middlemuses | (no subject)

[ There's a bit more to their loyalty than the fact that Thorin throws himself headlong into danger in some misguided desire to protect them. Though, maybe there is some sense in it. Some. In the beginning, Thorin hadn't even, well, liked him. Weak, spoiled, unsuited... – Bilbo had been a comfortable creature surrounded by comfortable things, and it's no real wonder Thorin saw him as a nuisance. But even then, with all his haughty talk and sharp reprimands, there had been the trolls and the mountain-side.

Bilbo had always been one among the Company, even when Thorin had vehemently denied it.

Thorin had thrown down his weapon, had swung down on the side of a cliff, all to save him, little, unimportant him. Perhaps it's not within Thorin's nature to think of himself beyond others and that he cares, too much, for all those he deems under his protection. Bilbo can understand that, he thinks. He still doesn't necessarily like it and he'd rather Thorin let others shoulder the burden and take care of him every so often...

But maybe this is a small, semblance of a start.

Sighing, he urges away the frustration and then shifts on the bedding until he's up on his knees, just enough to get a better look at that head wound. No touching yet, merely observing, the corner of his mouth uplifting as the beginning means of a truce. ] Right. Foolish of me to think you'd ever listen to reason. [ And flick; he brushes away a bit of hair, peering, squinting, and then away, his attention back to unwrapping a good length of cloth. ] Your hardheadedness does have its usefulness. This could have been worse.

[ ~~Which is the lesser evil; Bilbo lecturing or Bilbo trying to lighten the mood with a joke. At Thorin's expense.~~ ]

[ In the beginning, the hobbit had been, more than anything, a means to an end. Gandalf insisted that he would be vital to the quest. So Thorin kept an eye on him, growing all the more frustrated as he continued to be blind to the wizard's purpose, and the halfling bumbled about, trying to keep up. And he did try. At a certain point, however, Thorin had all but given up on his burglar being of any use, but he still literally dropped everything to save him.

Duty, and hope, held out even though he was too stubborn to see. At least, not until Bilbo jumped to his defense, despite how poorly his leader clearly thought of him, and how dangerous such an act would be. Thorin could see it in his eyes, afterward, that he did not expect any sort of gratitude in return, nor acceptance. But he gained those and more that day.

There are certainly reasons that Thorin is tolerating Bilbo's 'jokes' which as much patience as he is. That is to say, he's going to ignore that remark entirely. ~~Really though, there could be better times for jokes about his unwillingness to listen to reason.~~ ]

What, exactly, do you intend to do with that?

[ Clearly meaning the cloth he's presently gathering up as he looks intently at Thorin's forehead. This dwarf is not going to walk around with it wrapped around his head, in case Bilbo was wondering. ]

[ Oh yes he is! If Thorin dislikes the idea of being wrapped and rewrapped in bandage after bandage, then perhaps he should take Bilbo's advice afterall and refrain from acquiring such wounds to begin with, hmph. Now, Bilbo isn't going to let Thorin deter him from dressing that head wound; so either Thorin needs to cooperate for once his life, or they will begin another bout of bickering until one of them – Bilbo, thank you – proves victorious.

His gaze flicks upward, peeking at Thorin for a short moment; and then it's back to the cloth, his fingers pinching, ripping at the threads. Honestly, there's a small urge to laugh, because really? Really Thorin? But the occasional jest aside, Bilbo knows he's treading on thin ice and he really ought to get back to being on his best behavior.

… Well. Maybe there's room for one, last dry— ] Do you truly need an answer? [ He gives Thorin another pointed look, only to inch higher to nod to the marred skin; well, moment of truth, dear leader. There's no one else here to see and it's far better than waking in the morning to blood all over one's pillow, right? ]

[ Well then, next time he should just ask the orcs politely to refrain from attacking him while he hacks them to pieces, because there would be a certain young hobbit that would be most displeased to see him wounded.

