Welcome Back Birthday Party!

[Pitchwife]

Any initial awkwardness Pitchwife felt as he mingled with the crowd was soon swept away by Agan's exuberant welcome. He gave her a tight hug and whirled her around laughing wildly, then set her down and stooped to help Thenamir pick up his tools and his jaw. When everything had been put back into place he turned to stroll around a bit.


He waved with both hands to Noggins and Lommy, gave respectful nods to Kuru and Mithadan, was a little worried by Morth's unwonted outbreak of cordiality (but chalked it up to the circumstances), bowed to kiss the Lady Esty's hand, poked Hookbill in the ribs and congratulated him on having the gumption to actually finish writing a friggin' book (a quality he had often found himself sadly lacking) and started to think about getting himself a drink when a young woman collapsed right at his feet. Kneeling down to assist her, he found her face strangely familiar in spite of her eyes being swollen shut by allergy.


"Good golly, Gally, is that you?" he exclaimed. "One might think you've drunk from the waters of the Ents - I could swear you've grown!"


He led her to TGEW's tea stand where the great elven healer had soon prepared a herbal mixture for G55 to inhale and put a lukewarm teabag on each eye. She also had some deliciously smelling Earl Grey brewing which Pitchwife was very much tempted to sample, but he decided that tea would do better for breakfast the morning after the party. Tonight was no time to stay sober.


He went over to the beer wagon and bade Larry Largebarrel draw him a pint of ale which he sipped as he ambled around, smiling happily at all the faces around him as fond memories long buried awoke in him. On a night like this it was good to be dead.


In the end he sat down on a boulder next to a quiet, sombre-looking wight who had something vaguely Númenórean about him. "I don't think we've met," he said, "but mae govannen!" He toasted his neighbour, took a deep draught and wiped the foam off his moustache with a contented sigh. "So," he turned back to Zigûr, "what about the fatuousness of modern culture?"