burntcopper (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
burntcopper) wrote2004-11-30 03:10 pm
burntcopper) wrote2004-11-30 03:10 pm
posts from internet cafe
Bah. Shipbrook.com is down, and they're the source of the counter I use. And dammit, I still want to have Hob/Will sex and so on. Suspect shall have to send count in *then* finish the novel.
actual word count : 49,366
place I should be at : 50,000 by midnight...
reason for negligence : none. thpppbt.
word count for today : 2,084
They get settled, dumping their packs and gear in the rooms assigned to them. Much and John get one room, Will and Hob another, and Nasir and Tuck are sharing the third. Hob settles back on the bed. "Ah, a comfortable bed. Was convinced I'd forgotten what that felt like."
Will raises an eyebrow. "You ever slept on a really comfortable bed, Hob?"
"Nah, but I've sat on one before. Can't remember where it was, but it felt nice." Hob replies. "Your back spoiled by sleeping in Sherwood for years, is it, then?"
"Pretty much." Will says, scratching at his stubble as he sits down and sorts through his quiver, checking that the arrows are still fine and the fletching's okay. "You get used to a hard-ish bed, and your back lets you know about it if you spend too much time on a soft one. Plus the soft ones tend to be lumpy. Bracken and fur's comfortable enough long as you're dry and fairly warm."
"And what if you're wet?" Hob asks.
"Then no bed's comfortable, is it?" Will snorts.
----
Hob wakes up in what feels like the middle of the night, and listens. Some groaning and the sound of a bed creaking is coming through the wall. Will blinks awake and rolls over a bit, staring in his direction through the darkness. Not that he can see anything in the gloom, which he finds a bit odd, since there's normally just enough light to make out shapes even at midnight in the middle of winter during a new moon in Sherwood. However, he's staring in the direction Hob's supposed to be in, which is something. Then he listens properly to the sounds coming through the wall. "Who's making all the noise?"
"Someone in one of the rooms over the way." Hob replies, trying to listen harder and make out more of what's going on.
Will cocks his head and frowns, listening, then laughs. "They're bloody well having sex!"
"You're kidding." Hob pauses, then connects up the sounds to what they'd be caused by, then chuckles. Bed creaking, sounds of two voices groaning a bit, not sounding like they're in pain... "You're right. Wonder who it is?"
"Could be anyone." Will shrugs, moving so he's in a more comfortable position. Then a particularly loud groan comes through the wall, and he states firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "That's John."
"How can you tell?" Hob asks, whipping his head around to look at will, even though he knows he won't be able to see his expression in this darkness.
"I've been living cheek by jowl with the freakishly tall bastard for years, I know what he sounds like. And trust me, heard him having enough dreams of all kinds." Will pauses and grins. "If you want to ask someone who's really familiar with what he sounds like, ask Much. Much can bloody tell you what kind of groaning it is, and what he's doing when he hears it. Says there's even a particular one for when a sheep backs into him and stamps on his hand. Which is supposed to be completely different to the trained ear to the groan he does when he's eaten too much. Not that that one happens too much."
"How would Much know?" Hob asks. "And sheep backing into him and stamping on his foot? What happened, did you get lost and attacked by a rabid flock one time?"
"Nah, this was when we all buggered off from Sherwood after the first Robin died. Much and John went off to be shepherds. Dunno how they managed it, I'd be driven out of me skull with boredom." Will informs him. "Living in each other's pockets, no-one else around, loads of sheep..." There's another groan, from a different person this time. They've got a lighter voice than the other one. Will smirks. "Now that was Much."
Hob tries not to laugh. "You're sure?"
" 'M sure." Will says.
Then a very loud cry comes through the wall. "Oh, fuck, Johhhhhn! Yes!" followed by the particularly sound of someone breathing heavily.
Will collapses in laughter. Hob's trying not to join him, but then there's a drawn-out "Christ, fuck!" from what's definitely John, as well as the bed in that room creaking very loudly as someone rather big lands heavily on it. Hob can't hold it in anymore and follows Will over the cliff into the pit of laughing uncontrollably. When they recover their breath, Will wipes the tears of laughter from his eyes. "Now you believe me?"
