middlemuses | (no subject)

[ 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.

[ There are certain challenges to following a dwarf on a mission, who does not seem to know fear. Thorin is used to a certain amount of lagging behind and general fidgeting when it comes to Bilbo. If he waited for every small thing that the hobbit got himself worked up over, he'd never make any progress. That said, he keeps a closer eye on Bilbo than it would seem.

Still, he wasn't exactly expecting the sudden weight of a hobbit clinging to his back, either. It's not enough to drag him to the floor, even caught flat-footed, but he does tilt backward for a moment before regaining balance. Once righted, he turns to give Bilbo a look, and rolls his eyes briefly toward the ceiling as he drops the pack with a heavy thud at the nearest empty table.

Before anything else is accomplished, there needs to be ale, clearly. ]

Do you still have that pocket knife of yours?

Edited 2016-02-27 05:48 (UTC)

[ He almost feels foolish for not immediately realizing it. It's about three seconds into him mentally categorizing his possessions and wondering when he ever had a pocket knife that the pieces slot. Pocket knife. Letter opener. Confusion relaxes and then scrunches right into a tight press of lips, his chin upturned just so.

Very funny, Thorin. It should not be forgotten that this pocket knife once saved someone's foolish hide. Or at the very least, delayed the unthinkable so that the Company could do the saving, because he hadn't done much, not really.

Anyway--

Despite how worn and pitiful it has become, his coat is still very much intact and with its length, it drapes over his sword, only leaving a small portion of the sheath peeking out below. He pats over his coat, over his hip... and then, wait um, pats again, a little more to the side; oh, there it is. The action is meant to be a comforting one, but perhaps needing to pat around for the hilt has the opposite effect. Either way, Bilbo dismisses the inquiry, the same as he dismisses Thorin – with a turn and a settle of his weight there on the bench-seat. ] I'll keep an eye on it. [ The pack he means. While Thorin goes and gets... himself some ale? For both of them? Bilbo wouldn't like to presume but it would be the polite thing to do.

… On second thought, that means it won't be happening. ]

Edited (oh grammar fail OMG AGAIN. it's late and i just woke up sob) 2016-02-27 06:44 (UTC)

[ There's an element of humor to it, true, but despite the appearance of peace, he does not actually trust this place one bit, and his main intent is to keep any potential eavesdroppers as ignorant as possible about what particular weapons they're carrying. His sword and axe are clearly visible, but if anyone actually considered attacking or robbing him, they probably wouldn't be expecting the halfling to stab them in the back of the knee. Yes, Thorin is paranoid. He has good reasons to be.

He simply gives Bilbo a half-nod and then shoulders his way through the crowd toward the bar.

It doesn't take him long to return - perhaps far sooner than Bilbo might expect. Thorin does have a certain way with people - not so much charm as a force of will that cannot be denied. And he does, in fact, return with a large mug for himself and a smaller one for the hobbit. Under normal circumstances, he might not have been so considerate, but he feels as if he owes his friend a drink, if nothing else.

He drops said drink on the table in front of Bilbo as he moves past to sit on the opposite bench. ]

[ … Perhaps there's hope for dwarven manners afterall. Surprised, yet pleased all the same, he murmurs his thanks and then falls to silence in favor of reaching for his mug. The brew cannot hold a candle to that of a hobbit's – they do excel immensely when food and drink are involved – but it's fine on its own. Still, he takes his gulp and then spends more time with it set upon the table, his fingers encircling the base.

Thump. Tap. Tap, tap, thump. The drumming of his fingers is incessant; the sound of them a fleeting annoyance even to himself, but one he can't bring himself to quell either. All things considered, it's minor when compared to the assortment of voices and the clinks of mugs, everything blending until there's nothing distinguishable beyond static noise. It should be fine. To sit as they are, listening to others while polishing off their own drinks, but well-- ]

Hm. I have never seen so many big folk in one place before. [ Oh no. Small talk. Recluse as he had been prior to what will now be referred to as the dwarven incident, Bilbo is very much a hobbit and nonsensical, meaningless pleasantries is a way of life. Commenting on a lass' new bonnet, complimenting fresh paint on one's round door, musing on impending weather; such talk is a habitual itch always needing to be scratched and Bilbo can't help but fill the empty air at their table. ]

Well, hm, there were the elves... but-- were there as many? [ He's staring down at his mug, features tight as he thinks back and tries to remember. ] I must say they were far quieter. [ There's a clatter and a curse at a nearby table; possibly from a knocked over mug. ] Cleaner too.

