TVU 2x14: Keep Your Friends Close (G)
Written for TVU Challenge 2x14: Spock's Beard. A bad character turns out good.
Setting, Robin Of Sherwood
The outlaws should never have got away with it for so long. Why did nobody see the truth in front of their eyes?
No beta, money made etc. Written straight to the board
Words: about 300
Keep Your Friends Close (G)
“Are the prisoners secured?” Guy of Gisbourne demanded of the trio of guards in his usual gruff, arrogant manner.
The slow-witted sergeant seemed confused for a moment, whether by Gisbourne’s question or by the fact that he had been caught napping by his commander’s arrival was unclear. “Err… yeah.” The elderly soldier replied, having spent a couple of seconds checking on the old, frail lock on the rotten cellar door.
“Good, good,” Gisburne nodded, exuding the brashness and overconfidence the befitted his youth and his station. “We’ll move them to the castle in the morning. I’m going to bed.”
And with that Gisbourne turned on his expensively booted heel and marched away into the gloaming, a confident grin playing about his lips. Robin Hood and his fellow outlaws should have no difficulty escaping from the guards: Gisbourne had assigned his most incompetent, stupid and, just in case, disposable men to the job for that very reason. He would check on them later in the night, naturally, and instigate Plan B if necessary. Of course he would rather not risk showing his hand any more than he had to: He didn’t want to risk that anyone, least of all the Sherriff of Nottingham, might have cause to suspect that he was in any way involved with helping the outlaws.
He and Robin had agreed from the very start: There was no better place for Guy to be than at the right hand of the very man they both so despised.
The end
Setting, Robin Of Sherwood
The outlaws should never have got away with it for so long. Why did nobody see the truth in front of their eyes?
No beta, money made etc. Written straight to the board
Words: about 300
Keep Your Friends Close (G)
“Are the prisoners secured?” Guy of Gisbourne demanded of the trio of guards in his usual gruff, arrogant manner.
The slow-witted sergeant seemed confused for a moment, whether by Gisbourne’s question or by the fact that he had been caught napping by his commander’s arrival was unclear. “Err… yeah.” The elderly soldier replied, having spent a couple of seconds checking on the old, frail lock on the rotten cellar door.
“Good, good,” Gisburne nodded, exuding the brashness and overconfidence the befitted his youth and his station. “We’ll move them to the castle in the morning. I’m going to bed.”
And with that Gisbourne turned on his expensively booted heel and marched away into the gloaming, a confident grin playing about his lips. Robin Hood and his fellow outlaws should have no difficulty escaping from the guards: Gisbourne had assigned his most incompetent, stupid and, just in case, disposable men to the job for that very reason. He would check on them later in the night, naturally, and instigate Plan B if necessary. Of course he would rather not risk showing his hand any more than he had to: He didn’t want to risk that anyone, least of all the Sherriff of Nottingham, might have cause to suspect that he was in any way involved with helping the outlaws.
He and Robin had agreed from the very start: There was no better place for Guy to be than at the right hand of the very man they both so despised.
The end