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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.

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Alas, he does not make the rules.

D'Artagnan decides it's better to show her, for the first time. When horse teeth are involved, it's better to learn by viewing the first time. "I'll show you, to spare your fingers."

He takes the bit and slides it over the horse's tongue. She balks a little, but takes it with a soft mouth and a docile expression.

And slide that part back over the ears, alright. Chiana nods, and pats the horse on the side to compliment her on letting them bondage her up. She buckles up that contraption when Dart moves aside to let her do so, and belatedly thinks to throw the guides back over her neck. "Is she ready now?"

The better question is, of course, is she?

"Yes, I think she'll manage quite well," d'Artagnan says optimistically. He's yet to meet someone who simply can't ride.

"Lead her outside, to that stepping block there."

Stepping block. What the frell is a stepping block? Chiana spots something that might be called that, a block shaped like a couple of steps, and heads over while holding one of the guides by the horse's mouth. She follows placidly enough; she's glad she didn't pick a rebellious one.

Tall and long-legged, d'Artagnan doesn't need the mounting block; he just puts a foot in the stirrup and climbs up and over.

"Ready?"

Chiana watches him do it, and then just mimics what he's done. It's easy enough for her, flexible and strong as she is. She puts her foot in the dangly bit, holds on the leather pommel, and swings herself up. The horse shifts under her when she settles in place, and it's odd but not uncomfortable, at least. She looks over at Dart and takes the guides, holding them like he does, shifting her second foot into the other dangly thing. "I think?"

She has no idea how to go about anything next, but, well. At least she's on the horse.

"All right, nudge her in the side with your foot, like so..." With only a little pressure, his own horse pranced forward in a walk. "They're well trained for all levels of riders, these horses."

Chiana presses her heel in and the horse takes a few steps - okay, that's one thing she has right, but knowing this and nothing else is a bit like knowing how to fly a ship without knowing how to land it. "How do you stop?"

"Pull on the reigns, straight back." He walks the hose in a circle around her before tugging on the reigns with a gentle, "Whoaa."

Reins, so that was what they were called. Chiana did as he said and smiled when the horse came to a stop. "Nothing to it, really," she stated, pressing her heels in again to move.

"They're well trained, these horses. Shouldn't be stubborn," he says, nudging the horse's ribs again into a more spirited walk. "And horses and men have always gotten on."

Chiana's horse instinctively speeds up to keep pace with the other one, and Chiana lets her without trying to slow her down. "You realise I'm not human," she had to point out with a sharp grin.

"Not, but you're human-shaped enough to satisfy the horse," d'Artagnan replies, trying to use one of Aramis' cheeky grins.

"If you hadn't made it clear you wouldn't fall for it, I'd say something about satisfying you," she retorts with a grin, clearly poking fun, before pressing her heels into the horse's flanks again, making her pick up the pace even more.

"I'm too ill-treated by love. Don't take it as an insult against your good self," d'Artagnan says, moving into a trot and posting in the saddle with his knees.

Chiana had been about to retort that 'good' wasn't the first word that came to mind when it came to her 'self', but her horse decided to follow Dart's into a pace that was seriously uncomfortable. She immediately drew on the reins, making a pained face. "What was that?"

D'Artagnan pulls short, laughing. "A trot. You've got to move up and down in the saddle to match."

Chiana frowns, shifting in the saddle. Her natural stance's been helping her feel at ease on the horse, but that had been painful. "Show me," she requests, because she's always been better with show than tell.

"Put the balls of your feet on the stirrup, like this," d'Artagnan demonstrates, pressing up and down in the seated position. "It's called posting. You do it in time with the bouncing."

That still doesn't sound any kind of comfortable, and she's ridden some old pieces of dren that barely held together when they took atmo. Still, she isn't one to balk from something like this, so she checks that her feet are positioned right in the - stirrup, he said? - and then gets the horse going again, pressing her heels in until she shifted into that bouncing pace.

Chiana grits her teeth until she finds the right rhythm to, well, post, apparently, and then it's less painful, at least.

"There you go," d'Artagnan encourages. "Just like that!"

'Just like that' still doesn't feel any kind of pleasant, and after a few more seconds, and turning the horse around so they're facing Dart again, Chiana pulls on the reins to stop her. "This trats," she tells him, with feeling, because there's nothing remotely good about that way of riding. It's uncomfortable and probably gets tiring after a couple of arns.