[ … Great topic choice. Where had he intended to go with this? ]

[ It doesn't hold a candle to proper dwarven ale, either, but it will do. It's not the worst he's ever had to endure, and at a time like this, Thorin would take almost anything. Almost. He would have to seriously consider whether or not elvish wine would be acceptable in any situation, but he might have to admit that Thranduil's son deserves some credit for not being a consummate coward like his father.

The general noise of the crowd is a known thing to Thorin. He's been surrounded by such chaos for his entire life, some of it even among mixed human and dwarven company. As much as he appreciates peaceful silence, and prefers the clink of picks in a mine and the voices of his kin, in conversation or song, there is a settling familiarity in the sound of wood scraping across a stone floor. The dull clank of metal utensils on metal cups and plate. A burst of the laughter of men, as they react to some joke.

It's a very different place for a hobbit.

Normally he would let the conversation flow around him for the most part, but it's just Bilbo and himself here. He's already finished off more than half of his drink before he speaks again, however. ]

Elves tend to keep to themselves. [ It's clear from his tone that he considers this to be mostly because they feel themselves superior to other folk. ] As far as the men, this is the sort of crowd you often find outside of the Shire, Master Baggins. There are far more of them now than hobbits and dwarves put together.

[ He hasn't given up hope on finding dwarves, however, and perhaps there are hobbits as well. Elves he can do without. ]

[ Here? Certainly. But he has to wonder if Thorin means in the general sense as well. Bilbo has his maps and his books, but it's as Gandalf once said; the world is out there. Listing races in his head and compartmentalizing them to locations and kingdoms can only illustrate so much. Seeing and hearing what he's only imagined for so many years... - huh, he wonders if he'll ever be as at ease as Thorin is.

Most likely not.

Amused for the ridiculous comparison, Bilbo just as soon slugs it away from the forefront of his mind and focuses, instead, on gulping another mouthful. Clunk, it's back to the table and Bilbo purses his lips, rolling his mouth in a semicircle with the crinkle of his nose. Still less than satisfactory, but perhaps it will taste better with eight or nine gulps more, when the very beginning tingle of haze settles in. ~~If human ale is even that strong, that is.~~ ]

Yes, well. [ Hobbit families are quite large, thank you. Perhaps if the borders of the Shire were broader, they could give the world of men a run for their coin. ~~Not that Bilbo is doing anything to assist in that make-believe contest of sorts, ahem~~. As for dwarves— ] Once we get you back in that mountain of yours, you dwarves can work on… [ A minuscule pause. Ahem. ] … filling that mountain properly.

[ Thorin is keenly aware of just how far the dwarves have fallen. They may have finally been victorious, but in his lifetime he has seen so many deaths. Bilbo might have heard the story of Erebor's fall, and the loss of Moria, but to actually see how many of his kin were slain... death beyond count. Still, he has no doubt that his people will regain their full former glory.

Bilbo gets a bit of an odd look from over the top of Thorin's mug just before he lifts it to drain the last bit of ale. It's not at all strong to him, perhaps not either to a man of decent constitution, but he's not sure how it would affect a hobbit. ]

In time, more of our people will come to the mountain, my sister, and my cousins among them, and Erebor will be returned to former glory. Whether or not I return, the line of Durin will not end with me.

[ Although he's not too old to have children of his own, as it has been not-so-subtly pointed out before, the odds of that happening at this point... are somewhat even lower than they were before. ]

[ Don't look at him like that, Thorin. It's not polite. Now, Bilbo has grown quite accustomed to Thorin's favor toward absolutes: this will happen, nothing will prevent them, there will be no failure. Thorin pushes until there's no space left for doubt or despair and then pushes some more, until all those within the sound of his voice can't help but think this all won't be for naught. That sheer determination has been the only constant in their quest. So it's interesting – disheartening? – that there's a change.

