Chapter Two: And so it begins…

"Oh my..." Ivy grinned, covering her mouth to keep from bursting into laughter herself as she followed Roscoe to the door of the inn. "Thank you very much...I would be delighted to have your company!" She replied in the same manner, and was once again a bit slow in noticing that Roscoe had not followed her into the inn. Looking about, the hobbit saw nothing extremely out of the ordinary...but Roscoe was more familiar with the place than she was, and it was enough to make the hairs on her neck stand on end.

Hurrying back to the door, she looked between the inn and Roscoe for a few moments. "Is something amiss?" Ivy asked in a hushed voice, wondering if this was the sort of situation that called for whispering.

Roscoe didn't answer right away. He realized that something peculiar must have happened in the short time of his absence, for the tavern was very quiet.

It seemed that everyone was looking at something in the middle of the main eating area. Roscoe beckoned for Ivy to follow him as he looked around the bar and saw what everyone was staring at...

...a bloodied body, not long dead. It was either of a tall hobbit or a short man, features obscured by the fuzziness that rose in Ivy's eyes. She had no desire to approach it in order to find out, but merely stood where she was. A tall man stood as if frozen to the spot over the body, wild fire in his eyes and a number of his own wounds bleeding profusely. A few others, men and hobbits alike, nursed minor wounds at a nearby table, but they were obviously not the concern of the tavern.

The wild-looking man flinched as he saw the two hobbits enter, jarred out of his trance. He held a wickedly sharp knife in one hand, looking about for his allies of the moment before.

Ivy shifted, watching the man carefully. Even in all the chaos, it seemed that there were still those who desired merely a pint of good ale and friendly talk. She could not bring herself to look away from the body, though. It was horrible and exciting and even wonderful all at once. Only tales told of the vengeful spirits of the dead kept her away now...well, that and the man holding the knife. That bit still cautioned her, as it ought to have cautioned anyone.

Roscoe looked over at Ivy, worried for her; he had seen this kind of thing before in his travels (though never in Bree) and he was wondering if it might be too much for Ivy.

He leaned over and whispered in her ear. "Let's leave, now. Try not to be noticed." Roscoe grabbed her hand and began to retreat out of the door of the inn...

"THURR ONCE WAS A WEE LASSIE!"

Uproarious (and slurred) singing came from the back of the pub, the noise level rising dramatically as the Hobbit wobbled closer. Merry was held firmly about his shoulders by the bartender, a stern look on the Big Man's face. Merry looked considerably happier, a sloppy smile on his face. He stumbled over his own feet as he was directed to the door.

"Whoopsie!" Merry said cheerfully, patting the chair that hadn't moved an inch. "Pippin!" he called, waving his arms about. "Where are you?"

Merry and Pippin had decided (on a whim) to adventure out of the Shire in search of adventure. And adventure had lead them here. Having spent nearly five hours in the back of the pub trying to drink one another under the table, the pair had consumed numerous pints, for that was what the Big Folk drank.

Considerable rowdiness and singing had managed to catch the attention of the barkeep, who now had Merry about the shoulders and was pushing the drunken Hobbit towards the door. The last thing he needed was a pair of raucous hobbits, and there was still the matter of the murder…a small crowd had gathered around it, whispering nervously and looking around.

"AND WHAT A PRIDDY LIDDLE LASSIE SHE WAAAAAAAAAAS!"

A small 'eep' and some scuffling came from the back of the tavern where Merry and Pippin had just been causing a riot. Soon, a hefty barmaid emerged through the crowd with Pippin under one arm, not really kicking and screaming, but rather irritated at the fact that his feet were no longer touching the ground.

"Pip-Pip-Pippin!" Merry roared cheerily as he was set on his feet by the bartender. "Thanks yeh vurry mooch!" Merry said, swaying on the spot. He regally dusted off his shoulders, missing several times before he actually connected with the fabric.

He staggered towards the door, colliding with Ivy, then bouncing off her into Roscoe. He squinted, though the pair of them were no more than an inch away from him.

"Well lookit this!" he said, grinning maniacally. "It's Ivy and Roscoe!" Merry turned and waved to Pippin. "Pippin! Look, it's Miss Greenleaf and Mr.Longbottom!"

"Enjoyin' yeerslefs?" he said, the words coming out of his mouth barely coherent.

oscoe didt know how to react. Inside of him arose a combination of many feelings: concern for Ivy, bewilderment at the body in the middle of the floor, exasperation at Merry and Pip's utter lack of appreciation for the current circumstances, annoyance that Merry mispronounced Ivy's name, and hilarity at the new guests' abrupt change in the mood of the tavern.

