Who:Much; mentions of Lydia and Richard! Taggable if you want otherwise it works as a narrative! What:Dooooom. When:Today! Where:His apartment Warnings:Character death
Robin's birthday was coming. He knew if he didn't plan for it, Robin certainly wouldn't mention it and it would pass by them without even a whisper. It was a day worth celebrating. His best friends life was worth more than just the little party he could plan though, so he'd invited Lydia and Richard. It'd been a day like any other. He'd gotten up, did his usual morning routine and even was baking again. He couldn't remember the last time he'd baked just for the joy of baking. No stress or pressure fueling it, just fresh ingredients and a special occasion on the horizon.
They fought sometimes, okay often. But that's what family did. Marian had called him family. To some it might have seemed like common gesture, but to Much it meant more than she would ever know. He'd always worried that being a servant meant he was somehow less than important. Less valued, but in this world he was accepted. In this place they could be a real family without having to worry about the Sheriff or Gisborne's next attack. There were things he missed about it of course, adventure, action, but there were things he had in this world that made it worth living too. For one thing, friends. Real people he could talk to about whatever little whim came to mind that would listen and indulge him even if they were ridiculous at times.
He appreciated it never the less. Not once had they told him to shut up, or hushed him rudely. That didn't mean he was an equal, he wouldn't place himself on the same equal ground as his master but he felt for the first time lately really free. The frequency in which he felt the need to call Robin Master had decreased, and the need to call him friend rose.
It wasn't just the duty of the servant to remember important days, it was the duty of a friend. Robin was his greatest friend. He'd been there with him through bad nights and good. Robin had never once left him behind. Much wouldn't either.
Where Robin went, he would follow.
At least that's what he always hoped. Lydia and Richard were both over, both helping him plan for Robin's birthday. He had a note pad, though most of what he wrote down in it was barely legible. The clearest thing written on the top was the date. October 14th which for Much, to be able to even write that much was a great improvement. He loved reading and writing lessons. Robin often made them fun for him, though truthfully it didn't even have to be lessons for Much to be happy. Making him happy was simple as spending time with him. He didn't require things, or even places to go. He just liked being in Robin's presence even more than learning.
Robin was still his world.
There were brownies cooking in the oven, of the dark chocolate verity. Robin liked dark, Lydia liked sweet, Richard? He didn't know yet but he was determined to find out. A King was paying him attention. He couldn't have been more pleased with himself that he was worthy of such attention. He'd tried to insist he was just a squire in the Holy War, but it didn't seem to phase Richards interest in him. So he contently spent the day chatting away at the two about cakes and invitations until he heard his oven chime at him. Robin had told him that's how modern ovens worked, they literally told you when the food was prepared. Every time he baked Much was still fascinated by it. Everything always came out perfect every time. Nothing was ever crispy or burnt if the proper timing was set. He didn't even have to sit there and watch it, or turn it over open flame. He could do two things at once, and in his world that was a whole new experience.
Most things however were new. Much soaked them up like sunshine with very little fear.
He opened the oven to pull out the baked goods as the chime went off to alert him they were finished, and he set them aside. Poking them with a long fondue skewer and giving them a nod when the stick came out clean, he grinned. "Perfect."
At first he'd hated everything about his apartment, if asked would even admit having his own place was scary. But finally he seemed to have adapted to it. Even had moved a few things out of their place without much care. Though for the most part it was still minimal. Much didn't own many things, he wasn't used to wanting things and being able to simply go get them. He had things friends had bought, the entertainment unit for example. But he really wasn't in to apartment decorating, except for the kitchen. The kitchen was nice. His apartment was surprisingly clean fr a bachelor living alone. But the kitchen was often messy. Most of his money went to cooking supplies and he regretted none of it. Well, he had one regret-that Robin could never possibly eat all the food he prepared. But other than that he was generally happy nearly all the time when Robin was well.
Friend or servant didn't matter, he would always watch after Robin. Always care whether his friend was doing well or not. Probably with more care than he ever bothered with himself. Most people loved Robin because of what he did, Much loved him for who he was.
And so he returned to party planning. Picking up his yellow note pad and putting the pen to paper when something under his feet rumbled and the glasses on his counter shook. Much didn't notice. A burst of flame seconds later broke through the entire wall of the front of his apartment and much felt the hot flames bite at his flesh before he could even blink. He didn't even have time to look for Lydia and Richard, check on their conditions. He was thrown back in a sea of red and yellow into the entertainment unit. It collapsed ontop of him and he felt the air leave his lungs. Still he clutched that note pad in his hands as though it were a life line, his hands were burnt badly and the glass from the television shattered ontop of him, piercing his body in several places.
Yet the entire thing was surreal. It was like some kind of nightmare. Daymare Robin once called them.
His breath was short and shallow as the glass pierced him. Something warm and silky touched his fingers s blood pooled under him and stained the floor. That was going to be a mess to clean up. He recalled the blood damage the outlaw tags had left behind on his counter. He tried to make a sound of protest, but found he could make none. He tried to get up but he found he couldn't move. He could taste blood on the back of his tongue. Was this really happening? He still had planning to do.
He wasn't ready to die yet.
Who would take care of Robin?
What of Lydia and Richard?
Breathing was laboring at best now. His eyes were heavy and tired, it was nearly impossible to stay awake. The note pad had mostly crumbled in his hand. Left with only the top of the page he'd been writing on.