Whether or not he returns?

Usually, Bilbo is mindful to not stare, but propriety aside, he openly watches the other, eyes wide and a slight furrow between. One, two, and then his head tilts, as though needing a new angle to understand, before his gaze just as abruptly narrows. Oh for the—

Of all things to say.]

Ridiculous. [ Bilbo does, occasionally, have his moments of bravery – or perhaps this is foolishness – which leaves the reprimand to come out in a huff. As always though, this particular hobbit's agitation translates into fiddling, and he bides the following moment with sitting straighter and gripping his mug tighter. ] Speaking as though you won't be, be... [ King under the mountain. He shakes his head and then doubles back to nod once instead. ] A Baggins always keeps his word. I will see you seated on your throne.

[ Well. To be fair, he swore to take back their home, but having all ~~his~~ the dwarves safe and merry, with Thorin continually at the lead, is synonymous with the task. ]

He does, and he did.

[ Thorin slams his mug back down on the table with enough force to gain a few curious stares from nearby patrons. He stares them down until they look away, and the sounds of the crowd quickly return to their normal levels. Only once they have their relative privacy back does he lean forward to continue to speak, not as much with anger, but with definite fierce intensity. ]

Master Baggins. Bilbo. For as long as I live, I am King under the Mountain. I sat on the throne, and I wore that crown. [ It was not his proudest moment, in the midst of that sickness. Far prouder he was when his company followed him into battle, despite everything that had been said and done. That was the King they had followed to the Lonely Mountain. ] Do not think for one moment that I intend to forsake that.

[ He leans back and tugs at his chain mail, pulling it up so that the huge, still rather unsightly, gash through it is visible. It's clearly far too extensive to be indicative of anything short of a fatal wound. ]

I killed Azog. And I fell. I should among my ancestors now, not in some dingy tavern in the middle of nowhere.

[ Oh.

…………… oh. ]

[ Bilbo has nothing to say. All he has is the hammering of his heart and a ringing in his ears, those heated words swirling slowly, round and round in steady repetition. He fell. He fell. He fell.

He swallows, shoulders hunching in. The mugs are still impractically large in his opinion but not quite expansive enough to hide behind, nonetheless, that almost seems to be what he's doing. Chin tucked and body drawing in, he doesn't dare meet the gaze across the table. He's suffered Thorin's ire at just about every opportunity imaginable on the quest but this is, this is different. Something aches terribly and feels on the verge of breaking; not his pride, not his sense of self...

Hope? Is that what big, clunky, abruptly rude and and tactless dwarven feet just stomped all over?

Thorin said they succeeded. That they won back the mountain. Well. It doesn't feel very much like winning when one of them dies. The thought drags out a grimace, his eyes reflexively snapping up and--… hm, that's true. He barely takes in pulled away chain-mail and marred skin, instead looking back to the table. The table that is, indeed, in a dingy tavern in the middle of nowhere. A tavern that Thorin is obviously – safely – in. And it makes him think.

Perhaps not all hope is lost. Surely there's a reason for such turn of events. ] … There must be something that can be done. [ Things can be changed; Bilbo's future, Thorin's past? Even so, the words are worn and a touch tired, the hobbit a little too rattled to manage any much needed optimism. ]

[ Thorin sinks back onto the bench with a heavy sigh. He could say something about the fact that expecting everyone to make it through this journey alive was foolishness to begin with, but he doesn't actually want to destroy all sense of hope. They never would have made it this far without it.

It would be difficult to see the victory in it all if one had not seen the dragon burst forth from Erebor, never to return, or the piles of gold and treasure within the mountain itself. Bilbo has not yet seen the legions of orcs laid low by an army of dwarves, rallying to their king. Or the eagles, returning to pick off those tried to flee.

Bilbo may know what it is to have a home, but he couldn't be expected to fathom exactly how it felt for Thorin to reclaim his, after fighting so long and so hard, against all odds. When even his own people, save for twelve, would not follow him.

He regards Bilbo silently for a moment, solemnly, then he nods. ]

Aye. I will not abandon my home, my people, or my honor. Or my friends.

