Summary: Yucca and Bainith go adventuring at the Prancing Pony. Lotro-verse.
Categories: Stories of Arda > Bunniverse (PPB-AU) > Third Age Characters: Bainith, Yucca
Challenge: B2MEM 2012
Genre: Action or Adventure, Comedic
Special Collection: None
Chapters: 1 Completed: Yes
Word count: 1705 Read: 1329
Published: March 02 2014 Updated: March 02 2014
Food and Drink of Middle-earth: It Comes in Pints?
Write What you Know: A character... something in common
Injuries and Other Ailments: Arrow Wound
Life Events: Old Age
Diner’s Club: Supper
In a Manner of Speaking: For Pity’s Sake
1. Complete by Zhie
“It comes in pints!” exclaimed the latest young shireling explorer as he plopped down beside Yucca at the table she and Bainith were sitting at.
“Yes, pints, lad, it comes in pints!” shouted Butterbur, slamming his rag down upon the top of the counter. “Mugs and pints, all the day long!”
“But does it come in quarts?” wondered Yucca. “It should come in quarts,” she informed Bainith. “Oh, Bainith! Bainith! Bainith!”
“If it came in quarts, we could share one, but I bet there would be a deal on it, and we could use the rest of the money to buy more pie.”
“How logical,” agreed Bainith as he drank from his own mug, watching as the young one at the table with them sloshed half his drink onto himself or the coarse, splintery tabletop that literally looked as if someone had hit it recently with a sword or axe. In fact, much of the furniture looked old and well-worn, and showed its age.
A grizzled man with a shield on his back and a long knife strapped to his hip like a sword came hobbling up to the table where the three travelers sat. He sat himself down beside Bainith after Yucca jumped onto her bench to wave at him (effectively causing more of their yet to be named companion’s drink to spill over his much-too-nice-for-battle tunic). He made a terrible gurgly sound in the back of his throat before hacking some phlegm on the floor. “I used t’ be an adventurer like you,” he announced, bits of spittle flying out between his rotting teeth and onto Bainith’s cheek. “Then I took an arrow t’ the knee.”
“Sorry to hear that, sir,” apologized Bainith, pulling out a handkerchief to wipe his face with disdain.
“Not sorry enough, Elf! It was one o’ you pointy-ears did done it t’me!” he hissed, drawing his knife to press it to Bainith’s throat.
“Henry Jenks, you stand down, there!” bellowed Butterbur, still at his counter across the hall. “I won’t have you scarin’ the paying customers! ‘Sides, now, that one there’s an ‘obbit.”
“An ‘obbit?” Henry narrowed his eyes. The knife was still draw, and Bainith tried to hold perfectly still so as not to upset his sudden enemy.
The little hobbit who had been at the table with them got up so fast he brought the whole rest of his pint down upon himself as he rolled backwards and onto his feet again. “Oh, me, oh, my! My gammer warned me about places like this!” he worried as he scampered for the door (and rumor has it in the Shire, he rode his pony back the very night, and has been quite a boring and respectable fisherman in Oatbarton ever since.)
“An ‘obbit, Henry, an ‘obbit. Here, listen to ‘em.” Butterbur turned his attention on the calm but clearly concerned Elf. “Mae Govannen, Mister Proudfoot.”
Bainith glanced at Yucca, then back again. “Sorry, sir, honestly, though, I don’t reckon I know a Miss Govannen or a Missus Govannen, though I have a cousin named Maybella Chubb.”
“Humph. My mistake, then.” Henry drew back the knife and shoved it back through his belt. “Awful long legs for an ‘obbit, though.”
“Never be mindin’ that, Mister Proudfoot. Ah, then, here’s Lucy with your supper,” he added as the serving wench brought out three steaming plates, each with a half of a chicken, smashed potatoes, and something that might have been soup, stew, or a bowl of gravy with chunks of things. While Yucca cheered and began to devour hers, Bainith turned his plate to keep the foul away and poked at the potatoes. Henry looked at the third plate, left for the young hobbit, then pitifully at Bainith and Yucca, then back again.
“Yer friend seems t’ forgot his supper.”
Bainith looked up and glanced at the door. “I doubt he is returning.”
“Shame in wastin’ all that food,” remarked Henry.
“Don’t worry! I’ll eat it!” offered Yucca, clapping for herself.
Bainith pulled the plate across the table so that it was in front of Henry. “Might as well be eaten by someone.”
“Oh, well, I couldn’,” said Henry solemnly.
Bainith rolled his eyes. “For pity’s sake, he’s probably to Stock by now, I reckon.”
Henry shook his head. “Not that I doubt it, I jus’ don’ ‘ave the stomach fer it. That is, I done forgotten my coin purse when I left the house this mornin’.”
“They already paid, Henry,” called out Butterbur.
The knife was instantly in Henry’s hand again. “Wellin that case, eat up!”
