London is a rather nice city to live in. If one doesn't mind the rain that falls more often than not, especially during the fall, or the bitter cold on many a winter morning. It's a bristling cold morning in March. Winter is reluctant to leave and April seems to be dragging its feet. Most Londoners are looking forward to the spring months, when the winter will be well and truly over. Robin doesn't consider himself to be much like the average Londoner, but he shares their mindset of wishing for the months to sweep by with a bit more vigor. March is a slow month for street music and a cold one for sleeping in the rickety camp that moves around London, trying to stay away from the law that does not appreciate the rough sleeping that he has made his home. Still, his guitar is as good as it has ever been, so there's little reason not to play it, even if there's no tourists to stand and listen to him. He plays his tune with cold fingers, plucking the snares and accompanying the notes with the words of a song. It's an old song that he's always liked, a song about a melancholy of hope, about the promised land that so many from his country had set out to tame and conquer. The song reminds him of his own trek to the city. He'd never tamed that land, never found a real place in the bustling city of London, but loved it all the more.

He ends the words on a soft song, stroking the hand over the worn surface of his trusty guitar. It's a good instrument, the most pricy and precious thing he owns. The thing had been the first thing he'd bought when he'd arrived in London. He'd gotten it from a tiny shop so stuffed with instruments that it had been hard to move. He'd clutched the money in his hand and bought the most expensive guitar he could afford. He had left his father's guitar at home, the old one that had taught him the notes and songs. Something about a new start.

He watches a greying man with a tired face give him a small smile, throwing a handful of money in the guitar case laid out before him. It's all he gets in exchange for the song. When the weather is good and the hour is calm, he usually fetches a bit more from the Londoners, but the city's in a foul, grey mood and he catches near to nothing. He stretches his fingers and warms them for a second, watching the quick steps of men and women walking towards work, towards home, towards families and friends. He sighs, his melancholy returning to his heart as he remembers the home he left behind. Remembers the family he'd had for just a bit and the little boy that is no longer his to love. He bites back the tears and sighs, drawing another tune from his guitar and more words from his mouth. Foreign, yet so familiar.

I'm lucky, I know
But I wanna go home

"I'm bloody freezing, John, tell me we got something warm." The rubs his hands together and blows against them in an effort to keep them warm. It's after sunset and without the sun the city cools down quickly. He quickly canvasses the camp his rickety band of friends, they call themselves 'the Merry Men', has set up. Tents and blankets with a fire burning in an empty can to keep warm. It's not much, but he's had worse and honestly, it's the closest thing to a home he has. With light feet he pads towards his own tent and places his guitar inside.

"We got some broth today." Answers little John. "And bread, fresh. We saved some for you."
Robin reaches out for the bread, his mouth already watering as he smells the almost-freshly baked goodness. He brings it up to his mouth, but only breathes in deeply before sinking his teeth into it.
"Hmm. That's good." He decides. "Where did you get it?"
"Tuck brought it here a few hours ago, along with some other groceries." John answers with a pleased smile, gesturing towards a small but promising pile of supplies. Robin frowns and lowers his hand.
"He didn't steal it, did he?" He knows the past of these man, knows his own past before he found the error in his ways. He knows that it's easy to revert, knows that when his songs are paid with nothing but quick struts it's so, so hard not to just take what he needs. To his relief John shakes his head.
"He didn't. I think he bought the bread and some other stuff and got the rest from one of those kitchens, you know?"
"Hm, well in that case I send him my thanks." Robin smiles, sitting down next to the can and taking the mug with warm broth that John hands him.
"How was the city today?" John asks. He usually steers clear from the center of the city. The city makes him feel trapped, he tells Robin, preferring to stay in the less familiar corners of the city where people are scarce. Robin sighs and shakes his head.
"Harsh. Must be the weather."
"Must be." John answers flatly. Robin wonders why the man still lives in a city he so despises. Perhaps it's because it's the only home he's ever known. Even if it's hardly a home at all.

