Tripping (closed)

[jamesoftaversal]

Who: Sir James, Allan, Emmaline
What: Sometimes a man need a little wine to get to sleep
Where: The Trip to Jerusalem Inn
When: 29th September, very late. Or very early 30th September. After a party like this one, it’s hard to tell.

Comments

[allan_of_dale]

See, this is right before Robin goes renegade, right? So we all get led out to the noose, shaking in our boots, and Robin goes bloody nutjob, shoots a load of guards and saves our lives - cos, y'see, those ones I said about were from Locksley, and that was Robin's village and stuff, and there was a whole other load of politics that I'm not sure about. But basically, I've just been saved from death and outlawed all in one stroke. Robin had saved my life, so joining up with him seemed like the right thing to do. He was all "steal from the rich and give it to the poor", as I'm sure you're painfully aware of, and a few other outlaws got in on it too form some other gang, and we went round nicking from people to give to peasants. But then one day I got caught by Guy, and obviously I thought I was pretty much done for. But he gave me a choice: die, or start tipping him the wink once every now and again, so the sheriff didn't give him such a hard time. Not like, shopping all the secrets and selling my friends out or anything; I only saw him a few times. But just maybe once in a while, I'd let him know where we'd be patrolling the road, so one or two tax wagons still made it through. There's a war on and everything, and the King's desperate for money in the Holy Land and all, and to be honest I was pretty fucking grateful that he didn't just kill me there and then. But obviously, I didn't want this whole thing to go on forever; I wasn't gonna be in Guy's pocket permanently. So I got pretty guilty pretty quick, as you can imagine, and so I went...well, here, actually. Here's where he first got his hands on me and we used to meet up here. He had a little cute barmaid in his pay and she was our go-between when he was busy, and I told her: tell him it's over, I've paid my debt and I'm grateful I'm still standing but I'm not a traitor or nothing. But Robin had already got wind of what was going on, and he'd been spying on me; followed me here and heard me talking to the girl. I tried to explain, but he wasn't having it, wouldn't listen to a word I said once he burst in. He nearly killed me there and then. But I begged for my life like you bloody would in that situation, and managed to talk him into sparing me. But he wouldn't have anything more to do with me, told all the others that I'd been selling our secrets to anyone that'd buy them, and you can imagine how they all feel about me after that. So I lived rough for...I dunno, maybe a month, all told, but it was killing me. I was seriously on my uppers. Desperate, you know? So I thought: Guy did me a favour once, and I paid him back in full, so maybe he'd swing me another. So now I'm sort of his...handyman. It's not much, but I get room and board and sometimes a bit of spending money if I play my cards right. Got an official pardon and everything. I am now officially within the law." He topped up his cup vigorously, slopping a little over the sides, and let the jug fall back to the table with a thunk. "So here's to being legal and above board, eh?" Emptying half the cup, he barely tasted the sourness this time. "Now, "that saracen woman" as you call her, is a subject much more worthy of conversation, I do believe. Her name's..." this was hard to remember; "...Safiyaa. 'Cept everyone has to call her Djaq cos that was her brother's name and she cut her hair short and pretended to be him so she could go off to war. And I tell you, even when I thought she was a boy...there was something intersting about her. I think a few of the lads were relieved for their eternal souls when they found out she was a girl after all. She's a bloody one, isn't she? I didn't see her at the ball; did she have a dress on then? Cor..." he trailed off. "I saw her in a dress once. I tell you what..." He sucked his teeth, shaking his head slowly.

[jamesoftaversal]

It had taken many years for the lesson to sink in, but Sir James had finally come to realize that on those occasions when he he didn’t know what to say, he should really keep his mouth shut. Which is why he sat silent while Allan spoke his piece, and then for some time afterwards.

He assumed the story was self-serving, if for no other reason than summation of any man’s life tended to be self-serving, whether the teller meant it to be so or not. Take that bit about the young Allan and Tom’s only crime being poaching, and only then just to keep alive: Sir James really doubted that that was as far as it went, but he could hardly blame two homeless, ill-used orphans for turning to petty crime, so long as he didn’t come to find out they were excessively venal or malevolent.

