Bilbo is less of an athlete than Punchy. The quest did its job of wearing away the layers of softness gained from living his entire life in complete and utter peace, leaving him with the beginning muscles and callouses and a deep set weariness starting in his bones. Hobbits were not created for battle or war and this is something Bilbo has learned much before his arrival here, but he is stubborn if nothing else. As tired as he may be he still clings to weak optimism that not everything can truly be as bad as it seems.

After awhile, many attempts and failures later, Bilbo sets aside the bow with reddened fingers. He didn't expect to start off with any promising results, but the little progress makes it hard not to become frustrated. So he takes a break, knowing at some point he should eat (and the fact he must remind himself of such a thing disheartens him greatly, secretly) until he smells something familiar.

Well... not completely familiar. It isn't Old Toby by a long shot, smelling closer to the pipe weed Bofur carried with him up until the Goblin caves. He looks around trying to pinpoint the source, but what he'll do when he finds it he's unsure. Maybe if he asked nicely the fellow carrying may be inclined to share...

He doesn't see Punchy up in the booth until he finally looks up and sees the small wisps of smoke coming from him and hesitates. Those are the seats for the Gamemakers and he wonders briefly if it's even wise to engage the man at all.

Oh bother it. "H-Hello!" Bilbo waves up to him, voice carrying his uncertainty.