It was a rough start getting back into the Merry Men's good graces. There was very little trust there, but he was making strides (no matter how small) towards the leader he was instead of holding himself up inside of his own barbarous feelings. There were decisions to be made and no one had come up with any solutions, but Robin was determined to not let Maid Marian blacken her soul in order to keep them all safe. This wasn't the answer, not even as a fail safe. Adding other people, other immortals into their fold wasn't off the table---there were already a handful involved even inadvertently. What was one or two more? Other immortals could be very, very useful for them, and could take the beating against any twist the Sheriff tried to throw their way.
Robin zipped up his green hoodie, the brisk fall air hitting his lungs just before he started to cough it right back out. So, maybe he hadn't been as prepared for the cooler weather as he thought (or he just breathed that in a little too heavily). Marian would say it was the smoke he inhaled when he was stressed, but at this point Robin had an iron lung. He wasn't going to go out with a shriveled smokers lung this time, at least that would be a pretty uneventful end.
With his hands shoved in his pockets, Robin walked down the street, eyes on the lookout for anyone hoovering around. Cops were always out at this time of day, and he was positive he hadn't seen the last of Gisborne. What he was faced with was an ugly brown van. Was Much kidnapping him or had he stolen the worlds ugliest piece of shite?