Perhaps she leaned too far on the crutch of her brother's haughty gaze, enough to put 'ol Rosemary to shame for ever accusing his precious baby sister of anything even remotely criminal. After all, Bilbo had made it abundantly clear that there would come the day that his excuses and profuse apologies would not be enough, and Rosemary was completely within her own right to properly apprehend and punish Bluebell for her light fingers. In Bluebell's honest opinion, the price Rosemary weighs in on her gin was far more criminal in comparison.
Rosemary was a plump Hobbit, well admired for her fair skin and ruby red hair that cascaded down her back in little ringlets perfectly crafted by her homemade lather that smells of, well, rosemary. Her beady little eyes are a watery blue, sometimes tinted grey in her fury over Bluebell's more daring rebellious nature, consistently airing it out in Rosemary's little shop. The state of her clothes are always up to par with Hobbit standards, the golden sashes lining her bulbous shoulders making her glow heavenly-like. There is often a line out the door of Hobbits, desperate to cast their eyes on their beloved, who remains just out of reach, as she was betrothed to one Lucius Handerdam, a kind and timid mail deliverer that clearly enjoyed taking orders. And Rosemary loved to give them.
Bluebell knew well enough that Rosemary was probably the prettiest in their shared homeland, and that often made it more difficult for her to find allies that share the hatred for Rosemary's greed with her gin, wine, and crumpets she has stuffed at the very back, glistening with her homemade jam that tasted of the sweet and savory raspberries that grew in the Handerdam garden. And Rosemary was often tempted when Bilbo would send her with grocery lists, the foods lining the parchment enough to feed a family of four, but it did just fine with the two of them.
The shop was neither too big nor too small, and the amount of carefully crafted shelves brought in from those in Bree that Rosemary had paid for gave enough blind spots for Bluebell to delve deep into her darkest desires by grabbing a singular bottle of Rosemary's most popular gin, and hiding it deep underneath her dress, the clashing colors of yellow and brown enough to make Rosemary automatically gasp in horror when Bluebell had entered. Of course it was handmade, as Bluebell never seemed to have a keen eye for fashion to begin with. But the best thing about this homemade dress was the many things she could use it as an outlet for. A thick, leather band, made from the excess that Bilbo neglected to use to shield his potted plants from the harsh sun on one of the side tables was stitched big enough to attach to her thigh, attached to it an elastic made from several of Bluebell's old hair bows, sturdy enough to carry the bottle with little issue.
The petite brunette smoothed down her dress, insinuating to those that just passed her she was simply readjusting herself, and they'd do best to let her do so. Bluebell stood straight, trying to avoid shivering from the coolness of the glass bottle as she quickly fished out the small piece of parchment Bilbo had shoved into her hand along with the leather bag of coins for her to purchase his necessities.
This was one of the few responsibilities Bluebell was granted. Given her lack of hand-eye coordination when it comes to washing dishes or nearly setting their home aflame because she cannot follow recipes to save her own life, Bilbo saw this was not a last resort(he incessantly assured her), but as more of an opportunity for her to mend her differences with Rosemary and perhaps even gain a better handling of her social skills which, according to Bilbo, were profoundly bleak.
Bluebell never understood the necessity of it; she was quite content with her only comrade being her big brother.
Humming nonchalantly, Bluebell gently dragged her index finger over the variety of spices lined and divided by availability and price range. She could sense Rosemary's shrewd glare upon her. Pursing her lips, Bluebell herself could hear the crude noise that came with sticking her tongue through her chapped lips and spitting a raspberry. She was kind enough not to aim it at the merchandise. Rosemary huffed, bouncing on the back of her heels, waiting impatiently for Bluebell to find what she needed so she could leave. Perhaps it wasn't the most kind thing to do, but in Bluebell's defense, Bilbo's untidy scrawl on the parchment was a little difficult to decipher. It was completely understandable as to why she wasn't hurrying through this. She needed to ensure she retrieved everything her brother asked for.
With an armful of her brother's requests, she at last approached the front counter where Rosemary fought to not pull back her red painted upper lip into a spiteful snarl. Bluebell smiled innocently, pushing the items toward her for her to calculate the price for what Bluebell owed her, of course not including the bottle still strapped to her thigh.
"Find everything you needed?" Rosemary asked as sweetly as she could, her eyes unwavering.
