Stubborn problems always require a shift in paradigm.

[praiseandglory]

Porthos was nothing if not stubborn, and he refused to let this transformation keep him down. With no specific deadline to look forward to, he felt that he had no choice but to train, until he regained, even in this body, at least a modicum of skill at what he usually did best: fighting. It didn't help that the breeches he'd secured for himself in this form were a lot tighter than anything he was used to, but he was learning to move about in them well enough.

Much more troubling by far was the weight of his broadsword. The Schiavona was much too heavy for his current strength, but it was all he had to practice, and so he found himself outside in the gardens, going through the basic motions of swordfighting as if he were only getting to know it, hoping that repetition would help. But in this body, not only was his sword too heavy, but his balance was off, and even his very style was wrong for someone who could no longer fight like a force of nature.

Fifteen minutes into his exercises already found his oversized shirt sticking to his back with sweat, and after stumbling through yet another move that should've been easy, he pulled off the kerchief he wore over his hair and threw it aside in a show of temper, planting his sword down in the soft damp soil and looking about as frustrated with himself as a not-a-lady Musketeer could get.

Which was, apparently, a lot.

Comments

[averygoodshot]

"You could have come to get me," Aramis tells him from where he'd been standing for a moment, watching.

He shouldn't have been amused, but he is. "Shall we?" he asks, as he comes around, drawing his sword from its scabbard. He is still in this place with his own room. It is, for the record, no less strange.

[praiseandglory]

"I didn't know where you were," Porthos answers gruffly, since his knocks on Aramis's door had gone unanswered. He takes a few steps to a nearby tree to pick up the bottle of wine standing against it. He hasn't gotten used to the way most people here seem to drink water all the time, and this is thirsty work.

He sets the bottle back down, grabs the kerchief off the ground and throws it next to the wine, then walks back to his sword, shifting his shoulders in an effort to loosen up and really feel this body. As he picks his sword back up, he can tell this is going to be yet another exercise in frustration.

[averygoodshot]

"Start with a lighter sword, for one." Really, Porthos. His sword is heavier than all of theirs, and in this lighter form, that has to be difficult. He draws out his blade and offers it."

[praiseandglory]

Porthos would like to point out that he doesn't have a lighter sword, or he would - but then Aramis offers his and, alright, then. He almost throws his own sword to catch it by the blade and offer its guard to Aramis, but then remembers that not only is he not very likely to pull it off, but he also isn't wearing gloves, since his don't fit anymore. A bad idea on so many levels, so he just takes Aramis's rapier with his left hand, shifting his hold on his broadsword so Aramis can take it instead.

"You take good care of her," he warns his friend before relinquishing it. He knows that he doesn't need to tell him, but he feels a little better for it.

[averygoodshot]

"As if I would do anything else," Aramis replies with his normal dry gallantry.

It is a fine blade. "Is that better?" he asks, of his.

[praiseandglory]

Porhos has switched the rapier to his right arm, which feels very relieved at the lightness of it, although it's still tired from its previous exertion. "Much," he admits, after giving the sword a few swings.

Of course, that doesn't change the fact that his usual fighting style is useless in this weaker body, but that's a whole other problem.

[averygoodshot]

There might be an advantage to this. Rather than relying on brute strength, Porthos can rely on more finesse; Aramis smiles a bit as he too adjusts his grip with this larger sword. "With the right techniques, you could surprise an unwitting opponent."

[praiseandglory]

"Yeah," Porthos states dryly. "With the right techniques."

Which he very much knows he doesn't have - yet, anyway. That's what he needs Aramis's help for, isn't it? So he turns to face his friend, reminds himself, once again, that he isn't wearing his gloves, and switches to a fighting stance, legs bent to be more reactive and less easily unbalanced, sword held as if in challenge - that last bit is probably not right for him now, but it's instinct.

[averygoodshot]

"If you have your daggers ... " Aramis pulls one of his from the sheaths against his back. He does like fighting with both hands. Porthos can borrow his main gauche if needed. "Up. Point even with the eye. Now, come at me."

[praiseandglory]

Porthos shakes his head at Aramis's 'if'; he hadn't had his dagger on him when he wound up in the hotel, and it's not like he really uses it as a main gauche anyway. He much prefers making full use of his armoured gauntlet, and whatever else happens to be on hand.

So he doesn't wait to see if Aramis is going to lend him one, and does as he's told, instead. He's never been the sort to wait, when invited to attack.

At least he knows that a rapier means fighting with more thrusts than swipes, so that's just what he goes for, forcing himself to take into account how much shorter his allonge is, never mind his stride, and the amount of thinking he's got to put into it means that his move is extremely telegraphed, to an experienced swordsman.

[averygoodshot]

It is telegraphed, it's true, and easy to counter. However, that is a foundation to work from, rather than not being able to lift a sword.

Aramis pushes Porthos's thrusts aside, but not hard enough to take his friend's feet out from under him. "You're already doing better; just ... go faster."

