IC time is about 2 PM on Trewsday, Afterlithe (July) 24, 1428 S.R.

Merry(#29921PeA+cfT)

A mop-headed hobbit nearing the tail-end of his tween years, Meriadoc Brandybuck is a strapping young specimin of his kind. He stands a few inches short of four feet, and is in perfect shape for a hobbit: a bit thick around the chest and belly. His sun-kissed brown hair comes down to his eyebrows, forming a hand-swept border over the Bucklander's sharp blue eyes. A thick nose is placed dead-center of his broad, boyish face, above his thin-lipped mouth. He has a slight underbite that lends his features a determined quality.

Merry wears a bright yellow weskit, buttoned up tight over his slight paunch. Beneath is a collared shirt of white linen and, above, a thick emerald green coat. The hobbit is clad in brown trousers cinched at the waist with a black leather belt and, around his body, he is wrapped in a non-descript brown cloak, its hood dangling at the nape of his neck. And, of course, the Brandybuck goes barefoot, displaying his thick and lustrous brown foothair for all.

Pippin

The hobbit who stands before you looks barely into his tweens, his face possessing a youthful, rosy-cheeked vigour. His eyes are dark hazel, a stormy kind of green, tinged about the middle with a yellow glow, and framed by thick nearly red lashes. A pair of mischievous eyebrows, slanted at expressive angles, curve over his eyes. Bright, smooth cheeks dotted with freckles dimple as he smiles with his lips, the top lip significantly thinner than the bottom. His hair is a mess of curls, spilling out unkempt over his ears from a snug fitting floppy red hat; the colour of the hair is somewhere between red and brown, tinged with blond from the sun.

For clothing, the youngster wears a well-made, once well-put together outfit--it appears to have had a bit of wear and tear through its life. A baggy linen shirt, rolled up at the cuffs, resides beneath an unbuttoned dark green weskit. Cinched across his waist is a broad brown belt, with a brass buckle, which helps keep his brown trousers at the right height on his body--though the trouser legs reach past his knees, they just about make it mid-calf, giving the appearance that he is perhaps waiting for a flood. Feet, flecked with mud and combed most unattractively, move constantly, wiggling at the toes and kicking the dirt.

Great Smials: Great Hall(#3178RtM)

This is an enormous hall (from a hobbit's point of view, certainly!) with several doors leading off it. There's a fire blazing merrily in a gigantic fireplace: its stone mantel is carved with the Took coat-of-arms. Before the fireplace stands a round wooden table with many armchairs set around it, and with a large candelabra set in its center. The room is distinctly dim, since the room has no windows. It is for this reason that candles are always lit here, despite the time of day. The hall is crowded with Tooks-- eating, drinking, and engaging in animated conversation. Through the swinging door in on the west wall, you can hear the sound of food being prepared. Hanging on the wall, you notice a prominent painting of the Took family.

Contents:

Fireplace(#2183n)

Obvious exits:

 Archway leads to Great Smials: Library.

 Swinging Door leads to Great Smials: Kitchen.

 Drawing Room leads to Great Smials: Drawing Room.

 Old Took's Room leads to Old Took's Room.

 Entrance Hall leads to Great Smials: Entrance Hall.

The heat radiating from the fireplace warms you.

 It is only eleven o'clock, hardly enough time to be up to anything, it would seem... But here, in the Great Hall of Great Smials, two young hobbits, faces red and slick from perspiration, recline in two stuffed chairs, their feet up, catching their breath. The grime on their feet indicates that they have been running about somewhere, and the unkempt state of their hair might suggest the same. Both of their chests rise and fall, catching their breath, and every once and a while, they laugh, for no apparent reason.

The dirtier, and younger looking one, is the first to speak, through a high giggle. "You only beat me by a toe!" he says, shaking a dirt covered hand at his cousin, "just a toe-hair, I should say! If I hadn't tripped over that root, I'd have gotten here first, you know. I bet you knew that root was there all along, too, Mer." Pippin grins widely, wiping his mouth with the back of his hand; he then spits, as a bit of dirt gets in. No one seems to be around to chastise him for his uncouth act, and though he looks around a little anxiously, he quickly calms down, his hazel eyes dulling as the fear recedes. "But it was a good race, a good race, at any rate."

