Picnic At The Bonfire Glade

[piosenniel]

Lassiël poured another glass of wine for her friend and motioned toward the fox.

'We have an audience, it seems!'

She took a small wreath of niphredil from round her brow and twisted it into a smaller circlet. Placing it at a rakish angle on the fox's head, she stepped back and regarded her handiwork.

'Ah! Now my bold Reynardine, you are indeed costumed for the party!' She smiled at him impishly. 'Do you drink, sirrah? May I offer you some spirits?'

[Rimbaud]

Absent-mindedly composing for their vulpine companion, the poet strolled to where the be-webbed lady stood. "Charlotte?" asked he impudently, and to her outrage, winked at her! The nerve of the man! She wished to tell him in strident terms of her age and standing but something in the raffish smile gave her pause for thought. The worrisome wordsmith felt more fully familiar than she had forethought.

She glanced at the page he held before him; noticing that his eyes remained on her, whilst the quill continued its spidery path.

Fox in the snow,
Where do you go
To find something you can eat?
Because the word out on the street is you are starving.
Don't let youself go hungry now;
Don't let youself go cold.
At least not any more.
What do they know anyway?
They read it in a book.
What do they know, anyway?
You read it in a book tonight.

Some foul modern verse, she assumed. No scansion, and as for metre! She despaired. Yet she smiled back and said, "Welcome, oh poet-litterer of ill-repute. What brings so insalubrious a character to this fine gathering?"

His eyes rolled, encompassing the horde of wraiths, wights, dragons, ghosts, miscellaneous hobbitry and overly mysterious men and women.

"For shame!" quoth he, "that so gentle an entrance as mine be graced by so tart a greeting! At least a drink, for the Forest parches the word-thieves such as myself."

She gazed at him steadily. The dragon belched far behind them and some scorched hobbits squealed. She sighed. It would be a long day.

[GreatWarg]

Nay, m'lady, I only wished for a closer look at the beauty of one whom is a Maia and from the Blessed Realm. I do believe you are a handmaiden of Yavanna Kementari? the fox said politely, bowing in a comical fashion. (At least to the eyes of a Man.)

And I am right in believing that you are Gandalf the Grey, in the same order as Radagast the Brown? the fox said, turning a cheeky grin to the wizard. How wonderful, and splendid for a beast such as I to see two such guests of the Master! The fox inhaled the sweet scent of the niphredil. A fragrance such as of summer lingered about Lassiël, laden with boughs of flowers.

Well met, indeed! the fox said. He thought his rather handsome self must be quite charming indeed, to catch the attention of such a Maia.

[ElanorGamgee]

Rowan enters the crowd, her round eyes wide. She nods politely to a few hobbits and slips quickly by the more frightening “big people.” It had been ages since she had seen anyone taller than a hobbit; it must have been twenty years ago, when she was but eight years old and an old man in a grey cloak and pointy hat had come to the Shire for some event or another with a huge assortment of squibs and fireworks. He had not frightened her, although the adults did not much approve of his presence, insisting that he would be nothing but trouble. Her mother had called him a wizard, but Rowan heard very little about that sort of folk and decided that it must be a special kind of old man. For all she knows, all elderly men might be called wizards. Now that she in such a large crowd of big folk, she decides that this must not be true, for she little believes that many of these old men would be able to create and send up such fireworks, and none wear pointy hats.

The girl had been so deep in her musings that she bumps into a guest. “I’m terribly sorry-” she begins before looking up and seeing two dragon eyes looking down on her. Rowan shivers, remembering all the tales she had heard of dragons, especially those who like to snack on hobbits that run away from home. Of course, she realizes that most of these stories must have been made up to frighten young hobbits into good behavior, but she cannot help but wonder if there is a little truth to them. “-very sorry indeed…” she stutters, managing a feeble smile and curtseying while trying to balance the wicker basket under her arm.

[ September 21, 2002: Message edited by: ElanorGamgee ]

[piosenniel]

She laughed merrily at the starry-eyed fox before her.

