all of these lines across my face

[experting]

Who: Bilbo Baggins {experting} & Aragorn {instride}
What: Missioning; Liangyu's Request to be specific. Takes place afterwards though cause not godmoding that fjdkf; MOSTLY JUST middle earth bonding and swapping stories in the wake of their cultural lesson. Bro time, yo.
When: Uh. Is this meant to have a specific day? Otherwise, few days post Ossidia's Request mission with middle earth bros.
Where: Steelarm? Walking... away from Steelarm?
Rating: PG because it's Bilbo and Aragorn. C'mon. i give up on lyrics

[ Interesting, that's what it'd been. And quite pleasant, yes. Of course, he is without a firm understanding of, well, much of anything in this place and hearing of a culture altogether foreign to him, is... trying, but he had. Tried, that is. He'd listened and waited and made mental notes through the eager babble, all the while having cursed himself silently for not having brought a slip of parchment to scribble on. Even now, his hands are itching to get ahold of something, to make record of it, because if they're meant to remain here, for however long that'll be, they might as well keep notes, right? Bah, either way, it's fine; he remembers enough of it and if he should forget something that could, in the unlikely event, become important, he can simply ask... – well...

Shifting a sideways glance higher, he peeks at his companion and then looks forward again. He's been spending far too much time in the company of royalty; him, a simple hobbit of the Shire, knowing princes, kings, and he's never dressed properly or looking anywhere half decent. His vest still needs buttons and sleeping in that dreadful place of his temporary home is doing nothing for his complexion; he's certain he wakes up with dust and dirt smudges, everything from the sheets to the air tainted with something particularly unclean. Unclean, heh. Not that... Aragorn is as put together as books and stories often portray those of such rank but...

Oh dear. He doesn't mean that.

The only hindrances to Aragorn's regality are torn threads and dirty leather, and for a little someone who only has one brass button left to his name, there isn't any room for him to be making judgments. Aragorn has been nothing but kind with understanding and quiet authority, the type that calls for immediate respect. Here, they'd met by chance here at Steelarm and Aragorn had immediately joined him at his side, requesting to keep company while visiting Liangyu. That ready acceptance of an outsider, of anyone really, is something to be admired after the range of hoops he'd been coerced into jumping through the last time he made unhobbity friends. He smiles nonetheless, and picks up his pace to match Aragorn's already slowed strides; and with that, he begins. ]

Quite a reward for visiting, hm? [ The three-hundred copper coins in his pocket are nothing to turn one's nose up at; more than half of what they'd acquired after hunting a few... creatures. ] If we're meant to do many more of these--... requests? Yes, more of these requests, I do hope they're more of the listening kind than the... collecting. [ Killing, actually. He wouldn't mind collecting simple things such as food or flowers or otherwise harmless things, but body parts... – he wrinkles his nose on that and huffs quietly, before smoothing out his expression once more with a firm, following nod. ]

Comments

[instride]

[Well, that's a first. Paid to listen to a man talk? Of course, the promised copper coins are not the reason why Aragorn's lent his ear to a complete stranger—helping in any way he can is like second nature to him, but there's a lingering sense of disappointment he can't quite shake off that obscures his mind, as if the task remains incomplete. He hasn't learned nearly as much as he's hoped about this strange world and he's left vaguely puzzled as he returns from whence he came, his head filled with—perhaps—even more questions than he previously had. If he thought to be enlightened, he finds that he was wrong, but in the company of his small friend, it's difficult for his grim expression to remain so. Bilbo reminds him very much of the hobbit he's sworn to protect, and perhaps even of his older self, although it's clear that he's still miles from what he will one day become... and it's just as well.

The moment doesn't call for such thoughts, however, and Aragorn cracks a lopsided smile at the sight of Bilbo's comical antics, a playful breath on his lips.] And what sort of enjoyment would a fierce and brave hobbit like you find in so vapid a quest? [His steps are slower to match his companion's, and he watches him from the corner of his eyes, composed in his stance.] I thought you much more adventurous, Master Baggins.

i wonder if you remembered to track the log

[experting]

[ Fierce and brave? Brows knit tight and he's frowning through his confusion, caught between wanting to laugh and, well, frown more, because him? Those two words don't fit him. Saving Thorin might be considered brave to many, but with his heart having knocked hard against his chest, to the point where he'd had difficulty breathing, he'd seen his rescue attempt as nothing more than plain foolishness. He'd spent the majority of his adventure running away from danger and once cornered, fumbling away with some very badly thought out excuses. It's survival instinct and too much loyalty, not bravery. He isn't like those in his books. He's simple and comfortable and more often than not, afraid.

