Rastellion takes Immalaine's hand. "Let's go see when that play is happening - the one in the theatre across from the bakery - and then look around town a bit." She replies by squeezing his hand. "That sounds like fun! I never seen a play afore!" she says and, as they start down the road, he reminisces. "I did once, when I was young. Ma took me to one in Trestlebridge - must've been less than a year b'fore she died. Folks dressin' up, pretending to be someone else and acting out a story. With costumes and all." Immalaine giggles at the description, as they stop near the theatre doors. "Sounds like playing pretend. Me an' my friends used t' do that all th' time. Usually, we raided my pa's clothes, though I dun think he 'preciated it much." Rastellion laughs. "Well, seems like these folks get paid to do it!"
"How does a person get paid t' make believe? Dun make much sense, if ye ask me." Rastellion blinks at the ticket cost. "And paid well, by the looks of it." He examines the placard. "An hour 'til the first show," he says. "And repeats every hour after that. Gives us some time to look around town."
"So, since we've time, where shall we go first? Mebbe out t' see th' snowmen? Or mebbe ..." Immalaine's voice trails off as she heads over to the steps down to the main area, thinking aloud to herself. Rastellion follow her, grinning at her enthusiasm, stepping around a group of locals dancing in the main square. "Folks are festive already," he observes. "Must be all that winterberry ale!"
At the bottom steps, Immalaine stops to stare up at the large snow sculptures, her eyes wide and an impressed look on her face. "Those are pretty!" she said, turning to Rastellion, who follows her gaze and looks up at the sculptures as well. "That they are - though they'll not last long when the first thaw comes!" He moves to take a better look. "Wonder who they got to make 'em." Scratching her head, she considers Rastellion's question for a moment, before she shrugs. "I reckon whoever got t' make these swans knew a thing or two 'bout sculptures. They're sure are nice ... an' cold too," she says, giggling, as she walks over and tries to sit atop one of them.
Rastellion laughs. "I'm not sure you're supposed to climb them," he calls, but just then one of the locals comes up, carrying a sketch pad and charcoal. "Now there's a pretty sight!" Before the two know what's happening, the fellow is giving them directions, telling them to stand just so, turn just so, no, a little more to the left, that's it .. hold it... And then he begins rapidly sketching on his pad, his fingers deft despite the thin gloves he wears against the cold. After a few minutes he nods. "That's what I need," he says. "Come back in an hour or so, and I'll have it finished for you. That'll be 2 silver, sir," he says, holding out his hand, as Rastellion steps back down from his pose in front of the sculpture,
Immalaine looks over at Rastellion, a grin on her face as she hears the man ask him for the silver, and he gives her a rueful look, rolling his eyes slightly. He steps down to look at the man's rough sketch, from which he'll be making his drawing. "Hm, that could be fine," Rastellion murmurs. He pulls out a coin. "Half a silver now," he says to the artist, "and an additional two if I like the finished sketch enough to buy it." "Done!" says the artist, snatching the coin. Rastellion grimaces as he walks back toward the theatre with Immalaine. "I think I just got robbed," he mutters. "It's like this whole town's bent on seeing how quickly they can part visitors from their coin!"
"Well, I guess an' these people don't get t' work much durin' th' year, so they make most their coin durin' the festival. I 'magine it's a tough way t' live," she says, giving him a hug, as she hears him chuckle and reply. "Maybe. Or maybe they don't work during the year because they're living off the profits of Yuletide! And, anyway, there'll be things to do when visitors aren't around. You know, like..." he waves his hands, trying to think of an example, ".. well, growing the winter wheat and berries for that ale of theirs, for one thing." He starts up the steps. "Let's see if the theatre's open yet." Immalaine follows Rastellion up the stairs, heading to the theatre. She looks back, still in awe of the sculptures, before running ahead, sliding on the slippery stones. "Whoops!" she said, with a grin as she slid past the door. Rastellion slides a bit catching up to her. "I think the skating's supposed to be down the hill, at the pond - or would be, if the weather weren't quite so bad down there!"Immalaine nods, grinning as she grabs hold of his arm to steady herself. "Well, is too bad as I reckon I'd like t' try skatin'. But it is a bit cold, so why dun we go inside th' theatre, afore one of us falls on our seats." Turning, he shakes his head. "Doesn't look like they're quite ope..." He breaks off as the door in front of them is unlatched and swings out toward them. A bespectacled hobbit blinks up at them, then smiles. "Queuing for the day's shows already?" he asks. "Well, come in, come in out of the cold, my friends. A seat, a drink, and a bit of quiet as you wait for the show!" He steps back, making a grand, theatrical gesture to invite them inside.
