WHO: Much, Will & Marian WHEN: Wednesday evening WHERE: Diogenes Club, Parsonage and Marian's WHAT: Much having an un-Much-like quantity of thoughts, and doing something about some of them WARNINGS: Profanity, probably
"Even if you were to see Prince John himself walk in, you serve him with a smile because that is your job. Are you okay with that?"
Much spent his afternoon working the bar thinking about what Wilhelm had said to him, and what Erica had followed it up with, after. He shook cocktails hard, the smash of the ice against the cold metal a steady backdrop of white noise for his thoughts. Could he even summon a customer service smile at the thought of Prince John walking into this bar right now? Much tried, failed miserably, and caught Lars watching him make strained faces at nothing. Much grinned, said "Gas," and went back to making the martini for an exhausted looking Domovoi. (Much hadn't even known what a Domovoi was yesterday; he'd discovered this job contained a lot of googling in his bathrooms breaks.)
Not today though. Today he was thinking about what he'd do if Prince John did walk in. If Guy walked in. If the Sheriff had come back to life already and walked in.
He'd lose his job. That what would happen. He'd lose it bad.
And if Tuck walked in?
No - Much stopped himself thinking that. If Tuck walked in right now he'd throw himself on the Friar and sob. And then he'd have to quit. No way was he letting Lars see him cry.
Last night, with Will trying to sleep on his floor, the adrenaline from killing the Sheriff wearing off, and Tuck with his throat sewn up in the other room, Much had done a really good job of not crying.
To shake off the emotion, he imagined breaking a whiskey bottle over Prince John's head. Imagined jumping up on the bar and screaming at him WE DID IT, WE FUCKING KILLED HIM, AND YOU'RE NEXT, FUCKO.
Dead Prince John with a side order of dead dead Gisborne.
That kind of thought helped shove back any tears.
His stupid brain kept thinking as he made his way back to the Parsonage, except as he got closer to home his thoughts turned closer to home.
Specifically: the Merry Men.
Specifically: telling them all what he and Will had done.
Specifically: Marian, calling them both supremely dumb before they'd even done anything. But they hadn't been dumb. They'd gotten rid of all the evidence - anything with blood on it burned. Much had even gone back and deleted the post he'd made to the Sheriff in case Prince John decided to look through his phone. She'd relax when she realised how we'll they'd taken care of things.
They'd all relax once they realised the Sheriff wasn't going to bother them for a while.
And maybe they'd all relax knowing that the Sheriff might come back just a little hesitant to fuck with them again. Much sure was holding onto that one.
He passed Francis in the kitchen with a wave and made his way in, finding Will in a chair at Tuck's bedside. "Hey," he said, eyes on Tuck. "Nothing yet, huh?"
Sure, Much was hoping for a fast re-Tucking, but secretly, despite the throw-himself-on-Tuck-and-sob thing, Much would have been pretty offended if Tuck did come back already. He'd been nothing for months.