The Green Dragon Inn - Part 9 - The Barrow-Downs Discussion Forum

piosenniel · 02-18-2004, 12:35 AM

Buttercup

Ruby had recruited several of the Hobbits from the village to help serve the soup, leaving Buttercup free to pass round the crowd with a pitcher of ale in one hand and one of cider in the other. Fighting fires was thirsty work, and after a few passes, Buttercup opted to set a small keg of cider and one of ale on a wooden handcart from the garden shed.

She had just made her way to the table where Miz Aman sat talking with the Shiriff and the Dwarf who had helped her and Ruby to escape from their room. Ever the one for a little eavesdropping, Buttercup sidled up behind three of the Big Folk who stood near the table, pouring them ale in a perfunctory manner while craning her neck toward the three at the table. Fragments of what the Dwarf, Regin if she remembered correctly, was saying floated toward her. Something about that snippet Hawthorne.

‘Innocent my foot!’ thought Buttercup, accidentally slopping a bit of ale on the fellow in front of her as he reached for his mug. ‘Shhh!’ she whispered, as he protested. She peered around him and ignored his further comments.

When one of our young dwarves steps out of line, we make them carry very heavy stones from the quarries to the builders’ workshops to pay off their debt.

‘Oh, now that is a rare image!’ thought Buttercup, and for added effect she imagined the Hobbit clapped in irons, or at least cuffed with Fredgar’s cuffs that hung from his belt.

Perhaps she could use her pony and wagon to carry back stones that other stronger hands have gathered.

Buttercup’s image of the suitably struggling Hawthorne crumbled at the Dwarf’s words. ‘Hmmmph! Pony and wagon! I’d like to see a few honest blisters on those lily white hands of hers.’

. . . make herself useful. Besides, it will be a while before the Inn will be rebuilt and we can use all the help we can get, even that of bubble brained hobbits.

Buttercup pushed forward a little with her cart, catching just the last of Regin’s sentence over the squeak of the cart’s wheels. ‘Bubble brained Hobbit!’ The words struck the tired young woman and rattled about in her mind. She could feel them rumbling about, deep in her chest, then welling up and pushing themselves out through her mouth. Tears started in her eyes as the convulsion of laughter tumbled from her lips. She bent over, holding her sides, and laughed and laughed and laughed.

When the fit subsided, she stood gasping for breath, leaning against the side of the wagon. Those around her stood looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. She waved them off as they extended their offers of ‘help’. ‘I’m quite alright, really,’ she told them. ‘It’s been a very long day.’ She hiccupped a little, as a small laugh squeaked out.

Buttercup’s eyes twinkled as she poured a generous pint of ale and took it over to the Dwarf. He sat looking expectantly at the two sitting with him, but neither of them seemed forthcoming with an answer. Buttercup plunked the mug in front of him, a bit of its head streaming down the side of it. ‘Thanks for the laugh, Master Dwarf,’ she said, wiping the trail with her apron, ‘though if you asked me, I’d like to see her packing the rocks . . . and not the pony.’

The Hobbit meandered off to the next table, chuckling as she went along . . . the phrase, ‘Bubble brain!’, trailing after her . . .

02-18-2004, 12:35 AM	#11
piosenniel Desultory Dwimmerlaik Join Date: Mar 2002 Location: Pickin' flowers with Bill the Cat..... Posts: 7,779	Buttercup Ruby had recruited several of the Hobbits from the village to help serve the soup, leaving Buttercup free to pass round the crowd with a pitcher of ale in one hand and one of cider in the other. Fighting fires was thirsty work, and after a few passes, Buttercup opted to set a small keg of cider and one of ale on a wooden handcart from the garden shed. She had just made her way to the table where Miz Aman sat talking with the Shiriff and the Dwarf who had helped her and Ruby to escape from their room. Ever the one for a little eavesdropping, Buttercup sidled up behind three of the Big Folk who stood near the table, pouring them ale in a perfunctory manner while craning her neck toward the three at the table. Fragments of what the Dwarf, Regin if she remembered correctly, was saying floated toward her. Something about that snippet Hawthorne. ‘Innocent my foot!’ thought Buttercup, accidentally slopping a bit of ale on the fellow in front of her as he reached for his mug. ‘Shhh!’ she whispered, as he protested. She peered around him and ignored his further comments. When one of our young dwarves steps out of line, we make them carry very heavy stones from the quarries to the builders’ workshops to pay off their debt. ‘Oh, now that is a rare image!’ thought Buttercup, and for added effect she imagined the Hobbit clapped in irons, or at least cuffed with Fredgar’s cuffs that hung from his belt. Perhaps she could use her pony and wagon to carry back stones that other stronger hands have gathered. Buttercup’s image of the suitably struggling Hawthorne crumbled at the Dwarf’s words. ‘Hmmmph! Pony and wagon! I’d like to see a few honest blisters on those lily white hands of hers.’ . . . make herself useful. Besides, it will be a while before the Inn will be rebuilt and we can use all the help we can get, even that of bubble brained hobbits. Buttercup pushed forward a little with her cart, catching just the last of Regin’s sentence over the squeak of the cart’s wheels. ‘Bubble brained Hobbit!’ The words struck the tired young woman and rattled about in her mind. She could feel them rumbling about, deep in her chest, then welling up and pushing themselves out through her mouth. Tears started in her eyes as the convulsion of laughter tumbled from her lips. She bent over, holding her sides, and laughed and laughed and laughed. When the fit subsided, she stood gasping for breath, leaning against the side of the wagon. Those around her stood looking at her with a mixture of curiosity and concern. She waved them off as they extended their offers of ‘help’. ‘I’m quite alright, really,’ she told them. ‘It’s been a very long day.’ She hiccupped a little, as a small laugh squeaked out. Buttercup’s eyes twinkled as she poured a generous pint of ale and took it over to the Dwarf. He sat looking expectantly at the two sitting with him, but neither of them seemed forthcoming with an answer. Buttercup plunked the mug in front of him, a bit of its head streaming down the side of it. ‘Thanks for the laugh, Master Dwarf,’ she said, wiping the trail with her apron, ‘though if you asked me, I’d like to see her packing the rocks . . . and not the pony.’ The Hobbit meandered off to the next table, chuckling as she went along . . . the phrase, ‘Bubble brain!’, trailing after her . . .