But as the tale spun out, Sir James began to feel less generous. He was at first inclined to chalk it up to the mistakes of youth, but most of the story covered recent events, and even a cursory examination of the lines around Allan’s eyes and the scars on his face told him that Allan was old enough that many wouldn’t even consider him a “young” man any more. His only emotional investment so far was to consider Allan an amiable companion; he had thought he was a bit of a wide boy, a bit of a lad, but no worse. But the impression he was now getting was so petty and unattractive! It wasn’t just what Allan had done, it was that he was so matter-of-fact about it all: he didn’t seem either proud or ashamed of turning outlaw or of changing sides. Sir James had known plenty of mercenaries in his day-it wasn’t unreasonable to think of Sir James himself as one-but even at their coldest, there was some sense of agency when they talked about their actions, an acknowledgement that they chose to sell their services to the highest bidder without consideration of the ethics involved, or to purposely side with might against right if the money was good. Allan, on the other hand, seemed aggrieved; not even distressed at being buffeted around by forces bigger than himself, or traumatized by any of the memories, but aggrieved. Sir James had a feeling that Allan would eventually turn into one of those duffers you find at the end of every bar, hunched over his drink, incessantly muttering and whining to anybody who would listen, and to himself if there wasn’t an audience, about how unfairly he had been treated by life.

[jamesoftaversal]

Still, there’s a fine line between exercising one’s hard-earned judgment and being judgmental towards one’s fellow man, and Sir James was humbled at the thought of crossing it. So he held his gaze steady, and did his best to keep his voice flat and speak without emotion or even sarcasm.

“Let me make sure I have this right. You were a stranger in these parts when you were arrested for cheating some of the sheriff’s guards in a game of chance. You wound up in the dungeon with some local lads-boys, you seem to think-who had stolen flour. The sheriff decides to hang you all-I notice you didn’t mention anything about a trial for any of you. Robin of Locksley frees you in the nick of time at great personal risk, knowing full well that he will make himself an outlaw by doing so. Sure enough, he and you are outlawed, as, I suppose, are the other men on the gibbet. You and several others joined forces with him in the forest and live together as criminal comrades. One day Sir Guy of Gisborne, presumably working for the sheriff, captured you and you agreed, under pain of death, to put those comrades in harm’s way by giving him information about your activities. Which you continued doing for some time, even as you lived and worked with Robin’s gang. One day Robin found out about your…moonlighting activities…and, in what I have to admit sounds to me like justifiable anger, cut you loose from the gang. So, instead of leaving the area to which you have no obvious emotional attachment, you offered yourself as a servant to the very people who tried to hang you without trial, who had only recently been your sworn enemies, and who remain the sworn enemies of the man who saved your life, your former comrades, and a woman whom you hold in some obvious affection and esteem. You have no set duties, and from your story, it sounds like you have no special skills that would be of value to the sheriff’s captain of the guard. Presumably that means he sees your past with Robin to be your main asset, and so, presumably, that means you continue to apprise him of the workings of the gang.” He continued to gaze at Allan.

“So tell me, Allan a Dale…does that sound like an accurate summation?”

[allan_of_dale]

He'd broken off, sort of assuming that James would take up the baton and start talking about Djaq in return. He couldn't bear to dwell any more on the miserable story of how he came to be here; he felt like he'd told it a hundred times already tonight; felt like he'd bloody lived it through again. Somehow, away from the castle, he'd been able to shut away the events of the past few hours. Denial came easily to him, generally, and he rarely had much use for feelings. Allan was expert at living in the moment. But the silence span on, and on, and he looked up at his companion questioningly, wondering about the sudden quiet. James' love of talking had kept back the tide of bleak sickness burning at the back of his throat.

James' face said it all. Faced with an expression of disgusted censure in front of him, and the niggling part of his mind that refused to stop painting Robin's agonised, panting face into his mind's eye, there was nothing else to keep his emotion at bay. He'd carefully salted and nurtured his grievances, knowing he'd need to call on them when he and Robin faced each other as enemies. But he hadn't been prepared for tonight. He hadn't been prepared to stand and watch as Robin was tortured mercilessly by the man he'd chosen to throw in his lot with, wretched in the knowledge that to do anything other than let it proceed would mean death, and the same fate as his former friend. His anger, his deep wounded sense of injustice had cushioned him against the worst of it. But he'd poured all of that out into Sir bloody James' lap, because the high-minded arse had asked, and now it was all gone and the rest was crashing in; a wave of heaviness soaking through his head. His throat was thick. He swallowed the last of the wine in his cup, put down the vessel and folded his arms on the table in front of him, his head slumping forward onto the pillow they formed. There was little point in looking around anyway. He was so drunk by now that everything was a blur. He'd thought that maybe a newcomer to town might not take against him quite so hard when the truth came out. Fat chance, he realised now. No-one who wasn't already allied with the sheriff was going to give him the time of day. Even Lucatz, too bloody good by half, was still technically on Vaizey's side. The only one different was Violet. Good old Violet. She didn't care what a man had done. She still understood that every man got lonely, no matter what his crimes.