"Great Smials is -your- turf, Pip. You should know where the roots are and where they aren't, I should imagine," says the older and slightly larger hobbit. His shoulders heave and with each passing breath, he seems to calm a bit. Pushing himself back even further, slouching in the chair, Merry Brandybuck runs a hand through the sweaty mop of hair on his head. "My, but you're getting faster, mate. Used to be I could run backwards and still beat you." Merry sighs and looks to the ceiling, smiling. "Those were the days, Pip. I could watch your face get redder and redder, watch the sweat pour off your brow." With a chuckle, he playfully claps his cousin on the back. "Competition never hurt anyone, though, but if I were you, I'd make a survey of all roots and stones. For future reference."

Pippin squints, and then scowls a bit, sneering playfully at his cousin. "My turf perhaps, but you've been around the Shire long enough, run those paths more than I have, I think, over the years," explains the Took, scratching the side of his face, leaving a trail of dirt there on his cheek. "And I am growing, a bit, I think. Mother says I'm bound to beat Father in a few summers. That might be a bit odd, looking down at the top of his head--I still remember when I only was able to stare at his buttons. Shiny buttons..."

Raising an eyebrow, Merry tousles his little cousin's hair and laughs. "Really, Pip? Shiny buttons, huh?" He leans forward and rises from his seat, scratching at his rear as he stands. "Well, what's next for us? We've hit the usual haunts, played the usual games. Anything new you've gotten into lately?" Walking away from the armchairs, Merry regards the Great Hall with his large blue eyes. He folds his arms behind him, pausing and falling back and forth on his heels. "It has been awhile since I last visited, cousin."

A flicker of curiosity flashes on Pippin's face a moment, narrowing his eyes quickly; then he relaxes. Standing slowly, the Took paces back and forth, his movements quick and precise. "You know," he says, slowly, measuring the words on his chatty tongue, uncharacteristically. "I was in Michel Delving, not long ago, and I was telling Mayor Whitfoot about--did I tell you I had tea with him the other day? It was rather nice, he's a jolly fellow, that one, and he bought me tea and some really good seedcakes, of course, they're not as good as the one that Fern makes here in the kitchen, and I told him as much, but when I met him I was so hungry I could have gnawed my hand off--" Pippin takes a deep breath, taking no note whatsoever of his breathless yammering, and continues, "At any rate, I was telling the Mayor that you and I have a bit of a competition going, you know, to see who can find the best paths where and whatnot, and he told me--the Mayor told me, of all people--that he knew of a great path in Michel Delving that runs to Tighfield. I don't think we've ever been up there... and it's high time we do, if you ask me. What do you think of that, then?" Pippin finishes his chattering with a curious grin, as he stuffs his hand into his pocket and bites down on his bottom lip.

Merry slowly turns and watches his cousin during Pippin's extensive account and the subsequent suggestion. The young hobbit's yammering doesn't faze him any longer and he simply nods at the odd interval. When there is silence enough to get a word in, the Bucklander nods, his eyes falling to the floor. "Tighfield, you say?" He seems to ponder the idea for a moment, then smiles as he turns his eyes back to Pippin. "That's a rather good idea. It's about, what, two days or so to Michel Delving? Don't you think you'll be missed at all, Pip?"

Pippin beams even more as his cousin approves of his suggestion. "Yes, not far at all--and there are plenty of places to stay along the way, I'd imagine--but the part that the Mayor suggested, he said that the path wasn't even wide enough to let a wagon through, even, and that he himself has been through it." The Took laughs, and the laugh sounds much like a pig's oink. "If it's not wide enough for a wagon, then I figure it's been a long time since the Mayor's been on that trek, what, being Flourdumpling and all!" Pippin giggles madly, scrunching up his face, bending over, holding his stomach. When he's regained his composure, he wipes his eyes with his thumbs and continues: "Of course I won't be missed. Sometimes I think Father wants to get me out of the smial so I'm out of his hair. I broke a tureen the other day, and that ... certainly didn't endear anyone to me. Mummy apparently kept her sugar in there..."

"A pot of sugar, Pippin?" Merry puts on a rather convincing patronly tone and clucks at his cousin. "Now, really. I hope you cleaned it up for her." He adds, muttering, "And, for their sake, I hope you didn't eat the refuse." Turning back around, the young Brandybuck grins as he paces down the hall, away from Pippin. "We'll need to gather a few things before we head out, of course." He whirls around, raising a finger. "I have an entire tin of treacle biscuits that Estella made me while I was in Budge Ford last week. I haven't really... had the chance to dig in yet, but... we have provisions, Pip!" Merry's wide and goofy smile falters a bit but pulls through in the end.

