Lyrical Fic Challenge
Author’s Name: Daisee Chain
Title: “The fool or the fool who follows him?”
Fandom: Robin Of Sherwood
Summary: He doesn’t get paid enough for this kind of aggravation.
Word Count: 514
Disclaimer: No Robin of Sherwood characters were harmed in the making of this fanfic, and they’re still all working for their original employers. I make no money from this madness. I claim no part in their creation, but then. as they’re all based on folklore which is hundreds of years old, neither can the series writers or producers really. If none of us points fingers, no one will get poked, and we all go home happy. See how that works?
Lyrics: “How can I help it if I think you’re funny when you’re mad?”
One Week. The Barenaked Ladies
He nodded slightly, persistently. Not so much because he needed to, but because it clearly upset the man. Besides, being drunk like this, it was difficult to stop your head from wobbling on its pole.
He tilted his head to one side, pursed his lips, and drew in a breath, then slowly blew it out again without saying anything. Thoughts came and went in his head like the wind on a summer’s eve. He blinked, and nodded a few more times for good measure.
“Write down”, he said quietly, “30 silver Marks.” His assistant moved the quill over the parchment, but made no inscriptions, as there was no ink to be found in this office. The Watch had run out last month, but there were more important things to buy, like Ale. Ale from Scathlock’s Inn. The inn Sir Guy of Gisbort now wanted them to search for outlaws.
“Each” Sir Fishbone added. The room paused. The sounds of the fight down the street could clearly be heard, but no one said anything about it. This… Gutbort couldn’t fancy his chances much, if he needed to wait for help from six drunken officers of the watch. The fancy nobleman was upset about the ruckus though, if his red face was anything to go by.
“Each” he relayed to the scribe, helpfully pointing out where he wanted him to scratch hard in the parchment. Each, eh? Well, that changed things, changed things a lot. That made it worth walking down the end of the lane for. Slowly mind. No sense in rushing into these things. No telling what sort of nastiness you could run headlong into, if you hurried to the scene of a crime. Best to let the dust settle first.
He scratched his neck, then his head, then arse. Sir Glassborne had taken to grinding his teeth, and was breathing like a horse after a heavy run, but otherwise wasn’t saying anything. Clearly a man who was used to waiting round for others, though not, he’d be willing to bet, on men he was used to thinking of as his inferiors. He waited another minute, till it seemed the Sheriff’s lackey might burst, then stood up, slowly, and announced that they should probably look into Gasbag’s accusations. He expected his opponent to screech again at the misuse of his name, but disappointingly the man just spun on his heel and stalked out, blue cape swirling artistically in his wake.
“We aren’t really going to hand over Scathlock are we?” Fisherson asked quietly.
“’Course not! Do you want to answer to his brother?” A look of alarm spread round the room as they realised what might happen to them if they tried. “Just take it slowly. Make sure you investigate every last nook and cranny, so you can fairly tell him you did your duty.”
Shambolically they sauntered out into the street to follow the Nobleman to the Inn. It might just be worth the walk down there for the entertainment alone. Gisbourne was quite a funny man, if you made him mad enough.