The Other Side [Tag Guy]

[Allan A Dale]

(OOC: YAYAYAY thanks Jen *snugs* Also, I have no idea what happened. I had a plan and I forgot it so I blagged and.. blah. Cack post. Sorry dude...)

Allan stared into his half-empty mug of ale and sighed loudly, lifting his head up to look out of the window. It was starting to get dark now, the sun setting slowly behind houses and workplaces, the last stalls closing down for the day as the patrons wandered home to be with their families for the evening.

Allan himself had been feeling a little claustrophobic back in the camp, especially after his brief and rather silly argument with Much. So what if he wanted to go off and see someone and didn't want to admit that was what he was doing? Robin and Marian did it all the time, so it was fair play, surely? Besides, the former manservant didn't have to be so bloody suspicious of him. Yes, he'd done the wrong thing... many a time... but that was beside the point. This was his second chance, so he should be given the benefit of the doubt.

Or, that was Allan's theory, anyway. It made a lot more sense than it had done earlier, but then he'd had a reasonably nice (and overpriced) meal and a few pints. Of course, it would have been more fun if he'd had company, but these weren't days of freedom anymore. He was an outlaw again. The lass who had been his go-between with Gisborne had left shortly after his defection, fearing for her life after seeing the murderous look on Robin's face. It was a good thing, really - it meant few other people recognised him, and he could hardly sit at his table with his hood up the entire time. That was just begging for questions and guards to come knocking.

He sighed and rubbed his head. He didn't know why he'd come to this tavern, of all the ones in the shire - he just felt drawn to it, he supposed, as he had done when he first arrived in Nottingham. It seemed familiar, the sort that were filled with his kind of people up and down the country - gullible people. It was how he'd paid for his meal and his drinks so far that evening, although he knew if he carried on, someone would take him out to the alley and have a few "words", so he was nursing his second-to-last ale carefully.

He didn't want to go back to the camp yet, not to face off with Much again. He did try his best to be friendly, or at least try to treat the man as he did everyone else, but it seemed Much didn't appreciate that. What did he want, to be treated like a woman? Allan wasn't going to go that far, not for him. It wasn't worth the hassle.

Grumbling, he picked up his last dirty, battered coin and started marking the table before him, scratching a long line into the grain to join many more of its ilk. He wondered idly if he could draw something in the surface, maybe sell it.

Or not, the bloke behind the bar was giving him funny looks.

Downing the last of his ale in one mouthful, he lifted the mug back up and shouted, "Oi, could I get another ov'r 'ere?"

Last one, honest. Then home.

[gissy]

Guy flung the door of the Tripp Inn open, revelling in the sound it made as it connected with the wall behind him. Only those closest do the door noticed - the place was full of noise; there were people shouting to be heard, and what looked that the starts of a fight were brewing in one corner. A few people turned to give him looks for letting a gust of cold air in, but as soon as they saw who it was, they turned straight back away again.

Guy smirked. It was about time people started paying him some respect. He'd had to spend the whole day listening to Mannering’s quips about Marian. The man seemed intent on slipping her name into the conversation at every possible opportunity, and the Sheriff did noting to abate it, despite Guy's evident displeasure. He half thought the old troll had been enjoying seeing him squirm.

That was why he'd brutally attacked the Inn's door, entering the pitiful establishment in a foul mood. It was lucky for the patrons who'd stared at him that they had not yet consumed enough ale to challenge him. The way he felt, he wouldn’t be adverse to running someone through just to get them out of his way.

In fact, the day he'd had was probably the reason he'd come to the Tripp in the first place, let alone abused it's entrance. He'd stalked out of the castle as soon as he'd been able, heading almost automatically to the inn. He'd run his fingers momentarily over the post that he'd the pubs sign, feeling something hideously like disappointment at the lack of chalk dust on his black leather gloves. But that definitely-not -disappointment soon melted back into the slow-cooking rage in his belly.

He'd visited the place several times after Allan's disappearance, more out of habit than necessity - he could easily have found a fetching kitchen maid to bring ale to his quarters, and once that would have sufficed, but now he found his thirst needed to be sated in other, perhaps more literal ways.

Satisfied that there was no one who needed to be intimately acquainted with his sword at that moment, Guy walked straight towards the bar. It was only as he got closer that he saw something that made his god-awful day recede temporarily to the back of his mind. A predatory smile curing the corners of his mouth, he reached Allan A Dale and curled his fingers into the hair at the base of the man’s neck “Well well well, what have we here?” He growled, knowing he’d have no trouble from the well paid barman “I thought it was our arrangement that you left a sign when you wanted to meet.”

[OOC - No, tis wonderful Alsaslasa <3]

[Allan A Dale]

Allan hadn't noticed anyone approaching, too absorbed in his new pint, and as such he nearly jumped out of his skin as familiar, worn leather wound its way into his hair, leaning on the back of his neck.

