entrancelogs | [S] MAKE HIM PAY

Buckingham is many things, but idle is not often one of them.

Not unless two deaths and one scenic feat of payback have left him feeling a little fatigued and in need of respite from revenge. It's the evening of the second day and Buckingham is enjoying the modern comforts of his room, grooming his luxurious hair at his vanity table and preparing to retire for the day.

It's quite outrageous, really, he thinks, that he should still be stuck in a place where all the effort of maintaining his immaculate appearance falls on him alone.

He casually wonders just who he has to kill to receive better service in this mansion. Then again, he does remember the days when he would discard servants by the dozen and end up seeing to the task himself, because they all lacked the refined skills and flawless attention to detail his appearance needed and deserved.

And here some had the audacity to say his position was held entirely without hard work and effort...

This is getting ridiculous. By now, Santana's definitely pieced together that those two are determined to one-up each other in terms of...murder, and she's pretty sick of it. The only reprieve she got was reaping Puck, and that lasted like...two seconds.

God, she really wishes they would just fuck and get it over with instead. And let her sleep and have time to herself.

Jerks.

Anyway. Knock knock, open up, Buckingham. Try not to wonder why Santana is at your freakin' door.

Oh? A visitor? Who could--

...No.

No, surely he's learned his lesson after this.

Or has he?

Buckingham stands up, reaches for his gun and tentatively moves closer to the door.

"Who's there?"

"Santana."

Great, now she'd probably need a reason to be there. This event was totally throwing her off; normally she'd have easy excuses by second nature. That, or she'd just tell the truth and not care.

But noooo, now she'd have to continue making a fool of herself. After this event was over, she'd so have to explain herself.

The duke raises his eyebrows, intrigued. Now that is a visitor he did not expect.

"Just a moment."

The gun wanders back into the drawer. Buckingham gives his look a quick once-over. There is little he can do about the current state of his hair on such short notice, so those locks will have to hang loose, much like his mirror usually wears them.

His doublet has long been discarded for the day and all that covers his chest now is a white chemise which, speaking of cover, he should probably button up. Or not.

The duke opens the door.

"Miss Santana."

Buckingham is home now and he is looking so handsome and also his chemise opened.

"To what do I owe this... unexpected visit?"

He steps aside.

"Please, do come in."

Oh, well then. At least this visit has the benefit of eye candy.

She wasn't planning on actually going in, but let's face it: Santana has eyes, and also her excuse for being there would work better if she didn't refuse that. So into the room she goes!

"I just wanted to apologize," she says, and it's totally believable. Never mind that she never apologizes for anything unless it's over something way more important that, say, offending a Lord's delicate hand-kissing sensibilities. She's still able to make it sound like she means it. "For earlier."

Clearly the denied courtesy was a severe affront, but... an apology at this hour? And in person? Believable as Santana's voice may sound, Buckingham is highly dubious of the message.

"Apologise? Why, I don't even... recall an offence."

Then again, his best guess as to why she's truly here might just manage to be even further from the truth.

"Wine?"

The open bottle already stands conveniently on his dresser. And an extra cup is fetched swiftly.

Edited 2012-02-09 23:28 (UTC)

Santana shrugs.

"Sure, why not."

Why not? Oh, right, because she's supposed to touch him and leave. Eh, she can do that easily.

Right now she's a little busy staring at ~~his chest~~ the fanciness of his room.

Buckingham hands Santana the cup he just poured, his own already filled and ready at hand. Ah yes, his ~~chest~~ room is truly a sight to behold.

"To what shall we drink then?"

Festive victory sex strikes him as a particularly good option right now, but of course he would never be so crude as to suggest it... despite stepping so close he almost does Santana's job for her (again).

Santana's not a big wine fan, but it'll do. She tries to make it so that she can brush his hand with hers when she takes the cup, but it's hard to say if she succeeded or not.

...Not that it really matters, since he's all up in her space now. Sadly, she wasn't really planning for what now seems a little obvious, what with ~~his chest~~ his chest and her being so hot. And she really does pride herself on never saying no... But the whole soul-reaping thing is really getting in the way.

What to do??

Anyway. She shrugs, radiating nothing but innocence yet again.

"How about we drink to good old-fashioned exercise?" Oh, have her eyes strayed again? Oops.

Mhhh, now that toast he can get behind. And in front. And above. And a few other choice positions they shall have to discuss in a moment.

"To good old-fashioned exercise!"

He raises his glass in toast, moving yet a little bit closer with the utmost consideration, just to make sure Santana is offered the best view possible.

Who knows, maybe death can be pushed back for just a little while longer... It's been awhile since she's had any fun, okay?!

She sips her wine, then ever-so-casually runs her fingers down his chest. Which is what she would do even if she wasn't loosening his soul or whatever, actually, but it's a nice side benefit.

"Good taste in wine, too." Mostly a lie, because again, wine isn't her thing. "Guess you have good taste in a lot of things."

When Athos came to with a sharp inhale, sprawled on the floor, he could still taste the bile in his mouth. Acidic. Foul. Bitter.

Much like the poisonous feelings he has towards anything related to His Grace, the Duke of Buckingham, right now. With a groan he had eased himself upright, reached for his rapier and cleaned it on a sofa cushion before sheathing it.

He sat in the silence for some time, simply mulling.

Athos is not prone to revenge, as the narration has stated before, but this event has the uncanny ability to dredge the most livid of his motions out, manifesting them in the desire to destroy one of the creatures that had made his life so miserable.

He collected himself.

He changed clothes.

