[Kransha]

Once again, life in the Green Dragon had become strange, as it always one. One big fellow after another stumbling through the Common Room after too many ale quaffs. Toby shared a conservative laugh with himself, reminiscing rather dumbly about his own unfortunate incident with a tankard of ale at the party the other day, in which he required the stout Snaveling to quell his drinking streak. He hadn’t exactly broken into song, but he’d come close. He could’ve sworn he saw an oliphaunt lurking in the flickering shadows played off by the Dragon’s hearth-fire, nestled in the cracks of the neatly cropped floorboards and somehow flitting up into a hover above the decked tables. But, that had been an error of his, one he would not repeat anytime soon, or so he hoped.

Feeling madly giddy at his new ‘find’ aged Tobias Hornblower sprung to his feet like an excited child and hopped across the grounds of the inn, trailing after Bingo Cotton, but halted abruptly when Bingo, accompanied with pomp and ceremony by Miss Ruby as the two Halfling dragged a comatose, but still blathering oaf with a jolly gait from the common room and ascended to the rooms of the inn. Smiling half-heartedly, Toby swiftly spun upon his leathery sole of a heel and pranced back over to Posco, Marcho, and Blanco, alighting with supreme agility upon a wobbling stool, instead of the sturdier chair that the hobbit companions had provided for him.

“So…do folks like that come here often?” queried Blanco, still noticeably eager as he posed the question, despite mild hesitation. Toby again chuckled in his full throat, emitting a noise that sounded somewhat like a bullfrog, and replied, nodding his head in an overly energetic fashion. “Oh, you’d be surprised, Master Blanco. One could say you’re one o’ the lucky few who came here after the ‘incident’ last week. There were many more queer sorts than there are this day. I’d ‘ave sworn that we had a couple of trolls at the tables in the back, but that’s just speculation on my part. We had a good many of the fair-haired big folk, and the ones with pointy ears, and the dark sort from the south, the light sort from the north, and the sort that’s sorta in between from the south that’s not quite as south as the other south I mentioned and-”

Toby cut himself off. He was babbling like an idiot, but he couldn’t find it in his stony heart to care. It was a very good feeling, as a matter of fact. The last time he’d done this had been with Snaveling and Roa. He distinctly remembered his zealous, reasonless tirade about the Battle of Greenfields, a rant with no start or end; yes, that had been quite a memorable experience. Toby laughed, sounding noticeably less like a bullfrog, and leaned back, nearly keeling over as his brimming chest swelled.

“Dear me, I think I’ve gone and started being a fool again. But, that’s not important now. Tell me, good Brandybucks of the Shire, what business brought you to the finest establishment for the procuring of fine ales that Eriador has to offer, hmm?”