Probably should have left the alcohol to Athos, really.

[at_your_side]

Intoxicated. Yes, that was- that was the word she was looking for. Intoxicated was just the very thing she could use to describe herself...or her state...the state of herself?

While the details of it had become increasingly fuzzy with each of the delightful, oh so colorful cocktails the bartender sat in front of her (how many had she had again?), Constance was fairly certain the day had begun well enough. There had been a bath, a bath! One with an endless supply of hot water piped right into her room so she might lie in her tub with the dawn light filtering in through the glass of her colored windows and wiggle her toes in easy contentedness.

But then there- ah! There had been the issue of dressing. Or, rather, not of dressing but of what to dress herself in when her only...dress, yes, had been worn already for the day before. She could have made do with it if she had had to, had even pulled it on while not pulling too much of a face, but had been all too grateful upon meeting the lovely Ruby in the hallway not far from her door.

Never had she seen a woman who wore so little out in public. It had left her gaping in the second before she had recovered herself, to see so much skin on display with not so much a flicker of concern in the other woman's expression as she had smiled and introduced herself. Somehow - now here the details were particularly fuzzy at that moment - they had gotten onto the subject of Constance's singular dress and somehow further the conversation had become one of the other woman, still a stranger, but so earnestly friendly, had volunteered her help.

All of which led to her sitting there at the bar of the Smoking Room, wearing pants of all things while Ruby slid a drink in front of her. She was certain there had been sense behind the action, and no, she did not feel the least bit overexposed with the buttoned shirt she wore beneath her corset or the coat she wore that hung down to her knees (she tried not to giggle at the thought of needing to cover her bum, but was only partially successful). What was even more certain was that these - those little cocktails, they were delicious.

Comments

[littlerubyred]

The simple joy of helping someone had always been something Ruby had taken pleasure in, dating back to her earliest memories of a child in the forest when she’d been known simply as Red. Her habits at the Nexus had skewed in that particular direction time and again with her position as a waitress at the bar, where she was granted access to so many of the hotel’s guests that she might not otherwise have met and where so many, who arrived in the hotel lost and confused, came to seek solace. Ruby was a talker and one that made herself familiar to her customers out of habit, and it was a habit that extended to the halls and other areas of the hotel. She had been in the Nexus long enough to recognize familiar faces and notice new ones, and when she’d spotted Constance in her dress, looking so pretty and yet somehow so out of place, she hadn’t been able to resist introducing herself.

A bit of conversation had Ruby offering to help her new friend into some new clothes, something she was now long used to, and the outfit her new friend had chosen was one that fit her emerging personality quite well, Ruby thought. A trip down to the bar had been enough to introduce Constance to the wonders of fruity cocktails, and Ruby couldn’t check her grin at how easily the woman smiled and expressed her alcohol-induced happiness. She looked to be having a wonderful time and Ruby was glad. She did so enjoy when her customers had a good time of it.

“You’re so cute,” Ruby said with a laugh at Constance’s look of excitement at a new cocktail being slid in her direction. “They really are the best things ever though, aren’t they?”

[at_your_side]

All that had weighted her down seemed as if it had slipped away with the taste of novel, bright flavors of fruit and chill and the backing of what must have been alcohol but tasted unlike any she had ever had. She had not meant to do more than taste as part of her fledgling exploration of the strange world she had found herself in, each turn seeming as if it allowed some new wondrous thing to marvel over, but had gotten lost in the novelty of the chill of ice on a warm day and the rainbow of offerings the bar had in store.

The assurance that the Queen was not only safe but occupied with the dauphin in her arms at once allowed Constance the freedom to spend the day following her own whims and the odd, heavy sensation in her chest in knowing that she was at that moment not needed. Where she begrudged the Queen nothing, least of all any small bit of happiness she could find, it had had her seeking out something for herself amongst the rest of the hotel.

There was a freedom she was not at all used to in knowing that in that moment, there was no need to guard her reputation. She remained fairly well covered in her clothes as was comfortable, but it was not Paris, it was not the Court. She could smile freely with her fingers curled against her glass and none would think less of her for having abstained her widows weeds.

"They are lovely," she agreed, the answer as easy as her use of the word 'lovely' for at least the tenth time since she had begun trying the concoctions Ruby brought her. "I have had nothing like them before. They don't have such things where I'm from, you know. Pretty cocktails and..." she searched for the word she had been given at least twice over by then, "Straws."