Hob nods. "Take it Much is very familiar with what John sounds like in that mood, now."
"Yeah, they've been an on-and-off thing over the years too. Sort of as and when it was needed." Will adds. "Was off for a long while in the last year, guess it's now back on."
"Guess." Hob states flatly. "That's not bloody set in stone proof?"
"Nah, for that we'd have to catch them in the act. Don't think they'd be too pleased with us doing that." Will says. " 'M going back to sleep. Got to remember to drop hints about it loudly in the morning."
"Aye, I will." Hob nods, snickering.
"Besides, Tuck might've slept through it. Got to make sure he knows they woke us up with it." Will yawns, re-settling himself so he's in a position comfortable enough to aid the chances of him not waking up in position that causes cramp. Like lying on his arm. "G'night."
"Night, Will." Hob rolls back into position, then gets up and out of bed, padding quietly over to the window to look out onto the almost completely quiet streets of Lichfield for a bit. A man towing a small cart is going past on the other side of the street, and a dog lopes along, snuffling in the gutters for scraps, but that's it. He scratches the back of his head in thought. It already seems a bit off, to be in a town where he can't run for cover immediately and can't hear the sounds of the forest around him. Sherwood's never quiet, since there's always several of the nocturnal animals awake and hunting, even just the owls, and there's nearly always rustling of some sort, even when there's no breeze. The trees' branches creak and sway in most breezes, and it took a while to discern plain old background noise from the rustle of someone or something moving through the forest that wasn't normally there. Now it's loud as a man walking heavily in an echoing empty church, but back then, in the first week or so of being a forester, it was difficult to tell. His hearing for such things has got a lot better since he joined the outlaws. Guess when your life depends on being able to tell such things, you learn fast and you learn well. He reckons very few could sneak up on the rest of them, unless it were one of the others. But still, he's been in the forest too long, first as a forester, and now his few months as an outlaw appear to have made the concept of silence during the night an uncomfortable thing. He shakes his head, turning back to bed and wincing when it creaks as he sits down and swings his legs back under the blanket. Will snuffles as he falls asleep in the next bed. Hob shakes his head and lays his head back down, closing his eyes. However, it still takes a bit for him to fall asleep again. His last thought is that he wonders when he'll get to the point of being able to identify the others just by the grunts they make.
----
In the morning, Much and John wake up curled round each other. Much grins. "Morning, John." Then he gets up, stretching and yawning. He scratches his stomach lazily, looking at the position of the sun from where he can see it. "Doesn't look too early. Reckon the others'll be up?"
"Dunno." John says, swinging his legs out of the bed and rubbing his face. "Can't tell with Tuck, since he'll be torn between breakfast and lying in bed. Nasir was probably up bright and early, and Will and Hob're probably up. Unless they're enjoying have a soft bed too much."
" 'S possible." Much agrees. He stretches again, bending over to reach his trousers when he feels a hand ghost over his bum. He straightens up quickly, and turns round, flushing. "John!"
John just grins. "Couldn't resist. Sorry, lad."
"You're about as sorry as your average one of Gisburne's men are when they trample some peasant's cabbages, you are."
Much scolds, grumbling as he steps into his breeches, pulling them up and belting them. "Get dressed. I'm going downstairs for breakfast whether you're getting up or not."
"I'm getting up, I'm getting up." John says, holding his hands up in appeasement against Much's expression. "Pass my breeches, will you?" Much picks them up, and the next thing John knows, they're wrapped around his head. He reaches up and pulls them off, expression a little disgruntled. "Ta very much, lad." Much just sticks his tongue out in retaliation and pulls his shirt on.
When they're finally get downstairs, they're faced by some very disturbing grins that appear to have been lying in wait on the faces of the outlaws. Will's especially, but then he's always had the market cornered in leering. "Have a good time last night?" Will asks.
"Now, Will, I'm sure they were just getting some perfectly innocent exercise in. Or perhaps one of them strained something." Tuck scolds, but he's not stopped grinning. Bastard.
Nasir starts coughing loudly, which degenerates into weak laughter at 'strained something'.
"I'm sure there's something in the code of signing up to be a priest that stops you making jokes like that." John growls.
