Prancing Pony

Raffles yawned as he wandered into the main bar area of the pony, it had been long evening yesterday, listening to Barliman go into great detail about the shortcomings and general lack of professionalism of apparently all the nearby Inns and Hostelries, following the visit of Maddoc from the Crossways House.

“Morning Waffles” Barliman called

Raffles immediately thought of second breakfast.

“Come over”

Producing what looked like coffee and, not a plate of waffles, but muffins…  he beckoned to Raffles.

“Straight to my face, bold as you like… watery indeed!”

Barliman was not best pleased, as Raffles had come to understand, in great detail, over the last hour or so.

Maddoc from the Crossways House had paid a visit, and as usual, following any impromptu encounters with an innkeeper, Barliman was in a dark mood. Inn-keeping seemed to be a very competitive business.

He sensed Barliman was about to loop round the story yet again…

Raffles was very pleased with himself, he couldn’t wait to get back to the Pony to see the results of his first haul, almost sprinting up the steps he pushed open the door a little too forcefully and stumbled through, making a beeline for the bar.

“Good evening Barliman! An ale please, and one for yourself too!”

“Evening Rollo, that's good of you, to what do I owe this generosity?”

Raffles entered the main bar area of the pony that morning in good spirits...

He was well rested, well fed and hopeful for the day ahead. 

Barliman had tipped him off that Leecher Cartwell, in Combe, might be interested in some of his finds from the marshes... the thought of a positive result from that particular debacle would have been enough to lift his mood by itself ... but at breakfast Aggie had handed him an envelope, the contents of which were a few silver coins and a rather lengthy note of apology from Eldo Swatmidge.

Barliman Butterburr murmured a suitably non-committal response, with the practised ease of someone used to listening in to at least three conversations at once, whilst tending bar, and feigning interest in yet another would be adventurers tales. His eyes and ears taking in just enough information to stay abreast of the various conversations, shifting his focus to where it was most needed... or the juiciest information could be gleaned.

Raffles didn't notice, or if he did, he wasn't offended, and carried on

'Ate all my sausages she did'