[armedagainstlove]

He knows of her presence here as it would be difficult to miss by the gleam of delight on d'Artagnan's face. Though the boy is not as obvious as it may seem, Athos knows him well enough to know when he is overjoyed and for good cause. Of course, this does not explain why he finds Constance sitting with drinks before her looking somewhat less steady for it. "Madame Bonacieux," Athos greets her calmly as he removes his hat from his head and gestures to the empty seat across from her, signalling for his usual bottle of brandy to be brought.

"Your plate looks quite colourful today."

[at_your_side]

In theory, Constance's smile and nod in reply to both greeting and the unspoken request as to seating would have been gracious and restrained. A model of etiquette, if you would. In reality, her smile was too bright and wide to be neatly polite, her answering "Athos!" a little too indiscreet. Where she is far from falling out of her seat, tipping her head back in order to look him in the eye does make her wobble a little (but not near so much as if she attempted to find her feet just then).

"It is, isn't it?" While her fingers tapped against the side of her glass, she peered to look at it a moment as if (as was likely, really) she had forgotten what it was she was drinking just then. "She called it a...strawberry pom mojito?"

Then, as realization of what he had called her and how little the title then sat well in her stomach, she winced, insisting, "Constance, please. Not Madame Bon- Just Constance."

[armedagainstlove]

"Very well," he concurs with a nod of his head, always eager to do well by this woman. "Constance," he corrects himself. She had been very good to him when he'd been new to Paris and unsure whether he even wanted to go on with his life and he will never forget that -- just as he will never forget how he wishes better for her than the lot she has. "A strawberry pom mojito sounds very intensively colourful," he concurs, lifting his glass and bottle of brandy. "You'll have to excuse my tastes. I'm a far simpler man," he admits with a rueful smile.

"Is there a cause for such drinking?"

[at_your_side]

By no stretch of the imagination would it have been thought proper for a woman, married to a cloth merchant in a relatively comfortable section of Paris, to have had a Musketeer as a friend. Still, where the awareness of the rules of propriety has assured that there were formalities of title between them, Constance was certain that she would have been honored to call him exactly that. She had been grateful for his sensibility and understanding, as well as she had for the evenness of his gaze and the fact that he truly seemed to believe her opinion had merit. Such a thing had been more precious than all the gold and jewels in the world.

"It is quite lovely," she agreed. "Very sweet and sharp, and unlike anything I have had before." She, along with every other person of sense who wishes to avoid the illnesses that often came with water, drunk wine more than any other beverage and a honeyed brandy at her birthday, but there was nothing like Ruby's cocktails in their Paris.

Her smile tipped as she considered her answer. "I suppose," she began. "That that would depend on what day you've last seen in Paris."

[armedagainstlove]

"That would be arriving back to Paris with Rochefort riding at our side, rescued from Spain," he replies, though he is already aware that there is a dark cloud looming in his future because of that man. He has been waiting and biding his time at the Nexus as he debates what he will do about such things, unsure that he is ready yet to cope with such a villain so soon after Richelieu's death.

"Is there something you wish to tell me?"

[at_your_side]

The laugh that bubbled out of her then was as much incredulous as it was helpless. It did not last long, soon bitten back with the press of her lips firmly together as she looked back at him.

Where along the way she had assumed that Athos would be more in the know than any of them, that something of the steady unsteadiness of him would do more than rein in the other Musketeers (unneeded as it was at that moment) where the rest of the world had gone mad. Gone mad and driven her right to drink, she supposed. "I'm sorry," she said after a moment, "Only I had thought it would be difficult enough to keep from telling d'Artagnan everything of the last weeks and here-" She picked up her drink as if to punctuate her point but in reality for the sudden dryness of her mouth when left to consider that the Musketeer she had known the longest could not be her well-informed voice of reason. The mouthful she took of it was near disastrous, as cold as it was, but she soldiered on and managed to swallow without thoroughly freezing either tongue or brain. "I could tell you that the man is a monster, and that he shouldn't be trusted- but I don't think you would have in any case, would you?"

[praiseandglory]

Porthos had come in looking for Athos, but his countenance brightened when he spotted the woman sitting at the bar. He had heard of her arrival, but he had not yet had the pleasure of running into her, and now he headed over to her with a happy smile, the smile of a man reunited with someone he felt some definite measure of affection for.

