Penned in precise and evenly lined sentences, a blank page near the middle of a slightly scuffed, top-grain leather journal is newly inscribed. If one were to flip past the filled pages to the very beginning, one would find the first page titled with: Bernie Tweed, Bree-land followed by a series of odd symbols.
5 Lithe
Home, Bree-land
√ Agreed on a price for masonry work in the window. Starts next week.
→ Find a muralist for it when it’s done.
≡ Wish I remembered now why I agreed to take Miss Kitowyn for a shopping rendezvous to begin with. It were a wrong idea. Terrible. Got nothing from the whole thing except an empty coinpurse and two grain-sacks of clothes I don’t even want sitting out in my living-room next to that damnable pine sapling still setting near the doorway.
Should have known it were to go badly when I met up with her at that boar fountain up in Bree and she were already talking bout odd things like bells and then not wanting to take my arm whatsoever but hide behind me all skittish-like as we went over to the indoor marketplace. She must be an early morn drinker, which I care not at all for.
And the date did not get better from there but only worse yet.
Walked in and she made a beeline for the cobbler straight off and good gravy did she choose the ugliest, cheapest used boots in all the town and probably surrounding countryside too. Told her they ain't too shabby if you'll not do more than walk from bedroom to outhouse but that deterred her no-ways and she insisted she wanted them hideous toe-fungus farms. Even after I asked the cobbler if she had any of those tall black leather boots what go over a lady’s knee with ties in the back. Which of course she did but Miss Kitowyn were having none of that and decided she wanted not one but two pairs of the vile booties, for I spose it's not enough to inflict such woe on your feet once. And we ain’t even got to the dresses yet so now I were already worried greatly for the success of this whole outing.
Followed her round as she passed by all the good stuff and kept picking up the worst looking things there were, when I took a gander at the tunic-maker’s stall. Well hello there, Red. Knowing by now Miss Kitowyn were a lost cause, I went over and introduced myself and let this fine seamstress tell me all bout her wares; she led me round, picking out all the shirts she thought would suit a man of my sturdy statue and looks. Told me all bout colours and cuts, fit and fabrics and how all these fine goods would look so very handsome on yours truly. And so I let this pretty lady set aside all her best tunics for me, just enjoying her smile and the way she moved round her stall, bending and twisting, bits bouncing just so. She built up a good sized pile of new tunics what impressed her as suitable for my manly frame, and though it cost me nearly my entire coinpurse I bought it all because it made her smile all the bigger.
I forgot all bout Miss Kitowyn til she came up behind me and told the seamstress that we were on a date but that it looked like I wanted to give her my arm instead and that she should take it. Red stared at Miss Kitowyn standing there smiling as if she’s slick as snot, then gave yours truly that look that only snubbed ladies can give a man: the narrowed eyes, the stiff lips, and pinched nose they get all at once. Can just imagine the smoke coming out of them ears.
That were the point in which I decided I’d be finishing off that cask of brew what’s sitting in my larder this eve.
Lugged round the sacks of pointless tunics behind Miss Kitowyn as she made her way down the other side of the market, just wanting to finish this whole mess up and be gone. Saw her buy a scrappy shirt and a long cloak, both unsightly course, cause for whatever reason this gal seems to want to look as coarse as possible. Then we finally got to the dressmaker’s shop which is where I had thought we’d go all this time, so I were glad to finally step inside.
Now Miss Kitowyn had already spent most of her money on the rags and beggar’s garb, so though she poked round and tried on things (without my help sadly, course) she said she can’t be buying none of it anyway and were only looking now. Claimed she never had new clothes before and her face were mopey instead of her usual chipper self.
Bah can’t have that now, I said to myself. Still had a bit of jangle in my pockets, so's even though I had grave misgivings bout this whole thing I said I’d spot her the coins for a dress but she’d owe me some work round the place to pay it back. And no granny dresses or tatters this time. She agreed to it all.
So she picked through piles a while and finally pulled up some purple thing what looked like a pillowcase in her hand, all silky and embroidered but balled up so I didn’t catch the shape of it. Went off to a corner to try the thing on and in truth I were expecting her to come out looking like my ma’s good tablecloth in motion. But when she reappeared it fit her snug and true instead, tight in the places that mattered and showcasing a figure I never thought she had. Well I’ll be. Turned round for me and sure enough, the back looked just as well as the front. Told her it were real nice, real nice indeed. Said she’d buy it.
Course she didn’t wear it out. Course.
Money all gone, made our way for the door and passed by Red’s stall again but she did naught save shoot daggers at me with them stormy eyes. Bah.
Outside, thought I’d ask for a peck on the cheek for going through more than most men’d endure but she turned even that down. Then the handle of one of my sacks broke and all my new duds spilled onto the dirty cobblestones.
This all written down for posterity, I’m now off to nurse some rotgut til it’s all forgotten.
