(no subject)

[honorbound_heir]

[One should not underestimate the ability of a thirsty dwarf to find ale. Even a dwarf that may not have the best sense of direction, and that has been thrown into completely unfamiliar territory. By whatever luck or good grace of higher powers, it turns out that Thorin and Bilbo do not have to travel far in order to find a tavern that looks rather like The Prancing Pony in Bree. The cobblestone road outside of it is cleaner, and the people - mostly humans - milling about this town seem less furtive and hurried than Thorin remembers. This place seems generally less perilous for the average traveler.

The warm glow from within the tavern shines through the slightly dingy windows, and the muffled sound of a merry crowd carries out into the night in brief snippets as patrons come and go.

Good enough.

Shouldering the pack that somehow managed to accompany him, and dropping a hand to the sword at his side, Thorin pulls the door open and heads inside without hesitation, knowing that Bilbo won't be far behind.]


((From over here, cause... reasons.))

Comments

/stamps complete on thread.

[experting]

[ Ya ha... rmu... – come again? It's obviously Khuzdul. Traveling about with thirteen dwarves, with one who only speaks that language, has exposed him to it enough that he can recognize it, but the syllables are nothing more than meaningless sound to him. That's just as well. He doesn't need to know the words to guess the sentiment. Warm, gentle, quiet... the tone is pleasant enough and whatever it is Thorin said, it stems from acceptance. That's all he really needs.

… That rough exit though. Hm. That might make him reconsider his guess some.

No no, Thorin was agreeable just a moment ago, that's just... just dwarves having no sense about their strength and how to conduct themselves as normal, polite people do. Watching the door swing shut and click into place, Bilbo stands there for a beat longer and then goes about folding the map with a sigh. Thorin shall be distracted for... – he said about an hour? That should give him plenty of time to eat and bathe and oh, return the mug and—

His stomach growls. Right. Best not to get too far ahead with planning his morning. A hobbit should never plan anything on an empty stomach after all. So with one last glance and fold, he slides the map in his pocket, and there he goes, off to reclaim his breakfast.

… Though, maybe he'll bring it upstairs. That should be fine, right? He's going to return the mug anyway. It wouldn't matter if he returned the plate at the same time, yes? Yes. Because it's one thing to sit at a bar with the solid presence of Thorin next to him and quite another to be there by himself, under the stare of the innkeeper who must know about the mug. So Bilbo might just be testing out his burglaring skills once more, swiping the plate when the innkeeper's back is turned and scuttling upstairs for some peace, quiet and most of all, privacy. ]