Intercomm - Short Fic - Deposed
Title: Deposed
Author: Nettlestone Nell
Word Count: 1029
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Robin/Marian, Much, Sheriff
Spoilers/Warnings: A very silly sequel to my other INTERCOMM 2011 submission at 'Treat Much Right', " A Bit Too Much". You should read that first. It won't take long, promise.
References Season One, Season Two, and early portions of Season Three.
Summary: Much has had Lady Marian subpoenaed to give evidence in his ongoing defamation suit against BBC/Tiger Aspect.
Disclaimer: No one can truly own the legend of Robin Hood, but BBC/Tiger Aspect seem to hold rights to this particular iteration.
Category: Action/Adventure, Comedy; Short Fic
Deposed
The room was small for a boardroom at one of the nation's, yea, the world's, largest broadcasting networks. The broadcasting empire to cover the Empire clearly was not interested in giving anyone present ideas about what monies they might be making, or possible numbers of zeros on potential settlement cheques should the ongoing legal action swerve off into that territory.
The arbiter spoke, "Ladies and gentlemen, please keep in mind that this deposition is meant to be treated just as would testifying in a court of law. Once you are sworn in and your statement taken, please think of it as such, though at this point we are involved in a mere mediation, and both side doubtless hope to keep it that way. Thank you."
All eyes (and the ears of the stenographer present) turned to the remarkably handsome woman set to be deposed in this session.
The plaintiff, a chap who went solely by his first name, 'Much', sat on her side of the long table, across from the legal team of the network, and various executives.
"State your name for the record," asked the appointed solicitor.
"Lady Marian," she said, "of Knighton, in the shire of Nottingham."
"Occupation?"
"Full-time daughter and caregiver to Sir Edward of Knighton." At a whispered prompt from the plaintiff's lawyer she added, "part-time outlaw."
"Current status?"
Here the air in the room seemed to stop moving. The plaintiff held his breath. It was his big moment. Nearly his entire case hinged on this singular fact.
"Deceased."
"Say again, ma'am, loud enough for the court reporter and all recording devices."
She spoke again, clearly and without hesitance. "Deceased."
"And were you, as the defendants assert, murdered?"
"Yes."
"And do you know by whom?"
She leaned in to the microphone. "Sir Guy, of Gisborne."
The plaintiff turned virtually apoplectic at this. His counsel nearly had to ask for a recess.
"And do you know this gentleman's present whereabouts?"
Finally, something that seemed to slightly ruffle her. "No. I have not seen him for...many years."
"But you do freely assert and bear witness to all facts and storylines as represented in the defendants' episodes, "A Good Day to Die" and "We Are Robin Hood" as being accurate and faithful depictions of the truth, as you know it?"
"Yes," she agreed. "Wholeheartedly."
"Very well," the arbiter broke in. "It would seem we have all we need, here. Good day, Madam, you are dismissed, and may show yourself out." He bent his head back to his iPad, ready to prepare for the next round of discovery.
Marian tried not to notice Much's utter lack of composure in the wake of her shocking-to-him sworn testimony. In one graceful movement, with several solicitors' help with her chair and the boardroom door, she exited the room.
The man she had been expecting met up with her at the lift. He had not been present in the boardroom. It was a long ride down the many floors of the London skyscraper, but they were not disturbed by others coming on.
"So, Lady Marian," he said. "Long time no see. How'd'ya say things went for you today? As we discussed?" He knew her too well to attempt to purr this at her. For him, he was quite low key.
She noted that even the current PETA-friendly fashion climate had not dimmed his love of accessorizing with black fur.
"Do you find yourself alive today? And well? Or...quite other?"
"I did as you instructed," she assured him, coolly.
"Yeeeees?"
A frown creased her brow, but she kept her gaze straight ahead, at her own blurred semi-reflection in the polished steel doors. "Though I cannot see why it should matter to you, after all this time."
