Former IC Thread [The Exodus of Fables]

[Erica]

Archer Robert Moore (Robin Hood)

“The Written Word” Bookstore / On walkabout

​

From his position in the coffee shop, Rob watched Lucille Trevor’s fans applaud her return. As Marian claimed her seat and her chosen persona, the serious Claire paused her vigilant observation of the crowd to look his way, just once. He nodded in response, but the younger woman didn’t break a smile. Aside from her stern expression, the dark haired guardian looked like she could be Marian’s cousin. She was a distant relative, after all; his, too, which triggered a host of complicated emotions he actively avoided. Another person to come to love and inevitably lose. How did Marian do it? The thought was enough to make him chide himself for showing up in the first place.


His damnedable pride. Why couldn’t he put it aside?


It wasn’t all bad: Marian had kissed him, even if it was only on the cheek and came with a threat chaser. Such was their way, though. It always had been, and he secretly adored it as much as he had when they had been young mortal fools hatching grandiose schemes. He smiled as he recalled those times while he stalked out of The Written Word. The memories were faded around the edges, aged to a dusky sepia in his mind, but no less treasured for their nebulous nature.


Outside, he looked for Little John. She was nowhere to be seen, which probably meant she went to find - or stir up - some trouble. It was for the best. Having successfully pulled the pin on the grenade of his relationship with Marian, she would be brimming with questions and hope, and he had enough of both to set him to walking.


The habit had originated in his childhood, persevered throughout his (first) adult life, and then persisted for the many lives that followed. Walking helped to clear his head. Craving the fresh air and the cool shade of a true forest, he would make due with the contaminated streets of Emerald City. Luckily the sun still shone high in the sky (when you could see it through the smog), which meant most crime had retreated to the relative safety of ramshackle buildings, shadowed alleyways, and exclusive country clubs; none of which would intrude upon his meditative stroll. He walked for well over an hour, mapping the city with the soles of his feet. Ordinarily, he would be focused on familiarizing himself with the neighborhoods, their sights, smells, inhabitants, and escape routes. Yet today the comprehensive wrongness of the city and the world encroached upon his thoughts: the same sense of imbalance that had bothered him for nearly a century now. He could feel it in his bones. The more he thought about it, the more he could not escape the conclusion that that imbalance was infecting everyone and everything. Including Marian.


Eventually he came to a decision and set his feet to carrying him in the direction of the brownstone that served as both headquarters and temporary home. With a little over two miles to go, he retrieved his phone from his pocket and dialed Much.


As always, action helped to sooth his melancholy. A faint smile traced his lips when he heard the other man pick up the line. “Are you busy? I need a favor.”

 

[Dusky]

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​

Gwen Darling

Journal Entry – Some Decades Previous

​

Dear Diary,


I have begun to suspect I’ve a proclivity for forgetfulness. The longer I stayed in Neverland, the more I could not remember. Things I should have – my mother’s name, even. I wish I’d gone home then. I did not, and now I remember almost nothing of my life before Peter – my life before Hook. At the time, I had thought it to be the land’s magic, but here in Emerald City there is the same effect. I’ve decided to record what I can remember here, for fear that someday all memory of Neverland, too, shall dissipate.


Not that much remains, if I must be honest. All but the ship eludes me at the moment, the ship and its Captain. The day I joined its crew. Even in this, the details almost elude me – a gingham fabric over the armchair I was escorted into, a pair of piercing blue eyes. The smell of brine. A telescope trained on the mainland, watching the creatures chase the Indians chase the Lost Boys. My brothers’ faces amongst them.


For the most part, I do not remember many faces. The Captain I could not forget. But I don’t remember the deckhands. I don’t remember the Indians. I don’t remember many of the Lost Boys even. But I remember the ones I left. My brothers Lost because I was young and selfish. Peter… Peter I actively foiled at every step. I can’t remember if I ever saw their faces again. I must have. Did they know? Did they hate me?


And where are they now?

After the Dance - The Ticking Clock

​

She throws herself onto her knees as her routine closes, suppressing a wince as old bruises are made fresh. With a curtsy, holding the corners of an invisible dress, she tip-toes backstage. She sits in a chair – an honest-to-god chair, not a prop this time – and rubs her poor shins. She and the girls use more concealer than they’d care to measure fixing this problem – or at least, making it less visible. One of many things that makes it hard for them to view their job as glamorous the way their clients seem to.


While she rubs, she tries to put the image from her mind. It wasn’t that the pixie ringleader and James had retired to a private room. That couldn’t bother her for two reasons, one being that she was reasonably sure they were just discussing business and two being that even if they weren’t she would not particularly care as long as he came back to her. It was the look tossed carelessly from Isi’s eyes as she passed, one of such glee and such loathing. Of course Gwen had seen it. Once upon a time, she might not have known it for what it was. Now she sees, but she just can’t remember why…


She peeks her head around the curtain, as discretely as she can, and wonders how old her brothers might be now – if they could have been in the audience, right under her nose. The last she saw of them, they were just preteens, 13 and 9 respectively – but time works in strange ways, she can remember that much.

 

[Sol]

Leroy Tennison. You won't be Leroy Tennison when I'm done with ya, mate. You'll be Leeroy Fucken Jenkins when I'm done with ya.


Matthew had been given the dossier by Johnna. Apparently, nothing else is known about the man save for his name. The apartment listed in the dossier belonged to someone else, probably a lover, usually was if the name listed was female. Still, as tempting as it was to just go there and kick down the door, The Mulligan man always kept a certain standard of information, readiness and preparedness before tackling any job. He always had to have a way out.


Instead of going directly to the address listed on the dossier, Matthew headed for the nearest internet cafe to do some basic checks on the guy. He wouldn't go as far as saying the Merry Men's information network was shite, but sometimes their contacts liked to withhold certain tidbits of information that were probably pivotal in the "preparation" phase of any hit. Going on the internet itself to research about this Leroy Tennison in an internet cafe was a risk, but one he had to take.


A simple searched yielded multiple hits, most of them news articles on the man written by EC locals. The man seemed to be everywhere and was connected to a organization known as the Sandmen. The organization itself was crime syndicate that seemed to be a feared name in EC but is not known in other places in the United States. Curious and peculiar indeed.


Matthew thought of diving deeper into the Sandmen but thought better of it. The last thing he needed was to be traced back here before he could make an escape. He just skimmed through the first page of hits after searching "Sandmen." It was dangerous when he couldn't bounce signals off dummy IPs, since he had no idea just how technologically capable these Sandmen were. He could research more on them when he was back at the brownstone.


He made his way to the counter and paid for the quarter hour he spent on the computer, searching for names. Matthew had some time to plan his next move. It all boiled down to seeing what other bit of information he could get from Mr. Tennison's associate. He wouldn't harm the lass but sometimes some people just need a little show of force to be cooperative.


Mr. Mulligan found himself at the next door coffee shop enjoying a latte and a pesto chicken sandwich. They were a bit on the pricey side but there were just days he wanted food with a bit more quality than microwave dinners. A side of chips wouldn't hurt either. He had time and that apartment and its own wasn't going to suddenly skip town anyway. At least that's what he had hoped. He could easily tap into street CCTV's if he was back at the brownstone. He definitely couldn't tap into CCTV's with just a latte and a sandwich.


Just then his phone vibrated in his pocket, his



played. Matthew drew out the phone from his pocket and put it to his ear. It was The Hugo Boss Man.
"Are you busy? I need a favor."


"What can the Mulligan Man do for you today, ser?"


“Can we meet? I’m at 16th and Poe. Or we can meet back up at home.”


"No idea where 16th and Poe is. I think we can meet up at home. I'm just about done with this sandwich."


"Grab me one as you head out? I'll see you back at home."


"Right then, bossman. See you at home."


Matthew ended the call and returned the phone to his pocket. He finished his sandwich and downed the rest of his coffee before returning to the counter and getting the same one for his boss. After all, it wouldn't do if he ate something better than his boss. Common courtesy and all.


He quickly entered his car and set the sizable sandwich down on the passenger's seat beside him. After all, that sandwich was probably as valuable as his own life. Matthew just needed to get home as quickly as he could and used a self-written program to that effect. His phone had effectively tapped into the traffic network, keeping his way to the brownstone a smooth, green ride. He had made good time and was back at the brownstone in 5 minutes, before the song playing could even finish.


