upstairs leads to Upstairs Hall, Blue Goose Inn.
Out leads to Bucklebury.

~~~

RL Date: 2/2/03

IC Date: 6/9/28

~~~

Dramatis Personae:

Merry Brandybuck
Merry Brandybuck stands before you, his hands stuffed in his pockets, with a relaxed, unconcerned look on his face. His hair is sandy brown, tinged here and there with lighter tones from the sun, and looks in need of a trim. A pair of large blue eyes peek out under somewhat unkempt bangs, resting over a strong, noble nose. Merry's smile is broad, and his teeth are straight; he seems to have a perpetual smirk. His round face is splotched with a few freckles, especially about the cheeks.

For clothing, he picks useful, well-made garments. A clean, white linen shirt (but unbuttoned on the last few) rests under a brown and green striped weskit, adorned with brass buttons. A very handsome belt keeps everything together, cinched around his ample waist, with a shiny brass buckle. Around his shoulders, he carries a somewhat worn cloak, though it is certainly still in good condition; the cloak is dark brown, almost black, and has a brass brooch in the shape of a stag upon it. Merry's feet are unshod, but from time to time, if he is in a more adventurous mood, he will wear a pair of floppy old boots.

Lotho Sackville-Baggins
Despite his relative youth, this Hobbit of about average height and under-average weight exudes an aura of aloof coldness, not just in his attitude but in his bearing. His skin is pale, and despite a fairly respectable stomach his fingers are very thin.

His face is pale and almost gaunt, and dotted, especially on his chin and broad forehead, with pimples. His hair is sandy brown and neatly combed and parted in the centre; dull grey eyes reflect a sort of cold intelligence. His nose is small and his brows and pale lips are thin.

His clothes are of the finest make, perfectly hemmed and immaculately clean. Over a high-collared white shirt and peach cravat he wears a double-breasted leaf-green waistcoat with silver buttons and, over that, a peach coat. Its buttons are gold and its cufflinks diamond in a gold setting, each pair linked by an ormolu chain. His trousers are white, with gold trim at the end of the legs. His feet, kept perfectly scrubbed, are topped with hair as sandy-brown and neatly-combed as that on his head.