'A sweet-tongued rascal, I see!' she said, nodding her head at him. 'My Lady will be delighted that there are those in Arda who still recall her.' She bent to adjust the flowery crown once more.

'Come sit with us if you will, for a while.' She indicated a space on the bench she had just sat down on.

Then turning back toward Olorin, she asked him, 'How came this great forest to be so over-shadowed and so sad? It grieves me to see it so.'

[ September 21, 2002: Message edited by: piosenniel ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel hugged the little girl.

"Sara! Elbereth Gilthoniel, am I glad you are here!" The wraith shrieked in pain again, and Menelduliniel grimaced guiltily, "Let me go introduce you to everybody!"

Menelduliniel and Sara ran off together, hand-in-hand: little girl and 5'10" Elf.

Estelarion laughed at how much they were alike in heart, though.

"So, Revanas, how is life treating you? Well, I hope," Estelarion said, embracing Revanas.

[Aradaewen]

Rada grinned happily. Her burp had slightly heatened some nearby creatures- halflings, she thought- but they'd live. She watched the surrounding picnic-ers having a good time and sighed. She and her brother used to have such wonderful adventures. Roasting cattle and blazing houses and impaling men and elves on their bare claws. What fun! Pity she couldn't find him. She stretched out again, her patience rapidly diminishing as she waited for the servers to bring whatever food was coming...

[Ransom]

"So, Revanas, how is life treating you? Well, I hope," Estelarion, said, embracing Revanas.

“Ah, life goes on. I’ve opened up a forge in Laketown, where my expertise is in great demand. Sara is happy, and she’s growing to look like her mother. Our trip here has truly been a delight. However, that was ruined by Ransom here.”

Revanas took the time to give Ransom a friendly bonk on the head. Ransom banged his gauntlet against Revanas’s breastplate before answering. “Ya, ana my trip was ruined by ‘Evanas.

Ransom knew only very basic Common Tongue, mainly for trade with the Dwarves, and his vocabulary and grammar were generally poor.

Ransom and Revanas set about the arduous task of educating the two elves on the history, customs, and general background of Ransom’s people. Of course, this took quite a bit of time for both men were long winded and thickskulled, an advantageous attribute considering their greeting rituals. They would have continued for much longer if not for the approach of one female elf.

"Well, gentlemen, it seems that you two know each other from way back. I however, do not seem to know anyone at this fine gathering.”

“Indeed, we have known each other for quite a whiles, Lady Elf. Ransom’s thick skull keeps on saving him from death.”

“Revanas enemies die from the sight of him.”

Their friendly blows indicated to the bemused elf that their statements were simply play.

Ransom was the first to formally greet her, inclined his upper body slightly forwards and bowed his head and offered the customary greeting of his people.

“May the Everlasting Blue Sky forever watch over you, Lady of the Forests, and may the spirits of your ancestors be with you until the end of your days.”

[ September 21, 2002: Message edited by: Ransom ]

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry held the poet's gaze for some time as she considered his froward words, so at odds with his gentle manner, and then she calmly scanned the guests. Yes, they were finding their groove, in that odd metaphorical echo of days gone vinyl, and she need not attend so much to them. She turned her gaze back upon the poet and scanned his face to take his measure in a manner almost as impudent as his own. She recited to him:

We wove a web in childhood,
A web of sunny air....

He raised an eyebrow as if to say, 'And?...'

Be cautious, I would advise you, Word-thief, of claiming for me the name of 'Charlotte,' for I could be doubly Charlotte, and yourself bear not a small resemblance to a Branwell who was ensnared in that selfsame web. Yet I would not wish to assign you his fate, although it is one with which apparently you are already half in love.

She smiled a maddeningly aloof half-smile, which nonetheless managed to signify that libations at least need not be ever-deferred.

Come, Word-thief, you need not plead so pitiously to quaff your thirst. Let us find a glass and other company with such a taste as ours for wordhoards.