"Madame Bonacieux," he greeted her, his smile stretching into his usual grin at the formal address. He even gave her a small bow to go with that.

[at_your_side]

The tips of her fingers rested lightly on either side of the strange glass before her. Each cocktail seemed to have belonged to a different shaped container, the drink then at hand a splash of vivid, bright orange in a glass with a wide mouth and long stem.

She was on the process of deciding that out quite looked like some sort of exotic flower when she caught sight of Porthos nearing out of her peripheral vision and suddenly broke off her concentrated focus.

Where she felt not at all up to carrying her husband's surname at that moment, it was impossible not to smile back at Porthos. She had never said so, but there was a particular appeal to Porthos' smile. If, that was, he wasn't laughing at a moment her temper was too high not to want to slap some sense into someone. "Monsieur du Vallon," she replied, her tone falling far flat of any attempt at formality. Deciding to forget it entirely in favor of the warmth of affection that settled over her at seeing him again, she reached out to swat his arm did naturedly (wobbling in her seat for that moment of being off balance in not quite judging the distance properly) and told him, "Now, enough of that. None of this calling me anything but a Constance."

[praiseandglory]

"Constance," Porthos corrected himself, the stretch of his smile hinting that it had been very purposeful on his part, in case there was any doubt. His gloved hand found the back of the stool beside hers, and he inquired, "May I join you?"

Yes, he could have actual manners when he bothered.

[at_your_side]

Circumstances, not a lack of desire to speak to the man, had made Porthos the Musketeer least familiar to her. Even then, she half expected to see Aramis arrive a moment after, the majority of the time she had spent around Porthos had been of those two bouncing off one another. But there was no disappointment in seeing that he was alone, no more then there was to be had in the taste of her drink or in her smiling back at him in her amusement.

"Oh, please do." That same propensity for laughter and the comments he was prone to turning to Aramis at his side was exactly what the hour called for. That and more drinks.

Dispensing with the lead up, she propped an elbow on the counter in front of her and asked, "When did you last see Paris?" Subtlety was not the word of the hour. Then again, attempting to understand the patchwork set of time with those she knew best was too difficult to manage several glasses in.

[praiseandglory]

"How long ago was I last there, or when was it in Paris last I was?" Porthos asked for clarification as he took a seat, since this place made both questions relevant, no matter how odd the latter one sounded. And then, of course, he didn't wait for her to specify and just gave her both answers. "It was a couple of weeks ago, for me, and..." He frowned as he realised what he must use as a reference, for her. "When was it, for you?"

It wasn't that he didn't want to answer, but he did not want to risk telling her of her husband's fate if she did not know it yet.

[at_your_side]

The prompt was multiple choice, and yet Constance gave a nod as if it had been a true/false question. It was good to be in the company of someone familiar, as lovely as Ruby had been both in helping her and in suggesting new colorful drinks each time. Strange as it was to need to puzzle out where their memories matched or fell short of each other.

She had heard of the others having difficulty returning to Paris for weeks or more at a time, the Queen having been desperate to return at least enough to retrieve the dauphin before they had decided between them that Constance had a better chance of doing so while the Queen held the for open to prevent her being trapped on the other side of the for that still stood in one of the Nexus's hallways.

Uncertain how much she was supposed to, or even was allowed to tell him, it took some drunken sorting of her thoughts to find a way to explain when she had left Paris without immediately mentioning Rochefort's attack. "I last saw you at the garrison with the others, when I kissed d'Artagnan and told him I would not be held back by Bonacieux's... His death."

[soft_robot]

Every now and then, when Baymax sits in his station to charge, he finds himself re-inflating in the lobby of the hotel. Generally speaking, it does not cause him any harm or distress, nor does it seem to bother Hiro, so Baymax has taken no steps to correct it. Every now and then, he even finds ways to help.

"Excuse me," he says to the woman at the bar. "My scan indicates a very high blood alcohol level for someone of your height and weight. I recommend intake of fresh water and food."

[at_your_side]

Her fingers were halfway to her glass, with every intention of taking another drink of its delightful exotic wonder, when Constance froze.

The voice itself was strange enough, neither high nor low pitched, neither warm nor cold. But then and there when she turned to look at whatever stranger had spoken such an odd phrase, Constance paused. Not just paused naturally but as if there were some hidden remote that suddenly halted all action or expression, and she was left staring with eyes wide and lips parted at the figure.

