You enter the Lucky Tucky Inn looking for food and merriment.
Lucky-Tucky Inn
Behold the Lucky Tucky Inn: finest in ale and merriment in all of Tookland! The
inn has a cozy feel to it-- many paintings adorn the wooden walls as well as a
rather large map of the Westfarthing. Behind the rustic oak bar stands quite a
small hobbit, Brant Thudder, keeping busy cleaning glass and serving drinks and
such.

The inn holds many distinguishing features. In the center of the spacious room
is a spring wood dance floor, kept clean at all times. The bar is usually busy,
various hobbits chatting and drinking jovially. Round tables are spread
throughout the room with orange tablecloths and baskets of assorted crackers on
each table. A few barrels of Ol' Toby Pipeweed can be seen to the side of the
bar, and the tavern's patrons merrily fill the air with its sweet smoking aroma.
Towards the back wall of the establishment a small stage rises above the tavern
floor, a perfect place for small side acts and musical performances. Next to the
bar there is a small door that leads outside to the back yard.
Contents:
Rod Prudhomme
Ale Keg
Brant Thudder
Obvious exits:
Back Door and Out
A silver plaque is mounted on the wall behind the bar. "The winner of the
November Baking Contest is Panadrin Took!"

==============================================================================
RL (Arizona) time is Sat Dec 15 14:40:57 2001 (+time).
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IC time is about 4 PM (tea time) on Monday Afteryule (January) 18, 1425 S.R.
------------------------------------------------------------------------------
IC Weather Conditions
Freezing rain falls from the sky, unceremoniously pelting anyone unfortunate
enough to be caught outdoors on this Afteryule/Frery day.
==============================================================================

The door opens with a bang and in comes Omfast, dropping wet. He shuts the door
and shakes himself. The ice is melting on his cap, water running down his face
and making a nice little puddle right where he stands. He slowly opens his
dripping cloak and hangs it on a peg. He takes of his cap, his scarf, wipes
his hair, and blows his nose. Then he walks over to the bar, waves to Brant and
says, "Hey Brant! I need some nice hot tea in a big mug, and I need some help
with them letters!" Brant looks up, astonished, and turns to the kettle without
saying a word. After pouring the tea, he walks over and says quietly, yet loud
enough, "Here you go, Omfast. And as to them letters, you'd better not ask me.
Ask some of them guests, here. And watch what you're saying, I don't want no
angry guests here, mark my words." Omfast takes his tea, leaves some coins on
the bar and turns around, looking for some guests he might know.

Ilro comes in from the square.
Ilro has arrived.

Ilro

	Fat rolls from the inner folds of this finely-dressed hobbit's being; he
is immense in the most frank sense. A jolly green waistcoat is tucked around a
finely-cut, well-pressed undershirt. Black trousers stretch to cover this
hobbit's fat, stubby legs; his feet are unshod, save for a lively patch of brown
hair (the same colour as that which is on his head) on either one.

Only a quarter of a second passes from the time Omfast leaves the place by the
door before another Hobbit waddles in, splashing his bare feet into the puddle
of water where the previous Hobbit stood. "Blast this weather," he curses below
his breath, removing his cap and cloak, hanging them neatly on a hook; this
reveals him to be none other than Ilro Grubb, a halfling with a distinguished
look about him. He plops down in a seat at the bar and orders Brant to bring him
a warm cup of chamomile tea, simultaneously tossing two coins onto the bar.

Once more a chilly draft poors in from the Bucklebury streets. Clary quickly
shuts the door behind her and turns to face the warm inside of the Lucky Tucky.
Icy cold water from her mantle joins the puddles left by Omfast when she hangs
it on a peg nearby.
"Brhhh," she says with a shiver when she has completed her short journey to the
bar, "To-o cold for decent folk. Brant, could you pour me a cup of your tea,
dear?"
"One tea comin', Ms. Smallburrow" Brant places a large mug before Clary and
pours steaming hot tea in it.

Omfast beams as he sees the latest arrival. "Ms. Smallburrow! What an
incredible pleasure to find you here!" He quickly walks over. "I must tell you
what happened. I was at an interview with the Thainesse! Some other people where
there to, but it seems that I was the only one applying for the job. And this
morning a servant told my uncle that I was to write my application and send it
in. Oh, do you think they will take me? I am so nervous. Well, yes, and now I
need somebody to help me write that letter. Oh, I absolutely must get this job
or my uncle will be mad like a raving bull..."

Ilro's eyes do not drift, even for a moment, from the cup of chamomile now in
his possesion. As though he were in the purest pleasure, he closes his eyes
lightly, tilts his head back, and pours the steaming liquid into his mouth until
all of it is gone and all that remains is a smile on his face. "Mr. Thudder,
your chamomile tea gets better every time I drink it, I do beleive; please,
another cup," he mentions to Brant, who promptly starts to his new task.