He relents with the slightest of resigned sighs, his head tilting slightly to the side in a clear 'get on with it' sort of gesture. They both know that Thorin cannot be bullied, coerced, or otherwise convinced to agree to anything he is dead set against, sometimes even in the most dire circumstances, but he knows all too well that Bilbo will stand up to him when so moved, and hold fast. This is hardly a thing of enough importance to argue over, anyway. ~~He knows Bilbo has the right of it. So as ridiculous as he might look, he will accept it.~~. Precisely how long he will tolerate it... That is a different question, but for now he will be a relatively cooperative patient.

The gash running down the side of his face looks rather garish, especially now that it's clean and clearly defined, but it's not as painful as it could have been.

Once again changing the subject entirely... ]

You never told me where you were before you ended up here. What is the last thing you remember?

[ ~~Precisely, glad to see Thorin finally gets it~~. Now, this is what he'd wanted, true, but finding himself with a willing participant, there, with head tilted and waiting, is a touch different than urging for it. The arm had been easy. A few wraps and a quick tie; done. The head however... there's hair and a much closer gaze, the proximity required of him to do this properly suddenly feeling all that more daunting.

So he stalls. And fiddles. Mostly fiddles. Cloth in one hand and fingers tightly pinched into that strip, his other hovering on indecision. Where to touch, how to wrap, how to—oh bother, enough of that. He breathes out and begins, carefully, yet very simply, wrapping it over hair and around. Aside from not being a warrior or a burglar, Bilbo is also not a medic; he has a very loose understanding of how to dress wounds, so it's haphazard at best, the way he covers his forehead, just edging on the line of his brow.

It'll do. He hopes. ]

The eagles saved us. Set us down on the Carrock. [ A glance down, angled between the width of his arms to get a look at Thorin's face and he just as soon scuttles away again, paying more attention to gently tying off the cloth. ] We'd just begun the climb down and... [ There. He drops his arms, sits back on his heels and shrugs through the following— ] I found myself here.

[ Or not here, per say. Just somewhere in this in-between, not quite clear world. ]

[ Thorin's patience has definite limits, and there's only so much fidgeting that he can tolerate before reaching that point. Given Bilbo's point of reference, as far as their interactions have gone, he does understand, he remembers those days, but. It's still somewhat difficult to refrain from grumbling about it, which would only make things worse. ~~If only he knew. Had been there...~~

As to Bilbo's skill with bandages, honestly Thorin would not do much better left to his own devices. He has bandaged his own wounds before, when absolutely necessary, but it was always a bare minimum. He doesn't think any of these bindings are all that necessary aside from one on his right foot. That is going to be the painful one. ]

I shouldn't need to repeat myself, then.

[ Repeat himself about... what? Is he chastising him, again, for the earlier disagreement? Or does this have to do with what happened at the Carrock? Or is it simply because Bilbo is taking far too long to accomplish anything and the unspoken get on with it hangs heavy between them? Cryptic, that's the right word for Thorin or maybe oblivious is more suited for Bilbo. Twisting his mouth, he wants to ask the obvious, but more or less asking for a repetition is akin to walking into a poorly veiled trap.

Perhaps if he pretends to know...

Except, Bilbo's skill of cunning is one he's hardly practiced. So before he's even reached the decision to nod along, the confusion has already been written all across his face, which of course, he himself doesn't realize. Instead, he clears his throat and grabs the roll, keeping his gaze low as he slips off the bed. ] Ah, right. [ Smooth. Now just to move along... ] So. Let me have a look at your foot. [ And he'll just be making himself comfortable – at least, not uncomfortable – on the floor, near those dangling feet. ]

[ For perhaps the first time since their initial meeting here, Thorin actually looks at Bilbo with the sort of intensity that's likely to make the poor hobbit squirm, but it's not accusatory. Frustration is abruptly absent from the set of his shoulders. It is not defeat, or sorrow, or indecision that stays it, but rather a sense of clarity. This is the sort of respect and openness that Thorin showed him in that moment at the Carrock. There's even the faint hint of a fond smile. ]

Sometimes, Master Baggins, you over-think things far too much.