"Matter? Simple matter of saving face, my sweet girl. Saving face. All this time or not, the killing of you--Gisborne finally bent to my will? My shining moment, girl, the apex of my career! I shot the King! Strung and aimed the arrow on a bow of my own! Gave it to Blondie in the gut, didn't I? Icarus flew not so high! Brandishing a sword, getting Hood strung up in the desert by his own King and greatest friend and admirer? Left to fry and die?" He laughed as though he had only just left him there. "Anticipated your little act of trying to turn Gis, didn't I? Put a stop to that, wot? I was a wonder, a masterpiece! As these people might say, I was a bloody Picasso, with epic proportions of evil genius-itude!" His voice calmed for a moment as he went on, "besides, without you dead and out of my way, the glorious season of my domination would never have followed!"
"Season three?" she questioned him, perplexed. "A 'glorious season of your domination'? Really?"
He widened his eyes and gave a shake of head as if to say, 'Duh'.
"You haven't even watched it, have you?"
"Of course I've watched it," he sneered. "Don't be silly. The black dude with the ninja-monk mojo coming to town, Gis' bold new coif. Everybody loves Prince John, blah de blah de blah." He saw the unconvinced look she was giving him. They were descending very close to street-level, now, easy listening music humming softly through the lift's speaker. "Alright," he confessed, "a clue: no. So maybe I didn't make it all the way through." He shrugged, "What of it?"
She did not pursue the point further. "I have done what you asked," she told him, reminding him of the devil's pact he had blackmailed her into. "So where's Robin?"
Ding. The lift opened onto the street-level lobby, the glass revolving doors to exit the office tower but steps away. An excessively long black limousine had pulled up to the doorman's desk outside.
The long car's back door opened, and from the impenetrable blackness within a figure was thrown out onto the sidewalk. He fell into the pavement hard, and rolled up onto his elbows and knees. Marian ran toward Robin as the Sheriff fled the scene in the long, dark car.
As it pulled away, tires screeching slightly in the turning, he popped his head out of the rear sunroof, shouting back at her and the man she had just perjured herself for, "Pleasure as always, Marian, doing business with you. 'Ta!" And with that, he was little more than tire marks and vanishing exhaust.
Read on to the next 'segment' of Much's ongoing legal action... The Long Dark Knight of the Soul
Author: Nettlestone Nell
Word Count: 1029
Rating: G
Characters/Pairings: Robin/Marian, Much, Sheriff
Spoilers/Warnings: A very silly sequel to my other INTERCOMM 2011 submission at 'Treat Much Right', " A Bit Too Much". You should read that first. It won't take long, promise.
References Season One, Season Two, and early portions of Season Three.
Summary: Much has had Lady Marian subpoenaed to give evidence in his ongoing defamation suit against BBC/Tiger Aspect.
Disclaimer: No one can truly own the legend of Robin Hood, but BBC/Tiger Aspect seem to hold rights to this particular iteration.
Category: Action/Adventure, Comedy; Short Fic
Deposed
The room was small for a boardroom at one of the nation's, yea, the world's, largest broadcasting networks. The broadcasting empire to cover the Empire clearly was not interested in giving anyone present ideas about what monies they might be making, or possible numbers of zeros on potential settlement cheques should the ongoing legal action swerve off into that territory.
The arbiter spoke, "Ladies and gentlemen, please keep in mind that this deposition is meant to be treated just as would testifying in a court of law. Once you are sworn in and your statement taken, please think of it as such, though at this point we are involved in a mere mediation, and both side doubtless hope to keep it that way. Thank you."
All eyes (and the ears of the stenographer present) turned to the remarkably handsome woman set to be deposed in this session.
The plaintiff, a chap who went solely by his first name, 'Much', sat on her side of the long table, across from the legal team of the network, and various executives.
"State your name for the record," asked the appointed solicitor.
"Lady Marian," she said, "of Knighton, in the shire of Nottingham."
"Occupation?"
"Full-time daughter and caregiver to Sir Edward of Knighton." At a whispered prompt from the plaintiff's lawyer she added, "part-time outlaw."
"Current status?"
Here the air in the room seemed to stop moving. The plaintiff held his breath. It was his big moment. Nearly his entire case hinged on this singular fact.
"Deceased."
"Say again, ma'am, loud enough for the court reporter and all recording devices."
