|Much is the reason the squirrels are hiding (muchnotmulch) wrote in wariscoming,|
@ 2013-03-22 03:03:00
|Entry tags:||marian locksley, much|
Who:Much and Marian
What:Thoughts post discovering their fates on the internets.
When:Late night of the 22nd
Where:Robin and Marian's flat.
Much didn't understand. Much never understood. That seemed to be a theme of late. Many things to remember, many things to figure out, to learn. This was one thing he could not figure out. Robin gave everything to England. Why was this his fate? Had they not been good enough? Had they not sacrificed enough in the Holy Land? Why did it end that way? Why did he always have to tell Robin every damn thing? Why couldn't he have just shut up for once? Spared his master and friend this bit of information that might not even come to pass? Nothing did in Kansas. Everything could be reversed. That was what he'd learned so far. Everything..
Hot tears stung his eyes and distorted his vision as he curled into his mound of blankets he'd been given on the couch. He felt sick to his stomach as he hugged his pillow and hid his face. No secrets between friends. Some secrets should be kept, or was it always be truthful to ones master? Which one was it? Much was frustrated. Angry and hurt and scared. Barely a little of him showed from the mess of blankets. The rain beat against the window and Much might have thought it ironic had he been paying it mind. He wasn't. If they went home, Robin would die. If they stayed, they might all die.
Reality hit him like a ton of bricks and he wanted to do little but hide away. Time reversal would be good too. Maybe someone could do that, someone could tell him to shut up. There was no one there but him. Nothing but silence filled that room and it felt heavy on his chest. Robin had left somewhere else after the conversation he regretted the most had ended. He was left to his own devices and simply refused to move anymore.
The shield Robin had gifted him leaned up against the couch, an untouched glass of lemonade rested on the coffee table. Inside the heap of blankets he could almost pretend he'd said nothing stupid.