#“eh he doesnt get out enough itll be good for him”

[cornflowercanine]

hi heres a post of me talkign a8t my goats goatlings is a petsite where ui   have   goats .  u can customize them with appearance dolls make them Fight and Kill for loot/strong/mony (sugar stars) and u can 8uy foods and toys and Pretty Items with that monys. theres an arcade 8ut none of the games are fun. the goats cant die 8ut if theyre too sad/hungry they wont fight goATLINgs ISNt 8LuE its just that windows 7 classic theme + firefox = weird shit XD if u join goatlings 8c of me put vriskaleijon in the referral

first off look at my HA (i think it stands for human avatar) i think its pretty and my widdle snake holding my aro flag :33

im gonna go in order of when i got the goatlings and will include desc if they have one, 8ut itll 8e cropped out if they dont, none of my goatlings have treasure/a collection 8c frankly idk how it works and i dont want to know

this is d4mz i forget to write the four in her name ALL the time shes my oldest goat shes old enough to make eggs on the stove and get allowance and go to the convenience store to get a soda and chocol8 for all the 8a8ies 8ut thats it. she ONLY likes edgy things her fave toys are punk/pop rock dino and spiked yoyo and she really really wants to/tries to KILL 8ut isnt super good at it 8y default. her personality is like tawnypelt warrior cats. she used to midkey h8 me 8ut shes mellowed out

this is sears33r they factkin silver the hegheg from the sonic fandu8s. they know everything constantly all the time so is constantly learning things and this 8rings them indescri8a8le pain hence the name ‘sear[ing]s33r’. despite knowing literally everything which 8a8ies dont tend to do theyre pro8a8ly like, 13/14. tells d4mz when she n33ds to cut up some fruit to f33d to dolewhip. never happy 8ut always loved. 8ad at fighting

this is dolewhip his name is dolewhip 8c i made my goatlings while a fair was happening and someone there was selling yumy dole whip and i was constantly thinking a8t it so this is his name now. hes a child an infant a 8a8y a little kid can 8arely even walk and his toucan is his 8est friend. everyone takes turns carrying him not so much 8c he n33ds to 8e carried 8ut 8c we love him

this is payshes her description is self explanatory for her name i realized RIGHT when i applied her AD that she does actually have peixes horns. her personality is exactly as youd expect. she isnt particularly good at fighting 8ut she is very very happy. i give her all the toys/food i get from watery explore areas and she loves that shit. cridea told her what fictionkin is 8ut she still doesnt call herself a kinnie 8c She doesnt kin the peixes. she IS the peixes. the peixes kin HER

this is cervalces (sir-val-s33s) (ok i just watched a video and its apparentally pronounced serval-siz 8ut) xhe’s like, a few million/thousand years old technically? like a sudden reincarn8ion of cervalces   into a partially goat .  xhe’s cool xhe’s 8igger than an elk 8ut smaller than a moose. isnt really a part of the family 8ut lives here anyway. pro8a8ly sticks xer head through the kitchen window when im chopping vegeta8les for scraps. pretty mellow. CAN kill when i want xer to (hence 8eing lvl 14) and is a Little default 8etter at it than d4mz 8ut like, eh

this is cridea   shes   named after   cridea j33vik . was the first rad i ever got and practically fell into my hands. she has a completely average personality and a8ility to fight. doesnt like edgy things as much as d4mz 8ut 8uys chains/weird jewelry every time she goes to the convenience store with her anyway. is mostly just there to 8e pretty. knows what fictionkin is and kins cridea j33vik. a regular ass friend!

this is sphaeralcea (sfuh-ral-s33-uh) i got xyr 8c i adored xyr AD and thought it was super cute and lovely colors and i named xyr after a cute tiny peachy orange flower that grows around here and is adora8le. xi is full of fury xi h8s every single thing i give xyr xi LOVES killing and does a critical hit every other turn. xi loves killing so much i wanted to get xyr a 8attle axe 8ut it wasnt avalia8le so now xi has a revolver and loves it. xi will kill you. i love xyr regardless.very pretty very angry

this is tzhive. she was a nightmare to get. she has a8solutely no personality and is horrifically 8ad at fighting. also mostly just exists to look pretty. may8e 8eing named after Just A Literal Fucking Landscape/House contri8uted to her having no personality or nota8le good tr8s past ‘pretty’. perhaps takes after dragonmom the most in that she Cant Fucking Do Anything and pro8a8ly isnt even conscious. shes kinda like the ‘none of these ppl are actual sincere friends 8ut theyre the only ones that let me hang out with/follow them’ of the fishy/water goats i have. i love her regardless. 

