entrancelogs | [S] MAKE HIM PAY

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~~~

Does Athos give a two shits about the hilarious jest made at his expense concerning ladytypes and his poor luck with them?

No, not really.

But he does take the opportunity while Buckingham is bowing to stride forward swiftly, closing the space between the duke and his dearest dresser, lifting both fists loosely.

Waiting.

"Save face in front of your guest, then," Athos suggests, for the first time in this entire affair offering the smallest twitch of a smirk.

"Or be branded the coward you are."

...Or as Dean Winchester might say (rather ironically): Put up your dukes, motherfucker.

There are many, many things Buckingham can successfully and elaborately fool himself into thinking, but especially after two previous deaths winning a fist fight against Athos is no longer necessarily on that list.

Certainly not without an annotation to take some precautions at any rate. It is with that in mind that he takes a swift step towards Santana, putting one hand on her shoulder.

"I would much rather show my guest out and not subject her to any more of your... crude displays."

Because well, quite frankly being branded a coward by the musketeer's words is hardly cause for annoyance, not unless his actions just so happen to prove him right in front of a witness.

"Shall we, Miss Santana?"

Because Santana is, after all, a teenage girl with a healthy libido and a slight fondness for badasses, she actually paused in her creeping for the door when Athos said what he said. Fist fights can be fun to watch, and sometimes they can be pretty hot, too.

...Dammit, the whole death thing is still happening, though. That part is less hot.

So by the time Buckingham has made his way to her, she has managed to erase the look of interest from her face.

"Sure. I mean, I can totally see myself out..."

Why no, that is certainly not hinting a question of if Buckingham is or is not a coward. She obviously just doesn't want to cause any trouble.

"You do not want a witness?"

He acts surprised, eyebrows practically hitting his hairline, before coming to the most obvious conclusion for Buckingham's hesitation.

"Ah," Athos observes knowingly. "I realize it would be an insult to your pride - to lose so gallantly against the man you poisoned - in front of your charming visitor. And here I had hoped we might look past your previous underhanded tactics and try something on an even footing."

The musketeer straightens, then, even choosing to incline his head towards Santana.

"A duel for your honor, my Lady?"

Buckingham's arm sinks and he stands unmoving, tense. Frozen on the spot he is seething inside, using every effort imaginable to contain his ~~lust~~ wrath, the burning ~~passion~~ rage at the musketeer who dares to humiliate him, how dare he humiliate him here in Wonderland, where Buckingham's power and his riches are gone and the flair surrounding them is all he has left to impress.

"Very well."

The duke speaks through thin lips and clenched teeth, his eyes staring dead ahead without casting a glance at the young woman he is supposed to address.

"For your honour, my Lady."

Then Buckingham turns around and finally steps towards Athos.

Dammit, she was almost free!!

This event seriously sucks.

Santana rolls her eyes, which is totally the response a Lady is supposed to have in this situation, right?

"This is seriously weird, I hope you know," she says, almost under her breath. What does any of this even have to do with her honor?!

Ladies don't have honor. Not really. Not in their time, anyway. They have virtue and cunning on their sides, neither being subjects Athos is particularly interested in discussing at the moment, as he would much rather spend his time crushing Buckingham's nose into his skull.

When the duke turns to face him, the musketeer moves.

Quick as a whip, relying on the balance, speed and form that fencing has taught him over the years - along with a little improvisation - Athos lifts his fists loosely and delivers the first blow to His Lordship's chin, fingers curled, the skin over his his knuckles tight.

And then he returns to first position shortly, much lighter on his feet than most would anticipate. Not a hard punch, by any means, but he'll work up to that.

Just a little something to wake Buckingham up.

Did that look like he was ready yet?

Buckingham is forced to take a step aside, exhaling a sharp and almost snarling breath of anger at the first punch Athos so very clearly never would have landed if he'd given the duke just a moment.

But the musketeer's goal is accomplished at least, well done on that, His Lordship is up and pushing towards Athos, putting everything into this very latest dance move that is supposed to end on an ever so graceful note with a punch to his opponent's side.

Whoa, okay then. Santana takes a step back herself, not entirely sure what ~a lady~ is supposed to do in these incredibly stupid circumstances.

Carry on.

Oh, he'll carry on, all right.

The narration hopes that Santana is impressed by this spectacular display of ~~stupidity~~ manliness in front of her as Athos sidesteps Buckingham's fist, feeling the knuckles barely graze his doublet.

It seems the sedentary lifestyle of a duke makes one rather slow, doesn't it?

Pity.

"Not wearing the right shoes today?" he calls out, rather enjoying himself as he bobs and weaves.

More of an in-fighter than an out-fighter, Athos doesn't brawl. Brawling is Porthos' game: representing everything that is brutal about the sport, what the largest of the three musketeers lacks in finesse he makes up for in raw power. Aramis hangs back, using smaller jabs and straights, but Athos is a relentless presser.

...at least, he will be as soon as Buckingham's impatience gets the better of him.

Buckingham's impatience is right on time. The duke was sick of this fight before it even began, but appetite comes with eating and the spirit to deliver a good punch comes when Athos delivers his line and really, isn't it just like teaching a lesson to a servant? Well, perhaps with the difference that the servants don't have the audacity to fight back against their well-deserved beating.

...And that by the end of the day their value is such that they still need to be left in working condition.

"The colour won't match your bruises, I'm afraid."

He steps aside. One hit aimed at the stomach. The prelude. For the main course the face may be at an inconvenient angle, but a strike at the chin is all the more accessible for it.

Edited 2012-02-13 17:59 (UTC)

Ooo, Misters Athos and Buckingham, ooo. Your trash talk is totally making Santana swoon.

Swoon, roll her eyes, same thing.

The only reason she doesn't comment on it is because she doesn't want the attention. Where is that door behind her...

[S] MAKE HIM PAY

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