Following the hobbit's suggestion, Immalaine enters the theatre and dusts the snow off her dress. She looks around, quietly taking in the rows of seats and the stage up front, before turning to Rastellion in surprise. "This is somethin' new," she said. "Seems a lot like what I remember from th' little place in Trestlebridge... but that was years ago." He looks around, then moves a bit tentatively down the aisle, then picks a row more or less at random. "This looks good, here." Immalaine eyes the seats nearer the fire, and points in that direction as she taps on his arm. "What 'bout o'er there, where it's warm?" she asks, and he responds with a smile. "Sure, if you'd like."
Getting as close to the fire as she can, Immalaine settles down on the bench as Rastellion sits next to her. Leaning her head against his shoulder, she sighs contentedly. "Were gettin' a mite chilly from th' weather out there."
A young hobbit bustles up to them, carrying a tray suspended by a leather thong to hang it around his neck. "Somethi' t' drink?" he offers. "Got warmed cider here... an' warmed winterberry ale - our town's own special brew!" Immalaine looks at the drinks, debating which one to get. The smell of the cider is pleasing, the scent of warm apple filling the air. However, the winterberry ale seemed to be quite popular with the festival goers. She turns to Rastellion, and shrugs her shoulders. "I reckon I'll try the ale." she said, with a smile. Rastellion nods. "One for each of us then," he tells the server, handing over yet another coin. "We can always get cider back at the Pony," he says, passing Immalaine her mug. "Might as well try th' local brew... It is local?" he asks the hobbit. The hobbit bobs affirmation. "Why, yes sir! White winter wheat brewed with winterberries, all grown locally, sir. It's why everyone serves it at Yuletide!"
Thanking him, Immalaine takes a sniff of the warm ale, before bringing it up to her lips for a taste. Rastellion mirrors her gesture, sipping his own. Then he frowns a bit, and tilts his mug slightly as he considers it. "Tastes almost like the ale down at the Pony," he murmurs. Taking a sip of hers but, because she had rarely ever had the ale at the Pony, she shrugs "Well, ye've had th' ale there lots more than me, so I'll take yer word fer it. But mebbe it's jus' th' way ale's made?" she asked. "Probably," he says, though still looking thoughtful. "Still, you'd think..." But, at this point the lights dim, and a hobbit comes to make announcements about the show. Rastellion turns toward the stage, his thought left unfinished.
Immalaine turns to look at the stage, Rastellion's half finished thought tucked in the back of her mind, as she watches the announcer speak. She stifles a brief giggle at the thought of throwing rotten fruit in the theatre, but otherwise listens quietly to his speech. Finally, as he wanders back off the stage again, she turns to Rastellion. "So, what's goin' t' happen next?" she asks, and he smiles and leans close to whisper. "Actors will come out and do their story for us, I expect." He takes a distracted sip from his mug. "Something about a vanishing hobbit, it said on the placard. Supposedly based on a true story ... but of course they'd say that." He makes his voice a bit higher and says, "Oh, aye, soir, it's based on a true story, right 'nuff, as both this an' th' history had hobbits in!" Rastellion chuckles. "But I dare say an acting troupe'd make the same sort of claim in Bree or Thorin's Gate!"
Snorting in laughter, she almost chokes on the sip of ale as she hears Rastellion's falsetto voice. Nudging him in the ribs, she grins. "Still, an' mebbe it is based off some truth. Jus' mebbe exaggerated a bit." Rastellion replies with a grin. "Who's t' say. I don't see that it matters, long as it's a good play. Oh look," he adds, as the curtain begins to part. "I think they're starting!" and Immalaine covers her mouth, to hide her giggling as she quiets down to watch, the first actors arriving on the stage. Wide eyed, she sits and listens to the beginning of the tale as she sips from her mug.