this is nan8asen -points at their desc- and also when i looked up nan8asen it apparentally literally just means ‘shipwreck’ so it fits either way. theyre dead!!!!! when looking at their AD to come up with a name the only thing that came to mind was Lighthouse The Hush Sound, which is a song a8t a haunted lighthouse, so theyre dead theyre a ghost they are not corporeal. theyre Ok at fighting 8ut i dont think they Want to. pro8a8ly good friends with cervalces in that they are technically older than the rest of the goats. was not trying to get their RAD 8ut they came to me anyway and now theyre here so theyre not really a Part of the family 8ut just lives here regardless. no8ody can talk to them easily (s33; is a fucking ghost) 8ut i dont think they mind this much. pro8a8ly has (semi) carnivore t33th

[scaryscarecrows]

Roots and Leaves, Pt. 6

DC did it first. Take your grievances to them.

Jason and Sheila e-mail back and forth for about a week before she says that she has Thursday off so if he has Thursday off does he want to meet for lunch again?

Last time wasn’t bad. Not a lot of staring or people or anything. He can…he can probably do it again. And it’s a few days away still, so he has time to psyche himself up or, worst case scenario, fake his death and move to Canada.

And it’s been a week and she hasn’t pulled out the Pity Card on him yet and maybe…maybe this’ll all work out okay. She might never be Mom, because Catherine’s always gonna be Mom, but…but she could be Mother, maybe. He can see that in the distant (or not-so-distant?) future.

But he’s not going to rush into things, that’s what got him here in the first place. Patience, grasshopper.

Thursday rolls around and he hasn’t faked his death and moved to Canada, so he has no choice but to put on jeans and a hoodie and resign himself to a couple of hours, easy, of no sunglasses and no e-book shield.

Sorry, any small children who might come out of this traumatized.

Okay. He brings his Kindle anyway, and his sunglasses for the journey, and sticks to his normal Civilian Weaponry-couple’a knives, one pair of brass knuckles tucked into a hidden pocket in his hoodie. Last thing he needs is for someone to pick up a bullet, match it to the Red Hood’s, and come knocking on his door. His luck is bad enough that’s exactly what would happen.

Besides, it’s noon on a Thursday, and even in Gotham that’s a slow hour. Bank robbers gotta eat, too.

The monorail ride there is literal Hell (three fighting couples, two crying kids and old man with no personal spaaaaace!) and he’s literally gasping for air when he stumbles out of the car. He likes people. Honest. If he legitimately hated them all, he wouldn’t risk his life to help them. But interacting with them…he could do without that, mostly.

Whatever. Whatever. It’s over, he lived, he’s had worse.

(And no, he doesn’t hear faint cackling in his head, and that’s final.)

It’s windy today, the type of wind that buffets people every which way and is determined to keep his hood off his head. He fidgets with the drawstrings until it’ll stay and buries his hands in his pockets. Wind sucks. He can feel pollen and dust and Gotham Grime being blown onto his skin.

“Jason!”

Is he there already?

Sheila…looks a lot more haggard than she did before. He tries to remember if she’d mentioned being horribly busy, doesn’t think she did, and figures that to be fair, he hasn’t mentioned the bruise that goes halfway up his back.

She smiles, her awkward driver’s license smile, and waves. Yeah, she doesn’t…it must’ve been a long week, or maybe a rough drive or something. She looks tired.

“Hi.” He’s not sure what to call her, still. Miss Haywood is too disconnected, Sheila’s too personal, and it’s way, way too soon for Mother. Names are a pain. “I’m not late, am I?” He knows he’s not. “Monorail was packed.”

“So was the subway. Can I…?”

Her arms are half-out and he figures she’s asking for a hug. He can do a hug, as long as it’s a short hug.

“Yeah. Thanks for the warning.”

Holy crap, she feels frail. But to be fair, barring Dick’s tackle-hug, everyone’s felt frail since…since. So it could just be him. Hugs are weird now.

(“HUG YOUR DADDY!”)

