[Amanaduial the archer]

"So three meals then, one full, two without gravy and one with no veg or gravy and with the steak very rare?"

Aman eyed her four 'customers' warily over her notebook. All four seemed rather shorter than even the average hobbit customer, and one, for whom a rare steak with no vegetables, had been ordered, was so wrapped up in heavy winter clothes, despite the fair weather, that she could barely see it's figure. Not to mention the fact that one of the other customers had an arm across the back of the former's neck: not that this was strange in itself - it was something about the white knuckle grip that was being exerted on the tightly tied scarf around it's neck.

"Actu'lly, can I skip the vegibles as well please, miss?" piped up one of them in a somewhat muffled but still suspiciously squeaky voice.

"Brando! You will ea- I mean..." the high pitched, juvenile female voice deepened itself with difficulty. "I mean, you will eat your veggibles as your mother- erm, as you wife told you to!"

"But I- ow!" There was a thud beneath the table and one of the heavily wrapped figures doubled over, looking up to fiercely reprimand the previous speaker. "Oahh...oh, Tilly Longbottom, I'm gonna tell your mam you did that, that was my ankle..."

Aman cleared her throat subtly, trying not to laugh at the tableau. She knew exactly what was coming next, and could have timed the awkward pause that came before the next, hopelessly predictable line.

"Erm...and can we also order a few beers? Miss Innkeeper? Please?"

Aman regarded the hopeful faces beneath their fake beards and jauntily stuck on moustaches and gave a sigh of mock-sorrow. "I'm sorry, gentlemen," she replied regretfully. "But we just ran out." She eyed the quartet of disguised hobbit youths challengingly to see whether they would press on the matter but instead they sort of deflated and there was a murmur of unsatisfied discussion between them until Aman threw in her ace. "Of course," she said carefully. "For such fine and upstanding gentlemen of the Inn, a most sophisticated and worthy beverage has always been...strawberry fizz?"

The four heads nearly collided as another flurry of muttered discussion ensued before one of the youths, the appointed spokeshobbit, nodded up at Aman. "Right y'are then: three strawberry fizzes it is then."

"Please!" Another hissed.

"Oh, right, yes, three strawberry fizzes please," the spokeshobbit ammended guiltily. "And, eh...and one bowl of water," he added shiftily.

Aman winked, finishing off the order on her pad. "Good choice, young sirs," she said with a flourish and a barely covered pat on the head of the heavily wrapped customer, greeted with a panted thanks which was hastily coughed over by the other three. She made her way across the room, whistling lightly under her breath, until a spoken line arrested her in her tracks.

"...as the owner of this fine establishment..."

Aman froze in mid-stride and spun around slowly to the source of the strange line to see a most peculiar trio of hobbits a few feet away, the most flamboyantly dressed of these half-crouched over a prone figure on the floor and talking to him with some difficulty with as much grace as possible. The Innkeeper squinted at the writing on the envelope in the speaker's hand to read - yes, there it was! - her own name. With a puzzled half-smile half-frown, Aman approached them quickly, slipping her notepad back into her pocket.

"Sorry, gentlemen, there seems to be some-"

A hand on her wrist stopped Aman and she turned, already knowing whose hand it was, to identify Snaveling. He half-rose as she turned, shaking his head shiftily. "Nay, Aman, let it be for-"

Aman didn't catch on and forced her fluttering heart to calm down - he was being absurd. "Don't be ridiculous, Snaveling," she smiled, pulling her hand away as she addressed the hobbits again. "Pardon men, gents, I believe there has been some mistake: I am the Amanaduial, Innkeeper of the Green Dragon. May I ask who it is that seeks me in such a way?"