Chapter Five: Boredom

Marian was bored out of her skull. It was quite unfortunate, when she thought about it. Literature was meant to be exciting and interesting. She decided that it was the professor’s fault, though he probably couldn’t help the fact that he was boring. Suddenly, an IM window popped up on her laptop, causing her to raise an eyebrow.

PaintItBlack: You look like you’re about to fall asleep.

Marian smiled at the message and looked up from her laptop. Guy, who was the teacher’s assistant, was sitting behind the droning professor. When he caught Marian looking at him, he pantomimed a dramatic death, laying face down on the desk. She saw him move his hand to his laptop, and soon enough, a second message appeared.

PaintItBlack: Here lies Guy Gisborne. Cause of death: Boredom.

She stifled her laughter, trying not to draw the professor’s attention. Her fingers flew across the keyboard and she replied.

VitaBella: Guy will be remembered for providing entertainment in an otherwise dull class. An impromptu salon will commence immediately after class.

Guy read this reply and peered over the top of his laptop, smirking.

PaintItBlack: Marian Fitzwalter, are you asking me to lunch?

VitaBella: Sure.

PaintItBlack: And Robin won’t mind?

VitaBella: Robin doesn’t control who I’m friends with.

PaintItBlack: “with whom I am friends.”

VitaBella: You’re a nerd, Guy.

---

The clock was moving backwards. At least, that’s what Carter thought. His third class of the morning would be over in five minutes. This did little to comfort him, as he was relatively sure that it should’ve been “over in five minutes” nearly five minutes ago. He leaned back in his chair, tilting backwards to see what Rigby was doing. She was watching something. It looked like some cop show. Carter tapped on her desk, causing her to shift her headphones.

“What are you watching?” he asked quietly.

“NCIS,” she explained. “I’m trying to catch up on my shows from back home. Now quit talking to me before you get me in trouble again.”

“Rigby, when do I ever get you in trouble?” Carter asked, feigning hurt. At that moment, however, he went too far back in his chair, sending him tumbling backwards. In a last minute attempt to steady himself, he grabbed on to the nearest available thing: the cord from Rigby’s head phones. The rest of the class heard a stifled yell, a loud thud, and then a techno theme tune blaring from Rigby’s laptop. Rigby quickly pressed mute on her laptop, leaning down to look at Carter.

“I think that this counts,” she muttered flatly, rolling her eyes as Carter grinned apologetically.

“Rigby, I’d appreciate it if you wouldn’t fool around during lecture,” the professor said sharply. “Carter, do be careful not to crack your head open. It’d be a nightmare for the poor custodian.”

“Sorry,” Carter whispered, climbing back into his seat, giving Rigby a sideways look. She looked more amused than angry, so he knew it was okay. Still, he felt that he should make a peace offering.

“I’ll buy you lunch,” he muttered. Rigby grinned.

---

“Steady,” Allan instructed, watching as the younger student worked through the piece of music. It was obvious that he was trying very hard, and that was part of the problem. He was playing too rigidly, which probably explained his problems in the rhythm department. The professor had asked Allan to take the younger man aside. Allan didn’t have a problem with it, but he found that it was becoming a bit painful to watch.

“You have to move,” he finally said. The younger student merely stared at him, looking a bit like a deer in headlights.

“What’s your name?” Allan asked, trying to get the boy to relax.

“Mark,” he replied nervously. Allan motioned for him to scoot over, sitting next to him on the bench.

“Ok, Mark. What we’ve got here is a classic piece. Moonlight Sonata. I understand that there’s a lot of pressure, because it’s one that everyone knows, but you’ve seriously got to relax, mate,” Allan advised, resting his hands on the ivory keys. “And move. That’s important.” With that, he began to play, closing his eyes as his fingers moved across the keys. Mark stared as his tutor plunged into the music, swaying lightly as he got more into it. He’d been working on the piece for nearly a week, and he hadn’t been able to produce the kind of sound that Allan was currently drawing from the piano.

“How do you do that?” he asked. Allan opened his eyes, giving Mark a sideways grin, continuing to play as he spoke.

“It’s easy when you get the hang of it,” he reassured.

“But I’ve been practicing all week,” he pointed out hopelessly.

“Practicing can only help you learn the notes. If you want to make the music work, you’ve got to put feeling into it,” Allan replied sagely. “Take this piece for example. When you hear it, what do you think about?” He lapsed into silence, allowing the song to fill the small practice room. Mark pondered the question for a moment.

“It’s sad sounding,” he commented. “Makes me think of something really tragic that you can’t stop.”

“Alright. I want you to think about that. Keep that image in you head,” Allan coached, sliding over. He closed the sheet music, explaining himself before Mark could protest. “You know the notes. Just play the image in your head.” Mark nodded, though he didn’t seem sure of himself. He began to play, and Allan was satisfied in the noticeable difference in the sound.