[ That's also as close to admitting that he might sometimes benefit from thinking things through a little more thoroughly before making rash decisions. ~~That doesn't mean he's going to stop doing it, but it may be a good thing that Bilbo is there to object.~~ He is truly grateful for Bilbo's company, and his insistence on Thorin's general well-being. Even if he does worry too much, almost constantly.

But, yes. His foot. That is something of a grim novelty as far as injuries go. He's been stabbed in a lot of places, mostly by crude, rough orc swords, but this is a painful new one. He hasn't inspected it too closely, but judging by how it feels, he's sure it's not pleasant-looking. ]

[ Bilbo may not fully grasp what has just transpired, however, he isn't completely lost to the change in Thorin. It's just that the blossoming sense of acceptance is far too new for Bilbo to expect any time the two of them share words. It'll become easier with time and routine, to relax and not wonder, constantly, if he's on the verge of doing something to taint Thorin's new-found respect for him. Because to Bilbo, in his sheltered, humbled mind, there is no debt or heroic deed between them. Even though Bilbo more or less saved Thorin's life, that's not something, Bilbo feels, warrants permanent, life-lasting respect. Don't misunderstand him; Bilbo is glad, so glad and relieved that they've turned a corner, but he does wonder how strong their friendship can become.

Well, according to Thorin, it endures until the end. Bilbo merely needs to catch up and accept that fact.

… Perhaps later. For now…

He settles closer and again – always with the hesitation – pauses, eventually grasping Thorin's foot. It almost seems... small. Not overtly so, no. It's properly proportional with the rest of him, ahem, but Bilbo often feels so slight in comparison to the rowdy bunch. Dwarves with their wide shoulders, solid bulk, and dense weight, and Bilbo with naught beyond his narrow build and missing inches. So it's almost amusing; any set of feet would seem wee in comparison to a hobbit's, true, but Thorin's especially…

That fascination hardly lasts though. The wound is not something to be ignored, even though, for some unfathomable reason, Thorin decided to tromp around in search of a pub, rather than wrap this first. Don't lecture, don't lecture, don't—he huffs instead, the words ridiculous and stubborn coming to mind once more. Especially when he gently coaxes Thorin to raise his foot, just enough for him to peek underneath. Straight through; wonderful. So all right, he will keep the reprimand to himself – no need to start up that bickering again – but he will level Thorin with an unimpressed stare and a short— ] I don't believe I will ever understand you dwarves. [ How can one race be so, so frustratingly careless with their own well-being? ]

[ Thorin may be covering a grimace of pain as he rubs a hand over his mouth, briefly, and clears his throat. Near constant pressure on that foot, constricted somewhat by his boot, numbed the pain to a steady, but tolerable level. ~~Tolerable by Thorin standards, that is.~~ Now that he's had a chance to relax - somewhat - and release that pressure, the slightest jar causes a sudden jolt of pain to radiate out from it. Thorin is not, contrary to his apparent opinion, invincible nor he is actually immune to pain, and he is not looking forward to this. ]

Understanding dwarven nature is not a requirement for binding a wound. If you don't have the stomach for it, I'll deal with it myself.

[ Such words could easily have condescending or even mocking tones, but his only inflection is business-like. While he doesn't intend to unduly harass Bilbo, he does want to get this over with. ]

[ ~~Thorin could so much as breathe incorrectly in Bilbo's direction and it would harass him~~. ]

There will be none of that. I'll do it. [ Silly dwarf. How many times has he run through the words silly and ridiculous in the span of their conversation? For all his frustration, there's a much more abundant touch of care and fondness to those titles than anything else, especially now, because while Bilbo keeps his gaze low, he doesn't need to see any poorly covered grimaces to feel how tense the muscles are. Bicep, head, foot, huh; so out of the wounds needing binding, this is the one that brings Thorin the most pain.

Maybe later, much later, Bilbo will find some amusement from that. Again, at least in this one area of durability, hobbits and their overly large feet come out superior.

