The bruises on her arms were already becoming apparent; she had the skin of a summer peach and it damaged just as easily. The guards were anything but hospitable as she came into the office of Vesey against her will. The short man sat behind a dark stained desk enveloped by cold stone walls and the clutter of tools, paperwork, and half eaten food. He was picking rubbish from his growing fingernails in silence even as the guests arrived and shut the heavy doors. A sense of foreboding was purposefully created in the quiet.

"You," he said as he pointed a stubby finger at her without looking up, "run Kirkslee's Orphanage."

"Yes." April shortly answered with a tone of respect and weariness.

"Well, Abby, we are in quite a pickle here." Vesey stood and meandered to a window where he peeked out to an occupied street below.

"My name is April, sire."

"Hmm?"

"April," she nervously glanced to the bouncers who still held her in place, "my name. It's April." The Sherriff stared blankly with zero thought process as she spoke. Another barrier was soon put up, this one also constructed from silence, as he kissed out his lips.

"Well, I'm sure Gisborne knows that," Was his eventual connection to her introduction. She had confusion crystallized in her emerald eyes while Vesey shrugged his shoulders, "Yes, no, maybe so?"

"I know Sir Guy." April cautiously gave him.

"Yes, well, he knows you for sure." The Sherriff chuckled as he progressed back to the corner of the desk and lifted a munched on apple. He contemplated it, took a large bite, and set the fruit back aside. He squirreled it away into the pocket of his cheek before asking if she agreed.

"My Lord…"

"He has told you things, I am sure. About the castle."

"Not particularly. Oh, Sherriff, if you are worried I know where you have money or something, I don't. I have no clue –" April was stopped by a raise of the hand.

"That is not my concern, my dear," he pasted on a tight smile, "I am worried about what Gisborne thinks of his job. Of dear old me. You see… he has been slacking. A lot. And I don't like it, no not at all. You see, I have to punish Gisborne. Do you know how I will do it?" April gave a miniscule shake of her head and wished she could look away; he pointed at her and mouthed the word 'you.'

"My Lord –"

"Blah. Blah blah. Blah blah di blah di blah! I do not care what you have to say," Vesey went to the window and drew a dagger, tapping the shimmering blade to the window sill, "But I do want you to know I am offering you a way out. Oh yes, I can give you safety."

"What do you want from me?" April practically whispered, her head beginning to ache and become confused.

"I am concerned about Gisborne's performance. How can I trust a man if he will not do as he is told? Structure, my dear, is the base of all good, don't you agree? You see, I want to be sure he is doing a proper job, and for the right people. If I had someone sweet to ensure that…"

"Sire…"

"If you were to tell me everything he says about business, I think that thin little throat will be just fine for a while."

"You want me to spy on Guy?" April's neck felt crushed as she choked on each syllable. Vesey looked to the side then immediately back at her.

"Yes. Well, it's not spying if we are all playing for the same team, eh?" The jeweled toothed grin was enough to make flesh uncomfortable and hearts repent out of fear of being so vile as him. How could Gisborne be affiliated with him? She squeezed her eyes shut and glanced up knowingly at the mirrored dagger, seeing in the reflection quite clearly what she had to do.

Guy was obsessed with pressing the valueless piece of cloth on the hilt of his sword, scrubbing a spit shine in to the metal itself. He was making no effort to keep himself from eavesdropping nor did he actively listen, but several guards cut through the lounge area with random and sometimes personal tidbits that were shared between colleagues. Gisborne found one henchman's swelling infection of the toe much more interesting than most of the babble that came across.

"Nasty thing, this," he explained with a minute gesture, "it's just as purple as me wife's gown."

"Just don't know why I have to be the one to watch the stables all night!" whined another worker.

"Might have to get that thing chopped off, " a suit of armor said to the ill companion of his, "I can do it for cheap!"

"Can you believe that pretty little thing down in the cells?" was a buzz by a short employee.

"Oh yeah, wouldn't mind helping myself to some of that." Came the answer.

"Eh, she does some orphanage or something. Too goody for my taste; where's a girl who loves a drink as much as me?" the petite man snapped back. Gisborne had his attention piqued by this last conversation and stretched an arm into the chest of his subordinate. The men halted immediately as their boss stonily glanced into their eyes; his expression was conquered by persistence and authority.

"What girl?" his baritone voice demanded.

"Sir Guy, I really don't think she's your type-"

"What girl with an orphanage?" Gisborne sensed his trachea inflating with a petrified fear that little April had been somehow wronged or harmed by the castle that he, in fact, was meshed into. He was fully aware of what any of these men were capable of.

"Tall brunette; very humble, very sad."

"Very pretty." His partner suggestively interjected. Guy squinted with menace and sniffed, stabbing him with unspoken threats. It was effective. Gisborne slammed his battle equipment back into its scabbard with a burst of unease and charged to the prison with a mild jog.

What had April gotten herself into; was she alright? How could he live having to see scars mar her gentle flesh if she had already been punished for a crime she was realistically unlikely to commit? He had to rescue her. Guy rounded the corner of the hall to approach the arched doorway to the descending rock stairs of the dungeon when suddenly he hit a wall. The man of leather found himself with an irrational fear of seeing her, hearing her, and now even thinking of her. A wet towel of heat clamped to him and weighed his stomach into the floor, bringing Gisborne into a state of thin breathing. Everything that Marian had confessed to him streaked the walls and invaded his mind. He tightly gripped bare fingers in his growing hair and momentarily tugged to relieve stress; a futile effort. Finding a new idol of affection was supposed to be easier than this. But what if… no. He could not become paranoid about Marian and the outstanding question of who he shall bestow attention upon. At this moment, one of the women he loved was in clear danger of losing her life. Sir Guy of Gisborne refused to give this day any blood from the one he adored.