concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
Any entries earlier than this were pre-reboot.

Not again

May. 10th, 2016 05:31 pm
praiseandglory: (angry bordering on murderous)
[personal profile] praiseandglory
When Porthos stepped into their tent and found himself in a strange, yet familiar hallway, he knew exactly where he was. On either side of the hallway were doors - to rooms, suites, and many more strange places beside. The noises of the camp were gone, but the smell remained, on him, of gunpowder and blood, soot and grime. His usually elegant clothes had seen better days, his now longer hair was tied back and mostly hidden under a kerchief that might have once been white. His pistol was empty and he needed to clean his sword - Treville's sword.

The battlefield was now miles and years away, for all that it was also, somehow, right on the other side of a door. And, in his current mood, that made his blood boil as surely as Spanish insults.

"Not again!" he yelled, and punched the nearest wall with a gloved hand. He winced at the pain, but there was a dent in the wall now, and that felt slightly better.
concierge: (Default)
[personal profile] concierge
The annual Nexus New Year's Eve gala began at 8 in the evening. Too grand to be contained by the lobby or dining hall, the gardens at the front of the hotel were employed, with long strings of white lights forming a twinkling canopy from the front doors all the way to the hedge maze. The weather was temperate and calm, and the night perfectly clear.

Drinks were served at various bars set up throughout the gardens and lobby, with champagne cocktails being the specialty of the night. Wheeling through the crowd was a bartender with golden cart providing warm drinks on the go: Tom and Jerrys, rum punch, negus, and Irish coffee.

Crisply-dressed wait staff wove through the collected guests with an abundance of hors d'oeuvres for all different tastes. The Bistro remained open with a limited selection of items for those who were wanting something more substantial.

Above the front doors was hung a large, gold-rimmed clock counting down the last hours, minutes, and seconds of the current year.
averygoodshot: (Fem Aramis)
[personal profile] averygoodshot
Aramis keenly remembers teasing Porthos when he had stepped through the door and become a woman. He had teased d'Artagnan and even Athos.

Oh, how the mighty have fallen. He had not intended to do anything, really. He spent a good deal of his time praying, a good deal of time trying to atone for his sins.

Instead, this is what happens.

Much as his friends had, he has hitched his clothing tighter so that it may not fall down, and has fashioned something of a harness for ... well, for his new developments, as it were. He knows he could seek out Constance or even, if he was desperate, Milady, but he is not that desperate. He simply makes do and tells himself that God has a reason for everything.

He has always appreciated women and so maybe this is to test that? Who knows. Aramis does not question, at least not much. He is aware, though, that he looks a little foolish, his hair tied up, his clothing, baggy on him as a man, is like a series of large sacks on him, his boots far too big as he makes his way down the hallways. He smiles, though, not having a hat to tip, as he greets people. He knows he's not the only one who's suffered thusly. That's something anyway.
at_your_side: (072)
[personal profile] at_your_side
There was a strangeness to the moment as the world slipped from one second to the next. As if the ground beneath her feet no longer echoed with not just her footsteps but the footsteps of all the others crossing that same scarred, wooden floor. The sensation that accompanied it was dizzying, the world seeming to spin madly for a moment as she reached out for balance and found the handle of a door rather than the wall she had meant to catch hold of.

The handle turned on an accident of her wrist, the stability reached for then lost as she stumbled where she had been so steady only heartbeats before.

Perhaps there was something to not just pants but the weight of a sword sheathed at her hip and the heaviness of a gun held in her opposite hand. Perhaps that was reason enough for her finding her balance sooner than she might have while wearing the acres of fabric that came with the court gown she had worn for too long a stretch of days, as there was no hem to trip over as she left the comforting background noise of the voices of her friends speaking for the sudden silence of a hallway in a place she had not expected to find herself in again so soon.

Constance blinked slowly as she straightened, her fingers still tight on the grip of her borrowed pistol. The memory of the Musketeers plans had her turning immediately to look for the door she had come through but found, to her consternation, only smooth, unblemished wall at her back. "Oh," she said, too surprised to be eloquent as she stood staring. "Oh, no."
averygoodshot: (hopeless)
[personal profile] averygoodshot
June 17 | the Nexus

Upon finding the Queen and the Dauphin no longer in the Nexus, Aramis resorts to drink and maudlin romanticism. Good thing his friends come to the rescue.