She was too shocked to wonder if those stories of demons and monsters had been true after all, her mind drawing an utter blank as she stared uncomprehending. "What?" she asked, once she had found her tongue (but not one of her synapses beyond that).

[soft_robot]

"I am Baymax," he explains. "A personal healthcare companion. It is my directive to heal the sick and injured, as well as provide preventative care. In this case, I recommend that you drink water."

To help, Baymax squeezes along the bar, his balloon body squeaking against chairs. "Please serve this young woman one glass of water."

[at_your_side]

Perhaps it was time to put down her drink.

She had never seen anything like it, the man... creature... who looked more like a cloud or a bubble than any person she had ever seen. The chirpy assuredness of that voice did not inspire a desire to disagree, but where shock bled slowly away, it was not replaced by fear.

It was difficult to fear something that made such sounds when it moved in little footless steps and ordered her a glass of water. "I'm sorry," she began, "You're a kind of doctor?" There had been wonders enough in lights that lot with a flick of her finger and the endless supply of hot water in her room. This was-

[soft_robot]

"I do not have a medical license, but I have been programmed with over ten thousand medical procedures to assist licensed medical professionals in triage, diagnosis, and the treatment of non-emergency procedures," Baymax explains, continuing on in a gentle, patient voice that matches his non-threatening, huggable design.

"Please drink this water. It will rehydrate your body."

[at_your_side]

Constance could not help but reach out a hand to poke a finger at the bulbous white body of the creature. It was so tall she needed to crane her head up to meet the two black round ... eyes? Tall as d'Artagnan or Porthos, she had to guess, although broader than even the latter.

Her eyes went wide when her finger pressed into its body with only a limited resistance, the texture smooth as silk yet too solid against the tip of her finger for all that it almost appeared to be full of air like a bladder blown up and tied off like a farmchild's toy.

She took the glass when prompted, drinking obediently while watching it over the rim. When she had drained a good measure of the cup, she had to ask, "You just wander about offering to help?"

[averygoodshot]

"Constance?"

She is about the last person Aramis expects to see and to see here, and to see drinking. And she is Constance, because she knows the secret of Aramis and the Queen, too. He approaches, concerned and smiling at the same time. "I didn't know you were here."

[at_your_side]

"Well," Constance began, with the air of an old philosopher (provided that that philosopher was good and toasted on coconut rum and fruity things). "I knew you were here."

She had been glad for it, and such showed in her smile that followed a moment after her words. "It is good to see you well, Aramis." In the over tipsy turnings of her mind, Constance thought that it was quite fitting that all four of the inseparable Musketeers were present in the Nexus at once. Shouldn't be any other way, she had to think, and after Rochefort's attack she would not have felt secure enough to leave the Queen and find herself a stiff drink without the knowledge of their presence.

"I am here," she informed him, brows lifted and lips pressing together a moment as she gave a nod to punctuate that very fact before she drained her glass of its last mouthful. "And you need to buy me another drink, as you are one of the very reasons I am drinking." She gave him a small smile then to soften her words, "Pretty though you are."

[averygoodshot]

"... I am?" Aramis steps closer, taking in her state - her very drunken state. Oh, dear. "To what honor do I owe your drinking on my behalf?" he asks, gesturing toward the barkeep, setting his hat to the side on the bar. Something tells him that this conversation might be one that doesn't warrant the loose lips of someone who might be more than a bit drunk (and unused to being drunk, like most of the Musketeers). He asks for wine for the both of them, unsure of what that concoction she's drinking might be.

[at_your_side]

Her expression was one of expecting that he should have been very well aware of exactly what she was referring to and that any other reason other than immediately agreeing was him being purposefully obtuse. Such was her rum soaked logic.

Tempted though she was to point out the fact that he was at the center of the heaviest of the secrets that she carried within her, no amount of alcohol could have let her being up something so dangerous where someone else might hear. No matter how safe the Nexus was meant to be. She lifted a hand and poked him in the chest with one finger, "You know very well why."

When a glass of wine was set before her, she turned away enough to pick it up, speaking to him over the rim, "And now I've stolen the dauphin. Again."

[averygoodshot]

"For which I am grateful," he tells her, but stops short.

Wait.

He touches her arm, albeit gently, but wanting to get her attention.

"Again?"