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Post by ``Marian Fitzwalter on Sept 19, 2009 17:53:55 GMT -8
gather up the pots and the old tin can the mash and the corn and the barley and the bran run like the devil from the excise men keep the smoke from rising, barney
Clad in her usual garb of brown britches and black boots, simple white tunic and gray doublet, Lady Marian Fitwalter of Leaford, more recently known as Martin "Marty" Foster, found herself one again very greatful for her brown cloak, which covered the rest of her ensemble and protected her from the chill of the afternoon. It was drizzling lightly, but that hadn't stopped the inhabitants of Oxton from going about their daily business. After all, when was it not raining? A purely retorical question, yes, but one that Marty felt quite entitled to express. It seemed to her that rain fell every day nowabouts, sometimes sleet, and rarely enough snow would fall, despite it being well out of winter now. The well-bred lady was beginning to tire of the gloomy weather and more often than not would have been perfectly content to hide from it. As it was, one could only hide for so long until they needed to venture out and get some fresh air. Hence the reason that she was out of the Sherwood forest and in the village of Oxton, of all places.
Marty felt rather self conspicuous in her outfit, and she nervously tugged the cap that could always been seen atop her head down low. Though she wasn't as well known as Robin Hood, Little John, (the dashing) Will Scarlet, and the rest of the gang, she nevertheless had been exposed to the other side of the law, that is, the lawful side; her most defining features were her bright red hair and the cap she used to hide it. And she'd run into enough trouble these days that she couldn't help but get paranoid. She had already been a bit paranoid before, being a noble woman disguised as a peasant man, but now she was Paranoid, with a capital P. She had seen the dungeons of Nottingham before, when she was still Lady Marian to the world, and the sights had always followed in her wake, refusing to be forgotten. Martin Foster very much wished to avoid becoming reacquainted with the dungeons on a more personal level.
keep your eyes well peeled today the tall, tall men are on their way they're searching for the "mountain tay" in the hills of connemara
//word count|352\\ //hills of connemara|gaelic storm\\ //mood|good\\ //tags|Tristan; any outlaw\\
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Post by Tristan MacMillan on Sept 19, 2009 21:50:06 GMT -8
It was cold, and the sky was crying again, but Tristan couldn't help but be in a good mood. He stood in the middle of the street and spun around as quickly as he couldn't staring as all the large buildings around him begun to blur together. They began to look like a long, scary monster that was wrapping around him, but when that happened Tristan would just close his eyes, and when he opened them a few moments later the monster would be gone. Of course, it would return a few moments later when the buildings began to blur together again, but it didn't scare him. He knew how to get ride of it. And spinning as fast as he was was just too much fun to stop.
The people moved out of his way hurriedly, thinking there was something wrong with him. And really, there was, but he didn't know that. He didn't really care that the people were forced to move around him, instead he would just giggle as the people wearing colourful clothing became a part of the monster, making it not only large and long, but with a few coloured spots in it as well.
He suddenly came to an abrupt stop and promptly fell onto his butt, finding that he was dizzy. He giggled and looked around for the monster, staying where he sat, but it was gone. So instead he just grinned up at the people walking past him, his smile bright and happy. Once the world had finally stopped spinning, he pushing himself to his feet, and it was that moment that a particularly cold wind blew and he shivered, his smile fading slightly as he wrapped his small arms around himself. He gathered up his too-large blue shirt around him tighter, trying to keep himself warm. When that didn't work as well as he would have liked, he debated on whether to go curl up in a small corner, where the cold wind couldn't get him anymore, or whether to do some begging. It took him a few minutes, but he finally decided to go with the latter, and as soon as his mind was made up his bright grin returned to his face. He inspected the faces of a few people that passed him, looking for really nice looking people, and finally singled out a young man. He jogged over to the man, bright, friendly grin still in place as he held out his hands, palms facing the sky as he looking up at the young man's face, hoping the man would give him food, or money, or warm clothing._________________________________________ Words: 452 Mood: Good <) Notes: HE CHOSE MARTY! Though you know that, of course xD [/size]
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Post by ``Marian Fitzwalter on Sept 21, 2009 16:24:13 GMT -8
She'd noticed the beggar jog up to her, how could she not? She'd tried to ignore the child, however, in the hopes that she wouldn't be moved to do something uncharacteristically friendly and fork over all her meager belongings and express her emotions the way a woman would. She'd done it before, and the last thing she wanted to do at this point was draw more attention to herself. People already thought she was strange, no thanks to Will, and the woman rather hoped that she could prevent too much damage from being done. Thus, the ignoring of pitiful begging child to repress the maternal instincts that floated about in her breast. So when the small, grimy hands were thrust up toward her, Marty was initially a bit startled. She wasn't thinking along the lines of 'euw, dirty, gross!' or anything, but she wasn't thinking that she'd want to touch the hands, either, and she might have been thinking 'oh, crap', but no promises.