"You're a darling, Brant," Clary takes the mug in two hands, pressing them hard
against it and takes a carefull sip. "Ah, much better," she closes her eyes for
a moment, until Omfast comes over to her.
"Oh, good afternoon, Mr. Cotton! So nice to see you again." Clary looks at him
and a warm smile complements the winter blush on her cheek, "that is good news
indeed and it would be a pleasure to 'ave you at the Smials. Don't ye worry
about that job, they've been looking for a decent gardener for too long to say
nay to you. You're a Cotton afterall, and a very polite one, if I may say so."

Omfast blushes, "Ah, ah, oh you are too kind Ms. Smallburrow. And to think that
you told me about this job in the first place. Really, I do thank you. Now, ah,
as to the letter itself, you see, I brought something..." With that he gets up
quickly, passes the third hobbit at the bar, and walks over to his coat. Under
the coat you see a little bag; Omfast opens it and mutters in the back, "And
this... and this..." and with that he pulls paper, feather and a little ink
flask from the bag. With the utensils in his hands he comes back. "I brought this
all from my uncle's. We must have had people in the family who knew their
letters. Now if I only know what to do with this..." He puts the stuff on the
table and looks Ms. Smallburrow in the eyes. "What do I do now?"

Without a moment passing, Brant brings Ilro his second cup of chamomile tea, and
in no time the large Hobbit has repeated the afformentioned process of drinking
the contents of an entire cup. A replication of the previous liquid-induced grin
appears on his lips, and he wheels around in the chair to see the others in the
bar. Two in particular catch his attention, one male, the other female, at a
table, and he watches them closely.

Clary's eyes look from his to the pen, then stay a while at the blank paper
before returning to look at him, "Well, I could," she starts with a wry smile,
"make a drawing with those, it's nice paper," she hesitates a moment, then pouts
a little and says, "but to be honest, I really don't know me letters, I could
help otherwise."
She looks around the bar, "Perhaps," she says in a low voice to Omfast, "tha
fancy lookin' fella overthere," and she nods in the direction of a hobbit with a
distinguished look, seated nearby at the bar.

Omfast follows her glance and looks at the corpulent fellow. He hesitates. "You
think so?" he asks quietly. "Hmm. He does look respectable!" He looks back at
the pen, the ink, and the paper. "If only I knew my letters... I wonder why the
Thainess wants the letter. She asked me all she wanted to know. Writing is so
useless!" He looks back at the hobbit by the bar. "You really think I should ask
him? What do I say without being a sheephead?"

Ilro looks away quickly when he notices that both of the people he's been
staring at are now returning his glances. A sheepish smile comes across his lips
for a moment before he signals quietly to Brant for another cup of tea.
Occaisionally, a spare glance is given to the two at the table, but it is always
nervously taken back an instant later.

A deep frown forms over her brow, "Dunno," Clary inspects her mug, "Just ask
him, I s'ppose." She looks at the fella and waves with one hand at him, "Erm,
'scuse us, Mister?"

Omfast jumps as she suddenly starts to wave to the other fellow. He looks at
her. He looks at him. He sheepishly raises his hand and waves, too. Then he
gives and artificial coughs and gets up. "Sir, please excuse us, we are, ah,
looking for a, ah, a learned man. A respectable person with some good
hobbit-sense. Somebody who knows his letters. Actually. Well, yes. Ah. Do you...
Can... How... What do you, ah, think?"

"Mm? Oh!" Ilro exclaims, wheeling around again to face the two at the table.
"Yes?" he replies, though it is obvious he is at war against another grin coming
to his lips. At last he wins the battle, and raises both of his eyebrows. "Did
you need me for something?"
Suddenly, though, when Omfast stands and stumbles through his request, another
smile pops onto the obese Hobbit's fat lips. "Ehem, yes, I do beleive I
understand what you're asking ... you would like me to help you author something
on that piece of paper? With that pen?" he inquires, signaling to both as he
speaks. "Is that the problem, sir?"

Clary's eyes follow his words, to he pen, the paper then back to the
Distinguished Hobbit. Finally she pokes an elbow in Omfast's side, "Well, don't
just stand there," she whispers, "what are ye waiting for?"

Omfast jumps again. "Yes, right, right." He fetches the writing utensils and
comes back again. "Sir, my name is Omfast Cotton. I am applying for a job as a
gardener at the big Smials..." and he goes on to nervoulsy explain in great
detail about his past experience helping out his father (a farmer) and his
mother (a florist) up in Bywater. "All I need now, is this letter... I have
talked to the Thainesse, too."

Ilro nods intermittantly as Omfast explains himself, renewing his smile
occaisionally, and finding time to order and sip on another cup of chamomile
tea. "Uh-huh. I see! Well then, I suppose it would be right proper for me to
help you write this letter to the Thainess, hmm?" he askes, to no-one in
particular, and then ponders for a moment. "I'll tell you what, I've a few
business partners in the Great Smials you speak of, and I am on good terms with
the Thain and Thainess, so how about I write them a letter from myself to them
for you, hmm? I do think that would do the trick, don't you?"

Omfast looks at him, and back to Ms. Smallburrow. "Uh, ... yes, I guess that
would be fine. I hope."