In the midst of the whirlwind of possibilities, Roscoe chose what any healthy hobbit would: he began to laugh. Quite hard, in fact, relieved that the seriousness of the previous situation -- at least for him -- had lifted for the time being. He gave Merry a hearty slap on the back that sent the poor inebriated hobbit to the floor: "Merry, you crazy old lout! What are you doing here?"

The barmaid took no care in setting Pippin down, and he went tumbling right on top of Merry.

"Oomph!" He rolled off of his cousin, clutching his head and watching the room spin in circles. He then looked up and saw Roscoe laughing like there was no tomorrow. "Whush so amusin', Mister Pipeweed?"

Ivy couldn't help but grin at the two drunken hobbits, idly wondering why things seemed to be returning to normal in the pub. Maybe there were many such fights in Bree that ended in deaths...in fact, she wouldn't have been surprised if that were the truth. Big Folk were such jumpy creatures, after all. The hobbit watched Merry and Pippin with silence and a polite smile, glad that they had not been involved in the brawl.

Roscoe -- fed up and determined to get to the bottom of the situation at hand -- walked to the middle of the room and shouted at the top of his lungs:

"Quiet, everyone!" Certain that he'd gotten everyone's attention, he continued. "Please! Now, I've had a very long day, and a lot of queer things have been going on, and I feel I deserve an explanation for at least a few of them, if you don't mind. Now, would there be anyone here who could explain why there is a dead man in the middle of the floor?"

There was a deathly silence in the room at Roscoe's question. Just when Roscoe began to feel uncomfortable with the silence and started to glance back at Ivy to see her reaction, he heard a slight sound in the far corner of the room. He turned his head immediately toward the source of the sound; apparently, someone had just stood up from being seated at one of the far tables.

Ivy watched Roscoe with a mixture of thoughts, horrified and admiring all at once. Was he mad? Someone would probably have more mind to cut his head off than to answer his question respectfully. But, she reminded herself yet again, things were a good deal different in Bree than she was used to in the Shire. She watched the figure stand with a blank expression, nearly immediately turning back to her half-mad companion.

"Now lissen 'ere, nosey 'obbit!" One of the considerably drunker men roared at Roscoe, sloshing a giant tankard of ale before his ruddy face. "We don' like no one comin' in here askin' about no one's business, unners'and?"

A few others seemed to agree with the man, but some of the quieter (and less drunken) taverngoers looked like they might lend some information if asked under less stressing circumstances.

The figure stepped into the light, and Roscoe gasped when he saw that it was ...a young hobbit lass letting out a screech of horror. Up until now, her view of the gruesome corpse in the middle of the floor had been blocked. The crowd gradually moved aside as Dolly turned about in her seat, and nearly fainted on the spot when she saw a face she recognized very well on a dead body.

The hobbit girl leapt out of her seat and raced halfway to the body but couldn't seem to go any further. In a daze, she dropped to her knees and stared, her face becoming ghostly pale. Within a few moments she was sobbing dreadfully, falling forward with her face in her hands, buried into the folds of her skirts.

Fearing that Dolly would faint at the sight of the body, Roscoe rushed to steady her. He knew Dolly well, and wondered what could have made her react so... when he realized that he's never really looked at the face of the dead man in the floor. Almost afraid to do so after Dolly's reaction, Roscoe turned to see that it was Mungo Bracegirdle, Dolly's dear uncle. The hobbit was brave, adventurous, and rather tall for one of his kind. Perhaps his daring nature and inability to stay in one place for too long got him into more trouble that he had always though it would.

Meanwhile, Dolly was still sobbing on the floor, unable to do much else.

The wheels were turning in Roscoe's head. Daring though he was, Mungo didn't seem like the kind of hobbit to get into a bar brawl -- he might have been a little loony (everyone thought so, though Roscoe would never say this aloud in front of Dolly, bless her heart), but never violent, malicious, or even foul-mouthed as to provoke attack. The only explanation Roscoe could think of was that perhaps the man with the knife had been hired to take care of Mungo.

Roscoe shuddered. Nothing like that had ever happened in Bree before -- at least, not to his own limited knowledge. He looked up warily at the man with the knife... who was no longer there.

There was a murderer about! Roscoe felt his adventurous side well up inside of him again; he felt responsible to do all he could to find all about what just happened. He looked around for someone that could be of use to help -- but all he saw were the prostrate Dolly Bracegirdle and the drunken forms of Merry and Pippin: hardly of any use in the states they were in.

His eye caught Ivy's. Though Ivy was a new friend of his, Roscoe felt a great amount of respect for the hobbit lass; she seemed very trustworthy and strong. Roscoe made sure there was someone to take care of Dolly and that Barliman would send someone to inform the constable that there was an emergency before walking up to Ivy.

"Come with me: We have some detective work to do!"