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[Jacqueline Fletcher]

Marian had made it clear that she did not want Jacqueline Fletcher to sneak out of camp and try to spy on the Sheriff. There was absolutely no possible way to misinterpret it. After all, if you could misinterpret "Jacqueline Fletcher, do not, under any circumstances, sneak out of camp in any way to spy on the Sheriff or any of his men!", then you were bloody brilliant. Now, Jackie had no intention of misinterpreting it; she had used that excuse far too many times, which was why Marian was so clear and precise now. No, she was simply going to ignore and flat-out disobey it, which was something else entirely.

Jacqueline Fletcher sipped her ale in what she considered a dignified silence, her eyes flicking about the inn rather suspiciously. As desperately as she wanted to get up and sit down near the Sheriff's table, she dared not; he knew her face, and knew it well. He should; she had danced with him several times at the last ball she had sneaked into. He might have been severely drunk at the time, but he was known for remembering things that happened during his intoxication. But what if he really hadn't been drunk? What if he had pretended to be drunk so nobody would take him seriously? Jackie toyed with that motion for a moment, then discarded it with a shake of the head. Absolutely nobody could fake that breath or those bloodshot eyes. Not even the Sheriff.

Her eyes flicked to the door as more people walked in, and one or two left. Three sat down at the Sheriff's table; it was all the girl could do to keep from getting up and joining the card game near his table. She didn't, though, for two reasons. First, he would recognize her and clam up tighter than a door with rusted hinges, and second, she was absolutely horrible at cards. She did not want to have to go to Marian and ask for money to pay back the debt, especially when they had so little money already. She wasn't really all that fussed with the thought that by asking for money, Marian would realize what she had done; Jackie honestly didn't care if she found out. She always did whatever she pleased, and if that didn't suit somebody, then that somebody could jump off a cliff.

She couldn't help but worry a little, though. She knew that the infernal and infuriating Frederick Clarke kept following her, even though she had made it painfully clear that she wanted no part of him. The woman felt a twinge of guilt at the memory; why did she feel guilty for telling him where to shove it? It was his own fault that she hated him now. He had started the fight, and if he wanted her back, he'd have to do some mightily profuse apologizing.

Jacqueline shook her head and gulped down more ale. She wasn't going to think about this. No, she was going to keep her mind on the job, and nothing else. NOTHING else. Especially not the damned Clarke boy.

[Clot]

Once again the rain had driven Clot to seek shelter with the rest of the town, that is to say an inn of some sort. Jerusalem Inn had the best pickings on days such as this, so she slipped in the door her hair dripping and clothes an almost inappropriate see-through. She was glad of the darker cloak she wore in winter and pulled the heavy material around her, trying to preserve what modesty she had. Mostly the crowd did not notice another sorry face. Each too absorbed in their drink and conversations to be disturbed as she slipped agilely past them. It was warm to the point of humid in the inn and it made the heavy cloak uncomfortable, still there were much, much worse positions to be in. She threw a look across to the most crowded table, and the loudest, the Sheriff's. Unconsciously Clot licked her lips at the thought of the richness of those pickings. But she was not such a fool as to think they would be worth the risk. She absolutely would not lose a hand or her life for a little more comfort. She would have to move on again anyway and and Nottingham was proving to be far too interesting. Besides there was that part of her that wanted to find out she she was, though she didn't hope for anything. If she'd had a name or something, maybe there would have been a chance but with just a ring she had as much chance of finding anyone as she did stealing from the sheriff and getting away with it.

So she moved away, putting distance between herself and the one man she knew to watch carefully, with both eyes. He was slippery in the way every trickster was, but he had money, authority and force that made him formidable in the way no one else could ever be. It was this act that brought her closer to another interesting subject; a young woman totally alone sipper her own drink and watching. The woman made no attempt to socialise and as far as Clot could see her eyes kept going back to the sheriff. However, it was clear from her clothes she was no friend of his. The outfit was well made but simple and practical, not the fashion of the few women the Sheriff kept about himself. There was something else about the woman, Clot observed, something tense and watching. The woman's eyes flicked around the room for a moment and Clot knew she had to know what was going through the woman's mind that she sat watching men, seemingly unconcerned for her own safety.

Just that thought alone pushed the girl to move over to the table where the woman sat, stopping to wring the worst of the water from her clothes onto the already wet and mushy floor. Dried herbs did not respond well to the addition of water and although the stone flags did their best to prevent the build up of mud it was inevitable. With that observation and slightly dryer clothes Clot made her way to the table, after giving a harsh glance to a drunk who just so happened to be in her way. The woman seemed lost in thought, or perhaps too busy observing so Clot merely slipped on to the neighbouring bench, drawing her legs up and watching the woman's feet. She didn't say a word but let the shivers run down her body.

If she had learnt anything in the last few weeks it was that most women in Nottingham had soft hearts, especially those on their own. After all, if you watched hard enough you saw the quick flick of a hand and someone else's joyful face. Clot was sure she had seen someone like this woman giving out money and food, or trying to. But their customary hoods made identifying anyone difficult, unless you saw them face on. So Clot let the thought slip from her mind and turned her head from her shoes to the Sheriff's table forcing herself to wait patiently, uncontiously fingering her ring where it lay beneath her clothes.

