Countdown to Cake by Elwen
Mar. 3rd, 2016 12:09 pm![[identity profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/openid.png){kind=small}
elwenlj.livejournal.com posting in ![[community profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/community.png){kind=small}
b2memB2MeM Challenge: Bingo card O70 (An unexpected party - alternative POV
Format: Series of short mental conversations
Genre: Humour?
Rating: Gen.
Warnings: None
Characters: Sam Gamgee
Pairings: None
Summary: So what does Sam think of all these preparations?
I don’t own Bag End, or Sam, or any of those lovely hobbits, nor wizards or dwarves. The whole lot belongs to JRR Tolkien and I’m just borrowing them for a few minutes . . . meanin’ no harm an’ I hope none will come of it.
Countdown to Cake
We get dwarves passin’ through Bywater sometimes. They come to market, bringin’ all kind of knickknacks. The little un’s love the toys, though most can’t afford the prices and are a bit scared of ‘em. I mean . . . all that hair so you can’t hardly see their faces. And the boots! I wouldn’t like my toes stomped on by them boots. No, indeed.
Not that they was walking today. Took their cart right through the middle of Hobbiton and up to Mr Bilbo’s front door as bold as you please. I hope he aint plannin’ to go gallivantin’ off with them again. He’s gettin’ a mite old for that . . . not that he looks it most days. But on a time you can see it in his eyes. They can look tired.
I aint no good at keepin’ secrets. Ma used to say the little switch in my head that stops thoughts comin’ out my mouth sometimes gets stuck in the open position. So I try not to listen in to stuff ‘cos if I don’t hear it I can’t tell it. But I can’t help but hear when folks go and chat, right the other side of an open window, now can I?
There was Mr Bilbo and Master Frodo sittin’ at the table drinkin’ tea and me outside, trimmin’ the wisteria.
“We’ll need to get the big bedroom tidy Frodo. Gandalf is due tomorrow.”
“So early? Please tell me he’s going to bring fireworks?”
Mr Bilbo laughed. “Of course. This is a very special party; your coming of age and my eleventyfirst.”
Now, I can understand having a party for a comin’ of age. But eleventy one is a strange age to hold a special party for. It ain’t my place to go sayin’ it to Mr Bilbo, but it is. Tis a good age to be an’ I hope I get to live that long. But it’s a funny age to be celebrating special. A hundred I can understand or even a hundred and ten, but eleventy-one is an odd one.
That’s when they moved off, mayhap to sort out that bedroom. But I heard Master Frodo saying, “I don’t know whether people will remember the reason for the party, but if we’re to have Gandalf’s fireworks, they’ll certainly remember the event itself.”
When we was havin’ supper later, the Gaffer asked about my day. And that’s when that switch went and got stuck again. Then Marigold told her friend Tilly, and Tilly told her brother, and he told Mistress Proudfoot. And now everyone knows there’s to be fireworks at the party.
I can hear my poor Ma now. “Sam Gamgee, my lad. Aint never any good comes of eaves droppin’. You mark my words.”
I bet she’s spinnin’ in her grave. “Sorry, Ma.”
Well, he’s here. The wizard. I thought Mistress Proudfoot’s eyes were goin’ to pop right out of her head. I know Mr Gandalf a bit cos he’s been visitin’ Bag End on and off for years . . . although he don’t go about in the village much when he do. He spins tales as good as Mr Bilbo’s when he’s had a glass or two of Old Winyards.
Folks is scared of him and I don’t blame ‘em. He’s so big and he wears them huge boots. Not like dwarf boots but nearly as tall as me they are. And that hat makes him even bigger. We see big folk sometimes but only on the borders and they’re usually seen off. But, Hobbiton bein’ in the middle of the Shire, or round about, we don’t see many here.
Then there’s that fact he’s a wizard. You don’t want to cross a wizard. My Ma didn’t have a sayin’ for wizards but I bet she would have if she’d seen Mr Gandalf. Most folks stuck their heads out the door just long enough to wish they hadn’t. We’re sensible folk in Hobbiton and don’t hold with runnin’ off to kill dragons. Not that I wouldn’t mind seein’ an elf or two. I wonder if Mr Bilbo’s invited any to the party. Now, there would be a sight.
Don’t know how Tom Chubb is goin’ to graze his sheep in that field. All them carts have churned it up good an’ proper and the ponies have nibbled what ain’t been churned. I expect Mr Bilbo will have paid him rent for its use, cos he’s good like that. But still, the sheep won’t be happy.
