A sequel to "Weekend at Vasey's"
AU ridicfic set after the events of 2x10 "Walkabout"
Credits: I don't own the rights to Robin Hood BBC, blah, blah. Also, thanks to everyone whose ideas I've probably stolen.
*arrow whooshing noise*
Location: Nottingham castle (we can also see this because it's the same CGI shot they always used on the show, so a caption is pretty much unnecessary at this point)
Marvin, the second-in-command to the Captain of the Nottingham city guard, was figuratively on top of the world. Well, technically, you could say he was also literally on top of the world, because apparently it's round like a ball (also a pet theory of Marvin's, who was a man ahead of his time) and . . . where were we? Oh, right. He felt good. He had only been working under Sir Guy of Gisborne for six months, but he had already proven himself to be much more capable than all of the other guards. Combined. Which, granted, was not saying much, but it was enough to get him promoted through the ranks quickly. Things were going his way.
That was about to change, however. Sir Guy had ordered him to interview applicants for a kitchen maid job. But Marvin felt optimistic. How bad can they be? he thought. Granted, the last three kitchen maids had been fired for attempting to rob Sir Guy of his virtue, but that meant nothing. Marvin was a man with good judgment, and surely there would have to be at least one wench among the applicants who would be suitable. Or at least, who would not attempt to force her heaving bosoms on his boss.
Yes, life was generally good. And, thanks to Lady Marian's socialist health care reform, he now had dental.
*arrow whooshing noise*
Location: a castle in Ireland or somewhere like that, no one cares
"Haaaaave you met Lord Dunghill?" asked a particularly smarmy courtier of Prince John, indicating the gangly, straw-haired youth next to him.
The ginger-who-would-be-king lethargically glanced up from his cup of wine, where he was attempting to admire his own reflection. "Who the devil is Lord Dunghill?" he slurred.
The smarmy courtier wrapped his arm around Lord Dunghill chummily. "This strapping young lad, my Lord."
Prince John glared stabby things at the smarmy courtier.
"," said the man, wilting a bit.
"Do you like cheese, Prince John?" piped in Lord Dunghill, a.k.a. Sir Phillip, breaking the tension. "I love it above all things!"
"Cheese?" murmured Prince John confusedly, as if the man had just declared his passion for syphilis.
"Why, yes! My family," beamed Sir Phillip, "owns the best dairy chickens this side of . . . of . . . wherever else they have good dairy chickens! Our cheese is simply exqui- . . . equis- . . . excris- . . . it's really yummy!"
The prince turned his eyes back to his glass. "Do go on," he muttered, not bothering to stifle a yawn.
Sarcasm would always be lost on Sir Phillip. "Well, we've got Edam and Cheddar and we even import Gruyere all the way from . . . oh, bother . . . "
"Never mind all that, my dear friend!" smarmed the smarmy courtier. "Why not tell . . . His Royal Highness . . . about that time you saved Nottingham from . . . what was it? . . . ninja pirates?"
"From what?" asked Phillip, clueless.
The man (smarmily) nudged his friend in his soft tummy. "You know . . . like you were just telling me. How you defeated Robin Hood and make King Richard look a fool, and all that?" The courtier winked and jerked his head sideways to Prince John, whose attention had perked up first at the mention of Robin Hood, and then even more so upon hearing his dear brother's name.
"What's that?" he demanded. "You made my – King Richard" (the prince said his brother's name through clenched teeth) "look like a dolt? A ninny? A nincompoop?" he said, grinning for the first time. It was always a disconcerting experience for newcomers to court.
"Uhh . . ." Phillip looked helplessly over to his smarmy friend, who nodded encouragingly. "Why, yes! Yes, I did!"
"Bravo!" Prince John stood up, dropping his cup on the floor and clapping Phillip on the shoulder. "Let's get this man a drink!" He put his arm tightly around Phillip's neck. "I like you."
"Thank you, Your Lord! Um, I mean, My Royal Highness!" stammered the young man.
"Whatever. I'll be king someday, what's it matter?" Prince John bellowed a laugh. This was also disconcerting for Phillip. Or as he would have said, "dis- . . . dix- . . . a bit odd." Luckily, Prince John didn't notice his new acquaintance's perplexity. "Enough about that. I want you to tell me all about how you made Dickey look like a . . . well, you know." The prince roared with laughter at his own unspoken joke. Everybody but Phillip roared right back.
"Is Dickey your cat? I have a cat, too! Her name is Lactica," Phillip confided.
Prince John pulled in his chin, appraising the youth seriously for a moment. "What was your name again?"
"Sir- Sir Phillip of Dunghill."
Prince John sneered, or smiled, it was hard to tell. "Philly, my boy, I've decided something. I'm going to teach you how to live."
*arrow whooshing noise*
Location: Nottingham Castle (as if you wouldn't have figured that out)
"NO MORE DEATH PANELS! DOWN WITH VASEY CARE!" shouted a smattering of peasants gathered in the courtyard.