Still, he supposes it's kind of Aragorn to say. Even if he's entirely wrong. ]

The tales Gandalf has told you have been embellished, I am quite sure. [ Absentmindedly, he rubs at his cheek, wiping at – what he believes – is a constant stain of dirt that's become a part of him ever since he left his hobbit hole. He glances upward again with a peek, wondering, as he has taken a habit to as of late, what his story is to his new acquaintances; supposedly, there's a slight mismatch in continuity and while they're from the same place, the same cannot be said about their times. Aragorn is the one wrong, right? He cannot possibly know more of Bilbo's true character than Bilbo does himself, right? ] I'm not fond of danger and I do not believe I ever will be. [ So there. ]

I'M NOT STUPID CONTRARY TO POPULAR BELIEF 8| OR YOURS ANYWAY!

[instride]

[As kind as the ranger genuinely is, it isn't sympathy he offers here; it's truth, plain and simple, and whether Bilbo fully realizes what he's made of, there's no denying the strength that emanates from him underneath the many layers of uncertainty that seems to plague him. He doubts himself, and it's a territory Aragorn knows all too well. He understands, really. One's might may lay dormant for quite a while before emerging, but it is always there, only waiting for an opportunity to come forth. Bilbo will find his own in due time, and Aragorn acknowledges his obstinacy with a slight nod, his smile fading into a polite, pleasant expression.]

Danger is rarely sought after, Master Hobbit. [Anticipated, yes, but never pursued. Only fools chase after it, and Bilbo is no lout. He tilts his head towards him, considering him.] But it has a mind of its own, finding you when you least expect it. [No matter how hard one tries to avoid it. No one's immune, no one is safe, and if Aragorn doesn't know all the exploits the hobbit's accomplished, he knows enough to claim that he's lived, even through darker days.

He averts his gaze for a brief moment of silence, face upward; the sun's crested the sky and he absentmindedly wonders if his people back home can gaze upon the same sight. It causes his brow to twitch and the corner of his lips to twist, and he blinks to keep his eyes from growing dim. It is no time for desolation and he forces a light breath out of his nose, shaking his head in amused reassurance.] You have faced it many times, with great courage. [His gaze falls upon him, fully, and there's not a single sign of doubt in his expression.] Your tales will not be forgotten.

SO YOU SAAAAAAAAAY

[experting]

[ Yes. Very true. Uninvited dwarves there on his doorstep had been one thing, but whisked away to here without warning or contract, well, this has been the most unexpected turn of events in his otherwise uneventful life. Exhaling, cheeks puffed out, minimally, he nods along as he curls his fingers into the frayed edges of his sleeves, clinging at the material through the skip in his attention; lost in his thoughts on danger, he muses over goblins, orcs, wargs, creatures in the dark he still can't classify... – hm, if he begins expecting dismemberment and death, will he be safer? Silly logic, or well, not logic at all. He'd thought, maybe, at one time, that the worse of everything had been behind them, but great tales are often riddled with trials and he thinks that, unfortunately, there is much more to come.

Should he ask? He swallows, uncertain and curious all at once. What's more fearsome to face? The unknowing or the knowing of what is stretched out beyond him, waiting?

For now, he twists his expression and shakes his head, aggravated as only he would be over someone praising him for something he is not. ] You remind me of Gandalf. [ There's an exasperated huff to his voice, but he doesn't lose that friendly edge he seemingly always has. ] He often speaks of knowing me more than--... than I know myself. [ He's been himself for fifty years, thank you very much, and he is quite certain he knows his capabilities and qualities and all other ities there are to be had. Though on second thought... – he purses his lips and hm. ] But I suppose... you do. In a way. [ There are things Bilbo has done or will do that he hasn't the slightest idea of yet. Bah, mind boggling; why must this insist on being so confounded confusing? Either way, he brushes it off and glances up, brow knitted and set with the stubbornness he is, perhaps, known for in the future as well. ] Whatever hobbit you've come to know in your time, know that I am not that hobbit. Yet, at least.

[ So stop complimenting him, geez. ]

LA BIBBI DA BIBBA DUM, LA BIBBI DA BIBBA DO~

[instride]

[Granted, Aragorn and Bilbo aren't well acquainted. He knows of him, of course, and a few of his exploits as well—either from watching over the Shire or from the stories Gandalf has narrated so many times—but he doesn't know him and perhaps he is not the hobbit the wizard has often depicted. Perhaps he is not as brave or as adventurous—and more like a fish out of water in these foreign lands—and yet his kin never ceases to amaze him and the ranger knows there is more to Frodo's uncle than he lets on. More than he is aware, surely, because no strength of heart has ever grown in a weak soul. It's a matter of time, consciousness and self-discovery, and Aragorn doesn't contradict him, merely smiling an enigmatic smile as he briefly looks to his feet to shield his expression from the halfling.

He plays along, at least for the time being.]

And what hobbit do you believe yourself to be, Master Baggins?