Well, this wasn't good.

"Hey, it's Gizzy!" he exclaimed with mock joy, not turning round for fear the grip would tighten and he would be shorter a few hairs. He knew he should have gotten Much to cut it when he was offering, although he wasn't sure the manservant had been including the offer to Allan or just the rest of the gang.

"Wrong person, mate," Allan replied to his comment. He should have thought properly, there was a perfectly good tavern down in Nettlestone, why hadn't he gone there - where he wouldn't meet anyone he knew? It certainly wasn't his smartest move, at any rate. ”But what brings you down here?”

If Allan was honest about it, he was utterly terrified. Guy was exuding violent emotions, even without looking at him he could tell the man wasn’t exactly in a good mood, and probably for good reason – life hadn’t exactly been going his way lately, had it? He cringed a little as guilt struck him – he’d run off on the man, and while not exactly unexpected it still wasn’t a nice thing to do.

Understatement.

He’d befriended Guy, sort of, and he kinda wanted to get to know him better, but there was no chance of that now. As it was, Allan was praying to either survive the night or for God to know he hadn’t meant any of the curses he’d bestowed upon the high being previously, and hoped the big guy would forgive him instead of chucking him into fiery pits.

(OOC: -.-;; I didn’t know how to reply… Sorry!)

[gissy]

Even in the beer-sopped tavern, Guy could smell the alcohol on Allan’s breath. He wrinkled his nose in revulsion - his boy never seemed to know when he’d had enough. When Allan had been working for him, guy had count him sleeping countless times, no doubt attempting to escape a particularly nasty hangover. Still, Drunk Allan tended to be less noble and more likely to divulge information, and better fun to play with. Even if he was pretending he wasn’t a turncoat any more, Guy knew that part of Allan was itching to put his leathers back on because, regrettably, there were ways he was similar to the drunkard in front of him. Plus, he couldn’t imagine Saint Hood was keen on his men spending the pennies meant for the poor on ale.

Guy smirked at Allan’s failed attempt at small talk, and ignored his feeble protest of innocence. The traitor was obviously more drunk than he’d thought. He curled his fingers tighter into the hair at the nape of Allan’s neck “Oh, just a spot of business” The smile on his face was dangerous, but no one else in the inn noticed the display of violence - or if they did, they knew what was good for them and pretended they hadn’t “Now,” He said, taking on the patronising tone he loved to use on Allan, just to see him squirm “Let’s see if our usual room is available, shall we?” He looked sharply at the bartender. It wasn’t a question of whether the room was available, it was a question of whether the man wanted a knife in his guts or not. Evidently he didn’t, as he nodded quickly, and went back to polishing glasses, not wanting to make eye contact for very long. It was a hazardous occupation were Guy of Gisborne was concerned. “Good” The smile pulled at the corners of Guy’s mouth again as he relaxed his grip on Allan’s hair. “After you”

[OOC - urgh, sorry it's so short and crap >.< that was so not worth waiting 2 months for]

[Allan A Dale]

(OOC: Tis fine, dude)

Well, it wasn’t like Allan was trying to hide the fact he was a little more than tipsy, but if Guy was going to be like that, he could just not bother smelling his breath in the first place. Bloody odd thing to do, anyway. And it was true; a number of the times Allan had been caught napping, it had been to get over a hangover, but it was also partly habit – he’d gotten so used to be alone over the years that he’d taken sleep when and where he could, in short little bursts and catnaps, so he didn’t get caught out and mugged when he was alone. It was a difficult habit to get rid of, he’d found.

Allan’s morals were dubious, and despite his (rather frequent) forays into the world of “what if I had stayed?”, he’d resolved to be a good boy and do his best to make the gang proud. For the most part. No one could expect him to be perfect, could they? The uniform had been comfortable, though, and Guy had never actually given him the leather clothes he’d been promised… He mentally shook himself. No, bad Allan!

Oh, bugger. Apparently Guy didn’t have it in his heart to be nice for a change (nice? Gee, maybe the outlaw was expecting a bit too much from the man after all) and was already planning on tormenting him somewhat. This could turn out to be painful but, hey, at least this time he’d have a decent amount of alcohol in him to numb the pain. Whether simply part of an insatiable desire to see the nobleman wound up, or a warped need to get himself into more trouble, Allan raised his eyebrows as Guy started talking about finding a room and grinned. He wasn’t going to let Guy get to him, not this time.

”If you’d wanted some personal time, you could have just asked, you know?” he quipped, still grinning. He felt Guy’s grip relax a little and dared to pull himself forward, stumbling a little bit as he was directed into that oh-so-familiar wreck of a room, mumbling under his breath about inhospitable lords and didn’t they have better manners than that, fully aware that if Guy heard, he’d probably end up with a black eye.