"Ask my abbot, not me. I am merely a lowly friar." Tuck says, trying to do his pious priest impression, but it's spoilt by the grin. Then he really grins, properly. "Mind you, he used to crack some terrible jokes when we weren't at prayers or contemplation."
"Yeah, anyway, this exercise do you in well enough?" Will asks. "You especially, Much."
"Shut up, Will." Much retorts, flushing.
"Very thin walls." Hob adds. "Entertaining, it was."
----
On the second day that they're there, Gisburne arrives in Lichfield. He's not going to make the same mistake he did last time of trying to get the help of the local gards, considering their incompetency and sheer inability to get ready quickly last time. However, courtesy and his ego do demand that he point out that he's here, to prevent them getting in his way.
At the offices of the clerk, he walks in and immediately the scrawny little waste of space exclaims upon seeing him "I remember you! Sir Guy of Ginsburgh!"
"Gisburne." Gisburne says, twitching. He'd forgotten this, the ongoing inability to say his name correctly. He attempts to promise himself he won't blow up this time.
"That's what I said, Gainsborough." The clerk says, satisfied. "What brings you to Lichfield? You chasing Robin Hood still?" he turns to the man, an equal waste of space and effort, by his side. "What was it, a year ago, Cousin Ambrose?"
'Cousin Ambrose' nods. "That's right, Sparrow, a year. Well, a bit more." He amends.
"There is a new one, it appears, and have heard intelligence that he is here. I'm merely presenting myself to you to ensure that if our paths overlap we don't get in each other's way. I'm not here with any men, I'm just checking on his appearance since." Gisburne says. "Good day." He turns and walks out, stiffly.
Sparrow watches him go, and when the door closes. "Pity, that, that 'e's not staying." He leans over to Ambrose. "Reward still out on the wolfshead in Nottingham, cousin?"
"That it is, cousin." Ambrose replies. "Still just as high, too."
"You think it's worth getting the lads together to arrest them?" Sparrow asks.
"Might be a bit difficult, since I heard that Amos Scathlock's brother's in town, and he's putting ale on half price."
"Half price on Amos' ale?" Sparrow asks. "Think we might have to investigate that, cousin Ambrose."
actual word count : 49,366
place I should be at : 50,000 by midnight...
reason for negligence : none. thpppbt.
word count for today : 2,084
They get settled, dumping their packs and gear in the rooms assigned to them. Much and John get one room, Will and Hob another, and Nasir and Tuck are sharing the third. Hob settles back on the bed. "Ah, a comfortable bed. Was convinced I'd forgotten what that felt like."
Will raises an eyebrow. "You ever slept on a really comfortable bed, Hob?"
"Nah, but I've sat on one before. Can't remember where it was, but it felt nice." Hob replies. "Your back spoiled by sleeping in Sherwood for years, is it, then?"
"Pretty much." Will says, scratching at his stubble as he sits down and sorts through his quiver, checking that the arrows are still fine and the fletching's okay. "You get used to a hard-ish bed, and your back lets you know about it if you spend too much time on a soft one. Plus the soft ones tend to be lumpy. Bracken and fur's comfortable enough long as you're dry and fairly warm."
"And what if you're wet?" Hob asks.
"Then no bed's comfortable, is it?" Will snorts.
----
Hob wakes up in what feels like the middle of the night, and listens. Some groaning and the sound of a bed creaking is coming through the wall. Will blinks awake and rolls over a bit, staring in his direction through the darkness. Not that he can see anything in the gloom, which he finds a bit odd, since there's normally just enough light to make out shapes even at midnight in the middle of winter during a new moon in Sherwood. However, he's staring in the direction Hob's supposed to be in, which is something. Then he listens properly to the sounds coming through the wall. "Who's making all the noise?"
"Someone in one of the rooms over the way." Hob replies, trying to listen harder and make out more of what's going on.
Will cocks his head and frowns, listening, then laughs. "They're bloody well having sex!"
"You're kidding." Hob pauses, then connects up the sounds to what they'd be caused by, then chuckles. Bed creaking, sounds of two voices groaning a bit, not sounding like they're in pain... "You're right. Wonder who it is?"
