First rushed like so much of a farmer's herd into the room, without so much say at all, no matter how much he tried to protest or ask questions, and then quite suddenly, they had been whisked off. Blue stretched over them, broad and without end, suddenly, and with it came the sweltering heat and the smell of dust and sweat, and horse manure. The latter two drifted in from the town nearby. Frodo's nose wrinkled.
The reaction was belated, but still strong enough; Frodo's stomach gave an uneasy somersault. This was not how anyone was meant to travel; one was meant to see where they were going, rather than just appear.
The town looked as if it had sprung up in the least desirable spot he could see. Very much, he thought, like a particularly insistent weed that was going to stay where it was no matter what Sam tried, for who would build their homes in the middle of such an inhospitable place? The town was not particularly attractive to him, but it was life that had taken to the desert and remained.
Now then. Who was Gerald Jackson and why should the others vote for him? It was not nearly enough for Frodo to be told that this was what he had to do; what if Gerald was a bad sort, the type to make those around him miserable for his own gain? Better to find out more about the town, its people, and this Moony Jackson first. And this was no unwanted task to the hobbit; looking around at the Big Folk wandering the street, the strange dress a good deal of them wore, the odd devices at a good deal more's hips, and the horses and coaches rattling around. This was a rare chance many hobbits wouldn't have.
[OOC: can be exploring the bars, trying to get a room, finding said room to big, someone introduce him to cow tipping, etc! Anytime throughout the week, and either action or prose is fine]
Frodo Baggins | Lord of the Rings| OTA and ANYWHERE!
First rushed like so much of a farmer's herd into the room, without so much say at all, no matter how much he tried to protest or ask questions, and then quite suddenly, they had been whisked off. Blue stretched over them, broad and without end, suddenly, and with it came the sweltering heat and the smell of dust and sweat, and horse manure. The latter two drifted in from the town nearby. Frodo's nose wrinkled.
The reaction was belated, but still strong enough; Frodo's stomach gave an uneasy somersault. This was not how anyone was meant to travel; one was meant to see where they were going, rather than just appear.
The town looked as if it had sprung up in the least desirable spot he could see. Very much, he thought, like a particularly insistent weed that was going to stay where it was no matter what Sam tried, for who would build their homes in the middle of such an inhospitable place? The town was not particularly attractive to him, but it was life that had taken to the desert and remained.
Now then. Who was Gerald Jackson and why should the others vote for him? It was not nearly enough for Frodo to be told that this was what he had to do; what if Gerald was a bad sort, the type to make those around him miserable for his own gain? Better to find out more about the town, its people, and this Moony Jackson first. And this was no unwanted task to the hobbit; looking around at the Big Folk wandering the street, the strange dress a good deal of them wore, the odd devices at a good deal more's hips, and the horses and coaches rattling around. This was a rare chance many hobbits wouldn't have.
[OOC: can be exploring the bars, trying to get a room, finding said room to big,
someone introduce him to cow tipping, etc! Anytime throughout the week, and either action or prose is fine]