[ He slides off the bench and stands, tugging his armor and tunic back into place. ]

I tire of this filth. I've arranged for a room upstairs, which supposedly has an adequate bath.

[ Better. Not perfect. But better. Bilbo likes to think himself clever when it suits him and he hopes, perhaps, with some time and effort, he can devise a way to fix this mess. … Who is he fooling? He's naught but a small hobbit, out of place and out of element, what can he possibly do? Still, he wants to try, however little he can, to figure this out. So he logs it away for another time, promising himself to revisit it when the shock ebbs away.

For now, he glances up to Thorin and then back to his mug, offering a minuscule nod. Okay. Yes, all right.

… Oh. Wait. Is he meant to—?

He hasn't moved. Still seated, he hasn't fallen into the typical routine of rushing to follow said leader. Instead, he stalls for the moment and glances upward once more. ] Do you mean… for me to go, ah, with you? [ He supposes there's little sense in him sitting here, alone, amongst a crowd of uncertain intent. And he has to admit, quietly to himself, that he'd rather not let Thorin wander too far away when they've just found one another. But with all that said, Bilbo is never confident in what Thorin expects of him.

~~And he hasn't even finished his drink either, pfffft.~~ ]

[ There may yet be a way home, even for him. It's not as if sitting around lamenting his continued existence is going to accomplish anything, and Thorin is quite possibly physically incapable of being genuinely idle. ~~It's hard to believe that he is still alive, in every sense, but he will not simply accept death without a fight.~~ He will find something. Especially with Bilbo at his side, he could ask for no truer friend, or more clever ally. ]

Unless you'd rather sit here alone with your drink. [ There's almost a sense of good humor to his tone as he once again shoulders his pack, rather than anything particularly demanding. He can't imagine Bilbo not following him. Perhaps not always tripping on his heels, but sooner or later. ] Bring it with you.

[ He does not wait to see whether or not Bilbo does so, he's already on his way toward the stairs. After all, even if someone were to try anything behind him, they would be sorely pressed to accomplish something before having an unhappy, well-armed dwarven king in very close proximity. ]

Edited 2016-02-28 14:21 (UTC)

[ No, he does not want to sit here alone with his drink, thank you. The tavern, before, felt too loud and too crowded; now it's near overwhelming when he has no steady presence to focus on across the table. So he stares mournfully at his soon to be abandoned drink – he doubts very much they're allowed to disappear elsewhere with their cups, Thorin – and then stands. Turn, step, pause. Well, on second thought. It's not as though he's burglaring it. It's only up to one of the rooms, all of which are within the same vicinity.

Indecisive, he taps his fingertips against his pant leg for longer than necessary, and there, mind made up, turns back around to take drink in hand. Akin to a fauntling with greedy fingers in the cookie jar, Bilbo sneaks a borderline guilty gaze toward the barkeep, as though he's doing something he's not meant to, but of course, his dalliances are of no concern to anyone. That is, except... – ah, where'd he go?

Oh, there.

Squaring his shoulders to regain his confidence, Bilbo soon follows, weaving here and sidestepping there. He closes in at the stairs, the hard creak of that bottom step being the first, real indication that Bilbo is back where he should be and it's with one, last backward glance, that Bilbo follows Thorin upstairs, tight-lipped and clutching his mug close. ]

[ Thorin has been watching Bilbo's dilemma from the middle of the stairs, only turning back once the hobbit finally makes up his mind. It never ceases to amuse him that his burglar is, quite frankly, terrible at actual burgling in most cases. He is more than adept at hiding things when he has a mind to, but actual theft is another matter entirely.

There are a line of numbered doors in a hallway, one side open to the large, open room below. It's close to what he's used to, but it just feels... off in a way he can't put words to. He steps up to the third one and unlocks it, pushing the door partially open, but he doesn't immediately barge into the dimly lit room. He's not that reckless.

Once Bilbo is within a conversational distance, he looks over, his shoulder still against the door frame. He's not about to admit that the exhaustion from the day is starting to creep up on him. It's nothing he hasn't faced before. ]

You can return that later, Master Burglar.