Matthew quickly disembarked the vehicle but had to go back to get the sandwich Archer had ordered from him. He decided to bring the dossier with him as well, hoping to study it in his room. Maybe, just maybe he'd find a break on this Leroy Tennison bloke. All they had on him on the net was just what he did, not where he is.


Matthew fit the key into the lock and entered the brownstone.


"Honey! I'm home!"


Calling out to possibly no one in particular. Though his cheerful smile quickly faded when saw Archer hunched thumbing through a tablet. That was not part of plan at all. Still, might as well go along with this farce.


"Honey, I made you a sandwich, well the boys at that coffee shop did but it's the thought that counts yeah?"


Archer looked up from the tablet, which displayed some photo, probably of Lady Marian's, and absently took the sandwich from him. "Thanks. I didn't realize I was hungry until you mentioned food. I appreciate it." He stood to move toward the kitchen, setting the tablet down before he poured himself a glass of water. As he unwrapped the sandwich, he looked at Much, his gaze distracted; perhaps by the image lying on the counter between them. "Can you get a hold of someone's medical records?"He took a bite of the sandwich after asking the question.


No reaction, not even a chuckle or a shake of his head at all. Matthew probably needed to up his game with the jokes the next time around. It was either that or Archer was definitely engrossed in whatever it was he was doing.


Matthew handed over the sandwich and Archer went toward the kitchen to eat it. He followed his boss in after he was thanked for bringing in a piece of chicken between two slices of bread. Then came the real reason Archer had called for him. It was the favor.


"Whose medical records are we talking about, bossman? I mean tapping into a hospital to browse records isn't exactly too hard."


His nodded while chewing. After a drink of water, he set the glass down and leaned against the counter. He gestured toward the tablet and Marian's picture. "Lucille Trevor." His pale blue eyes lifted from the tablet to meet Much's gaze in a mixture of expectancy and defiance.


"Lucille Trevor huh? I'll go look up her other aliases too then. Give me a few minutes."


Matthew left the kitchen and went up the stairs in to his room. The laptop was still running his downloads which he quickly stopped and opened another self-authored program and breached into medical records of hospitals all across the states. He placed a hit on all searches that had the Lady Marian's aliases. It took a full minute or so for the searches to return as either blanks on a huge majority of hospitals and generally "healthy" in the rest.


There wasn't anything wrong with Lady Marian at all, so why was Archer worrying about nothing?


"Nothing?" He asked with mild irritation. "Well, it was a long shot." For some strange reason, his boss had just materialized behind him.


"What exactly was I supposed to be looking for, Archer? Or was there something that was supposed to turn up? I mean this is just the records of hospitals, I haven't mapped the private doctors around the States after all."


It was clear that Archer wanted to see something, some sort of condition that would pop up or health risk. Maybe he just wanted to know if she was pregnant again. It could be anything or nothing at all, which was why Matthew saw the need to ask him what they were supposed to find. It'd be easier that way.


The Hugo Boss Man shook his head, a frown turning down the corner of his mouth. "I … don't know. At the signing, she hesitated when giving me her phone number." He smirked as soon as he said it. "Not like that. She let someone else write it down for her. Then when I tried to ask what was going on, she got defensive."


"Okay, so she got all defensive with giving you her number again...this relates to a health problem how? I still don't get it."


Matthew's brow was furrowed in confusion as Archer began to talk about how he got her number but not why he thinks she's sick or something.


"When have you ever seen her let someone else do something for her? Something so simple that she's not only capable of it, but implying that she shouldn't do it for herself would be insulting?" One eyebrow arched upwards as he paused a beat. "It's been a long time, but given that she threatened me with bodily harm if I didn't take an invitation seriously, she hasn't become that kind of woman."


"Okay, I think you need some Earl Grey in that system of yours. You're overreacting and she's not sick, I take it? That's a relief and what's all this about an invitation and a threat? Damnit, Archer, one at a time please."


Archer chuckled without humor and nodded. He ran a hand over his face, ending with scratching his beard along his jaw. "I don't know. Maybe I'm overreacting. It's been a long time. But my gut still says something's wrong. Will you check anyway? The…" he waved a hand generally toward Much's laptop,"… other stuff you were saying you could do?"


"It'll take the rest of the day, Archer but are you sure you want to sift through the reports of quack doctors? I'm pretty sure all you'll get are either personal comments about Lady Marian's appearance or complete bullshit even if you don't have a medical degree. Again, I'm gonna ask. What is wrong with Lady Marian and what's this about a threat and an invitation?"


For the first time in a while Matthew was slowly losing his patience. He had the right to know since this was obviously a Merry Men issue since Lady Marian was part of the Merry Men. It didn't help that Archer was still dismissive of his own potential but somehow he knew that that had been the case ever since they took him in when he was twelve. What did Archer think about the effort the Mulligan Man put in to keep a minimal electronic trail? A game?! Still his head must have been stuck up his arse and he hasn't found the sense to dislodge it.


"I don't know what's wrong," he admitted. It came out short but he seemed to recognize his terseness, for his next words held a trace of genuine pleading. "That's why I need your help."


He sat heavily on a nearby chair, leaning forward and resting his elbows on his knees. "As much as Little John teased about us reuniting, I never thought..." He paused to shake his head again, a soft half-groan, half-growl escaping him as he looked at the floorboards. "You know she's been ... happy." They had discussed Marian's other relationships before; as always he avoided naming specifics when it came to Marian loving other men. "I assumed she was happy and healthy. If she's not..." He took a deep breath and looked up at Much again. "She invited me - all of us, really - to dinner." A wry smile twisted his lips as he added. "But she told me I better be 'all in'. What the hell am I supposed to do with that?"


"You? All in? I suppose she's challenging you to something. My advice, just man up. If she's happy with her lot in life, more power to her. Though, being the hopeless romantic that I am, I think she'd be even happier with you around. Drop whatever doubts you have about yourself and just go out there and make her yours. I think she wants to be reminded of how and why she fell in love with you all those centuries back, Archer.


Also on your worries about her health, well I doubt they'd be substantial and I think you're better off getting the answer straight from her mouth rather than what I can dig up around the net. I mean it is easy to fake so many things, none of this could actually even be considered reliable.


And what's this about supper, when's that happening, bossman? I think I'd like a helping of Lady Marian's cooking again. When she meant all of us, does that involve ole Tuck? Johnna says the bloke runs a pub out in Florida, I mean can you believe it? That drunkard already found heaven before all of us did!"


Archer looked at Much with a stoic expression as Much talked about manning up and dismissed his concerns about Marian's health. Then he folded his hands while continuing to lean his elbows on his knees, his gaze returning to the floorboards as he listened. When Much finished, Archer paused briefly before lifting his head, a small smile evident on his features. "I don't have a time yet... and Marian meant the folks in town. Sorry, Tuck and his beer are still out of reach for now." He stood with his customary smirk firmly in place and placed a hand on Much's shoulder. "I'll let you know when dinner is. Then I want to hear about whatever you were getting into aside from picking up the car."


Matthew just nodded as a response to what Archer said. Everything was still pretty much a variable.


"Hey, Archer... I just need to get this off my chest, sir."


He simply said nothing as he delivered a hook right across his leader's face. The punch carried all the force he could muster, though it probably wouldn't hurt Archer that much.


"Tha' was for all these cent'ries you spent wallowing in yourself an' betraying my faith to the Merry Men. Feels...liberating. What I was doing was helpin' Johnna acquire some weapons for when we go hit Guy Gisborne. I swear I'll put a fucken bullet in 'is head, I'll unload an entire clip in 'is goddamned head. I was gonna research some more on these 'Sandmen' who are apparently tied ta Gisborne. In all honesty, I think I'll let em suffer too. So are we gonna have ourselves a brawl, sir or do I have to take this pent up aggression out on the Sandmen or a random passerby?"

 

[Erica]

Archer Robert Moore (Robin Hood)

Merry Men Headquarters
​

Rob had realized his error half way through the conversation. Much was a good man and a true friend, but for reasons unbeknownst to Rob he had never pursued a romantic relationship of his own. Perhaps he had experienced love and been left hurting in his time away from the Merry Men. Maybe he avoided making such connections for the same reason Rob did: to avoid the inevitable loss of someone who was not cursed with immortality. Or maybe romantic entanglements simply weren’t his thing. In any case, he looked at Rob’s predicament with Marian as an open-and-shut case of “go get the girl”.