Bluebell nodded. "More than enough. Bilbo's rather excited for tonight's meal plan. I've nearly put off luncheon in my haste to enjoy it to its fullest extent, although my complete lack of obstinance has enabled my appetite." She patted her stomach for emphasis.
Rosemary tuts, shuffling all of the items into a paper bag. "Yes, well, I would hate to disappoint my caretaker, too, if I was in need of one. It'll be twelve pieces, please."
Bluebell's smile twitched, but she gave no indication that Rosemary's quip had any kind of impact on her person. Instead, she dug her hand in order to retrieve the money bag, dumping its contents onto the counter and counting out what she owed, slowly of course, if only to frustrate Rosemary Handerdam even more. Twelve pieces for this amount? She truly was a crook.
"Thank you, dear. Have a good day," Rosemary smiled beautifully, waving her matching red fingernails at Bluebell as she grabbed her bag, the money bag with its remaining contents(it felt significantly lighter from the purchase), and her bearings, catching the door before it shut behind a man and his brother, who couldn't bother to hold the door open for her. While this practice would be frowned upon if it were anyone else, it seemed for Bag End that it was perfectly fine to not hold up one's own propriety morals when it concerned Bluebell Baggins.
With a grunt, Bluebell set off for her home, clutching perhaps too tightly on the groceries as her mind wandered, nearly forgetting she had gotten another one over upon Rosemary. The gin sloshed tauntingly with every step she took, keen on being drunk by the Hobbit. But it went unnoticed, Bluebell too far into her spiteful and petty thoughts to realize what she'd accomplished, and she much enjoyed her minute antics.
Bluebell loved her brother very dearly. He has done nothing but do right by her, true to his word when their father was on his deathbed, pleading with Bilbo to keep Bluebell in line, lest she disappear and let the world swallow her whole away from the Shire. And because Bluebell hated to disappoint her brother, much less her father, she kept her head down to the best of her ability and lived her deepest desires in the literature Bilbo piled high in every room in their Hobbit hole.
Bilbo had a good twenty years Bluebell's senior, and that had evidently divided them socially with Bilbo keen on living his teen years without having to dote on a sour faced baby sister who cried and relieved herself periodically. Truthfully, there was nothing appealing about her, but Belladonna and Bungo were smitten. As the days passed, however, and Bilbo found his place was in the hearth of Bag End, he and Bluebell grew closer, as predicted by their cheeky mother, who couldn't hide her smiles when the two would fight over her casserole for supper.
Bluebell wouldn't kid herself; she knew she and Bilbo were quite different. Where he had grown from his improbable Took fantasies, Bluebell couldn't follow. She still dreamed of leaving the Shire, abandoning everything she knew in favor of discovering new places, new people, perhaps elves or goblins. Her mother didn't necessarily encourage their daughter, as Bungo had accused, but she definitely did not deter Bluebell from her wishes. She would not keep her from dreaming, and dreaming was all Bluebell had.
Bungo felt it was dangerous. Her father often tried to convince Bluebell there was an even fuller life to partake in here in the Shire. She could seek out one of the many eligible bachelors who would be delighted to wed her, but she never took any interest in them, nor the comfortable life they were keen on living. Bluebell understood her father meant well, but she couldn't help but feel aggravated at his desperation to keep her from something she'd made alarmingly clear she was interested in.
But seeing him wither away, proclaiming his love for both of his children and all they have done was enough to curb her animosity, and while some tears she shed had been her own selfishness seeping into her grief as Bungo made Bilbo promise to keep Bluebell in line before closing his eyes, Bluebell had made her own promise to him to keep her end of the bargain. The only traveling and discoveries she would endure would be when her head hit her pillows at night, her lackluster novel doing little to help soothe her needs.
Bluebell remained with Bilbo. Her brother provided much for their home life, including cooking his extravagant meals that mirrored their mother's expertise, scolding Bluebell for her quick mouth or how she constantly antagonized Rosemary(and he would not be banned from another shop, thank you), discussed in turn the novels Bluebell would pilfer through like candy, but most of all, Bilbo would keep Bluebell safe in Bag End, and she would know not the dangers of what the world bore, not that he had the true knowledge of it. His gateway to it was literature, too.
It was a running joke for Bluebell Baggins, not that she wasn't isolated already. She was thirty-four, a fully grown Hobbit, in need of a caretaker to keep her in check, hence the insult Rosemary threw at her. Some said she was mad. Others said she was simply mentally incapacitated and it was completely out of her control. Some even thought she was dangerous, full of vicious propaganda that venturing out of the Shire was worthwhile.
