InsaneJournal

Movement kept catching his eye; Lars reached across the bar for a bottle of Cointreau, Asterion shifting position by the door, the door to the restrooms swinging open as a tall man with dark green hair stepped out, a strand of his own hair falling into his peripheral vision. Everything drew his attention, in case the movement turned out to be the Sheriff. Or Gisborne. Or Hermes.

Or Marian, walking back in with a sheepish look on her face, holding Rob’s hand We got carried away… But we’re fine!

The hope was thin, and felt like a lie. Will was right, Marian’s disappearance was down to the Sheriff, and now she was chained to his bed like Marcie had been. Leila’s observations were probably right as well; Gisborne had finally found Rob.

It seemed prudent to assume, as Stutely had suggested, that the Sheriff and Gisborne were working together again. Much was trying very hard for things like prudence, very hard to stay away from other thinks like panic and recklessness.

Enemies were closing in. He had to be smart and careful.

He had to stop thinking about Merlin’s words. You won’t find any of them. Because if Merlin’s prophecy had come true for Marian, then her instructions for Much to forget his prophecy, to ignore it, well… they were a big old bit of bullshit, weren’t they.

You won’t find any of them.

You can’t stop her from dying.

Still, Much knew himself. He knew he wasn’t going to stop trying till his very last breath.

He also knew this about himself: he was gonna function better, less anxiously, if he threw a couple of shots of vodka down the hatch. Just to give himself a boost. Just to shut up the little Merlin voices and the memory of Marcie in chains. Just to stop thinking about Marian’s fear. About the team of the Sheriff and Gisborne. Just -

Maybe three shots.

Maybe three shots and then he was going to gather up an armful of dishes and take them out back to be washed and give them all the scrub of their fucking lives.