No. Not today. Everything’s fine.

It’s a sort-of short hug, short enough, anyway, and he wonders, abstractedly, if a day will ever come that he’s used to that sort of thing again. If it even matters whether he does or doesn’t.

It does. Of course it does. And the day will come, in time, and he’ll be better, be normal, be what people want him to be.

Little steps.

* * *

They’ve fallen into a companionable silence and for once Jason’s not jumping whenever someone walks by in a purple sweater or anything when Sheila forces her lips out from between her teeth and says, “I know you were Robin.”

Well. That’s, uh, there’s that out of the way.

“Yeah.” There’s clearly no point in denying it. She probably put it together when Batman came knocking. “For a little while, yeah. I was.” He tastes blood, wonders how long he’s been doing that, and wishes he had gum. Or a mint. “I’m sorry I didn’t tell you right off, I just…old habits die hard, I guess.”

“Oh God, no, no, I didn’t mean-” She takes a drink. Her hands are shaking, she’s shaking and he doesn’t know what’s wrong. “I just. I thought I should probably make it clear that I did know, so you wouldn’t…I know I was absent, but I don’t want…you shouldn’t feel like you have to hide things from me.”

Oh. That’s. He doesn’t know what to say. Bruce, God knows, has the emotional capabilities of a Himalayan Salt Lamp. Thankfully Jason hadn’t been the type to go through crushes every two weeks, or he probably would have been in Hell. He certainly wouldn’t have…it’s not like he would have shut down the conversation, but sharing and caring? That would have been awkward and best not repeated. Alfred was the go-to for that sorta thing.

All right, then. Since they’re dropping sudden bombshells ‘n all…he has to know.

“You worked for Joker.” There. It’s out. He said it.

And now he kinda regrets it-the self-loathing on her face is a pretty good match for his own, and he can’t tell himself it’s anything less than deep, deep wishing to have made better choices.

“I did.” She straightens up, begins tearing apart a piece of bread on her plate. “Briefly. I’m not proud, but he had a line to my mother, knew where she lived, knew her schedule…knew.” She swallows hard. “Knew she had to rubber-band her jam jars because she couldn’t open them otherwise. I panicked. But it was only for a couple of months-pills, he wanted pills, as much as I could get him. And then he just…went away. I don’t know what he did with them.”

Honestly, after everything, he can’t…he doesn’t have the right to say much. And honestly? There was that one guy, who accidentally cut the fucker off in traffic and couldn’t get away from him.

And look at him. The first man he killed, that wasn’t…oh, sure, he probably had it coming, at least a little, but Jason wasn’t thinking about that or considering it like he does now, he just…he wanted to kill Bruce. Because that was right and reason at the time even though he knows it’s insanity now.

No, he can’t say much.

“I’m sorry,” he says softly, and it’s suddenly easier to look at his hands. “I didn’t…that sounds awful.”

“No.” She tips his chin up and it’s an effort not to pull away and to remember that it’s fingers, warm human fingers, and not the pointy end of a crowbar against his skin. “You deserved to know. It’s only fair.”

Truth be told, it’s a relief to know that she hadn’t…yeah, technically she could’ve…maybe done something different, but she hadn’t wanted to work for him. She wasn’t like the ones he’d christened Dumb and Dumber that…they enjoyed that kinda work.

Lunch is finished in relative silence after that, though, and he’s wondering what’s going to happen now when she rifles through her purse and swears.

“Damn…I meant to grab an old photo album I wanted to show you, with some old family pictures and things.”

Pictures of Willis? Yeah, he’s good. Pictures of other people might be interesting, though.

“Next time?”

“My apartment’s a few blocks over.”

Something feels off. He’s paranoid, he knows he’s paranoid, but something…she’s been shaky and weird all afternoon and he doesn’t…

Calm the fuck down, you freak out when someone window-shops for too long!

“Is everything…is everything okay?”

Or maybe something is wrong-she pulls a napkin over and there’s suddenly a pen in her hand.

“I really do want you to see these pictures, Jason,” she says, but her hand is moving and there’s the ever-so-faint skrit-skrit of pen on paper. “I swear you got my mother’s eyes.”

The napkin slides over to him and he glances down. Her handwriting’s spikey and awful-doctor writing to the bone-but his is no better and he can read it well enough.

An old colleague has been hanging around the hospital lately.