She didn't blame Bilbo for it; don't be mistaken. Bluebell understood it was both for her sake as well as their father's, and Bilbo was nothing if he did not keep his word. But that didn't enable her to stop her massive frustration and overall irritation over the state of her life. She's been alive for thirty-four years and what did she have to show for it? Stolen alcohol? Bitter rivalries? Social outcasting?
Bluebell murmured to herself, mulling over it as she came up the small ascension to her home of Bag End. There were plenty of Hobbits going about their day, some tending to their beloved gardens, others taking a daily stroll(though they made a detour to avoid crossing paths with Bluebell), and none of them gave the natural, instinctive greeting to Bluebell. She was ignored, but she convinced herself she was okay with that.
Over the hill gave her a better view of Hobbiton. And it also revealed to her someone shutting the fence to her front gardens, happily trotting away. Bluebell quickly stopped, nearly dropping the groceries. It was a man, she supposed, his intimidating height enough to both startle and bemuse her. He was cloaked in grey robes and a pointed hat. The grey of his hair and beard did nothing to help her identify this stranger, and the staff he clutched made her uneasy, whipping toward her home.
"Bilbo," she whispered, horrified. At once, she took off at a run, her impressive feet giving her ample opportunity to leap over the fence, using her free hand to give her a boost. She ran up the short stone path, careful to avoid the petunias, marching over the stone porch to clutch the doorknob, pushing incessantly, only to not have it give way. "Bilbo? Bilbo!"
She began hitting at the door with a closed fist. She heard nothing. Heart palpitating rapidly against her ribcage, Bluebell turned on the spot, now unsure of herself. What had that strange man done with her brother? Bluebell contemplated chasing after him, demanding to know where her brother was and why he had paid an unexpected visit. Bluebell did not recall Bilbo mentioning any sort of company to prepare for, otherwise the grocery list would have been far longer.
The door, at last, opened, and Bilbo's head peeked through the tiny crack. Upon recognizing his sister, he opened the door entirely and welcomed her with a relieved sigh.
"Bilbo, what..." Bluebell didn't have time to pester him with her questions because he was suddenly ushering her inside and closing the door once more, locking it behind them. She stared at him, completely bewildered. This behavior was so unlike him. He peeked suspiciously out the window, squinting through the morning sunlight, searching. "Is this about the strange man? I saw him closing the gate. Did he speak with you?"
Bilbo turned toward her, still on edge.
"Did he speak to you?" he asked accusingly.
"I reckon he didn't even see me." Bluebell answered honestly. "Mind clueing me in now? I can wait for you to catch your breath." Bluebell, now with the relief her brother was alive and well, trailed into the kitchen area, dumping out the contents of their groceries onto the counter and beginning to place them in their proper places. At one point, Bilbo had even labeled every cabinet and drawer for Bluebell to remember. When he realized that had offended her, he was quick to remove them. Although, they did help remind her where saffron and cinnamon go, so perhaps she reacted too harshly.
"I'm surprised you didn't recognize him," Bilbo stated, following her.
Bluebell was slightly surprised. "I've met him before? I'd think I'd remember a silly hat such as that."
"Gandalf the Grey. I suppose you were a bit young, but he attended one of your birthdays and produced exquisite fireworks. Hobbits had spoke on them for weeks. You were simply beside yourself in complete awe," Bilbo recalled, a faint smile filling his once petrified features. That seemed to make Bluebell even more confused.
"Would his visit not be welcome, then? You didn't seem too awed just now," Bluebell stated, folding up the paper bags and disposing them into the trash bin available. Turning on the spot, she leaned on the counter with her arms crossed, inspecting her brother with a most critical eye, as though she were capable of reading minds through body language. He stood as he always did, puffed out chest with his hands splayed across his hips. Although, it seemed superficial. Something had happened between Gandalf the Grey and Bilbo Baggins, but what could possibly stir her brother's sanity so?
"Well, it would seem...following a most curious introduction that Gandalf was in search through the Shire for some Hobbit in particular to...well, to..." Bilbo couldn't seem to form the right sentence that would explain the complete complexities of Gandalf the Grey's intentions. With that in mind, Bluebell racked her thoughts for the possibilities. But she came up short. Bilbo would have to find his bearings and just tell her. She was no good at guessing games.
"Spit it out already, Bilbo," Bluebell insisted.
