[ Of course he won't be far behind. Big folk are far too big in his humble opinion, what with their hulking bodies and large, wait no, small clumsy feet. Bilbo is, unfortunately, not immune to being stepped on; the soles of his feet may by tough as leather, but the tops, especially his toes, are quite tender to pressure. Thankfully, the urgency to rush that usually accompanies crowds is absent; nonetheless, Bilbo obediently stays close.
Or perhaps not close enough.
He'll have you know Thorin, he has his reservations about this! But there's no time to dissuade Thorin or even request him to pause, because the door is open and then, there, he's gone. Bilbo fumbles, but quickly follows, slipping in behind and crowding close, only daring to peer inconspicuously around one broad, dwarven shoulder to take in the bustle of cheer. It almost reminds him of the Green Dragon. Except for the big bodies. Expansive tables. Slightly larger than practical mugs. Hmph. Distastefully, he wrinkles his nose.
Well then.
Deciding not to dwell on it, he reaches forward to grasp an edge of the pack, intending to slow Thorin and ask whether he will be washing up or snagging that much needed ale first, but instead, Bilbo ends up jolting, because of course, tiny hobbit fingers grasping at a pack are of little strength when compared to the determined stride of a dwarf. It's only a moment of miscalculation, but his feet stumble to catch up and bump, he may be grasping the pack more firmly now, with both hands and the slight lean of his weight. He straightens quickly – but never quickly enough – and smooths his palms over the pack, fixing whatever damage he may have—...
What is he doing, even? Honestly Baggins.
He snaps his hands to his sides and clears his throat. ] … Sorry.
i kind of assumed an action. I HOPE THAT'S OKAY. if not slap me & i'll change things
large, wait no, smallclumsy feet. Bilbo is, unfortunately, not immune to being stepped on; the soles of his feet may by tough as leather, but the tops, especially his toes, are quite tender to pressure. Thankfully, the urgency to rush that usually accompanies crowds is absent; nonetheless, Bilbo obediently stays close.Or perhaps not close enough.
He'll have you know Thorin, he has his reservations about this! But there's no time to dissuade Thorin or even request him to pause, because the door is open and then, there, he's gone. Bilbo fumbles, but quickly follows, slipping in behind and crowding close, only daring to peer inconspicuously around one broad, dwarven shoulder to take in the bustle of cheer. It almost reminds him of the Green Dragon. Except for the big bodies. Expansive tables. Slightly larger than practical mugs. Hmph. Distastefully, he wrinkles his nose.
Well then.
Deciding not to dwell on it, he reaches forward to grasp an edge of the pack, intending to slow Thorin and ask whether he will be washing up or snagging that much needed ale first, but instead, Bilbo ends up jolting, because of course, tiny hobbit fingers grasping at a pack are of little strength when compared to the determined stride of a dwarf. It's only a moment of miscalculation, but his feet stumble to catch up and bump, he may be grasping the pack more firmly now, with both hands and the slight lean of his weight. He straightens quickly – but never quickly enough – and smooths his palms over the pack, fixing whatever damage he may have—...
What is he doing, even? Honestly Baggins.
He snaps his hands to his sides and clears his throat. ] … Sorry.