Wrong place, wrong time

[hernes_son]

Date & Time: After this and before this
Location: Outside the Hold
Characters: Robin of Loxley and anyone
Summary: And the crowd goes wild! ... Not in a good way.
Warnings: Violence, I expect.

The unmistakable sounds of a scuffle can be heard in the street outside the Hold: phrases like “it’s another one of them” and “you’re to blame” float on the air above the general melee, along with an angry male voice.

“I’ve no wish to harm you but you WILL LET ME BY!”

Immediately the sounds change to inarticulate shouting, grunting, the sickening thud of something solid hitting flesh. “Hold ‘im, now” and “watch ‘is left” interspersed with snarls of pain and rage from more than one party.
The group is seething, a furious ball of humanity, limbs and backs and heads flailing and entwined, faces contorted with fear and the madness of a crown gone riot.

An observer might catch a fleeting glimpse of the riot’s angry focus: a familiar face now bruised and bloodied, the curve of a bow at his back.

[Anybody wanting to jump in and help Robin out is welcome to do so! Or, wait until the crowd dissipates if you prefer – he’ll need a hand then as well.]

Comments

[boughtabookstore]

Memory came and went, flitted by. Some moments she could barely remember who she was, let alone where and what this place was. It never lasted long, and the times of clarity were far longer. Still, she found it incredibly frustrating. Tonight was one of the longer phases, when recent events were blurred and just beyond her reach but she still remembered the gist of things.

So she waited for Robin, while she remembered. And then for a little while she didn't remember and made tea and sat and read her notes, trying to understand what was going on here until her memory came back clear and she paused and looked at the clock.

It was taking him too long to get here, and the natives were restless. It was making her feel uneasy, and she locked up and left, heading towards the town, taking a guess at where he'd been and the route he would have taken.

She heard the scuffle from a block away and broke into a sprint, a sickening feeling that she knew what was going on here at the pit of her stomach.

"Hey!" she yelled, fury in her voice. "Back the fuck off!"

(1/2)

[hernes_son]

They’d disarmed him, his bow and quiver lying ignored in the street. Two men held Robin’s arms tightly while a third, something large and dirt-colored clenched in his fist, backhanded the archer across the face and then slammed the object repeatedly into Robin’s midsection. The thick and merciless sounds of the gathered crowd choked the air like smoke, their cries ever more bloodthirsty. Roslyn’s angry shout cut through the noise, causing some to falter back.

The distraction was enough that the man to Robin’s right lost his grip on his victim’s arm, fingers slipping to clutch at the fabric of his shirt instead, and Robin quickly slid his foot out and shifted his shoulder forward, pitching the man to the ground to the sound of tearing cloth. With his newly freed hand Robin grasped the other man keeping him captive and spun him into the arc of his attacker’s next blow.

(2/2)

[hernes_son]

Disoriented, Robin staggered a few steps, searching the crowd to find Roslyn. His vision was blurred and he bit out a wrathful curse. The crowd seemed to swell and disperse like breakers on the shore and he could not see his friend.

Someone leapt upon him from behind; without conscious thought Robin jerked his head backward to the sound of crunching cartilage and a shriek of pain from his assailant. The weight on his back shifted and Robin found himself scrabbling at a wiry arm tightening around his throat. His breath came in short gasps, his sight began to dim around the edges.

as promised

[birdhousesoul]

From a sidestreet, a glowing streak of energy shoots out to strike the man who's throttling Robin. It doesn't kill; it does stun, and forces Robin's assailant into spasms, releasing his hold.

"For freedom!" a familiar voice shouts. (Well, it's a more decorous battle cry than some others Anders likes to use. Suck on a fireball features strongly in his repertoire.) Around Robin's feet there forms a circle of light, inscribed with what would seem an ornate pattern of lines were it not so blurred by its own radiance. The assailant's body, flailing, crosses the circle's edge, and he's promptly thrown back, landing clear of Robin's reach.

[boughtabookstore]

Though she could be happier about who was interfering, the fact remained that she hadn't had a clear idea about how she was going to clear this entire crowd by herself without firing at least a few warning shots. It wasn't an idea she'd liked, but as it stands now she can wade into those people who hadn't already decided that running was a good option, slamming an elbow into a throat as she tried to make her way to Robin's side.

This situation was rapidly deteriorating.

[hernes_son]

Robin was on his hands and knees, trying not to vomit. The glyph surrounding him had surprised him, but while the circles of protection Herne had fashioned from salt and runes were nothing compared to the glowing aura that surrounded him, Robin had understood that he should stay inside it and his enemies would remain without.

The arc of energy was something else entirely. If the situation had been less dire Robin could probably have worked up some envy over Anders' powers; as it was he could feel nothing but grateful that his friend had intervened.

His nausea subsided somewhat, though the pain in his head and midsection did not. The end of Robin's bow crossed the glyph and he scrabbled for it with his fingertips, relieved to have it back in his hands. He retrieved his quiver by the simple expedient of hooking it with the end of the bow and dragging it to him; and then he got to his knees, looking around for Roslyn, nocking an arrow just in case.

[birdhousesoul]

Anders doesn't see Ros, but he does see that Robin's looking around for someone, and in a specific direction. He does what he can, shooting spirit bolts where they'll be most useful to channel the fleeing crowd away, or to dissuade those who seem bent on advancing against the glyph. The glyph itself requires renewal, and Anders realizes if Robin can't get clear of his attackers one way or another, the remaining options are all unappealing.

He doesn't fancy wading into a melee. After a mind blast or two, he'll be reduced to sweeping his staff about him like any mundane weapon, because he won't have time or range for any spells; you can't cast when you're being kicked and pummeled to the ground.

On the other hand, he doesn't fancy laying down an apocalyptic firestorm, either. As satisfying as it might feel, the political consequences wouldn't be much fun, and Nathaniel would disapprove.

Well, there's one thing he can do. Kite the bastards.

So he does. Stupidly, and knowing it's stupid, Anders sprints out from his nice cozy alley-niche, and waves his staff about to draw attention. He aims a fireball at the ground, just to show he means business.

Hopefully these people will start coming after him, those who still want a fight.

[boughtabookstore]

Skilled fighter or not, the middle of a mob doesn't leave much opportunity to put all of those talents to use. Still, she's managing to leave a mark on those who try to keep her from Robin, convincing them that perhaps it's best to seek revenge elsewhere. And those who aren't convinced - well, a fair amount of them are suddenly finding Anders an even more immediate concern.

She slams her way through the last segments of the crowd to Robin's side, staying standing and facing those of the mob still making up their mind.

"How are you?" It's a quiet question, accompanied by a single glance down before she returns her attention to the crowd, eyes flicking to where some of them are attempting to go after Anders.

[hernes_son]

"All right," Robin lied, the hitch in his voice probably revealing more than he'd like. After some struggle and the sudden certainty that he'd need his chest wrapped before he could breathe comfortably, he managed to gain his feet.

Robin tried to draw his bow and failed; the energy that had surged through his veins a moment before was gone, leaving him reeling. "I'm... I can't..." He sucked a breath through his teeth and tried again. "Ros," and this was the first time he'd addressed her so, the unwarranted familiarity of his tone underlining his unguarded state, "Anders - don't let them..." Every phrase was wheezed out through a clenched jaw. "Get Nathaniel or... someone... help. I'll... clinic."

The door to the Hold wasn't far, fortunately. Robin took cover, his back to the wall, his arm pressed protectively to his side.