With that, they meandered gingerly to the wine barrels, cautiously avoiding any entanglements with Shelob and watching not to trip over any Wilburs that might have been set loose in the ever-growing menagerie that was claiming the Picnic.

[ September 22, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Bêthberry]

The narrator shuddered. If this wasn't a fine how do you do, he thought to himself. Here's everyone at a party in honour of the equinox and here's no one remembering any other party on this day. For shame. They hardly deserve to have this displayed upon the picnic table so prominently.



The narrator stood, faced west, and bowed. Bilbo and Frodo, I at least salute you.

Muttering some more to himself and not bothering to record anything, the narrator then shuffled off for a quick nap, perhaps having imbibed a bit too much wine too quickly before eating. It looked like the tables weren't completely set anyway.

[ September 22, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[VanimaEdhel]

Menelduliniel and Sara's frolic around the area was interrupted when they rank right into Shelob.

"O-o-oh...p-p-pardon us," Menelduliniel said hastily and shakily, "M-m-mistress spider. Do not eat us or anything of the like...please?"

The spider glared at the tall Elf and the short girl for a second, then laughed. Menelduliniel and Sara laughed nervously for a bit as well, then quickly made their way across the glade. The noticed the spider's eyes still following them though.

Oh dear, Menelduliniel thought, watching the great spider worriedly...

[mark12_30]

A young, teenage hobbit stepped up to the wine barrel, poured himself a glass, poured two more to the surprise and suspicion of several people around the table, and without waiting to be questioned, and slipped sideways around the table to Bethberry. "Pardon me, " the hobbit said to the dreamy-eyed man standing beside her, "but I believe I owe Bethberry a glass. And if I may make so bold, " he continued, "I hear rumor that there is a latter-day hero-- or is it two?-- who deserves our accolades on this particular day. Please, tell me more about them, so that we may make our toast in a fitting manner."

Bethberry loked down at Gamba with astonishment. "Why, that was quite sophisticated, " she crowed. "Well done."

Gamba grinned, immensely pleased. "Thanks. I had Phura coach me, and I've been practicing for days. So what are their names again?"

"Bilbo, and Frodo Baggins. Two very great heroes. Their daring exploits and profound self-sacrifice are matched only by their literary capabilities, and their writing and poetic skills." She shot a dripping glance at the man beside her, who raised an eyebrow.

Gamba shot the poet a sympathetic look. "I get the same reaction from people, mister, " Gamba said. "Nobody thinks much of what I write, either. Maybe in another age we'd get along. In the meantime-- To Bilbo, and Frodo Bag Ins. May their songs never be forgotten. And may their memories be celebrated, and their heroism remembered as long as heroism is held dear."

Bethberry joined Gamba in the toast, and the poet hurriedly helped himself to a glass in time to join in.

Bethberry turned to Gamba, impressed again. "That was beautiful!" she said.

"Thanks, " replied Gamba. "It's what they say about the Battle for Taur-Na-Fuin every year at the memorial. I adjusted it a little. I'd better go and find Birdland. " And with a friendly nod to the poet, Gamba wandered off, carrying the third glass, and looking for one opalescent lock among the tangled raven tresses.

[mark12_30]

Gamba passed a sharp-looking fox speaking with a greycloaked old man, and stopped, and simled. "Hello, " he said to the fox. "Your voice sounds strangely familiar, although I can't place your face at all. Happy Birthday, Bilbo and Frodo, cheers!" He turned. "And you, sir, " he continued, "remind me of Ancalimon as he would have looked a bit later in life. And that's a high compliment."

Gandalf laughed. "I'll take it, such as it is, " he replied.

"Well, " Gamba continued, "You haven't seen Birdland, have you?"

Both the fox and the wizard turned and pointed past a pair of trees to a mild altarcation, and Gamba brightened. "Thank you!" He marched past them, balancing Birdland's wine glass.