He was right, on some accounts. Rob had walked into The Written Word knowing that he was opening communications with Marian after centuries of silence. Only after the fact could he admit to himself that he had both craved and feared the simplicity of being able to believe she was better off without him.


She wasn’t.


He wasn’t either, and Much - Matthew’s - advice to man up was on target, even if it came at him sideways. As surprised as he might be at the advice, the punch that followed was more unexpected. He saw the tensing of his friend’s muscles a moment to late; then all he heard was the telltale feeling of violent impact as he - jaw first - to one side. Instinct kicked in. Taking a small step back, he spread his feet, minimized Much’s target through positioning his side toward the man, and his right hand curled into a loose fist.


"Tha' was for all these cent'ries you spent wallowing in yourself an' betraying my faith to the Merry Men. Feels...liberating. What I was doing was helpin' Johnna acquire some weapons for when we go hit Guy Gisborne. I swear I'll put a fucken bullet in 'is head, I'll unload an entire clip in 'is goddamned head. I was gonna research some more on these 'Sandmen' who are apparently tied ta Gisborne. In all honesty, I think I'll let em suffer too. So are we gonna have ourselves a brawl, sir or do I have to take this pent up aggression out on the Sandmen or a random passerby?"


Rob forced himself to relax his hand, lifting it to rub at his jaw where Much’s fist had landed. The coppery taste of blood filled his mouth; his teeth had cut his lip and cheek in the process of being rattled. Releasing a puff of air in appreciation of the punch thrown, he stretched his jaw briefly before attempting a smirk. The result was closer to a grimace, but his voice rang with amusement and approval. “It’s about fucking time.”


He rubbed his jaw again as he relaxed his stance. Much had included information about their goal of hitting Prince John through Gisbourne, but it was the boiling anger beneath all of it that concerned Rob. He ignored the details about guns and the desire to use them and focused on Much's need to hit him. “How many centuries have you been holding that in? That’s not good for a man, you know.” He stretched his jaw one more time and looked at Much, the humor fading from his demeanor. He had sensed something bothering Much since his return to the Merry Men. He and Johnna had talked about it a few times, but he had always dismissed it. He had assumed it was one of the many issues that came with their particular form of immortality and that Much would work whatever it was out in his own time.


Maybe Johnna had been right. Maybe they should have addressed this a long time ago.


“I deserve that and more.” The weighty words earned a pause before Rob resumed his more jovial and teasing demeanor. “Although technically... it was decades, not centuries,” he corrected, unable to resist prodding his friend a little. Maybe it would earn him another punch, but he was willing to risk that and more for good reason. While he was only human, Rob recognized that wasn’t how everyone else saw him - especially some members of the Merry Men. It wasn’t fair or right, but when he had resumed his role as Robin Hood and gathered everyone back under the banner of the Merry Men, he had accepted the responsibility to meet their expectations: to be more. And at this moment, it was about what Much needed to be whole again. So that one of them could be. “But point made. The question is: what do you need to get this our of your system?”


This time his preparation was slow and deliberate. He cracked his neck and stood with his hands out at his side. He wasn't about to start the fight, and maybe he was ready to take a couple of blows to help Much feel better. He suspected that wasn't what Much wanted, however, and now, although his posture was relatively loose and casual, Rob was ready to respond if needed.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Ten minutes went by, before Johnna made a solid decision on what to do. Instinct told her to avoid the front entrance like the plague, and she knew well enough how to do just that. Grabbing her bag and her bike key, she made her way down the stairs and into the laundry room, where an exit opened out into the alley way. Unlatching her bike from where it was chained to a pole, she swung it around and made her way by foot to the side exit, tugging the hood of her sweatshirt up over her head, before slipping out onto the sidewalk and into the street.


No one followed her, she was careful... but regardless, Johnna made sure to take a long, winding path towards the brownstone that served as the Merry Men headquarters, paranoia rooted deep, simmering within her, boiling into rage. Her home had been compromised. Her private space invaded, and she was pissed.


Johnna wasn't a person who kept things close to the chest. She was open and honest, and free spirited. Her hair was an outward expression of her individuality and lack of conformity, but it was also a means of standing out from the crowd... of being seen. While not an active seeker of it, she enjoyed attention...


But her apartment was her sanctuary. The one place where she could be entirely alone if she chose... A Merry Men-free zone. And a Deputy showing up at her door, poking at her secrets, at her private things, asking questions and making insinuations, was not the type of attention she craved... and did little more than infuriate her. Something had gone wrong, somewhere in the day and she was going to get answers, if it was the last thing she did.


Pulling up outside of HQ, Johnna latched her bike to a telephone pole, making her way up the steps. Slipping inside, she slammed the old wooden door, threw her bag on the floor and stalked down the hall, following voices to find Robin and Much in the throws of conversation. Not waiting for an opening, she stepped into the room, arms crossed over her chest, tension tight in her form, "...We may have a problem, boys."

 

[Procculus]

Rosalinde Wyatt

Bitchface Extraordinaire

Papers rained down from the ceiling, showering the room in their piles. Rosalinde spun around in her chair, poked the snoozing security on their cheeks, sniffed their spilled coffee, danced about the screens, pulled at the poor men's ears, and generally made quite a bit of ruckus in the security room. She snatched a piece of falling paper from ceiling, and then crushed it, throwing it aside. 'Matthew Mulligan', it had read. Uninteresting. A man who could do nothing but lust after his boss' power and his boss' wife. Can't stand up for himself, can't prove his own worth, always overshadowed by his other peers. Pitiful. Was it ressentiment that kept him back, that kept him weak? He could be much better than he was, much more than his talentless boss that he worked under. Rosalinde unfolded her knife and stabbed yet another falling piece of paper, which now read 'Archer Robert Moore'. Charismatic, wonderful, everything a regular woman would want...which was what made him dull. Clichéd. He was unimportant. With a slash, she sliced the paper in half. With a few flicks, she folded the knife, and slipped it into the pocket. She fell onto one of the sleeping guards, her black coat spilling over him, and folded her arms. She raised her feet onto the console and crossed them, looking at the screens.


After a moment of nothing but the beeping of the consoles, Rosalinde slipped off the human cushion and paced around the room, biting her thumb. This was bad. This was very bad. They were late. They were very very late. This wasn't supposed to happen. They were supposed to be trying to break into here and rescue their wonderful little Alice. Maybe not now, but soon. But gods damn it. If they wanted to rescue her, couldn't they hurry up? She hated suspense. It was a stupid way to delay the climax of the narration. It pissed her off. She grabbed at her frizzled hair and gave a piercing shriek of agony. All this infernal WAITING. This god-forsaken world was too slow. These fucking pieces of shit were too slow. Indecisive, insignificant dolls that just wouldn't go according to plan. She hated it. She hated them. She hated this place. Her nails clawed at her scalp, tearing at the roots of her hair as she whipped around in maddened fury. Hurry UP! She kicked at the door, tore the papers at her feet in half, sliced the air with her knife, screaming profanities at the ceiling. Everything was static. Everything was boring. Everything was dull, uninteresting, stupid, useless-- even that Alice girl. What should have been fun turned out to be horrendously boring. Her nails split her skin, and blood began to seep in between her fingernails.


She took in a deep breath, and opened her eyes. There she stood, in front of the door leading to outside the security room. She reached behind her and locked the door, and proceeded to make herself comfortable on the couch at the corner of the room, picking up a magazine that lay on the floor beside it. "Hot Issue, Bikini Babes," she read slowly, as she attempted to slow her heartbeat. She needed to stop going on rampages like that. It made her seem more like the sub-humans trapped in this hellhole. She turned the page, and cast a disdainful eye over the well-toned curves of the ladies in what amounted to nothing but pieces of cloth covering their genitalia and their chest. They looked so artificial. That was the modelling business, she supposed, looking as fake as always, but real enough so men could whack off to them. The world was disgusting. Both women and men. One a hypocritical gender, and the other, sickening perverts whose minds only belonged to reproduction. She gave a smirk and kicked up her legs, resting them on the other end of the leather couch. Until those two little critters come around, looking to free their little quarry, she could kill some time drawing things on these pictures. She reached into her pocket and withdrew a permanent marker. She uncapped it with her teeth and started on her latest masterpiece.