((ooc: I may have got slightly addicted to the through of rain ))

[Jacqueline Fletcher]

If she had thought that the inn would be drier than outside, then she deserved to be beaten over the head with an iron skillet. Two hours she'd been sitting here, and she was soaked. Her clothes were completely sodden, as though they were made of the rain itself, and she was chilled to the bone. Every time she wrung her cloak out, the pouring rain would increase tenfold and her clothes would be soaked again. It wasn't fair, it really wasn't. If she had enough nerve, she would go to the innkeeper and complain. However, right now, she was in no condition to move. The last thing she needed right now was to get doused again, and that seemed to happen every time she so much as blinked.

Unfortunately, she couldn't keep her eyes open longer than thirty seconds before she was forced to shut them again. The staring contests she used to have with the Mother Superior had been no help whatsoever. That woman had eyes like a hawk; blinking seemed to be one habit she hadn't developed. Trying to outstare her was like trying to outstare a cat, or a snake. It just didn't work at all. The Mother Superior apparently had no eyelids, and if she did, she certainly didnt' use them. Now that was a skill Jacqueline would have loved to pick up. It would have come in useful when she was distributing money. Half the time, she didn't notice the guards until they were about two paces too close, and simply because she had been busy blinking at the time.

The bench creaked, and she blinked -- what, again? Damn! -- turning to see what had just happened beside her. A young woman had taken a seat, curling up to warm her feet. Jackie frowned, twisting in her seat to better see the woman. "You look cold. Here, have some ale." She pushed her flagon across the table. "It's a lot wetter and colder in here than outside...unless you're sitting with a group. Then you sweat like cattle. I would join that group over there - " she pointed to the Sheriff's table - "but I don't fancy being groped right now. Besides, I'm new to this area, and I don't know anybody in this inn. I'd feel strange, just joining a table of people that I've never seen before." She smiled warmly, hoping that the woman wouldn't see through her blatant lie. "My name is Jacqueline Fletcher. What's yours?"

(( Haha, is okay. (; I love the rain. <33 ))

[Clot]

Clot finally realised why this section of the inn was emptier than the rest, it was fairly obvious from the drenched state of the woman, this was the section with the leaky roof. The inn was so constantly the site of brawls and violence that the inn keeper had long since given up repairing the roof when the whole section got knocked out of kilter. Besides which, with the Sheriff's high taxes the inn keeper wasn't making enough to keep repairing it if he wanted to. Hence the corner was only used by those who didn't know, were seeking space to talk in private or when the inn was at it's fullest and space could not be found else where. Most of the inn leaked to some extent but this was the popular fighting corner as the evenings wore on so it was worst than the rest. Clot couldn't see the advantage in mentioning the drier conditions else where just yet, not if it meant others were near-by.

The ale offered by the woman was a welcomed warmer and Clot took it with out thinking and drank before quickly putting it back down, it was a bad idea to just take drinks. More than once she'd had someone offer a free drink only to then turn around and declare she had stolen it. Besides, she realised, this was the half-decent stuff that wasn't almost completely water. A few flagons of this and she wouldn't have the wit to out fool an air-headed noble if she wanted to. "I think I'll be okay actually. Thank you." She pushed the flagon back to it's owner, silently savouring the heat it brought. She hadn't moved from her curled up position, it was warm and drew less attention from the men, all of whom would eye up anything in the room once they were drunk enough.

"I dunno. Depends where you are outside. In some of the slums all the rain pour off the roofs and into the streets. That's twice as bad as this, you can't escape it either, the roofs are too small and the streets too narrow." Looking where the woman had pointed she frowned "You'll get a lot worse than groping there..." She trailed off, not wanting to say too much but wanting to prompt the woman to more talking or questions. "Mmm. Most keep them selves to them selves in here. Stick with the people you know they say. That way they can't rat on you, or at least you can get back at them. Not that any would object to a woman joining their table, woman folk steer clear of here for a reason. 'Less there's no where else to go..." There was something out of kilter with Clot's first impressions and what she said. But since she couldn't put her finger on it she said nothing, and ignored it. Better not to dwell on it so early in an encounter. "Eleanor." She smiled back at the woman, keeping every hint of deception from her face. The name she had given was one of a couple she used, better to have many aliases than many people after her. It was definitely better to be in control she found, besides most people understood later on. Nottingham was the sort of place you made yourself as hard to find and inconspicuous as possible, even the renowned outlaws did that. Though almost everyone knew that Robin Hood was the former Robin of Loxesly, in contrast no one knew the identity of the shadowed 'Nightwatchman'. It didn't bother Clot though. Mostly she had as little to do with them as possible and so had no alligences in the town, making her free to go with whom ever and what ever took her fancy, was the most advantagous. She only had to leave to dissapear again.

((ooc: If it's going to be too confusing just say and I'll use her real name...))