“Good job, Mark,” he encouraged. Someone knocked on the door, and he glanced over his shoulder. The professor was leaning in the doorway, sipping a coffee.

“That’s it for today,” he announced. “Mark, that sounds much better.” The boy smiled, gathering up his sheet music and muttering a thank you to Allan before ducking out of the room. “Allan, I want to talk to you.”

“What’s up, Professor Faulkner?” Allan asked curiously.

“Hey, none of that,” he laughed. Despite the formal address, Allan was pretty close friends with the relatively young professor. In fact, Allan very rarely called him “Professor Faulkner” at all, instead choosing to call him by his first name, Renton. “I need you to do me a favor.”

“If it’s babysitting again, you can count me out. Not that your kids aren’t lovely, but I still have the bruises,” Allan said, only half joking. Renton rolled his eyes.

“We’ve just gotten in a new student.” Allan could sense what was coming and groaned in protest. “Hold on. I just want you to help her adjust. I will warn you though; her English is a bit wonky. Most of it’s the accent, though.”

“Accent?” Allan asked.

“She’s French,” Renton explained. “And I have to teach a class. I know for a fact that you’re done for the day. Just show her around.”

“If I do,” Allan asked hypothetically, “Where am I supposed to meet her?”

“Actually, she’s right outside,” Renton chuckled, jerking his head in the direction of the doorway. Allan peeked out of the doorway to see a shapely blonde, inspecting herself in a compact. Upon seeing him, she closed the compact with a snap, placing it in her purse.

“Well, hello,” Allan said under his breath, suddenly interested.

“Imagine that,” Renton smirked, walking over to the girl. Allan followed, hastily running his fingers through his hair and tugging at his slightly wrinkled shirt.

“Sophie Benoit, this is Allan A Dale. He’ll be showing you around campus,” Renton introduced. Allan discretely leaned back and whispered to Renton.

“I never said yes,” he reminded. Renton looked between Allan and Sophie.

“So, go ahead and say no,” he countered.

“Touché,” Allan mumbled before smiling at Sophie, who giggled and waved demurely.

---

“Indian?” Morgan suggested, standing in the middle of the food court. Troy stood next to her, looking grumpy and agitated. He’d shot down all of her suggestions so far, and she was starting to get annoyed.

“No,” he said flatly.

“Customarily, when you ask someone to lunch, you actually get lunch,” Morgan muttered. She looked at him. His arms were crossed over his chest, and his jaw was set at an angle indicating anger.

“Morgan,” he began. “We need to talk.” She had anticipated as much and waited expectantly. Troy shoved his hands into his pockets.

“You can’t share a room with Carter,” he finally blurted out. “And I don’t want you living in the same house as Allan. And I want you to stay away from Robin.”

The list of demands caught Morgan off guard. For a moment, she thought he was joking. When she worked out that he was not, her surprise quickly melted into annoyance, which inevitably shifted into anger.

“Not being funny, but I’m not going to move out of the house,” she said as calmly as possible. “And I won’t stop being friends with Robin just because you feel threatened, or whatever macho thing this is about.”

“Well, I don’t give you permission,” he said childishly, as if the decision was final.

“I don’t need your permission,” Morgan snapped. “I’m not some kind of trophy, Troy. You can’t control my life.” To prove her point, she tuned to walk away. Troy grabbed her by the wrist, jerking her backwards. He was gripping her wrist tightly, more tightly than necessary.

“You’re my girlfriend,” he hissed. “You’ll do what I tell you to do.”

“Let her go, Troy.” They hadn’t noticed Robin’s arrival, but at his interjection, they realized that they were causing quite a scene, attracting a small crowd. Troy glared at Robin, ignoring his request. Robin stepped in, forcefully prying Troy’s hand away from Morgan’s wrist. Troy looked between Robin and Morgan.

“So, this is what you want?” he demanded of Morgan. “Get rescued by your knight in shining armor? Ride off into the sunset and get home in time for a nice shag?”

“Just stop it, Troy,” Morgan pleaded. “It’s not like that.”

“Oh, don’t give me that! Why else would he stand up for you unless you were putting out? I’m not stupid, you little slut!” The accusation barely made it out of his mouth when Morgan slapped him across the face.

“Maybe it’s because he’s my friend and not some drooling, sex-crazed git,” she shot.

“We’re so over,” Troy spat, holding his smarting cheek.

“You think, Troy?” Morgan asked sarcastically. Troy looked ready to say something else, but he decided to storm off instead, casting dark looks over his shoulder as he walked away. Morgan held it together long enough for Troy to get out of earshot before allowing herself to cry. Robin drew her into a supportive hug. She rested her head against his chest, and he gently stroked her hair to calm her down.

“It’s okay, Morgan,” he said softly. Turning to the onlookers, he frowned. “You lot, get out of here. There’s nothing to see.” As the crowd dispersed, Robin looked down at Morgan, who was calming down enough to speak.

