M'kay

M'kay. My first published fanfic (if you don't count a previous, disastrous failure that was deleted nearly as soon as it was posted), and so I would request a little mercy, if at all possible. Actually, scratch that. I would request criticism. Just let me know what you think, what I should do to improve. Please?

Disclaimer: You know the drill. Not mine, no lawsuit.


There was a clatter and a clash. The eighteen-year-old girl stared in apprehension at the beginnings of bread dough, the billows of flower, now spread across the threshed floor of her parents' home. She bit the inside of her lip, her eyes widening as she heard the door slam on the other side of the thin wooden slats that hid the kitchen area from view of the only other room, the living area and eating quarters. She rushed forward, scooping the wet flour and egg mixture back into the wooden bowl. Voices filtered clearly through to her as she, quietly as she could, stirred up the straw floor to hide the spilled flower.

Her mother's rich, gutteral voice nearly buried the words she spoke: "I don't know, Earnest. You'd think that girl didna want to be married, to have 'er own house."

Her father, a quiet man of few words, merely grunted some sort of assent.

Her mother was unperturbed, used to this behavior after nearly thirty years of marriage. "I don't think she understands. It's not that we dun want 'er 'ere, but we canna really afford ta house a grown daughter. None of her sisters made such a fuss."

Tibban, still on her knees in the kitchen, froze mid-motion. She slowly leaned back, sitting on her heels, and listened intently to the conversation.

Her father grunted. Her mother continued. "Poor Tibban. Poor us! The sheriff's men came yesterday, didya know? I couldn' hardly find the coin to give them for the ruddy taxes. We're getting' old, Earnest. We need the money from that girl's bride price, or at least the money that goes into feedin' her. Too bad we raised such a stubborn 'un, eh?" her mother gave a sad chuckle as her words petered out.

There was a shuffling as her mother set down whatever she had come in with, and settled on the wooden bench by the fire. Tibban sucked her bottom lip, her eyes staring vacantly out the window through which the afternoon sun shone. She had never imagined… Through all her parents' urges for marriage she had thought it was because she was annoying, or they were embarrassed to have a daughter so old and unmarried, or they just wanted her out of the house. She had never imagined that money had been the motivation. Yes, they certainly weren't rich, but they had always gotten by. Certain things, details from the past year, floated through her consciousness, carrying new significance. Her parents were getting old. Nearly a year ago, her mother, a baker, had sold her spare bake oven. She had said that she didn't need it; that she didn't make enough dough anymore to justify it. She didn't make as much dough because she was getting older, slower. The less bread meant less income, and the oven had probably been sold to help compensate. And there was the fact that her father had given up his nightly mug of wine. He had claimed it was for his health, but wine prices had been rising recently…

Tibban clutched her head in her hands. Stupid, oblivious, ignorant little girl… she thought to herself. With a new resolution, and a thought boiling behind her eyes, she finished the bread, glancing guiltily at the traces of spilled flower on the floor.

()()

-(o.o)-

(bunny. 8D)

By the time Tibban and her family had finished their dinner, the girl was resolute in her plan. Her mother had complained of having to feed and house her. So she would no longer have too.

With a firm set to her lips, she stepped over the door, gazing with a nagging bitterness up at the loft where she and her parents usually slept. Her ears plucked up the sound of her father's raucous snores, but she hardened her heart against the familial sound. With her pack over her shoulder, she crossed the threshold.

In her pack were only the bare necessities; her one spare change of clothes, her winter cloak, a hairbrush, the bow and quiver of arrows that all her brothers had outgrown, an apple. She had wished to leave a note, but neither she nor her parents knew how to read or write. She had imagined what she would have written, though: 'Have no fear. You need no longer house me. Be sure to keep the Taxman at bay.' Recently, she had been neglecting personal hygiene: her brown hair was mussed and frizzy where it escaped its short braid, her green eyes vivid in a grimy face. Only her hands were clean, a precaution her mother insisted upon while baking. This was part of her plan to keep potential husbands at bay. She knew that if anyone provided a half-decent bride price, her parents would throw her at the unlucky fellow in their desperation. Thus she had embarked to make herself as unappealing as possible, starting with her appearance. Now that she was gone from the threat of possible suitors, she intended to relish the feeling of being clean once again. Or, relatively so.

It wasn't that she intended to be troublesome by not marrying, though. It's just that she couldn't imagine life being so – settled. She couldn't bear to be shackled to someone who bored her, which, unfortunately, comprised nearly three quarters of the eligible men of Nottingham village. But she need no longer worry about that. Suitors be damned, because now she was free.

She slipped out the gate a few moments before it was to be closed for the night. She received an odd look from one of the guards, being a girl of marriageable age leaving the village alone for the night, but he didn't say anything, for which she was grateful. She didn't know what she would have replied.