[mark12_30]

A large, mostly black dragon was facing down the dragon who had singed the hobbits. The black dragon's tail was lashing in anger, and now everybody was much more nervous than they had been with only one dragon in the area.

The black and white dragon stared the other dragon down, and flames licked the air between them. "S'cuse me, there, dragon. I'm a friendly lady, I am, and I don't go in for confrontation. But these little folks are my friends. Singe just one more hobbit, and my mercy will run out!" Shoots of flames burst into the air as punctuation, and the other dragon took a step back. He had come for dinner, not a battle. This wasn't on his planner for the day.

"Birdie!" called a voice amid the consternation, and the dragon looked down. "Gamba! Hello!"

"You'd better listen to her, " Gamba remonstrated to the other dragon. "She's formidable. She toasted the base of Meneltarma, she did."

"Oh, you've brought me a glass, you little dear, " Bird cooed, and shrank and melted down to little-lady size, her black tangled hair blowing in the breeze. Gamba placed a kiss on her cheek and she gratefully accepted the glass.

"To Bilbo and Frodo, inspirations to all of us who seek illumination, " Gamba intoned.

"My Goodness, " Bird exclaimed. "I mean, Hear, Hear! Cheers, Bilbo and Frodo!"

They drank, and Birdie turned to Gamba. "That was beautiful!"

"Stole it from Ancalimon, " Gmaba muttered. "Umm, that dragon is eyeing you again!"

Bird turned back to the dragon, drew herself up to her full height, and said, "I'll deal with you yet!" and promptly turned into a Jackdaw.

"Whoops, " cawed the jackdaw. The dragon smiled, suddenly delighted, and took a deep breath. The jackdaw suddenly disappeared, and a little voice spoke in Gamba's ear, "Let's move along, there's a good fellow."

"Birdie, you turned into a neekerbreeker?"

"Ssh, hush, " said Bird. "Wine, it was the wine. Keep moving."

[Gandalf_theGrey]

* Gandalf raised a brow in wonderment, though he maintained a peaceable demeanor and a respectful silence. What was the narrator talking about? Of course a goodly number of people remembered that September 22 marked the grand occasion of Bilbo's and Frodo's birthday! Why else, after all, would he have brought along fireworks in a basket marked with a "G"? [img]smilies/smile.gif[/img] Gandalf smiled gently and lit a bowl of Old Toby. *

[ September 22, 2002: Message edited by: Gandalf_theGrey ]

[mark12_30]

Gamba sidled up to the greycloaked, bearded mystery, and whispered, "Ancalimon, you wouldn't happen to have another one of those dragon fireworks, would you?"

Gandalf_theGrey looked down at the hobbit, somehow strangely familiar, and said, "Sssh, lad, we like to keep these things a surprise, you know."

"Of course he does, " chirped the Neekerbreeker in Gamba's ear. "He's always got a dragon up his sleeve. One way or the other."

[ElanorGamgee]

Rowan is by now getting more than a little flustered. She watches the two dragons exchange words with awe, backing up slowly in case a battle of flame should ensue. Fortunately, the dragon she had first bumped responds with only a snarl, although a very frightening snarl it is, especially to a small, confused hobbit. Relieved but still nervous and rather disoriented, she begins to pronounce a polite greeting to the dragon and hobbit lad who have just arrived, when to her amazement the black and white dragon shrinks into a lady! Rowan is so taken aback that she can barely speak and simply nods to Gamba and Birdie. She watches again in silent awe as Birdie turns back to a dragon and then a jackdaw. What have I stumbled into? she asks herself as she nervously passes the wicker basket from one hand to the other. Then she hears an old, familiar voice.

“Sssh, lad, we like to keep these things a surprise, you know,” the voice says. Rowan turns slowly as an aged man in a gray cloak and pointed hat comes into view. “Gandalf!” she whispers under her breath, her childhood memories flooding back.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: ElanorGamgee ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Cami wandered into the picnic site. Her eyes were glazed, and her hair was standing on end. She looked exhausted. "Ohhh," she groaned. "I've had a terrible week. I have a dragon friend who's quite ill and who keeps muttering curses against Mitadan. Plus, I am still waiting for pms. from one dear friend who have not responded. But I thought a bit of a picnic would cheer me up. I am supposed to be at work right now, but I snuck out to attend the picnic."