And then her eyes adjusted to the fingers, and she noticed that they weren't small, they were tiny, petite, immaculately formed. They were dirty, yes, but so were hers, so who was she to judge? They were also just the right size for a small offering, and so Marian reached into her purse with a practiced hand and drew out two coins, small in her hands and large in his. She steadfastedly avoided glancing up to the child's face, a little afraid of what how severe a reaction she'd get if she did look at the kid. "There you go," she murmured quietly, smiling minutely, a mere uplifting of lips, though it was a well-meant smile, not a sibling of the many forced smiles she'd given not so long ago.
Steal from the rich and give to the poor - that was what Robin's band always thought to do, and Marty couldn't fault the concept. Well, the steal from the rich part she understood and rather disapproved of, but the give to the poor, that was the right idea. Not that anyone really listened to her anyways, and Marian did have to admit -- if they were going to thieve from anyone at all, the rich were more deserving; not that anyone deserved to waylaid and robbed, she told herself.
She withdrew her hand, and as she did so, she shifted her gaze to look at the child, just to see how old it was, and the state that it was in. It was most probably not the best of ideas, but she really couldn't help it -- it was a compulsion, and no matter how hard she tried to resist, she could not prevail. Cold hearted bastard, she was not. The face was dark, tanned, topped with a mop of ratty black hair and dirtier than a pig sty, smudges of dirt and what looked to be like other, more unsavory things, scattered all over the place.
He was uncommonly adorable, and she's been right to try and not look at him in the first instance. "Oh," she said. "Oh!"
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Post by Tristan MacMillan on Sept 21, 2009 18:40:56 GMT -8
For a few moments, Tristan was afraid that he would scare the nice man, or perhaps make the man angry at him. That happened sometimes, especially with men. He was never quite sure how one person would react to the sight of him, or the fact that he'd go right up to them and beg. He'd been yelled at, spit at, ignored...screamed at-in fear, and a whole bunch of other things that made him want to cry. He hated when people were scared of him, or disgusted by him, or angry at him. He liked it much better when people smiled at him, even patted his head. That always made him like them right away. So when the man didn't do anything for a moment, he got a little afraid, preparing to run if the man got scared or angry, or anything like that. But a moment later the man had dug into his pocket, and Tristan knew what that meant.
As he placed the two coins in his small hands, he let out a cheer- which was actually a mix of a happy squeal and a few giggles. He immediately pocketed the coins, in the small pocket in his ripped up and dirty pants that didn't hand a hole. He smiled brightly up at the man and then frowned for a moment, looking around. There wasn't much around them besides people and buildings, sadly, so instead he dug in his pockets, looking for something. A second later he pulled out a small, pink flower. He'd taken the stem off, and a few of the petals had fallen off in his pocket, but it was still relatively in tact. He'd found the flower and thought that it was pretty, so he'd taken it, and he was glad he had now. He grinned and reached out, aiming to take hold of one of the man's clean hands. He'd shift it so that the palm was placing upwards and then drop the flower int he man's hand, giggling happily as he did so.
He heard the man say something, sounding surprised as he said it twice. He looked way up at the man's face, tilting his head to the side slightly and a small frown of confusion on his face as he inspected the older man's face, wondering if he'd done something wrong, if the man was angry at him for any reason at all._________________________________________ Words: 422 Mood: Good! =D Notes: So CUTE! =D *hugs Marty* [/size]
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Post by ``Marian Fitzwalter on Sept 25, 2009 17:42:13 GMT -8
It was a struggle, alright. The child was absolutely adorable, and his sheer cuteness was enough to instantly suck Marty in and feel her heart reach out for him. It didn't hurt that he was so petite, or that his small, grabby hands held up a gift in the form of a tattered pink flower. Several of the petals were missing, and it was bent and battered, but still, it was the thought behind it that counted, right?
Currently, Marian was thinking that the thought behind it was almost too precious to be true. "Is that for me?" she asked, forcing herself to adopt a clueless and, oh, slightly indifferent guise. Despite the great levels of cuteness and apparent level of age, the young woman wasn't one to just readily accept gifts. She'd learned the hard way that gifts often came with certain strings attached. Even so, she really wanted to accept the flower.
