· ➴ loyal to a fault ➶ ·

Oh, hello, is that footsteps he hears? He perks up in anticipation of springing out to greet his hapless victim, and he rises from his crouch. He moves out of the foliage, pushing his hood back. "Greetings, my friend!" He does a double take, his face lighting as he recognizes the tall, blond man. "Carter?"

          there's a rustle and some other noise that           weaves through the maze of his thoughts           and one of twin blades is already showing           half her steel before azure hues fully realize           who it is who stands before him. it's a grin           that splits his face --though maybe it's more           like a wide smile, carter doesn't know, doesn't           care-- as the blade slides smoothly back into           it's sheath, and posture becomes one of           great ease.

                    "robin! "

          relief and excitement color his voice in an           odd arrangement upon seeing the green           clad figure, and then he's moving forward           again, in all intentions of giving the outlaw           a hug.

          the man is not a fool then. the other's gaze           never quite leaves him even as the other           motions suggest respect --wise, never leave           ones neck bared to an assassin. who knows           what may happen? the name sounds french,           his brain registers as much, and it is with a           slight inclination of his head accepts the           praise that hangs tense in the air between           them --though his piercing gaze never wanders           from the subject before him. too many times           have those presented as friends turned foe           quickly.

                              ( and many times has he played                                 such games. trust is not easy to                                 gain nor earn with the blond. )

                    ❝ carter. pleasure to make                     your aquantaince, sir. ❞

          curiosity concerning the man's presence before           him burns at his tongue, but carter will not let           the syllables tumble from his mouth --while he           is in this house, he is but an asset, bound by           rules he has no qualms in breaking should it           be necessary. 

▐░·➳

                    ❝ fear is but an irrational emotion                     of the mind, cultivated by others. i                     cannot tell you whether or not you                     feel it, but i can hope you can. ❞

                    ❝ depends on what you classify                     as good news, then. ❞

          back is straight, cold pride gleaming in azure           hues as he strides undaunted by the man's           thinly veiled threat.

                    ❝ i think you'll want to hear the                     ones i bring. ❞

          lies have long since stopped tasting bitter on           the assassin's tongue.

Robin almost laughed, unexpected events in his, their, line of work were never good. He and his gang had encountered a fair few over the course of his Outlaw mostly in the form of Gisborne, the guards and the Sheriff’s putrid breath.  

                          “Much is rather good at offending                             people without meaning too. Always has.” 

Satisfied that no one was coming from the direction that Carter had just come in, the outlaw rested his bow against the back of his shoulders, grinning as he rested his arms at either end. The Sheriff’s men often got lost in the woods, if they dared venture past the trees and off of the main road. They would never be able to find the camp. 

                                                              ( even if they were lead there by himself.                                                                 The Sheriff’s men were a new kind of idiotic.                                                                                                         Never mind Gisborne. ) "Might as well head back to camp.  To assure Much that we don’t have a traitor.”

                    ❝ that is putting it lightly. ❞

          comes the quip with a slight smile --and the           reassurance that he had done the right thing           in not giving up the outlaws' base camp, and           therefore betray their trust. he found himself           not wanting to. odd, right? the assassin hadn't           felt such conflicts since days of hot sand and           scorching sun in the holy land. but perhaps that           wasn't quite right either, because he'd had a           focus then too: his brother.

                    ❝ aye, though i am going to leave                      the talking to you. ❞

          because he has no doubts that while much's           heart was in the right place, trust wasn't such           an easy thing to earn from the miller's son.           but robin's smile is infectious and there's one           creeping across his own face as he can't help           but let his gaze creep around the trees around           them. because as stupid as the sheriff and his           men were, sometimes there was an unusual           strike of genius within the rotten group, and it            would be his luck that such would happen now            causing his word to look false.

                     ❝ shall we be off then? ❞

                                Robin replied but there was no malice in                                 his voice, just quiet amusement. Though                                 he could undersatnd Carter’s desire to be                                 reunited with his weapons. He always had                                 to get his bow back when he was taken by                                 the Sherifff it was his father’s after all and                                 he didn’t doubt that the other man’s blades                                 had similar emotional meaning to them.

