With a nod of conviction, he forces himself to his feet. When the aches and pains unpleasantly remind him of their existence, he cringes but carries on. He holds himself with the dignity of the Alcott family name to hide the discomfort of his wounds. The one thing he can't seem to disguise is the subtle limp in his gait, but it will have to do.
He reaches the door, placing a hand on the knob. The sound of soft humming makes him pause. It's terribly off-key, but that's not why he hesitates—it's because he realizes if Lenny catches him, he'll be nagged back into bed. Not only would that be incredibly annoying, it would be detrimental to his mission. He has to get out of the house without being caught.
Easy. Retracting himself from the doorway, he instead turns to the window. The grimy, smudgy window that he would rather not touch, but he doesn't have much of a choice. Steeling his nerves, he hobbles over to the bed to climb back on it and grip the window. With a tug that strains his scraped up arms, he shoves the window open.
It squeaks, loudly. He winces and holds still, waiting for Lenny to bust in. But nothing happens; there's not even a sound of footsteps. Grinning triumphantly, Montgomery leaps out the window, his foot inches away from touching the earth...
...Only to be snapped up into the air.
Sticky, sturdy white silk wraps around his ankles, dangling him upside-down over the dead field. He struggles and wiggles in vain, trying to reach up and separate the threads from his feet. He can't even get a hand to his ankle to try.
"I thought I told you to rest," Lenny says, gazing down on him reproachfully from the roof. Why is he on the roof?! Holding the other end of the white string between his hands, he chides, "You're not gonna get any better at this rate."
Montgomery folds his arms and resolutely glares at the space in front of him. He knows any intimidation he exudes is impeded by the slow, comical spin of his hanging body.
"Let me go."
"Are you gonna go back and rest?"
"...Yes."
"No, you won't."
"Let me go!"
"Escape on your own," Lenny orders, sitting at the edge of the roof to watch him. "If your injuries are healed enough that you can escape, you'll be strong enough to travel. I surely won't be able to catch you, at least."
He scowls at the resistance. What happened to commoners obeying every whim of the nobles? Everywhere his father goes, people practically bow to him, racing to and fro in fear of disappointing him. How can he not invoke the same response? Is this another lesson Montgomery has been failing direly?
Before Montgomery can even think of some clever threat, he hears an unfamiliar voice clear their throat. It's haughty and impatient, shrill and grating. Almost impressively, it annoys him even more than Lenny does.
Lenny turns to look before he can. He's still stuck lazily spinning; but after a few wriggles and nudges, he turns himself around to see an unfezant arching her brows at them with disdain. A bag is slung over her wing, bearing the insignia of Florian's family. Florian must be the lord over this region. The reminder of that bastard's existence doesn't help his sour mood.
Somehow raising a brow even higher up her face, she drawls, "Are you Mr. Tom Mirthwood?"
"That would be my father," Lenny answers with a surprising tone of apprehension. Montgomery expected him to be all sunshine and rainbows about meeting a new friend or some sappy bullshit. "Can I help you, madam tax collector?"
"Only if you have your monthly dues."
"Begging pardon, ma'am, but we paid our dues yesterday," Lenny says, his expression scrunching up with confusion.
"Can someone please let me down," Montgomery says.
Lenny talks right over him. "We weren't missing any of it, were we?"
From her bag, she whips out a paper scribbled with numbers and names. Clearing her throat, she says, "You're missing half of what you owe."
"Can someone please let me down."
"Half?! My apologies, ma'am, I thought for sure we paid the full two-hundred gold..."
Two-hundred gold? For this measly, dying plot of land? They're getting ripped off.
"The lord has changed what you owe," she informs, pocketting the paper. "You are now expected to pay four-hundred a month."
Montgomery and Lenny share an incredulous look, thinking the exact same thing. It isn't his favorite moment. Still, it would take a fool not to reach the same conclusion they both did.
"Begging pardon, ma'am, we're getting cheated as is," Lenny argues, his face donning a pleading expression. She doesn't seem moved. "You and I both know two-hundred ain't right for this size of property, but we paid it honest because the lord keeps us safe from Zekrom. But four-hundred..."
"Is what you owe," she interrupts, cold.
"We don't have it," Lenny says, helplessly. "We barely scraped together the two-hundred for this month."
The look of displeasure on her face is clear. But she quickly sweeps it away to say, "No matter, the lord will simply have to reclaim your property. Please vacate the premises by tomorrow; we'll be demolishing the site then."
"What? But, ma'am—!"
"How about you just accept what you've been given and leave?" Montgomery demands, impatient. The longer this goes on, the longer he stays up here, okay? Plus, he hates that he has to wiggle a bit to keep from being turned around again. "You're lucky you're even getting two-hundred for this shoddy piece of land."
"How about you mind your own business?" The tax collector sneers, her words sending his blood into a boil. "Aristocratic affairs are no place for a disowned and disgraced child, wouldn't you agree? Or should my Lord Florian come down himself and beat some manners into you—again?"
With a strength Montgomery didn't know he had, he lunges up and rips the white thread binding his ankles to shreds.
He hits the ground, hard, but he can't be bothered to care. The tax collector staggers back and squawks indignantly, as if offended that he had the gall to break himself free. He stands, ready to give her a piece of his mind, but she opens her wings in a sharp motion and shoots a jet of sharp air at him.
Before the move can make contact, it's extinguished by a barrage of leaves. The moves cancel each other out. Just in time, too, because it looked like Lenny was exhausting himself with that one attack alone. With that, Montgomery marches right up to the tax collector.
"All right, I wasn't about to start a fight, but you wanted one, so here it is!" He snarls, power rushing into the scalchops he grips in his hands. At the sight of the water blades, the tax collector makes another screech of dismay. Hurriedly, she flaps her wings, taking to the air.
"I'll be back next month, Mr. Mirthwood!" She vows. "You better have that money!"
She flies away before Montgomery can even think to shoot a Water Gun at her.
Still seething, he reluctantly sheathes his scalchops. Her words are still burning under his skin, festering and blistering. Is that what the aristocratic world thinks of him now? An unwanted, idiot son who can be treated like dirt? Mere days ago, she wouldn't have dared to say those things to him.
A 'thump' behind him distracts him from his thoughts. He turns to see Lenny has leapt off the roof, bouncing over to him. That annoyingly cheerful smile is back on his face.
At least it makes that gnawing feeling from before go away. Just a little.
"Mott, that was amazing! You drove her off as easy as anything," he praises, as if he's seen an act of a great warrior. Montgomery can't help the way his chest puffs out a little bit. "You must be awfully strong."
"I am," he responds, pleased. Then, he realizes he should probably thank Lenny for neutralizing that attack. Right?
Before he can even muster up the shamelessness to thank a commoner, Lenny continues, "We made a pretty good team back there. You oughta take me to go beat Zekrom!"
Montgomery makes a face. "No."
"Oh. In that case, you should probably go back to bed."
What the hell? Is Lenny seriously leveraging his freedom as a bargaining chip?!
"No," he repeats, determined. He just drove off that tax collector; Lenny should think twice before challenging him. Standing a little straighter, he declares, "I'm leaving now. You're not going to follow me, and you're not going to try and convince me to stay. Understand?"
Lenny stares at him, almost bewildered. Maybe even offended.
A beat of silence passes them by.
"Also, my name's not Mott."
He's immediately covered head to toe in String Shot.