[ Minding his own business as it were, Bilbo falters in step when the other's attention is suddenly on him again. It's not as though Thorin makes him nervous – ha, all right, perhaps a little – and he's quite gotten over his need to stay out of Thorin's way whenever possible, but when one opens a door, one is meant to go through it, not stand about looking. The pause is short however and when he starts again, it's with a marginally quicker step until he's just within arm's length. ]

And I shall! [ Indignant, the words are spoken a touch more huffy than what's proper. Honestly, to even think he needs reminding. He's been contracted to burglar one thing and one thing alone; he shall not be adding other thievery to his conscious ~~aside from a certain ring in his pocket, ahem~~.

With that, he holds Thorin's gaze a moment longer and then, well, he looks to the room, leaning, slightly, with the motion for a better view. A shuffle closer. Gaze back to Thorin, curious and questioning. Back to the room, once more, and finally, he settles on Thorin and stays, look expectant and brows raised. Well? ]

[ It was not so long ago that Bilbo shuffled so nervously around Thorin on a constant basis, uneasy to begin with at being so far from his comfortable home. Doubly so under Thorin's direct, stern, disapproving stares, when he bothered to acknowledge the hobbit's presence at all. It has been some time, too, since he realized that he'd been very wrong in his presumptions, but clearly it has not been so for Bilbo.

But he knows now what courage his burglar is capable of, and that in time, so will Bilbo. He will eventually get used to Thorin actually having respect for what he has to say.

Eventually being, perhaps, the key word.

Good enough. Thorin pushes the door fully open and steps into the room without any further hesitation. There are no hidden assassins, orcs, or anything of the like in the room. It's far from luxurious, but there are four individual beds that look comfortable enough, a sturdy-looking wooden table, and a window in the back looking out onto the street. There's also a partition that all but closes off a bathing tub and a sink. Several oil lamps give the room a dim, but sufficient light. ]

This place reminds me of Bree.

[ He drops his things near one of the beds - he hasn't yet had the time to go through exactly what has come with him - and begins to shrug off weapons and outer layers. He pauses before laying Orcrist aside. ]

The last time I was there, I was made aware of the fact that there was a hefty price placed upon my head.

[ Bilbo offers nothing beyond a hum, acknowledging but lacking any experience to correlate the comparison. Bree, yes of course, he knows of it, but the furthest destination one of his walking holidays ever took him had been Frogmorton. Wandering, he bypasses the bed stationed next to Thorin's and chooses another, further away, setting his mug on a low-set bedside table before poking curiously at the mattress. Men, can they do nothing correctly? First their ale, now their beds. It's more welcome than a rocky or beaten path, that goes without saying, but suddenly, he sorely misses his bedding of Bag End.

Not that he'll breathe a word of complaint in his current company.

He glances to Thorin then. It's not surprising, yet it still jars his sheltered sensibilities; he hasn't been in Hobbiton in some time, he should start expecting less than polite conversation, especially between comrades in... arms? Hm. Still. A price on his head. That big, white orc had indeed traveled quite the distance to hunt Thorin down, so it's not a surprise, no, but he has to wonder if it's the same or if there's another price for such a thing to circle within the gossip lines of Men. ]

Lucky then, that this is not Bree. [ Not that he feels any safer for it, thank you Thorin, a fact made obvious by the way his gaze slides toward the door. They will be fine. No one gave them so much as a second glance. But he remains standing anyway, awkwardly so, neither shrugging off his coat nor unbuckling his weapon in favor of finding a comfortable perch upon the bed. Someone must play guard while Thorin bathes; Bilbo is an unfitted one, but, well... ]

[ Thorin does not know of that note's origin - it might have been in Black Speech, but it was presumably in the possession of a man, not an orc. It matters not. He will trust no strangers here, nor will he sleep too soundly, but he has made it through such perils before on his own.

The plate, chain mail and the tunic underneath it have soaked up the worst of the blood, and it takes some work to remove them. Once he's down to his trousers, it's obvious that he's not quite as unscathed as he first thought. The mortal wound has been closed - leaving a scar that looks older than it should - but there are still numerous other fresh wounds, some of them minor, others somewhat deeper. Nothing that will kill him, but probably enough to worry Bilbo. ]

Perhaps.