As the play comes to a close, Immalaine turns to look at Rastellion with a grin. "I think yer right," she whispers, "That didna sound anythin' like there were a bit o' truth t' it. Still, it did make fer a fine yarn." She stretches her legs out, then lifts the mug to her lips and drains the last sip of ale. Turning, she sets the empty mug down on the floor next to the bench. Rastellion nods his agreement. "Dwarves trying to steal a hobbit hole?" he asks, a bit incredulously. "I think the writer went and confused hobbits with dragons, and that takes some doing! Still, the actors weren't bad... well, the two that remembered their lines at any rate!"
Thinking of the humorous telling they'd just witnessed, she muses, "Well, still I've heard bigger tales at th' Pony afore, mostly from men who are too drunk t' get up an' take a piss, much less run screamin' into battle t' fight some horde o' beasts, as they all claim t' have done." Rastellion nods. "There's be no orcs nor trolls nor dragons left in Arda were even half the tales told in the Pony true!" He stands up, offering her his hand. "Let's go see if that sketch is done." She takes his hand, standing up with a smile. "I'd like that, if we can even find th' fellow that did the sketchin' t' begin wit'."
"Oh, he'll come find us - more to the point, come find those two silvers! Still, he's an industrious rogue, I'll give him that."They step back out of the theatre, and she shivers at the cold air. Looking around, she turns to Rastellion. "So, I heard somethin' about a field o' snowmen. Shall we go take a look at them?" she asks. Rastellion chuckles. "Oh, so they grow the snowmen here, is that it?" He looks up at the winter sun, well up in the sky now. "But, sure, if we're going to take a walk outside the walls, now'd be the time to do it, before lunch.”
The two are just heading down the stairs when they spot their artist, talking with another of the town's citizens. "Just keep an eye on things for me, Freddie," the man is saying to the artist. "Been nothing but work, work, work all festival, and it's over in a day or two. I'm minded to see a bit of it before then, and those kegs aren't going anywhere. Just cover for me … if one of the watchers asks, hm? Not that they're likely to notice anything." Freddie, the artist, shrugs. "Hey, it's your job, Basil! I..." He breaks off, seeing Rastellion and Immalaine at the head of the stairs. "'Scuse me," he says and hurries up to meet them, smiling broadly. "My friends, my friends, see here!" He displays the sketch to them. "Surely my finest work this whole festival. How lovely she looks, sir; and how handsome you do!" He looks at Rastellion expectantly, obviously thinking of the promised silvers.
A smile curves her lips as Immalaine looks down at the drawing the man has excitedly thrust out in front of Rastellion, her eyes growing misty at the sight of them standing together. She turns to Rastellion, grabbing his arm to get his attention, as she whispers in his ear. "I really do like it. It'd be lovely on the wall in me bedroom at home."
"There now; how could you disappoint the lovely lady?" asks Freddie, emboldened by this support. "Two silvers you said, yes?" He holds an expectant hand out to Rastellion, who sighs, then shrugs and hands over the coins. "It is a nice piece," he agrees. "Thank you." Freddie beams. "Of course. If you'd like another, perhaps one under the lights at night..." Rastellion holds up a warding hand. "Thank you but, no, the one will be just fine, I'm sure." He shifts on the stairs. "Now, we're just off to see about that snowman-making competition we've heard of." "Of course, of course," says Freddie. "Still, if you change your mind, you know where to find me, hm?" He scurries back down the stairs to resume his conversation with Basil, while Rastellion and Immalaine .make their way toward the town's lower gate. He leans in to whisper to her, "Remind me, when we get back to Bree, to give you a lesson or two in haggling." He snorts a rueful laugh. "Though, truth be told, I think I'm way out of my depth with these Frostbluff folk!..."
Grinning, she turns to Rastellion, looking down at the drawing, before he tucks it away safely from the snow and cold. "Well, mebbe I /could/ use a lesson or two. Might come handy when I'm buyin' supplies for Lady Zandrianna." she says, as they head out of the town. Rastellion grins. "Yup. Much more fun to be taking a good bargain rather than just being taken! Now... let's go see about those snowmen!"
(Credits and love go to Rastellion, who provided the voice of the male characters in this story. *Blows kisses to Rastellion and grins widely*)