Here and now, however, he's strictly business. Rip, over, around, around. He doesn't try to divert with unneeded conversation and simply works, trying to be as gentle as he can, but of course, some things can't be avoided in the way the cloth chafes or the binding tightens. In the end, with his usual expressiveness, Bilbo might just be the one to wince more, but then, there, it's over and neatly tied off. He glances up after surveying his work and wordlessly, raises his brows. Better? ]

[ Thorin may mutter a couple of... impolite dwarvish expressions, some of which might even be new to Bilbo, but that's the extent of his outward reaction throughout the process. He doesn't expect that Bilbo, of all people, would think less of him if he were to lose composure. Call it the stubbornness, or foolishness, of a dwarf, but to him it's a matter of personal pride.

It could be tighter - he is more accustomed to the heavier hand of a dwarf when it comes to such things, not the gentle touch of a hobbit - but it is more than adequate. It will do for now.

He flexes his leg slightly, ignoring the flicker of pain that comes from testing it, and nods. ]

Thank you.

[ There is much more to the gratitude in his expression than simply for tending to his wounds. ]

[ That's not what he expects. A grunt, a nod, something other than a softened expression and two, short words, that's what he's anticipating. So his brows inch higher and his eyes widen, his features freezing on the surprise, holding, holding, before abruptly loosening with a blink and a stretch of his lips. It may seem odd, how easily the joy comes, but it feels victorious in a way, to receive such thanks, because it's not something easily given, not with Thorin. So for one, painstakingly vulnerable moment, Bilbo smiles wide and unabashed.

But he's still very much on the floor and if the pressure of his knees doesn't get to him first, it's the crick in his neck. He looks away then and pushes himself up, falling back on the comforting habit of righting his coat and smoothing his vest to divert attention away from his – embarrassingly – pleased state. ] You're, ah, welcome.

[ A hint of the smile is still there when he looks to Thorin again and, ah, right. Wounds wrapped, bandages tied, everything is as it should be, except—

He glances to that ugly mar of skin mid-torso. That, thankfully, does not require any wrapping, but he eyes it nonetheless, a touch longer than what is usually deemed proper. And suddenly there's a shift; he abruptly – almost comically – realizes it's not just a wound he's observing, but a great deal of skin. Right. He makes an odd noise, like he's in the midst of sputtering while trying to simultaneously clear his throat and then slides his gaze to the side. ] Now that you're properly patched, you can, ah, go about getting clothed. [ His fingers fiddle – of course they do – and soon find themselves clutching to the sides of his coat. ] I'll just... [ He trails off awkwardly, nodding across the way to his bed, which he will, um, be walking over to right now, thank you, and just, don't mind him, and please put something on, thank you ~~again~~. ]

[ It takes Thorin a moment to realize what's making Bilbo stutter and fidget this time, but he realizes it before the actual suggestion comes. Of course, the delicate hobbit sensibilities. At least, he presumes that they're common to most hobbits, but to be honest, he doesn't have much of a basis for comparison outside of Bilbo. Of all the ridiculous things to get worked up over, though... He is wearing pants, after all. As far as his bare chest, there's nothing he would consider remarkable there. Thorin is broad-chested, like most of his kin, perhaps more than average, with muscles built up from years of fighting and smithing, and some old scars that tell of long past injuries. Dwarves are a hardy folk, however, and do not scar easily. Most marks fade in time.

Nonetheless, he picks up a clean tunic and tugs it on, careful to avoid jostling any of the bandaging too much, and then slides the robe back on over it. ]

There seems to be plenty of hot water, if you'd like to use it.

[ In the more comfortable days of his youth, he was used to such conveniences in Erebor. It has been a very long time since, however, and this is the first time he's seen men come up with anything close. He couldn't deny being a bit curious as to how they're managing it here. ]

[ Yes, well, that is much better. Remarkable or not, the fact of the matter is that when in polite company, one should be properly dressed. Begrudgingly, he may admit that a poorly-lit, rented room and time spent on nursing wounds does not need to abide by the same rules as, for example, mid-afternoon tea back home in the Shire, but nonetheless, he very much likes Thorin dressed and not lounging about in naught but his trousers.