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word count/\157 mood/\sick notes/\yay for craptastic post!! <_< and I was just thinking - Marian's going to try to distance herself from Tristan, walk away, that sort of thing. what if Tristan started to follow her around, kind of like a duckling/lost puppy?
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Post by Tristan MacMillan on Sept 25, 2009 19:26:58 GMT -8
Tristan had absolutely no idea what the man had said, though he had listened and tried to understand. He noted that the voice sounded slightly surprised and questioning, but he couldn't figure out what the words meant. He just stared at him for a few moments, his dark eyes mirroring his confusion before a wide grin came to his face and he giggled once again, nodding his head though he still had no idea what he was nodding about. The man had failed to accept the flower, yet, so he took a step closer to the man, reaching the flower up towards the man's face (though he didn't get anywhere close, more reading up to the man's chest), just so that the man would be sure to see it.
The man's skin was a lot lighter than his, and he sort of stared at it. Of course, he'd seen a lot of people with skin lighter than his, but he'd never had the chance to really examine it. Looking at the man's hand, he wondered whether it felt different then his own hand, whether it was soft or even rough. He reached out once more, while still holding the flower up towards the man's face, and with his other hand he gently took one of the man's hands, bringing it closer to him so that he could look at it, a wide grin always in place.___________________________________________ Words: 249 Mood: Good Notes: Sorry for the crappy post xD And sure, Tristan could do that, but Marian has to do something to really catch his attention. That's not actually very hard, it could be a variety of things. Really she just has to like...pat his head, smile really friendly-like at him, or even just sort of try leave quickly. Any of those and a whole bunch of other things would catch his attention more <) [/size]
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Post by ``Marian Fitzwalter on Sept 26, 2009 17:46:59 GMT -8
Well, it'd been a stupid question to ask in the first place. Why on earth, she wondered, do people ask questions when they know the answers to them? That too, was a stupid question, she thought cynically. As Will had shown, most people liked the sound of their own voice and talked just to hear it. And of course the flower was for her. Was there anyone else nearby that the boy was holding the flower up to? No, Marian thought as she watched the boy hold his present up as high as he could (which was not very high at all, to say the least.), this was a gift for her and her alone. Touched, the outlaw reached for the flower, and as she did so, the child also reached out for something: her hand.
Marian liked children; she always had. As she'd grown up, she'd never really been permitted to associate with small children, and had instead been regulated to watching from afar, occasionally exchanging words with the child or children during a meal. And she'd always believed that she'd someday have children of her own (of course, this fantasy had also included her marrying the man she loved and living in a ginormous castle; neither, so far, had happened.) Thusly, when the dark-skinned boy reached for her hand, she let him grab it, simultaneously scopping up the flower with one hand as her captive hand was drawn away from her and explored.
Marian's mouth quirked upwards all on its own. "Thank you," she said softly.
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Post by Tristan MacMillan on Sept 26, 2009 18:17:42 GMT -8
Tristan barely even noticed as the man took the flower, because he was too busy comparing the man's light skin to his own dark skin, comparing their sizes by placing his hand against the man's hand, giggling as he did so. Their skin didn't feel very different, but it was strange that the man's hand was so clean. Didn't he fall down and stuff too? Didn't he like playing with dirty and everything? It must be pretty boring for him, if the man didn't. Tristan placed the man's palm against his cheek, wanting to see whether it felt strange. Right then the man spoke once again, and he looked up, grinning brightly as he giggled, though of course he had no idea what the man said. He just nodded his head again, not really caring to what he was nodding to.
Finally he let go of the man's hand, still smiling, then took a step forward and wrapped his arms around the man's legs in a hug. He'd decided that he liked the man already, though there was something strange about him that he just couldn't put his finger on. He held on to his hug for a few moments before pulling away, giggling as he did so, looking way up at the man. Small rain drops landed on his face, and he squinted his eyes as a reflex to keep the water from going in his eyes. He thought raindrops were the skies tears, so he looked up at the sky, a little sad when he noticed how sad and dark the sky looked. He wondered what had happened that had upset the sky._________________________________________ Words: 290 Mood: Not too bad anymore Notes: Go Marian <3 And yeah, he will now follow her, definitely xD [/size]
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Post by ``Marian Fitzwalter on Sept 26, 2009 18:51:33 GMT -8
He was so frail, she thought as she patted his dark mop of hair. Of course, that was to be expected. He was out in the streets, begging. Of course he'd be malnourished and tiny and petite and underfed and spare and scrawny and undersized...it was awful, Marian also found herself thinking. His small body was quite warm as it pressed itself up against her, and when he pulled away, she felt an acute lack of something; what, she didn't know, but it sure wasn't just the warmth that her now-cold leg missed.