He always hated it in there, it was just that little bit too small, that little bit too dark – it reeked of the dirty dealings and ill deeds that had been arranged in this back room since the building was erected, the events almost tangible. He tripped over his own foot and barely kept his balance as he fell into the room, looking for a way out despite the fact he knew there wasn’t one, and turned to face Guy, unable to get the smirk off his face. He raised an eyebrow suggestively.

”Now that you’ve got me, what ya gonna do with me?”

[gissy]

Guy’s lip curled at the grin on Allan’s face. If the man thought he could get out of that situation with wisecracks he was mistaken. Part of Guy knew, though, that Allan wasn’t attempting to escape, he was just demonstrating that Guy had no power over him any more, and Guy didn’t like that. He felt is anger start bubbling up again and was tempted to backhand the man right there and then, no matter what the people in the tavern would think or do. But that would have proved Allan was getting to him. Which he wasn’t. Instead, Guy smirked and lent in close to whisper in Allan’s ear. “Next time I will” He purred, and rested his hand on Allan’s leg, the grip a little too tight to be anything other than menacing “And you’ll come running”

Deciding he’d got back the upper hand, Guy let his fingers relax a little in Allan’s hair, and to his malicious delight, the man got unsteadily to his feet. Still, not trusting him not to make a run for it [or a stumble for it, at least], Guy steered him towards the room they’d always met in before. It was dark and cramped – even if you people stood at opposite sides, there’d still be only a few feet between them. IT was one of these walls that Guy shoved Allan up against after his remark. In truth, he didn’t have any specific plan; he’d just seen the opportunity and seized it by the hair. “I can think of a few things” He said in the same dangerous tone he’d used earlier. His hand had moved to the place where Allan neck met his shouldered during the shoving, and he tightened it, digging his fingers into the taut flesh. “Now” He said, letting his voice drop in a way that, if what Allan had been insinuating was true, might have been the sign of a pleasant night to come “Doesn’t this remind you of old times?”

[OOC – Sorry, this post ended up a bit mental XD I blame the heat T_T and I’m listening to Voulez Vous from my fanmix =3

[Allan A Dale]

Gisborne's words sent shivers down Allan's spine as he stumbled into the spare room, and they certainly weren't the good kind. Or maybe it had been his breath. Either way... He'd love to protest that no, he'd never return to a life like that, that he was a changed man, but he wasn't entirely sure himself. He wouldn't mean to, but he could be petulant and he knew it. It wouldn't take much to start him on his mentally spiralling path again, and this time he wouldn't know how to stop himself. Apart from the guilt, of course, but had that stopped him last time?

Of course, his drunken haze probably wasn't helping him think straight, and when he was sober he might have entirely different thoughts on the situation. And, as Allan reminded himself, the only thing that mattered right then was the fact that Gisborne was now squeezing his shoulder, trapping him against a wall and digging fingers into the flesh that would probably leave a mark. He winced a little bit, the only acknowledgment of the obvious power that Guy had right now, and hissed. Glaring at the leather clad man, he considered spitting in his face and wondered if it would get him run through with Gisborne's sword. More than likely, the man clearly wasn't in a good mood. Allan wasn't even sure if he wanted to know exactly what Gisborne had in mind.

”Can't say it's as comfortable,” he quipped, squirming a little bit and praying that Gisborne would let up. Or get it over with, one or the other. Allan was in no fit state to fight, so hopefully not fighting back as much would mean this would be sorted. Hopefully...

(OOC: WOO Voulez-Vous~! <3)

[gissy]

Allan’s witty reply did little to improve Guy’s mood. Even though the outlaw wasn’t fighting back, his sharp tongue couldn’t help but put guy in mind of Sebastian Mannering, a man he’d rather not remember at that very moment. He growled and tightened his fingers around Allan’s neck, a sneer lingering on his face. He wanted to frighten the man, and in his experience uncertainty was a very effective way of doing it. Of course, it was then followed by extreme violence, but when he really wanted to see people squirm, he made them wait for it.

“I can’t say your comfort has ever been one of my concerns.” He replied, his voice low and foreboding. He experimentally loosened his grip, running his hand ever so slowly up Allan’s neck, a dangerous smile on his lips. He wasn’t entirely sure why he was doing what he planned to, perhaps it was something to do with how angry he’d been, although that usually meant immediate lashing out, not slow and drawn out torture. It could always be that Allan just had that effect on him, but he would never admit such a thing, not even to himself.

His gloved hand continued its slow journey up the outlaws neck, whilst he held tight onto he opposite shoulder, lest the man try to move and spoil his plan. Ever so gently, he cupped Allan’s face, before leaning in closer and whispering “It’s your treachery I’m interested in.” And with that he drew back his hand and slapped Allan as hard as he could, no trace of a smile left.

[OOC - Wah, sorry, now I’ve started along the crazy vein I cant seem to stop XD sorry x3]