For more information on hobbit culture, which necessarily revolves around food, go here.
Scene: A cozy little 25x45 foot stone room carved into the heartstone of a mountain. There are several corridors which lead off into other areas. A rich colorful hand-embroidered rug adorns the floor, with several beautiful tapestries upon the walls. The tapestries seem to be some sort of history, portraying forbidding mountains, fierce battles and numerous short, stout armored dwarves pummeling various large monsters into heaps of bright gore. At one end of the dimly lit room is a fireplace cheerfully stuffed with burning logs. Adorning the middle of the chamber is a long oak table polished to within an inch of its life. The table looks like it was built to withstand the attentions of a siege engine. At one end of this "table" are several chairs similarly constructed. There is yet another sideboard which is mostly hidden by an astonishing array of salvers, trays, platters and cunning little three-legged pots. Some of the pots are steaming.
The table is set at one end with fine china and crystal. Lady GILLIAN is on one side with her tiny hobbit form ensconced in a very comfortable looking red wool and silk robe. She is wearing slippers with little Tethamagrion wheels embroidered upon them. In front of her is a forbidding pile of buckwheat pancakes.
At the head of the table is RYDETALIN, the Lord of Belegost, Hammer of the Forge, and Master Smith (Weapon Class, Eaglesreach 996). He is wearing a plain grey patterned silk tunic and breeches, with a plain thick gold-linked belt with a plain thick gold buckle large enough to choke a Xorn, the belt looks like it is straining a bit. His hair is elaborately braided, and his beard (albeit short-looking) in also braided and tied into some plain mithril silver beard caps. He wears plain interlaced gold armlets and a few plain gold rings with plain gems too.
He looks vaguely uncomfortable.
He is absently toying with a gold fork and a few venison sausage ends. Every once in a while he looks on with mild wonder as GILLIAN daintily piles into another course, she seems to be ravenous. In the distance, behind some closed doors there are several high-pitched squeals and thumps. Some children are roughhousing down the hall.
G- More sausages dear? They are quite good with the sage and onion, don't you think?
R- They were wonderful.
G- Fine, now try some of these nice buckwheat pancakes with the elderberry syrup.
R- But I already had cakes.
G- Those were the almond wheat and honey cakes, dear.
R- (Eyeing the side table wearily) Oh. Right. Well maybe just one then.
(G watches as a very muscular looking dwarf in grey and silver livery empties a dozen pancakes onto a clean plate in front of RYDE. R eyes the servant a bit warily)
G- Thank you, Durgill. Now as I was saying, breakfast is only the most important meal of the day you know.
R- I thought you said that about Lunch?
G- I did, but Lunch is the most important meal in the middle of the day.
R- Oh. (pause) Right. Honeydrop. (frowning) Lessee now. Breakfast, Brunch, Lunch, Tea, Supper and Dinner, right?
G- (sternly) You forgot one.
R- (Looking vaguely flustered) I did?
G- (Sweetly) What did we have just before Brunch yesterday?
R- (Brightly) Oh that lemon and orange cream thing -- SNACK, it is snack isn't it?
G- (sighs and devours a pancake) No, no NO, snacks don't count, you forgot to mention Elevenses which come between Brunch and Lunch.
R- (brow furrowing in thought) Was that the nut and wildfruit compote thingy?
G- (beaming) You noticed the wildfruit? I'll make a hobbit out of you yet.
R- (looking cautiouly at Durgill, who is hovering with a covered dish) Ah, well-
MURADHILL enters, a stocky, younger-looking dwarf with coal black hair. He is dragging another liveried servant who is clinging desperately to his arm. He is wearing leather work clothes and looks concerned. He stops at the doorway into the breakfast nook, shrugs the servant off, removes his work helm and knuckles his forehead. As the other servant sulks off Durgill glares at this interloper.
R- (looking like a drowning man being saved) Muradhill?
M- (Soberly) My lord Rydetalin.
R- This must be important.
R- (looking at G) Muradhill is one of our deep scouts, he has been working with some of the metal miners lately. (turns to M) Am I needed below?
M- Aye milord.
R- Well then I'll just be-
G- (lightly) ahem.
R- (shooting a sideways glance at Gillian who is delicately eating the last pancake) -asking you to sit down with us?
G- (beaming at M) Please Muradhill, I know this is at the end of your shift and all but I am sure we have enough left for a small snack.
M- (preoccupied) Oh but your ladyship, I have already had a nice bowl of-
G- Sit.
M sits somewhat timidly as some other servants wisk a broad array of implements and plates in front of him. A steaming stack of thick sausages covered with a white sauce are spooned onto his plate by Durgill, who smiles thinly at him.
M- (looking quizzically at three different forks) Maybe just a bite or two.
G- There you go (smiling at M) have some nice tea Muradhill.
A smirking Durgill pours a delicately-scented brown fluid into a pale, beautiful porcelain cup. M picks it up, in his hand it looks like a rose petal on a tree stump. He slurps it.
M- (looking into the cup) mmm, ah, very, ah, umm, hot, isn't it?
G- (smiles) It's made from beans.
R- (patiently) Now about this business of yours, Muradhill.
M- (starting a bit) Well you lordship, as the 3rd shift was coming up shift we were in tunnel 42/5, you know coming back from the drain pumps when ah, Lump- (looking at G) Terelldan noticed a draft at grid 12.2.
