Tipping Point
Author: mideltone_one
Title: Tipping Point
Words: 829
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer:The Robin Hood characters written about here belong to Tiger Aspect and the British Broadcasting Corporation. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended nor is any money being made. I don't own them - if I did I'd be too busy drooling to write! All mistakes are mine.
Summary: Allan isn't coping.
Warnings: Set just after S1x7 Brothers in Arms.
Characters/Pairings: Allan, Robin
According to Allan's version of events he tripped on the threshold of the inn as he was leaving of his own choice. Everyone else who saw it recalls him being violently ejected by the innkeeper. All accounts do, however, agree that the next thing that happened was a very drunken outlaw shouting out, at the top of his voice, "Wot d'you doin? Scumbags! I'm a bleedin' good minis-, mister-, minstrel. youz wouldn't know good songing if it bit you on the arse." When the tavern door opened again Robin was able to step in and calm matters, leading, in short order, to the door closing again, plunging the street into near darkness.
Allan stood up, rather unsteadily, and tried to brush himself down, dissolving into a fit of giggles at his inability to make contact between hand and body. Robin shook his head; it had been like this almost every night since Tom, the ex-thief's brother, had been hanged.
Noticing Robin standing at the side of the street, hidden in the shadows, Allan lurched towards him. "Robbo, Robby, Bobby-bobbins, me old mate. How ya doin'?" Robin dropped his head in his hands and sighed; how was he supposed to move through the night unseen, when his followers made such spectacles of themselves?
Allan looked down at the ground. "You've got big feet," he said, pointing at Robin's shoes, "You know what they say about men with big feet!" Deciding the best way to cope with the situation was not to engage with the drunken man, the archer held his tongue. There was a moment's silence. "Big socks!" The ex-thief began laughing, finding himself suddenly unable to stand. He collapsed against his companion, who took hold of him, stopping him from falling onto the ground again.
Robin knew the longer they stood in the street the more likely it was they'd be discovered. He could leave Allan in the town, bedded down in an inn, if one would accept him, or take him back to the forest, which was hard enough at night when you were sober. A moment's thought made it clear they'd have to go home. There was no way he could leave the man on his own, and no innkeeper worth his salt would accept a loud mouthed possibly aggressive drunk as a guest, even if they were laden down with gold, which he wasn't. "Come on," he said, beginning a journey he expected would feel very long, one step at a time.
The exercise seemed to sober Allan up a little, not that that was necessarily a good thing. He turned from loud and aggressive to dangerously quiet. Robin had never thought he would want to hear the thief's sarcastic comments, but as the silence hanging in the air between them deepened, he decided it was important to get him talking. Perhaps, if he could release the pent up anger and grief, he could move on. Staying like this was certainly no option. Drunk all night and hung over all day he was no use to anyone. The rest of the gang were being patient at the moment, letting him get on with it, but that wouldn't last forever.
Through the gates of the town without too much trouble, they began walking along the main road towards the forest. The guard had said they must be mad to risk travelling at night, but Robin had assured him they would be alright. Once they were in the forest itself he cleared his throat and tried his luck. "Tell me about Tom."
"'E's dead."
"Yes. I know. But before that, when you were children?"
"'E was a bloody nuisance. I'm better off without 'im."
"Don't say that. I never had a brother, or a sister; it was lonely on my own."
"You were bleedin' lucky then. You didn't 'ave a little runt thinkin' he was the big man, gettin' into fights then expectin' me to get 'im out of 'em."
"He was an idiot then?" No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he was being violently pushed up against a tree, an arm at his throat.
"Take that back or so help me, I'll..." He faltered, caught his breath. The tear rolling down his cheek was barely visible in the dim light, though Robin saw it.
The pressure at his throat loosened a little, allowing him to speak again. "Whatever he was, he was your brother, and you loved him."
Allan began to sob, shaking uncontrollably. The archer put his arm around him and let him cry.
Some time later Allan appeared to be back to his old self. "Not bein' funny but you won't say anything about me cryin' will you?" he asked.
"What crying would that be?"
"Exactly! I've got me reputation to consider you know."
"Would that be your reputation as a cheat, or a thief?"
"Oi!"
"Just checking.
Later, two much relieved men walked back into the camp.