[Jacqueline Fletcher]

It really was a pity about the roof. If it wasn't for the Sheriff and his taxes, this place would be a lot better. The innkeeper would probably have made the inn bigger, to hold more people (and therefore, make more money). He would have the roof made of the best and strongest materials to prevent leakages and perhaps even put a floor in. He would have more torches to give the place light; he'd have a better quality of ale, and he wouldn't have to water it down to make it last longer either. He would even be able to afford professional whores, so the men wouldn't have to go for the other women in this place. However, the insanely high, yet constantly rising taxes were making it harder and harder for people to even survive, much less live for extravagance. No wonder the Sheriff came here so much; he had the money to buy everything and everyone in this city several times over and still have gold to spare. Perhaps that was why so many people were joining the Sheriff's side; he bought their loyalty. The young woman surprised herself by wishing fervently that the Sheriff would buy the loyalty of the innkeeper. Then he would have money to fix up this old place, and Marian's fears that wet people caught cold wouldn't be justified. She herself was already feeling rather ill, and most miserable. Why had she chosen to come here? Had she had another moment of temporary insanity? Apparently; otherwise, she wouldn't be here.

The woman's words made her shiver. "Well, judging by the way they're downing that ale, it's not going to be much safer here soon." She had been unfortunate enough to be in this inn once when the Sheriff was fully drunk; she had escaped in time, but she had seen the way he attacked another woman. That in itself had been enough to teach Jackie to leave the inn the moment the Sheriff started looking around, even if it meant leaving a full tankard of ale sitting on the table. That was better than clutching the tankard and worrying about being raped. She shuddered again, returning her attentions to the woman beside her. "Eleanor," she repeated with a smile, shaking her hand. "Nice name. It's very pretty, and it sounds regal. It's a beautiful name, that's for sure." She released "Eleanor's" hand with a smile, sipping her ale quietly for a moment, then speaking up again. "I'll buy you a tankard of ale. Just a sip can't be doing much to keep you warm. You've got to be at least a little cold..." She stood, walking to the innkeeper. "Another tankard, for the girl there. I'm buying it."

The man lifted his hand to scratch his head in confusion. "You sure? She could be trying to swindle you."

"I'm sure."

He shrugged, filling another tankard and handing it to her. She accepted it and placed a coin in his hand before walking back to the table and pushing the full tankard across to Eleanor. "Here. Should warm you up a bit."

[Clot]

Poor quality inns were just part of life for Clot, no inn keeper ever seemed to make enough to cover all the costs of decent roofs and good ale. Admittedly most inns offered whores, but the whole point of a good inn was the shadows, it meant people could meet and do their more often than not dodgy business in secrecy, at least in the pretence of. Clot's kind thrived off the false sense of security inns gave, the shadows never quite hiding enough. That and the fact that the leaking roofs made those less accustomed to the constant soaking less than alert. Clot wasn't one to take joy in other's misfortunes, but she was certainly one to profit from them. After all, learning lessons the hard way made them stick, as Clot had discovered over a number of painful years.

Clot had never been slow enough to stick around when the Sheriff was fully drunk, the stories and wounds were enough to warn her the first time she'd entered after such an event. t worth the risk, besides which by the time they got to that point they had drunk away the contents of their purses, which never contained more than enough for the gambling and drink.It would be insanity for her to stick around, she had no protection against such men, even when they were totally drunk and therefore as dumb as the outlaws themselves. It wasn't worth the risk, besides which by that time they had drunk away the contents of their purses, which never contained more than was necessary for the drink and gambling. At this point Clot felt it best to give up for the night and go home, after all she started with the sun every morning like most of the town.

Clot pretended to be flattered, maybe part of the reason behind the name was the implications. After all a child who shared a name with the king's mother could never be a filthy trickster could they? Mind, given the nature of some of the rumours regarding the woman maybe trickster would be closer to the point. Clot didn't have time to object, not that there was any logical thing to say in the refusal of such an offer. A free drink was a rarity in those times, and the woman didn't have a reason to hurt her, yet.

Even from the table Clot saw the man's confusion and she didn't blame him, he knew her face well enough to know she wasn't the most honest of people but innkeepers had that unspoken rule. They didn't tell on their customers, after all inns were the choice site for suspicious deals and if an innkeeper was a tattle then they would lose their custom. Still her breath caught for the faintest of moments, and then she saw him move to get the drink. She didn't know what had been said but nothing of value could have passed in so short a conversation she was sure.

"Thank you, a drink from a stranger is a rarity indeed." She raised her drink slightly "To your health," Clot paused on a name already on her tongue "Jacqueline?" She sipped and carefully managed not to pull at face at the thin and wretched ale, still it was warming. She glanced round the room before letting her eyes return to the woman, carefully trying to phrase her next question.

"If you haven't been here long, you must bring news from the wider world. We are so isolated here news comes late, if at all. Have you any news of life outside our small shire?" she hoped the question seemed innocent enough, what she said was true enough. The Sheriff only gave out news as he saw fit, which was not at all if he could help it.