At his bedside now, he's in the midst of deciding what to do. Shall he pester Thorin with more conversation? After trekking about, Thorin is most likely tired, so should they skip the conversation and settle down for the night? It doesn't even occur to him to wash up himself until the suggestion comes; odd, isn't it?

If he'd been fresh off their beaten path, with dirt dug under his fingernails and the ache in every muscle, he would have been halfway to the tub already. However, he's taken care of well enough and while he's not pristine at the given moment, he is not unclean. Besides, unlike someone, he does not have a fresh set of clothes to change into and going through such trouble, only to slip right back into this, is a less attractive prospect than simply crawling into bed. So much for fussy respectability; enduring a bit of filth, so very unhobbit-like of him.

He smiles faintly at that. ] I'm quite all right. [ Off comes the coat and neatly folded it goes. ] After all that time spent in the wild, a bit of dirt doesn't seem as terrible as before. [ In fact! ] I think I can sleep through anything short of being covered in mud, though, that's happened once or twice too.

[ For the record, Thorin has never made a habit of lounging about in any state of undress, he simply does not see the point in fussing over a few moments without a shirt. He imagines that Bilbo might actually faint from impropriety if he happened to catch a glimpse of Thorin, or probably anyone else, fully naked. That said, at least they both value the idea of modesty, even if in differing amounts.

His expression quickly turns from tolerant indifference to perhaps slightly exaggerated surprise and a touch of amusement, raising his eyebrows at Bilbo's declaration. ]

I never thought I would see the day when our gentlehobbit chooses to turn down a warm bath.

[ It's teasing, yes, but of a different sort than the scoffing that he'd given Bilbo early on in their journey. If anything, he might be very slightly impressed. He does have a spare tunic among his things that might not be comically huge on Bilbo's smaller frame. ]

Edited (THERE YOU GO AN EDIT X3) 2016-03-03 18:49 (UTC)

[ ~~Bilbo does not want to start thinking about any naked Thorins here, so kindly shut up, thank you~~.

Being wound tight so long and so continuously with his structured ideas of how to act and how to talk to others, there's always that initial desire to defend himself when he's the focus of someone's teasing. However, Fili, Kili, Bofur, they've repeatedly needled at that uptight nature of his and it's become easier to relax amongst friendly banter. So the agitation is there, only for a moment, and then it eases into something far warmer, more welcoming, until he's left to smoother an amused breath.

Well, Gandalf once said that Bilbo would not be returning as the same hobbit. Little wonder, he may very well be right.

He's not entirely changed though, no. Even with the underlying amusement, he continues the facade of respectability and plays his part of stuffy disinclination. ] Yes well. It was bound to happen. [ Unbuckles, unties and then it's to unbuttoning one, lone button. ] You lot have been an awful influence on me. [ Except the words are tinged with a fondness that ruins the strength behind such chiding. Strangely enough, he doesn't mind it.

~~Oh? Bilbo isn't about to go riffling through Thorin's pack. Erm, again anyway.~~ ]

[ There is a certain amount of teasing, prodding, joking, and grumbling that comes along with dwarven company, especially with the younger ones. It's usually meant in their kind of good-natured, if rough-edged, humor, but it can be a stark contrast to more conventionally polite cultures. Thorin is usually above such carousing, especially if there are more important things to focus on, but he has been known to get a jab or two in himself on occasion. The fact that Bilbo has been included in this familiar tradition is as much a sign of acceptance as anything else.

Thorin is leaning back against the headboard of his bed, his arms crossed lightly over his chest. He is utterly exhausted, in more ways than he can count, but sleep will not come easily. Or quickly. That, in itself, is not unusual - Thorin is a light-sleeper, at best. There have been occasions when he was the slightest bit jealous of Bilbo's usual ability to sleep so soundly. ]

You could blame Gandalf for that, if not yourself. He was the one who brought us to your door-step.

