(no subject)

[temperamentalsteel]

It was not the grand, sweeping architecture of the hotel that disturbed him nor the apparent technological feats to which he would have to become accustomed. He had, after all, lived in Paris, where all the latest and most important inventions made their way. The bright lights, the motorized devices, the moving doors...Those were things that he could come to an understanding, regarding their use.

No, it was the stillness. The quiet way in which people gathered for meals but didn’t really talk and then wandered the gardens in the same quiet. No threat hung over them, no call to action. D’Artagnan sat useless, feeling as if he might fly apart from inaction and it was only his first days yet. If he was bound here as long as some people suggested, he thought he might go mad.

There was, at least, one distraction that had apparently--blessedly--not changed in the intervening centuries. It was how d’Artagnan found himself at the stables, befriending and saddling up an energetic gelding. He had regarded the young Musketeer imperiously until bribed with an apple and now d’Artagnan could lead the horse out to the surrounding hotel grounds.

D’Artagnan mounted and kicked the horse into a trot and then a canter. It didn’t take long before they gave into their spirits and moved up to a gallop, ranging about the grounds.

At last, if only for a moment, he felt himself again. Caught up in the energy, the sheer joy of riding, d’Artagnan no longer felt quite like he was about to explode out of his skin. Instead he felt alive, raising a fist and shouting his joy.

Comments

[armedagainstlove]

It is, unfortunate, that Athos finds himself back at this abhorrent inn. The only way he finds it possible to cope with yet another stretch of time spent here is the wine they offer. Luckily, Athos has plenty of money from the estate and it all converts very conveniently upon his arrival. He needs it more than ever at the moment, having only dispelled the threat of a bomb in the Court of Miracles.

And so, it is drunk that he finds himself staring at a man on a horse who could be d'Artagnan's twin brother. The bottle clutched in his hands, he stares a little closer and realises...

"It actually is you," he says with some mild surprise, the alcohol dulling his emotions beyond the numb horizon that's claimed them. "Am I not inundated by you enough? Did you bring Aramis and Porthos with you?"

[temperamentalsteel]

He almost falls out of the saddle at the sight and he stares at Athos as if his friend is an apparition rather than a figure of flesh and blood, but when d'Artagnan confirms the sight, he smiles broadly and nearly leaps from the saddle. "Athos!" he cries, hurrying toward his friend.

"Are you trapped here too?"

[armedagainstlove]

Athos wipes away at droplets of red wine on his lips as he takes in the sheer force of d'Artagnan's approach. "Not trapped," he clarifies. "Though they do have a finer selection of wines than I could manage at home," he muses. "My god, is there to be a deluge?" he wonders to himself, but it's louder than he'd like it to be.

[temperamentalsteel]

"You're drunk," he observes, with all the practice of someone commenting on rain in a wet climate.

"I just received my commission and then here I was," d'Artagnan adds. He takes a step forward, an arm raised and then quickly lowered. It is Athos, who refrains from affection, and not Aramis or Porthos, who might smother him in a hug.

[armedagainstlove]

"And you are here," is Athos' clipped and perfunctory reply when d'Artagnan accuses him of his inebriation. It is a normal thing for him, by which d'Artagnan is surely aware of by that point. "And you've finagled a horse," he notes, with an air of both curiosity and mild disapproval, as if the boy shouldn't be allowing himself such frivolities in such a dangerously odd place.

He stands perfectly straight as he allows his attention to roam over the boy. "I don't recall you receiving your commission."

[temperamentalsteel]

That does confuse him more than anything else and d'Artagnan cocks his head, wondering what Athos' game is. Does he mean to needle at d'Artagnan as he had when they sparred or is he implying that d'Artagnan doesn't deserve this.

"You were there when I knelt before the king."

[armedagainstlove]

"And I can promise you that the last thing I remember is freeing Porthos from the Court of Miracles," Athos replies patiently as he takes in the bottle of wine in his hands, wondering if it could have erased so much time as much as d'Artagnan believes it has. "Congratulations," he allows, awkwardly and firmly. "If you have received your commission, you must have performed many charitable acts. I'm disappointed I did not witness them."

[temperamentalsteel]

"You're not being funny!" d'Artagnan says, scowling. He knows that it's a possibility, that there may be real truth in Athos' words. That time has no meaning in this place, but it's hard to comprehend when Athos had been at his side just moments before he arrived in this mess of a hotel.

"You really don't remember?"

[armedagainstlove]

"While wine has given me much cause not to remember a great deal in my life, I can assure you that this time not even alcohol has caused such a gap in my memory," Athos says calmly. "I apologise, because I know this is not what you want to hear, but I do not recall a single thing you speak of."

[temperamentalsteel]

It stings in a way that d'Artagnan knows he has no right to feel. It is not Athos' fault but d'Artagnan is still disappointed that his friend does not remember the moment of his commission.

