At the head of a large wooden table, Thomas Archer sits with his elbows planted firmly atop it’s glossy, cherry finish. His fingers, interlaced so tightly they allow his knuckles to reach a level of white so pure that his pale skin appears tan in comparison.
His red face offers an appropriate contrast while adhering to the theme of intense, fiery rage. One would expect to hear the whistle of steam escaping his ears like a human tea kettle. Instead, it is Archer’s lawyer who breaks the uncomfortable silence by attempting to pour himself a glass of water from the available glass pitcher-- perhaps attempting to do so before it suddenly starts boiling.
Unfortunately, the act instantly grabs the attention of his employer. Archer’s intense eyes quickly shift to his left and lock upon his thirsty target, as if the pitcher was a cursed artifact, which summoned him upon being disturbed. Archer shakes his head in a subtle, yet powerful gesture and his lawyer decides he’s not that thirsty after all.
Archer now shifts his eyes to the right, where two men sit -- two men who are not under his employ: another lawyer, and a cantankerous clown-of-a-man who seems hellbent on working every last nerve Archer has left.
The former raises his eyebrows, awaiting a response, while the latter offers Archer a singular wave of the hand, like that of a cowboy passing another as they cross paths on the open prairies of old.
The gesture causes Archer to close his eyes with an intensity that almost equals that of his interlocked hands.
ARCHER: So let me get this straight: You want me to pay for the property damage caused by the scuffle between Telos and Colby at your pool party?
Archer’s lawyer opens his mouth, possibly to clarify or interject, but we will never know for sure -- Archer slams his closed fist atop the table so hard and abruptly it causes a small sonic boom within the room.
ARCHER: I wasn’t finished!
The abashed lawyer repositions his horn-rimmed glasses, as if they were knocked loose by Archer’s outburst, and apologetically motions to please continue.
ARCHER: You want me to pay for damges! And then you want me to pay for the instalation of guardrails to prevent any further incidents?!
MIKE’S LAWYER: Well, technically, the lack of any guardrails was an oversight, brought on by cost-cutting negligence, when the pool was originally installed to begin with… which makes Mr. Archer liable for any…
ARCHER: WHAT!? While we’re at it, should I have guardrails installed on either end of his clown-bed so he doesn’t roll off while dreaming of balloon animals and red-nosed ratchetty Annes?!
Morrison leans over and whispers something to his lawyer.
MIKE’S LAWYER: Well, since you brought it up…
Thomas Archer lets out a roar of frustration while rising to his feet and kicking over his chair in the process.
Now with one hand on his hip and the other rubbing his forehead like a man contemplating the risk of jumping off a cliff to save a loved one, Archer looks to his lawyer for any inkling of assurance.
ARCHER: DO SOMETHING, you imcompotant imbecile!
ARCHER’S LAWYER: Unfortunately, in a twist of tragic irony, despite the lack of any pool safeguards, we did install a top-notch security system in Morrison’s new home; of which, captured footage of you at the party, laughing maniacally behind a set of bushes during… and after the incident.
MIKE’S LAWYER: A disturbing amount of time after the incident, to be honest.
Archer’s eyes become shotguns filled with resentment and contempt. He points both barrels at his lawyer like an abusive husband hoping to silence his wife with merely a look.
ARCHER: I’m done with this -- this travesty of justice and common sense!
Archer pulls out some kind of remote from his pocket.
ARCHER: And you will know my name is Thomas Archer, when I lay my vengeance upon thee!
ARCHER’S LAWYER: Sir! No!
Morrison and his lawyer share a look of befuddlement as nothing happens after Archer pushes a button on the mystery remote. Archer’s lawyer, now in a deep facepalm, attempts to explain.
ARCHER’S LAWYER: This isn’t your building, Mr. Archer. We are at the law firm of Schwartz & Knagor, so the chairs here are not wired.
He takes out his phone, which is audibly vibrating, and answers the call.
ARCHER: Oh… right… then who did I…
ARCHER’S LAWYER: Apparently, your team was negotiating with Elon Musk when fifty thousand volts went up their keisters… so we can add that to the legal docket. Also, I think you launched Jeff Bezos into space… Without a rocket ship.
Archer, getting exasperated, flails his hands and knocks everything off of the table with a hideous shriek.
Archer: Stupid Amazon! Why the hell does a rainforest deliver packages! You want a hand-rail Mike… JUST WATCH.
To the confusion of everyone, Archer leaves the room. Silence fills the air as all participants look around awkwardly, although Mike just starts humming. In the distance a heavy truck can be heard starting up, causing both lawyers to jump out of their chairs.
Lawyers:What was that…
Outside the window a huge digging vehicle can be seen taking off, Archer in the driving seat, cackling. The lawyers scramble out of the door just in time to see Archer not make the turning, instead taking out the fence and a hot-dog stand as he heads, presumably, towards the Mad Mike Mansion.
EXTREME RULES
TERRA DATURAS vs. EMP*
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