Oh.

That explains a bit.

“Sure.”

Her shoulders drop and she crumples the napkin, nails picking it into shreds.

“I’m sorry to do this to you,” she says softly, nearly too soft for him to hear, and he’s quick to shake his head.

“No, no, I don’t mind, I’m glad you…if there’s anything I can do to…”

Shit, she looks like she’s going to start crying and that is indeed PANIC in his throat. Tears are not good.

“You’re a good boy.” Her voice is watery but there are no tears to be seen. Thank Jesus. “I promise next time we have lunch it’ll be normal.”

Oh, good, things haven’t plummeted down to fiery Hell because of all the revelations flying around.

“Everything’s gonna be fine,” he says, and whoops that’s his ‘all will be well, citizen, never fear!’ voice. But it must work, because the about-to-cry look disappears. “Um. Do you wanna…it looks like it’s gonna rain, should we get going?”

And so they do.

* * *

The wind has picked up and it smells like rain. He’s not looking forward to patrol later.

The wind’s not so bad, though, to stop Sheila from lighting up with a self-depreciating, “I know I’m a doctor and should know better, but I honestly don’t care.”

“I can’t really say anything.” He holds up his own pack and rattles it before pulling one out. It’s not as calming as it usually is and he doesn’t know why.

Eh. It’s been a long day, that’s all. He’s not used to interacting with people on a personal level anymore, which is his own fault and probably not necessarily a good thing.

The first few drops have started to fall when they arrive at her building-big, square, and simplistic. She fishes out her keys while they’re in the elevator (which smells like new car, for some reason).

The hallway is deserted. It’s a little creepy, to be honest-his own building might be crap, but there’s always activity. And then, of course, there was Arkham’s hallways, or what he could hear of them. Noisy. Always noisy. But this? Wayne Manor was silent like this. It unsettled him then and it unsettles him now. Call him a city boy, whatever, but he needs noise.

The brass knuckles and knives in his jacket are warm and comforting and he knows he’s not gonna need ‘em, but they make up for this creepy-ass silence.

Sheila opens the door and motions him inside. It’s dark inside-blackout curtains, probably-but he can hear the rain. It smells like new car in here, too, and he wonders, off-handedly, why-

-it’s not empty. He’s walked into one too many ‘empty’ buildings to be very, very attuned to the sound of somebody breathing. Okay. Be calm, back out and shut the door.

He’s about to do exactly that when the light switch clicks and bathes the whole place in stark white. White walls, white floors, white furniture.

Which only makes Harley Quinn stick out like a sore thumb in all that red and black.

“BAY-BEE!” She could never hope to match Joker’s grin, but she gives it a good go, stretching her makeup. Okay. Change of plans. Get Sheila out of here (and preferably out of the building), deal with Quinn. “It’s been a whiiiiile!”

He takes in the mallet leaning against the couch and the shotgun (are those fuzzy dice? Really?) in her hands and comes to the conclusion that great, she’s riding the crazy train.

But maybe she hasn’t seen Sheila yet. Where’s that goddamn light switch?

He moves, only a little, only to feel the unmistakable press of a gun against his lower back.

“Don’t. Move.”

And the world drops out from under him.

No. No, no, no, she said she quit, it was over, she said they’d let her go, she said-

The door shuts. He twists so he can still see Quinn in his peripheral. Sheila’s face is a blank mask-no tears, no joy, no nothing. Just quiet determination and he doesn’t understand, she said…

“Mom?” The word feels thick and wrong in his mouth, but maybe…maybe she’s brainwashed or hypnotized or something, maybe she doesn’t…isn’t…

“Sorry, kid.” The words are harsh but her tone isn’t. Quinn giggles in the background but she sounds so far away and Sheila’s still pressing a gun against him. “It was you or me, and, well…it had to be you.”

What?

“Aww, come to mama, baby!” Quinn giggles again before straightening up and scowling. “Now.”

His feet drag him forward, sneakers scuffing against the white carpet an’ Heaven’s s’posed ta be white, innit, so why does this feel like Hell and what’s going on she said she said-

For once horrible, desperate second, he wants Bruce. Bruce wouldn’t…yeah, he’d thought, at first, that he’d left him but he knows that he didn’t, he really didn’t, he just…

Bruce wouldn’t have pulled a gun on him, he wouldn’t and God, if he’d just fucking talked to him-

“I did what you wanted, Quinn.” Sheila’s voice is so, so flat and is this all she wanted from the beginning? Is it? “Now call your man.”

