milliways_bar | (no subject)

Entry tags:

(no subject)

The fact that an archer strolls through the front door, whistling idly and looking like he hasn't a care in the world isn't that unusual, at least not around here.
The fact he's a fox with a liking for green is a little more odd, yes.

Robin stops at the bar only long enough to grab a water sac, then heads out back to the archery range. He's got to keep his eye up to his highest standard, or things may go badly tomorrow.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

A man is sitting under a tree nearby. I say a man, but he makes Little John seem, well, little.

He raises an eyebrow at the fox, then shrugs and waves.

Frankly, Robin believes that these furless creatures are decidedly odd - have you seen what they eat? But they tend to be friendly enough, and haven't yet tried to eat him, so he shrugs, and waves back.

Wilbur comes over, intrigued.

"Hullo thar," he says. "I've never met a foxman befer. My name es Wilbur."

The size difference is ridiculous.

"Well," Robin drawls as he fits the sting of his bow, "I've never had the pleasure of meeting a giant before, so I suppose we're even. Charmed, I'm sure, Wilbur. You may call me Robin."

"Nice ter meet yew, Robin."

Wilbur smiles. "Yer intew archery, I take et? Never bin much good et thet myself."

Not that he needs to be, really. Most people aren't stupid enough to attack a man nine feet tall.

"Not too sure what you mean by into, it's not exactly the sort of thing one can enter, if you follow." Robin replies, not being versed in more modern turns of a phrase.

"I mean thet yer interested en et."

The tentacles seem interested in it too. One slides out from under Wilbur's coat and pokes at the bow.

Um. That is... disturbing. If only for the fact that no one touches his bow, not even Johnny. Robin takes a cautious step back, out of the range of questing tentacles.

"Sorry." Wilbur sighs. "They dew thet."

"Have you thought about teaching... them, manners?" He asks, clearly and deeply unimpressed.

"They react ter whatever I'm thinkin' about. No real minds o' thar own."

It's more complex than that, but Wilbur can't explain it in English. English doesn't have the right words.

Spoon raises his hand and waves, "Hallo there!"

They've talked before. And he's a polite woof.

"Ah, hullo again." Robin waves before setting to work stringing his bow. "It has been quite some time, hasn't it?"

"So it has. I got married and adopted two girls. How've you been?" Spoon is eating.

Some is offered.

"Congratulations old boy! And who's the lucky lady? Or should I say, ladies? You have been rather busy, haven't you?" Robin asks cheerfully, as he helps himself to the food. Hey, it's normal, and it smells delicious, and it's his turn to cook tonight. Food might get scarce in a hurry.

"Ace is me bride, Cora and Penny are our daughters." Spoon states with pride, passing over pictures of all three.

"Good heavens, you must have paid a fortune for these." He mutters, examining the photos. Thankfully, he doesn't mean the girls. He would, actually, be rather shocked if anyone thought he meant the girls.

"Nah. Technology of the future." Spoon says, "Here, give me a minute."

One quick conversation with the Bar later he's snapping a Polaroid of Robin. "See?"

The sudden snap earns a sudden exclamation of surprise, but the blank polaroid film earns Spoon a very confused look.
"Now see here, I like a joke just as well as anyone else, but this... oooooooh." He gets entirely side-tracked when the bit of paper he'd been waving around starts changing colors.

"Innit great?" Spoon asks, beaming, "It's like having a bloody portrait artist in your pocket."

Oh, the things he could do with something like this. Proof, actual proof to give his king when he returns. It is marvellous.

"I say... these... pocket artists, are they terribly expensive?"

Because if they are, Spoon might find himself short one.

"No, not really." Spoon says, "Go ahead and keep that one. I'll cover it."

"You really are too kind." And smart, don't forget smart. But now he can have little portraits of the things Prince John is doing, and the way the Sherrif abuses the people of Nottingham and...

And perhaps one of Marian.

"Here, let me show you how to load it." Spoon says, settling down with refills of the package of blanks.

