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[Allan a Dale]

It had been raining all morning and, for once in his life, Allan couldn’t say he was sorry for it. He might be soaked through the moment he stepped from the dry haven of camp but Allan knew he’d be out of harm’s way for now. He would have an excuse for not meeting Gisbourne and could turn his thoughts to more engaging topics. By early afternoon providence had changed its good will toward the man, however, and the rain stopped, though clouds still covered the sky. There was no way to put this off any longer and it would behoove him not to. Guy was far from a patient man and there was an empty pocket in Allan’s coat begging to be filled. With an excuse to the gang that he’d promised to drop a few coins to a woman and child he’d met the day before, Allan set out for Clun alone. It wouldn’t take long to make the drop and head into town, no one would be the wiser. His alibi was safe, the woman would vouch that he’d delivered on his promise and he could always say he’d got caught up in the mud on the way.

It wasn’t that he was traitor, he told himself, as he tromped through Sherwood Forest. Allan a Dale wasn’t hurting anyone. It wasn’t as if he’d ever foiled one of their major plans and, if anything, it kept them on their toes. Robin had to scheme bigger and better and the gang had to be that much more clever, agile, quick, and strong. Allan was doing them a favor really. They would never become complacent while he was there. That’s what he told himself at least. He was playing both sides of the table and, while he knew the gang would twist this into something it wasn’t, Allan knew that when all was said and done he could match wits with Gisbourne and Robin and profit from it without repercussion. How long had he been trading secrets and not been found out? It had been long enough for Allan to develop his own sturdy independent stash, that was certain. It was a risky business but, if and when the king ever decided to return to England, his future would be secure. That was far more than Robin could ever guarantee, far more than anyone but Robin could claim as reward. Allan couldn’t live this kind of life forever: sleeping in the woods, living in practical celibacy, the life of a pauper out shined by his comrade in arms who had everything from the girl to the fortune to the title. They all had to understand that they had to do something decent for themselves. What good did it do to become martyrs?

For all this, however, Allan was all nerves. After a short stop and many grateful words from a pretty widow with a wee one sat on her knee, Allan accepted his fate and moved on to Nottingham. The slums, there was no kind word for them, were far from bustling due to the morning rains and their meeting place was far too public. What was Gisbourne playing at, meeting outside some sorry looking shop and not in some darkened room in the local tavern? No, the gang were making repairs to their far from water resistant roof, they wouldn’t come to town today but the point stood. Allan was in constant fear of being found out, of being recognized by someone. When he reached the shop there was a woman placing a stand of half-rotten produce outside the door. Not wishing to draw attention to himself and never sure when Gisbourne would deem to find the time meet him, Allan took to walking about the narrow street. A usually collected man, Allan was clearly agitated, constantly looking to their meeting place and pacing in turn across the street. It had been unwise to agree to meet here but Gisbourne had insisted that meeting in the same place was foolish. Certainly this was true but not as foolish as meeting here. If Gisbourne didn’t show in a half hour’s time he was gone. The sheriff’s man couldn’t expect the outlaw to risk being discovered, he’d lose an informant and Allan would lose credibility if not his life. Not only did he have to remain constantly vigilant of the townspeople but especially of the sheriff’s guards roaming the streets. It wasn’t as if they were in on the deal struck between himself and the sheriff’s right-hand man. With each passing moment Allan’s anxiety grew and nothing short of meeting Gisbourne himself was going to alleviate it.

[Clot]

The morning's rain had left Clot empty, empty pocket, empty stomach and an empty head. She was bored. She had been bored on the road many a time, but there had always been something, even if it was birdwatching as she walked. Today was just an empty day, she had resigned herself to that fact in the morning, staring out a hole in the wall at the rain. She didn't own enough clothes to warrant getting soaked once again. She would catch a cold, if not a nastier disease, and you couldn't pick pockets if you sneezed - oddly enough it gave you away. So she had stayed in until it let up sufficiently, and then she was out like a shot. Not that there was anything of interest outside either. The mud and threatening clouds kept the most sensible people at home. Those who left were like her, empty pocketed and hungry. She didn't want to end up in one of the taverns this early in the day, at a total loose end she picked up a few coins from her 'rainy day' stash and headed for a more open street where at least one shop would be hoping for customers.