 

[Sir Raime]

The Boogeyman

"I have some paperwork to do, so forgive me for my inability to give you a tour. Do show yourself the way out whenever you want. I wish you a happy day, Ms. Dodgson."


The rabbit's words were like a glorious symphony of music to the monster's ears. Oh, how every syllable dripped with pure, undiluted arrogance! The rabbit shined like a beacon to him, a challenge that he could not refuse. That miserable creature stood high atop a mountain of egocentricity and built a magnificent throne from the torment of others. The Boogeyman's mind drifted as he thought more and more about how he could debase and destroy all of that false confidence and amusement in a single momentary explosion of terror. The woman's screams would pour from her mouth and flow into his soul in a wave of pure ecstasy, and for a brief moment, he would be complete. Whole. His life would be meaningful, he would have achieved a gruesome Nirvana from the depths of a pit lined with the shrieking dirges of a thousand dying children while he became one with the universe under a waterfall of blood and fear and-


"No. Focus." He growled to himself, no longer in the voice of the curious girl who fell down the rabbit hole. Speaking of which... "Oh, I almost forgot about you, my dear. I could never live with myself if I left a poor defenseless girl immobilized until she died of starvation." He paused for a moment and still felt no fear from the girl. Her poor, twisted brain had been rendered incapable of feeling the primal force that flowed through all sentient minds. Such a tragic story as hers was nearly enough to bring the monster to tears.


He leisurely strolled down the corridors as if he were taking a walk in a park and gazing longingly at the beautiful scenery, doing his best to not show the pain that was constantly eating away at his body. He followed the directions provided by some signs, a left here and a couple rights as he drew closer and closer to his prey's den. He discovered a security camera on the ceiling with an errant glance and smiled. The small bit of fear from Alice that had sustained his disguise was burning out. "Time to squirm, little rabbit." he hissed in an inhuman tone. The eyes of the girlish form he wore withered away to reveal two deep black pits that sported a glinting white light in each, glinting in excitement and curiosity. The elegant feminine grin rotted into a maw of sharklike teeth, spittle and blood dripping from the lips. The thin and graceful fingers of his hands peeled apart to reveal serrated claws. As he resumed his slow walk to the security room, he began to sing, his voice now countless pained whispers wailing in unison.

"There is someone walking behind you,


turn around, look at me.


There is someone watching your footsteps,


turn around, look at me.


There is someone who really needs you,


here's your heart in my hand.


Turn around, turn around, look at me,


look at me, understand, understand.


That there's someone who'll stand beside you.


Turn around, look at me.


And, there's someone who'll terrify you.


Turn around, look at me.


Oh, I've waited, but I'll wait forever for you to come to me.


Look at someone, look at someone who really wants you,


yeah, really needs you. Turn around, look at me.


Turn around, look at me.
​

As his song came to a close, he found himself at his destination. Before him stood a door labeled "Security Office." With a snarl of delight he banged and battered away at the door, hoping to gain entry.

 

[Ashurbanipal]

Captain Hook

The Ticking Clock


The parable of the boy who cried wolf is illustrative: every night, he'd rouse the village folk, alerting them to a make-believe threat. When the wolves finally came, no one believed him, and the boy's doom was set.


The fable of the farmer and the viper is illustrative: a kindly man takes a viper freezing in the snow, and, in his pity, warms it within his coat. When it revived, it bites him, and he dies--condemned by compassion in the face of evil.


It is only fitting that a character such as James Bartholomew Hook be subject to the limitations and truths of stories--and in such stories, a leopard doesn't change its spots, and a snake is always a snake, and a sentiment repeated is a sentiment that loses meaning.


Who, then, would ever believe that Captain Hook is good-intentioned? A furrow of his brow, a curve of his lip, and the expanding signs of displeasure that manifest in the tensing of various muscles--all these things and more come about as Isabelle deflects him and teases him, but more than the defiance of his will it is the motivation behind it that earns his scorn. She knows he's manipulating her, but damnably, she thinks it's all he's doing.


Old, alone, and done for, indeed.


Hook smiles, the displeasure gone, the old navy-man once more a genial host. He steps to her side and slips an arm around her with fatherly sentiment bordering on the urgent direction of a dance partner or waiter. Directing her away from the bar, now that business is concluded, their united steps bringing them in a gentle waltz around table and cushion, drink and ashtray, to the doorway.


"They'd make poor pixies, indeed," he confirms, imagination betraying him by briefly envisioning Mr. Smee looking like he's set to attend prom, dress and all. "Come, then, my little tinker. You've math to do, arrangements to make, and I've a business to run. And enough drink tonight--I can't have you shitfaced, you're too important right now. Got it? No more until you're done working."

 

[Ayl]

Sebastian W. Scarlet
​

A shady meeting
Emerald City was a lot larger than Will assumed. After half an hour of walking, however, he finally reached his destination. Between a lovely antique shop and a modelling agency headquarters was a rundown building, which seemed like it was going to collapse any second. A logo was hanging from a rusty iron bar, above the wooden door which was almost completely shriveled, with the name of the pub.

"Jackson's".

Sebastian glanced around real quick, before stepping in, causing a deafening ring the moment the door startled the fragile bell placed on the inside. Once entered the establishment, the former Merry Man's first action was to eye and analyze each square foot, to be sure there was no setup waiting for him. After shooting down all suspicions, Sebastian walked up towards the only man that was at the bar, besides the bartender. The black, long coat and dark shades, although indoors, made the guy stand out. As he reached his target, Will pulled up a chair and addressed the keeper in a calm voice. "A scotch on the rocks, please!".

The bartended shot him a disgusted glance, possibly because the new order meant he had to leave reading the newspaper he was studying before. With slow movements, the corpolent bartender started preparing the drink, while Sebastian's attention turned towards his neighbour. "Nice weather we're having! I hope it won't start to rain unexpectedly, I forgot my umbrella at home!". The emphasys Sebastian used was enough for the man to wake from his silence and take a closer look at the fancy-dressed one that spoke.

"So, you're the guy, eh? Finally, I've been waiting for a whole Goddamn hour, already!". "Sorry, traffic! You know how it is!". The sarcasm and humorous voice didn't affect the shaddy man one bit, as he loosened his coat's buttons, holding it open with his left hand while his right dived in to fish for an item inside. After a few brief moments, he took out a folded paper and handed it over to Will. After unfolding it, the paper revealed to be a photograph, of a rather average quality. "That's the one you're looking for." he replied. "One of Guy's men.".

Analyzing the photo, Sebastian folded it back to its original state and turned to his interlocutor. "What else?". A subtle grin appeared on the shaddy person's face, as he took off his shades, just as Will's drink was placed in front of him, finally. "I hope you got time, 'cause it's one long story!".

Reaching for the glass of scotch in front of him, shaking it in the air before smelling the flavour and taking a sip, taking time to savour the burn sliding down his throat, Sebastian let out a chuckle and turned to the man again, smirking.

"I got all the time in the world!"​

​

 

[Sol]

"It's about fucking time, you say? I know it's about fucking time though I highly doubt you could take more than a few beatings at a time! So I held it in for nigh half a thousand years give or take, because I care. And to be honest, I have no idea how or what would get this festered shit out of my system. In any case, if looking into phantom diseases, nonexistent pregnancies, and how Lady Marian has the blood and lust of all these quack doctors peaking, was all you needed from me, then I think we're done here. I'll get back to investigating these 'Sandwankers' now. I've got a full night ahead of me, I think...Well not like that's important but I have nothing better to do."


Matthew turned his attention back to the laptop after flipping the bird to his boss. It was still running a scan but most of the results turned up were useless bits of white noise that would get no one anywhere and anyone nowhere. It was both a waste of time and yet not at the same time, seeing as neither Archer nor Johnna nor Alan had any pressing jobs dumped on his lap anyway. He was disappointed that he didn't find anything that would make the case go faster or get him anywhere closer to knowing Guy's habits and timetable.


A sigh escaped as he shut the machine down and listened to the sound of the internal workings slow down and then just die gradually. Matthew probably worked that laptop to the bone and needed a new one but this would probably be avoided if they really had somewhere permanent to settle in. Though that was as probable as Atlantis suddenly resurfacing, Archer was too careful after all and that was what made him Robin Hood among other things.