The young uns’ have been taken by the fancy paintin’ on them carts too. Don’t reckon I’ve ever seen so many colours in one place, ‘cept on one of Mistress Lobelia’s dresses. My Gaffer says it ain’t natural. But then, Gaffer thinks a lot of things ain’t natural. The young uns was climbin’ all over them carts until Mr Bilbo paid Ted Sandyman’s lad to keep ‘em off. Not that it worked. Bert’s just collectin’ a penny from each, for him to look the other way while they clamber.
Well, I can’t sit here all day. This bag of party invitations is heavy. I reckon Mr Bilbo’s invited all the Shire, even some folk from away down in Buckland and that’s a tidy way to come. There’ll be even more carts and ponies in the field and the inns is goin’ to be burstin’ at the seams.
Maisy Greenbow, as runs the Ivy Bush says she’s goin’ to string up an awnin’ in the yard so folks can camp out there if they have to. Says she won’t even charge for its use. Of course, if folks nip in for the odd pint or bite to eat I reckon the trade would more than make up for the use of the yard. She’s a good business woman, is Maisy. And she brews a crackin’ pint. None better.
Poor Mr Bilbo. That bell on his door aint stopped for days. Folks from all over Hobbiton have been tryin’ to see inside cos they know there’s a wizard and dwarves up there. I saw two lads tryin’ to crawl in through the kitchen window this mornin’. My gaffer spotted ‘em and, arthritis or no, he saw ‘em off.
I watched Master Frodo pinnin’ a notice on the gate this mornin’ but that’s not stoppin’ folk callin’. Why would it? Most folk round here don’t see no use for readin’ and writin’. I’ve tried to tell ‘em what it says but I don’t reckon they’re over interested. Not knowin’ their letters just gives ‘em an excuse to ring the bell.
I think the only reason Mr Bilbo don’t take down that bell is that he don’t want folk scratchin the paintwork on his door with their knockin’. Down in the Ivy Bush its become a joke. Every time one of the guests rings for service in the private parlour the whole tap room pipes up with, “Letter for Mr Bilbo!”
Well, I never did. Practically next door and I never heard a thing. You go to bed next door to an empty field and next morning someone’s cut a hole in the bank, built a gate . . . with steps mind you . . . and covered the field with piles of poles and ropes. Mistress Lobelia nearly had a fit of the vapours when she saw it. Mind you, she’s always havin’ the vapours. Marigold reckons its cos she wears her stays too tight.
Some folk reckon it were done with magic but I think it was them dwarves. Mr Bilbo once told me they rebuilt a huge wall in a day after the dragon left. So a gate and some steps would be nothin’ to them. But they’d no call to be so sneaky in the doin’ of it I must say.
Oh, here they come trooping out of Bag End as bold as you please, with arms full of canvas.
Maisy Greenbow is sendin’ her best cook to help with the party tomorrow. I reckon she’d have sent her second best if she could but, as no-one’s goin’ to be eating at the Ivy Bush on party day, she’s sendin’ Bill. I reckon there’s also a bit of competition in it, cos all the inns from miles around have sent their cooks too.
If Maisy puts on a good show at the party she could be lucky and get some of the folks who’ve travelled stayin' at her inn for a few extra day. There’s nothin’ like knowing you’ll get a good breakfast or two inside you to encourage folks to stay. Aye, she's a good business head on them shoulders.
Well, here it is . . . September the twenty second.
Tis a good job the weather’s brightened up cos it looked like rain yesterday. I wonder if Mr Gandalf can change the weather. Is he that kind of a wizard? I’ve never seen him do magic but he must be able to, or why else would he be called a wizard? Maybe it’s his fireworks that are magic.
Oooh, the gate’s openin’.
“Mornin’ Mr Bilbo, Master Frodo. ‘Tis a grand day for a party. Happy birthday to you both, sirs. And many more of ‘em.”
END
Format: Series of short mental conversations
Genre: Humour?
Rating: Gen.
Warnings: None
Characters: Sam Gamgee
Pairings: None
Summary: So what does Sam think of all these preparations?
I don’t own Bag End, or Sam, or any of those lovely hobbits, nor wizards or dwarves. The whole lot belongs to JRR Tolkien and I’m just borrowing them for a few minutes . . . meanin’ no harm an’ I hope none will come of it.