Turning onto the street she found in almost void of people, and none of the shops were open yet, or not obviously. So she settled herself on one of the tables used when the market spilled into the lower quarters, which was almost never now. So she watched the few people grow, until they were a few more and then a few more. Slowly multiplying until their number suggested some chance at making a sale and a few shop keepers ventured to display their wares. She watched the people. Noting who she knew and who she didn't. There were the parents of some of the other pickpockets about, and a couple of people she didn't want to meet again. But no one of interest, they were either poor or too watchful. Eventually the rumbling of her stomach drove her to move, and buy food.

Given the weather she would have been wise to buy a half fresh lukewarm item from the bakers which had opened up near her. However, as luck would have it something interesting finally came along. Just arrived, and standing outside a shop displaying the fruit you would only every buy to throw at someone was a face she half-recognised. Since the last time she had seen him was in a shadowed alleyway it took her a moment to place him, and his very different physicality didn't help. He didn't match the confident trickster she had met earlier, and he didn't match the area. Unsure as she approached him, she watched carefully. He was clearly agitated and couldn't stop moving, which in this empty street drew attention if any one chose to look. He wasn't going anywhere, so Clot moved over to the shop careful not to look at him as she brought a random piece of fruit and quickly pocketed another, slightly less rotten piece. Turning round she settled herself next to the fruit, watching him as she ate what she could of the piece she had come by honestly. He glanced in her direction enough to show he was watching and waiting, though for what she didn't know. Everyone else was going somewhere, not wanting to stay in the open for fear of another rainstorm.

As she waited she tried to remember anything about him. What he had said at their last encounter, anything he had let on about himself. But she couldn't, she could only remember his trick and the way he had slipped so smoothly into groups, befriending the lads in moments. He hadn't given anything concrete, just like she hadn't. He was only what he had wanted to seem, a trickster, a no body. Clot was annoyed by that thought. She was supposed to be that, she didn't like sharing. Pickpockets didn't share; that was like the sheriff sharing his wealth with the other nobles, when everyone knew he hoarded all he could, no matter how he came by it. In those few moments Clot decided she would know, she didn't like this dragon on her map of Nottingham and it's people.

[Allan a Dale]

The one and only perk of meeting in the shady slums of Nottingham after a good, solid rainstorm was that no one had any desire to linger. No one was looking out of doorways, no one was sitting at tables chatting up neighbors and associates, importantly, no one was observing. Anyone who lived in the area knew that, in order to survive, you had to keep on your toes. The land of hovels instead was quiet, almost dead, though the street began to see a steady increase in flow of persons, heads down, traveling to and from unknown destinations. Anyone with any piece of domestic comfort and no immediate business needs at hand was certainly shut up at home. Given the choice, Allan would never have left the relative comfort of camp but self-preservation, ambition, and thoughts of future comfort held too great a hold on the man for him to turn the trip down.

It took several glances back to the rotting produce stand before Allan realized he was being watched. He had to give it to the girl, she had a way of blending in. Her clothes, her coloring, everything said that she was a girl of these streets. It was like his father said, “The rats of the street know their own, Allan. They know the lay of things better than you ever will so watch yourself.” While he saw the truth of his father’s words he challenged them. Allan knew Nottingham like the back of his hand by this time, or so he told himself. It wasn’t like the good days when he traveled with his father and brother, never calling any one place home in the traditional sense. If the girl held a threat it was no more than anyone else in the street who could observe and report on his doings.

For one brief moment he hoped against the odds that she hadn’t recognized him. If it had been any day but today he would have walked over confidently and asked how business was treating her. There was no denying they were both in a similar trade as far as pick pocketing and cons went and they’d left each other on good footing. There was something about this girl that interested him even now. She was clever and that, in a woman, was rare. There was untapped potential here and Allan was curious to see where it would lead. If pressed he might admit that he saw something of himself in there. That curiosity, the drive to become better. The question was if the same ambition that flowed through his own veins flowed within hers. Did she expect to be a lowly pick pocket her entire life or did she have her sights set higher. That was the making of a person: ambition.

