entrancelogs | [S] MAKE HIM PAY

Buckingham slept. Ten hours to make up for the event's restlessness until now.

But now it's all over. Now his desire for revenge is sated and Athos can rot in the forest until Wonderland sends him home. Now Buckingham stands on the beach, on the pier, looking out at a sea he can't sail, waters devoid of the fleet he commands at home.

He can't rightly say why he even treats himself to the gloomy view. Just a morning walk after a night that lasted too long? Hm. Not quite. But perhaps not having an answer to that is reason enough to leave. And so he turns around, ready to head back to the mansion.

When he turns around, he will be greeted with the pleasant sight of Santana Lopez stomping towards him. She is beyond sick of this, and even though the beach sure is nicer than the forest, she really doesn't want to be there.

She's even a little early, thanks to the last time.

STOMP STOMP STOMP.

The duke freezes on the spot.

There comes a point when even the most Buckingham of us begin to question this girl's appearance and opt for a look of wary anticipation instead of a pleasant Miss Santana!

Edited 2012-02-18 22:05 (UTC)

With wonderfully false cheer, Santana calls out, "Oh, hi! So weird seeing you here."

She stops in front of him.

She reaches out and pats his arm, like one might do so with their son they are proud of.

Then she turns and walks off.

"Hope I don't see you soon!" she says, still remarkably cheerful.

Athos is so very glad that his rope snapped. Perhaps it was shoddy, perhaps the event simply did not wish to let him hang in the woods like a man in a gibbet, picked apart by crows. He came to with his face pressed into dead, cold leaves, freezing, his clothes still mangled and torn from the loving attentions of Buckingham's dogs.

And he so swore to be as petty as His Lordship. Only this time, he possessed an Ace up his sleeve.

The musketeers lurks under the surface, grateful for the murky waters and the warmth of his suit. He had not anticipated finding a use for it, but when one has a skill, why not find the time?

The ocean is fairly calm, as oceans go, but on one side of the dock, a splash spatters the Duke's trunkhose.

And another, but no culprit. Fish, perhaps?

...Perhaps.

No. No, this will not do. Buckingham is past believing this to be a coincidence, far past tolerating an appearance of that kind. He is about to storm after Santana and stop her, demand an explanation when the water hits his leg and stops him.

"What on earth..."

Normally it wouldn't be enough. But at this precise moment Buckingham's thoughts are fresh with the memory of a sea that strikes him as all too calm, all too devoid of life. He approaches the side of the dock and looks down into the water.

Another splash, from the other side of the dock.

By this point, the narration is certain that Buckingham is both slightly frustrated and possibly confused. The suspenseful background music that could be lives on in the minds of the writers, who appear to be enjoying homicide much more than they ought to.

With this second distraction, Athos emerges from the dark water, the black mask obscuring his face.

He reaches for his modified crossbow.

This narration has really no idea what the other narration is talking about.

Why, the only thing that could possibly be more abhorrent to this writer than imagining her poor character murdered would be to imagine him lying on the beach, stripped bare and pushed down into the sand by the musketeer's weight on top of him, calloused hands delivering one sensual touch after another, his moans of pleasure only stifled by Athos' lips covering his own and the man's tongue--

Oh, right. Homicide.

Buckingham is neither confused nor frustrated as such, but certainly annoyed and about to stomp loudly to the other side of the dock when--

When he stops just before he reaches the edge.

'Did she tell you, then, precisely how we might direct our attack upon the Tower of London? Aramis, the master of stealth, Porthos, of brute force, and I myself, the diver.'

And I myself, the diver.

God's blood, he should have seen this coming sooner!

But now he only sees it, sees him and takes a hasty step back, attempting a dive of his own away from the crossbow's reach.

If there is one thing these two writers can agree on, it is how utterly ridiculous the idea of Athos twining his fingers in Buckingham's hair, pulling as he demands a plea and peels away the many layers of His Lordship's wardrobe is.

Lord Buckingham should really pay better attention to Athos' lectures, anyway.

He aims carefully, feeling the tension in the bowstring, and pulls the trigger. The cabled bolt is quick and effective, sinking into one of Buckingham's legs and clicking as it reaches the end of its line. The momentum stops. Wrapping the sturdy wiring around a gloved hand multiple times, Athos jerks on the cable.

Sturdy.

His aim is true, and Buckingham should be able to feel that as the barbed tip pulls in the flesh of his thigh.

Lying on his back Buckingham screams, fingers involuntarily digging into the dock's planks as Athos pulls him closer.