"Could be anyone." Will shrugs, moving so he's in a more comfortable position. Then a particularly loud groan comes through the wall, and he states firmly, his tone brooking no argument. "That's John."
"How can you tell?" Hob asks, whipping his head around to look at will, even though he knows he won't be able to see his expression in this darkness.
"I've been living cheek by jowl with the freakishly tall bastard for years, I know what he sounds like. And trust me, heard him having enough dreams of all kinds." Will pauses and grins. "If you want to ask someone who's really familiar with what he sounds like, ask Much. Much can bloody tell you what kind of groaning it is, and what he's doing when he hears it. Says there's even a particular one for when a sheep backs into him and stamps on his hand. Which is supposed to be completely different to the trained ear to the groan he does when he's eaten too much. Not that that one happens too much."
"How would Much know?" Hob asks. "And sheep backing into him and stamping on his foot? What happened, did you get lost and attacked by a rabid flock one time?"
"Nah, this was when we all buggered off from Sherwood after the first Robin died. Much and John went off to be shepherds. Dunno how they managed it, I'd be driven out of me skull with boredom." Will informs him. "Living in each other's pockets, no-one else around, loads of sheep..." There's another groan, from a different person this time. They've got a lighter voice than the other one. Will smirks. "Now that was Much."
Hob tries not to laugh. "You're sure?"
" 'M sure." Will says.
Then a very loud cry comes through the wall. "Oh, fuck, Johhhhhn! Yes!" followed by the particularly sound of someone breathing heavily.
Will collapses in laughter. Hob's trying not to join him, but then there's a drawn-out "Christ, fuck!" from what's definitely John, as well as the bed in that room creaking very loudly as someone rather big lands heavily on it. Hob can't hold it in anymore and follows Will over the cliff into the pit of laughing uncontrollably. When they recover their breath, Will wipes the tears of laughter from his eyes. "Now you believe me?"
Hob nods. "Take it Much is very familiar with what John sounds like in that mood, now."
"Yeah, they've been an on-and-off thing over the years too. Sort of as and when it was needed." Will adds. "Was off for a long while in the last year, guess it's now back on."
"Guess." Hob states flatly. "That's not bloody set in stone proof?"
"Nah, for that we'd have to catch them in the act. Don't think they'd be too pleased with us doing that." Will says. " 'M going back to sleep. Got to remember to drop hints about it loudly in the morning."
"Aye, I will." Hob nods, snickering.
"Besides, Tuck might've slept through it. Got to make sure he knows they woke us up with it." Will yawns, re-settling himself so he's in a position comfortable enough to aid the chances of him not waking up in position that causes cramp. Like lying on his arm. "G'night."
"Night, Will." Hob rolls back into position, then gets up and out of bed, padding quietly over to the window to look out onto the almost completely quiet streets of Lichfield for a bit. A man towing a small cart is going past on the other side of the street, and a dog lopes along, snuffling in the gutters for scraps, but that's it. He scratches the back of his head in thought. It already seems a bit off, to be in a town where he can't run for cover immediately and can't hear the sounds of the forest around him. Sherwood's never quiet, since there's always several of the nocturnal animals awake and hunting, even just the owls, and there's nearly always rustling of some sort, even when there's no breeze. The trees' branches creak and sway in most breezes, and it took a while to discern plain old background noise from the rustle of someone or something moving through the forest that wasn't normally there. Now it's loud as a man walking heavily in an echoing empty church, but back then, in the first week or so of being a forester, it was difficult to tell. His hearing for such things has got a lot better since he joined the outlaws. Guess when your life depends on being able to tell such things, you learn fast and you learn well. He reckons very few could sneak up on the rest of them, unless it were one of the others. But still, he's been in the forest too long, first as a forester, and now his few months as an outlaw appear to have made the concept of silence during the night an uncomfortable thing. He shakes his head, turning back to bed and wincing when it creaks as he sits down and swings his legs back under the blanket. Will snuffles as he falls asleep in the next bed. Hob shakes his head and lays his head back down, closing his eyes. However, it still takes a bit for him to fall asleep again. His last thought is that he wonders when he'll get to the point of being able to identify the others just by the grunts they make.