But today he wanted to meet no one familiar, wanted to excite no interest in his person or in his actions. Fate, it would appear, had other plans. She certainly had seen him and he her; there was no way of getting around it. The question was whether it was best to completely ignore her and hope she’d go away, an unlikely scenario when she’d followed him about last time, or to talk to her from the first. Gisbourne was the sticking point; Allan couldn’t very well be seen talking to the locals, it was a liability. It didn’t take much thought to make a connection between Allan’s affiliations with Hood and talking with certain persons in town, it spoke of a dangerous association that wasn’t there. It was time for plan making. There was still a chance she might make a fleeting recognition before returning to her own business. If she continued to watch him or made any movement his way he’d be forced to acknowledge her, to say something and discourage her from hanging about him (in as an unsuspicious manner as possible). It wasn’t ideal, he would rather have met no one, but he couldn’t risk her being around when Gisbourne arrived.

[Clot]

Clot would have quite happily pointed out all the reasons why the street rats knew their homes and people so well. He never could because he could never observe in the same way, with that skill of blending in that they possessed. They belonged and so no one thought twice of them, eyes glancing over as if they didn't exist. That had always been part of the danger. As children they knew the smaller gaps and holes, the roof that could support a little extra weight and a pair of quick feet. They knew which stalls to duck under in a busy market, where puddles and blockages were likely to form. As children they had the ability to weave through crowds otherwise impassible and so they moved quicker then any one else if they wished to. Even with out knowing a place well Clot was able to blend in, and to learn, with ease. Clot was proud of her existence, knowing it was a rat eat rat world and only the strongest of mind and body survived. And survived she had. Sure it was a tough and hard fought battle but she enjoyed it too. There were the few perks, like sending people half mad with tricks, and watching those who were clearly up to no good. Admittedly the future career options were limited, but that didn't bother a girl who lived almost entirely for the moment, for the day. Taking as much as you could in a day was the only way to survive. Then at least you would have a safety net.

She saw the moment he recognised her and the fact he didn't react to this. It was hardly surprising, he was out of place and agitated and so almost certainly doing something less than honest. Or something overly honest and unpleasant (like confessing he'd scammed someone?) though why he would do that she couldn't understand. Either way he probably didn't want watchers. Not that that in anyway bothered Clot. He couldn't make her move, and it would almost certainly be interesting to watch. Even if it did only tell her who he associated with. Since she had nothing on the man anything was better than nothing. What she didn't think of, of course, was that pushing it could take it too far and remove a possible ally. Being who she was she had long discounted allies as unimportant, but in Nottingham they were everything. Nottingham was a town where if you had no onw too look out for you, you had no one to get help if something happened. No one to tell the heroes that you were in desperate need of help. Having decided to have nothing to do with these people,however, meant that Clot was unaware of this simple fact.

Deciding he wasn't about to bite her head off if she spoke to him Clot moved away from the wall, walking slowly but surely towards, side stepping the few people on the street and looking the other way. No one was paying any attention to the ragamuffin or the man waiting in the street, so no one looked as she reached him and raised a hand in greeting. "Wouldn't have put you down as living here..." She smiled, interest lingering in her eyes. She was unsure how to approach a man who most probably knew as much if not more than she did in the art of tricking people. He knew at least she played the same game as him, it was hard to trust such a person and so it most likely did not matter how she acted. He would be a fool to believe a street child and known trickster. It was like trusting the Sheriff not to swindle you out of every penny.

[Allan a Dale]

The moment she began her slow progress toward him Allan looked in the opposite direction, hoping she’d take this final hint that he wished to remain undisturbed. For the hundredth time he cursed Gisbourne for choosing such a public meeting place and set his mind to coming up with some viable excuse for hanging around a place he most certainly did not belong. Allan was good at many things but he did have a way of tripping over his lies when they mattered the most and he couldn’t risk being caught off guard. When she spoke, Allan turned to meet her a small grin on his face, one that didn’t reach his eyes. He might be amused by her and interested in her potential but he didn’t need someone with keen observation abilities watching his every move today.

“I’m a man of the world. I call no place home,” he said confidently, suspecting the girl could say the same of herself. “Good place to sniff out a lead, listen and learn things. I’m sure you know.” There was no point denying he was a conman, she’d seen as much herself. One day he had the mind to watch her and see what she was capable of. It would be nice change from being the one watched all the time. But for now he was at the disadvantage. His explanation about hanging around to discover his next con was viable enough though. Just needed some good information, a promising lead. What visiting noble was said to be visiting the castle, what the sheriff was rumored to be doing, who had just got a gift from Robin Hood…the possibilities were endless. If Allan a Dale believed in anything it was his ability to sell anything and he could sell this half-truth well enough. Besides, if that didn’t work, he was a master in diversion.