Countdown to Cake
We get dwarves passin’ through Bywater sometimes. They come to market, bringin’ all kind of knickknacks. The little un’s love the toys, though most can’t afford the prices and are a bit scared of ‘em. I mean . . . all that hair so you can’t hardly see their faces. And the boots! I wouldn’t like my toes stomped on by them boots. No, indeed.
Not that they was walking today. Took their cart right through the middle of Hobbiton and up to Mr Bilbo’s front door as bold as you please. I hope he aint plannin’ to go gallivantin’ off with them again. He’s gettin’ a mite old for that . . . not that he looks it most days. But on a time you can see it in his eyes. They can look tired.
I aint no good at keepin’ secrets. Ma used to say the little switch in my head that stops thoughts comin’ out my mouth sometimes gets stuck in the open position. So I try not to listen in to stuff ‘cos if I don’t hear it I can’t tell it. But I can’t help but hear when folks go and chat, right the other side of an open window, now can I?
There was Mr Bilbo and Master Frodo sittin’ at the table drinkin’ tea and me outside, trimmin’ the wisteria.
“We’ll need to get the big bedroom tidy Frodo. Gandalf is due tomorrow.”
“So early? Please tell me he’s going to bring fireworks?”
Mr Bilbo laughed. “Of course. This is a very special party; your coming of age and my eleventyfirst.”
Now, I can understand having a party for a comin’ of age. But eleventy one is a strange age to hold a special party for. It ain’t my place to go sayin’ it to Mr Bilbo, but it is. Tis a good age to be an’ I hope I get to live that long. But it’s a funny age to be celebrating special. A hundred I can understand or even a hundred and ten, but eleventy-one is an odd one.
That’s when they moved off, mayhap to sort out that bedroom. But I heard Master Frodo saying, “I don’t know whether people will remember the reason for the party, but if we’re to have Gandalf’s fireworks, they’ll certainly remember the event itself.”
When we was havin’ supper later, the Gaffer asked about my day. And that’s when that switch went and got stuck again. Then Marigold told her friend Tilly, and Tilly told her brother, and he told Mistress Proudfoot. And now everyone knows there’s to be fireworks at the party.
I can hear my poor Ma now. “Sam Gamgee, my lad. Aint never any good comes of eaves droppin’. You mark my words.”
I bet she’s spinnin’ in her grave. “Sorry, Ma.”
Well, he’s here. The wizard. I thought Mistress Proudfoot’s eyes were goin’ to pop right out of her head. I know Mr Gandalf a bit cos he’s been visitin’ Bag End on and off for years . . . although he don’t go about in the village much when he do. He spins tales as good as Mr Bilbo’s when he’s had a glass or two of Old Winyards.
Folks is scared of him and I don’t blame ‘em. He’s so big and he wears them huge boots. Not like dwarf boots but nearly as tall as me they are. And that hat makes him even bigger. We see big folk sometimes but only on the borders and they’re usually seen off. But, Hobbiton bein’ in the middle of the Shire, or round about, we don’t see many here.
Then there’s that fact he’s a wizard. You don’t want to cross a wizard. My Ma didn’t have a sayin’ for wizards but I bet she would have if she’d seen Mr Gandalf. Most folks stuck their heads out the door just long enough to wish they hadn’t. We’re sensible folk in Hobbiton and don’t hold with runnin’ off to kill dragons. Not that I wouldn’t mind seein’ an elf or two. I wonder if Mr Bilbo’s invited any to the party. Now, there would be a sight.
Don’t know how Tom Chubb is goin’ to graze his sheep in that field. All them carts have churned it up good an’ proper and the ponies have nibbled what ain’t been churned. I expect Mr Bilbo will have paid him rent for its use, cos he’s good like that. But still, the sheep won’t be happy.
The young uns’ have been taken by the fancy paintin’ on them carts too. Don’t reckon I’ve ever seen so many colours in one place, ‘cept on one of Mistress Lobelia’s dresses. My Gaffer says it ain’t natural. But then, Gaffer thinks a lot of things ain’t natural. The young uns was climbin’ all over them carts until Mr Bilbo paid Ted Sandyman’s lad to keep ‘em off. Not that it worked. Bert’s just collectin’ a penny from each, for him to look the other way while they clamber.