He kept himself on his seat. The least he could do was hear out his boss or get a few punches to the face for venting and getting shit out of his system. But what did that matter? All that was left was feeding Archer's ego anyway. He needed this out of his system and he needed to be proven wrong. Matthew was fearful that when the time came, that malicious Gisborne might just sweet talk him into pointing his gun at the rest of the Merry Men. That his buried and unresolved discontent would be unearthed and used against him.


"Oooh, a problem she says. Who the fuck do I need to kill? Who the fuck needs their bank account cut by 3 quarters? Where the fuck am I supposed to be shipped now? Was it that slimy fucking rodent, Johnna? Do I need to fucking go back there and fucking do something to him worse than this fucking "Cecil" fucker could ever hope to fucking accomplish?"

 

[Elle Joyner]

Isabelle

The Ticking Clock

​

She was always careful. Patience was important in her predicament... it was crucial. If she wasn't focused, if she wasn't diligent, she would be useless and if she became useless, she would become expendable. She had been left behind once, she would never allow it to happen again. If that made her a little paranoid, so be it. A small part of her felt bad because she knew, deep down, Hook probably did care about her. He'd been something of a friend and father figure for all these years and she was sure it injured him a bit to have her mistrusting his motives, but ultimately he was a business man, a brilliant business man, and she couldn't ignore that...


Knowing enough to know she was being dismissed, that it was time to get to work, she slipped off the counter, his arm round her waist. Allowing him to lead, she followed him to the lounge exit, grinning at his words. Very rarely did she ever drink enough to actually limit her functioning capabilities. She'd already put down more than her tiny frame, by right, should have been able to handle, but if nothing she was obedient, and with a nod she crossed her fingers over her heart, fluttering her eyes with a girlish smile.


"Not a drop, Cap, till I'm finished." With a wink, she turned around, walking backwards away from him, her steps careful, practiced, "And you be sure not to work too hard... All work, no play make Hook a dull boy. And there's nothin' worse than a boring pirate, I'm sure. I'll give you a call when I've got the pricing down."


Spinning on her heels again she made her way across the dance floor, swinging her hips to the techno beat, little teasing touches to the strangers in the crowd, until she'd made it to the exit, slipping out of the club, into the chilly, brisk air, into Emerald City's vibrant, neon night.


Pulling a pack of Winston cigarettes from the back pocket of her jeans, perching one between her lips, lighting it and relinquishing a breath full of smoke into the air before crossing the street, heading in the direction of her small warehouse loft, just four blocks away.


She had work to do, indeed...

 

[Erica]

Archer Robert Moore (Robin Hood)

Merry Men Headquarters
​

The soft, steady rhythm of his pulse pounded in his ears as Rob waited for Much’s attack. A fight might be undignified, but it was occasionally necessary. The Merry Men were his family; he would sacrifice anything for them. So what were a few bruises and scrapes, if they helped Much exorcise his demons?


Instead of fighting, however, the man before him - the one who still seemed to bear the burden of the story’s childish portrayals of Much, despite Rob having accepted him as an adult long ago - retreated to what he knew best. Words, bitter and boiling with rage, tumbled to the floorboards between them. In Rob’s mind, they ate through the wood like acid, creating a divide not easily spanned. How had he missed this? Much had been withdrawn and sometimes sullen, but never so angry as this. Johnna had tried to bring Much’s behavior to Rob’s attention, but he had mistakenly thought Much’s personal demons to be the cause of Matthew’s withdrawal and quietness. “Let him work it out on his own,” he had said, thinking it to be wise. That was how men handled things.


He had been wrong. He could see that now, but what could he do? As Matthew raised his middle finger in salute, Rob closed his mouth. He had been about to attempt - again - to help Matthew drain the poison from the festering wound of his anger. The finger signaled that Much clearly wasn’t ready for that.


Rob understood that, too. Unfortunately, he didn’t know what to do to help his friend. When Rob - as Robin - had attempted to deal with his anger, he’d climbed inside a bottle for decades, and only Johnna’s slap upside the head - aptly timed - had helped him out. Aside from possibly starting a fight with the wanker to help him vent his anger, what could he do?


“Look, Matthew, we’re not done here. Not by a long shot.” He heard the door downstairs slam and discarded the idea of starting a fight so Much could have at it. “Take what time you need,” he said, “I’ll be ready when you know what will help. In the meantime, try not to be an ass. It tends to make Johnna crabby.”


As if summoned by her name, Johnna’s steps could be heard on the stairs. Little John stepped into the room, arms crossed over her chest, tension tight in her form, "...We may have a problem, boys."


Matthew replied, anger and frustration still oozing out through his words. "Oooh, a problem she says. Who the fuck do I need to kill? Who the fuck needs their bank account cut by 3 quarters? Where the fuck am I supposed to be shipped now? Was it that slimy fucking rodent, Johnna? Do I need to fucking go back there and fucking do something to him worse than this fucking "Cecil" fucker could ever hope to fucking accomplish?"


With each expletive spewed, Rob’s expression shifted slightly. In addition to the expected but mild surprise at Much's language, layers of concern, curiosity, and annoyance warred with each other as he shot a silent, nuanced glance to Johnna: one that promised conversations to come. But for the moment, there were other issues at hand. He took a small step forward; a tactic used my military leaders throughout the ages to draw attention to themselves during chaotic distractions. His gaze was as focused as his words. “What happened?” She had his attention, and he expected hers.


Taggity tag: @Elle Joyner , @Sol

 

[Teh Frixz]

Laci de Clegane


Sheriff of Emerald


Never one for huffing and puffing, a well placed foot to Little's door very literally blew the latch apart. The door was thick wood but like most people, the girl didn't invest in a proper latch. Bent enough out of shape, the door could just swing open and let nearly anyone in. And as nearly anyone strolled through the front door, Laci couldn't help but feel a rising sense of dislike.


The apartment reeked of 'personal space'. The general niceness meant no kids and the lack of any sort of fallout from relationships meant that this was a single woman, or at the very least some sort hideaway. Little was up to something here. A girl like that shouldn't have a place like this. Laci swings the door shut behind her, starting to move through the place.


There were certain benefits to being Sheriff with some hefty political backing. One being a sense you could get away with any sort of crap you wanted. John had said her poll numbers were untouchable and the city was loving having a woman sheriff. It pissed her off that the population was that stupid and so worried about being part of this ridiculous 'feminist' thing that they gave her little to no oversight. Hell, she'd gotten away with murder already and nary an eye was cast her way. Breaking and entering with illegal search thrown in was nothing compared to murder, a thought key in her mind as she moved through the apartment.


Kicking the coffee table over, Laci tore apart couch and seat cushions with her massive hands, ripping them apart and tossing the contents about the room. Finding nothing, she moved to the kitchen. Cabinets met a messy end as she broke through them and managed to pull out the majority of the sink's plumbing. Getting pissed at finding nothing, Laci moved towards the rear of the apartment and into the bedroom. The mattress was first, meeting a similar fate as the couch.


Skunked again, Laci started through the drawers. Tossing clothes out across the room, Laci quickly turned the room upside down. Just clothing, crap that didn't matter and personal effects. Frustrated, she gives the wall a few new holes. Punching through the dry wall and spreading the dust all over. Not even a wall safe to make things fun. Worried that the girl might be clean, Laci slumps down onto the ruined couch only to set her eyes onto a slim computer she must have missed.


Rolling her eyes at how stupid it would have been to miss that, Laci stomps over. Pulling the computer and power cord into her hands, Laci notices a scrap of paper on the ground. Reaching down, she unravels the scrap and nearly gasps. '


Two words were on it, written in short hand but good enough to read.


Merry Men


It was almost an insult to read it and the presence of it confused her. Laci hated being confused. Stuffing the paper into her jeans, she picked the computer up and began to follow the path Little had taken out through the laundry room. Feeling a bit angry at the lack of getting anything solid, Laci made sure to take any power cables she could find as well as confiscating the booze she liked and disposing of the rest.


Out in daylight once again, hands caked in drywall dust, Laci kept to the alley ways before flagging down one of her patrols. The techs could take care of the computer, she'd be back to give Little a visit soon enough.

 

[Elle Joyner]

Johnna Little

Merry Men 'HQ'

​

Still fuming, but considerate of her comrades, Johnna stepped into the room and took a seat before speaking, her voice level, but not without a twinge of outrage, her generally steady hands still shaking, trembling with a deep rooted fury. It had been a long time since she had felt this particular brand of anger, and she wasn't accustomed to controlling herself, but ripping apart Much's room in a wild rant was hardly conducive to finding a solution.


