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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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"An alien?" Admittedly, he does not know what that entails, aside from obviously being foreign. Not, however, so foreign that the horse thought to reject her.

"And where do aliens come from, mademoiselle?"

Chiana isn't sure what that form of address means, but seeing how proper he's been all along, she doubts it's suddenly an insult. But he doesn't know about aliens - he seems even less advanced than most humans she's met, and that is saying a lot.

But she's not about to hold that against him. Instead, she's about to blow his mind - hopefully, if he had even a little imagination and wonder in him.

"From the stars," she answers, with a smile at him - a smile that says she's seen so much more than he could ever dream of. From the stars, or close enough, but some humans have put it that way before, so she figures it's a good way to make herself understood to him.

There's something of Milady de Winter in her smile, something knowing and altogether a bit intimate. It's a smile that sets him completely on edge, though he returns it politely all the same.

"And here I'd thought only angels lived among the stars," he says, meaning it as theology, not flattery. "But it would seem that there are aliens too?"

"Angels?" Chiana echoes curiously. Clearly, she doesn't get it. But she reaches for the piece of equipment he's holding. "This goes on her back, right?"

"Servants of God," he replies thinking this is far more Aramis' arena than his own.

"Yes, this part front, then buckle the girth under her stomach, like so."

"Your priests live in the stars?" Chiana asks, curious and confused, as she bends her knees to do as he's told her. No other human's mentioned that before, but maybe they're not as backwards as she's assumed so far.

D'Artagnan shakes his head, though he's preoccupied with tightening the girth until the horse gives in and stops holding her breath so that her girth will be looser once she exhales.

"Angels are God's heavenly servants, priests are his earthly ones," he explains. Then, focused on current matters, he holds up the bridle, "The bit goes between the teeth."

Well, that religion of theirs sounded a little too complicated for Chiana's passing interest in it, so she was glad to focus on the horse instead. "Alright," she agreed, reaching out to take the bridle from him. She eyed the bit, and the horse, unsure how to proceed. "How do I...?"

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."