In progress/no warnings
averygoodshot: (smiling at Porthos)
[personal profile] averygoodshot
Aramis had given the Queen his word: he would not go back to Paris. That he wants to is not in question. If he cannot go back (though if, he tells himself, he happens to stumble into the door to Paris, what could he possibly do but go through?), well, there is no saying he cannot still explore what the Nexus has to offer.

This is how he happens to find himself on a sun-drenched beach inhabited by scantily-clad women (and men, too, it seems) who seem to freely provide frothy, cold drinks. It's called, he learns when he asks, Risa. Where this Risa is? He has no idea. Progressively, he cares less and less.

Somewhere along the way, Aramis's heavy leather doublet is shed and he even takes off his boots, and after three of those frothy drinks, he ends up sprawled in a chaise, one foot in the sand, chin tilted up to the sun.

There may or may not be women hovering around. He doesn't touch, nor does he encourage but he does look (how can one not when there are mere scraps covering the most delicate bits?

This is quite a place he found his way to, isn't it? No adventure (at least not yet), but he raises his hand and another one of those frothy drinks appear. Indeed.
somanyopinions: (002)
[personal profile] somanyopinions
Early April | The Nexus

Even with the Dauphin retrieved and safe in the Nexus, his Queen Mother fears the danger is far from over.

Spoilers for S2

Apr. 21st, 2015 08:40 pm
temperamentalsteel: (Beaming)
[personal profile] temperamentalsteel
After weeks of hard missions and even harder conversations, d'Artagnan had been hesitant to go through anymore strange doors. Then he'd passed by one left slightly ajar and he'd heard music...smelled wonderful things, and curiosity had gotten the better of him. Luckily, going through the door had resulted in nothing but delight. It apparently passed through to something called an amusement park and d'Artagnan was amazed and definitely amused.

First had been the colorful spinning horses, then the wheel that went up into the sky, and then something insanely exhilarating called a roller coaster. D'Artagnan had ridden several of them more than once, only stopping when hunger sent him to the food stalls and toward something called a funnel cake.

And then, he had found something called the paintball range. Immediately, d'Artagnan was signing up for the next session.

[[He went through the amusement park door. Catch him at any point in his adventure!]]

Apr. 18th, 2015 07:08 pm
averygoodshot: (aramis and dartagnan)
[personal profile] averygoodshot
April 16 | the hallway and d'Artagnan's room

Doing what some might consider the right thing, Aramis lets d'Artagnan in on his not-so-secret

No warnings/PG
armedagainstlove: (!switch)
[personal profile] armedagainstlove
Athos doesn't even realize what's happened, at first.

Ever since Milady had arrived insisting that Athos had been on his way to meet her, ever since he had returned back to Paris and discovered Aramis' treason with the Queen and the result of such a coupling, ever since Rochefort's rearrival on the scene caused him to slouch back to the Nexus, he has been drinking like he hasn't since right after his wife's supposed death. It is in this state that he'd fumbled through a well-known door that he'd thought harmless to him.

Intoxicated with the red wine, he does not notice the shift of gravity in his body, nor the length of his hair different, swept up by the hat. All Athos knows is that he has drank two bottles and is eager for a third, lest he fall into the eager pit of grief and the other complicated affections that lie in wait for him, all coaxed on by the woman whose locket he no longer wears.

When he arrives at the bar for his usual, he's met with confusion. The bartender states that she hasn't been around enough to have a usual. Athos smacks his palm against the counter, his rage brought forward with the incense of it all. "Wine," he snaps, calming himself before his demands grow angrier and more frustrated. "Just bring me wine," he mutters, voice hoarse from the drink.

He slumps into his seat and peers down for the first time, unsteadily taking account of how his clothes now seem to sag and slump on him. Sighing with the inevitable realisation, he lifts an elegant long-fingered hand to the bartender. "Make that two," he adds, before allowing his forehead to collapse against that waiting hand.