Then Cami spied Gamba sitting on the ground and lolling. She was very angry, and strode up to the boy.

"Have you finished writing out that poem I assigned you? You must finish your diary entry before you attend the picnic!" Cami snapped.

Gamba shook his head and slinked away to hide under the table. "If only Piosenniel was here......she would get me out of this unpleasant jam," he mused.

[Bêthberry]

Snoring softly, the narrator was having a dream, but not a particularly comforting dream. He kept seeing all manner of beast, bird and character converge on him, seemingly wanting to use him as the feast. He woke in a bit of a panic.

What he saw at the Picnic did not bring him any relief, rather more of a headache. That Grey fellow apparently was doing a capital job and could be relied upon, but there was this new guest who brought all these other stories with her which kept intruding into the Picnic. What an anxiety of influence he was feeling. Sources and stories were bursting at their seams in quite an unseemly manner and spilling out into the Glade. Would this turn out to be a dyscatastrophe or a eucatastrophe?

[Rimbaud]

"Fear not," murmurs the perilous poet. "For if two narrators fail, there is always the third person."

Our poet jumps back as a gout of flame narrowly misses scorching his feet, encased as they are in a sturdy pair of boots. A nearby dragon looked at him laconically.

Our poet wanders off to find refreshments. Many of the guests were now seated around the glade and the noise of merriment filled the air, for all the disparities between the party-goers. If anyone noticed that a couple of hobbits were missing and that the dragons seemed well-fed, they were too polite to say anything.

[Maikadilwen]

Finding that apparently everybody at this feast were too scared of her to even say "Hello", Shelob decided that she might just as well get herself something to drink. Staggering through the growing crowd, she desperately tried not to step on anyone and though keeping several eyes on both of them, she made sure to steer clear of the elf with the meat cleaver and the strange human with the glaive. Wouldn't want to get too close to any of them. They might just "accidentally" use those, she thought while aiming for a huge wine keg. With the claw at the end of her front leg, she opened the keg and started to drown her sorrows.
Noticing a slight hunger spreading through her body, she wondered if anyone would ever miss the skinny poet standing next to her.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: Maikadilwen ]

[Cuthalion]

Elendur,finding himself inexplicably alone, walked over and approached the Dragons with reverence as they had always held a particular fascination for him. The red Dragon was a beautiful creature and he found himself utterly entranced. "Greetings Great Lady, I am Elendur of Mirkwood and as I have never had the oppprtunity to converse which such a noble creature, I felt I must avail myself. I hope that you enjoy the festivities!" He reached out and stroked the scaly hide on her neck which she arched with pleasure, favouring him with an alarming dagger-like smile. He froze for an instant, then returned the smile, delighted to have survived the encounter.

[Elenna]

Elenna smiled back at Ransom and dropped into a neat curtsy, her midnight blue skirt swirling around her. "And may She who Kindled the Stars light your way safely home at journey's end."

Then she stood again, looking mischevious. "So, is there anything we can do for excitement here?"

Both fighters looked a little surprised to see the glint in Elenna's blue eyes.

"Seriously, friends. Don't think that because I'm wearing this cursed gown that I could not win at a contest of arms."

[mark12_30]

Gamba, hiding under the table halfway between the narrator and the perilous poet, said in a soft clear voice caught by both:

"I vote for happy endings. I'm tired of being stuck in a cave waiting to be sacrificed, and I don't want to fry either. So: eucatastrophe, please. Would somebody please pass that up the chain of command. And-- please, Mr. Perilous Poet, would you introduce me to this Third Person? So far, both my narrators have me in one heck of a jam."