Yucca found this an appropriate moment to cheer again, her eyes getting wide as Butterbur came around the counter with a large canister used to measure flour. “On the house for the little lady adventurin’ ‘obbit -- now it comes in quarts!”
“Bainith, look! Look, Bainith! Bainith! Bainith! I have a quart, Bainith!” Yucca had to get up and stand on the bench and lean down to sip at the foam from the top of it. “Bainith, look, Bainith! Now I look like a Dwarf!” The foam was clinging to Yucca’s upper lip and chin, and she scrunched her face up in thought. “I’m a Dwarf with a quart!” She cheered again, the suds plopping down onto the splintered tabletop.
Bainith gave Yucca a polite clap before he began to eat his potatoes.
“Hey, Bainith? Bainith... Bainith... Bainith... Bainith...Bain--”
“I like Bainith better than Baynor ‘cause I can say it faster like this.” She took a deep breath. “Bainith Bainith Bainith Bainith Bainith Bainith Bainith Bainith... whew! I’m thirsty!” She tilted her head down to sip the ale.
Bainith nodded and went back to his supper.
“Hey, Bainith? Banith, hey, Bainith..”
“What?” Bainith cleared his throat. “I mean, yes, Yucca?”
“Bainith, I have soooooo much ale, I need more food to wash it down with.”
Bainith stabbed his knife into the half roasted chicken in front of him and moved it to Yucca’s plate. She cheered and moved the pieces together to make a whole chicken before she began to gobble it up.
“I don’ suppose you might be havin’ second thoughts on your stew,” said Henry, looking at the bowl beside Bainith’s plate longingly. Bainith slid the bowl aside. “Ah, thank ya kindly, young master, been mighty ‘ard t’ eat all this food without enough o’ somethin’ t’ wash it down wit’.” He lifted the bowl to drink from it, and Bainith sighed and motioned for another mug of ale to be brought to the table. “Oh! But me coin purse--” he began, but Bainith headed off further discussion by paying the barmaid directly when she came to the table. “If only, after such a fine meal, I didn’ ‘ave t’ try goin’ back all the way ‘ome.”
“They only have a room with two bed for the night,” announced Butterbur, who had been keeping two watchful eyes on the situation. “That other one had a room of his own.”
“Oh, but Bainith and I shared a bed lots of times!” shouted Yucca, making sure she was loud enough for Butterbur to hear. Several patrons turned their heads, and Bainith slunk down as much as a seven-foot-two-inch Shire-elf wearing bright blue can. “Bainith, it would be like it was in Little Delving, when there were cows and thunder and you came over and we had sleepovers, or when there were no cows and I crawled through your window and plopped on the floor and we stayed up telling stories - well, you stayed up and I slept and then we had pie!” She cheered, and drank, and cheered some more. Bainith covered his face with one hand; Henry looked delighted.
“Henry, I think I hear your wife a-callin’,” said Butterbur in a warning voice.
“Now, Barliman,” said Henry, turning his head to peer over his shoulder as he wiped his mouth with the back of his hand. “You know she done left nine yea--” Henry shut his mouth at the glare he received. “Why, yes, I do believe that might be ‘er.” He slurped the rest of his stew as he stood, gulped down the ale, and took a chicken leg with him for the road.
“You can leave the young man’s bag,” warned Butterbur.
Henry tried to give a dumb look, but he switched to surprise at another hard stare. “Oh, this? Oh, thought it was me own coin purse,” he said, settling the satchel back onto the bench beside Bainith, who panicked and checked inside immediately.
“All there, Mister Proudfoot?” asked Butterbur, stepping around to block Henry from the door for a moment. Bainith pulled out a small leather book, some quills and ink, and a handful of rocks, then nodded. “All yer monies, too?”
“Oh, Bainith lets me hold the money for him!” announced Yucca proudly. “See, he makes things set on fire and pulls lightning from clouds and that way his coins don’t jingle and all fall all over. And I’m a hunter,” she added. “I’m useful!”
Henry’s eyes widened. The chicken leg dropped to the floor and he suddenly emptied his pockets, producing several items the runaway hobbit had been carrying. “Must ‘ave slipped into mine when he fell over,” said Henry meekly. “I best be goin’ now,” he added hastily as he made his exit.
“Bye Mister Jenks! Say hello to your wife for us! I hope your knee feels better!” Yucca kept waving a little while after the door was closed, but finally sat herself down to finish her supper. Once Bainith double-checked his satchel, he settled down to eat his potatoes. “Bainith, are we adventuring right now?” asked Yucca.
“Uh... sure, Yucca,” answered Bainith, warily glaring at a minstrel and a lore-mistress who were about to join them at their table, but decided to move on after catching his gaze.
Bainith sighed and lifted a mouthful of cold smashed potatoes to his lips.
She held up her drink, hands wobbling a little. “It comes in quarts.”
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