How could he have thought this would pass him by forever?

He grasps both bottles of wine greedily when they arrive, eager to trudge back to his room and escape the prying eyes of the public.
at_your_side: (001)
[personal profile] at_your_side
Intoxicated. Yes, that was- that was the word she was looking for. Intoxicated was just the very thing she could use to describe herself...or her state...the state of herself?

While the details of it had become increasingly fuzzy with each of the delightful, oh so colorful cocktails the bartender sat in front of her (how many had she had again?), Constance was fairly certain the day had begun well enough. There had been a bath, a bath! One with an endless supply of hot water piped right into her room so she might lie in her tub with the dawn light filtering in through the glass of her colored windows and wiggle her toes in easy contentedness.

But then there- ah! There had been the issue of dressing. Or, rather, not of dressing but of what to dress herself in when her only...dress, yes, had been worn already for the day before. She could have made do with it if she had had to, had even pulled it on while not pulling too much of a face, but had been all too grateful upon meeting the lovely Ruby in the hallway not far from her door.

Never had she seen a woman who wore so little out in public. It had left her gaping in the second before she had recovered herself, to see so much skin on display with not so much a flicker of concern in the other woman's expression as she had smiled and introduced herself. Somehow - now here the details were particularly fuzzy at that moment - they had gotten onto the subject of Constance's singular dress and somehow further the conversation had become one of the other woman, still a stranger, but so earnestly friendly, had volunteered her help.

All of which led to her sitting there at the bar of the Smoking Room, wearing pants of all things while Ruby slid a drink in front of her. She was certain there had been sense behind the action, and no, she did not feel the least bit overexposed with the buttoned shirt she wore beneath her corset or the coat she wore that hung down to her knees (she tried not to giggle at the thought of needing to cover her bum, but was only partially successful). What was even more certain was that these - those little cocktails, they were delicious.

Apr. 8th, 2015 07:52 am
averygoodshot: (w/porthos)
[personal profile] averygoodshot
April 8 | Aramis's room

Aramis comes clean to Porthos. It may or may not go well.

praiseandglory: (determined)
[personal profile] praiseandglory
Porthos tended to leave the act of attempting to drown one's feelings in wine to Athos, who had made such an art of it. But once in a while, especially when there was no one to fight, he didn't think twice about indulging. Today was definitely one of these days, with the news Aramis had just broken to him, and the conflicted feelings warring in his chest.

He ordered a bottle of wine, paid for it with some of the gold he had earned on Phryne's pirate ship, then commandeered a table at the back of the Smoking Room, intending to drink until things eased inside his lungs. The man who usually looked open to anything was staring vacantly at his table as he drank, and thought, a dark look on his features. If only Aramis had heard him, but he suspected that he had not, and that the final, inevitable separation would be all the more cruel for the time they might have here.

He had forgotten his hat in his friend's room, he realised distantly. He would go and retrieve it after he finished this bottle of wine. The hat wasn't going anywhere.
somanyopinions: (009)
[personal profile] somanyopinions
15 March 2015 | The Nexus Hotel

Her Majesty the Queen of France arrives at the Nexus in the midst of dire straits. Fortunately, there are some Musketeers on hand to help.

Ongoing | Spoilers for S2


Apr. 2nd, 2015 02:33 pm
the_dawnster: winchesterway (Dawn ♦ 93)
[personal profile] the_dawnster
This nineteen year old is pacing through the hallways, stopping at each door on every floor whether it's a personal room or a room to another world. She knocks on the door and if someone answers she'll explain her dilemma. If no one answers, she'll be peeking inside whatever rooms are unlocked. If a room is one that leads to another world, she'll step inside and call out the name of the person she's looking for before going to try the next door.

One by one the people from her world had been disappearing. Dawn could cope with it as long as she had her sister her. But now that Buffy had been missing for a few days, now that Dawn literally could not find her anywhere, well... her usual vibrant nature was drastically muted. She felt very alone and she was not okay.

She's practically vibrating with energy, barely able to keep herself from completely and entirely freaking out and shutting down. If she could find the door that leads to her own world she would go through it and never come back. But even that has proven difficult.