The real question was what the street urchin knew. Did she suspect he was up to something nefarious? No question about that, they were two of kind in that respect: living for and by their wits and conning others out of what they held precious. Did she guess or flat out know his affiliation with Robin though? It would be bad enough being seen meeting with Gisbourne but being a known member of the Merry Men and meeting Gisbourne was a death sentence. It wasn’t as if there weren’t people in town who knew. He couldn’t just steal a piece of fruit or bread from just anyone anymore. His face was recognizable and if he wasn’t living up to Robin’s code of conduct he’d be made to pay for it. Once Will had caught him nicking something off a local merchant and was utterly disgusted that he’d steal from the same people they helped. Will simply put too much stock in Robin’s ideals. They had to eat too and if Robin was going to carry out any of his lofty plans they needed to eat. What was morality when you had an empty stomach?

“Wouldn’t have put you down was the kind of girl to go out after a stiff rain. Not being funny but no man takes a fancy to a pretty girl covered in mud.” He wasn’t speaking strictly of himself of course but from the moment he’d seen her he’d pegged her as the sort of girl who could turn heads if she wanted to. It was only natural to think she was the kind who prayed on men, just as he played on the weak minded, but he recognized that there was something more to her: a quick mind. Still, he was certain she played off the weaknesses of men and, being a rainy day, few people would let their guard down for someone completely covered in mud, hanging about the slums. It just spoke trouble. It never occurred to him that she wasn’t “working” or that any woman didn't make personal beauty a top priority. What's more, it never crossed his mind that perhaps he'd pegged her wrong entirely and she conned without distinction.

[Clot]

Clot only took his glance to mean he didn't want company, which only encoraged her. It had been years since anything had caught her mind this way. But she couldn't place him. He had lied about the kids she was sure, and something didn't fit. She vaugly recognised his face, something she could say about almost anyone in this town to be fair, but even so something wasn't right. His turn, his grin spoke of a need to be rid of her. That wasn't going to happen, not unless he physically tied her down somewhere she wouldn't be rescued. Not he had her full attention, all thought at gaining a few pennies gone. Sure he could, run but she would follow blending in with ease. No where here was safe from her prying eyes, except the Castle but that brought a whole new perspective to him so she didn't even consider the idea. He wouldn't blazonly walk into the castle and then hang around in the very home of those who suffered most would he?

She wasn't a fool to be taken in by the half-smile, even a genuine one would have meant little to her except to say they were easy prey. She already knew he's be a hard nut to crack, but she would gaining information if nothing else. It wasn't like he was loaded with money, he wouldn't be here if he was. 'Man of the world' that was fair enough, but conpsicous as he was he couldn't be listening and he was waiting she was sure. The half truth had her for a moment, but it didn't show she kept her eyes on him face neatly bland of expression. Trusting her instincts rather than his words she nodded slightly and smiled, her own not quite touching her eyes. "It is, if people don't skirt around you. You're not gonna hear anything if they shut up when they walk past." she shruged and turned, watching the few people one the streets. They were skirting the pair of them. Today was a keep to yourself day and they broke the rules of that by standing and talking.

She raised her eyes at his next comment. She never layed on men that way, you couldn't do it and blend in the way she liked to. And every con man knows you shouldn't step out of your comfort zone, plus turning heads required money and she didn't have the time to watch those who did it. So for now she would continue to be the disenchanting child in mud that every eye skimmed over. "Never asked a man to look at me twice. Jus' brings trouble 'cos men don't know what's good for them." Most days she wasn't quite this filthy but she didn't have a choice with the mud and rain.

"Anyway, what you got to chase up in the slums? Surely the likes of you would have better luck in the Tavern?" It was true, he fitted the tavern and busy market but he was too well-bred, well-groomed to fit in the place where no one lived off more than a few pennies, where children starved in parent's arms as they drunk themselves into a stupor. One day she too would have to make that change, going from slum child to some one who could no longer pick pockets at leiusure who was bound to the taverns or the night. Unless of course she traveled, never staying around in one place long enough to become known. But those days were far enough away she didn't think about them.