It annoyed Linnea, her mother's attitude. It was unnecessary, Bofur hadn't done anything to her, and in fact had helped them by watching Bren that day. He always got into trouble while they were working the stall, he got bored and found ways to entertain himself that their parents didn't approve of, either because it was rude or dangerous. So she gave her mother a bit of a disapproving glare at her rude behavior, but she looked at Bofur and laughed as he picked at her a little. She knew he wasn't being serious, but she'd had to give some sort of justification to her mother, other than she enjoyed Bofur's company, to convince her to allow him to join them for lunch.
Lunch went by as smoothly as could be expected, considering her mother's chilly but polite demeanor. Linnea knew they would be getting into an argument later about this, but she didn't care. She didn't understand why her mother was so disturbed by Hobbits associating with those who were not Hobbits. Linnea found those like her mother, those who grew up more into the interior of the Shire and were therefor more xenophobic, to be irrational. She much preferred her father's side of the family, the Tooks and the North-Tooks, who were more adventurous and open-minded. Still though, she tried to enjoy lunch, and afterward stood talking with her sister. The two of them looked to be talking about Bofur, from how they both glanced at him, Flossie letting out small giggles every so often.
Fiona was trying to put Brenhin down for a nap, leaving Ferdirand a moment of quiet, smoking his pipe sitting in a chair beside the fire. He looked over though when the Dwarf joined him and cleared his throat, raising a brow as he spoke. He looked a great deal like Linnea and his elder son, Callum, with the same curly blonde hair and similar features. “Oh?” he asked, his pipe in the corner of his mouth, “And what would that be?” Ferdirand was indeed the head of the house, his wife certainly had some power, and he would defer to her opinion or wishes when he thought them sensible, but in the end, his word was the final one.
Lunch went by as smoothly as could be expected, considering her mother's chilly but polite demeanor. Linnea knew they would be getting into an argument later about this, but she didn't care. She didn't understand why her mother was so disturbed by Hobbits associating with those who were not Hobbits. Linnea found those like her mother, those who grew up more into the interior of the Shire and were therefor more xenophobic, to be irrational. She much preferred her father's side of the family, the Tooks and the North-Tooks, who were more adventurous and open-minded. Still though, she tried to enjoy lunch, and afterward stood talking with her sister. The two of them looked to be talking about Bofur, from how they both glanced at him, Flossie letting out small giggles every so often.
Fiona was trying to put Brenhin down for a nap, leaving Ferdirand a moment of quiet, smoking his pipe sitting in a chair beside the fire. He looked over though when the Dwarf joined him and cleared his throat, raising a brow as he spoke. He looked a great deal like Linnea and his elder son, Callum, with the same curly blonde hair and similar features. “Oh?” he asked, his pipe in the corner of his mouth, “And what would that be?” Ferdirand was indeed the head of the house, his wife certainly had some power, and he would defer to her opinion or wishes when he thought them sensible, but in the end, his word was the final one.
