Featuring (all Shirefolk hobbits): Filby (#29680), Lotho (#18781), Samwise (#30066) as Poesy, and Willemina (#29051) as Kaliadoc.

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RL (Arizona) time is Sat Dec 30 20:21:15 2000 (+time).
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IC time is about 6 AM on Sunday Rethe (March) 9, 1422 S.R.
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IC Weather Conditions
It is cool and fresh on this Rethe day.
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Town Hole
The Town Hole of Michel Delving is the seat of government in the Shire, and looks like it. It is one large room, its blue walls regally decorated with elegant hangings and seals, a large map of the Shire, and the official employment charts of the Shire. In the east corner is a large round table used for official meetings, and just across from that is the Mayor's desk, cluttered with papers and colored inkwells.
Contents:
Poesy
Lotho
Record Vault
Family Vault
Obvious exits:
Out leads out to Michel Delving.

The door of the town hole opens slowly and a hobbit walks in, clad in a heavy brown overcoat, a grey top hat, a pair of black slacks, and a pair of slim leather boots steps inside, closing the door behind him. He wipes his boots on a mat by the door and removes them, placing them by a hatrack near the door. He removes his coat and hangs them on the coatrack, placing his hat on another peg adjacent to the coat's. This done, he strides inside toward the centre of the room.

Lotho sits impatiently in the foyer of the Town Hole. He appears to be yawning rather uncouthly (by not covering his mouth). Recognizing the fellow who recently arrived, he straightens up, however, and hops to his feet. "Why, Mr. Pott, is that you? Such a pity we couldn't finish our brief breakfast the other morning in Hardbottle. I'm afraid my cousin Basil was a bit disruptive. I think his association with the Eligible Bachelors has gotten him into a bit of an irreverant streak, but there's no accounting for simple manners. I do apologize." Lotho smiles obsequiously to the Delving widower.

Like a delicate flower just ripe for the picking, so is Poesy Took. Her elegant features and delicate movements insist her impeccable lineage--and the gentle upturn of her nose asserts her status. With one gloved white hand she keeps her fur coat closely fastened around her neck, and the other she holds out--drooping slightly--ahead of her. Her smooth complection is lightly kissed with the crimson that comes from exertion. She sniffs the air as she enters the Town Hole, and sneers--and all the lovliness seems to fall from her--"Where is my father?" Her voice, high pitched and certainly far from delicated, seems to cut the air like a knife. "Where *is* he?" She demands, and does not ask, looking in an accusatory fashion at Lotho.

Filby nods to Lotho. "Ah, Mister Sackville-Baggins... a pleasure seeing you here. And that's perfectly all right, no need to apologise... Basil is a bore and a boor, but he's harmless. A bit off in the head, I suspect. At any rate he's not your responsibility." He clears his throat and coughs. "A nice hole this is, I should say," says Filby in a distracted tone, changing the subject. "I should enjoy working here wh-- er, if I win the elections." The old hobbit looks about the room, nodding silently to himself.

Lotho smiles to Filby as he is addressed, but then his head jerks to the side as the young hobbitmaid approaches him demanding information. Showing his palms to Poesy with a halting motion, the Sackville-Baggins looks slightly uncomfortable, "Madam, I am not an employee here, I have legal business pending with the clerk of court. Regardless, I have no way of answering your question since I have no idea who your father is." He takes a step back to admire the hobbitmaid's finery, and then bows with a fawning flourish, "Lotho Sackville-Baggins, entrepreneur and businesshobbit, at your service. This good fellow is the distinguished Filby Pott, who lives here in town. And who might you be...?" He seems drawn to the lady's fashions like a moth to flame.

A look of pure astonishment alights upon Poesy's face as she raises her chin just a hair more as Lotho addresses her. "Who might I be?" she echoes, blinking her eyes furiously. Her eyes then widen to gigantic proportions as she holds out her hand, and she looks away from Lotho. "I am Poesy Took, the daughter of Gravontius Took of Great Smials! I am here visiting, with my father, who is here on very important business. I was left here with our butler while my father was in a meeting, but he seems to still be busy. I assumed you were one of the oafs he was talking with..." Flashing her eyes at Filby, then looking down her nose at Lotho, she raises a red eyebrow. "That is all you need to know."

