Post by Lord Blake on Aug 15, 2016 21:28:23 GMT
/READY?
Raven is gone now - far away - and as far as Lord is concerned she’s safe for the next two weeks. At the moment there is only one person standing in his way.
Clothes stands in between him and the only unopened window in the basement, pleading with him. Lord easily dodges the older gentleman and heaves the window wide open much to Clothes’ dismay. With a glare that warns his employee not to undo this, Lord leaves the basement closet and heads for the stairs feeling the breeze on his face from every open window.
“Please Lord, of all the rooms you have to keep that one closed! When the moths get in tonight they’ll eat yours and Raven's entire wardrobes! I spent so much time curating them.”
Lord waves him off as he climbs the stairs to the main floor.
“Seal them up or throw some balls in there then. If anything like that happens to our wardrobes it’s your head, Clothes. Or better yet, just take them with you when you leave.”
Clothes stops short.
“We don't want to leave, y'know. But you're not giving us a choice. John still hasn't been back - ”
“John?”
“Your driver. He hasn't been back for a while and now that Raven is gone, Ms. Inferno has left to join him.”
“...”
“Your, uh, Maid. None of us want to be around when this guy is lurking out there somewhere and what you're doing isn't helping!”
On the main floor Lord unlatches and pushes open the French doors leading out into his backyard and lowers the stopper on each of them, keeping them open. He starts opening all the windows along the side of the house making his way to the front as Clothes continues to chase him.
“Please, this is borderline insane! You’re going to end up dead! You saw what this man did to Raven before they even had their match.”
Lord spins around to look dead in Clothes’ eyes.
“Exactly. That’s exactly it. Archer got past an entire hospital’s worth of security and into Rave’s room. He was right next to her. He put his hands on her, he… her hair. What is my shitty AT&T security system going to do against him?”
Clothes sighs loudly.
“So instead you're doing this? I know you can’t see it on my face because of the botox, but this is terrifying me.”
In the front room, Lord lifts each of the three bay windows open, the San Francisco air catching his unstyled hair and blowing back his grey Kit+Ace tank top. He turns and sits on the ledge of the center window and looks at the four walls around him.
“Ever since Week One Vendetta I've done everything I can to protect Rave and myself. Hell, I’ve done all I can to protect this house. I hired detail to sit in every room at all hours, I hired them to follow us on shopping trips, to the gym, to the Arena and her and I still ended up lying in blood.
“You guys can leave. Actually, I want you to. I need you to. Because this isn’t between Archer and Lord Blake’s driver, or Lord’s maid or Lord’s personal gourmet chef who is constantly topping himself with each of his five meals he cooks each day.”
From off screen a faint “WOO” is heard.
“His issue is with me and no one else needs get hurt here.”
Clothes has no argument to this point. It isn't long before Lovey’s wardrobes are mothballed, covered and hidden away. Maid comes to take Clothes to the airport and doesn't say more than two words to Lord as she helps the fashionisto with his luggage. By the time night falls, Lord is the only one left in the house and the whistling wind enters the basement and main level unabated. There is still a second floor with closed windows though. Lord starts up the stairs to the upper floor, cautiously as he doesn't know what is hiding for him up there. He yells up into the emptiness.
“I know you're around here Archer! I know you can hear me! It's just you and I here now so why not come out and we can finish this before Deception. I don't want you to feel like you have keep sneaking around here - I'm literally opening my entire home to you.”
He makes it to the landing at the top of the stairs and, after making sure no one is waiting up there with any lighting instruments, carefully steps down the hallway to the first bedroom where he gets the window open. He looks out to the front yard where no one waits for him on the lawn. Anxious about what could be waiting for him in the dark of his own home, he steps back into the hallway.
“I know you won't face me head on. You showed that when I called you out to kick off Vendetta Two and instead of walking out on the stage like a normal goddamn person, you came at us from behind. So I'm not exactly expecting you to change any time soon.”
He enters the second bedroom and pushes open the windows in there, going so far as to punch the screens out as well. They clatter on the backyard patio and he sticks his head out into the night. No one is lurking behind his house either. He walks backward out of the room, intentionally giving anyone out there his back.
“Here it is, Archer. No, nothing? Maybe I should turn all the lights off too. Do you prefer to work in the dark like you did with Rave? Maybe you’re up on my roof right now, huh? Is that your style - taking the high ground?”
Lord awkwardly grasps a wooden stick with bristle-y things on one end and uses it to push the skylight in his master bathroom open.
“Come on, pal! I'm getting bored down here!”
As Lord carries himself down the stairs his eyes catch the stack of long, skinny packages in the middle of the family room. They had arrived while Maid was helping Clothes to the car and he hadn't so much as touched them yet. He wasn't sure it was his place. He walks around the boxes, running his hand along the top.
“See Archer, I've been more than willing to play by your rules. I just needed to know what they were, man. And on Vendetta you made it more than clear. You dropped your playbook in my lap, so let's fucking do this thing!”
He takes one of the top boxes and from the end pulls a long translucent light tube out. It looks foreign his hands as if this is his first time handling on of these. He moves it from hand to hand examining the long barrel, feeling how fragile it is, how easily the brittle glass can shatter.
“Let's play your fucking game!”
Silhouetted in the San Francisco moonlight out his front window, this is the picture of a desperate man.[/font]
