I. The Fourth Drink Instinct [open]

[wellsy]

Simon smiled wolfishly into the kiss as Alice all but relaxed, even though part of his brain was wishing his hit her again instead of kissing her. Having her compliant in his hands was exhilarating, and felt uncontrollably right, though it seemed more likely the booze was doing that, rather than any emotional reaction. Simon didn’t do emotion, hadn’t for years. Even before he’d joined the Greensleeves any caring part of him had been worn away by the constant hardships of life leaving only anger and bitterness. And later, when Vaysey became Sheriff, the incessant fear of unfair prosecution had hammered the final nail in the coffin. When he’d been outlawed, somehow it had felt like liberation, like he could do what ever he wanted, and the fear had completely gone.

That was probably partially the reason why, then, when he felt a rough hand on his shoulder and a fist connect with his face, he laughed when he realised who had punched him. He staggered backwards, stunned both physically and mentally by the blow, but as he blinked back his wits he felt the laughter rise up in his throat. His lower lip was bleeding and would probably swell up by the morning, matching the red mark that was still on his cheek from Alice’s slap, but the situation seemed to funny, so typically ironic of his whole goddamn life. But he laughed. He always laughed, or yelled, or punched, because it was easier than admitting the fear had never really gone away.

“Sorry Romeo” Simon said, drawing out the last word mockingly “I think I mighta taken something of yours” He raised his hand to his lip noncommittally to check for damage, laughing again when he saw the smear of blood on his fingers. He wasn't even aware of Alice any more, the world had shrunk to just him and the other man. Maybe he was a bit scared of what Tristan Ash would do to him, having found him with his tongue down Alice's the throat, Romeo's current toy, but he found he didn’t care. Maybe a knife in the ribs would be welcome, or maybe he could laugh that off as well.

[OOC - Sorry it's so late and non-uber D= I think Trissy's angstyness rubbed of on Si a bit XD]

[Alice Brandon]

Alice's attempts at pushing Simon off were futile, but it seemed like the strong hand and fist of Tristan Ash did the trick. Unfortunately her blush was barely noticeable against the bruises on her face, but the look of horror and fright echoed loudly in her eyes. She didn't know what to do. Of course there was a part of her that liked seeing Simon get punched, but at the same time she didn't want him to get too hurt. All he did was kiss her . . . in front of Tristan.

"Tristan!" she cried out. If she tried to stop him from hurting Simon, would he think that she was standing up for Simon? Everything was looking bad for her right now. And why had she kissed Simon back? Now she found herself hating him, and hating herself. There was a strong pain in her chest where her heart was, but she didn't have the time to think about it. She did imagine at that moment that she had lost all possibilities with Tristan, though and that scared her.

"Tristan no," she said again, running up to him to grab his arm. She was afraid that Simon would pull a knife on Tristan and hurt him. She didn't want to see Tristan injured or dead, but there was not enough time to express those thoughts. Instead she thought about getting him out of there and dealing with his wrath later. She just reached him and her hand touched his arm as she went to grab it.

[Tristan Ash]

If Simon had intended to anger Tristan more than he already was, then the cur could have counted his attempt a success. The fallen-from-grace noble was satisfied to see the split lip of his fellow and would have been happy to leave it at that (for the moment) until Simon opened his too-clever mouth to retort. The pure, unadulterated rage that bubbled upwards along Tristan’s throat erupted in a volcanic spewing of a growl and the soldier rushed his foe with every intent on killing him. Perhaps his actions were, in retrospect, rather egotistical and he probably would have regretted them if he had’ve killed Simon, but that was men for you. As luck would have, the lady who had inspired he scuffle intervened.

”Get off!” Tristan ordered Alice, tugging his arm from her grip roughly. The fact that she was standing up for the man who she hadn’t exactly being trying to extricate herself from only angered Tristan more. He was simply unaware of his power, however, and as he jerked himself away from her his hand caught the fine line of her jaw. Such was his rage that he didn’t notice. The adrenaline was too busy pumping and his heart was too busy thumping and all Tristan wanted to do was inflict as much pain as possible on his so-called comrade. He would deal with Alice later.

He rushed forward again and stretched out both hands to grab Simon by his shirt collar, intent on slamming him into the wall. Before he could do such, however, he seemed to reember himself and hs dignity. He let go of Simon as quickly as he had sought to grasp him, looking at his own hands in horror. He met Simon's gaze before stepping back in disbelief, both at the situation and at his own actions. This was to say nothing of the absolute disgust and betrayal he felt with both Simon and Alice alike. Finally, his gaze turned to Alice.

He had honestly thought she was different. When he had vowed never to take a woman seriously again it was because our little Romeo had had his heart broken before. Now, as he looked into the pleading eyes of the woman who he had let slip through the nets, he felt ever so bitter. He was determined now to shut them all out again. He would return to the camp and get his things. He was sick of being taunted and treated differently because of his past. He was sick of fighting for selfish reasons. And most of all, he was sick of England.

"You can't take something of mine," he spat the words at Simon, though his eyes remained cemented on Alice, "That was never mine to begin with." With that, Tristan turned and hurriedly started to make his way back into the forest.

[wellsy]

Simon felt his laughter die in his throat as Alice attempted to intervene in the developing fight. Was she trying to stop him from getting hurt? He was torn between sneering at her futile efforts and a gloating satisfaction that it was he she was trying to keep safe, not Tristan. And there was something else there, a little niggling emotion that was far to close to “touched” for Simon’s liking. So he ignored it and spat on the floor instead. He was not going to admit having feeling for that Brandon bitch.

