Ficlet: Tailoring
Title: Tailoring
Author: mideltone_one
Word Count: 608
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Allan, Guy
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary: Allan reacts badly to his tailor
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.
"If you continue to behave like an outlaw, I shall most assuredly treat you like one," said Guy, the cold brooding anger clear in his voice, "the torture cell is always available for you."
Allan had guessed as much. Indeed, even if it were occupied, he imagined Guy would take great personal pleasure in making sure it was very quickly vacated especially for him. "I'm, I'm sorry my lord," he stuttered, his hands clasping around the back of his neck, "it all 'appened so quick."
"Have you any idea how difficult it is to find a highly skilled tailor?" The question was rhetorical, though it didn't stop Allan starting to answer it, then falling silent as his master continued. "I had a hard enough time persuading the sheriff to employ him in the first place. You are not going to be the cause of my returning to dressing like an everyday run of the mill knight."
Silence hung in the air for a few moments before Allan realised he was supposed to fill the void. "Like I mentioned," he said slowly, "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't 'ave done it. I'll apologise immediately."
"I'll have to calm him down first," muttered Guy, clearly still annoyed, "He'll ask me what possessed you to do it. Frankly I don't understand it myself. Why did you draw a knife on him?"
"'E touched me," replied Allan nervously.
"Of course he touched you," replied Guy with a hint of annoyance, “he’s a tailor. How else is he going to measure you?"
"'E touched me somewhere I don't like bein' touched." He seemed to shrink away into the corner of the room somewhat as he said the words, as if giving them voice somehow gave them the power of weapons.
Guy sniggered. "If you want your breeches to fit, you have to let him do that."
"Not there," said Allan, risking his safety by raising his voice to his master, "'e didn't touch me down there."
Gisborne shook his head. He'd thought he'd known what the problem was, but clearly he had been wrong. "Where then?" he asked, not at all sure he wanted to know the answer.
Allan's hand went to his neck again. "I was fine till 'e measured me collar. 'E insisted that tight fittin' ones were the fashion, and 'e wouldn't stop, and then he gets 'is length of cord out and puts it round me throat, and I just flipped. Me knife was out before I knew what I was doing."
"Why would your collar size being measured make you react like that?" asked Guy, a softer tone suddenly entering his voice.
"Last time I was 'ere, with something tight round me neck," replied Allan, a tear dripping down his cheek, "no one, least of all me, was expecting I'd live to see another day."
He was more than a little shocked to find his master's arms encircling him, holding him as more tears trickled down his face. "Nobody," whispered Guy, "is going to kill you while you're in my employ." Allan wondered if this was the sort of tenderness the knight showed to Marian; clearly Gisborne was not the one dimensional figure of evil everyone had painted him as. Spoiling the effect somewhat Guy added, “Without my consent.”
"Tidy yourself up, while I calm down the tailor," said Guy, releasing his grip and turning to leave the room. Allan noticed a small hand looking glass on a chest by the window. He picked it up and manoeuvred it until he could see his own neck. There were no signs of any trauma there; leastways not on the outside.
Author: mideltone_one
Word Count: 608
Rating: PG
Characters/Pairings: Allan, Guy
Spoilers/Warnings: None
Summary: Allan reacts badly to his tailor
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.
"If you continue to behave like an outlaw, I shall most assuredly treat you like one," said Guy, the cold brooding anger clear in his voice, "the torture cell is always available for you."
Allan had guessed as much. Indeed, even if it were occupied, he imagined Guy would take great personal pleasure in making sure it was very quickly vacated especially for him. "I'm, I'm sorry my lord," he stuttered, his hands clasping around the back of his neck, "it all 'appened so quick."
"Have you any idea how difficult it is to find a highly skilled tailor?" The question was rhetorical, though it didn't stop Allan starting to answer it, then falling silent as his master continued. "I had a hard enough time persuading the sheriff to employ him in the first place. You are not going to be the cause of my returning to dressing like an everyday run of the mill knight."
Silence hung in the air for a few moments before Allan realised he was supposed to fill the void. "Like I mentioned," he said slowly, "I'm really sorry. I shouldn't 'ave done it. I'll apologise immediately."
"I'll have to calm him down first," muttered Guy, clearly still annoyed, "He'll ask me what possessed you to do it. Frankly I don't understand it myself. Why did you draw a knife on him?"
"'E touched me," replied Allan nervously.
"Of course he touched you," replied Guy with a hint of annoyance, “he’s a tailor. How else is he going to measure you?"
"'E touched me somewhere I don't like bein' touched." He seemed to shrink away into the corner of the room somewhat as he said the words, as if giving them voice somehow gave them the power of weapons.
Guy sniggered. "If you want your breeches to fit, you have to let him do that."
"Not there," said Allan, risking his safety by raising his voice to his master, "'e didn't touch me down there."
Gisborne shook his head. He'd thought he'd known what the problem was, but clearly he had been wrong. "Where then?" he asked, not at all sure he wanted to know the answer.
Allan's hand went to his neck again. "I was fine till 'e measured me collar. 'E insisted that tight fittin' ones were the fashion, and 'e wouldn't stop, and then he gets 'is length of cord out and puts it round me throat, and I just flipped. Me knife was out before I knew what I was doing."
"Why would your collar size being measured make you react like that?" asked Guy, a softer tone suddenly entering his voice.
"Last time I was 'ere, with something tight round me neck," replied Allan, a tear dripping down his cheek, "no one, least of all me, was expecting I'd live to see another day."
He was more than a little shocked to find his master's arms encircling him, holding him as more tears trickled down his face. "Nobody," whispered Guy, "is going to kill you while you're in my employ." Allan wondered if this was the sort of tenderness the knight showed to Marian; clearly Gisborne was not the one dimensional figure of evil everyone had painted him as. Spoiling the effect somewhat Guy added, “Without my consent.”
"Tidy yourself up, while I calm down the tailor," said Guy, releasing his grip and turning to leave the room. Allan noticed a small hand looking glass on a chest by the window. He picked it up and manoeuvred it until he could see his own neck. There were no signs of any trauma there; leastways not on the outside.