Yet where he had gone that morning was still left to be answered, far before anyone else had woken and Robin was accustomed to waking up with the sun so lord only knows at which time he had gotten up. Though outlaw simply grinned and moved to stand by the other’s side. 

                     ❝ i thought i would return before                      my absence would be noticed. ❞

          he has no qualms admitting such things. the           assassin has worked alone for a fair amount           of time --perhaps with small aids to perfectly           set up his platform, such as the sheriff and the           invasion at clum-- and such tendencies are not           so easy to undo.

                                     (  though, he won't deny that their                                         ruse to deceive the sheriff had                                         been decently heart-pumping. )

                    ❝ but there were a few unexpected                      turns of events. ❞

          including a fair amount of punching and boiling           water --not in any particular order. though he           can still feel the burns that form a large blotch           on his side with every step. a small laugh           escapes him nonetheless, the talkative man's           rambly speech already taking form in his mind.

                    ❝ i don't think i need to hear it to be                      offended, but he only wishes for                      the best. ❞

                                   ”Why are they chasing you now, was                                      more the question that I had in mind.” 

He replied, looking behind him just to see if Carter was being chased by anyone. After all the guards often gave up after they reached the treeline but you could never know.

                                    “I don’t suppose you’ve lost them have you?”

                    ❝ they stole from me, and i wanted it back. ❞

          hands briefly lift to vaguely indicate the swords in twin           sheaths cross over his back. let the outlaw believe it           had been a merely a jaunt to retrieve his weapons           among other things. the truth, he had never been the           best at speaking.

                             an indignant sort of look crosses his face at the other's                              question, and perhaps had he been in a bit better spirits,                              he may have offer a more callous reply than the one he                              gives.

                     ❝ i'm offended, friend. of course they haven't                       trailed me --though, best be safer than sorry. ❞

For every man there is a purpose                       which he sets up in his life.                                 Let your be the doing of all good things. 

             ”Well I cannot fault that one.” 

Robin had been on his way back from Nettlestone when spotting the form of Carter sprinting through the forest and he had quickly followed suit. A large part of him worried that Carter was perhaps going after his gang again, though that had obviously not been his aim when he began to go the wrong way. 

               ”Caught by who?” 

Those were not the words that the outlaw had wanted to hear.

                    ❝ i should hope not. ❞

          because he really has tried to change his ways, fight           for peace, don't kill --that sort of thing. and sometimes           it's satisfying, to have someone at his mercy and the           fear in their eyes as they think he is to take their very           life, and then the surprise, the confusion when the fatal           blow never comes. it's a feeling of superiority, and it's           so very gratifying. carter doesn't think robin would           approve of such sentiments, but personalities can only           be rewritten so much.

                    ❝ the sheriff. gisbourne. take your pick,                     robin. ❞

          the assassin quips impatiently as if pointing out the           obvious --because really, who else is there to run           from in Sherwood. Answer: not much.

          the rumbling of hooves meets his ears, gisbourne no           doubt --to make his 'escape' into the woods look as           real as possible, as if the wound to his arm weren't           enough. hence the reason he feels like crap at all. a           hushed sigh and a dip of his head leaves him dizzy,           but gets the message across clear enough.

                    ❝ and what is your name, friend? ❞

                    ❝ they stole something from me, so i                     stole it back. ❞

          the lie rolls easily from his tongue with practiced ease.           words that had been rattling around his head for a long           while now --because of that statement: "my forest."            surely, this was robin hood? the sheriff, though, had           certainly failed to mentioned the gender of a certain           outlaw. not that it mattered or made any difference.

                    ❝ let me pass or we'll both be caught. ❞

          he would be a fool to not notice the eyes that watched           his every move --a poor assassin he would make if           he could not notice something as simple as the burning           stare of another. but such things do not distract him from           the quick whirring of twin blades, instead only press him           further as he weaves a blurred net of iron and steel until           the dance ends --blades held at his sides as azure hues           finally turn to the watcher and his question.

                    the male looks familiar, like a sort of echo of someone                     else he's seen, and it takes barely a moment to compare                     the faces of the sheriff's right hand man and the one that                     stands before him now. his face remains stoic however,                     no flicker of recognition, no gratitude for the praise.

                                                               ( he is good, and he knows it. )