Pulling on the white gloves stereotypical of somebody from his profession, Desmond stepped outside into the chilly dark.
He was dressed as a butler should be; black coat with red linings, tidy dress-type trousers, monacle, pocket watch neatly tucked into his breast pocket, grey hair slicked back across his balding scalp. Just as The Master had commanded.
Click. 8 fifty-three.
Nobody ever comes early. Damn wastrels.
It was not his idea of a good evening, standing out here in front of the huge, imposing manor, gathering dust as he anticipated the first guest's arrivial. Could be inside, by the fireplace, reading the new book he'd found in the mansion's extensive libary. But no, instead Master Bane had instructed him to greet the visitors as they pulled up. It was likely just an excuse to send him out while Master Bane talked with that friend of his. Desmond could not recall the name. J... something?
The thought of the man reminded Desmond. Drawing forth a silver-coloured pen with black markings and engravings, Desmond pushed a little slide near its tip.
This revealed a small mechanism, which allowed him to slip inside, a tiny .22 cartridge. 'Just in case.' He thought to himself, as he tucked his little surprise away.
A distant light flickered through the treeline, and the crackling of tires on gravel crept up the driveway.
Click. Nine-oh-two.
Not quite punctual enough for his liking, but, it would have to do.
He ruffled his coat, took a deep, nasal breath, and stood stiff.
Time to greet. 

The End

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