On his coat's left breast pocket is embroidered a small image of his family's coat-of-arms: arms quarterly: first and fourth sable, three bags or; second and third vert, a sack argent and tobacco leaf proper.

~~~

As the evening approaches, it is a welcome break from the hot dryness of this day in the Shire. Hobbits all about the Shire have been seeking respite from the recent heatwave, ducking under umbrellas, and trying not to toil too much in the sunlight. As the sun begins its descent into the horizon, and as dinnertime quickly approaches, most folk aim to find relief from heat and from hunger. And what better place to do such a thing than the Blue Goose Inn? Any Bucklander will tell you the ale is more than satisfactory, and the company is -- if a little queer -- certainly entertaining.

Even the Master of Buckland's son, Merry Brandybuck, has found a haven in the Blue Goose Inn. He's sitting by the fire with a large book on his lap; his unshod feet are up on the table in front of him, and there is a half-empty mug of ale on his left. The book is entitled 'Herbs and Lore: The Plants of the Shire', and he seems rather engrossed with it; his bright eyes are narrowed as he peruses the pages, gnawing on his bottom lip. It seems the young Bucklander is more interested in scholarly endeavours this evening than causing a ruckus...

The sounds of loud grumbling and complaining accompany a sandy-haired and pimple-faced Hobbit down the carpeted stairs from the bedrooms. Carrying a few bags with clothes sticking out, Lotho Sackville-Baggins' face clearly displays an angry, despondent look as he growls to himself. He crosses the room to a table, placing his bags on the floor as he sits down. Though he seems not to notice, so absorbed with matters of his own, he has chosen a table directly next to Meriadoc's.

Lotho leans on the tabletop with his head in his hand, muttering to himself and staring at the fire. "Bloody good party, indeed. Assaulted by the hostess herself, not to mention that thrice-damned tomboy! Never have I been more humiliated. Mother MUST know about this." He looks up at the front counter. "Service!" he shouts. "I'm hungry!" With a disgusted sigh Lotho goes back to staring at the fire and complaining.

It wasn't the walking, or the grumbling; it wasn't even the pungent odor that Lotho gave off that alerted Merry to his presence: no, just the bellowing. Merry blinks, surprised, from behind his book, and peers over the top. He wrinkles his nose in distaste, as if he's just bitten into a bit of Estella's pudding. A few choice words on his behalf are muttered. Then, for a moment, there is some kind of dileberation that goes on inside him... he shifts his eyes from his book, to Lotho, then back to the book. But he cannot hold on.

"No one's deaf here, you know," he says, at last, his tone cool and even. "Good evening, Mr. Sackville... Baggins." Merry draws out the ellipses with a wry smirk. "And who isn't hungry? It's dinnertime. As you can see, it's a bit busy here, so I suspect you might have a bit of a delay with your service." Merry reaches over and sips his ale before returning nonchalantly back to his book.

Lotho looks up as Merry addresses him and starts to utter an obscene remark, but swallows his words and stares as he sees the young Brandybuck. "Not you..." he mutters, leaning into his hand again, sighing defeatedly. "Go away," says Lotho, "and don't add insult to injury." He shakes his head and groans.

Merry's book closes with a snap. "Go away?" he says, with a high laugh. "Me? Go away? Wait, wait, no--you see, we are in *Buckland* my good... sir..." Merry appears to have to pick his words very carefully. "That's where I'm from. The BrandyBUCK part of my name implies as such. You--being of a Sackville origin--would be a visitor here. So, if I am bothering you, I suggest you depart."

"Shut your fat mouth, Brandybuck," growls Lotho without bothering to look up. "I've been feeling awful the last couple of days, nursing my wounds and all, and you are certainly not helping me feel any better!" He looks up and starts to call to an employee for service again, but shakes his head, sighs, and leans back into the table. "I hate the food here, anyway."

"I am sorry about that," says Merry, frowing genuinely; there is a momentary look of concern on his face. "I don't know what would possess a girl to do such a thing. I think it was rather uncalled for... I do hope you're not in too much pain, though. Some of those lasses pack quite a punch." The Brandybuck grins, jovially--sincerely--and chuckles.

Lotho grins and chuckles as well for a moment - then remembers who he's grinning and chuckling to, and the frown spreads back across his face once more. He rolls his eyes and sighs. "I hold and shall ever hold to my ever-so-low opinion of you, Merry; make no mistake of that. But thank you, for once." He snorts. "Eh. I'll live."

Merry sighs, it seems his effort is spent. "I just can't understand what would drive someone to that... that kind of behaviour. I for one can sympathize--though we've had our moments, I have never been driven to acts of violence toward you." Merry takes down his feet from the table, and taps them on the floor a few times, his rough callouses scratching against the woodgrain. "And I suggest the mushrooms and sausages, if you're in the mood for that. I haven't the highest opinion of the food here, myself."

"No," says Lotho. "No, you haven't. And don't think that I don't appreciate that." He laughs sardonically. "But then, neither has Frodo, and the whole Shire knows what I think of him. And no, I'll not be having dinner, thank you." Looking up, he scratches his chin for a moment before quickly leaving his seat and plopping down in a chair across from Merry at his own table. "I didn't even touch either of them, you know," he says - steering the conversation back to his own problem, of course. "It was a totally unprovoked attack."

"I realize that," says Merry, attempting to hide the surprised look on his face when Lotho joins him at the table. "And I personally would like to apologize. I've never seen quite a show like that... it wasn't civil, that's for certain. You should know that my father is dealing with the situation as we speak; I imagine they won't be invited back to Brandy Hall for some time until they can deal with themselves in a better manner." Merry takes another sip of his ale, putting it back on the same ring it left on the table before. "I physically removed a Tookish cousin of mine from the Oaten Pipe a few seasons ago; but he deserved it. Didn't hurt the fellow, just showed him what's what. But that's a cousin--a friend, in a way. I don't expect... I don't expect this situation had that same slant to it at all. Just... boorish, really. I know I'd be locked in the cellar if I acted like that..." Merry's eyes go wide, as if he's recalling something, but he quickly snaps out of it and gives a shy grin to Lotho.

Lotho chuckles. "Yes, well, that snotty Hildinand had it coming to him, anyway." He shrugs. "Well, your apology is noted, and accepted. And I suppose I ought to apologize for calling you a dog last night, too." With a sigh, Lotho shakes his head and leans back in his chair. "I'm glad Saradoc is dealing with it. Such criminals-in-the-making have no right to be running helter-skelter about the Shire." The smallest glint of playfulness appears in his lifelss grey eyes. "It's good to know that your father isn't completely useless, heh." He winks.

