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

[at_your_side]

In exchange for his question, she shot him a look that suggested that for all his love of women...he knew nothing about them. Perhaps some time in the female form could have done him some good after all. Certainly d'Artagnan had proven several times over that he lacked a basic understanding of what it was like to a woman in their world, no matter how she had attempted to explain it to him.

"I had only the one dress," she reminded him, before she had to remind herself that she was speaking to a Musketeer and that they were a species who only ever seemed to switch out the shirts they wore beneath the layers of their leather. One could hope the same could be said of their smalls, but with men, in her opinion, 'hope' was the key word. "I could hardly wander about for more than a day or two without a change of clothes."

Where she had made a point of remaining covered as much as her dresses had ever offered, it was true that she had chosen a pair of pants over any of the shorter dresses or skirts that had been for sale. There was a freedom to them, to the way they allowed her to move, she could not say she was not already fond of. "Besides, I don't see why men should be the only ones to wear pants when no one is about to give me a second look for them here."

[averygoodshot]

What? Even the Queen had something of a limited wardrobe. It was all, yes, about what goes on underneath. Aramis does make a point of keeping his smallclothes clean, thank you very much.

"And how do you find wearing trousers?" Aramis asks, grinning as he takes a sip of his own drink. True to what he's said, he is in support of women doing whatever they please. And really, the trousers allow him to appreciate the shape of a woman more openly.

[at_your_side]

The thought of the Musketeers learning what it was to be a woman, particularly one in the Paris they knew, was one she thought would linger with her after. It sparked too much amusement to do otherwise, then leaving a smile on her lips in between sips of her tea. She was careful enough to keep from burning her tongue on the steaming liquid and resisted the urge to giggle over the mental image of either d'Artagnan or Porthos in a skirt.

Just as she resisted the urge to wriggle in place as she had upon first donning the pair of pants she wore. Even with the lines of her outfit softened with the length of the shirt she wore beneath the corset and the jacket that was...on the barstool next to her? When had it gotten there? there was something truly novel in the way the fabric clung to her legs. A way she found she quite liked. Her smile was easy as she leaned in toward him, whispering conspiratorially "Free" with her brows lifted before she did, finally, giggle aloud.

[averygoodshot]

To be fair, Aramis isn't sure either of them wore skirts. They might have stuck to trousers.

At her word, though, he grins outright, making sure to keep his shoulder there lest she turn a lean into a list. Her laughter is entirely charming and engaging. "Then, I think," he whispers in reply, "you should wear whatever you'd like."

[at_your_side]

After he had traded out her delightful little cocktail traded for tea and honey, she was unlikely to have told him aloud that her attempt to picture Porthos and d'Artagnan in dresses had not come with any guess as to what they'd look like female. The image of big, broad Porthos in a skirt was too much for a sober mind, let alone hers at that moment.

There has been too little laughter in recent days, weeks or months, even, if she stopped to consider it. It felt amazing. So much so that she could not imagine why she had not done more of it, or how she had managed as long as she had either before they (with the exception of Athos) came crashing into her life or after they had been banished from it before she had been given the escape of the Palace and her place at the Queen's side.

Her smile was broad as she agreed, "Then I will."

[averygoodshot]

Her joy is indeed contagious and Aramis smiles more broadly than he has in a good time, free, for the moment, from the weight of what awaits them in Paris. He leans in then, knowing he risks a slap, to kiss her cheek. "I'm most glad to see you here, Constance."

[at_your_side]

In any other mood or any other state, he might have at least gotten a stern warning that she would not fall for his ridiculous charm. Not for any belief that he would forget his friend and try something with the woman d'Artagnan was in love with, and whom loved him dearly even when she wanted to shake some sense into the man, but because she doubted the kiss he pressed to her cheek had any thought behind it. That it was just who Aramis was.

Instead she could not help but roll her eyes at Aramis being Aramis, and patted him on the cheek. "Fool that I am," she told him, the fondness of her tone belying the rest, "I am glad to see you too."