[ There's a clean robe and trousers at the top of his pack, he takes those with him as he crosses the room to the bath. He wasn't expecting running water, let alone hot water, but it is a welcome discovery. The soap smells more flowery than he would like, but it'll do. ]

If there are places here like Bree, then there may also be places like the Shire. And the Mountain.

Edited 2016-02-28 23:03 (UTC)

[ Initially, he doesn't mean to look, because any sort of undressing deserves some privacy, but even so, he's learned long ago that there isn't room for shy sensibilities when living practically on top of each other on a quest, so he does peek, eventually. … Probably enough? Ha. What a mess. The fact that he moves about nonetheless, as though unhampered by wounds that should be tended to... – is that a stubbornness all dwarves share or is this trait specific to Thorin?

Bilbo's very close to grumbling, but he waits for Thorin to disappear behind the partition and then, only then does he expel the worry, no, the frustration with a heavy-laden sigh.

Right. So.

He ought to leave it be but he ignores such warnings of self-preservation and crosses over to the dwarf's bed. He doesn't have much idea what to do with the plate or chainmail; however, he picks the tunic up. Sweat, blood and grim – he wrinkles his nose and frowns from one tear to the next, contemplating, before, slowly, bringing himself to fold it. Dwarves, always so inconsiderate of their surroundings, especially when they're within someone else's establishment. The clothing may be in need of disposing, but there's no sense in leaving the pieces scattered about, dirtying up the bed, the floor. Hmph, honestly, do they even possess manners? ]

It's not... terrible being here. [ Not always. He sets the tunic beside the pack and then begins on the next layer. ] There are pleasant places to visit. [ Softer now. ] Though, I'm afraid none feel quite like home.

[ It's quite possible that all dwarves are stubborn to a fault, to some degree or another, but Thorin comes out on the more extreme end of that even by dwarvish standards. It's not that he doesn't feel pain, he simply has become accustomed to ignoring it since it would only slow him down or distract him from more important things. Once he's clean, then he may do something about it.

As Bilbo sets aside the tunic, the bulkier contents of the pack shift - most likely simply due to imbalance after Thorin went rifling through it - and a flash of a gleaming white light glitters through a gap between folded clothes. If the pack were to fall over, the source of that light could very well go tumbling out onto the floor all on its' own. ]

'Close' is not good enough. We will find a way back.

[ It feels downright glorious to have clean hair again, Thorin would have to admit. For as long as he will trudge through the rain, mud, and snow without complaint in pursuit of a goal, there is something to be said about being clean and dry. Well, he's clean now, at least, and soaking in the hot water momentarily before working on the dry part. ]

[ It's comforting in a way just to listen to such determination, however, Bilbo would have been happier to hear such an admission if it had come sooner. Instead, there's only faint awareness on his part. Good, great even... but more importantly, what's that? He pauses, hands still full of cloth, caught between setting it on the pile and letting go. Lips parting in silent wonder, he inches up on his toes and leans his weight on his hands, peering over, closer...

And he jerks back. No, he shouldn't. He shakes his head; hard. What's he thinking? Looking through Thorin's things; how, how rude.

He clears his throat and ducks his head, mentally berating and trying his very hardest to not let his gaze wander back toward the curious, very curious splendor of light. As much as hobbits swear by their desire to remain within their boxed in worlds, they have a nosiness to them, one that usually only feeds into a need to gossip and to know all about everyone within the Shire borders. Well, Bilbo's world has expanded greatly, with wider boarders and a larger assortment of faces, so he can't help it. Can't help being curious about Thorin too. ]

[ … But he really shouldn't.

Should he? ]

i kind of assumed an action. I HOPE THAT'S OKAY. if not slap me & i'll change things

rofl~ it's totally fine! aw, Bilbs xD

i always get nervous when something treads close to godmoding SO REALLY if im ever an idiot, slap me

it's all good, I can change anything if necessary, too :3

oh true c:

I can roll with most things~

I'm sure you can! You be so good. o/

awww only cause I have such good people to play off of ;p

oh you sweet-talker you~

^-^

i'm still. legit laughing. 1/2 just cause i like icons

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1/3 icoooons. it's a ridiculous habit but.

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