"Eh?" Filby turns toward Poesy, taking note of the ladyhobbit. "Ah, good-day, miss." He bows to the other, but angles his nose upward as he stands. "And I would not speak in such a manner if I were you; I am, after all, the head of a wealthy family in this area, and Mister Sackville-Baggins is, I believe, heir to his family's headship. Oafs I should say we are not." He clears his throat and gives the Took a sidelong glance.

"Quite right! I'm no Town Hall lackey working for Mayor Whitfoot and his cronies." He exhales in frustration, looking about the hole for some sort of attendant to wait upon him. "As you can see, I'm here on rather urgent business myself." He shows the other two a stack of documents. "These need filing with the clerk of court, but I fear our dear Mayor Whitfoot has been so busy campaigning that his administration has come to a grinding halt in the interrim." He takes a hankerchief out of his breast pocket and thoroughly wipes his face. Not only is one layer of perspiration removed, but so is a sheen of oil having exuded from his pores. In fact, a few red pimples break off into the hankerchief, causing spots of blood to begin clotting on the fellow's face.

"Petty aristocracy," mumbles Poesy into her collar and then bats her eyelashes at Filby. "Do pardon me if I in any insulted you--but you do see, I am a Took. There is a certain level of respect that is due with the name--and I am quite sure you know that," she says, her voice becoming much more sweet. She bites her lip softly and turns her attention to Lotho, "I'm sure you... have.. a certain level of social stature, we all do... but... well... that's besides the point. My visit here has been replete with disater after disaster... I am no longer concerned with pithy arguments." Glancing at the pile of papers, she shrugs, completely disinterested. "It's about dignity."

"Dignity?" mumbles Filby, glaring at Poesy. "What dignity has one who speaks so to any hobbit? Aristocracy aside, I believe that I am justified in saying that I am a rather important person in these parts, as is Mister Sackville-Baggins in the Southfarthing. And as we all know the Tooks are, despite any kinship with the Thain, not a very respectable family. But enough of this... petty squabbling," he brushes the matter aside with a wave of his hand, "I have not seen let alone met your father in all my days in the Delvings." He clears his throat and looks away, admiring the Mayor's desk.

"Really, madam, there's nothing petty about it at all. If you've studied your genealogy, and I see that you haven't, you'd realize I am the direct heir for Baggins headship! Once my poor mother passes on to the ever-after, that is." He looks solemnly upwards. "Surely you've heard of Otho and Lobelia Sackville-Baggins? If you haven't, clearly you run in the wrong social circles, my dear." He dabs at his bleeding acne, slightly, and then stuffs the hankerchief into his pocket. "You speak of your father as if he were the Thain. And, important though he may be, I am a Baggins, and better yet, a Sackville-Baggins! Now that that's clear," Lotho softens and smiles a toothy grin to the lass, "What business did you say your father had in town?" He looks exceedingly interested in this.

A laugh, a truly beautiful--but not well-purposed--laugh, drips from Poesy's lips. Her eyes fill with merriment, and her long curls bounce with the force of her giggles. Putting a white gloved hand to her mouth, she shakes her head, "Oh, dear... but aren't you a silly old hobbit?" This, of course, is directed towards Filby. "You talk so seriously! It must be beastly to be so dreadfully dour all the time!" She sighs, and puts her hands to her sides, "Well, I can see that neither of you shall be of any help to me. But what is a Took to do, stranded in the Delvings! So morbid!" She smirks at Lotho, "If you do not know my father's business, well, I'm afraid it is *you* who run in the wrong social circles. It is not my fault that you are deprived of true stature... but nonetheless, I have heard of you... and I do believe I have met your mother... if you have half the mettle she does, you should be worth something, at least." She turns on her heel, and looks over her shoulder, "And I shall be off now... it is time for me to find my father, wherever he may be. I cannot thank you for help, for you were none!" With a little "hmph!" she is gone out the door again.

