There is a distinct sound that pugs made: somewhere between a wheezing choke and a strangled gargle. The cacophony that the rummaging and pillaging half-men made in the pantry of the other even smaller half-man was so reminiscent of the pug sound that Robin almost looked around for the dog among the piles of knickknacks and furniture.

It had been an utter whirlwind since the group had entered the house. Robin ranked the goings-on from most to least annoying as he stood well clear of the hubbub in a little alcove:

Least Annoying

Plates being hurled through the air like a frisbee (this one was almost fun).

Cheese being devoured with wild abandon (seemed like a private thing).

The wizard bumping his head on every light fixture and ceiling beam (ouch).

The small man (with such hairy feet, good god) jabbering ineffectively at the crowd to "cease their confounded invasion".

The rumbling in Robins own stomach.

Most Annoying

That last piece was the most pressing for the young acrobat, as it took a ridiculous amount of calories to maintain his The Rock-like physique. Whenever he referred to himself as being adonic, Wally would always rudely insist he was more of a Narcissus, and Robin would prompt reply with a swift punch to his friend's arm. That was the usual recipe for their rapport - snark, snark, smack.

As the commotion of roller derby dining subsided, Robin stepped from the alcove he had taken shelter in and plopped himself down in an empty chair on the end of the long bench at the table.

Hairy Feet continued to splutter.

"Absolutely not! No, it won't do! Gandalf, take them all and leave at once! This is no place for…a human?"

Hairy Feet paused in his tirade as he saw Robin for the first time. Beardless, skinny, and dressed in spandex instead of furs and robes, the young man stood out from the crowd of burly males.

Gandalf nodded wisely. "Yes Bilbo, and a human child, it would seem."

Hairy Feet's face, or Bilbo as he was apparently called (that made more sense, as who in their right mind would name their child Hairy Feet), twisted in consternation.

"Gandalf, it is one thing to intrude into my house in such a manner, but to involve a child in your wrongdoings is another level of misconduct entirely."

Robin swallowed the hunk of bread he had been wolfing down and spoke.

"I'm not a child. Well, I am, but really only in the temporal sense. And the physical. And height...and all the things that make me a child…" he mused.

Gandalf and Bilbo continued to argue (if one could call the one-sided haranguing an argument) and the bunch at the table kept eating.

Robin was absolutely exhausted. Turns out, hurtling into another dimension after sprinting through an unnecessary treacherous jungle left one a bit on the drowsy side. His eyelid drooped, and his chewing became mechanical as the low hum of the deep-voiced conversation began to lull him to sleep.

He heard snippets of the conversation through his haze. Something about a mountain, a smog check, and an Arkenstone, whatever that was, and some argument over whether Bilbo was a thief, which seemed rude given that the group had just pillaged his food stores.

Robin was jolted awake by a beefy hand on his shoulder, and he looked up to see Thorin standing 'over' him. Had Robin been standing, he would be taller than Thorin, but sitting slumped as he was, Thorin had the height advantage.

"Now lad, it's time to tell us who you are and what you were doing in these parts," Thorin said, his tone leaving no doubt that it was a command, not a request.

Bilbo grumbled to himself. "They bring a human child here and they don't even know who he is, how unseemly."

Robin grinned sheepishly up at Thorin, who seemed to feel his demands would be met, and who sat back down at the table. All eyes were on Robin. All of them. Robin even imaged that the spiders that lived in the ceiling rafters were staring at him.

"Would you believe me if I told you I was Mr. Worldwide?" he asked. Clearly, they would not know the reference, but he had to try.

"Well, as I said before, I got robbed by some big ugly looking guys in the forest, the Bride Bowl one" Robin continued, adopting a sagacious manner.

One of the (at this point Robin knew they probably weren't men) grumbled "Bindbole".

"Right, Breadbowl." Robin adopted a twang à la 1920's gangster. "They took one look at my ugly mug and had to take their best shot at taking me down. Unfortunately for me, they were ace shooters."

"The House of Wayne is renowned far and wide for our dashing good looks, stoic patriarch, and acrobatic tricks to wow even the most grumpy curmudgeon!" the young man continued, flourishing his hands in the air as if referencing a sign with each of his supposed accolades.

"Acrobatics?" asked Thorin.

"Indeed my caterpillar eyebrowed friend," Robin smirked, and leaped onto his chair, drowsiness forgotten. He sprang upwards, grasping a ceiling rafter, and swung his body up, over, and landed perched on the wooden beam.

A general cry of amusement went up around the room. Robin basked in the attention - a far cry from his discomfort at being the center of attention a moment before - and executed a flourishing bow. He tipped backward, allowing his weight to pull him off the beam, and summersault backward as he landed on the floor, ending with a gymnasts' pose of hands in the air.

The group clapped and hollered their approval. Robin could have sworn Thorin looked impressed, but the leader quickly reassumed his stern expression.

Bilbo's face was still twisted in disapproval at the overall proceeding, but his eyes shown with a glint of wonder at Robins exhibition. Robin pictured the husky little man attempting the same tricks, his hairy feet swinging all about the dining room, and had a private chuckle.

Robin bounced on his toes, swept up by the spirit of mirth in the room.

"Beholden to none but my own whims, I have battled mighty warriors, faced many dastardly demons, and slain many dragons with nothing but my wits and my fists."

The room fell silent, and Robins's expression faltered. The looks of death and destruction that now occupied every face of the party made Robin think he had many, just a tiny bit, misspoken in some way.

Thorin rose, his scowl as deep as the trouble Robin felt he was in, and growled, "What do you know of Dragons, boy."