Bilbo glowered, but he obliged. "It would seem Gandalf was in search of a Hobbit to embark on an adventure with him."
As he had predicted, Bluebell's eyes lit up and suddenly she was grasping his hands and dancing on the spot. He remained unmoving, letting Bluebell get it out of her system as she twirled around, the yellow and brown colors becoming a blur for a moment before she faced him again. Her face felt incredibly warm; she was elated, excited, and eager to ask Gandalf where did she have to sign.
"Bluebell, he didn't ask for you."
That immediately wiped the smile from her face.
"I'm sorry?"
Bilbo looked downright uncomfortable, but he had to have known this obstacle would be crossed, especially since she had seen Gandalf retreating, sturdy evidence someone was here at Bag End. Bluebell stopped dancing immediately, her arms limp at her sides as she stared at her brother, waiting for him to explain. Her heart was still going a mile a minute. Funny how quickly she had become ecstatic, ready to leap from her brother's clutches as well as the Shire's to follow the wizard she remembered not on an adventure she knew nothing about. She has yet to grow from her fantasies, and Bluebell knew that would be something Bilbo would speak to her about later on. First things first, she wanted to know why she wasn't the Hobbit on Gandalf's mind for an exciting journey.
"Funny thing, Bluebell, I'll tell you. It's a bit of a joke, really. It's not to be taken too seriously, after all, he received no verbal or written agreement. He was out of his mind, I suppose, and while it isn't my place to suspect, given how the entire conversation went, it's only right to assume..." Bilbo quickly cut himself off when Bluebell grasped one of his hands, squeezing it as a sign for him to stop babbling and get to the point. She needed not the words of pleas, just her face. And Bilbo sighed, dipping his head to avoid seeing her eyes. "Bluebell, it would seem he was in search of me particularly to go, not you."
Silence followed the confession, followed by Bluebell's sudden burst of laughter, snorting crudely as she released Bilbo's hand and slapped her knee, quick to grasp her thigh and readjust the leather that was suddenly slipping from her because of her quick movements. When Bilbo did not join her in what she thought was the funniest joke, she realized it wasn't a joke at all.
"You're...you're not serious? Gandalf...in search of a Hobbit for an adventure...comes to the Shire in search of you?"
Bilbo bristled, slightly offended, but Bluebell continued, still flabbergasted as well as furious.
"For years I've been trapped here, yearning to see what's out there, and he comes knocking down our door looking for you," Bluebell snorted, not at all aware how selfish she sounded, nor as rude. But Bilbo hadn't made any attempt to interrupt her. Clearly, he figured hearing her out before speaking his piece was better than having an emotional Bluebell on his hands. "Is he not aware I even exist? You said he attended one of my birthdays, display fireworks. How is he not aware that I would be much preferred over you, you who prefers books and the safety of our walls."
Bluebell turned away, wiping furiously at the gathering tears in her eyes. She shouldn't be this angry over this; just a few moments ago she was humored by her brother's inability to withhold his nervousness around company. Just a few moments ago she was practically plotting the demise of Rosemary, and now here she was distressed and miserable because she was overlooked for something she so desperately wanted.
"Are you done?" Bilbo asked at last.
"No," Bluebell snapped, sniffling angrily and turning back to him. "What did you say?"
"I already told you. I refused." Bilbo stated proudly. "And you act as though I'd have allowed you to agree had he come looking for you instead."
"Allow?" Bluebell repeated.
"Yes, allow. I don't know how it's slipped your mind, Bluebell, but this...this is what we've promised Father, what I've promised Father. If I were to let you waltz off with complete strangers to fulfill whatever emptiness you've had inside you, I'd be just as foolish. You have a happy home here with food, water, a clean bed, clothes, and a brother who cares deeply about you. Why is that never enough?"
"Don't try to turn it into something it's not, Bilbo, this isn't about you. This is about me. You're completely disregarding the fact that...this has been on my mind since I could walk and talk. Mother sure understood. And you had, too, when you were but the size of a shoe. But, of course, you're inevitably more a Baggins than a Took."
"I am as much a Baggins as you are." Bilbo shot back. "And you are as much of a Took as I am. Bluebell, I did not tell you this so we could argue. For there is no argument to be had. Neither me nor you are in any shape to leave, and Gandalf will just have to find another willing Hobbit."
"I'm a willing Hobbit." Bluebell huffed.