He strolled leisurely to Buckingham's room.

And now he does not knock on the door so much as open it without asking. Still armed, he poses a threat, but manmade weapons are not the ones Athos wishes to inflict damage with this evening.

"Bonsoir."

He stands in the doorway, eyes flickering over the young woman who had practically been petting him earlier in the parlor.

"I hope I'm not interrupting."

Buckingham's motive for reciprocation has nothing to do with business and Santana's soul stays right where it is as his fingers wrap around her hand and slowly wander all the way up to her shoulder.

"Good wine, good taste, excellent company, I--"

And then the door opens and Buckingham stands corrected.

"Athos," he hisses through bared teeth, his fingers tightening around Santana's shoulder, likely leaving a mark he didn't intend to create in that particular context.

When his hand loosens after a moment he steps to the side slowly, his mind set on reaching the dresser and the gun concealed within: Flattering as the open chemise may be, it offers little advantage in combat when the only weapon at his person right now is a small knife in one of his boots.

"Your hope is quite in vain, I'm afraid. Will you take your leave or shall I pour you a cup?"

Shit shit shit. This would be why she was supposed to leave right away. And as suspicious-slash-cynical a person Santana is, she's pretty sure Athos is even more so. Obviously this is the best possible time for him to bust all up in there.

(Also, PS: ow.)

Rubbing her shoulder a little, she...stares at the door, wondering if she can make a run for it.

Athos really wouldn't recommend running for it, young lady. You see, he is a rather imposing man at six feet and three inches, particularly wearing all black, and looming in the doorway he sort of cuts off the only exit available.

"No, thank you," he replies, removing his hat and setting it on the sideboard. Athos unpins his baldric next, which is followed by the unbuckling of his swordbelt, and if this narration didn't assure you, dear reader, that his intentions are completely platonic (if slightly violent), we are certain you might assume the sexiest of conclusions.

But sadly, a threesome is not to be.

He spares no passing glance for Santana, because he is indeed both cynical and suspicious, and she appears to have adopted the inconvenient hobby of showing up when someone is going to die.

"I find your vintages rather suspect at best, and I have come to settle a score."

He raises an eyebrow at Buckingham's not-so-subtle movements towards the dresser.

"...really, now, My Lord. Cheating again?"

Tsk, tsk.

Buckingham slowly ~~slides off~~ buttons up his chemise, following Athos' routine with ~~aroused anticipation~~ wary resentment.

"Weapons are a rather customary accessory in a duel, if you recall. As you can see I presently have no weapon on me and... am quite frankly a little baffled as to how you intend to settle that score if you keep discarding yours."

Notice how the narration failed to mention how he stops moving towards the dresser? That's because he doesn't.

Edited 2012-02-10 02:58 (UTC)

This would be so much more interesting if they were still removing clothing. Santana is just so sad when Buckingham buttons up.

That is the true tragedy of this moment.

She takes a step back, then a step towards the door. Silence is her friend.

Oh, someone is still removing clothing.

"I doubt you've ever been to a tavern," Athos says calmly, undoing the clasps of his doublet to open it, allowing for easier movement. He would roll up the sleeves of his chemise if he could, but let's not bother with trifles.

Not this time around, at any rate.

"But some men enter combat at the slightest provocation. All it takes is a single word. A glance. The battle begins and steel is left sheathed. And why do you think that is?"

His tone is mild, and he moves away from the door - but oh yes, he shuts it behind him - towards His Lordship's dresser. Can't have the duke reaching for something dangerous, can we?

"There is honor in a fair fight - a sentiment I wouldn't expect you to know anything about. Perhaps le petit duc can learn."

The Duke of Buckingham has indeed never set foot into a tavern and wouldn't dream of dispatching any opponent with his bare hands, unless perhaps a servant in a fit of anger, but that should hardly count.

Now, George Villiers is another matter entirely and His Grace now shudders with contempt at the seediness of many a place his youthful travels led him to. Of course back then the shudder was one of excitement and his fists found themselves raised quite eagerly and often at the slightest provocation.

The temper remains, but these days it hides within a different set of clothing.

"And so you barge into my chambers and propose we brawl in front of a lady."

Did you want attention, Santana? Because here it is!

"Yes, clearly I can see how that would be much more honourable."

Sigh.

Normally, Santana would love the attention. Normally, she would smirk at being called a lady, and normally she would make a comment about how brawls can be hot to witness.

Stupid, stupid event. She already knows the outcome of this fight.

"I can let myself out..." she says with a gesture at the now-closed door.

"You don't think you'd like to stay?"

Athos inquires curtly, raising a judgmental eyebrow, finally turning to appraise the young woman eyeing the door.

"You seemed so fond of this room only moments ago. I can only imagine what changed your mind," he adds, mouth twitching into an even deeper frown. The musketeer doesn't wait for an answer before addressing the crux of the situation once more.

"If you do not think yourself capable of a simple fistfight, Buckingham, I could always draw my sword again."

"And I mine."

A broad grin. His sword belt is even further out of reach than the drawer, but that wonderful blade is still ready at hand for another dance.

"Ah, but your skill is impeccable, as always. I couldn't possibly hope to match... your ability to drive women away."

A quick glance at Santana, if only to illustrate the point.

"Well done. Exceptional work. I yield."

Mock grin still in place he tops it off with a mock bow.

Wow, the testosterone levels in here are verging on suffocating. Awesome.

Still inching towards the door, no big deal...

"I'm sure you guys want some privacy."

~~Wink wink~~~

ROUND 4

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