Quinn doesn’t even look at her. She’s looking at Jason like she always did-like she’s torn between wanting to rip his head off and wanting to wrap him in a blanket and keep him.

This is his own goddamn fault, he just thought…just once, just once-

“Quinn!” Desperation now, and the gun wobbles against his hoodie as she steps out from behind him. “I did what you said! Call your man!”

Okay. Okay.

He forces himself to take a few deep breaths that taste like that last cigarette outside and says, voice as steady as he can make it, “Let her go, Harley. Leave her alone, I’ll. I’ll do what you want, just. Just let her go.”

“Aww, look at you!” Her pigtails sway and he finds himself oddly hypnotized by the movement. “I knew ya had to be Robin for a reason.”

Yeah. Yeah, he was Robin and that’s all he’ll ever be, the one that fucked up.

“Please, Harley.”

“Nyeh…” She adjusts her grip on the gun, finger dancing near the trigger, and looks down at her knuckles. “Eeny, meanie, miny, moe, catch a Batman by the toe. If he hollers, let ‘im go, eeny…meanie…miny…moe!”

He sees it before she does it, but there’s no time-he’s moved maybe half a centimeter before the gun goes off-

-and Sheila.

Falls.

His ears are ringing. They’re ringing and everything’s so white except her, all blonde and blue and so fucking red because Harley didn’t miss and if he’d been quicker, he should have been-

“Aww, don’t be sad!” Harley’s not alone, of course she’s not. He should have known from the start stupidstupidstupid. “Doncha know what happens to people who know too much?”

Her eyes are open. They’re open and they’re looking at him like this is his fault and it is if he hadn’t…

S’like Joker said, once.

“Good boys know how to lay down and DIE.”

“Mistah J had a spot for ya, baby.” Huh? “But you up an’ left us before it was time! So since it’s his birthday-” The fucker has no birthday he just appeared one day too evil for Hell. “-I thought I’d get my puddin’ somethin’-” She winks. “Real nice.”

And they’re on him.

Harley’s goons are dumb, but they’re also big and they manage to drag him down for a minute before he gets a knife out of his sleeve and drives it into the nearest jaw.

“Andre!” Yeah, Andre ain’t comin’ back from that any time soon. “I thought we taught you manners!”

He reclaims his knife and scrambles back up and okay okay maybe he can get outta this-

WHAM!

Lights out.

[werebutch]

do u have any ocs??

YES i do and u can read abt a few of them here ! i have a lot of ocs but im currently working mostly on those three’s story (fantasy), plus a different sci fi one that needs a lot of rewriting :^) here’s a summary of that if you want:

       basically theres an experiment named atlas, his dna was spliced with a canine’s and all his life he’s been tested on and prodded with needles and trained to fight effectively enough to kill. ik its edgy or whatever but i like it so… yeah lmao. during his childhood, his mother actually stayed around the lab (shes a doctor there, but he isnt exactly in her field) and she provides him with probably the only gentleness he’ll ever recieve. aside from his best friend, anyway, whose name ill probably change bc cringe but right now her name is evangeline. they grew up together and, being the only of their kind, they eventually develop feelings for eachother. but that only lasts a little while bc after escaping the lab and (accidentally) leaving evangeline behind, he gets taken in by a rich couple named paris and london (not their real names, also i have yet to come up with a good reason they chose matching ones like that but whatever). turns out whoa! these two pretentious assholes are fallen angels. cool. now that im typing this out it seems dumb :’). yeah so london and atlas form a special bond blah blah then they leave paris who happens to be more of a pretentious asshole than london, and they live on the streets, getting by however they can.

           london is a street performer and atlas is an assassin…. kind of. not really an expert or anything - someone gives a name and a face and some cash and he gets the job done, thats about it. after a while london finds out they can hold a pistol pretty well and they stop performing to help atlas. it gets more money anyway, and they dont have to be gawked at by (usually creepy) strangers.