"I've earned my place among you, at last. That much is clear."

[armedagainstlove]

"You had always earned your place amongst us. A pauldron does not change your merit or worth," Athos says and perhaps he sounds dismissive of the Musketeers, but it is not his meaning. He has watched many people, including d'Artagnan and Porthos both work their way up through the ranks without a pauldron, yet never flinching as they accepted dutiful and difficult tasks. "Now, the King merely commands you officially."

[temperamentalsteel]

"It's still the only proof I've accomplished anything in months," he says, exhaustion from the last few weeks' events catching up to him and making him petulant.

"There are...many events between us," d'Artagnan admits. "Perhaps I should accept this as due leave."

[armedagainstlove]

"Proof is in the mind," Athos patiently reminds him, the quirk of his lips the only evidence that a smile might be working to present itself on his face. "I would have you tell me what's changed," he offers, thinking that there cannot be so much that has passed that he should not ask. "Perhaps once I am more sober, but you should not consider me disinterested."

[nebaritralk]

It wasn't the first time Chiana saw someone riding one of the animals - horses, she'd learned - but it was still something she puzzled at. She was perched on a fence that morning, slicing one of their apples with her boot knife and nibbling on it. Possibly she was hoping one of the unridden horses left outside to graze was going to wonder close to have a bit of apple, too; she liked the beasts.

But now she was completely distracted by the human, watching him openly as he clearly enjoyed his ride.

[temperamentalsteel]

He'd been told that he might encounter people from worlds not his own, but that did nothing to reduce the surprise in seeing a woman who looked almost carved from stone. Circling back as if to make sure, he sowed his horse to a trot and then a walk.

"Something I can do for you?"

[nebaritralk]

Chiana watched him slow down, and tilted her head to the side when he addressed her. "I don't know yet," she answered, a playful smile twitching up her lips. "Is there a rule against enjoying watching somebody ride a horse?"

[temperamentalsteel]

"None at all, but if you'll forgive my saying," d'Artagnan says. "You are a unique and singular lady."

Sadly, he'll never be quite as smooth as Aramis, but he can try.

"I'm d'Artagnan of Lupiac in Gascony. May I have your name?"

[nebaritralk]

Chiana grins at his description of herself - she likes to think she is, too. Not a lady, but unique and singular, for sure, even when she isn't stuck in a hotel full of Earthans.

"That's a mouthful," she remarks, and stands on the edge of the fence (her balance is pretty good) to give him a bow - and an eyeful of her corsetted cleavage, while she's at it, black eyes shining as she watches him. It's not exactly like any human bow, but it does involve a spread of her arms and the tilt of her upper body forward, so it's still easily recognisable. "I'm Chiana."

[temperamentalsteel]

It's hard to miss that glimpse, though d'Artagnan makes no comment on it. He's clever enough to know better, especially with unearthly women who seem to balance on fences like spiders on their own webs.

"Have you been here long."

[nebaritralk]

"Too long," Chiana answers, taking a few steps along the fence, eyeing the man and his horse. She slices another bit off her apple and eats it. "Are you stuck here too, or do you get to go home?"

[temperamentalsteel]

"I've been here a few days," he admits. "Not long enough to know."

[nebaritralk]

"Like you say," she adds, stopping where she is and holding up the hand holding the knife, two of her gloved fingers crossed. "Fingers crossed."

[temperamentalsteel]

D'Artagnan nods, uncertain of the gesture's precise meaning, but gamely replicating it and bowing again. "At least the breakfast is freely provided. I'll be short on coin otherwise."

[nebaritralk]

Well, that's a response to the gesture she hadn't yet met, but Chiana just takes it in stride. This was all humans and their weird customs, of course she wouldn't know them all already. (She is pretty proud to have used the crossed fingers as she knew it.)

Now, the news that Dart (it's the only part of his name that stuck with her) is short on cred isn't exactly welcome, but it's not like she needs to steal much around here, like he's just pointed out. She drops from the fence, on his side of it, and comes closer to offer his horse a slice of apple and pet his head a little. "We're all thankful for that," she assures him, and looks up at him, gloved fingers still stroking the horse's muzzle. "So, Dart. If you've got nothing better to do, teach a girl how to ride?"

She can't help make that sound like an invitation to a lot more, because she'll always be who she is, but the request is genuine.

[temperamentalsteel]

It's a dance of half-understood gestures on both parts then. At least Chiana's gentle approach to the horse is one d'Artagnan can fully parse and appreciate. People who treat animals well, he's found, tend to be better than those who do nothing but take them for granted.

The nickname chafes a little and the innuendo hits the raw part of him, still hurting from Constance's rejection, but he manages to keep the larger part of a grimace from his face.

"The stables aren't far from here. We can find a horse who suits you and take it out for the afternoon."