An Unexpected Vir(tu)al Party

[Arry]

Arry buffed the toe-tops of his boots against the back of his breeches. Left, first; right, following. The napped texture of the cloth brushed off what dirt and dust there was while the motley of brown colors of the breeches themselves helped to hide any evidence of them. He pulled at the hem of his shirt, evening out the blousing beneath his wide leather belt. His vest, at least looked fairly presentable – a soft honey-brown with its lacing all neatly done up. Catching sight of the wash bowl as he entered the big hall, he quickly laved his hands – singing a low tune to himself as he squished and squashed and rubbed the soapy lather over, around, and between his fingers.

He eyed the towel, but thought instead he would run his wet fingers through his thick straight hair, battening it down a bit. It was cut short, just touching the tops of his ears. And as his mother always sighed as she attempted to comb it into place, “Stars above, boy, that old cow musta licked your head every which way when you were a babe!”

Aside from a small rucksack he carried slung on one shoulder, Arry’s only other bit of gear was his small guitar. “Lily”, he said was its name. It fit snugly along his back, held in place by a woven strap that ran across his chest from shoulder to hip.

He hoped the Elf had decided to come. It had been a long time since last he'd seen her. He had many new songs he thought she'd like. Mayhap she would sing some with him.

And there was the recent news of an old friend to both of them. Sad news… quite unexpected.

[Rumil]

Rumil was pottering,

definitely pottering, though he liked to think of it as sauntering. Pottering about he remembered a long forgotten path, a bit dusty and weed strewn, that led up the hill. "I shall potter up here", he thought, "one so rarely has time for serious pottering except when besieged after all".

Up the path led, to a country of swirling mists and ominous dark standing stones on hills of verdant green. "Hmmm, haven't been up here in a long while, I wonder if the old barrow is still haunted by the Wights of Old?". Rumil began to decidedly saunter.

The old black and green barrow opened at his muttered incantation, "well I'm sort of surprised I remembered that one, but maybe not so surprised, it was a special place after all". Deeper into the hallway strange sounds emanated, perhaps a clatter of pans - surely not, chittering - possibly squirrels or penguins, and the unmistakable scent of bananas. The way to the ballroom was freshly swept, Rumil followed the trail to the great doors, flung them open and stopped in amazement.

The ballroom wasn't empty

Far from it, first and foremost, Esty as delightful, serene and welcoming as ever. "Hail and Well Met" quoth Rumil. "My word, I haven't seen this place in so many years, I'm really very glad to meet you all again".

Lommie fantastic, Legate the riddler in chief! Thenamir Inzil cool, mark I'll never forget your stories, Lal! Mith mighty amongst the Downers,Pitch, G55, littlemanpoet wow, Morth, pio, Boro

Squatter we are not worthy!

and

no

actual

way

Saucie really? Awesome! Not all those who wander are lost!

Old Friends, we have trudged dark ways of which we will not lightly speak and scampered up joyous paths when laughter fell like rain.

Hail and Well Met indeed,

Well, I'm back

[piosenniel]

“And who is this lovely creature?”

Angara gave the man a toothy smile, practically purring as she took in his wink and smile. “Pleased to meet you, Man!” she said, nodding her head at him. She turned her head back to eye Pio, saying, sotto voce, “You could take this as a lesson, Elf!”

Pio nodded and bobbed a small curtsy. “Here,” she said, perching the Wyrm on Envinyatar’s shoulder. “I’ll just get us another round while you two get to know each other.”

Leaving the two new friends to get better acquainted, Pio meandered slowly to the far end of the bar. Nodding to all the familiar faces as she passed. It was a nice, low-key party. Less exciting than the last one she’d attended – but that was good. She found in these last few wandering years that she enjoyed a slower pace of life. What needed to be done was of course accomplished – but in a more relaxed manner.

From somewhere to her left she heard a familiar voice hail her by name. “Miz Pio! Miz Pio!!” A wide smile lit up her face as she turned in the direction of the caller.