[praiseandglory]

Porthos scowls, because he'd like to see Aramis trying to go fast when everything feels off. But it's not his friend's fault, and if Porthos has ever been good at anything, it's improvising his way through a fight with anything handy. So what if anything feels off? He's not about to give up, or waste time complaining. Instead, he repeats the same move without thinking about it much, because he's already done it once and he has to trust he won't fall on his arse for doing it again, faster.

[averygoodshot]

It's better and Aramis parries, pushing the sword away. That takes effort too, and he shifts to his right, using Porthos's blade to meet his. "You're already getting better."

[armedagainstlove]

D'Artagnan had, of course, told him of what had happened to Porthos. Perhaps he had not been quite as detailed, but still, Athos watches her and knows that it could not be any but one of his best friends. He is also quite critical of the fact that Porthos seems not to have discovered the centre of gravity and this is something in which Athos can actually help.

"If I offer you advice, will you bite my head off?" he asks, not drawing his own sword just yet.

[praiseandglory]

Porthos tips his head back and sighs, doing nothing to hide his frustration. Athos has just witnessed it, after all, and of course his friend would come across him now.

Perhaps it's for the best, though.

He wipes a hand on his forehead as he turns around to face his friend, everything about the way he moves making it clear that he is still not used to this body, although the fact that walking doesn't land him on his arse anymore shows that he has in fact made great progress.

"I probably should have come and asked for it straight away," he gruffly admits, even if he doesn't admit why he didn't. He wouldn't care half as much about being a woman if it wasn't for how useless he feels in this body he can hardly control, and pride has always been one of his flaws.

[armedagainstlove]

Porthos makes for a handsome woman, though Athos surmises that all his friends would do so. After all, they are all attractive in their own ways and Porthos would surely have no trouble attracting attention in either form. The attention he has drawn, of course, is likely not what he had intended. He wanders closer in order to study Porthos, nodding towards his feet. "Your stance needs to be adjusted to account for your changed centre of gravity," he says. "And you cannot rely on brute strength so wholly."

[praiseandglory]

"Tell me something I don't know," Porthos replies just as gruffly. It's actually him asking for advice on how to adjust his stance exactly; that he needs to is obvious, but he's been trying and trying and nothing feels right. So, yes, he'll readily try out any advice Athos can give him.

[armedagainstlove]

Athos does not take Porthos up on such a challenge, instead stepping forward in order to physically adjust where Porthos is standing, immediately blocking out the fact that anything is different about his friend. He does not have the wherewithal to pay attention to that. Once he has set him in place, he nods, thinking of how it will work.

Anne had always been so adept with swordplay. In retrospect, he might have suspected. "There. Shall we try that?"

[praiseandglory]

"If you say so," Porthos replies, feeling awkward in the new stance but honestly willing to try anything. He reaches for his blade and raises it again, grim determination on his features, no matter how tired his arm is. Pushing through tiredness is nothing, to a Musketeer.

[armedagainstlove]

Athos is still studying Porthos with some disapproval, reaching down to pluck out his main gauche to extend the small, shorter knife out to Porthos, thinking this will be a more suitable weapon for the time being. "Put the large blade down," he instructs. "You'll topple over, I fear, if you try and use it."

[praiseandglory]

"I would not," Porthos grumbles, eyes flashing at the thought, but he has to admit that fighting with something lighter than his broadsword would be welcome. So he walks to the tree where's he's left the bottle of wine and leans the Schiavona there, then comes back to Athos, still scowling. Topple over!

Now, fighting with a dagger won't help his already shorter allonge, but he's always prided himself on being able to fight with anything. Not a problem.

No, the problem isn't the weapon, but he shifts back into a fighting stance, raising the dagger defiantly between him and his friend.

[armedagainstlove]

Porthos has always been adamant about wanting to succeed and to never give up, but Athos worries that in his current state, he might actually cause harm to himself or his environment. Still, at least he takes the dagger, though he seems to want to prove himself with it. "Are you sure you want to do this?" Athos asks, not unhooking the clasp of his sword belt just yet.

[praiseandglory]

"Of course I'm sure," Porthos frowns, without shifting his stance. He needs to learn to fight in this body, and that is that. He trusts Athos not to kill him; his friend is probably the best teacher he could hope for, honestly. So he grows solemn, for a second, and simply says, quiet and intense, "Please."

[armedagainstlove]

Never one to wish to cause consternation amidst his friends, Athos knows that Porthos will not relent until he gives in to the request. He finally draws his sword and settles into the comfortable stance that has allowed his mind to drift away from troubles, these past few years.

"You set the pace," he allows, thinking that will keep them on even ground and indicate to Athos how aggressive he should charge forward.

[praiseandglory]

That's fine by Porthos. He shifts his focus between his balance and the clash of blade against blade, and he's very aware of exactly how easy Athos is going on him. He's aware of way too many things, in the end - how short his blade is, how tentative his footwork is, how off balance he feels - and not just because of his different centre of gravity. He's thinking so much that he can't get into the spar the way he normally would, and the result is really not worthy of a Musketeer. Frustration grows inside him, and that of course hardly helps.

"This is pointless," he grunts after a while, scowling - at himself rather than his friend. "I'm useless like this."