Well, I can’t sit here all day. This bag of party invitations is heavy. I reckon Mr Bilbo’s invited all the Shire, even some folk from away down in Buckland and that’s a tidy way to come. There’ll be even more carts and ponies in the field and the inns is goin’ to be burstin’ at the seams.
Maisy Greenbow, as runs the Ivy Bush says she’s goin’ to string up an awnin’ in the yard so folks can camp out there if they have to. Says she won’t even charge for its use. Of course, if folks nip in for the odd pint or bite to eat I reckon the trade would more than make up for the use of the yard. She’s a good business woman, is Maisy. And she brews a crackin’ pint. None better.
Poor Mr Bilbo. That bell on his door aint stopped for days. Folks from all over Hobbiton have been tryin’ to see inside cos they know there’s a wizard and dwarves up there. I saw two lads tryin’ to crawl in through the kitchen window this mornin’. My gaffer spotted ‘em and, arthritis or no, he saw ‘em off.
I watched Master Frodo pinnin’ a notice on the gate this mornin’ but that’s not stoppin’ folk callin’. Why would it? Most folk round here don’t see no use for readin’ and writin’. I’ve tried to tell ‘em what it says but I don’t reckon they’re over interested. Not knowin’ their letters just gives ‘em an excuse to ring the bell.
I think the only reason Mr Bilbo don’t take down that bell is that he don’t want folk scratchin the paintwork on his door with their knockin’. Down in the Ivy Bush its become a joke. Every time one of the guests rings for service in the private parlour the whole tap room pipes up with, “Letter for Mr Bilbo!”
Well, I never did. Practically next door and I never heard a thing. You go to bed next door to an empty field and next morning someone’s cut a hole in the bank, built a gate . . . with steps mind you . . . and covered the field with piles of poles and ropes. Mistress Lobelia nearly had a fit of the vapours when she saw it. Mind you, she’s always havin’ the vapours. Marigold reckons its cos she wears her stays too tight.
Some folk reckon it were done with magic but I think it was them dwarves. Mr Bilbo once told me they rebuilt a huge wall in a day after the dragon left. So a gate and some steps would be nothin’ to them. But they’d no call to be so sneaky in the doin’ of it I must say.
Oh, here they come trooping out of Bag End as bold as you please, with arms full of canvas.
Maisy Greenbow is sendin’ her best cook to help with the party tomorrow. I reckon she’d have sent her second best if she could but, as no-one’s goin’ to be eating at the Ivy Bush on party day, she’s sendin’ Bill. I reckon there’s also a bit of competition in it, cos all the inns from miles around have sent their cooks too.
If Maisy puts on a good show at the party she could be lucky and get some of the folks who’ve travelled stayin' at her inn for a few extra day. There’s nothin’ like knowing you’ll get a good breakfast or two inside you to encourage folks to stay. Aye, she's a good business head on them shoulders.
Well, here it is . . . September the twenty second.
Tis a good job the weather’s brightened up cos it looked like rain yesterday. I wonder if Mr Gandalf can change the weather. Is he that kind of a wizard? I’ve never seen him do magic but he must be able to, or why else would he be called a wizard? Maybe it’s his fireworks that are magic.
Oooh, the gate’s openin’.
“Mornin’ Mr Bilbo, Master Frodo. ‘Tis a grand day for a party. Happy birthday to you both, sirs. And many more of ‘em.”
END
![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 02:06 pm (UTC)- Erulisse (one L)
no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 02:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 04:08 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 04:27 pm (UTC)Oh, and I can't forget this: Mistress Lobelia nearly had a fit of the vapours when she saw it. Mind you, she’s always havin’ the vapours. Marigold reckons its cos she wears her stays too tight.
Note to self: when a story is marked Humour, do not drink hot chocolate while reading. I nearly choked on it...
Kaylee Arafinwiel
no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 04:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 09:28 pm (UTC)Lots of Shirish-ness and some neat foreshadowing as well!
no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 11:12 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 10:35 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 11:15 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 11:31 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-04 09:57 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-03 11:56 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-04 10:04 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-05 09:25 pm (UTC)*snugs* We should have had you on staff on Elendor. You're a lot more creative and thematic with hobbit-stuff than most of us ever were.
no subject
Date: 2016-03-05 09:28 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-15 09:14 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-03-15 09:18 pm (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-05 06:22 am (UTC)no subject
Date: 2016-04-05 11:02 am (UTC)