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

[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."

[armedagainstlove]

Athos is not being overly challenged, but he endeavours to look as though he is, aware that Porthos will not take it well if Athos doesn't at least offer a touch of resistance and show difficulty. Even this, however, cannot do the job. He sighs when Porthos lambasts himself and unclips his sword belt, the musket and pistol going soon after. "You're being too hard on yourself," he counters.

"I'm sure you've still the advantage in hand to hand," he says, bracing himself for what comes next. "Come on, let's try and see."

[praiseandglory]

"That's not funny," Porthos pointedly tells Athos, now very much scowling at him. Of course he wouldn't have the advantage now, in this lighter, weaker body. He wouldn't even know how to start brawling.

But he's not one to back down from a challenge, of course, so he sets the dagger down and unbuckles his scabbard. He's going to find out how to fight in this body if it kills him, although he's still hoping that it won't come to that.

Lighter, weaker body or not, he turns around and charges Athos without an instant's hesitation, hoping to surprise him and manage to throw him to the ground. He knows one thing; he has no chance in a prolonged fight.

[armedagainstlove]

Porthos may not see the truth of the matter, but Athos does not have half as many doubts. He knows all too well what Porthos is capable of, no matter the form. In fact, it begins quickly, given how off guard Athos has been when Porthos comes charging at him, stumbling back and falling to the ground hard, wincing as he shifts.

"You see?" True, that had mainly been surprise, but it had still caught him off his guard.

[praiseandglory]

"That was you being terrible," Porthos points out gruffly, although he can't deny the satisfaction at having been able to put Athos down, no matter the reason.

He holds a (bare) hand out to help Athos back to his feet. He half expects his friend to get him back by using that to try and unbalance him, though, mostly because it's what he would do, so he's ready for that.

[armedagainstlove]

"I've never been skilled with hand to hand," Athos says truthfully, brushing the dust from his arse as he sits up, reaching out to take Porthos' hand to help himself back to his feet. He manages to get steady again, giving Porthos an expectant look. "You can show me again, if that's what you'd like."

[praiseandglory]

Holding Athos's gloved hands makes Porthos wish he could be wearing, for a fleeting second. It's not the kind of thought worth lingering on, but it's one more reason to hate the change that has come over him. He isn't sure he could show Athos again, so he huffs out a gruff little sigh, then offers an alternative that is certain to meet Athos's approval. "Or we could just drink," with a sweep of his hand indicating the bottle of wine he's left leaning against one of the nearby trees.

The water might be fine here, but he still doesn't like its taste, if it can be called a taste.

[armedagainstlove]

Athos raises his brow, approving of course of the suggestion though unsure where it has come from. Porthos is usually always so quick to wish to fight, which means that whatever is plaguing him about this odd change must run deeper than previously thought. He knows that no pity should be shown, but he does feel wary about stopping before Porthos feels better. "How long have you been like this, now?"

[praiseandglory]

Porthos definitely needs a drink to answer that question, so he's heading for the bottle as he tells Athos, very definitely, "Too long." He pulls the cork out and takes a drink, then holds it out to his friend. "Two weeks." Two very long weeks, if you ask him.

[armedagainstlove]

That is a very long time and he thinks he recalls d'Artagnan being in a similar position. He welcome the drink, though he only takes a small sip, given that he doesn't want to steal it all from Porthos, who seems to need it much more than he. "Are you concerned such a thing might become permanent?" Or, more frighteningly, that he, like d'Artagnan, would begin to think it normal.

[praiseandglory]

Porthos scowls at Athos as if he'd just insulted his mother. "No." Which, of course, means that he isn't concerned but in proper denial of the possibility. He's got to turn back eventually; he can't wrap his mind around being this way forever.

[armedagainstlove]

Reacting with little more than a passive look, Athos shrugs. If he were in the same position, he would have to think about what might happen if it were permanent, but it seems that Porthos doesn't even want to consider it. "I'm sure you're right," he offers, as if a balm. "I'm sure you'll be back to normal soon."

[praiseandglory]

"You're bloody right I will," Porthos mutters under his breath, and gets the bottle back from Porthos to take another drink. The day he turns back can't come soon enough.

[armedagainstlove]

Athos is having a hard time subduing his amusement for Porthos' terrible reaction to the plight, though he knows better than to let any of it show. "And you've not thought to explore your new condition?" he wonders, curious as to Porthos' whims. "I imagine in a similar situation, Aramis would see fit to."

And Athos is often quick to associate bad ideas between the both of them.

[praiseandglory]

Porthos shoots him a look, almost amused by the question. "Are you talking about what I think you're talking about?" Because that's all well and good (really, really good, as a matter of fact, once you get the hang of it), but it doesn't exactly help in the grand scheme of things.

[armedagainstlove]

Porthos seems amused by Athos' struggles to remark on what he would assume has already happened. "You cannot fault me for asking," he notes wryly. "I feel that you would torture me with similar questions, should our positions be reversed."