"We'll drink and be jolly an drown melancholy," Jas sings quietly as they ride down another dirt path, the reigns wrapped around her left hand while the right one rests on her leg," and here's to the health of each true-hearted lad. We'll rant and we'll roam like true British soldiers, we'll rant and we'll roam along the—"

"For the love of God," Gisborne growls, turning his harsh glare on Jas. She's been singing since they set out and his nerves have gradually worn down until he couldn't take it anymore; Jas was supremely proud of that fact. The men accompanying them didn't seem to mind, just bobbing their heads along with the sea shanty even though it hasn't been made yet in this realm. What year is it anyway? Certainly not 2016 since we're traveling by horse instead of car.

Jas looks around her, spotting nothing of interest aside from a few small birds soaring overhead. Her surroundings were mainly grasslands and gentle slopes that remind her of the landscapes in a child's storybook. It's beautiful, she wouldn't deny that at all, but it would certainly grow to be a dull view day after day.

"So, Gilbert, what do you do for our dear Sheriff," she asks, urging Tug closer to the front where Gisborne was riding. She notices that his jaw clenches at the name, but he doesn't comment this time. Like that'll make me stop saying it. "I mean besides escorting fair maidens around."

"You're a maiden," he counters, looking her up and down from the top of her head to her pink-painted toenails. "Somehow I have trouble believing you haven't been with more men than you can count." She swallows hard as a pang of anguish pierces her breast, thoughts better left alone coming to the front of her mind. Her grip on Tug's reigns tightens as her hands start to shake and she struggles to keep hold of her composure. To her credit, it never showed on her face and Gisborne ignored it completely. "I stay in Locksley as its Lord, I gather money from the peasants for Prince John, and I serve as the Sheriff's private guard on occasion." At the mention of Prince John her hand moves to the right side of her ribs, resting over the pitch black tattoo that formed his name—the name of the person that held her formal contract and so owned her until her master recalled her.

"So basically you're a glorified IRS agent." His dark brows furrow at the unfamiliar term and Jas rephrases. "A tax collector, Gilbert, just say you're a tax collector." She rolls her eyes, staring ahead of her again and making an effort to relax her hands as they enter a small village, their guards circling the center and a few jumping down to drag people out of their homes.

The houses were little more than huts with thatched roofs, the outside walls all bleached white from constant exposure to sunlight. There's a well in the direct center of the village and people in rags shuffle out with their heads bowed. Unlike in Nottingham, these peasants didn't reach out their hands or beg, they just stayed together in nervous groups. The way the guards roughly shoved the peasants about made little difference to Jas, they were only human after all, and humans were just a stepping stone above demons.

"Welcome to Locksley, Took." When Jas doesn't say anything, he returns his attention to the humans. "Ten sacks of flour have gone missing from the store," he calls out in a rumbling voice. "Rest assured that we will find them and the thieves in due time and deal with them all." He holds up a hand and wiggles his fingers with a cruel smirk, leading Jas to realize that they would be using medieval techniques.

"Chopping off hands? How very horrifying." Her sarcasm is ignored and her casual smile stays in place as a soldier comes out of a home carrying two sacks of flour the size of a small child. "Only eight sacks to go. Such progress you're making with your intimidation efforts." Gisborne sends her an annoyed look and Jas sticks her tongue out at him in response, giggling when he rolls his eyes. The owner of the house where the flour was discovered is brought to the front, the thin fabric of his shirt clutched in a guard's hand.

"Who helped the runt?" No one speaks, a few people boldly meeting Gisborne's gaze with only a little fear. They would be the ones to cause trouble and Jas wondered if a simple comment could set them off on a rampage. A Ranger's duty was to strengthen their master and the only way to do that is by making humans like these ones sin, so why not start early? "Step forward and I may show mercy."

After another moment of complete silence Jas leans towards him in her saddle to mock whisper. "I don't think the scare tactics are working."

"Thank you, Took." She grins, patting Tug's neck gently when the mare shuffles impatiently. "One boy couldn't steal ten sacks of flour by himself, but have no fear that we will find and punish the others to the full extent of the law."

"Whose law," a man calls out as he makes his way to the front," certainly not the King's." He is tall and fit with shaggy, dark blonde hair, and the type of features you'd expect to find on the cover of a teen hunk-style magazine; all swaggering arrogance and smooth-talking. "You must be Guy of Gisborne."

"Sir Guy of Gisborne," a guard hastily corrects, giving the man a snotty look. "You'd bow before him if you were smart." The bow that was delivered was entirely mocking and the man held Gisborne's stare through it all as he straightens again.

"Sir Guy of Gisborne. My name is Robin, Earl of Huntingdon and Lord of this manor; your services here are no longer required." Another man steps up and puts a fur mantle around Robin's shoulders, the peasants all bowing as shocked whispers begin to spread.

"Plot twist," Jas says in a sing-song tone, giggling again when Gisborne sends her another look. She knew that look well after seeing it on Flynn's face several times while growing up, it's the one big brothers have mastered and means for the recipient to either shut up or find a way to remove a size ten and a half boot from their ass. "Right, your ego's been bruised, you need time to heal."

Robin and the peasant that had given him the fur make their way past Jas and the others and begin walking to a manor house half a mile or so from the village, talking all the way like friends rather than a master and servant.

"So back to Nottingham?"

"No," Gisborne says with a shake of his head, glowering in the direction Robin was heading," no, I think I shall pay my respects to the new Lord of Locksley." They set off again, following the dirt path to the manor

"Does it sting to know that you're not a Lord of anything anymore? I bet it stings. I'd bet that you want to punch Robin right in his face."

"Do shut up, Took."