A rain drop fell on his face, and the boy squinted up at the sky. Marian follwed suit, looking up at the dark gray clouds and wondering how long it would rain. It was always raining, it seemed. "Rain." the red-head murmered. She wasn't overly keen about the rain. It was cold, and it was wet. And it was loud. It never fell silently, it pittered and pattered and dripped and dropped, roaring, splishing, splashing, a constant ruckus. And she usually avoided it like the plague. Which meant that she was pretty much inclined to bolt for the nearest shelter and escape the rainfall.
However, she was also inclined to stick with the child for as long as she could. It was a problem of hers, one that she was actually concious of: she tended to bond onto people she met. Take Robin for instance - she never should have gone with him and became part of the Outlaws of Sherwood, and yet she had. She'd followed him and become a bandit. Or Gabe. She'd started out trying to rob him, and had ended up trying to save him, and in the rain, no less! What was wrong with her? Marian had a feeling that she really didn't want to know the answer.
The light drip drop of the rain began to kick up into a plip plop, and the nobleborn woman flipped up her hood and wrapped the thick woolen cloak around herself. "I'm going to go inside," she told the boy, making a motion that meant 'go', though she wasn't sure if he would understand. So far, he really hadn't reacted or responded to her words. "Come along if you like." And then she turned around and made for the nearest inn, one she'd made note of in passing.
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Post by Tristan MacMillan on Sept 26, 2009 19:11:31 GMT -8
Tristan noticed the man looking up at the sky, heard him murmur a word that sounded familiar to Tristan. He'd heard it a few times before, but had never tried to say it before. He decided to do that now, though he wasn't sure now. He opened his mouth, a look of concentration on his mouth as he forced sound to come out. "Wain..." A look of surprise came to his face before it was replaced by a wide, proud grin as he clapped his hands together, hoping the man would feel as proud of him as he did. Just then it began to rain harder, and once again he looked up at the sky, shutting his eyes for a moment and actually enjoying the feel of the wetness on his skin. Of course, it made him shiver from the cold a moment later, and then he sneezed, which made him laugh.
The man said something then, and he cocked his head to the side, clearly not understanding as he watched the man flip up his hood. Tristan just blinked, still watching him as the man turned around and began walking away from him. A look of alarm came to his face and he let out a little cry, running to catch up with the man, taking his hand and holding it tightly in one of his. He smiled then and walked with his head down, just smiling at the ground and so that the rain hit the back and the top of his head, but not his face. He didn't want to leave the man just yet, the man was nice and he wanted to stay with him._________________________________________ Words: 287 Mood: Good Notes: Nada [/size]
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Post by ``Marian Fitzwalter on Sept 27, 2009 16:34:32 GMT -8
Well, didn't that just beat it all? The boy had taken her hand, the one that he'd held before. Marian had felt a jolt shoot up her arm upon contact, though what the jolt was or why it'd happened, she didn't know. What she did know was that the feeling made her vaguely uncomfortable, not only because it probably looked strange from the outside to see a grown man hold hands with a beggar child, but because she'd never held hands with someone before. It was a strange feeling, his small hand wrapped around her larger one, their fingers touching. Still, strange as it was, Marian didn't want to let go.
Unfortunately, once she reached the inn, she was sort of forced to let go - for appearances sake - and she disentangled her hand from the boy's reluctantly before heading into the building and setting up shop at a table. The boy, of course, followed her. Good grief, she needed to stop calling him 'the boy.'
"What's your name, boy?" she asked, and then mentally cringed as she once again referred to him as 'boy'
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Post by Tristan MacMillan on Sept 28, 2009 15:19:48 GMT -8
Tristan was soon staring off into space, not doing much thinking as they walking, just watching all the people that walked by. The rain didn't bother him all that much, as he'd grown used to it after about two years of having to sleep in it, and besides, it'd noticed that he cleaned him up a little bit. Thinking that, he held up his arm, the one that wasn't holding the man's hand and watched as the rain hit his skin, his eyes locking onto a dirt mark on his forearm, watching as the rain his the mark and it before to fade away. He grinned and looked up at the man, trying to spot some dirt mark on him as well. However, he couldn't see any, though he wasn't sure whether that was because the man was clean or because of all the layers of clothes he seemed to have on to protect himself from the rain.