His feet lead him past the waters of the Thames in the morning. The city is still waking up, only the occasional jogger running past him. He loves the walks past the river in the morning when the city seems just a bit less stressed and weighed down. He rubs his hands, but when he finally reaches the street he'd set out for, his fingers are already cold. He sighs and glances to the street. Time spent not playing means money lost, but on the other hand playing will be rather unpleasant with his fingers tingling from the cold. He grasps into his pocket and finds the scarce amount of money he'd gathered the day before. With a shake of his head he opens the door to a small café, the bell ringing happily when he steps in.

He orders a simple coffee and sits down in the table in the corner. As he warms his hands to the pleasantly hot paper cup he watches the green wallpaper that is in desperate need of replacement, the slight swinging of a rustic lamp that gives barely enough light for one to read a book by. He watches with interest as the barista moves around, looking rather off inside the authentic looking café: Her ebony hair is streaked with red, matching her outfit that is almost completely red as well. Robin can't help a smile at it. It's a refreshing sight after the black-and-white attires he sees most of the day. London can be a very grey city and frankly any kind of color is welcome.

"Hey Regina!" The bell rings in answer to the barista's calling and he can't help but turn his attention to it. Through the door steps exactly the king of black-and-white, entitled woman he sees so often playing on the street. Her heels click against the murky brown tiles as she walks in and Robin can't help but watch her as she moves towards the counter.
"Ruby." She acknowledges, sounding both tired and slightly snappy at the same time. It's the weather, Robin concludes.
"Wow, this early and already this sour?" Ruby twists around and puts a steaming hot cup of coffee on the counter, topped with whipped cream and cinnamon sparkles. He watches the woman's face light up slightly at the sight and give a thankful nod to Ruby, before she takes her place on one of the stools and sighs.
"I'm not sour." The woman he figures has to be Regina mumbles in answer. "I'm just … sick of these idiots."
"I'd sympathize, but you hang out with too much idiots for me to understand who you mean."
"My colleagues." Regina hisses, letting out a sigh. "And my boss."
"Yeah well I warned you. Bosses suck." Ruby answers with a shrug, procuring a can of whipped green from under the counter and swirling some on a spoon. "That's why I don't have one." She puts the spoon on her mouth and gives a grin to Regina.
"You do. Your grandmother. Who has told you specifically not to do that." Regina deadpans.
"Psh. Moms." Ruby drawls, dropping the spoon on the counter and leaning in towards it.

"How's Henry?"
Regina sighs. "Stubborn, thirteen years old and home alone more often than I'd like."
"You know I'm always on for babysitting right? I mean always when I'm not-"
"I know." Regina says with a smile. "When you're not working or partying."
"Always happy to help." Ruby smiles. She then turns her attention away from Regina, her eyes suddenly meeting Robin's and it's only then that he realizes he had been staring.

"We've been entertaining you, sir, now how about you return the favor?" The barista flashes him a grin and he knows he's caught. The brunette turns towards him, her ebony hair shining in the ambient light, her brown eyes curious and an amused smile gracing her lips. Ruby swaggers towards him and taps the guitar case next to him on the couch. "You play?"
"I do." Robin admits. "I'm a –" He swallows, narrowing his eyes. "A musician."
"Play something." Ruby instructs, walking backwards to the counter and hopping on one of the stools. "To cheer up my friend." She adds with a nod towards Regina. "The next coffee's on the house." She finally adds and Robin smiles and steals a glance at the woman who seems in need of some cheering up indeed.
"Who I am to refuse the lady?"

He takes the guitar from his case, the feeling of having an actual audience already so foreign to him. The takes a short glance at the brunette's beautiful brown eyes before his fingers find the snares and he's lost himself in the music, his voice softly but clearly filling the air between the flaking green walls and the muddy tiles.

April, come she will.
When streams are ripe and swelled with rain;
May, she will stay,
Resting in my arms again.

I've had the idea for this story for quite some time and I decided to try it out. Did you guys like it? Should I continue?