IC time is about 2 PM on Trewsday, Afterlithe (July) 24, 1428 S.R.

Pippin rightly gags. "Merry!" he cries, slapping his hands to his cheeks hard enough to leave a red mark. "Meriadoc Brandybuck!" he says again, dropping to his knees. "I beg you, no, no, please. NO." Pippin's hazel eyes flash again, this time with fear. "I was ill for three days the last time we visited the Bolger's on account that you made me eat the food, I can't do that again! I can't imagine how Fatty is so... large, if he eats anything that *she* makes." Pippin says "she" with such vile contempt that one might think he was speaking of a great evil. "I will die, I'm quite sure, if you make me consume anything that... person makes. I'll ask Fern to pack us some food--real food, cheese, dried meat, bread, things that can be eaten without fear of desperate sickness. The last thing I want to do is go on a trip where I have to run to the... bushes every half mile or so."

The pout on Merry's face does not become him. It's not an expression he uses often and he reserves it for special occasions only. With Pippin, though, the mood passes quickly, and he mutters in a low voice, "I'd like to taste -your- treacle biscuits, Peregrin Took." He drags out his cousin's full name in retaliation against the use of his own. "They're not that bad." Frowning, the Bucklander shrugs, looking down at his feet. Slowly, a smile spreads over his face and he looks over to Pippin. "And, honestly, Pip, if they do anything, they'll keep you from having to go to the bushes at all." With a chuckle, Merry throws an arm around the young Took. Soon enough, the laughter has a hold of him and his body shakes with its tremors. Tears form at the corners of his icy eyes and make small tracks down the grime on his cheeks.

At first, Pippin watches his cousin with measured concern--the pout might indicate a deeper hurt, some kind of inflicted wound he did not intend. But, when the mood changes and the arm is wrapped around him, Pippin is able to laugh--if not a little nervously--with his cousin, and soon the two are a bundle of infectious giggles. "That's--that's almost as bad, though, Merry, almost as bad--because by the time we get to Tighfield..." he raises his eyebrows, and lets out a "blllbbpppppttt" noise, which starts the rather low-brow humoured Took into another fit of giggling.

Merry is in stitches, holding his sides and quaking with earth-shattering guffaws. He releases Pippin and leans against a nearby wall, holding himself up and bowing his head as he laughs. "We'd be run... run out of town! Imagine the gossip!" His face is streaked with lines of pink interspersed with the sooty darkness of the mud. "It'd almost be worth it to see the looks on everyone's faces when we came home." Finally, it seems the humour of the situation is passing and Merry wipes at his face. He blinks as a gritty hand pushes sweaty grime into an eye. "Hmm... -almost- worth it. I think the squirrels and chipmunks wouldn't even take the charity of Estella's baked goods. I'll just dump them off in the Brandywine on the way home." He's finally able to remove the bit of dirt from his eye and he examines it closely, giving Pippin a quick glance over the speck on his finger. "They sink, you know. I tried to use them for fishing, but they go right to the bottom. Sadly enough, there are probably hundreds of cookies still sitting at the bottom of that river. If the fish had teeth, they -might- be able to eat them, but... alas."

Pippin, as well, seems to recover himself well. While giggling, he used Merry for a support, and now he's able to stand alone, wiping the smeared mud, sweat, and tears from his eyes and face. "Teeth--teeth, or a chisel!" says Pippin, once again, losing control of his laughter, doubling over, breathless. "That could be it! All those muffins! Fatty's so big because they're all... all... lodged somewhere in there... unable... unable to get out..." Pip tumbles to the ground, no longer able to sustain the giggling, powerless against the greatness of laughter.

Still chuckling, Merry stands above his cousin, still propped against the wall. He prods at Pippin's ribs with a toe, not hard but aiming to tickle the laughing Took. "Poor Fatty. Leave him out of this, cousin." He grins. "If she keeps making food for me, it may one day be hefty Meriadoc the Massive you ridicule." With a sigh, the hobbit ends his long laughing stint and kneels down to Pippin's level. "Now, we really should get ready to go. Don't want to waste any daylight, do we?" He holds out a hand and helps the younger lad to his feet. "Maybe you could ask your dad for an advance on your allowance, to make things a bit more comfortable? I hear there's a charming inn in Whitwell, but Uncle Seredic says it's a bit pricey..."