Ilro says, "I do think it would," and takes the paper and pen into his own
hands. He wheels around to the bar and reads aloud as he writes,
"Dear Thain and Thainess, I am writting you in regards to a young Hobbit lad of
importance to both of us; one by the name of Omfast Cotton. You see, I was
having my usual 3 o'clock tea in the Lucky Tucky one afternoon, when the lad
came to me with a request--it appears he had applied for a job there, and needed
a letter of sorts to be sent to you concerning his joining your workforce. I am
writing you this letter to recommend the fellow to you. He seems of good will, a
bright fellow, despite his lack of education, and has expressed to me his
history in the field he intends to apply for. I beleive he would be wonderful
for the job; I do hope you'll consider him. Thank you. Regards, Ilro Grubb, CEO
Grubb Enterprises."
Putting the final touches on the letter, he hands it to Omfast, standing beside
him. "How's that, then?"

Omfast says, "Wow! It is amazing! I love it. Especially the flourish down here. You
have such an elegant writing. Thank you very much!"
Omfast shows the letter to Clary Smallburrow. "Isn't it lovely?"

"The pleasure was mine, sir," replies Ilro, getting up to his hairy feet and
waddling toward the door. "Now, if you'll excuse me," he nods to Omfast and the
ladyhobbit at the table, "I must be off; a busy schedule, you know. The best to
both of you." With that, he grabs up his cloak and hat, and exits the inn.

Clary watches, barely breathing the Distinguished Hobbits draw letters on the
paper. When he finishes she looks at the letter and at him, "That is really nice
of you, Sir." Clary beams at the Distinguished Hobbit, "That is most kind
indeed," she mumbles as she inspects the drawings on the paper.
"Good'afternoon to you, Sir," she says when he leaves.

Omfast says, "What a respectable person! A true hobbit if I ever saw one. What did
he say his name was? Ilro Grubb, wasn't it? Oh I remember, Grubb Enterprises...
I wonder what he does for a living."

========================================
Message ID #: 704907
TO: Paladin
SUBJECT: Gardener
MESSAGE:
A certain Omfast Cotton has had the following letter delivered on the subject of
the gardner position. It says: Dear Thain and Thainess, I am writting you in
regards to a young Hobbit lad of importance to both of us; one by the name of
Omfast Cotton. You see, I was having my usual 3 o'clock tea in the Lucky Tucky
one afternoon, when the lad came to me with a request--it appears he had applied
for a job there, and needed a letter of sorts to be sent to you concerning his
joining your workforce. I am writing you this letter to recommend the fellow to
you. He seems of good will, a bright fellow, despite his lack of education, and
has expressed to me his history in the field he intends to apply for. I beleive
he would be wonderful for the job; I do hope you'll consider him. Thank you.
Regards, Ilro Grubb, CEO Grubb Enterprises.
========================================

"S'ppose he's a laywer or something," Clary replies, "Ye say he's a Grubb, then
he must be a lawyer," she nods to herself. "Well, there's your letter, Omfast,"
she grins at him, "When do you start, t'morrow?"

Omfast exclaims, "Haha! I have the letter!" and raises the letter for all to
see. "Amazing. Oh, I don't know when I'll be starting, I still have to deliver
it and they can still decide they are not going to take me. Oh but this Mr.
Grubb was such a fine man, I am certain he has many important friends. Yes, yes.
I'll better put this letter in an envelope, too." He puts pen and ink back in
his back, gets an envelope and folds the letter neatly. He puts the letter into
the envelope, the envelope into the bag, and grins from ear to ear. "Oh I can't
wait Ms. Smallburrow. I think I'll better go straight away. They wouldn't want
to wait for the answer now, would they?"

"Me was just kiddin', 'bout you startin' tomorrow, Omfast." Clary pats softly on
the bag with the letter, "I am sure you'll get the job and the sooner the
better, as far as I have a say, which I don't, and the sooner they 'ave the
letter, the sooner you'll have the job."

Omfast puts on his coat. It is still wet and Omfast shudders as he struggles to
put it on. The bag with the letter is safely hidden under the coat. He wraps the
scarf around his neck and puts on the cap. "Well, I hope to see you again, Ms.
Smallburrow. It is always a pleasure talking to you! I shall be off to deliver
the letter. I hope we meet again, soon."

"So do I, Omfast!." She rushes up from the stool, "But wait, I oughtta go back
meself and we could walk there together." Without waiting for his answer she
puts on her mantle, "If ye like, I'll show you the gardens, though they're not
nearly half as pretty as in the summer."

Omfast laughs, "Ms. Smallburrow, you are a charm, a wonder! I would love to walk
back to the Great Smials with you. I don't know about the gardens, though. It's
probably still raining outside." With that he helps her to straighten her
mantle. "A beautiful mantle you have there. Are you all set? Let's just stick
together, I think I can hear the sleet still coming down!"

"Aye," Clary has opened the door, "it certainly does pour down, perhaps we'll do
the gardens some other time, a warm cup off tea in the kitchen sounds better."
She steps outside pulls a hood over her head, "Comin'?"

Omfast winks and nods. "Let's go!" he shouts as he closes the door behind him.
The rain is pouring down half frozen in the near dark. Omfast points towards the
Great Smials and the two start start jogging. Within seconds, the two are out of
sight.