It was better to get to the point... The sooner they figured out what to do, the sooner she could get back to her home, her sanctuary and relax. Put this nightmare day behind her and get ready for their move on Gisborne.


"Just had some hot shot deputy show up at my apartment, asking questions about Benny. The type of questions which lead one to believe they're already a suspect. This happening not more than half an hour after we visited Benny's shop, coupled with the fact that this dick knew where to find me, despite the fact I'm not exactly listed, makes me more than a little apprehensive to trust this was coincidental. I was followed, which means either someone's got a hell of a crush, or we've got trouble."


As she finished, her phone buzzed in her jeans and Johnna fished it out, opening the latest text with a deep frown, shaking her head, "Son of a bitch. Make that big trouble... That was my neighbor. Someone just tossed the hell out of my place... They took my laptop."


There was nothing incriminating on that laptop... nothing more exciting than an unfinished Solitaire game, but it didn't matter. Her privacy had been grossly invaded, and this went beyond the simple offense of showing up and asking questions. Her apartment had been ransacked... and someone was going to answer for that.


Rising from her seat, Johnna moved absently, back and forth, pacing as she stared at the message again, "Damn it..."

 

[Ozmic]

Hunter Madson

Hunter’s Apartment

​

“It stopped raining. Think we could swing by my place, so I can grab some clothes? I mean, comfy as I am like this, I can’t exactly walk around town this way…”


Hunter jumped at her touch at first, then smiled as the kiss pressed against him, followed by the leaning warmth of her face on his back. "Yeah, we could do that, I suppose," he started, turning around and planting a smooch on the top of her head.


"OR, you COULD just walk around like that," he continued with a wink.


Chuckling softly and shaking her head, Red released him, stepping back to grab a pair of sweats off the floor, "You would like that, wouldn't you..." She said, returning the wink, before sliding the pants on. There was a knock at the door and Red looked up, tying the drawstring before heading for the main room, "You get dressed, I'll see who it is."


Shrugging, Hunter smiled. "I might..." he joked and then nodded as she went to get the door. Tugging on a pair of jeans and another long sleeved shirt he sighed in relaxation. It had been a long time since he'd been able to feel this... normal for a change. It almost felt unsettling.


Breathing in he froze, sniffing the air deeply. Blood. "Red?!" he called, then started heading toward her. "Don't answer that!" he shouted, nearly taking out the table as he went to reach for her.


Her hand was already on the knob, however, and she had it turned a quarter by the time his words reached her, a brow quirked as she pulled it open, looking over her shoulders at his suddenly frantic behavior, "It's alright..." She said, smiling faintly, "No one's the--"


As she turned back to look down the hall her eyes fell on the mess, lying inches from her feet. The words stuck out on the crisp page, too bright, too colorful for the horror they proclaimed, and as Red stepped backwards, white as the paper itself, she felt the scream rising in her throat where it stuck, unfulfilled, her hands trembling as she brought them unconscious up to her heart, pounding a mad tattoo against her chest.


"...Wolf..." She whispered... and a second later, her legs gave way as she dropped like a rag-doll to the floor.


Time seemed to slow as Hunter watched the girl slump to the ground. He'd heard what she said, but he couldn't believe it, refusing at first to process what she'd said. When he saw the message and gore on the ground, his jaw tightenedand his fists clenched so hard his knuckles seemed to yearn for escape.


"It's... it can't be," he rasped and swallowed hard, throat clicking dryly. "I made sure."


Standing in silence for a few moments, he helped Red up with shaking hands, knowing that if he said anything else he would surely start yelling. Well... that or rush out to try and find the other. If she was talking, he wasn't hearing it, the rushing thud of his heartbeat deafening him.


He spoke, plainly and coldly, in a voice that hardly seemed his own. It was a snarl, and when he looked at her, there was nothing in his eyes but murder.


"I'm going to go find him and this time, I'll make sure he stays dead."


She was trembling, too, her small figure shaking almost violently, her eyes wide, staring, not at the hands, but at the note, at those hateful words, resonating in her head in that ever familiar voice. When her gaze did fall on the terrible sight of those severed stumps, she shook her head in disbelief, her hold on Hunter relenting, as she stepped away from him.


"...It's the curse..." She said with a shudder, "It's followed me. I did this... I made this happen. And now... now I put you in danger." Taking another step backwards, she brought her hands to her mouth to stifle a sob, "Oh God. What did I do...?"


Moving to head out, Hunter looked taller than ever. For a second, he would have been a near mirror image of the young man from long ago, were it not for the anger that twisted his face and pulled his lips back in a snarl. Almost out of the apartment, he stopped when Red spoke, her small voice dragging him back from the door frame.


She spoke of the curse and all of these being her fault, spoke of endangering him. His anger rushed out of him and he went to her after shutting the door, swooping her into his arms again easily and hugging her to him. "Listen to me, Red. NONE of this is yer' fault OR yer' doing. This is just some sick fuck that doesn't know how to die proper, playing a sick game and trying to worm his way into yer' life again." he grunted.


Cupping her chin in his hand, he looked at her and gave a small smile. "Look. Not a damn thing's gonna' hurt you OR me as long as I'm alive. And I'm not set on living this long to die to some stupid mutt."


He sighed a little and shook his head. "Do ya' trust me, kid?" The question wasn't meant as an insult, but rather a clarification. His eyes seemed to spell it out as they looked into hers.


Tears in her eyes, Red met his gaze steadily, nodding, "Of course. With my life. Always..."


The man nodded, planting a kiss on her forehead before his jaw set again. "Well then, Red... let's go skin us a Wolf."

 

[Snek]

((AWW DAYUM SON, SHIT'S GETTING REAL))

 

[Sol]

"A hot shot deputy huh? Did anything in your laptop point to us in general? Did you at least get this deputy's name? I mean if we can shut this deputy up with a bullet to the head, then we're still in the clear, right? I just need to know who our target looks like and run it through the database on ECPD members. I bet my English arse that if we don't kill that deputy soon, then Senator John's gonna know about it and well... I dunno, a manhunt?"


He had just shut the laptop down only to power it on again a few seconds later. This news seemed like a headache in the making and needed some aspirin, some lead aspirin. Whether the ECPD was under John's pocket or the Mafia's, it was bad news for the Merry Men, they couldn't discount the possibility that Gisborne is the Mafia head in EC. The lynchpin was the deputy, if they could shut him up, then they could cut off a few issues before they turned into full problems.


The appeal of torturing said deputy for actual info on the ECPD was good too, but prize was shutting this up as early as possible. Going after that deputy's family would probably be useless so a direct hit on the guy was the best bet by Matthew's calculations.

 

[Erica]

Archer Robert Moore (Robin Hood)

Merry Men Headquarters

​

When the world started tumbling down, Little John provided stability in the form of her consistent and readily available anger. For some time, he had wondered if William Shakespeare had met Johnna, for the phrase “Hell hath no fury like a woman scorned” could well have been coined specifically for her. The news about the deputy’s visit disturbed him, but he spent a lot of the time with his arms folded trying to remember who Benny was. One of her contacts, certainly, but was it the gun dealer or the fence?


Before he could ask, her phone delivered news of a new level of trouble. His mind started spinning through the possibilities and options while Matthew jumped in with his proposed solution.


Rob brow knit as he turned to face Matthew. “Since when is murder our first and best option?”


The Merry Men had been aptly named, for they regularly laughed at danger and clung to camaraderie despite the bleakest of circumstances. Or they had, once upon a time. Little John remained stalwart in her conviction and ever-available anger, Alan still found and provided respite through his music, and he liked to think that he had resumed his dedication to the good fight. Yet Much had clearly been stewing in his own juices for some time, and Rob had misjudged the situation. They had taken lives when it became unavoidable, and of course the wars had made them murderers, each and every one. Yet they all still looked at killing as a last resort to be avoided at all costs: or so he had thought. Was Much really so angry that he couldn’t see right from wrong?


He could not solve that now. Putting aside his misgivings, he focused on the problem at hand. “You are right about one thing: It will help to know the players involved,” with a frown, he turned to Johnna, “and it’s likely your visitor was the one to turn over your place. You said it was a deputy, not a police officer or detective?” Relief washed over him at Johnna’s confirming nod. Marian wasn’t too close to it, then.


