milliways_bar | (no subject)

Current Mood: curious

(no subject)

There's a Creature in the bar.

His face is buried in one of several books, the rest being strewn on the table around him.

Anyone who feels up to getting that face un-buried can feel free to interrupt.

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"I have, of course, known men, but I have never- to my knowledge- encountered an elf," he replies, curious.

"They're - well, they're nicer than orcs, I'll give them that. But they hurt." He shifts uncomfortably and begins wringing his hands absentmindedly.

He thinks about all the things he's encountered that hurt.

It's a fairly long list.

"I fear I am in the dark on both elves and orcs," he admits finally, "Would you tell me more of them?"

"Well, where I'm from, there's men - most people here are - there's hobbits, that's me, and then there's elves, and they're great big things with eyes that burn right through you." He shudders. "I was held prisoner by some, once. They didn't really try to hurt me, but that was probably just because they didn't have to. Just being touched by them hurts enough. And orcs are ugly nasty brutes who'll torture you as soon as look at you." He gives the Creature an appraising look. "You could pass for one, if you had big fangs and lots more scars. No offense meant."

He takes another sip of beer. "They're not nice."

He files the descriptions away for future reference. "Both creatures sound horrible, indeed. Were the orcs and hobbits not created by your deity as were men and elves?"

"Orcs, I don't know. Probably the same place as elves." He peers thoughtfully into his beer. "Hobbits . . . I don't know. I think Grandmother said that hobbits were more like big people once, but maybe she meant we came from the same place. She was smart."

But he doesn't like talking about her.

"I keep forgetting to ask you," he says suddenly. "Did you ever find a name?"

"Bar was kind enough to supply one to me: William Damon von Frankenstein."

"Oh good, then I can stop calling you 'The Dead-ish Thing Who Hates Beer?'"

"I don't remember you calling me that before..." he says seriously, "Most of tthe people I have met call me Damon."

"I was joking. William's a good name." A little weird, really.

"I prefer it to Damon; that reminds me of my creator's epithets for me." ~~He'll like the first name less when he finds out it's the name of his creator's brother, whom he strangled.~~

"You ought to forget about him. Doesn't sound worth your time, really."

He bows his head. "To forget him who caused my existence, who animated this form and was the sole focus of my drive for most of my life?" he growls, "I cannot! As happy as I would be to have that blotted forever from my soul, it is etched into me, a stain which can never be cleansed."

"You need a hobby," Smeagol suggests. "It isn't healthy to dwell on people who've hurt you. Trust me."

"A hobby... another thing unfamiliar to my ears. Would it indeed help soothe the torment of my memory?"

"Just pick something you like doing. Something that will take your mind off whatever's bothering you." He frowns.

He ponders this for a while. "My experience in such matters is quite underwhelming, I'm afraid- I enjoy helping good people, I enjoy learning about the world, and I enjoy conversing with my friends. Do those make a hobby?"

"No, a hobby's something like fishing or . . . something. Learning could be a hobby, I suppose."

His eyebrows draw together in confusion. "Fishing and learning are both hobbies, then?"

"Well, yes. Hobby just means something to do."

"I see..." He brightens. "Then reading books is a hobby, is it not?"

"I don't see why not."

"Then I can but hope that this will help me. At least, I shall endeavour to forget my past through reading until I can help you in housebuilding. That would be a hobby as well, am I correct?"

"Yes, but it's kind of hard to build a house when it's raining buckets," Smeagol says, frowning at the weather.

"I can but imagine," he agrees. "However, it can't rain forever, I should believe... surely the weather will clear up and become warmer in time."