"Go away," he muttered into his sleeve, but maybe he'd said it too quietly, or maybe it had been drowned out by James' voice. Oh yes, now the White Knight wanted to talk. Wanted to clarify every little juicy detail, repeating the story back as if he hadn't just spent five minutes in the telling. Allan was just glad he'd only given the man the short version. Fuck him.

Certain choice phrases jumped out at him, regardless. Justifiable anger. No obvious emotional attatchment. Defiance flickered in his chest. Who the fuck was this man, this newcomer to Nottingham who presumed to tell him his own feelings? He didn't know what apprise meant but neither did he particularly care. Allan straightened his back, slowly, raising a balled fist. His index finger extended at the same gradual pace until he was pointing at the knight that didn't know when to leave a subject well enough alone.

"You know nothing about it. You don't fucking know me from Adam and you have no idea about what happened. So stop insulting me, and stop insulting yourself. I didn't come in here looking for a fucking guilt trip and I dunno who you think you are to try and lay one on me, but if you knew the first thing about me, which you don't, you'd fuck off right now. One of us is leaving this table, now. I don't particularly care if it's you or me, but make your fucking choice mate, and don't trouble my ears again."

He pulled back his hand, rested his elbow on the table and let his head fall into his upraised palm, waiting to see if the twat would stay or go. "And you ain't seeing money for that drink, neither," he added darkly. "Free wine don't give you no right to ask questions of a man then get affronted of the answer. You gotta be sheriff for that one to swing."

[allan_of_dale]

[Ooc - ok sorry for all the flim-flaming, but I posted that other reply when I should already have been in bed, and then when I saw there was a second part I didn't get notification for I didn't have time to figure that bit in. Derp!]

[jamesoftaversal]

“Don’t give me that ‘you don’t know me’ bullshit, laddie! And don’t try to fob me off with talk about your Saracen friend, either!” Sir James snapped. “There’s only so many ways this game of yours can play out, and I’ve seen ‘em all. Played a couple myself.” A sanctimonious voice in his head said, “Now, this is why we should presume to judge our fellow man,” but he swatted it down quickly enough. He had done his damnedest not to “lay a guilt trip” on Allan. He could have brought out his big guns--he could have made a snide variation on his earlier “It’s amazing how you can lie to yourself about these things” comment, but he hadn’t; he could have pointed out that Allan led the charge up the stairs tonight against Robin, but he didn’t….

But instead of taking it further and possibly turning the encounter into a brawl, Sir James sucked in a breath of air and held it in an effort to calm himself. Allan had gone from fairly sober to morbidly drunk in the blink of an eye, and now was belligerent. The man was melting right in front of him; he’d start weeping soon, if experience was anything to go by. It wasn’t alcohol alone that caused all this-no, it was because Sir James had accidentally hit a nerve, and an indication that Allan did have some proper feeling about him. That actually made Sir James feel better, realizing that this likable man had a conscious after all. He still felt a little responsible, but more for Allan as a whole-for his soul, maybe? Sir James thought with some horror at the enormity of his presumption-than for his present condition.

He stood up to go, and in so doing placed a heavy hand on Allan’s slumping shoulder. He looked around, thoroughly embarrassed as well as concerned, and too uncomfortable to look at Allan directly. Sir James finally caught Violet’s eye and gestured her over. She looked concerned, and Sir James thought she had probably never seen Allan like this. “Violet, my love…will you look after my friend here?” Sir James said it with some seriousness, as if to emphasize that Allan really did need care that went beyond a whore’s slap and tickle. He bent down to whisper, “Allan, friend…when it catches up with you-and it will catch up with you, believe me….”

Sir James stalled out. When Allan’s sins caught up with him…what? Sir James barely knew the man; he couldn’t exactly say, “Come see me and I’ll talk you through it,” and he didn’t see any other viable options at the moment. So, helpless, he gave Allan’s shoulder a squeeze and a heavy sigh.

He settled up with Tom, who was holding a blanket for him behind the bar as his part of the deal that let Sir James spend the night in the stable hayloft. Sir James went there and made a nest for himself and wrapped up well against the night. As he suspected, it was really quite comfortable, probably more so than one of the tavern rooms would have been. Thoroughly exhausted, Sir James barely had time to murmur his prayers before he fell asleep-the usual prayers for Robert’s soul, and for his lord Vivian, and for the people of Teversal…and, this time, for Allan a Dale.

[jamesoftaversal]

ooc: I just noticed I had Sir James give Allan's shoulder "a heavy sigh," which makes no sense whatsoever, but we've posted and deleted so many times lately, I don't want to delete to edit! Anyway, mea culpa....