“I was just telling Matthew that Marian invited us all to dinner tonight.” Under different circumstances, the triumphant smirk that blossomed on Johnna’s features and the way she pumped her fist in victorious celebration might have vexed him. He ignored it for the moment, however, falling back to his trademark smirk to summarize his feelings about the whole situation. “It sounds like the Merry Men have much to discuss, and it might help to have a connection with the Chief of Police.”


Just like that, history was set to repeat itself. He only prayed Marian would forgive him for walking back into her life with danger at his heels.

 

[Ashurbanipal]

Captain Hook

The Ticking Clock - Private Lounge

A boring pirate, she warns. Captain Hook! A boring pirate?


The most dreaded pirate on all the seven seas he was; his name spoken in hushed, fearful tones from Barbados to Britain; men saw his visage in the clouds of opium smoke in Chinese dens, their minds giving him the devil's red eyes in the haze; those survivors of his wrath spread his name far and wide--beware Captain Hook!, they'd cry out in anguish, wounded by nightmares, beware!--and his legend grew!


A boring pirate, she warns. The sight of the Jolly Roger, the deadliest brig on the seas, bane of all imperial navies, was anything but boring; when its red-and-black sails tipped over the horizon, its red-and-black sails like blood and smoke, its red-and-black sails promising fire and the bringing of death, men knew better than to be bored.


Men knew to be afraid.


And for a moment he can smell it, when he breathes deep. The salt of the sea, of his ship, foam-flecked and sparkling, waves breaking against it. He smells the nets releasing the bounty of the sea, fish and clams and stranger things besides. He smells his crew, a brotherhood of men united in fear by this sea-wolf, broken by his strength even as they were drawn to the heroic lure of adventure--for Hook was never known to be boring, crowned in a champion's laurels, blood-soaked and rich.


It's not the same anymore, not since the world moved on. Oh, he is still a pirate, of a sort; his ship is now a fleet, a fleet of businesses legal and otherwise, his sword exchanged for a pen. Where once he robbed merchants now he buys them out or threatens them. Where once men were murdered and drowned for his pleasure, now they're brought into drug-induced stupors, handing over all their wealth. Sure, there's violence. Blackmail. Bribery. Hand-breaking, executions. But..


He finishes off the cigar she left. And the bottle, too. No time for nostalgia.


--


Later on, his travels bring him behind the stage, where his girl, Wendy, is resting after her performance. He sees the bruises on her shins and smiles; those signs, hidden as they are by the concealer, are proof that they're working hard. The pain brings a certain clarity, makes everything they do sharper, more real--after all, life is all about sensation.


"Wendy, darling," he comments, and watches as she startles to see him, her head swiveling before her torso follows. He comes upon her suddenly, behind her, taller than her, and reaches down with his good hand--the prosthetic has since been replaced; he does feel so strange wearing it, but appearances must be maintained--to fondly scratch her head. Condescending, fatherly, affectionate, possessive.


"Mr. Smee tells me your performance tonight was lovely. He says the crowd had eyes only for you. Good. Work hard, earn your keep."


His mouth breaks in a shark's smile.


"You're my prize dancer, after all."

 

[Elle Joyner]

Johnna Little

Merry Men HQ


She was far from feeling better after Robin's input, however helpful, and Much's contribution was outright ridiculous. Whatever he was going through, she'd seen a portion of it in their earlier meeting, but it was clearer by the day that the little boy they'd taken into their fold had matured. Into what, though, was the question? She'd had the conversation many times with Robin in the past, but maybe it was time to revisit it one more time...


"Not a bad idea..." She said, both to Robin and in regard to her thoughts, "The old Chief might know something helpful, and even if he doesn't... it can't hurt to give him a heads up about what's going down." Smiling faintly, she gave Robin a look, shrugging her shoulders, "And at any rate, it'll be nice... dinner. It's been a while since we sat down as a family."


Biting her lip she stuck her hand into her pocket and rifled around for the card Will had given her earlier, pulling it out to study the number.


"...I'll be right back..." She murmured, "Just need to make a phone call."


Pulling out her cellphone, she slipped out of Much's room and down the hall to one of the empty offices, closing the door behind her before dialing the number, listening with a strange sense of anxiety as the ring blared in her ear.


As Will exchanged the interior of the shabby and badly illuminated establishment for the chilly outdoor evening, he was brought back to reality from studying the envelope he was given by the informer by the ring of one of the two cellphones he carried on him. Usually, it would be the prepaid one that would be ringing, but instead, he reached for his vest's pocket, from which he fished his personal one, the number of which few people had.


He smirked as he made a quick mental guess about the identity of the caller, as he gently touched the green light on the screen and spoke into the receiver.


"Well, that didn't take long!" he snickered.


Vaguely mortified by the insinuation, Johnna scoffed, "Oh, shut it. Listen... I need to talk to you about something, but I don't want to do it over the phone, just in case. We're getting together at the Missus's place tonight... El'Capitano finally got up the nerve to talk to her, and, little shock, she wants to get the gang together for dinner. If I text you the address, could you meet me there?"


Frowning, she fiddled absently with the strings on her hoodie, "I know you're busy, but it's important..."


The thought of seeing everyone again in one place both appealed to and freaked out Sebastian. On one hand, he could meet again with the people that were so dear to him so long ago, a reminiscence of the past, and on the other hand, it would bring back so many unwanted memories. Memories that would hurt.


Although Will hated being coerced to do something he would rather not, Johnna's last sentence's tone, soft and pleading, made him consider the idea again, ending up finally by accepting it. He knew it was a bad idea, but still, he did owe them at least that much after such a long and silent absence. And he also knew he had no chance of accomplishing his goal without help, now that he was informed of the full extent of Emerald's City degeneration.


After a brief pause, he finally spoke again in the receiver of the phone that was waiting idly in his hand. "Sure, why not? I'll be there. Just tell me when and where!".


He was quiet, too long... and there was too much of a chance he was going to turn the request down. Someone had followed her, had traced her back to her apartment... they knew about Benny, they knew where she lived and they had tossed her place. If they had done all that and she hadn't picked up the tail, there was a chance he had one as well, and given his end goal... he needed to be made aware of that.


"I'll text you the information, soon... And Will? Just... be careful, okay? Keep an eye out. See you soon..."


Hanging up, she slipped out of the office and returned to find Robin and Much. Sliding her phone back into her pocket, she stepped into Much's room.


"You have the address, Rob? We may have one more joining us, tonight..."


((collab with Ayl))

 

[Dusky]

Gwen Darling


The Ticking Clock – Backstage
​

“Wendy, darling.” The voice startles her out of her reverie, making her straighten hastily, hoping it hadn’t looked as if she was moping. She misses the humor of the address and looks over her shoulder. She doesn’t need to, she knows that voice anywhere. But she looks. There stands James Bartholomew Hook, magnificent as ever. For a moment, she thinks she smells brine. It’s all in her mind, of course.


“You always say Wendy, but it’s been Gwen about as long as…” she begins, but trails off as he suddenly draws closer like a tsunami rearing out of the depths – and then the wave breaks gently around her, scratching her head affectionately. Her body tenses then relaxes. Every step is whiplash. And then he’s talking and she hears a commendation, she hears a warning, she hears a scripture. The thought makes her giggle, chuckles so quiet as to be almost indiscernible. A criminal such as her Captain, preaching the holy.


She knows she was a good girl once, and the laughter fades into a frown. After a pause a couple beats too long, she says, “Smee is probably kind of biased. I messed up somewhere in the middle. I bet everybody could see it. How’s Iz? I think it was on the pirouette. Actually, I think no-one noticed. In fact…”


Suddenly as the thought comes it leaves, replaced with the realization that she has been rambling. She trails off into silence.

 

[Auren]

Felicity O'Hare

March Hare


Somewhere, someplace sneaky-sneak, near a fire escape
​

Felicity clapped her hands together as Chess stood. He was the happiest she had seen him since the last visit to Honey Dew. She bounced up and down eagerly. "Yes! Let us not switch seats! Oh, I do hate having to rearrange a party's seating arrangements,"she giggled.


"It's been daisies since I went through the queen's garden!" She said as she followed Lemon Tart towards the fire escape with her hand in his. Once the rusted ladder had been pulled down, she climbed carefully as to not tear her dress. She was only sad that her friend, the Hatter, couldn't join them now. But he was long lost, and she didn't want to think about what the Peppermint Queen had done to make him disappear. Perhaps she added a spoon one too many to his tea?