[ That first night at Bag End should have given Bilbo a rather accurate general idea about exactly what he would be dealing with, regarding the dwarves themselves. ]

[ Dressed down now, to his tunic and trousers, Bilbo attempts the slight hop on the bed, and soon goes about fussing with the sheets. All the while, he scoffs and rolls his eyes, briefly, in exaggerated exasperation, even though he's not quite facing the correct way for Thorin to see. He's busy pulling back the sheet and rearranging himself with it, quipping— ] Oh. I blame Gandalf for many things.

[ Like, disturbing a mid-morning smoke. Conjuring up a secret meeting in Bag End, that had been so secret, not even the supposed host had known. Abandoning them one too many times, only to save them at the last moment. Gandalf is... frustrating. Unpredictable. Even so, Bilbo trusts him. Is even fond of him. And he feels immensely better any time the wizard is near... but sometimes, when he really sits back and thinks on their shared history, he wonders if there should be a reason for concern.

It's a difficult thing though. To go backwards, Once Bilbo allows someone into his modest, usually tightly defended space, it's almost second nature to put his faith and trust in them. Despite all his outward grumblings, it's within his nature to give others the benefit of his doubt and think better of them than, perhaps, sometimes they deserve.

So he doesn't fully mean it— ] Always meddling, speaking in riddles... [ And there's that annoying ache again; he really, truly misses Gandalf. Misses all of them. Even misses their quest – not the near-death parts, of course, but the sense of purpose it brought and the tight-knit unit they had been becoming. He overcomes that slight pause with a huff though and then settles down, resting on his side with his head pillowed. ] A true disturber of the peace, that's what he is.

[ Gandalf is an incredibly frustrating figure. As indispensable as the wizard could be, Thorin does not like to depend on anything so fickle. The main problem, in his view, is that Gandalf simply has his nose in too many businesses at once, and tries to juggle them all with varying degrees of success, all the while without revealing too much information about any of it along the way. His nebulous assurances, the sudden changes of plans, every time he subverted one of Thorin's direct commands... That Gandalf always seems to be right doesn't really change the fact that he can be absolutely infuriating.

All of that said, he is grateful for the wizard's assistance and counsel, without it his quest would have been a lost cause, even though such feelings are far more grudging there than they are toward Bilbo. His guidance here and now would not be unwelcome. ]

A disturber of your peace, at least. Perhaps also among his elvish friends.

[ ...Thorin will never be fond of elves. Even if certain ones have been better than useless as of late. ]

[ Yes, the elves, cannot forget about them. For a race that despises the other so, some dwarves have the odd habit of bringing attention to them, perhaps more than one would expect; though, to be fair, it seems to be out of a desire to sneer and spit on their very mention. So, actually, is that all that unusual?. But that aside, Bilbo almost finds the tidbit amusing in that exasperated sort of way, only to settle on a scoff instead, the sound quiet and muffled against the pillow.

No doubt it's true. No one is safe from Gandalf's sight. Let it not be forgotten that he dragged thirteen dwarves right onto Lord Elrond's doorstep and then let them roam free, wrecking havoc.

Though, if Gandalf is so very keen on offsetting the tranquility of one's very existence, even an elf's... ]

How is it then, that you two don't get along? [ There's a dryness to it, but it's all in jest. Gandalf and Thorin try – not very well – to be co-leaders in the quest and more often than not, their many disagreements leave little option other than for one to storm off or to sit there stewing in anger. But oh, if Gandalf blatantly brings elves grief, then the two of them do have something in common afterall. ]

[ Elves and dwarves have long feuded, but Thorin's particular predisposition toward them is rather specific in origin. He will never forget, nor forgive them for, the day that they left his people to ruin without a single glance behind. ~~Thranduil~~ That pompous coward thought himself just in denying them aid, his delicate ego too bruised by his spurned council to their king. To abandon all honor, and turn his back on their suffering...

...