She made it into the forest before the sky went completely dark, and hoisted herself into a tree for the night. She could complete her plan tomorrow. The only part left was to locate Robin Hood's Gang, as well as gain their acceptance. Now that was a dashing life…

()()

-(.)-

The next mourning, Tibban could be found wandering aimlessly through the woods, munching the apple noisily. The infamous outlaws were proving more illusive than originally anticipated. By around midday, she had grown thirsty and was trying to retrace her steps to a stream she had passed some hours ago, when at last she encountered human life forms. In a most unconventional way.

She thought she could hear the stream when a man dropped out of the tree in front of her, grinning like an idiot. "Why, 'lo there, sweetheart!" he said, all too cheerily, and loudly. Tibban stumbled back, cursing the heavy skirt that made her clumsy. She reached for an arrow from her quiver while, at the same time, trying to string her bow with one hand. It didn't work so well. The man did, however, pay attention to the sharp-tipped arrow she was brandishing in his direction, and held up his hands to prove himself not a threat. "Whoa, hold it there, girl," he said, following the arrow with his eyes.

Tibban scowled, peeved at having been taken unawares. She didn't say a word, but took in the man's appearance. He was shorter than her, as most folk were, but not by much. He had blondish hair and a matching mustache, and alert blue eyes.

After a moment, the man said, "You lost or somethin'?"

Tibban straightened herself before replying. "Intentionally so, thank you. Now what do you want?" She flicked the arrow as she asked, as if reminding him to keep back. He ignored her question and focused on her answer.

"Wait, intentionally lost? What for?"

"I'm– I'm looking for someone." She fought to remain confidant in tone for her reply. She was becoming more an more nervous.

The stranger seemed to find her reply funny. "And who might you be lookin' for who you need to be lost to find?"

She bit her lip, considering. She wasn't having much luck with her current 'wander blindly' strategy, and it couldn't really hurt to tell him, could it? "I'm… I'm looking for Robin Hood."

The man looked like he didn't know whether to find this highly amusing or deeply worrying. "Well, seems like you got lucky." He turned his head behind him and called to no one in particular, "Oye, Robin!"

Tibban stood nervously, unsure what to expect. After a moment, there was a rustling in the bushes to the stranger's right, and from the brush emerged a confidant, brown haired man with a longbow over his shoulder and a quiver on his back. Within a few moments, four more arrived; a fuzzy-looking behemoth, a tall, dark-haired and pale youth, a shorter, mousy-looking man, and a Saracen ma– no, woman. Tibban tried to swallow the nervousness in her throat, but only swallowed precious water instead.

"Now, what'd you find here, Allan?" asked the first man as he strode up.

The stranger, newly named Allan, shrugged. "Dunno. Said she was intentionally lost, lookin' for you."

The man looked her up and down, taking in her appearance. "Now, what's your name?" he asked.

Tibban ignored his question. "Are you Robin Hood?" she blurted, before she could stop herself. She clamped her traitorous jaw shut.

The man smiled. "Aye, that I am. Now, what's your name?"

"Tibban, sir. I mean, Robin Hood…" she trailed off, her gaze lowering as her embarrassment mounted, until she was staring at her toes. She was relieved to say she wasn't blushing—she hadn't blushed in years—but that helped little with her blundering tongue.

He gave a fresh smile. "So what can I do for you, Tibban?" he asked.

She forced her gaze to his face as she spoke. "I want to join your gang."

There were some murmurs from the four hanging back. Allan whistled, Robin Hood merely raised an eyebrow. "And why's that?"

Before she could stop herself, Tibban had embarked upon her tale. "Because my parents can't really afford to house me if they want to pay the taxes, and I refuse to marry because that would be so boring, and your life sounds so adventurous, and I've always supported your cause, and plus one of my brothers was arrested a couple years ago because he hunted in the royal forest, which is preposterous because we only wanted some meat because the market prices were so high…" she finally stopped babbling and winced. "Sorry," she muttered, once again staring at her toes. She returned her gaze to his face to add one more thing: "and I'm not useless. I can shoot a bow, and I can fight with a knife decently enough…" she trailed up, her hope-filled gaze boring into his face, searching for some sign that she was, or at least might be, in.

He returned her stare for a gut-wrenching moment. During the silence, a small part of her mind found amusement in the fact that he had to look up into her face. Finally, he gave a single nod and turned quickly to go. Tibban stared in shock after him, until the other five pressed around her to greet her or introduce themselves. And so Allan became Allan-A-Dale, Behemoth became Little John (he received an odd look from Tibban at that), Mousey became Much, Tall & Pale became Will Scarlet, and Short Woman became Djaq. And Tibban, became part of the gang.

-sigh- Done. I know the acceptance is rather abrupt, but I wasn't sure how they would do it. She did just spill her guts to him, and she's really not much of a threat. But if anyone has a suggestion that doesn't involve days of probation, I would gladly edit the chapter and give credit to the suggestor.

I know it gets annoying, but reviews are much appreciated.

So long, and thanks for all the fish. ;D

ABA