Lamedon Square Market

[Anguirel]

The young reveller took the healthily sized loaf with eager gratitude, and broke off a corner of the top at once, the better to examine the fluffy pallour of its interior...

"You've excelled yourself as ever, madam. Perfect. Oh yes, actually; you know I'm not usually down here when the day's so nearly started, but I'm trying to get a breakfast together; so could you tell me where the best butcher in this square is? And even maybe where I could find myself some mustard?"

Angelimar had overpaid her a little, not commenting and indeed as if by accident; for certainly this young man liked to be liked...

[Feanor of the Peredhil]

"Ah, well, there's nothing so easy as one best, I'm afraid," Fea responded with a smile. "Bill is best with birds, Charl is best with domestic beasts, and if you've an eye for game, then there's a fellow that comes in around lunch time. Looks a bit seedy, but he's good people and hunts his own, and takes only the best. Mustard? I've not seen any around for some time, but there is a new man from up Bree-ways, says he'll be in town for the week. Sells spices and such. He would be your best bet, but I make no promises."

[Envinyatar]

‘Careful now! These threads are a might fragile.’ Bertie balanced precariously on his crutch as he fended off Garan’s attempts to dust off his coat. He patted his pockets, making sure his various objects of value were still safely within. When he reached the side pocket in which he’d stashed his morning roll from the bakery, he reached into it. Disappointment met his fingers as they curled about a rather mashed bun. He pulled it out, noting the ground in pocket rubble covering the flattened surface.

‘Well, there goes my breakfast, boys.’ The roll crumbled apart and rolled off his palm in several chunks. ‘I guess it’s nothing but pigeon grub now,’ he finished, eyeing the trio of bedraggled looking birds that were eyeing him in return as they crept closer to the bready treat.

[Anguirel]

Angelimar narrowed his eyes in surprise at Mistress Fea's last piece of help. "A fellow from Bree? That village in the north? Well, such a man would be an interesting curiosity, at any rate...thank you, Fea, and may we meet some day when I am in...better health...and you less beset by industry..."

But it was towards Charl's stall that the young man now hurried, too busy even to take in that old chunk of walking wounded, and his pair of small familiars. Once he had reached his objective, he fell in to easy conversation with this butcher, who had that most reassuring attribute of resembling his products in his appearance. He bought several rashers of good bacon.

Nor, apparently, were Angelimar's desire for mustard, or his inquisitiveness, strong enough feelings to detain him into waiting for the Breelander, when pitted against his hunger and his frenetic way of life; the moment he had both bread and meat, he scarpered from the Lamedon Square Market, less conspicuously, but much more quickly than he had come to it.

[piosenniel]

As Bertie eyed his fine feathered friends, Goran nudged Garan, nodding his head toward the rich looking fellow who’d just passed by. ‘Now there’s a plump little pigeon who could stand a few less coins weighing him down!’ He smiled, a devilish light playing around his face. He cocked a brow at his brother.

‘Uncle – you go on down to the Compass Rose and have a cup. Me ‘n’ Garan’ll bring you back a nice fresh roll to keep your ribs from knocking together.’ Goran linked his arm through his brother’s and hauled him toward their quarry. ‘Hurry now, he’s quick on his feet.’

~*~

Posy turned the corner, her baskets of violet nosegays perched on her hip. ‘Now where are those two off to?’ she wondered aloud at the sight of the two quickly receding figures. ‘Bertie, did they say what they’ve gone to do? ‘Sposed to be helping me out today!’

[Anguirel]

About to leave the Square behind him, Angelimar became aware of the twin urchins he had barely noticed earlier homing in. He came to a dead stop as they neared, assessing his surroundings. As luck would have it, close by was 'Nimloth's Stall of Sweeteries, white toffee apples, Bon Bons and wizard floss sold here' - perfect.

It was well equipped with a bag of treats that the sleight-handed popinjay prepared to meet his distinguished pair of challengers. For he was sure enough what they were up to...and quite curious, too, to find what would be in their pockets at this stage of the morning's routine. He strolled up to Garan and Goran, whistling with a competent enough harmony.

"Good day, lads. I just happen to have a bunch of sweeties here. Seem to have picked it up somehow, and don't have much of a sweet tooth myself, unfortunately...would either of you be interested in them?"

He surveyed the twins keenly, assessing the feelings that would be jangling in their heads. He had surprised them by seeing them, by stopping for them, most of all by speaking to them, and they were a little afraid. They were surprised at the sudden appearance of the treats - truth be told, Mistress Nimloth would have been even more surprised, and it was a good thing he had intercepted them out of her range of notice. But uppermost in the minds of the boys was greed, and, as they started to calculate the size of the bag and to turn their eyes on each other, envy, too.

"It'll be a hard time dividing them up," he confessed. "I only seem to have one white toffee apple, for example, and everybody knows they're the best ones. Perhaps you'd care to join me in a game of chance to determine the winner...?"

[piosenniel]

‘Some pigeon you picked!’ Garan hissed in a whisper to his brother. Goran shrugged his shoulders as he glanced from the proffered sweets to Garan. He slipped his hands into the pockets of his breeches and looked back at the gentleman.

‘Sorry, sir, you’ll have to eat that apple yourself, I guess.’ Goran sighed and looked quite sad at the thought. ‘Me and my brother got nothing to play with.’ He pulled out his pockets, both empty save for a bit of lint, a few old crumbs, and one broken wooden button. Garan pulled out his pockets, too – as empty as those of his brother.

‘And besides, our big brother’d give us both a hiding if he caught us playing games of chance.’ Garan nodded solemnly at this pronouncement.

Goran cocked an ear and furrowed his brow as if just barely catching some sound. ‘It’s Sis,’ he said, elbowing Garan . ‘I think she’s calling us.’

With a nod of their heads to the gentleman, and one last look at the bag of sweets, the two took to their heels and ran off . . . like little mice bent on escaping a wily fox.