R- Terelldan noticed this at Grid 12.2 at 42/5?
M- (looking vaguely furtive) Yes Lord.
G- (mildly) Muradhill your sausages are getting cold.
M- Oh yes milady. (he starts to stuff an entire sausage into his mouth)
D- (spills a bit of tea on M) Sorry, here is your FORK.
M, unfazed by the hot splash of liquid on his elbow stops. D and M glare at one another a bit. M slowly picks up a gold fork and stabs a sausage. M & D look like they will talk, later. M bites the sausage and suddenly looks very absorbed, tearfully so.
M- Ah, AH, (he makes waving motions at his mouth) Oh.
An odd sound comes from where D is handling the sideboard dishes.
G- I like them a wee bit spicy, they are better that way.
R- (sliding a large ornate ivory and gold teacup down the table) Goes well with this though.
M- (takes the teacup and nearly drains it, he looks surprised at the flavor) Thank you sire, oh my mouth. (He looks at the pile of sausages in front of him and then at G) These are, ah, delicious.
G- Wonderful, I am so pleased. Wait till you try the scrapple. It's really spicy.
M and R share a wordless look.
R- Soo, what kind of draft was it, Muradhill?
M- (dwarffully regarding the second half of his sausage) Type 6.4, Sire.
G- What is type 6, Rydie?
R- (wincing at the Rydie) A 6 means there is an air pocket emanating from an enclosed chamber nearby, the point 4 indicates a distance, which is 40-60 feet.
G- Oh. Very well then. (gestures to D) Will you have your kippers now or after the scrapple, Ryde?
R- This is actually important, Gillie.
G- OK, now then.
D dutifully appears at Ryde's elbow with a dish of hazelnut smoked kippers. D starts to grab a tongful of the delicacies but something causes him to drop most of them back into the dish. He looks slightly pained. D limps over to where M is in mortal combat with sausage number 3. M looks like he is losing.
D- Kipper?
M- (looking at Ryde) Perhaps just one?
D tongs a fine portion of kippers onto another fancy plate. M watches red-faced through a mist of tears. He looks resigned and in some amount of pain too.
M- (muttering to D) It will be a long talk too.
G- What was that Muradhill?
M- (recovering) It was a long walk too, from the mines I mean.
R- (impatiently) Sooo, somehow an opening has reached through some sixty feet of live rock into corridor 42, eh? From the, ah, enclosure.
G- (startled) That wouldn't be the one that-
R- Yes it is my dear.
G- Oh (she stares at the remains of a kipper) I'm not hungry any more. I'll be in my rooms.
G stalks out of the room, muttering under her breath. The sounds of merriment and tomfoolery in the far room are suddenly stopped.
R- (glaring mildly at D) I'll have some of the cold tea.
D pours some nice foamy ale from a grey and red teapot, The teapot has condensation on it.
R- (smacking his lips) Much better. OK Muradhill, Get a few of the enchanters down there, Redelbar and that new one, umm, Olefin. This time I want the chamber backfilled with some nice type III gas, then cap it off and fire it.
M- Sire, that kind of explosion may stress some of the adjacent galleries-
R- Or you can finish that plate of sausages.
There is another weird snorfling noise over where D is mucking about with some tiny plates and cups, R ignores him.
M- (paling visibly) Sire I have fought orcs and bad air. I have been in two cave ins and by my clan I swear-
R raises one eyebrow at him, the air seems to cool suddenly.
R- (evenly) Go on Muradhill, tell me what you cannot do.
M looks at something in Ryde's hands. It is a gold fork tied into a complete knot.
M- (hurriedly) It will be done before noon sire.
R- Done.
M gets up hastily to leave, he looks oddly relieved.
R- Oh, one more thing, Muradhill?
As M turns at the doorway, he looks like his hand WAS in the cookie jar.
M- Yes Milord?
R- (calmly) If I ever find out that you were dicking off and letting Lumpy handle the scouting when the third shift was coming up, you'll think a month of hobbit breakfasts are sheer pleasure compared to what I will do to you.
M, who is probably 50 or so his last naming day starts visibly and swallows. The ruddiness put into his cheeks by the sausages pales quite a bit. He starts to say something, reconsiders and simply nods quickly.
R- I will be down to check on things after breakfast.
M leaves. The sound of running footsteps on thick carpet can dimly be heard.
Some more muffled snorfling can be heard behind R as he sits there.
R- (gazing into his large "teacup") And Durgill, after you refill this please make yourself available to Frinigar Propmaster in corridor 42. I believe he may need some help this shift and the cave air might be good for your, ah, "cough".
D's face goes completely wooden as he straightens up from arranging some plates.
D- (meekly) Sire, there are the Elevenses dishes to prepare and-
R- (abruptly) Eh?
D- (faintly) Of course, milord.
D avoids Ryde's eyes as he fills the "teacup".
R- Go Now.
D- (reluctantly) Thank you milord.
D slinks out of the room.
R- Elevenses. Damn.
R gazes into the fireplace.
R- (R takes a long pull from the "teacup". His face is hard as he looks off into the distance at something out of sight) Blood and Anvils, but that tomb will never be quiet enough for us.