“It’s was never a good relationship,” she admitted, sniffling.

“No, it wasn’t,” Robin agreed. “I’m just glad it ended before he hurt you.”

“I dunno, that last bit was kind of hurtful,” she pointed out in the most joking manner possible.

“Well, if it’s any consolation, I don’t think you’re a slut. You are little, though.” He was glad when she laughed lightly.

---

Guy wasn’t entirely sure what to do. He and Marian had left class together, ready to meet with Robin for lunch. They’d found him sharing what appeared to be a heartfelt embrace with Morgan. Marian stared at the scene before them, not saying a word.

The way he saw it, he had two choices. He could explain to Marian that maybe it was all just a misunderstanding. He’d known Morgan for most of her life, and he knew that she was hopelessly in love with one person, and that person wasn’t Robin. He could tell her to calmly ask Robin about it, assure her there was some sort of logical explanation, and then go to lunch with Marian and Robin.

On the other hand, he could perpetuate the tension between Marian and Morgan and Robin, offer his condolences, and then go to lunch with Marian. He quickly weighed his options and put a hand on Marian’s shoulder.

“I’m so sorry.”

---

“So, I managed to talk to some of the tenants, and of course, we’ve got their full support,” Much updated as he and Carter walked towards the food court. Rigby was fiddling with her camcorder, listening with interest as Much talked about the Sovereigns of Sherwood campaign.

“That’s good,” Carter nodded, “I’ve designed a flyer. I’ll see about getting copies made.”

“You should do something big. I mean, getting signatures is all well and good, but if you can arrange something that will show full student support, something that will bring everyone to one place, that’d be better,” Rigby advised, changing out the battery on her camcorder.

“I like how she thinks,” Much grinned. “This your girlfriend, Carter?” Carter and Rigby exchanged glances and burst out laughing.

“No, definitely not,” Carter answered. “That’d be like dating my sister. Much, this is Eleanor Rigby. Rigby, this is Much Miller.”

“No way,” Much said dismissively. “Really, what’s your first name?”

“Eleanor,” Rigby confirmed. “My dad was a big fan of The Fab Four. Just call me Rigby, and everything will be okay.”

“Right, then,” Much blushed. “Do you want to join us for lunch? We’re supposed to discuss plans.”

“Yeah, sure thing,” Rigby accepted.

---

“Where’s Marian?” Djaq asked, peering around the food court. They had all gotten their food and sat down, but Marian was nowhere in sight.

“And Allan,” Will tacked on. Robin shrugged.

“Running late?” he guessed, sending them a text message just to be sure. “But, what was this “something big” you were talking about, Rigby?” For once, Robin was trying to stay on subject. Much was impressed.

“No idea, I was just making a general suggestion,” Rigby started. She began to explain to Robin the importance of utilizing all forms of media, but Much suddenly noticed that Morgan’s eyes were a bit red, as if she’d been crying.

“Morgan, are you alright?” Carter asked, letting Much know he wasn’t the only one that had noticed. Morgan felt everyone’s gaze shift to her. She squirmed uncomfortably.

“I ended it with Troy,” she said flatly, feeling that it would be better if she just came out with it.

“It’s alright, Morgan,” Carter comforted. “He was a ruddy chav, anyway.” Rigby nodded.

“Total chav,” she agreed, even though she didn’t know who they were talking about. Morgan managed a crooked grin and chuckled.

“Right,” Robin redirected with a smile. “Now, about the big event, Rigby.” He made a mental note that there newest member had a noticeably short attention span.

“Oh, nothing really. Just that you need something that will draw in a bunch of people. Maybe talk to the local news station, see if you can’t get them to cover it,” she recapped quickly.

“We should also consider selling merchandise,” Djaq proposed. “Raise funds. Just in case.”

“Yes, good,” Robin agreed. “Maybe something that people can wear. Like a wristband or something. That way people will see it, spread the word.”

“T-shirts,” Morgan added on.

“What about a sort of necklace?” Will asked. “Or some kind of dog tag?”

“I like it,” Carter seconded.

“Alright, Will, see if you can work out something for that,” Robin delegated, jotting notes down on a pad of paper. “Carter, you said you made flyers. Follow up on that. Much, if you could organize a phoning list, like a sort of calling tree, that’d be fantastic. I’m going to talk to the university, see what kind of steps we’d have to go through to get a permit. The last thing we want is to be arrested.”

“Too right,” Will chimed in.

“Djaq, Morgan, and Rigby, I’d like you and Marian and Allan, where ever they are, to try and come up with some ideas for the big event. Alright?”

“Sure thing, boss,” Rigby nodded, rifling off a salute.

“One thing, though,” Will piped up. “If I’m going to make merchandise, I’ll need to know what we’re called.” One by one, the gang looked to Robin.

“Sovereigns of Sherwood. That’s us, mates.”