----
In the morning, Much and John wake up curled round each other. Much grins. "Morning, John." Then he gets up, stretching and yawning. He scratches his stomach lazily, looking at the position of the sun from where he can see it. "Doesn't look too early. Reckon the others'll be up?"
"Dunno." John says, swinging his legs out of the bed and rubbing his face. "Can't tell with Tuck, since he'll be torn between breakfast and lying in bed. Nasir was probably up bright and early, and Will and Hob're probably up. Unless they're enjoying have a soft bed too much."
" 'S possible." Much agrees. He stretches again, bending over to reach his trousers when he feels a hand ghost over his bum. He straightens up quickly, and turns round, flushing. "John!"
John just grins. "Couldn't resist. Sorry, lad."
"You're about as sorry as your average one of Gisburne's men are when they trample some peasant's cabbages, you are."
Much scolds, grumbling as he steps into his breeches, pulling them up and belting them. "Get dressed. I'm going downstairs for breakfast whether you're getting up or not."
"I'm getting up, I'm getting up." John says, holding his hands up in appeasement against Much's expression. "Pass my breeches, will you?" Much picks them up, and the next thing John knows, they're wrapped around his head. He reaches up and pulls them off, expression a little disgruntled. "Ta very much, lad." Much just sticks his tongue out in retaliation and pulls his shirt on.
When they're finally get downstairs, they're faced by some very disturbing grins that appear to have been lying in wait on the faces of the outlaws. Will's especially, but then he's always had the market cornered in leering. "Have a good time last night?" Will asks.
"Now, Will, I'm sure they were just getting some perfectly innocent exercise in. Or perhaps one of them strained something." Tuck scolds, but he's not stopped grinning. Bastard.
Nasir starts coughing loudly, which degenerates into weak laughter at 'strained something'.
"I'm sure there's something in the code of signing up to be a priest that stops you making jokes like that." John growls.
"Ask my abbot, not me. I am merely a lowly friar." Tuck says, trying to do his pious priest impression, but it's spoilt by the grin. Then he really grins, properly. "Mind you, he used to crack some terrible jokes when we weren't at prayers or contemplation."
"Yeah, anyway, this exercise do you in well enough?" Will asks. "You especially, Much."
"Shut up, Will." Much retorts, flushing.
"Very thin walls." Hob adds. "Entertaining, it was."
----
On the second day that they're there, Gisburne arrives in Lichfield. He's not going to make the same mistake he did last time of trying to get the help of the local gards, considering their incompetency and sheer inability to get ready quickly last time. However, courtesy and his ego do demand that he point out that he's here, to prevent them getting in his way.
At the offices of the clerk, he walks in and immediately the scrawny little waste of space exclaims upon seeing him "I remember you! Sir Guy of Ginsburgh!"
"Gisburne." Gisburne says, twitching. He'd forgotten this, the ongoing inability to say his name correctly. He attempts to promise himself he won't blow up this time.
"That's what I said, Gainsborough." The clerk says, satisfied. "What brings you to Lichfield? You chasing Robin Hood still?" he turns to the man, an equal waste of space and effort, by his side. "What was it, a year ago, Cousin Ambrose?"
'Cousin Ambrose' nods. "That's right, Sparrow, a year. Well, a bit more." He amends.
"There is a new one, it appears, and have heard intelligence that he is here. I'm merely presenting myself to you to ensure that if our paths overlap we don't get in each other's way. I'm not here with any men, I'm just checking on his appearance since." Gisburne says. "Good day." He turns and walks out, stiffly.
Sparrow watches him go, and when the door closes. "Pity, that, that 'e's not staying." He leans over to Ambrose. "Reward still out on the wolfshead in Nottingham, cousin?"
"That it is, cousin." Ambrose replies. "Still just as high, too."
"You think it's worth getting the lads together to arrest them?" Sparrow asks.
"Might be a bit difficult, since I heard that Amos Scathlock's brother's in town, and he's putting ale on half price."
"Half price on Amos' ale?" Sparrow asks. "Think we might have to investigate that, cousin Ambrose."