Lady Marian, hearing them as she walked by a window, shook her head, annoyed that some people had interpreted her plan to provide dental to peasants as a plot to kill poor people. Granted, the dentist did kill a lot of people, but that was hardly her fault. If only there were a proper medical school in Nottinghamshire . . . as things were, there were just a few basic courses at þe Olde Lernynge Annexe.
Sir Guy of Gisborne, not too absorbed in his castle duties to notice his lady's frustration (and cleavage), stopped as he walked by on his way to the stables. "Why don't you just let me cleave- I mean, knock their heads around a bit?" he inquired. "Quiet 'em down a bit."
Marian now turned her annoyed countenance upon Guy. "How on earth can we maintain democracy if we endeavor to suppress the dissent of the proletariat? Censorship of such viewpoints, however irrational they may be, merely leads to a precedence of tyranny." She rolled her eyes. "Duh."
"Right." Guy, having given up on understanding her words of wisdom, had returned to admiring her attributes with a broader appeal. "Boobs."
"Excuse me?" Marian raised an eyebrow, but a twinkle belied her stern demeanor.
Guy at first feigned sheepishness, but then his sheepish grin turned wolf. "I said . . ." he murmured gutturally, "boobs."
Marian did not blush as she once would have, but she was not so easily distracted. "Guy, the masses will never –"
"Wot she goin' on about now? The masses and . . . boobs?" Allan smirked as he approached. "I say we give 'em all those new sheep bladder implant whatsits," he said. "That oughtta keep 'em 'appy for a good long while."
Marian raised her other eyebrow at Allan of Bonchurch while keeping her other eyebrow raised at Guy. She was getting quite accomplished at this trick.
Allan raised his hands innocently. "'m I interruptin' somethin'?"
Marian sighed and turned her head toward the empty bedroom across the hall. There was still a little time before that meeting with the orphans and widows . . .
"No, I suppose not." She smiled.
"VASEY KILLED MY GRANDMA!" bawled a voice from the courtyard. To be fair, it was strictly the truth.
But Marian, Allan and Guy had already closed the door of the bedroom and heard nothing.
*arrow whoosh*
Location: A carriage on a road somewhere in Britain
A sleek, shiny black-and-white cat stuck out her rough pink tongue and licked the prince's nose. Finding this to be a procedure worth repeating, she did.
"Your cat," spoke Prince John, with more than a little annoyance, "does not seem to be showing us the deference befitting a future king."
Phillip, not knowing whom the prince meant by "us," looked around bewilderedly, seeing only the royal guard in front and in back of the carriage, which was rumbling roughly along at a steady pace. This made him remember that carriage rides made his bum hurt. This, in turn, reminded him that his mum had made him a very special seat cushion for such occasions. This made him forget to answer Prince John, which further perturbed the would-be monarch.
Lactica proceeded to bathe Prince John's nose.
"Sir Phillip," he said, side-eying the feline mistrustingly, "perhaps you ought to feed your . . . animal. It seems to be hungry."
Phillip pulled what appeared to be a large block of Swiss cheese, placed it under his rear end, and sat on it. A loud ripping noise emanated from it. Prince John looked faintly disgusted, not realizing that the cushion was to blame, and not Sir Phillip's digestive system.
"Oh, quite right! It's been at least twenty-three minutes since the last time she ate. Thank you ever so much for reminding me, my . . . your . . . Highness!" Phillip pulled out a wedge of Emmentaler from under his cloak, sniffed it approvingly, broke it in half, and gave a piece to Lactica, who at last turned her attention away from the princely proboscis and daintily attacked the cheese.
Phillip offered the other half to Prince John, who declined. "Not really in the mood for cheese right now, my boy," said the prince. He adjusted his own King Richard seat cushion (14.99₤ from Spencer's Gift Shoppe). "I'd much rather hear more about how you blew the wind up my brother's doublet, if you don't mind."
Phillip tittered nervously. "Oh, that? That . . . was nothing." He nibbled the Emmentaler.
"Nonsense! I want to hear about it." The prince's eyes narrowed dangerously. "If you loved me, you'd tell me."
Phillip gulped. Unfortunately, he did this with a large chunk of cheese in his mouth, and it lodged itself in his windpipe. The lucky result of this was that he couldn't answer Prince John's question due to impending asphyxiation. His mother had always taught him to look on the bright side of life, and his mother was never wrong.
Prince John winced at the loud wheezing which was coming from his new protégé. "Never mind, then, I shall hear it all from the Sheriff when we reach Nottingham."
Phillip's face turned red and his eyes bulged. Well, they might have if they hadn't already been that way from the choking. He thought how it would be rather funny if they got to Notshrimpham and the Sheriff knew nothing about ninja pirates or how Phillip had made the King look daft.
Lactica, seeing that her food-giver was in trouble, quickly jumped on his back and attempted to dislodge the cheese from his windpipe.
"Dear, me, you don't think it's going to rain, do you?" asked Prince John, looking apprehensively at the sky.
End of Chapter 1
Will Phillip get the cheese out of his windpipe? Will Lactica invent the Heimlich maneuver for cats? Will Marian wear silly costumes? (Spoiler: yes.) Will Vasey's health care reform get repealed?
Find out in Chapter 2 of Weekend at Vasey's II!