A little while later, they came upon a large building and the man let go of his hand, which made him a little sad because he'd enjoyed the feeling, though he didn't make any noises of complaint and just hesitantly followed the man, his eyes going wide and a little frightened. He'd never seen a room so fancy with so much lighting. He'd lived indoors for the first five years of his life with his mother, sure, but they'd always been poor, and she'd never felt the need to take him into an inn or any other fancy building. He grabbed the back of the man's coat, not hindering his walk, just holding on to it for comfort, as though he was afraid of getting lost, which he was. The building was just so large and fancy that Tristan couldn't help but stare around him in wonder.
As the man sat at a table, Tristan let go of his jacket, though he didn't move to sit himself, just sort of standing near the man and continuing to look around with wide eyes. He didn't feel like he should be in here, but no one seemed to be getting angry at him just yet. He looked over at the man as he spoke, hesitant smile in place. He caught onto the word 'name', one of the few words he understand, and his smile grew slightly as he reached under his shirt, grabbing the chain that he kept around his neck and pulling it out, showing the piece of metal with his name carved into it to Marty. Of course, he had no idea that it had his name carved into it, he just knew that whenever he showed it to people, they magically learned his name. Or some did, anyways. The magic didn't work on everyone._________________________________________ Words: 484 Mood: Unbelievably tired Notes: <3 [/size]
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Post by ``Marian Fitzwalter on Sept 28, 2009 15:37:17 GMT -8
The question had definately gotten a reaction that time, oh yes it had, though it was not one she had expected. His perpetual smile in place, the boy reached into his shirt and groped for something, and for a horrible split moment the former Lady thought that something bad was going to happen; her fears were allayed when the child's hand came up and out again, his fingers fisted around something. The hand rearranged itself, and Marian Fitzwalter saw that the "bad something" was a necklace of sorts, though it certainly didn't seem like much of an adornment.
Upon a closer look, Marty saw that it was more a collar than a necklace, and she reached out to touch it. The collar was a metal chain, like those used on the more vicious of the hunting dogs of the nobility, with a metal plate imbedded in the metal-work. Sqiggly lines spanned across the length of the plate, and as her fingers rubbed over the spaces and dents left by the carving, she processed what she'd read.
"Tristan," she said finally, that small smile of hers coming into play again. "Your name is Tristan."
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Post by Tristan MacMillan on Sept 28, 2009 15:59:48 GMT -8
Tristan's bright grin remained in place as he presented the magic chain of his to the man, leaning forward while tilting his head back, as though that would make it easier for the man to be affected by it's magic. The man rubbed a finger over the magic piece of metal, but he stayed silent, not saying the word that Tristan recognized to be his name right away. He frowned, worried that the magic wasn't going to work on him and wondering what he would do if it didn't. He could do what he'd done for his friend Amri, which was show it to someone else who the magic would work on and get them to say his name, but he didn't much want to go up to anyone else at the moment. For once Tristan was being a little shy and he just wanted to remain with this nice man, not go talk to anyone else.
Finally the man did say his name, and he let out a cheer, clapping his hands together and nodding his head before throwing his arms around that man's neck in a quick, tight hug. He pulled back a moment later, bright grin still in place, though now he pointed at the man's chest, and then pointed down to his chain, giving the man a questioning stare. He wasn't sure if the man would understand that he was asking for his name, but he was doing the same motions that Amri had done when he'd told him his name, so he hoped this man would understand. He wanted to know his name, since he was beginning to think of this man as another close friend of his. Now he had two best friends, this man and Amri._________________________________________ Words: 306 Mood: Tirrrrrrred Notes: Soooooo tired xD [/size]
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Post by ``Marian Fitzwalter on Sept 29, 2009 12:03:13 GMT -8
It was an exhuberant sort of hug, and not unlike the hugs she and her fellow miscreants used t impart upon each other, in days gone by. It was also the second hug he'd given her during their short acquaintance, and for the second time he wasn't sure how she should react. Should she stand still and wait for it to finish, or hug him back, or make a scene and demand that he get away from her?
The choice was taken away from her when the child pulled away from her, a quizzical grin still in place. A succession of motions, some finger pointings here and there, and Marian found herself being asked who she was without the actual words being uttered. She leaned forward and closer to young Tristan, almost conspiritorialously, and murmured, softly enough so tht only the boy could hear, "Marty. Marty."
(in the next post, I'm going to have an NPC waitress pop up and take the orders, so food is on the way! and you know what would be cute? If Tristan corrupted 'Marty' to 'Mar-ee' - unintentionally given her a nickname that could be applied to the name 'Marian'.)
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