In the House of Tom Bombadil, Title is an obvious Tolkien Reference

[The Cosmos]

Made for Akela, but anyone is certainly welcome.

Burt green and crisp brown leaflets sat crushed in a leather pouch. The home of said pouch resided in the pocket of a coat which belonged to Eadwine Strigand. The home of said Eadwine Strigand was the universe. Vast and bountiful, though it is, it is still considered small by the gentleman who would desire to see it in its entirety. Such was the will of a traveler. But, distance, direction and size were of no matter to this bird, for he was no Pizarro. Nay, even Pizarro would be jealous of Eadwine's finds. On the contrary, Ead was no explorer, migrant, or immigrant. A traveler, wanderer, and unintentional discoverer of things new and shiny. Into a small hole, Eadwine pinched these brown leaves. Then, like a giant’s foot, his thumb crunched and condensed them to the bottom, 'til they were nearly a block. "Aha!" He quietly exclaimed to himself and pulled something more from his pocket. Resembling a match stick, he magically flicked it on and sent the fire away to the leaves. Then, the flaky bits simmered until they glowed with orange embers, and Eadwine knew his job was done. He put the pipe up to his mouth, and with a deep inhale he smiled. Slowly, a gray swirl of happiness decamped form his mouth and dispersed to the air around him. He let the pipe hang from his lips as he put the match back into his pocket and rolled up his leaves once more. Expertly, he tied a knot around the package with a piece of string. Then, that two was returned to the safety of its housing and was to be left alone until its next beckoning. Quiet contentness filled Eadwine as he sat next to a metal table in the room. His eyes stared through the particles of breathable air to find what fiend scared everyone away. Alas, no such monster was discovered. The town folk had gathered elsewhere for the day and it was just Eadwine, save for few others sitting around the room, and a server waiting behind a counter to treat men with food. Ead's eye lids blanketed his eyes as a low noise came from within him. It was the sound of air being rushed through a coffee can, but it was sweet acoustics of Eadwine beginning to hum. It was of no tune in particular, just a series of notes that made sense together. He sought to occupy the relative silence of the room by his own doing. As his voice wandered, so did his mind. Looking up at the tall ceiling, he noticed a few windows looking into the vacuum. He thought of a time, not much different then this, when he had been on the dark side of a planet. The revolution equaled its rotation and he was embraced by a perpetual night. Here, plants learned to live without photosynthesis and fire was one practical way of being heated. Eadwine laid on the ground that night, lighting up dried leaves offered by the natives, and hummed to the winking stars. Then, with a simple wink, Eadwine was back in the mess hall, daring to wonder where he would end up next.

[Akela]

Hart couldn’t remember for the life of him why he’d chosen to dock at the Space Port, but it probably had to do with something important-- like the fact that he was out of fuel, for example. That might have been it. There wasn’t much other reason why he’d come here, outside of repairs and business; the dock was a thing of beauty, but he’d take the hustle and bustle of the Drifting City any day, if it came to doing business on the ground (or as close as one came to ground, out in the black). More potential customers, less crappy food. But one made sacrifices for the sake of business… and, well, keeping the ship in the air didn’t hurt. Back at the dock there were two men preening over his baby, making sure his sleek little ship was smoothed out of dings and fueled up proper, but it would take some time for them to finish up. In the meanwhile, the scruffy-looking man had wandered over to the mess hall, hoping to at least find something worth consuming—a good bite would make up for the trip, but he wasn’t hopeful. The port’s buffet didn’t leave much room for quality in its quantity. Sliding his tray down the little metal railing, Hart spooned various amounts of food out onto his plate with a sigh, resigning himself to an unsatisfying meal. Walking softly across the tiled floor despite his heavy boots, Hart picked out a choice seat—a little table all to himself by those big, lonely windows, just what he liked—and strode his way over. He would eat quickly, then go bother the men prodding his ship; it was a flawless idea. At least, until a woman pushed her chair backwards, right into Hart’s long legs, and his whole world went flying. There was no saving the food; he flung his arms outwards, tray flying, and flailed wildly as he groped for a grip on the nearby table, hoisting himself upwards. The woman apologized... or tried to, before she took one look at Hart’s disgruntled, stony face, and shuffled off in a hurry. A scrawny kid with a mop appeared out of nowhere to clean up the mess, and Hart said nothing to him, merely straightened his back and smoothed out his coat, like a cat grooming itself after a fall. One suitably composed, Hart slumped off to a seat nearby, grabbing a napkin off the table to rub a bit of soup out of his coat, thankful it hadn’t been worse. A sigh. Time to pretend no one had saw, and sulk here for a bit.