...

...

...

Take that as you will.

~~Sexy.~~

Guess who really couldn't care less about the agonizing pain Buckingham is probably experiencing right now?

If you went with A.) The musketeer who got eaten alive by dogs, then you win the solid gold kewpie doll!

Wrapping another length of cord around his hand, he expels a tertiary layer of air from his suit and begins to sink.

And sink.

And sink.

Dragging a lucky someone with him.

After the sharp and tearing pain and the hard fall Buckingham finally finds the clarity to fight back, but his sword already lies uselessly too far away and reaching for anything else proves difficult.

His fingers try to lodge themselves between the cracks, but all the attempt gets him is blood on his hands that makes reaching for his pistol even more of a challenge.

But he succeeds eventually and draws--

--just as his body hits the ocean's surface and the impact knocks the weapon from his hands and too much of the air from his lungs.

Feeling the salty water scraping at his wounds and the sensation burning through his body Buckingham begins to struggle, pulling at the cord.

Much like a rocky reef, devoid of nautical flora, the undersea area beneath the Wonderland dock is horrifically, starkly barren. The only real threat is the fauna, which comes in a variety of shapes and sizes that Athos is wholly unfamiliar with, having only ever dived in parts of France, Italy, and Spain.

Here, the creatures are darker.

Equalizing the air pressure in his suit for a moment, Athos ties off his cable around an outcropping, leaving Lord Buckingham struggling just ten feet from the surface.

It's far enough.

Settling on top of one of the ridges, legs crossed in front of him leisurely, Athos watches the show because he has to be sure.

The pull has stopped, but that is about the extent of today's good news. Buckingham tries to look around, but the water burns in his eyes and any glimpse he catches is too blurry to be worth the effort.

He struggles, but any attempt at moving towards the surface is instantly rewarded with the pain of the hook digging deep into his flesh and colouring the water around him red.

His urgency has yet to turn into despair, but his attempt at cutting himself loose is cut short as his knife slips at the first slice, leaving nothing but a silver glimmer slowly disappearing in the depths.

With the painful fall, without preparation and not to mention no practice in diving whatsoever Buckingham's options are running out nearly as fast as his air. Forcefully he starts pulling at the cable.

Pity that the cable refuses to budge.

The line isn't easily cut by a blade, anyway. Made of braided strands of metal, it's intended purpose is to do anything but break. Athos had it specially manufactured - one of those few things he brought with him from home, a long, thin coil he keeps on his person at all times.

God favors the prepared, doesn't he?

Watching Buckingham's knife slowly glide to the bottom - another seven or eight meters below the ridge - Athos keeps his gaze wary on the surroundings as well. With the way the duke is thrashing, he's bound to attract something.

Attract? Quite the contrary. If anything then his flailing scares away the colourful fish surrounding the scene. A picture of calm and clear waters then. Beautiful. Serene.

...Only the duke's drowning itself is really anything but that. The struggle is taking its toll already and Buckingham's chest is heavy with the air it lacks, a painful pressure that spreads through his entire body, a force that very nearly crushes his bones, making him feel like a doll about to be torn apart at the seams.

And when he can't stand it anymore he forces himself to inhale and in one blissful second of deceit remembers what it's like to breathe, just before the water scorches his lungs, bringing only more agony instead of relief.

It's that last cry of panic and pain that tears him free, that with a violent twitch rips out the wire along with a chunk of flesh and sends a red cloud floating up towards the surface.

But when he looks up towards freedom he already finds himself frozen in place, limbs stiff and heavy and beyond control, the shimmering light on the surface above growing darker and darker and darker and darker and darker and darker and darker and......

Athos stands on the ridge, swaying with the ebb and flow of the undercurrent.

People say that you can't hear beneath water. This is untrue. The sound is muffled, muted, but never extinguished. How else would sea creatures communicate with each other?

The musketeer listens, quiet as a statue sunk beneath the waves, as Lord Buckingham screams. The bubbles and blood float to the surface, but his body doesn't. It twitches, it stills, and hangs there as the crossbow bolt drifts slowly downwards. Athos catches it, unwinds the cable from the outcropping, and pushes off of the ridge.

Taking hold of a limp, booted foot along the way, he tugs the duke's body closer to shore and emerges from the ocean, letting the tide carry Buckingham's corpse the rest of the way in. The mask comes off, a deep, slow breath is taken.

Without a backwards glance, he walks away from the beach.

[S] MAKE HIM PAY

ROUND 7

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject

no subject