[Arry]

She was a sight for sore eyes. Still beautiful in her own way. And after all this time, the years had left no marks of their passage on her face. His own face, he knew, looked older. No more the boyish visage of the very young man when first he’d passed through the Shire those many years ago. She’d been Innkeeper then at The Dragon, taking care of the many visitors that at that time passed down the East Road.

He wondered that she had remembered him and more that she smiled at him now as if no time had passed since last they’d met.

A small voice niggled at the back of his mind. “Stars and stones, man! Pull yourself together. Quit gawping! That’s your old friend, you ninny!” He rubbed his sweaty palms against the rough cloth of his breeches.

“It’s me, Miz Pio,” he managed to stammer out. “It’s Arry.”

[piosenniel]

“Of, course you are, my dear Arry!” Pio laughed and reached out one hand to cradle her friend’s chin. Turning his head one way and the other. “Who else would you be?!”

Bending down a bit, she hugged him. As her arms encircled his shoulders, her hands bumped up against the instrument held close against his back. “Aah!” she cried in delight, clapping her hands as she stepped back. “We’ll have music!” Her eyes glimmered in the lights hung about the great hall.

‘I remember the old songs we sang. They always lifted my spirits. As did your playing, Arry, and that fine voice of yours.”

She steered him back to where her other companions were engaged in what appeared to be quite amusing conversation. “I have some new songs, too, I’ve learned in places traveled to of late. But what about you? What have you been doing? New songs? And what news do you bring of old friends?”

[Arry]

Arry tugged on the Elf’s sleeve after only a few steps. “Wait, Miz Pio,” he said slowing his steps. ‘Let’s sit over there for just a bit,” he went on, pointing to a small empty table in the corner. He pulled out a chair for her when they had arrived. He freed himself from his rucksack, hanging it by its straps from the nearest back-post of his chair. His guitar he leaned up against table’s top where it butted against the wall. Arry sat himself down with a sigh.

A passing server, in the meantime, was waved over by Pio, and two small, thick glass tumblers of Dwarven whiskey placed on the table. Arry nodded slightly as he raised his glass and downed it in a single gulp. The Elf sipped at hers, quietly waiting for what he had to say.

Instead, Arry picked up his guitar and began the accustomed routine of putting it in tune. This familiar habit calmed his mind and as he strummed a series of sweet, clear chords, he found the words to tell her the news he’d brought of their friend. Straightforward, plain words.

“It’s Jack, Miz Pio,” he began, playing a short refrain from an old song they both knew. “Jack Pryne.” He smiled, remembering other times when the music had carried them all along. “The old minstrel. You remember. We sang together – him and me and you. That old clapboard shamble of a tavern, down by that harbor… What was its name?” Arry heard the scrape of the Elf’s chair legs as she scooted closer to him. He looked up, into her questioning face.

“He’s passed, Miz Pio. Old Jack. He’s gone on.”

[Kath]

So many reams of paper had surrounded Kath for the past few weeks that another piece, beautifully addressed though it was, had quite escaped her notice. But finally all the other sheets had been bundled together and sent off into the desperately grateful hands of parents across the land, ready to be opened and met with cries of: “But that’s not how they did it in my day!” and “What do they mean by ‘bus stop method?’” followed by copious amounts of weeping and a few hefty splashes of gin.

A party, the letter said. A chance for old friends to gather and reminisce and enjoy each other’s company in a way that Kath could barely remember. If any silver lining could come from this strange new world everyone was living in, well, this was certainly one example. It was such a special occasion, Kath even dug out some appropriately themed attire (last worn, to the delight of the small charges she taught, for Shakespeare Week) before setting off with all haste.

Despite that, she was inevitably late to the celebrations, and by more than just Day 1 this time. And yet, as she carefully manoeuvred around the myriad of obstacles by the door and stood washing her hands (singing Happy Birthday under her breath), she felt glad of her late arrival as it meant that she had time to adjust to seeing so many people from such a happy time all those years ago. Tears sprang to her eyes for a moment as a warm feeling of ‘home’ passed over her.

An instant later they were gone as she was welcomed with good cheer, handed a drink and pulled straight into conversation. It was as if she had never been away.