Merry wrinkles his nose, again, as if he's caught a bad whiff of something; for a moment, there is a passing gleam in his eye--a competitive, scheming kind of look. With a deep breath it is gone, and he blinks at Lotho. "Good for many things," says Merry calmly, setting down both of his hands on the tabletop, spreading his fingers, as if to get a good grip. "He is a smart hobbit, Lotho, and he will deal with this swiftly, and hopefully without trouble. You should expect a certified letter of apology soon, when you get back home..." He pauses, tilting his head to the side, watching Lotho, and says: "You traveled here all alone, did you? May I ask why?"

"Yes, I'll be expecting a couple of letters..." says Lotho quietly, but stops himself from going on any longer. "Why, Merry? Oh, no reason. As I told you at the party, I never pass up a free meal, even if I don't know the person holding the event, and I had met this Saphire person before, anyway." He shrugs. "And I need to check on my mother's treacle mine in Rushey upon my return to the Shire. You of all people know that I don't come to the Buckland very often." Lotho shakes his head and once again brings the conversation back to the only Hobbit that matters in his world: himself. "And really, broccoli? She really was asking for me to give her hell about it. I mean, I despise broccoli. I hate it more than anything." He pauses, laughs quietly, and grins. "Except Frodo, of course."

Holding up a finger in warning, Merry raises his eyebrow. "I don't mind you speaking ill of broccoli givers, Lotho, but my cousin Frodo is a dear, dear hobbit. I can't tolerate you speaking so badly of him, that I can't." Merry does not threaten, he just warns, and his blue eyes regard Lotho seriously, sternly. Quite a bit of mettle in this hobbit, it seems. "Saphire gave me a lovely weskit, actually. Quite thoughtful. Though I don't dress up too often, it'll be good to have for an occasion if necessary."

Lotho chuckles dryly and shakes his head. "I meant nothing by it." He hesitates for a moment, then says, with no small effort, "I'm sorry. Though I daresay you can't totally dismiss my frustration at Frodo, Bag End, and the whole affair." He shakes his head ruefully. "I know that most people take me for a cold, heartless copy of Mister Filby Pott, albeit younger and far more handsome. And I'm not at all ashamed of that. But I do have feelings of my own, you know, and few people respect that at all."

Merry picks at his teeth with his thumbnail, and shrugs. "I don't think everyone sees you like that, Lotho. But you--well, you don't always give the other impression, really, that of being a kind, warm-hearted person. Granted, there are plenty who agree with you on the Frodo business, and I *do* see your point, even if I don't... accept it, really. But, let's be frank, Lotho, you're not exactly a philathropist," says the Brandybuck, raising his brow so his eyebrows vanish beneath his unruly mop of hair. "You are what you are."

"Once again," says Lotho, "I'm not terribly ashamed of it." He chuckles humorlessly and shakes his head. "So, I give people a hard time sometimes, and they react. It's nothing personal. It's not as though I've seriously hurt anyone." Lotho laughs. "Can you really blame everything on me alone, though? I should say, if you'd lived in the same hole with Lobelia Sackville-Baggins as your mother for forty-four years of your life, I rather doubt you'd be so cheerfully outgoing, yourself." He smirks.

"You have a point, again," says Merry, leaning back in his chair. He links his hands behind his head, and purses his lips. "Some might say I've had quite the privileged upbringing. And... well, the few times that I've run into ... your mother ... I do... see what you mean by that." He clears his throat, and averts his eyes. "My parents are most admirable people themselves. Sometimes it's difficult being their only child, but I think it's given me a lot of freedom, too. I get to travel, I get to meet lots of people. It's rather a comforting thing to feel as if the whole Shire is your home."

Lotho chuckles, "And I daresay my parents were the most heartless, ruthless bastards ever to walk the Shire. There's nothing to like about Mother, and Otho... well, may he rot, wherever he is. I'll drink to that." He shrugs. "And I do know what you mean, about the Shire and all. There's a good lot to be gleaned from its fertile fields, and I wouldn't give the benefits I reap from living in it for anything."

"We are, in many ways, reflections of the land around us," says Merry, nodding to Lotho. "You may want to reap from the fields, but I just want to walk through them. I really have no interest in anything that you do, whatsoever. I tend to think the fields are best left to themselves, even to grow fallow. High wheat in the summer is a beautiful sight to behold," he says. Merry takes a deep breath, his eyes closing slightly, "And that mill... that mill is not my favorite place in the Shire. An eyesore is what it is. But that--that's to me, mind you. Not everyone would agree."

"Merry, you must jest. That old mill is a marvel of engineering, and I can think of a hundred different ways to improve on it to increase productivity and efficiency and decrease expenses. Why, if only there were a river near Sackville, I'd build one of my very own." Lotho chuckles to himself and shrugs. "But no matter. I must be going, you know." He pushes away from the table and stands up, stretching and yawning without covering his mouth.

"I can't agree with you there, Lotho--I do think you cannot be reached on certain levels," says Merry, laughing lightly again. He rakes his hand through his curls and shrugs. "It was--it was actually good talking with you. I hope you find your way back home safely; and sorry again for the whole ... incident..." The Brandybuck winks, and waves.

Lotho laughs. "Indeed. I don't have an opportunity to just... talk very often. I do appreciate it. Thank you," he says, sincerely. Yet his countenance darkens quickly, and he says, quietly, "But don't think this changes anything. I am what I am, like you said." He smirks and clears his throat. "And if you so much as breath a word about our conversation to any soul in the Shire - ESPECIALLY Frodo - you shall surely regret it. Understand? I have a certain reputation to uphold, after all."

"Mum's the word, Mr. Sackville-Baggins," says Merry, very seriously, but playfully all the same. He salutes the mogul with an exaggerated motion, and chuckles. "Now, it's back to reading for me, I'm glad to say. Herblore. Fascinating subject. I've always wanted to write a book on it." With that, Merry grabs his volume again, and pages through it. He finds his spot, and goes about reading once again; of course, he replaces his feet on the table as well.

"Yes," says Lotho. He gathers up his bags and just stands there for a moment, looking at the fire. Then, he sighs and looks over. "Have a nice night, Merry," he says quietly before heading to the door and exiting the inn.