[ It is familiar, and that is, indeed, a troubling fact. Bilbo can't say he knows the route immensely well, but if there were twelve other dwarves and a wizard with them, he'd almost believe they were right back at the beginning of their previous – current? – quest. He's eyeing the span of trees most of all. Distantly he remembers the Carrock and the line of treetops laid out before them. Thorin is talking and Bilbo nods along, briefly, still paying closer attention to the map than the actual meanings behind the words. Not safe, right. Supplies, okay. That all changes of course, when there's a shift and then he's suddenly sitting there alone.
His focus finally rips away from the map and—h-hey. Later, he'll blame his slow waking and the twist of his starved stomach for the rise in indignation and for the immediate protest— ] Now hold on! You can't… [ And he stops short. Right, that's not… not proper. Arguing Thorin's dismissal? No, no, that's quite fine, because leader or not, things are a tad different this time, and that, that infuriating dwarf can't just go about ordering him around, at least not so early in the morning! Instead, Bilbo is more concerned about the fact that Thorin is there. Across the way. And Bilbo is still sitting here. With a few patrons glancing curiously toward the sound of his agitated, high pitch.
He drops the bread back on the plate – after a noticeable pause – and then grabs the map as he hops down. His shoulders hunch in a bit as he walks, as though hoping that making himself appear smaller will disincline anyone to continue taking notice of him and then, there, he's drawn in close to Thorin. He clears his throat, trying again. ] You can't leave. Not without discussing this first. [ And while he begins with a touch of uncertainty, it only takes a moment for the exasperation to find its way back in. He stands straighter, frowns deeper— ] And no, that is not the same as you talking at me.
[ … That's a bit sassier than his current bravery can maintain and after one beat, two, he makes a small noise in the back of his throat and stares down at the map instead. ]
no subject
His focus finally rips away from the map and—h-hey. Later, he'll blame his slow waking and the twist of his starved stomach for the rise in indignation and for the immediate protest— ] Now hold on! You can't… [ And he stops short. Right, that's not… not proper. Arguing Thorin's dismissal? No, no, that's quite fine, because leader or not, things are a tad different this time, and that, that infuriating dwarf can't just go about ordering him around, at least not so early in the morning! Instead, Bilbo is more concerned about the fact that Thorin is there. Across the way. And Bilbo is still sitting here. With a few patrons glancing curiously toward the sound of his agitated, high pitch.
He drops the bread back on the plate – after a noticeable pause – and then grabs the map as he hops down. His shoulders hunch in a bit as he walks, as though hoping that making himself appear smaller will disincline anyone to continue taking notice of him and then, there, he's drawn in close to Thorin. He clears his throat, trying again. ] You can't leave. Not without discussing this first. [ And while he begins with a touch of uncertainty, it only takes a moment for the exasperation to find its way back in. He stands straighter, frowns deeper— ] And no, that is not the same as you talking at me.
[ … That's a bit sassier than his current bravery can maintain and after one beat, two, he makes a small noise in the back of his throat and stares down at the map instead. ]