"Silly old hobbit?" scowls Filby. "Too serious? You try living through what I have over a period of one-hundred eight years and then see how merry you feel." He coughs, covering his mough with his hand, and watches the ladyhobbit leave. "Well, that was queer," he mutters. "A shame how little respect people like you and I get, eh, Mister Sackville-Baggins? So much we give to them and so little they give back."

An ample bellied gentlehobbit emerges into the Town Hole rather briskly. In one hand is an elaborate walkingstick of polished cedar and in the other is a leatherbound sachel. "Oh dear me," he says with a quiet sigh, "I seem to have forgotten something important, but I can't think of it right now with business to take care of."

"Coming from a Took, no less! The Baggins' reputation far exceeds the Tooks in respectability, though I confess they do have quite a coffer. Mr. Pott, it is simply a disgrace the way some of these hobbits behave. No respect! And to think Basil had the unmitigated audacity to insult my mother in our home!" He looks quite disappointed, "For shame." Finally, he looks down the hall and says, "Well, I can see I'm not getting anything done. And my time in Delving is limited. I do hope to meet with you here in town or back in Sackville at a mutually convenient time, Mr. Pott." He bows and heads for the door.

Filby nods to Lotho as he leaves. "Good-day, sir. A pleasure speaking with you, as always." He bows. Turning to the large hobbit entering, he asks quizically, "Hallo, sir; while I do not work here, I am sure that I could be of some help, unless what you'd like involves official paperwork or other such pursuits. How can I aid you?"

"Well sir, I am Master Kaliadoc Brandybuck Esq, chief historian of the Brandybuck family. Of course right now I am on holiday at the Great Smials where my wife Sapphire grew up. Proud as a Took and twice as lovely as the jool of her name she is." Shaking his head, the plump gentlehobbit scolds, "There I go rattling on about my wife when I should be getting right to the point. I'm here to pick up an important document concerning a relation of mine, but that's all I can say, my good sir."

"I see," notes Filby, "and I believe that I have met your wife, an O.L.C. member is she not? A fine lady, very genteel and respectable." He nods at the Bucklander's words. "I am afraid that I cannot help you with your document, though... not as long as Whitfoot is in office, though if I'm lucky he'll be out and I in by Lithe. I am Filby Pott, you see, Baron of Pott Manor on the White Downs. Not that it's a very official title, but a family tradition. A pleasure making your acquaintance."

Kaliadoc extends a hand and nods politely, "A pleasure to meet you Mr. Pott. We Brandybucks have a bit of a reputation, but I'm a worthy gentlehobbit in my own right." Then lowering hsi voice slightly, he adds, "though my sister Magenta is another matter."

Filby grasps Kaliadoc's hand and shakes it gently, also nodding. "A pleasure meeting you as well, sir. I'm sorry to hear about your sister... by brother, Twilby, is the same way. Of course, he's somewhat... chronically bewildered... so he can't really help it..." He trails off, frowning. "But no matter, we try to look past that."

Kaliadoc nods and makes a jovial smial (pun intended). "Well, you'll have that. My sister is rather cracked herself. She practically rules her husband with an iron fist."

"Ah... I see," nods Filby. "Well, what I meant is that Twilby is... well, I'll just say it... mentally incapacitated. He's taken up permanent residence at the Marish Home for Bewildered Hobbits." He sighs sadly. "But anyway, how are you enjoying your stay in the Shire? I hear that the Buckland has been overrun by an epidemic of historical proportions. Must be awful knowing that some of your kin might be stuck in such conditions, eh?"

Kaliadoc nods grimmly, "It's a pleasure as always though I won't be returning to Bucklebury for quite some time. I do worry about my nephew, Jacoras. I received a letter stationg that he's become very ill and has been transported to a temporary hospital in Newbury. Poor fellow is only a tweenager and all."

"Indeed, indeed..." Filby trails off sadly. "Well, I'm afraid I must be off, sir. A businesshobbit's work is never done, it would seem!" He sighs lugubriously and bows to Kaliadoc. "Good-day sir, it was a pleasure." He walks toward the door and takes his hat down from the hatrack, placing it on his head, and picks up his overcoat and puts it on. He slips on his boots, sitting near the hatrack, and walks out the door.