[The Cosmos]

Peacefully Ead rocked in his chair, observing the hall, deciding what was of interest and what was not. The idea of where he would go next was of interest, but required minimal thought. He didn't care where he went. The thought of paying for fuel was of no interest to him. He had little money. The man who just got food was of interest. The kinds of food he had ordered, was not. So many things in the land to be decided on and one brain on how to decide it. What a particular dilemma. Thank the spirits from the heavens that evolution had solved this problem. Brains were perfectly capable and processing information. As Eadwine drabbled on in his head of such nonsense, he watched the man glided along the floor, finding where to sit. From the hundreds of potential possibilities, he had greedily staked his claim. Most beings would consider this 'choice' and Eadwine liked to include himself in that majority. He was after all, still a being. And, the beautiful thing about being a being, was you were in a state of being, and that was perfectly wonderful for Eadwine. What else could one want? You could be frozen, destined to look at everyone else being, and wonder to yourself what being would be like. Wishing you could be is surely the worst desire a man could have. It certainly must cause the most pain and despair. A bundle of nerves suddenly sent signals up to the most complex thing man had yet to find. Eadwine saw as a woman sent this man stumbling. Then, the nerves interacted with a chip that determined how his personality would be included with his natural reaction. "Tripol fee la dee! Tra la lee I'll help thee! Folly derry dol Dinga dong!" His song rang out as he sprang from his seat, taking his pipe from his mouth. He bounded across the floor with the energy of a thousand knights. His feet caressed the floor as he made his way, only a moment too late. The man was physically recovered, but his emotions may still be shaken! "Fiend!" Eadwine said to him, "I saw with my own eyes. Had I witnessed the massacre only a moment faster I could have stopped the event from occurring. Alas, I cannot see into the future, no witch has granted me that power! The only thing left unaddressed is your health. How are you, sir?" Eadwine waited patiently for an answer. He hoped sincerely nothing was wrong. The scattered food was quickly cleaned up by a dwarf like kitchen aid. A lunch dropped was a lunch wasted! Had he the funding, he would have offered to supply him with another meal. But, the only thing he could do was wait for an answer and hope that his kindly remarks would help right this wrong that was done to an innocent citizen.

[Akela]

The tall man daubed carefully at the hem of his coat, certain to not work any of the stain inwards, drawing the soup out with practiced ease. He debated grumping his way over to the buffet again and buying a second meal (or intimidating someone until they let him eat for free), but didn’t want to look at that array of slop again just yet. Swinging his legs beneath the table, he leaned backwards, meaning to stare up at the high ceiling—and found himself face to face with a rather concerned-looking man. Hart spun back around quickly, planting booted feet on the floor, and tried to make some sense of the words the fellow was spouting. Certainly the same language, but it took a moment for the disgruntled man to grasp the flare. Maybe he needed outside contact more than he thought. Fighting an urge to flip up his collar and walk away, he waited for the excited blabber to end. “’m okay. Just made a bit of a mess, everything’s cleaned up.” He jerked his head over to the now-spotless floor for emphasis, and released his grip on the hem of his coat. Hart wasn’t used to this sort of… concern. The woman hadn’t been concerned for him, she’d just made an obligatory apology. Whoever had come to clean up the mess certainly hadn’t been concerned. Then again, Hart didn’t look like the sort one had to be concerned for—he could take care of himself, for all appearances. So why was this guy here? Waving a hand in idle dismissal, Hart turned back to his table, almost unsure of how to deal with the situation. “But thanks,” he grunted. “Hate to waste even terrible food.”