        the end of all this hasnt been decided yet but i do know that someone ends up wanting atlas’s mother and his best friend dead. (btw atlas’s mom helped evangeline escape the lab by now) so a reuinion happens cause the job was given to atlas and he obv doesnt kill them. but i mean it cant stop there cause obv they cant just stop their life of crime ?? itll be hard for them to stay in a real job (mental health stuff not to mention their… past career choices) so all they can really do is run and do what they need to do to make money until theyre killed or turned in to the police, which will result in death anyway.

         its a little dark and more complicated than that and atlas and london’s relationship is not healthy at all, but ive always been drawn to writing this kind of stuff so eh. i get my fair share of happiness and fluff from my fantasy story anyway. although one thing i cant decide is like… should i have evangeline and atlas get back together so that a) they both can heal from the abuse and trauma theyd suffered from their entire life, or b) should i have atlas and london just… return to killing until they themselves are killed? i really do want a happy ending for my boy but h…… idk

[firebuug]

bro what scars do ur ocs have!!!!

alright ! 12 am oc time hhdjd

tw for scars obv, as well as mentions of injuries and rather unpleasant situations

buggy has the usual scattered around his chest and torso in general from bullet and knife wounds because being night immune is pretty fun

he has a few stab wounds that blend in with the rest but are pretty distinct in his mind, theyre around his chest approaching the base of neck (enough to peek over a low shirt), those are from (sk)farrow going batshit on him and just fuckin him up

he has a little crescent shaped nick on the bridge of his nose from skuggy breaking it twice and another crescent on his right cheek from the juggernaut trying 2 snack on him. he has a faint scar on his foot from a small dog also trying to snack on him (its why he fears small dogs now)

gene has a little one on his cheek from the juggernaut and honestly if i didnt forget half the time he’d have something on his arm from mendel fixing it for him. his neck is bound to have a scar too but i havent really thought of it much

he’s barely scratched otherwise since he’s good at patching up and staying out of trouble. he has the Surgery scars on his chest but hes still learning to rlly be cool w them. its why he doesnt like being shirtless unless hes home alone then he gets his moneys worth

rascal probably has a few nicks and scratches every here and there from literally being sprayed in glass

farrow has the iconic neck scar that kinds fucks with him every now and then. since his living essence and that stitching job is literally bound from necromancy magic, it comes with a drawback. either that or mendel was admittedly kinda haphazard with it. he gets bad migraines sometimes or the scar stings, but its no biggie, he plays it off cool. rarely itll start straight up bleeding, but the blood’ll be dark, almost like dried blood. it doesnt hurt him or cause blood loss, but it can be a bit freaky for him and anyone who sees it. the bleeding can start if the scar is damaged or pressured on in any way, like when buggy straight up strangled him

oz had the little claw marks on his face but they kinda healed, the one on his nose is stil lthere but i forget to draw it i usually draw a bandaid over it if i remember

he has the big claw marks on his chest, they arent open anymore theyre scarred. none of these hurt to the touch surprisingly, and when they were open they couldnt get infected or bleed out or anything, but gene took it upon himself to bandage him up anyways bc he cares abt him

skuggy has the usual gunshot + stab wounds every now and then on his torso and chest, but not as many as buggy, he’s a slippery one. no physical scars from farrow, yay!

he has what used to be a nick on the right of his neck but the juggernaut kinda fucked it up and made it a bit bigger. it was originally from when he tried to take his own head off in the streets after all the shit that happened including him murdering his former best friend. (hint: you’re night immune, dumbass. he just bled) he tries to hide it so he can just forget about it and not be questioned about it

he has a little eyebrow scar on his left brow from the juggernaut trying to crack his head open like a fucking nut. he doesnt mind it much, thinks its kinda cool. thank god it wasnt his eye, then clive and him would be twins /shot

honestly he probably has a scar on his chest from being literally impaled but 1. idk how to draw that and 2. i dont usually go around drawing my ocs shirtless so i forgot lol

im probably forgetting some but eh whateber. mendel , mari, and everyone else has no physical scars. minor characters like emily and amos n shit r covered in them but theyre minor i only doodle them every now and then in culinary when im bored out of my mind

[robinhoodrevisited]

Uncovering The Truth (pt.4)