He does not mistake Bilbo's tone, but he answers the question mildly and without embellishment. He understands, at least to some extent, why Gandalf is this way, and he does not hold it against him, necessarily. Only when it specifically hinders him, personally.]

Gandalf has many friends. He may choose to remain neutral among them. I cannot.

~~[ He doesnt mind the conversation, but he may be waiting for Bilbo to pass out. ]~~

[ Oddly enough, nowadays, he's much more of a late sleeper than he ever was. Before quests and dwarves, the morning would start early, what with breakfast needing to be made and more importantly, needing to be eaten. The sun would rise and he would rise shortly there after, tying his robe tight and wandering off for biscuits and jam and tea and...

Well. The list could go on.

During the quest, the promise of a warm, hearty meal had been more of a hopeful aspiration than a reality. Instead, it had been the smell of dirt, the rocks digging into soft muscle and the general loudness of too many bodies shuffling about, gathering their supplies, that had kept him on his strict schedule. Now it's different. Ill-thoughts of human mattresses aside, the bedding is still far more welcoming than dirt and stone. He sleeps longer than he means to and even when his nose wrinkles and his breathing hitches on wakefulness, it still requires far too much effort to open his eyes.

Somehow, rolling over and burying his face into the pillow, huffing in protest does not. It's only when shifts to let his toes stretch and his fingers to slip under the pillow, that he snaps his eyes open. Smooth, glassy, cold, his fingers bump against the thing hidden there and suddenly, he's very much aware of where he is.

Sleep forgotten, he shoots upright and glances over to... an empty bed? There's a long moment spent looking. Across the room, back to the bed, over to the window, back to the bed. And then the next long moment shifts into listening for some telltale sign of someone grumbling about in the washroom. Nothing. No one.

Of course.

Of all the indecent, rude... – he touches his feet to the floor and without so much as a rub to his sleepy eyes or a run of his fingers through bed tousled curls, he goes about getting properly dressed. It does not take long. He's ready to go and it's only after the initial step, that he remembers. Hesitating as he always seems to, he eventually decides to grab the Arkenstone and slip it into his pocket. Thorin's pack will have to fend for itself in the meantime, for he's far too ~~annoyed~~ small to lug that with him. With that, he's on his way, frowning in a way that guarantees that a certain dwarf will get a stern talking to if he so much as went off to have breakfast without waking this hobbit first. ]

[ The slightest hint of pale grey light and chirping of nearby sparrows heralding the upcoming dawn had roused Thorin from fleeting, unsettled sleep and all too vivid dreams. Instead of attempting to close his eyes again, or wake Bilbo, he quietly dressed and made his way out the door. He has too many questions that needed to be answered, and he wouldn't accomplish that while languishing around in bed. It's far from comfortable to be walking on his injured foot, still, but in his usual stubborn way, he's not about to let the pain slow him down.

By the time Bilbo comes shuffling out into the hallway, he will find his missing dwarf sitting at the bar downstairs, clearly engrossed in a conversation with the tavern's owner - an older, patient-looking man, dressed simply in work clothes with an apron, who is washing dishes while he talks. The rest of room is almost empty, only a few quiet patrons have made their way in this early. While there is a plate of bread, cheese, and some fruit sitting in front of Thorin, it looks as if he hasn't so much as touched it. He's hanging onto another pint of ale, instead, and questioning the innkeeper with perhaps a little too much intensity.

The old man seems tolerant enough, and not especially intimidated. It's entirely possible that this is not the first dwarf he's had to deal with. ]

[ He's about halfway down the stairs when he remembers it. The mug. He pauses there, staring, simply staring straight ahead and then he abruptly glances over his shoulder, weighing the options in mind. To go back and retrieve it or continue on? He'd meant to bring it back. He will bring it back, but... shall he do it now? It would be the... respectable thing to do? It's already been quite rude of him to burglar it away in the night; the bar staff have more likely than not, already washed and dried all the mugs from the previous night, so he's disrupted their orderly routine. Now to delay it even further…

There's the unmistakable, low grate of Thorin's voice though and Bilbo can't help the pull he feels for it. Later, he'll bring it down later; right now, his feet are eagerly set to walking again and before long, he's at the bottom stair. Ah, there he is. It's such a little thing. Honestly, it's really of no importance. But he does feel, for whatever reason, marginally better to have the other within sight.

