For the fabulous riversidewren. :)
Athos has been in this damn store for a whole three minutes and he's prepared to kill any and every living thing that comes within a three foot radius. Thus far Porthos has been the only creature of reason beside Athos himself while d'Artagnan and Aramis started their bickering over what party foods to get long before they climbed into the car. What began as a simple and innocent desire to celebrate Tréville's twentieth year as their captain was quickly turning into a murder plot.
"Cheetos, d'Artagnan? This is not a five year old's birthday party. This is a mature office party celebrating twenty years of excellence! It is our responsibility as his friends and coworkers to honor him with snacks worthy of his office. Anything less would be disrespectful. And distasteful!"
D'Artagnan pouts and strays not an inch from the variety of Cheetos.
"D'Herblay 2016! Ladies and gents, your next president!" Calls Porthos for half the grocery store to hear.
"Why don't you try for public office, Aramis?" d'Artagnan shifts away from his beloved snack food like a moth drawn to a flame of interest.
"Separation of church and state," Aramis says with a wink, grabs five bags of Doritos (two of which were Cool Ranch, as if Doritos didn't have enough flavors to take one bag per flavor), and walked away with typical Aramis-level swagger. Porthos fails to suppress his laughter. D'Artagnan on the other hand misses the joke entirely and so he adopts a look of utter confusion. As pay back for giving Athos the beginnings of a headache, he chooses not to fill d'Artagnan in; instead he merrily pushes the cart after Aramis and Porthos who have decided cookies are to be their next conquest.
"Obviously we should get the sugar cookies with the really good frosting, Porthos!"
"No, Aramis, you can't force everyone into sugar comas like that. You've gotta give people some options."
"Well we sure as hell aren't getting oatmeal raisin!"
"No one said we had to get oatmeal raisin-"
"But you've got that look in your eyes!"
"They're the captain's favorite, and you know it."
Athos may now be prepared to add Porthos to his hit list. If there's one thing Athos has learned in his many years of friendship with Aramis, it's that you can't waste time arguing with Aramis; you simply commit to a course of action and follow through. With his in mind, Athos swipes the most appealing looking container of oatmeal raisin cookies and walks away.
"Athos!"
"No, Aramis. Porthos, grab some chocolate chip or something," Athos commands over his shoulder and continues on to pick up soda pop. He's barely entered the aisle when he hears three pairs of cautious steps behind him, and given that a young couple practically ran away after a quick glance in his direction, Athos can only assume that it's his idiotic brothers behind him. "Porthos, fetch the cups, plates, and napkins. This is not a Christmas party, so I better not see a single snowflake, Christmas tree, snowman, sled, or anything of the kind on them. D'Artagnan, get some trail mix. Aramis, candy. Be in the freezer section in two minutes."
Porthos, Aramis, and d'Artagnan scurry off in something slightly more reserved than a panicked rush but only slightly. Athos quickly scans his options before selecting Mountain Dew, Coca-Cola, and ginger ale. After each decision his now pounding head reminds him that none of these are wine, a fact he's desperate to forget contrary to his mind's efforts. Although there was talk of post-party drinks; all he has to do was survive the trip back to work, the set-up, the party, the clean-up, and the drive to whatever alcoholic establishment everyone chose without inflicting bodily harm on anyone.
When he reaches the freezer section, specifically those heavenly doors horribly smudged from protecting glorious frozen dairy from the heated hands of small children, the others are already there and are once more bickering over what to get. Porthos, attempting once more to be the peace keeper, suggests Neapolitan.
"NO," Aramis and d'Artagnan cry as one and then trade furious looks for having agreed with each other.
"There's absolutely nothing fair about Neapolitan ice cream. The poor souls desperate for the flavor in the middle are always being shorted their share, and who actually enjoys strawberry ice cream?" Honestly Aramis is just in a mood to fight. There will definitely be bar brawls later.
"I do!" d'Artagnan is now beyond fed up with Aramis' belligerence, so it's safe to say that if the two aren't engaged in drunken battle with each other, they'll be tearing the establishment to pieces side by side. "Strawberry is incredible, Aramis, and it's your loss if you can't appreciate beauty when it's right in front of you."
"I always thought butter pecan was a nice flavor," Porthos says to Athos only, mainly because Aramis and d'Artagnan are too caught up in competing that they're not paying attention to anything else.
"I'm more of a moose tracks man."
"Really? I didn't see that coming," Porthos laughs, but Athos only shakes his head because the two idiots in front of them are only getting louder and this stupid trip to the grocery is taking far longer than it was meant to.
"Gentlemen."
Silence descends on the aisle, and three sets of eyes lock onto Athos. "You have precisely three minutes to get whatever you want for this party. Get your Cheetos, your frosted sugar cookies, whatever. In three minutes I will be checking out with or without you. Am I understood?"
Aramis and d'Artagnan take off before Athos finishes speaking. Porthos strolls with a casual calmness, whistling the Doctor Who theme as he saunters away. Instead of heading directly to the checkout, Athos detours to the bakery for as many toffee nut cookies as he can get his hands on. There a guilty pleasure, and not a one will enter the party. They are exclusively for Athos. Call them a well-earned treat after dealing with children masquerading as adults.
Porthos finds him first. His contribution is a cheese and meat platter with several boxes of crackers. These are deposited in the cart with a wink, a shrug, and a " 's not party without cheese and crackers." Athos acknowledges his brother's wisdom with a quirk of his lip and a soft laugh.
The final seconds of the three minutes are signaled by thundering footsteps charging toward where Athos and Porthos patiently wait in the general area of the registers. It's a wonder Aramis and d'Artagnan can see to run with arms burdened as they are. Their cart fills in two seconds flat which causes Porthos to look very concerned for his cheese and crackers.
"You two are putting all of this in the car," Porthos informs the ridiculous duo.
"My thoughts exactly," agrees Athos.
Athos pays. They exit the store. Aramis and d'Artagnan complain the entire time they're loading their groceries into the back of the car.
When Tréville walks into the conference room, he observes the sheer amount of food arranged over several tables and looks to Athos, an understanding smile in his eyes.
"I believe there was some mention of drinks afterward," Athos states, a hopeful note in his voice.
"Yes, I believe there was."