Kirklees Abbey. Crypt. Exterior. Later that night. (Two guards are on patrol outside the crypt. Will comes around a corner and blows a dart at the guard’s neck. The guard grabs his neck with a grunt and collapses. Little John catches him and pulls him back behind the corner. The second guard turns around at the other corner and starts marching back. Robin comes out from behind the corner with an arrow nocked. He aims and shoots the guard in the back. Little John catches him and drags him out of sight as well. Robin, Much, Allan, Marian and Will go to the door. Robin keeps an eye out for trouble.) Robin: “Allan. (Allan reaches for the lock and picks it in no time.) Good lad.” (Robin goes through the door, then Much and Marian try to go through at the same time and stop. Much lets Marian go first, then nods at Allan and pulls the door closed behind him. Allan, Will and Little John stand watch.) Interior. (Robin and Marian, with candles, and Much with a lantern, make their way downstairs to the crypt. Much stops and shudders at the sight of the skeletons.) Much: “Ah! (Whispers:) There’s bodies down here!” (Marian laughs.) Robin: “That’s the idea, Much. Come on.” (They continue down the stairs.) Marian: (to Much:) “You can hold my hand if you get scared.” Much: (Wide-eyed, but not scared enough to accept.) “Thanks.” (Much glances at the bodies and walks to Marian’s side and pulls her hand up in his.) Marian: “Not so tight, Much!" (Much lets go as Robin stops at King Richard’s coffin.)

Robin: (to Much:) “Come on. Help me get it off. (Much walks around to the other end and sets his lantern down on its edge. Robin nods to Much to ask if he’s ready, then pushes his end sideways as Much pushes on his end. Robin stands looking down at the shrouded body.) All right. (Robin looks up, sighs, resolves himself. His fingers touch the shroud and his left hand recoils. Robin tries again, lifts up and folds back the cloth. He sighs, disappointed.) It’s him.” (Much nods slightly, saddened by the news.) Much: “It’s true. (Marian holds her candle to the King’s face.) Marian, be careful.“ Marian: (Curiously:) “Wait a minute.”

(Marian holds the candle closer. Robin watches as Marian holds the candle to the King’s ear. Much is disgusted, thinking flesh should burn soon.) Much: “Oh, God... Eugh!” (Robin tilts his head, trying to get a good look in the dim light, as the ear starts to melt.) Marian: “It’s wax!” Robin: “What?!” (Robin reaches out with a finger to touch the corpse’s face.) Marian: (Happily, smiling:) “It’s a waxwork made to look like King Richard.” (Robin looks at Marian, amazed, then they both laugh in relief. Robin looks at Much.) Robin: “I knew it! (Confidently:) I knew he was still alive!”

Exterior. (Will whistles a low bird call. Little John and Allan go to the door. Allan opens it a bit and echoes a higher-pitched whistle through it.) Interior. (Robin looks at Much.) Much: “Where do we hide?” Robin: “Get the lid on! Get the lid on! (Robin slightly pushes Much forward and blows out his candle. Much quickly goes to the foot of the coffin and he and Robin slide the lid into place.) Sh-sh-sh.” Exterior. (Allan whistles again. Little John impatiently reaches around him and pushes the door closed.) Little John: “This way, come on!” (Little John pulls Allan back around the corner; Will goes around the opposite corner. Prince John and Sheridan, on horseback, and five foot soldiers approach. The Prince turns his horse around.) Prince John: “Set the bonfire in the clearing over there!” (Points, dismounts.) Crypt. Robin: “It’s time to play dead. (Motions.) Come here. (Robin leads Much to a sarcophagus.) Get this lid off.” Much: (With disbelief and fright:) “Oh, come on, please! (Robin bows his head, flustered.) Do we have to?” Robin: (Urgently:) “Unless you want to be put in one yourself, I’d say yes. Now get it open!“ (Much blows out his lantern. Marian waits by a larger sarcophagus as Prince John comes down the stairs.)