Title: Tipping Point
Words: 829
Genre: Gen
Rating: PG
Disclaimer:The Robin Hood characters written about here belong to Tiger Aspect and the British Broadcasting Corporation. All Rights Reserved. No copyright infringement is intended nor is any money being made. I don't own them - if I did I'd be too busy drooling to write! All mistakes are mine.
Summary: Allan isn't coping.
Warnings: Set just after S1x7 Brothers in Arms.
Characters/Pairings: Allan, Robin
According to Allan's version of events he tripped on the threshold of the inn as he was leaving of his own choice. Everyone else who saw it recalls him being violently ejected by the innkeeper. All accounts do, however, agree that the next thing that happened was a very drunken outlaw shouting out, at the top of his voice, "Wot d'you doin? Scumbags! I'm a bleedin' good minis-, mister-, minstrel. youz wouldn't know good songing if it bit you on the arse." When the tavern door opened again Robin was able to step in and calm matters, leading, in short order, to the door closing again, plunging the street into near darkness.
Allan stood up, rather unsteadily, and tried to brush himself down, dissolving into a fit of giggles at his inability to make contact between hand and body. Robin shook his head; it had been like this almost every night since Tom, the ex-thief's brother, had been hanged.
Noticing Robin standing at the side of the street, hidden in the shadows, Allan lurched towards him. "Robbo, Robby, Bobby-bobbins, me old mate. How ya doin'?" Robin dropped his head in his hands and sighed; how was he supposed to move through the night unseen, when his followers made such spectacles of themselves?
Allan looked down at the ground. "You've got big feet," he said, pointing at Robin's shoes, "You know what they say about men with big feet!" Deciding the best way to cope with the situation was not to engage with the drunken man, the archer held his tongue. There was a moment's silence. "Big socks!" The ex-thief began laughing, finding himself suddenly unable to stand. He collapsed against his companion, who took hold of him, stopping him from falling onto the ground again.
Robin knew the longer they stood in the street the more likely it was they'd be discovered. He could leave Allan in the town, bedded down in an inn, if one would accept him, or take him back to the forest, which was hard enough at night when you were sober. A moment's thought made it clear they'd have to go home. There was no way he could leave the man on his own, and no innkeeper worth his salt would accept a loud mouthed possibly aggressive drunk as a guest, even if they were laden down with gold, which he wasn't. "Come on," he said, beginning a journey he expected would feel very long, one step at a time.
The exercise seemed to sober Allan up a little, not that that was necessarily a good thing. He turned from loud and aggressive to dangerously quiet. Robin had never thought he would want to hear the thief's sarcastic comments, but as the silence hanging in the air between them deepened, he decided it was important to get him talking. Perhaps, if he could release the pent up anger and grief, he could move on. Staying like this was certainly no option. Drunk all night and hung over all day he was no use to anyone. The rest of the gang were being patient at the moment, letting him get on with it, but that wouldn't last forever.
Through the gates of the town without too much trouble, they began walking along the main road towards the forest. The guard had said they must be mad to risk travelling at night, but Robin had assured him they would be alright. Once they were in the forest itself he cleared his throat and tried his luck. "Tell me about Tom."
"'E's dead."
"Yes. I know. But before that, when you were children?"
"'E was a bloody nuisance. I'm better off without 'im."
"Don't say that. I never had a brother, or a sister; it was lonely on my own."
"You were bleedin' lucky then. You didn't 'ave a little runt thinkin' he was the big man, gettin' into fights then expectin' me to get 'im out of 'em."
"He was an idiot then?" No sooner were the words out of his mouth than he was being violently pushed up against a tree, an arm at his throat.
"Take that back or so help me, I'll..." He faltered, caught his breath. The tear rolling down his cheek was barely visible in the dim light, though Robin saw it.
The pressure at his throat loosened a little, allowing him to speak again. "Whatever he was, he was your brother, and you loved him."
Allan began to sob, shaking uncontrollably. The archer put his arm around him and let him cry.
Some time later Allan appeared to be back to his old self. "Not bein' funny but you won't say anything about me cryin' will you?" he asked.
"What crying would that be?"
"Exactly! I've got me reputation to consider you know."
"Would that be your reputation as a cheat, or a thief?"
"Oi!"
"Just checking.
Later, two much relieved men walked back into the camp.