She spoke again, clearly and without hesitance. "Deceased."
"And were you, as the defendants assert, murdered?"
"Yes."
"And do you know by whom?"
She leaned in to the microphone. "Sir Guy, of Gisborne."
The plaintiff turned virtually apoplectic at this. His counsel nearly had to ask for a recess.
"And do you know this gentleman's present whereabouts?"
Finally, something that seemed to slightly ruffle her. "No. I have not seen him for...many years."
"But you do freely assert and bear witness to all facts and storylines as represented in the defendants' episodes, "A Good Day to Die" and "We Are Robin Hood" as being accurate and faithful depictions of the truth, as you know it?"
"Yes," she agreed. "Wholeheartedly."
"Very well," the arbiter broke in. "It would seem we have all we need, here. Good day, Madam, you are dismissed, and may show yourself out." He bent his head back to his iPad, ready to prepare for the next round of discovery.
Marian tried not to notice Much's utter lack of composure in the wake of her shocking-to-him sworn testimony. In one graceful movement, with several solicitors' help with her chair and the boardroom door, she exited the room.
The man she had been expecting met up with her at the lift. He had not been present in the boardroom. It was a long ride down the many floors of the London skyscraper, but they were not disturbed by others coming on.
"So, Lady Marian," he said. "Long time no see. How'd'ya say things went for you today? As we discussed?" He knew her too well to attempt to purr this at her. For him, he was quite low key.
She noted that even the current PETA-friendly fashion climate had not dimmed his love of accessorizing with black fur.
"Do you find yourself alive today? And well? Or...quite other?"
"I did as you instructed," she assured him, coolly.
"Yeeeees?"
A frown creased her brow, but she kept her gaze straight ahead, at her own blurred semi-reflection in the polished steel doors. "Though I cannot see why it should matter to you, after all this time."
"Matter? Simple matter of saving face, my sweet girl. Saving face. All this time or not, the killing of you--Gisborne finally bent to my will? My shining moment, girl, the apex of my career! I shot the King! Strung and aimed the arrow on a bow of my own! Gave it to Blondie in the gut, didn't I? Icarus flew not so high! Brandishing a sword, getting Hood strung up in the desert by his own King and greatest friend and admirer? Left to fry and die?" He laughed as though he had only just left him there. "Anticipated your little act of trying to turn Gis, didn't I? Put a stop to that, wot? I was a wonder, a masterpiece! As these people might say, I was a bloody Picasso, with epic proportions of evil genius-itude!" His voice calmed for a moment as he went on, "besides, without you dead and out of my way, the glorious season of my domination would never have followed!"
"Season three?" she questioned him, perplexed. "A 'glorious season of your domination'? Really?"
He widened his eyes and gave a shake of head as if to say, 'Duh'.
"You haven't even watched it, have you?"
"Of course I've watched it," he sneered. "Don't be silly. The black dude with the ninja-monk mojo coming to town, Gis' bold new coif. Everybody loves Prince John, blah de blah de blah." He saw the unconvinced look she was giving him. They were descending very close to street-level, now, easy listening music humming softly through the lift's speaker. "Alright," he confessed, "a clue: no. So maybe I didn't make it all the way through." He shrugged, "What of it?"
She did not pursue the point further. "I have done what you asked," she told him, reminding him of the devil's pact he had blackmailed her into. "So where's Robin?"
Ding. The lift opened onto the street-level lobby, the glass revolving doors to exit the office tower but steps away. An excessively long black limousine had pulled up to the doorman's desk outside.
The long car's back door opened, and from the impenetrable blackness within a figure was thrown out onto the sidewalk. He fell into the pavement hard, and rolled up onto his elbows and knees. Marian ran toward Robin as the Sheriff fled the scene in the long, dark car.
As it pulled away, tires screeching slightly in the turning, he popped his head out of the rear sunroof, shouting back at her and the man she had just perjured herself for, "Pleasure as always, Marian, doing business with you. 'Ta!" And with that, he was little more than tire marks and vanishing exhaust.
Read on to the next 'segment' of Much's ongoing legal action... The Long Dark Knight of the Soul