all_inclusive | (no subject)

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.

Threaded | Flat

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?"

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.