This was punctuated by the sound of munching as the cave hobbit discovered and explored his very first Fresh Fall Apple.

[piosenniel]

Gandalf sat peacably smoking his pipe. Lassiël made her excuses and got up to meet the other party-goers. She still hadn't seen the person who had sent her Lady the kind invitation.

A small, petulant voice halted her in her tracks as she passed a frazzled hobbit chiding a tweenager who sat beneath a table.
"If only Piosenniel was here......she would get me out of this unpleasant jam!"

Lassiël crouched down and smiled at the young hobbit. She reached out her hand and drew him out. 'Piosenniel is busy with other matters today, young one.' she said,her eyes sparkling. 'Let me see what I can do for you.'

'Cami, isn't it?' She nodded to the hobbit. 'I'm hungry, are you? Let's load up our plates from these groaning tables, then sit down and get to know each other.' She ladled out a large cup of aromatic wine puch for the hobbit. 'Here, I think you can use this!' The appreciative hobbit took a large drink and shook her head 'yes'.

'Gamba! Come, help me get some food and we can sit together in the shade of that oak tree. We can listen to the music of the small band there and you can talk to me of how you know Piosenniel. And if you're up to it, we shall dance.'

She winked at him, then reached out gently and shut his dropped jaw with her finger.

[mark12_30]

"And to think, " Gamba murmured, glassy-eyed, "that I had just been thinking that this dream left a lot to be desired and I was going to try and wake up from it. Nobody pinch me. Nobody!"

And with that, he siezed a plate and a serving spoon, and began interrogating Lassiël about each and every dish on the table. She laughed as he heaped her plate three times higher than she ever would have, 'til she finally cried out "Stop, stop! I don't want to have to feed the leftovers to the dragons! They're so finicky, you know."

He turned to her, then, carrying her plate like a devoted servant and gazing soulfully up into her laughing eyes he said, "Lead on, bright lady, dragons and other creatures notwithstanding! Today I would brave them all."

Lassiël lightly spun in an easy dance-turn, and led the way towards the oak-tree, while Gamba followed, not noticing that he had spilled half the plate.

Behind them both, Cami, sputtering about teenagers and homework assignments and journal entries, poured herself a third glass of wine.

[Bêthberry]

The woman in the yellow dress and blue cloak festooned with spider webs was feeling frustrated. She had had two attempts at conversation stall, both that Wight and the Word-thief drifting off away from her attempts at frivolity and wit. It was particularly galling in that the Word-thief had decided to chat up that Narrator, for she had a bone to pick with his narration. He had left her out of the picnic altogether. Yes, indeed. The very invitations had suggested the Picnic was Tom and Goldberry. Well, here she was and nobody was recognizing that this party was hers as well as theirs.

*briefly contemplates singing "It's my party and I'll cry if I want to"--but only very briefly*

Well, she hoped she would have better luck making conversation with this Lady in Green. After all, there was some likelihood of spiritual similarity between them.

[Rimbaud]

The poet ceased his egress from conversation on seeing his erstwhile companion's downcast expression.

"Do not be despondent!" he cried, and grasping her by the arm he led her to a cask, where one hobbit flapped ineffectively on the ground, like a large beached flounder. Pouring a glass for the lady and himself, he nodded to the nearby Wizard, who was rummaging in his bag, and stood on the table.

Feeling rather heady, he exclaimed, "Welcome to the party! It is not my party, but rather someone else's!" With that he hauled his unwilling companion upon the table-top and slipped away, promulgating chants of 'speech, speech' as he made his way through the crowd.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: Rimbaud ]

[Cuthalion]

Wandering disconsolately through the Glade, Elendur appeared to be waiting for someone, though who it might be he had no idea, as his beloved had told him she had no intention of showing up. Pondering the mystery of the fair sex, he quickly came to conclusion that Eru's sense of humour in creating them was more than a little cruel.

Sighing, he walked over the nearest table (which happened to be next to Shelob) and poured himself some miruvor. "What next?" he wondered.