He's only a few steps in then, however close enough to draw attention and as the old man's gaze suddenly shifts past Thorin and to him, Bilbo halts with a quick inhale. He really should have brought that mug with him. But it's brief and gone, the man's gaze back on the dwarf, and all the ridiculously unfounded panic goes with it. Get it together, Baggins; how would the barkeep even know a mug is missing, let alone that he has it stashed away upstairs? Well, he is washing right now, so perhaps he's taken count, and maybe last night…

He shakes it off. Absurd. Nonsensical. Downright daffy.

Forbidding himself to dwell on missing kitchenware, Bilbo smooths his hands over the lapels of his coat and then starts off once more. What are they talking about anyway? The question will have to go unanswered for now though, for when Bilbo wanders in close, there's enough of a pause in words for his good mannered sense to take notice of and immediately grabble for. ] Good morning. [ … And throat clear. Perhaps a touch too cheery? Either way, the bar-top is not too daunting, surprisingly, and Bilbo proceeds to pay careful attention to settling himself into his seat and… oh. Food. That looks nice. ~~He technically didn't eat last night, mind you~~. And here he goes again with his mental weighting, rapping his fingers against the bar; has Thorin even sampled any of that? ~~Waster~~. ]

Edited (the edit disease is spreading) 2016-03-07 06:16 (UTC)

(no subject)

...../scrolls upward. i'm pretty sure it happened.

handwavery these are not the edits you're looking for

LOL. get out :l

regrets nothing ._.

i should start keeping a running tally of how many times you edit. see how high it gets.

no good would come of that xD

i dunno. it would bring me immense joy.

then I will have to see how long I can do without edit ^-^ (give it two posts)

/still gently touching that icon. Watch, youll never edit ever again bc I've been such a jerk c:

I will edit every post just to prove you wrong if I have to

/readies tally paper

waaaait for it....

i'm kind of amazed i didn't get an edit. since this sat for 5 hours.

I stared at it for like an hour before I posted it x3

LOL i almost feel bad now.

aw nah, it was just cause I was being indecisive

.......... /so smug w my tally mark

as long as you're happy x3

immensely. c:

^-^

know wat I hate more than anything? glancing at an old post, seeing a typo & not being able to edit

omg yes. they cannot be unseen

TIME SKIP; G'MORNING. okok you said 1 poss is he'd go harassing ppl so.

yup :3

i forgot to ask. does he still have his bandages on? specifically his head one LOL

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/tally

that's 2 x3

/stamps complete on thread.

...../scrolls upward. i'm pretty sure it happened.

*handwavery* these are not the edits you're looking for

LOL. get out :l

*regrets nothing* ._.

i should start keeping a running tally of how many times you edit. see how high it gets.

no good would come of that xD

i dunno. it would bring me immense joy.

then I will have to see how long I can do without edit ^-^ (give it two posts)

/still gently touching that icon. Watch, youll never edit ever again bc I've been such a jerk c:

I will edit every post just to prove you wrong if I have to

/readies tally paper

waaaait for it....

i'm kind of amazed i didn't get an edit. since this sat for 5 hours.

I stared at it for like an hour before I posted it x3

LOL i almost feel bad now.

aw nah, it was just cause I was being indecisive

.......... /so smug w my tally mark

as long as you're happy x3

immensely. c:

^-^

know wat I hate more than anything? glancing at an old post, seeing a typo & not being able to edit

omg yes. they cannot be unseen

TIME SKIP; G'MORNING. okok you said 1 poss is he'd go harassing ppl so.

yup :3

i forgot to ask. does he still have his bandages on? specifically his head one LOL

handwavery these are not the edits you're looking for

regrets nothing ._.