The mask on her hip caught with a protruding scrap and Felicity paused to adjust it. "Oh my! This naughty claw wants a piece of cake,"she said and frowned. After a bit of mangling, she got the mask unhooked. Unfortunately, it did get a few scrapes. Felicity finished her climb and held the unicorn mask up towards her own masked face. She turned it over in her hands before her lips slipped into a lopsided grin. "Only a scarecrow,"she said before replacing the mask to her hip.


"After you,"she curtsied and pulled out the ends of her dress. Her amber eyes danced wildly with excitement behind her mask. She followed behind Lemon Tart to the top of the roofs, where she promptly stood on her tip-toes and spread out her arms to catch the passing wind-blows. She giggled again and nudged her feline friend's shoulder with her own. "If we dance with the wind, do you think it'll carry us?"

 

[Syrenrei]

Marian Greene (Maid Marian)

The Written Word & A Not-So-Humble Home on Citron Court, Emerald City

​

"How are you feeling?" Claire inquired casually. They were cleaning off their table and packing up to go home. The book store employees had offered multiple times (first with clerks and then with managers) to do such a mundane task for their esteemed author and her agent. Marian had politely refused with increasing insistence that this minor detail was the least they could do for such wonderful staff assistance during the day. Claire had quietly written down the names of every helpful employee and was going to compose an e-mail this afternoon to send to the store owner praising their efforts. Marian knew retail was frustrating at best and one nice letter might go a long way for those so low on the proverbial totem pole. She had even discovered one was an aspiring writer and, despite Claire's disapproval, she promised to read their fiction and provide feedback.


"How am I feeling about what, exactly? About the fact the love of my life so simply waltzed back into my heart will deftly discovering that something was amiss?" Marian's voice was filled with equal measure anger and fond recollection. Very few were able to elicit such a poignant mix of emotions from the centurion. Claire sighed as Marian dumped her pens in the bottom of her bag- it was crammed with two notebooks for notes, a few extra copies of her book, business cards, snacks, a few signed illustrations for the diehard fans, and other mundane sundries. It was not often that her parcel was cleaned out- instead more things were just jammed in. As time crept on, they both realized that Marian was having a harder and harder time letting go of physical reminders of the joys of past and present.


"I assume you texted him the address, as I asked?" Marian and Claire gave a last wave as they stepped out of the store and onto the sidewalk. Downtown parking was always troublesome so Claire had asked her brother to come pick them up at exactly 5 pm. He was waiting at the curb patiently, his head bobbing and his fingers rhythmically tapping the wheel as he listened to music. "Of course, though I still think it may be premature to be inviting him over," Claire sighed.


She opened the door to the back seat for Marian, who entered with the same elegance and grace that was sorely missed in today's Hollywood stars. After her mistress was safely inside she closed the door before climbing into the passenger seat with a loud sigh of exhaustion. Her brother, Max, quickly turned down the music as he shifted into drive and merged into the steady stream of traffic. "I appreciate the concern, and I truly appreciate all you do for me. Both of you. I know it isn't easy."


"What did I miss?" Max asked with a little groan as he checked his blind spot to change lanes. Unlike Claire, he wasn't incredibly involved in Marian's life- he would do little errands now and then when his work schedule permitted. Occasionally, when Claire wasn't watching, they'd slip out to bars and Marian would be a most excellent wingwoman for her descendent. Despite her best efforts he was still single. She swore up and down it wasn't her genes that ruined all his relationships. Max didn't see what he did as important enough to earn any real gratitude, so the more appreciative Marian was the more suspicious he became something was wrong.


"Robin's in town and decided to drop by and pass her his number," Claire informed. Max let out an exaggerated sigh. "My sentiments exactly. And she invited him to dinner with the other Merry Men. I can just imagine what you'll discuss over dinner. Should we pull over and get some extra Ensure and prune juice?"


Marian laughed and swatted at Claire's shoulder before leaning against her door and gazing out the window. Buildings were whipped out of sight in a constant frenzy of motion. The kaleidoscope of greys, browns, and green whizzed in a swirl as her thoughts slipped elsewhere. "We're not complete with each other. It's not just me that's the legend- it's all of us. I've been much too selfish for too long and I'm too old to be denying myself what I want. I still have my pride but that alone hasn't made me happy. I've missed them all so much over the years I felt my heart would burst. I may regret inviting them, but I'd regret it more if I didn't. Maximilian, I can tell you're rolling your eyes at up there and you're two hundred years too young to avoid me snatching them straight out of your head if you keep doing it."

Max's posture suddenly became rigid and tense with the chastising. A rare chuckle escaped from Claire as they drew closer to her neighborhood just outside of the city proper in a regal subsection of suburbia. Citron Court was only a few minutes away and Marian had a startling revelation: she had absolutely no idea what to prepare for dinner.


What sort of protein could properly convey her regret they had gone so long without communication? That she still loved them with all her might? Was that something you said over chicken, or pork belly, or perhaps salmon? No, that wouldn't do. None of it would do, honestly, but she'd try her best.

 

[Snek]

The Chesire Cat

Chess Velices

​

And so, off on another adventure they were! Chess knew this visit was going to be just as exciting as the last, if not more, perhaps. He led Felicity to the fire escape, helping her scale the rusted frame as he made good use of his feline agility to ascend the side of the building. The two clambered up onto the roof, and looked out at the city.


"Aye, Carrot Cake, I'd say the wind would carry us almost anywhere if we danced with it. It'd carry us over the rooftops, past the walls, and far, far away from here..." he responded wistfully, smirking and nudging her back with his elbow, proceeding to grab her sides and lower her down from her tippy toes as she attempted to embrace the wind, "...but we have important business to do here, first. After all, it is Honey Dew's Unbirthday."


Chess stared out at the city, and the world beyond, for a few more moments, then coughed.


"Well, on we go, Carrot Cake. We wouldn't want to be late like Time always seems to be."


He chuckled and ran along the rooftop towards the edge, leaping at the last second and vaulting across the alleyway below to land on the rooftop of the next building over. An average person probably couldn't have made the jump, but Chess had practice, and catlike reflexes didn't hurt, either. The lithe duo continued across the rooftops until they reached the roof of the mental facility where the Queen's Cards kept Honey Dew. Entries through the windows and alleyway entrances proved to be inefficient and conspicuous, so Chess opted for infiltration through the ventilation system, just like in the human spy movies he saw playing in store windows sometimes.


"Well, here we are! Down the Rabbit Hole we go. After you, my dear," mused Chess, gesturing into the air vent that he'd busted open earlier that week.


@Auren

 

[Teh Frixz]

Laci de Clegane


Sheriff of Emerald


The Emerald City Sheriff's office had for years been located centrally in the city in the Old Tower. Classic Gothic architecture with notoriously bad utilities. Laci wanted nothing to do with it. Once you've lived through stained glass and echoing corridors, you can not get far enough from it. With considerable pull from Prince John, a new Headquarters was established along the west branch of the Emerald River.


The facility itself was a modern fortress. Elevated, there was a disturbing lack of first floor windows and an abundance of concrete with steel to accentuate it. Inside she had made sure it was comfortable for her staff with a considerable armory as well as a state of the art control room. The cells had been taken from the old world designs, narrow things with the window gaps narrowed to accentuate the confines.


The New Tower Headquarters was in a lot of ways a representation of the Sheriffs regime. Self serving but effcient enough where nobody could complain.


It was in this control room where Laci currently stood. Picked up by one of her guys, she'd brought back all the stolen goods and began the process of searching through them.


It hadn't been a productive night.


Not one thing she had taken had any sort useful data. Not one iota. The laptop had already been flung across the room, smashed open and the email accounts linked to it were as equally if not more useless.


Laci frowns, leaving the deputy to keep working but she knew there was no chance. Little was up to something and despite a simple break in, she was going to have to go deeper and get the police to pull financial records.


That meant a night of phonecalls and arguments with the Cheif and the asshole judge. Conference calls and warrant pulls. Dropping into her desk, Laci runs her hands through her hair. She had to do something else too.


Picking up the phone, she dials a certain number.


"Guy? Oh..leave him a message then. Get his men digging up anything on Johnna Little. This'll make us even. Thanks"


One call down, dozens to go. Flopping back, she calls up the chief and starts the long process.