Robin peers inside the opened camera curiously.
"Is there a tiny imp inside doing the drawing?"

Um. The industrial revolution is still quite some ways away.

"I have no idea." Spoon says, "This is Milliways. It might be."

Someday he's going to try and feed that poor imp down there, and will be a very sad fox.

Right now, he's pleased as punch. Johnny's going to be so impressed, once Robin figures out a way to show it to him that doesn't sound like he's completely gone off his head. Right now, he's happily figuring out how it works. The dazed blinking comes after getting a camera flash at close range.

"Best to have other people take your picture." Spoon says cheerfully.

"Old thing, I doubt I should let anyone have these, save my liege." Robin retorts, fiddling with the flash some more.

Spoon cackles cheerfully, "And the Bar can get you refills. Also a book on how it works, if you want."

Sometime after the fox arrives at the archery range, another man makes his way down, with a bow in hand that's much like the one Robin has (since it was given to him by Will, a man of Sherwood), and a quiver of arrows slung over his shoulder.

As he approaches, he's careful not to startle the fox, and watches him instead.

The fox is good. Johnny wasn't stretching the truth too far when he claimed Robin could win the upcoming archery tournament standing on his head. It seems the fox is being rather creative in his targeting - the entire bulls-eye of the target he's shooting at has been ringed neatly in arrows, and he's now casually filling in the ring.

The tournament is going to be a slaughter.

And the man is impressed.

Doc's still not that good, but if he's going to go back to Sherwood with Will come tax time, he wants to get a little bit better, even if it's most likely that he'll be fighting with sword rather than bow. Plus, it gives him an opportunity to test his recovering strength.

Bow and quiver are set neatly aside while he watches, appreciating the show. He's in no rush. (And might even learn a thing or two!)

Now, if there's one thing Robin loves most in the entire world (excepting the beautiful and lovely Maid Marian), it's to perform. Putting on a show is something that just comes naturally.

So when he starts shooting arrows high and knocking them back on target with a second arrow... yes. He is showing off. A lot.

It's a very good show!

"You're very good," he comments, idly, as to not distract the fox from his concentration (but he's beginning to realize it might be near impossible to do so). "The best I've seen."

"Oh, just a bit of fun." Robin demurrers, sending one last arrow to fill in the gap at dead center. "Thank you all the same."

"You're welcome, sir." Doc smiles a bit. "I take it you've had a bit more practicin' than I have," he adds.

"All my life, since I was old enough to handle a bow." Robin had a very strict master-at-arms, once upon a time. "But it appears that you are an archer as well, sir?"

"Not a very good one, it's just something I've picked up here at Milliways. A friend of mine is teaching me and I figured a bit of practice couldn't hurt this afternoon."

Doc thinks a moment.

"You may have met him, here prior. Will Scarlett, of Sherwood?"

"Ah yes, young Will, the poor unfortunate lad who must deal with my double. He would be a fine one to learn from, I'm sure." Robin declares as he goes to collect his arrows. "He is doing well, I hope?"

"He is," he walks along side the fox to the target, so they do not have to call to each other to continue the conversation. "Last year, I went t'help him while the Sheriff collected tax, an' this year I'm plannin' on doin' the same comin' up shortly."

The grouping of arrows is impressive up close.

"There's a time the Sheriff isn't on his rounds? I do envy that lot then." Robin sighs, pulling his arrows out one by one. "Every time I go into Nottingham, I see him at his work."

"I don't know, t'be honest," he offers, gently. "Will says it's always hard...some times just tend t'be worse than others, I think." Doc focuses on the arrows. "The folk in your world are lucky t'have someone strong as you t'keep watch."

Robin is a mecurial creature, and grins sidelong at him, despite his recent depressive mood.
"If watching were all I did, the Sheriff would be a happier sort of fellow, and his archers would not look quite so harried."

That makes Doc smirk a bit as well. Outlaws are outlaws, after all. "I would imagine you give him and his quite the reason to be unhappy, as you should."

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only