all_inclusive | It was bound to happen some time

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.

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With Aramis, that statement could mean anything and d'Artagnan turned to favor Aramis with an appraising look, his eyebrows raised. It was an expression he'd learned from Aramis himself, playful but revealing nothing.

"This ought to fit you," he sad, taking out a loose brown dress with an adjustable waist.

Well-played apprentice Musketeer, well-played. Aramis smiles as he takes up the dress, holding it aloft to look it over. It's not exactly the most lovely of frocks, is it? And yes, Aramis is still vain enough for that to matter.

Beggars cannot be choosers, however, and he nods. "Thank you. Would you mind if I changed into it, here?"

D'Artagnan's skills with women's clothing were not in their choosing or styling, but in their removal. The dress had been acquired indifferently as the means of addressing a problem and it would serve is purpose on Aramis' smaller frame.

"Of course. I'll turn my back."

It was on the tip of Aramis's tongue to say that that wasn't needed, but actually, it probably was, so he just nods. And when that is done, he pulls off his tunic, boots and trousers and pulls the dress on, taking a moment to figure out how it fastens; he's more used to stays and buttons of course.

Finally, though, he can smooth the material down his hips. "You can turn back around, now." He raises his arms at his sides with a small smile. "And how do I look?"

"Like a respectable young lady," d'Artagnan says, almost with a straight face. The dress is possibly acceptable for this day and age but it would barely pass as smallclothes for a lady of their France. "I feel as though I ought to wrap you in a cloak to keep the prying eyes of men away or something."

"I always did hope to be respectable," Aramis retorts, smiling. He does, it should be noted, feel quite underdressed and is showing quite a bit of calf. He's not used to seeing calves. In public anyway.

"Perhaps I've finally achieved it."

"Best that you stick with hoping for now," d'Artagnan said, smiling so thinly that he could almost be taken at face value. All this time and he was still terrible at subterfuge, but d'Artagnan wasn't quite as hopeless at sarcasm as everyone thought.

Aramis chuckles a little. "Let us eat and drink then and we can perhaps hope to fool a few people into thinking you are stepping out on your love."

"Oh don't you dare!" d'Artagnan laughed as he said it, waving a hand for Aramis to go forth. "Or see if I help you at all next time!"

That all just makes Aramis smile more, and more easily than he has in a good while. It feels good indeed.

To wine and food, then, and perhaps some more of that laughter.

To the restaurant then, where the servers seemed to have gotten to know him very well. Beyond the occasional sandwich, d'Artagnan still had no skills in how to prepare food for himself. Before, he'd had Constance, then Old Serge at the barracks. Here, he had the staff and the knowledge that gold livres went a lot further in modern day.

As soon as they sat down, a bottle of wine appeared at their table and d'Artagnan handed over a few leaves of the hotel's money as gratuity.

Despite the fact that he wears a woman's body, Aramis takes the liberty of pouring the wine. He then raises his glass. "What shall we toast to?"

Some things would never change then. D'Artagnan lifted his own glass and held it up, thoughtfully. "To the Queen's health." It was the sort of spite they could get away with here, excluding the King entirely.

Aramis is entirely somber then as he toasts to that, drinking deeply. "The Queen and the Dauphin," he amends. For he will always wish for only the best for his son.

"The Queen and the Dauphin," d'Artagnan agreed. The latter was even more important. The poor child's life had been in grave danger already once before. His health, now, was quite tied up with the simple persistence of his life.

"And to our friends, for coming out unscathed."

Indeed. Aramis nods then takes a drink of the wine.

He may be inhabiting a woman's body, but even Aramis can appreciate peace.

[and fade?]

It was bound to happen some time - OTA

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