Prince John: (Singsong:) “Richard!” Marian: (Whispers urgently:) “Robin! (Robin goes to Marian.) There’s no time. You’re going to have to get in with me.” (Marian blows out her candle as Prince John nears the bottom of the stairs, holding out a lantern.) Prince John: (Singsong:) “Oh, Richard? Dicky, Dicky, Dicky? (Much sees the skull next to his face, closes his eyes and grimaces, shaking his head slightly.) We’ve come back for you. (At the coffin:) Brother, there you are. (Chuckles slightly.) You know, I think I prefer this one to the real thing. At least this one doesn’t lie and double deal and steal his brother’s place on his father’s throne... or in his mother’s heart. (Bends to Richard’s face. Whispers:) I’ve been in your shadow too long, brother. It’s my turn to step into the light while you burn in the pits of hell!” (Prince John repeatedly punches the wax cheek with his ringed fist. In the sarcophagus, Robin starts to raise his sword but Marian grabs his arm.) Robin: “Marian, that’s the only evidence!” (Marian puts her hand over Robin’s mouth.) Marian: “Shh. It’s too dangerous.” (The Prince stops, revealing a hole in the waxwork’s cheek. Prince John breathes heavily. Sheridan glances sideways at him, stunned.) Prince John: “It’s all right. We have no further use for the body. The Archbishop has seen enough of my brother’s beauty to proclaim it to the world, no doubt.“ Sheridan: (Flatly, staring at the wax face:) “Then we should proceed with the plan forthwith.“ Prince John: “You’re not having second thoughts, are you, Sheridan?” Sheridan: (Looks at Prince John:) “Certainly not.” Prince John: “You seem nervous. (Prince John puts his hand on Sheridan’s back and stares in his eyes.) Guards! (The guards thump noisily to the coffin.) Take the coffin. (Prince John steps around Sheridan.) If anybody asks where the body is, it’s gone to London for a state funeral at the Archbishop’s request. (Marian takes her hand off Robin’s mouth. Robin lies back, flustered.) By the time anybody finds out that there is no body, it’ll be too late.” (Prince John picks up his lantern and leaves, his footfalls echoing loudly.)

(Much and Robin help Marian out of the sarcophagus.) Robin: (Hand to forehead:) “We have to stop them destroying that thing.” (Much dusts himself off.) Much: “How? There could be loads of them.” (Robin raises his eyebrows, a sneaky idea in his head.) Robin: (To Marian:) “We need your cloak.” (Much frowns, puzzled.) Clearing near the abbey. (Horses neigh as Prince John and Sheridan approach the bonfire. The coffin is on top of the blaze.) Prince John: “Good, good.” (The Prince and Sheridan circle the fire on their horses.) Sheridan: “Make sure you destroy everything.” Guard 1: “Yes, sir. (The horses neigh. The two guards mutter to themselves and sit to watch the fire as Prince John and Sheridan return to Nottingham.) Oh, well. At least we’ll be warm.“ Guard 2: “Yeah.” Guard 1: “I’ve had worse jobs. (The guards hold their hands over the fire to warm them. Behind them, Little John moans low. The guards look at each other.) Did you hear that?” Guard 2: “Yeah.” (They look behind them. A tall black cloak with a skull in the hood and skeletal hands poking out the sides is coming towards them. Much and Marian yell wickedly as the guards scream and run off.) Guard 1: “Quick! Run! Run!” (Marian pulls the skull off her face as Much throws open the cloak.) Much: “Will!” Robin: “John.” Will: (Going to Much:) “Yeah, yeah.” (Will helps Marian down as Robin and Little John go to either end of the coffin.) Little John: “Ready?” (Robin wraps a cloth around the metal handle.) Robin: “One... two... three.” (Robin and Little John lift the coffin off the fire and set it down on the ground. They shift the lid off to reveal a skeleton with wax dripping off the bones.) Much: “We’re too late!” Marian: “No, we can still tell the Archbishop. Tell him the truth.” Robin: (Frustratedly:) “He already thinks he’s seen the body. It’ll be our word against theirs!“

Little John: “We can’t let the Prince take power like this. We have to stop him. Assassinate him if we have to.” Robin: “If we assassinate him, John, we risk invasion! Civil war, even!” Will: “But this is treason!” Robin: “I know! And I hate him as much as you do, but while Richard’s away, Prince John is our only leader!“ Will: “That’s all very well while he’s prince, but when he’s king, he can make new laws, say what he wants, do what he wants, spend what he wants.” Allan: “Where’s Clarke when we need her eh?” Marian: “She promised she’d follow us as soon as she could. But time is not on our side right now. We can’t afford to wait around and do nothing.” Robin: “Well, then, we stop him becoming king, don’t we?” Little John: “How?” (Robin thinks out loud.) Robin: “Well, for a coronation to take place, you need a crown. Am I right? (The gang are silent and look at Marian. Decisively:) Well then, we steal his crown.”