Sadly, being left behind is not a new occurrence for her. It happened all the time at home. Between everyone having their lives to live and occasionally saving the world, sometimes she got lost in the shuffle. There was a difference though, between being left behind at home where she knew all the people and all the rules and being left behind here where things were still so uncertain. Dawn, sadly, didn't do being alone very well.

It's later, after she's exhausted every door and every room and spoken to too many people to name in her search for her sister than she winds up sitting on the floor in the hallway outside Harvey's door like a stray cat who's suddenly hanging around for no reason at all. Without her sister here, he's the one she's closest to. He's her friend. Of course she'll gravitate toward him.
temperamentalsteel: (Disillusioned)
[personal profile] temperamentalsteel
Twice now, he had acted only with the King's safety in mind. Twice he had tried to be the man of honor that Musketeers were supposed to be. Twice all he had earned was censure from his Majesty.

How could the King have believed that d'Artagnan would ever have done him harm? In taking the pistol, in playing Marmion's game, they should have known it was a blatant play for time, yet the King had only raged and admonished him. It was just as before, when they had obeyed their King's whims to go to the tavern because no loyal Musketeer would have gone out of turn to criticize his wishes, even in the name of safety. Then, again, because he had spoken out on behalf of his honor and on keeping his word.

Now, d'Artagnan had not been allowed to even defend himself, to say that he had panicked for fear of Constance's life and desperation to stall Marmion.

Instead, the King had let Rochefort take the glory in the same fickle breath that he had condemned d'Artagnan and turned his back on Milady. Though there was no love lost between them, he knew she'd had the nerve to risk her life and get help.

As they walked up to the doorway, the sliver of bright light almost blinded him. When his vision cleared, he saw a smooth, modern doorway and perhaps it made him a coward, but he was relieved to walk into the lobby of the Nexus. In its quiet, clean tranquility, d'Artagnan was ever more aware of the blood and dirt on his face.
praiseandglory: (genderswap!)
[personal profile] praiseandglory
Porthos was nothing if not stubborn, and he refused to let this transformation keep him down. With no specific deadline to look forward to, he felt that he had no choice but to train, until he regained, even in this body, at least a modicum of skill at what he usually did best: fighting. It didn't help that the breeches he'd secured for himself in this form were a lot tighter than anything he was used to, but he was learning to move about in them well enough.

Much more troubling by far was the weight of his broadsword. The Schiavona was much too heavy for his current strength, but it was all he had to practice, and so he found himself outside in the gardens, going through the basic motions of swordfighting as if he were only getting to know it, hoping that repetition would help. But in this body, not only was his sword too heavy, but his balance was off, and even his very style was wrong for someone who could no longer fight like a force of nature.

Fifteen minutes into his exercises already found his oversized shirt sticking to his back with sweat, and after stumbling through yet another move that should've been easy, he pulled off the kerchief he wore over his hair and threw it aside in a show of temper, planting his sword down in the soft damp soil and looking about as frustrated with himself as a not-a-lady Musketeer could get.

Which was, apparently, a lot.
averygoodshot: (over the shoulder)
[personal profile] averygoodshot
"Just ... give me a moment," Aramis says over his shoulder. He is tired, his body aches, he still has glass in his hair, he is sure, and a cut on the back of his head that needs cleaning. His leg hurts and even the scratches on his face need tending. But he needs a moment. Just ... a moment to himself, to collect himself.

spoilers for Musketeers 2.06 )

So he opens the door, his hat under his arm, and steps ... into someplace else entirely, some place he's never seen before. Into a huge elaborate anteroom (lobby), even more grand than most rooms at the Louvre. What is this place? He turns and the door he had come through is gone. So, he turns back around, wary, pushing his hat onto his head (wincing some at the sting) but all the better to be ready, a hand on his sword, the other holding his pistol. Had he fallen again? Hit his head? Is this all a dream? If so, he would like his dreams to be a little more ... well, intimate, actually, not populated by people dressed entirely differently and looking at him like he is the stranger in a strange place. "Beg pardon," he asks (unless the one approaching is a Musketeer), "... where am I?"


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