Then Tristan hit her, and Simon saw red. It didn’t matter that he himself had hit her only a few minutes before, that was different. Tristan couldn’t do that, he wasn’t allowed. How dare he? And that was when Simon snapped. It’d been fine in the bar, when he’d not been able to see her, but the sight of Alice sprawled on the floor wrenched his heart in a way he had no longer thought possible “Ash, you bastard!” He roared, striding forwards to meet the other outlaw. The now unadulterated emotions rushing through him made him careless, though, and Tristan soon had him by the collar. But before he could fight back he was suddenly released, his challenger seeming to lose his fire.

Taken unawares by the abrupt ending to the confrontation, Simon found himself, uncharacteristically, not running after Tristan to punch him as hard as he could. Instead, the next thing he knew he was at Alice’s side. He didn’t say anything, didn’t ask if she was alright. Even if he had opened his mouth, he didn’t think words would have come. He put his arm round her waist and took her hand with his free one to help her unsteadily to her feet. That’s when their eyes met, and all of a sudden, Simon was a fish out of water. He didn’t know what he was doing - this wasn’t who he was any more.

Turning away from Alice as fast as he could, he set off after Tristan. That he understood. Violence was part of who he was, it made sense. He felt that if he’d looked into Alice’s eyes any longer he might have drowned, and that was far to close to metaphysical speculation for an uneducated outlaw. He didn’t think his brain - or his heart - could cope with it.

So he’d shut it out, just like he always had.

“Oi, Romeo,” He yelled as he gained on the other man, forcing himself to infuse some sneer into his voice, convincing himself it was just payback for the earlier punch. He caught Tristan by the shoulder, spinning him back round so they were facing each other “That’s no way to treat a lady.” He snarled, throwing yet another punch, this time aiming straight for his comrade’s nose.

[Hope thats okay, I know there was a bit of godmoding there D=]

[Alice Brandon]

Before Alice knew it, Tristan's arm and knocked her jaw quite roughly and she was on the ground. There was no pain, only numbness, but she could only imagine what a sight she would be the next morning. But as she hit the ground, her body went limp and her vision blurred and then darkened into oblivion. She had never fainted before, but at the moment she could be forgiven. How many blows to the face can a girl really endure? The next thing she saw was Simon by her side, his strong arm gently wrapped around her waist and his other hand holding hers. Shouldn't it have been Tristan by her side, apologizing and helping her to her feet; her knight in shining armor. But instead it was her black knight, the one who just recently struck her in the inn, helping her to her feet and defending her.

When Simon looked into her eyes, it was almost as if she saw the real Simon, the one who was guarded behind prison walls, never allowed out of this shell of Simon. Her body gave a small shiver as she looked back and she could feel knew emotions forming. Her heart still ached and earned for Tristan, though she was slowly realizing that it was Tristan who had rendered her unconscious just a few moments ago. "Simon," she whispered right before he let her go and ran up to Tristan. She heard him speak and saw him begin his punch toward Tristan. Mixed emotions overwhelmed her and before she fainted again she screamed out, "no!" She didn't know who it was directed to, but she did know that she didn't want to wake up again.

[Tristan Ash]

Tristan had heard Simon's footfalls behind him, and no sooner had he turned to see how far off the cad was then Simon grabbed him and he caught a fist on his nose. Reeling back from the blow, Tristan stumbled and fell to the groun on the edges of the village. The light had receded back towards the inn and there was nothing but shifting shadows to guide his senses as to where (or when) the next assault would be. He sat still, waiting for a kick in the ribs or a blade between them and it wasn't until he heard Alice cry out again that he found he could move.

Spinning to his feet the way he had been used to doing in the Holy Land, Tristan circled Simon on soft, cat-like feet. He had no sword (and it was probably just as well) so his hands were clawed outwards and held low, waiting to meet Simon's attack if he should make one. He looked, for the lack of a better word, heartbroken. For all his street-smarts and outlaw savvyness Tristan was genuinely naiive and expected things within the Greensleeves to have been built on a better foundation than the one that was currently crumbling under him. He shot Alice a 'look' and then nodded solemnly.

"You're right," he informed Simon before he looked back over at Alice. "Forgive me, My Lady," he added mockingly. As far as Tristan Ash was concerned, he was done with the both of them. "Now if you two don't mind, I've got a pretty Lady in Merton who's been awfully lonely."

[wellsy]

Simon mirrored Tristan’s movements, circling around him in approximately the same way, although lack of training and prior consumption of alcohol made him a lot les graceful or sure on his feet. However, despite his disinhibition, he wasn't sure he wanted to make the first move. Tristan had been properly taught how to win fights, although granted, they were more the kind of fights that were fought on a larger scale with armour and weapons. Even so, the guy had got to be a better fighter than Simon, especially now Simon was somewhat drunk, and he did have some sense of self preservation. His earlier spurt of ultra-recklessness seemed to have died out when he looked at Alice.

A moment later, Tristan said something Simon didn't even register and seemed to be done with the fight. Simon blinked a couple of times. He'd been distracted by thinking of Alice. That wasn’t right, he never let things distract him. He frowned and shook his head as if trying to clear it. He wasn't feeling quite right and for once it wasn’t to do with the alcohol. Well, not entirely at least. He glanced back at where Alice was. She was on the floor again, even though he'd only helped her up a moment before. Seeing her lying prostrate on the ground conjured up strange, painful feelings in Simon, and not the kind he aught to be feeling upon seeing woman recumbent before him "I-" He began, not even sure what it was he was trying to say, let alone taking into the fact that Alice probably couldn’t hear him. This wasn’t right. This whole situation was screwed up, and he didn't want to be in it one second longer. Turning on his heal, he walked towards the forest, as if suddenly lucid for the first time in a long time.