[piosenniel]

Cami had declined any food, and dipped herself another cup of wine from the rather awkward punchbowl she had carried over to the oak, sloshing here and there as she approached her targeted seat.

'Sweet nectar of the vine is all I need!' she chirruped, then hicupped and plopped down with all the school marmish grace she could muster.

'It isn't miruvor, you know.' said Lassiël. 'And you're no elf as it is!' Cami giggled at the thought of a hobbit-elf.

'Gamba, help me please! Let's prop her up against the trunk so she can't fall over. Put the punchbowl next to her, and we'll leave a plate of mushroom pasties by her to tempt her.'

When they had gotten Cami situated to her liking, Lassiël wove a circlet of bright elanor and placed it on Gamba's head, adjusting it to her liking, and offered him her hand.

'Come, then, I believe I should like to dance. And you shall be my handsome partner!'

She smiled prettily at him, and he led her out.

[mark12_30]

Gamba's head swam as he looked up into Lassiël's eyes; she was over twice his height. He wondered what on earth he should do. This wasn't going to be the Sprinkle Ring, he guessed, nor would it be the Levanto game with only the two of them playing (although, he thought suddenly, he would have given his very blood to play Levanto while Lassiël played Piosenniel, but he quickly dismissed that thought.)

What to do? He didn't care. He would be a fool; he would trip over himself (but hopefully not over her!); he would put up with any possible embarassment, to only look back on this time for the rest of his life and know that he had actually danced with an elf-maiden, starlight or no starlight! Her eyes provided all the starlight he would need.

Some vague awareness of the ground beneath one's feet was normally needed for dancing, but Gamba had compeltely forgotten that such a thing existed.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Bêthberry]

The woman in yellow was almost toppled by the Perilous Poet's precipitous proceedings, perfunctory performance, and prompt disappearance.

Thankfully, he had picked a platform not compiled with platters of provisions and comestibles. She looked around.

Picnic guests. The domerel of Tom and Goldberry bids you welcome. The food is read. Come, feast now and forever hold your wine.

The rush of dragon and Shelob, of Fox and of hound, of hobbit and elf and wraith and wight nearly knocked her down, had Gandalf not managed to hand her his staff to steady herself as she jumped. It was indeed proving to be a long day. She sighed again.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: Bethberry ]

[Child of the 7th Age]

Oh, dear, Cami had a splitting headache. She had a vague memory of working all morning to arm the sea-hobbits against the attacks of Sauron. She had another vague memory of sitting under the tree and drinking way too much. How could she be doing two things at once? But that's how it seemed at the Downs. One moment an honored heroine, and the next a tipsy hobbit lass. Such is life!

She decided to pull herself together. And then she had a terrible temptation. She knew she really shouldn't do this. After all, they were trying to make things more respectable at the Downs. And what she was thinking was not respectable. But she couldn't resist.

She took up two pieces of lovely ripe fruit and hurtled them through the air. She aimed one at Gamba, the scamp who hadn't done his journal entries, and the other at the fair Lasseil. Ker-plop! And then, in her loudest small hobbit voice, she called out:Foodfight! She made sure to say it in Westron and Sindarin as well. She even added in Quenya for good measure.

[mark12_30]

Gamba didn't even feel the fruit impact him, he was so enraptured by the dance that filled his entire being. However, when the lovely, glowing, starry face that his eyes so searchingly looked into was suddenly transformed by surprise and indignation, the dance stopped, and Lassiël turned open-mouthed and flaming-eyed to accuse Cami. "You!"

Cami would have danced with glee, as the picnic slowly reacted around her. But her headache prevented it. There was, however, no mistaking her guilt.

Gamba looked up at Lassiël. "Help me, Lady, " he said hurriedly. He ran towards a barrel of pickles, and together they set it upright on the ground. Lassiël studied him with sparkling eyes. "The lid. Help me."

They got the lid off. And then together they approached the cackling Cami from behind, tackled her, and then immersed her headfirst into the barrel of pickles.

