Falastor blinked as one of the company's members -- Daniel, was it? -- tore past him, riding so close and so quickly that the breeze he created caught the paper from Falastor's hands and carried it away across the field. Before the cartographer could even shout in surprise, another member of the company, the bells on her garment jingling merrily, leapt upon it, snatched it up, and cartwheeled back to Falastor, offering him the amazingly unwrinkled paper with a flourish.
"Ta da!" she exclaimed. "Yet another use for my talents!"
He accepted the offering enthusiastically and tucked it back into his bag. "Most certainly! A shame it doesn't work the other way around, though." At her quizzical look, he added, "Talent with papers doesn't give one talent at gymnastics. Believe me, I've had a bit too much experience trying. My limbs might not forgive me if I attempted any more acrobatics."
She grinned. "Not everyone is meant to tumble, I'm afraid."
"You certainly got all of my tumbling ability," said a voice. Falastor turned to see the young man who had ridden by earlier -- no, on second thought, it wasn't the same man, just one who looked similar, and who was now looking down on them from atop his horse.
"Oh, I don't know about that," the brightly-dressed woman said, smirking up at him. "I seem to recall you being rather flexible, master sword-dancer."
"Sword-dancer?" Falastor turned eagerly to face the man, who had turned about six shades of mortified and was distracting himself by paying especial attention to dismounting. "This company is like my childhood all over again! You aren't actually a troop of actors, are you? Realistically you would need a great deal more by way of supplies, of course, to put on a proper show, but perhaps you're employing a new style? Improvisation with minimal props, maybe? I shouldn't be this excited, really, given how dreadful I was at all of that, but it would be quite excellent to relieve those years, just for a bit before I return to Minas Tirith to make my report. No acting for me, mind you. I never could sustain a role long enough to be convincing. And as I was saying, my acrobatics were awful as well."
He paused for a breath and realized that not only were the woman and man staring, but several other members of the company had now gathered around -- the woman called Fiona and a young girl shyly peering at him from behind Fiona.
"I don't know, I'd say you do the rambling academic role brilliantly," said the dark-haired man, smiling crookedly.
"Aramir!" Fiona frowned at him, but Falastor laughed loudly.
"No, no, he's absolutely right. I became organizer and map-maker once my family realized I was useless on the stage. And by the way," he added, turning to face the woman with the jingling clothes. "It is the Malcontent Dwarf. We produced that one once. Brilliant story, ridiculous costumes, as I recall, but perhaps that was just an artistic decision on Shala's part. She always did like feathers a bit too much. I'm not familiar with The Chaste and Noble Knight, though."
She elbowed Aramir in the ribs. "We've got an impromptu version playing right now, I believe." Aramir rolled his eyes. "I'm Geli, by the way," she continued, extending her hand. "Geli the Magnificent!"
"Unless it's Tuesday," chorused Fiona and Aramir.
Falastor frowned as he shook Geli's hand. "Why, what happens on Tuesday?"
"She browbeats us with a thesaurus."