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The sun is setting, and a car appears in the distance.

Inside is a 24-year old, a 7 year old, and an imaginary sister.

Lenore, exhausted, stops the car outside a farm that looks like it hasn't seen a drop of water in years, and promptly flops back onto the hood of the vehicle.

She's tired. She's hungry. Her hands are shaking and she's sweating and it takes everything she has to keep it from happening, and within a few minutes, it subsides. There are a few lights on in the farmhouse, she notices, and so she checks to make sure Bridgette is still asleep before walking over and knocking on the door.

"Hey," she calls, hoping someone hospitable will open the door, "I've got a kid with me."

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"Oh aye, I do, milady, but I'm injured an 'ave neither blade nor bow, naught e'en a knife so clearly canna do that much."

"It's okay," she says, smiling.

"I haven't got a gun, we're kind of in the same boat."

"What's a gun, milady?"

Will's trying to not fiddle with the bandages on his wrists but he's just feeling self conscious.

"Uh..."

Right, technology.

"It's like a bow that fires on its own."

"Oh aye, milady, sounds dangerous, but tis somethin' ye know 'ow to use?"

Lenore grins.

"Yep, know how to use it almost as well as I know how to use these," she says, holding up her fists.

She's got scars on her knuckles.

He just nods, strange to think of women fighting, but sometimes you have to,

"Aye, milady, so yer world is dangerous?"

"Depends on who you are," she says simply, with a bit of a shrug.

"For me, it is."

"Oh aye, milady, an ye've na family to protect ye?"

"Nope," she says, and sounds all too cheerful about that.

"Mom's been dead for years and as far as I'm concerned, my father doesn't exist."

Its rather disconcerting to Will who's family is one of the reasons he fights so hard and the men in Sherwood are just as precious,

"Aye, milady."

"Shit happens," she says, and flicks a cigarette out of her jacket pocket.

"Don't suppose you smoke, do you?"

"Um nay, milady, only learned o'such a thing yesterday when Marley smoked."

"Yeah, don't do it," she says, lighting up with a match. "Shit'll kill ya."

Beat.

"How old are you, Will?"

"Seventeen summers, milady, just turned na long ago, why?"

She looks surprised.

"Really? You're only seventeen?"

"Oh aye, milady, dinna understand why ye're so surprised."

"You look... a lot older," she admits.

"I'm twenty-four."

Will's not sure if that's a compliment or not so just nods again,

"Aye, milady, ne'er really thought 'bout it."

He's from a world where the idea of a teenager doesn't even exist, you just do what needs to be done and battles and torture and hunger and Nottingham make you too old before your time.

"You don't have to keep calling me that, you know," she says through a puff of smoke.

"Um aye, forgive me, just tis 'abit. What should I call ye?"

Edited 2007-11-20 03:07 (UTC)

"Lenore, I told you that," she says, but doesn't sound annoyed.

She flicks away the ash from her cigarette, then stomps it out.

"Lenore Ackart, that's my full name."

"Um aye, m..Lenore, can show ye where some beds are an tis food in the kitchen."

"Sure," she says, eyeing the car for a moment.

She then walks over to the vehicle and opens the passenger side door, easily lifting Bridgette out.

She then nods to will for the go-ahead.

The sight of Bridgette makes him look down and a little sadder, shouldn't be children here, too dangerous and then he walks towards the farmhouse.