An Unexpected Vir(tu)al Party

[Arry]

“Now wait a minute!” Arry protested, leaning back in his chair. He looked Angara directly in the eye. “Nobody’s been troubling Miz Pio. Not me at least.” He shook his head. “We’re both troubled. We’ve lost a good friend. That’s what makes her sad.” He cradled his guitar against him. “Makes me sad.” He plucked a tune. Chords and single notes blended quietly together.

“Remember this one, Miz Pio?” He strummed a few bars, setting the rhythm of the song. “That one he said was about Mount Gumry. You sang it with him at the Seven Bells.” He watched as she tapped out the tempo with her fingers.

And then in a voice pitched soft and low she began to sing the familiar words of that old song.

[Envinyatar]

As the song came to a close, Envinyatar smiled and clapped his hands. “That’s old Jack Pryne!” He laughed at first, glad to hear the old balladeer’s song. “But wait,” he went on, his brow furrowing in disbelief and sadness. “Surely you can’t mean that he’s left us?” He pulled up a chair and sat facing Arry and Pio. “Envinyatar,” he said, nodding at the other man as he sat down. “Pleased to meet a friend of Pio,” he went on, extending his arm. Arry returned the greeting, grasping the other man’s offered hand.

“I traveled with him a couple of times,” Envinyatar continued. “What an easy guy to be with on those long dusty roads between little towns here and there.” He nodded his head and smiled at the memories. “Sometimes we’d stay in some farmer’s cow shed. Jack’d pay for our supper with songs and stories that’d set the farmer roaring with laughter. For my part, I split and stacked firewood for the farmer’s good-wife.” Envinyatar rubbed the back of his neck, and chuckled. “Jack always said I carried that firewood far better than I ever carried a tune! He did like my stories, though, of the places I’d been and the people I met. Later on down the road for us, I’d find he’d taken those very same stories and made them into songs.” A quiet pause in conversation ensued as the companions savored the picture their thoughts had painted for them.

“Say, how ‘bout I get us another round of drinks?” Envinyatar offered, breaking the pleasant silence. “And I know just the ones. Four Handsome Johnnys – one each for us and one for our old friend.” He heard the rasping sound of the Wyrm clearing her throat. “Make that five,” he corrected.

“And just what is this ‘Handsome Johnny’?” the Wyrm inquired, raising her brows.

Envinyatar laughed as he recalled Jack’s favored libation. “Why it’s gingered ale and a clear spirit from the far eastern country – vodka, I think it’s called. Goes down real smooth. Got a kick to it, though, if you drink too many.” He waved over a passing server and placed the table’s order.

As they waited for the return of their drinks, he tapped the guitar as it rested on Arry’s leg. “Let’s hear another of Jack’s tunes.” He pursed his lips, thinking. “How about that one about this goofy old world? That's a good one!”

Humming, just a bit off key, the beginning of the tune, he recalled the opening words of the song.
Up in the morning
Work like a dog
Is better than sitting
Like a bump on a log...

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Estelyn smiled as she looked around the ballroom. The refreshments were definitely popular, songs were being sung and stories told, reminiscences being shared - she had high hopes of hosting the party for another two weeks, until the jubilation of 20 years could be celebrated. She mused on the possibilities for a special commemoration of that special event...

[Arry]

Arry nodded as Estelyn glanced his way, and dipped the guitar he was playing in her direction. He turned back toward Envinyatar and sang along on the last verse. The older fellow’s fellow voice had grown stronger as the song went on and he seemed to have gained the trick to keeping on tune.

Not that it mattered. Old Jack wouldn’t really have cared. The fact that there was camaraderie, and pleasure in the music, and drinks to fuel the merrymaking would have been enough for him.

One of them ordered another round of drinks, local brew this time. Mugs were raised and clinked. And more songs sung. Pio was enticed once again to join in. This was an old song that she'd sung many times. One which always brought laughter to both the singers and the listeners

Arry’s eyes lit up with delight to see her enjoy the singing of it once again.

[Formendacil]

"Hrrrm hoom..."

Deep in his dusty home in New Luthany, Formendacil stirred. Who was to say what he was now, who had once been a cantankerous Númenórean of Arnor, but Barrow-downers are not obliged to self-identify themselves with but one of Middle-earth's races and the slow passage of time had rendered him far more Entish than aught else, at least so far as his virtual life went.

"I smell something in the air," he muttered to himself. It was dust, most likely, for a thick layer covered his haunt. He spent most of his days in the Other Land now, where he had reached his Hobbit majority (though had not come into any inheritance). That was a dour realm of late, and perhaps the dourness drove him back to the dusty lands he'd once known.

Even the invitation to celebrate the Downs's impending anniversary was covered over with further layers of postal detritus. It was weeks old.

"A wizard is never late..." he heard himself say aloud, in a creaking timbre of a voice. He frowned: that was a sign of age indeed, if he were unthinkingly quoting The Movies.

"...nor is he early," he admitted with a deep, ponderous sigh. Selecting his heaviest staff, he started away.

[TheGreatElvenWarrior]

he party was already starting when Lady Great finally opened her mail to see her invite, but this was not unusual for the lady because she was always fashionably late. She called to her sweetheart Baranduin to her side and they quickly put together a basket of tea, cakes, and their special pipeweed to take. You can't go to a party emptyhanded! she said aloud as she slipped into her coat. She couldn't go anywhere without her tea, and she knew her friends would love to share it anyway.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

The Ladies Great entered the ballroom (and remembered to wash their hands). I have so many memories here. Lady Great said with tears in her eyes. There were her old friends. She felt the joy of seeing all of their faces in that familiar place. I'll be right over, I just need to find some wine. said the lady to Oddwen and Ka as she thought about the order in which she was going to greet everyone. How lovely was it to visit her old stomping grounds again. This looks like the beginning of our best party yet she thought.

[Estelyn Telcontar]

Party activity had slowed down in the course of time, as it does when friends feel free to come and go, or to sit in companionable silence and recollection. But now a special announcement was made by Estelyn:

"My dear Elves and Dwarves, Hobbits and Humans, Wizards, and Orcs, and Wraiths of all Peoples. May 1 is the Barrow-Downs' 20th birthday - it is 20 years old tomorrow!"

"Hurray! Hurray! Many Happy Returns!" the guests shouted, and they hammered joyously on the tables. Esty was doing splendidly. This was the sort of stuff they liked: short and obvious.

"I hope you are all enjoying yourselves as much as I am." Noises of trumpets and horns, pipes and flutes, and other musical instruments. In one corner of the ballroom some of the members, supposing Mod Estelyn to have finished (since she had plainly said all that was necessary) now got up an impromptu orchestra, and began a merry dance-tune.

But Esty had not finished. Seizing a horn from a youngster nearby, she blew three loud hoots. The noise subsided.

"I have called you together for a Purpose. Indeed for Three Purposes! First of all, to tell you that I am immensely fond of you all, and that twenty years is too short a time to live among such excellent and admirable wraiths. Secondly, to celebrate the Downs' birthday. Thirdly and finally, to this effect I wish for you to share your favourite poetry with us for the occasion. Whether you quote from the books we all love, or recite your own serious or humorous poems, or share a translation in another language, of the Ring poem, for example - your contributions are welcome! Those who know the use of special techniques to record their own voices reading a poem are welcome to post the links here, so we can hear you speak. And of course toasts to the Barrow Wight are in order, and any conversation is allowed as you please. I look forward to a wonderful celebration with all of you!

And though in the past, numerous members have announced that they were going, leaving now, I am staying!"