One More Mathom {January 1410 SR} (January 3010) - [OPEN]
May 21, 2018 7:40:35 GMT -5
Post by Bramble Pricklebottom on May 21, 2018 7:40:35 GMT -5
“A fine mathom, Bramble my girl,” old Fulco Bracegirdle said with light in his eye as they stood and eyed the gleaming, sharpened strip of newly acquired metal that sat upon the prominent display near the circular entry at the front of the House.
The razor was a strange thing, to be certain. A Stoorish trinket, one with little use in the Westfarthing where the hobbits grew no facial hair. Bramble wondered what it was like to need tend one’s face in such a way, though there were many things about the Stoors in Buckland that were odd. Boots and beards! Conversing with the Big Folk! A curiosity to the rest of the Shire, certainly.
“Lady Proudfoot gave it to me at her Second Yule,” Bramble recounted once more, for it seemed hobbits never tired of stories, particularly of the mundane, non-adventurous types. “She says she got it from her cousin, twice removed. Her neighbor is one of the Brandybucks. A widow,” Bramble added in a familiar way, yet Fulco looked to her intently to await her finish.
“Folk say her husband took a fancy to the water,” Bramble said with a slight shudder to her shoulders and a fall of her face. Why any hobbit would look to the water she could not understand; those boats were nothing short of dangerous! She, like many of the folk of the Westfarthing liked to forget that a lot of the best salted fish came from Buckland, where the hobbits took to downstream fishing.
“Rest his soul,” Fulco sighed, shaking his head and bouncing the white curls about his face. “Strange folk out in Buckland.”
Bramble nodded, a serious expression on her round face. “A good mathom for us at any rate,” she offered, a sigh upon her words.
“Just hope it doesn’t go giving people the idea to be like those Brandybucks! Unpredictable folk. Nearly Tookish, I’d say!” Fulco added a scoff, one from the very pit of his round stomach, bouncing the straining buttons on his waistcoat. “You sent the fliers out?”
“All about the Delving,” Bramble piped in assurance. Before First Yule, the hobbit had braved the snow and cold to set the announcements to the post; it was a well known fact the folk of the Shire loved to get their letters, and it was the best way to announce the arrival of a new mathom to the Mathom House. The homes of the city had been flooded with news of the Stoorish razor, and the few other baubles that had come to their possession recently.
It was a nice change to the collection, and was sure to draw many a hobbit.
“Good, good,” Master Bracegirdle said with a hmph, and both hobbits turned to look to the doorway. “Soon as they finish their second breakfasts, folk’ll be here in droves, no mistake!”
Bramble nodded. She certainly hoped so! The season before Yule was always the slowest for the House, and it would be nice to have some faces about. In the quiet, Fulco’s stomach rumbled.
“Speaking of second breakfast,” the old hobbit announced. “The missus sent along some scones and muffins, hard-boiled eggs, jam and fresh butter. Churned last week!”
Bramble’s mouth was already watering. “I brought some smoked salmon,” she added. “Sounds a fine a meal as any!”
Fulco laughed, the sound deep-bellied and filling the quiet House with the same twinkle that was in his eye. “Good, good! We’ll just sit and wait, and eat while we’re at it. Folk’ll be coming in droves soon enough!”
The razor was a strange thing, to be certain. A Stoorish trinket, one with little use in the Westfarthing where the hobbits grew no facial hair. Bramble wondered what it was like to need tend one’s face in such a way, though there were many things about the Stoors in Buckland that were odd. Boots and beards! Conversing with the Big Folk! A curiosity to the rest of the Shire, certainly.
“Lady Proudfoot gave it to me at her Second Yule,” Bramble recounted once more, for it seemed hobbits never tired of stories, particularly of the mundane, non-adventurous types. “She says she got it from her cousin, twice removed. Her neighbor is one of the Brandybucks. A widow,” Bramble added in a familiar way, yet Fulco looked to her intently to await her finish.
“Folk say her husband took a fancy to the water,” Bramble said with a slight shudder to her shoulders and a fall of her face. Why any hobbit would look to the water she could not understand; those boats were nothing short of dangerous! She, like many of the folk of the Westfarthing liked to forget that a lot of the best salted fish came from Buckland, where the hobbits took to downstream fishing.
“Rest his soul,” Fulco sighed, shaking his head and bouncing the white curls about his face. “Strange folk out in Buckland.”
Bramble nodded, a serious expression on her round face. “A good mathom for us at any rate,” she offered, a sigh upon her words.
“Just hope it doesn’t go giving people the idea to be like those Brandybucks! Unpredictable folk. Nearly Tookish, I’d say!” Fulco added a scoff, one from the very pit of his round stomach, bouncing the straining buttons on his waistcoat. “You sent the fliers out?”
“All about the Delving,” Bramble piped in assurance. Before First Yule, the hobbit had braved the snow and cold to set the announcements to the post; it was a well known fact the folk of the Shire loved to get their letters, and it was the best way to announce the arrival of a new mathom to the Mathom House. The homes of the city had been flooded with news of the Stoorish razor, and the few other baubles that had come to their possession recently.
It was a nice change to the collection, and was sure to draw many a hobbit.
“Good, good,” Master Bracegirdle said with a hmph, and both hobbits turned to look to the doorway. “Soon as they finish their second breakfasts, folk’ll be here in droves, no mistake!”
Bramble nodded. She certainly hoped so! The season before Yule was always the slowest for the House, and it would be nice to have some faces about. In the quiet, Fulco’s stomach rumbled.
“Speaking of second breakfast,” the old hobbit announced. “The missus sent along some scones and muffins, hard-boiled eggs, jam and fresh butter. Churned last week!”
Bramble’s mouth was already watering. “I brought some smoked salmon,” she added. “Sounds a fine a meal as any!”
Fulco laughed, the sound deep-bellied and filling the quiet House with the same twinkle that was in his eye. “Good, good! We’ll just sit and wait, and eat while we’re at it. Folk’ll be coming in droves soon enough!”