They let her back up in a couple of seconds. She glowered at them, and then laughed. "Thanks, Mistress Cami, " Gamba said. "This is as good as the Snowbattle of Laedros. It'll need a song."

By then, articles of food were flying, the dragon was playfully igniting some of them on their way through the air, and hobbits were running around trying to seouse the fires with perfectly good beer and wine. It didn't work very well.

[ September 23, 2002: Message edited by: mark12_30 ]

[Ransom]

“Ahh. Feats of marshal skill. Killing things. I would enjoy competing with you. If we could find somewhere nice and peaceful.”

Ransom’s response came out in short spurts, for an errant fireball had chosen to impact in the midst of the group and forcing them to take cover. Luckily, only the grass had caught fire, and several helpful hobbits were already moving to douse the fire with assorted beverage, some alcoholic and some not. Said hobbits quickly discovered that wine makes a fire worse.

By some stroke of luck, no one had been harmed. Indeed, the small clump was slightly shaken, and Elenna’s beautiful dress was partially marred by ashes. Even the picnic baskets had survived. The group finished searching for possible damages and continued their conversation.

[mark12_30]

Lassiël and Gamba studied each other. Gamba smiled. "That poet was too serious, " he said.

Together they selected a few stuffed peppers. "Come on, Mistress Cami, " Gamba said, and handed an extra to Cami. Then they went off to find the poet.

"Lady Bethberry! Have you seen the poet?" Gamba called, and Bethberry lit up with a delicious smile. "Why, I have, " she said. "He went that way. Wait!"

And she armed herself with two servings of apple pie a la mode, and gleefully skipping a few steps, joined them. The four set off.

"You know, Mistress Cami, " Gamba suddenly said, "I'm not sure that Ancalimon would approve."

"I think they call him Gandalf here, " Cami said, unsteadily. "And you are probably right." She looked uneasily over her shoulder.

[Bêthberry]

Bethberry sat down under an elderberry bush next to Gandalf. She looked at him. She watched Cami. She decided this was all the Wight's fault. Too much over work. Nothing else could account for this complete display of ... of ... silliness. Yes, it was the Wights' fault indeed.Too much overwork. She moved farther back under the elderberry to be out of range.

[Mithadan]

The Wight wandered unsteadily through the crowd carrying his half-empty pint. Lacking significant physical substance, it did not take much to make him a wee bit tipsy. For the moment, he was free of the cats; they were busily feasting upon the remains of what the Hobbit had called a "Foodfight". Strange. Why fight with food? Blades were far more effective.

He found himself before one of the feasting tables. It bore an impressive array of delicacies. He selected a pasty on the very edge of the table, which was the subject of attention for a number of ants. Munching happily upon the pasty and its moving garnish, he wondered why the Barrow-Wight had never thrown a dinner party. He finished the first pasty and selected a second, heaping additional ants on it from a nearby plate. Delicious! I must get the name of the caterer.

[mark12_30]

"Lady Bethberry, " Gamba whispered in her ear, "I thought you were coming with us! Why are you hiding behind the tree? And what's this Wight you are worried about? Surely he'll be no match for your Apple Pie A la Mode."

[GreatWarg]

The fox nudged Gandalf's leg. I can't reach. Can you get me something to eat? he asked. Oh darn this fox body. Sometimes I don't mind it, but I would like to be taller to get something to eat. Of course the fox recognized Cami and Gamba and Birdland in all of her forms. In fact, he had first met her when she was a Neeker-breeker in Minas Tirith. But that would be a long story that won't come into this tale.

Eating a few morsels Gandalf had offered that were not busy flying through the air hitting unwary victims, the fox once again espied the Wight that seemed quite familiar. He trotted up to the Wight, who was busy picking ants and an assortment of other bugs off of food items, the fox sat down and cocked his head.

Hello again, Wight. Did you happen to be a mariner before? I can't seem to place your face, though I've met you before somewhere.