"Where are you going?" D'Artagnan called to Porthos and Aramis and trailed after them as they left the garrison.
"Out." Porthos spat the word with such force he could have spat a nail through wood.
"Well I can see that," d'Artagnan muttered. "I'm not blind."
In an instant Aramis was no longer walking forward, but had spun to face the Gascon. D'Artagnan couldn't stop his feet fast enough, so he walked straight into Aramis' heaving chest.
"We're going to a rather rough part of Paris with the purpose of cracking a few skulls. If you have a problem with that, you may report us. If not, do what you will." Aramis faced away from the garrison once more rejoining Porthos in their predatory stalk through the darkened Parisian streets.
D'Artagnan waited a beat before following a pace behind the two Musketeers. He valued his life enough to recognize the fatal folly of getting in their way at the present moment. As he plodded along trying valiantly to keep up with them, he lost himself in his thoughts trying to reason why Aramis and Porthos would stride in a way that suggested they had murder on their mind.
All at once Aramis was grabbing a man by the collar and shoving against a wall.
"Have a little respect, sir. That's a woman not a heifer for you to inspect."
D'Artagnan spun about and found said woman seething and spitting in the general direction of the pig who'd disrespected her.
Having heard the deadly heat in Aramis' voice, a posse of men emerged from the tavern only two doors down from where Aramis had the man suspended off the ground.
"Company. I love company," Porthos sneered, a wolfish grin morphing his face while he turned to face the newcomers.
Had d'Artagnan blinked he would have missed the moment the tension hit its breaking point. Punches were thrown in a fury. Blood coated nearly every knuckle, and the air was filled with harsh breathing, the sound of flesh impacting flesh, and the resulting groans and grunts. Now this new cacophony also reached the men within the tavern, and in a matter of moments the street had become the site of a massive bar brawl. D'Artagnan, feeling more confused by such a pursuit of violence, chose to remain unengaged but made sure that none came near the woman whose offense had apparently triggered the whole affair.
Unsurprisingly a patrol of Red Guards stumbled upon the scene, and every brawler scattered into the surrounding alleys. Porthos took hold of d'Artagnan's sleeve and propelled him toward the rooftops. They ran parallel to the garrison's location as much as they could for a time before slipping silently to the streets.
D'Artagnan waited for his friends to regain some semblance of normal breathing and then asked, "What was that about?"
"We see a lotta shite on a daily basis that we can't do a damn thing about," Porthos began.
"At some point, if you don't let the tension out, you'll lose your mind," Aramis finished.
"So you started a fight because you had a rough day?"
"You'll understand in time," Aramis answered and swiped his kerchief across his face to erase the trickles of blood he could feel drying there. He tossed it then to Porthos treated his own face in kind before wiping at some of the blood on his hands.
They walked away as though nothing had happened, d'Artagnan wondered if perhaps they were seeking yet another brawl.