"Your place is home, Bluebell," Bilbo raised his voice only slightly, if only to emphasize he was done talking about this. Instinctively, Bluebell shut her mouth, but her glare remained. Having inherited their mother's green eyes, Bluebell understood how eery her anger sometimes was, but Bilbo would not stand for it. He was older, and he was in charge. Sighing softly, he walked past his sister towards the counter, beginning to grab spices from the cabinets as well as utensils. "I will be needed to get started for tonight, if I want everything in tiptop shape. You can help, if you wish."
"I'll pass, thank you. I think I'll take a nap instead," Bluebell said, turning her back and trotting off to her room, unable to keep the tears away for much longer. Slamming the door behind her, she collapsed on her bed to stew in her own angry thoughts, the sound of Bilbo's nonchalant whistling in the kitchen doing little to comfort her.
It was dusk when Bluebell exited her room again. Her hair was unkempt from her tossing and turning, but her mind was working relentlessly to prevent her from sleeping. She did have enough care, however, to change into a pair of trousers with a blouse that had once belonged to her mother. The gin she had strapped to her leg was pushed far underneath her bed; Bilbo never came into her room without knocking first, but she wouldn't test the waters. He would make her return it personally and apologize to Rosemary.
She was greeted with the exquisite smell of Bilbo's cooking. He was setting the table by the time she entered, two plates in their typical spots. He was clearly not angry with her anymore.
He looked up in surprise to see her standing there, mouth pursed in a pout as she squeezed one of her arms. He would not speak to her first, she knew that.
At last, she looked up, still not meeting his eyes as she mumbled, "I'm sorry for what I said. I did not mean it; it was uncalled for."
Bilbo smiled fully. "Have a seat, and I'll grab everything."
Bluebell gave a small smile in return, obliging. She could not force herself to be angry much longer, especially when she realized it truly wasn't Bilbo's fault. He did not deserve the words she had spouted, and he should be furious with her, but Bilbo wasn't one to hold grudges...unless the other person was Lobelia, in which case a little animosity was completely warranted. She watched as he shoved on his oven mitts and took out the pot that was sitting over the flames for a good hour or two. Bluebell felt extremely guilty and embarrassed of her behavior.
She truly was being selfish, not to mention complete with tunnel vision on the circumstances altogether. She found it easier to blame Gandalf than Bilbo, but her brother had insisted he denied him, so they would probably never cross paths again, unless Gandalf was keen on bringing his fireworks for their annual celebrations again, then Bluebell would give him a piece of her mind. Until then, she'd remain here in Bag End under the care of her brother, who deserved better than she.
Bluebell knew she would always feel trapped, but it wasn't such a terrible prison. She had excellent meals to distract her, after all.
Her plate was filled with pan fried fish, steamed veggies, as well as a tiny bowl of a sweet sauce Bluebell enjoyed pouring over her plate to mix the flavors for her 'complex' palette. Bilbo didn't care for it, but they never had supper without it, because he knew his sister enjoyed it. Bilbo had, at last, grabbed a cup of freshly sliced lemons, sitting himself down beside his sister.
"I've told you to stop stealing from Rosemary, Bluebell," he said suddenly, stuffing his collar with a napkin in preparation.
Bluebell froze, the bowl of her favorite sauce now pooling between her fish and veggies instead of being generously spread. She turned to him, shocked.
"How did you-?"
"I am your brother, I know everything," he said simply. "The only reason I'm not having you return it to Rosemary is because it was in a most unsanitary place, and I would not want her to chance selling it to an unsuspecting Hobbit."
Bluebell blushed. "It wasn't anywhere unsanitary. It was only on my thigh. But I wouldn't want to bring it back to Rosemary, anyhow, so thank you." She began maneuvering her fork so the sauce could chance being spread around, whereas Bilbo had grabbed one of the sliced lemons, squeezing it generously over his own plate, eager to begin what would make for a promising meal.
Unfortunately, for the both of them, neither got to taste, for there was suddenly three knocks upon their front door that startled the two of them.
"What on earth..." Bilbo spoke quietly, his hand still stuck in squeezing the lemon.
"More unexpected company?" Bluebell questioned. She was suddenly getting excited. "Could it be Gandalf?"
"Wait, wait, wait! No! Don't you...Bluebell-" Bilbo tried to grab for her, but she was already out of her seat and racing for the door, unlocking it and pulling it open.
It most certainly was not the man she had seen earlier standing on her doorstep.