Chapter 11: Sea Sick
Athos: Porthos and Antoinette were up to one of there tricks but it backfired and landed them with migraines so you have the pleasure to hear from me today.
Fangirls: YAYAYAYAYAYAYAYAYYAYAYAYAY!
Athos: -clears throat- Ladies.
Fangirls: -silenced-
Athos: As I was saying-
Antoinette: Ugh, what did I do last night.
Porthos: -giggling incessantly- HAHA! You said "do".
Antoinette: You're drunk.
Porthos: -still laughing- And you need to get laid, my friend.
Athos: -clears throat-
Porthos and Antoinette: -silenced-
Athos: I think it would be obvious by now radiolover1029 does not own anything or anyone entitled to this section except for the also obvious own designs.
Porthos: You! Use too many words, Athos.
Athos: It's called intelligence. Spell it.
Porthos: Ha! I-T! Can't be fooled!
Antoinette: -goes back to bed- I've had enough brain damage for one night.
Athos: At ease, Captain Obvious.
Antoinette: Aye-aye Lt. Sarcasm.
Porthos: Sarcasm- definition: words designed to HURT, Antoinette!
Me: Oh, brother. On with the chapter! Quickly!
Calais
The quickest way from France to England was by Port Calais. On it's northern borders and the narrowest point in the English Channel, the town of Calais has been rich for inheriting English delights and trading for French staples such as tin and wool. Salty sea wretches swear upon the lives of their mothers on the clearest of days the White Cliffs of Dover could be seen from the edge of their trading docks.
Shipyards are painted in wooden glory. Hailing from all over the two countries were men of trade and most revered marksmen. It wasn't a pleasant place to soak in the Channel's waters on their own. In fact, a non-experienced Channel sailor would drown in his step even on the calmest tide.
The villages connected to the long windy road of the merchant's cobblestoned pavement. And then finally from the marketplaces drew the beginning of the sea bearing estates floating on crystal blue water. Smoke would rise from small encampments from lit cigars and the heavy air of tuna mixed with port wine.
Cargo holds stacked what seemed to be a mile high in hefty baggage to protect the precious insides. Ropes ran along as a safe line for those with the tad bit of hesitant sea waves syndrome. Oddly enough, amongst the sailors and bracing captains at wheel, were French soldiers on horseback, meandering through the shipyards for six wanted fugitives.
Jussac on his white, dumpy steed narrowed his eye at the horizon for any sign of the culprits. A weather eye to his left and right, brought the trio of guards inspecting papers and throwing them back quickly. The process was slow but surely would turn out effective.
The Captain puffed out his chest envisioning clapping iron clads around Athos and his band of ruffians. It would bring him shining pounds of money and dignity after their last foolhardy attempt. No matter! He would best them. One way or another.
Hard to believe they were right under his nose, he failed to spot two creeping shadows back to back.
Antoinette hid herself from view thanks to a cool alley. The hot day broiled her cheeks bright pink. Pulling back the slightly damps curls from her collar bone, she looked to and fro with her companion for any signs of detection.
Right by her ear, he casually whispered, "Happy now?" The hot steam rolled back to her neck. "You wanted to travel and by the fates they have cursed us to the sea," Her neck turned in closer to the shady, cold stone walls they backed up to.
She lazily rolled her head to him. "Yeah, as soon as we return I'm going to have a serious conversation in confession," A smirk she wore disappeared seeing Aramis' upsetting grin. Banter was his ability but something told Antoinette otherwise to joke about. She eyed his unsteady posture. She huffed to her side. "By all means, this doesn't make me one bit happy,"
Aramis observed her stiff figure lean into his arm. "We're out of Paris," He quirked an eyebrow. Was that not what she had asked for days ago?
Sarcastically, she said, "Keen eye," She didn't bother to fix a lonesome curl brushing her right shoulder. Her features softened. "Not with a purpose," Her eyes cast down and then refocused to the yards. Antoinette changed the topic. "We could get a better range upon the ship dockyards," Her point of range was engraved in Aramis' brain before they stealthed with the shadows. His feathered black hat covered the brim of his eyes and his cape covered his Antoinette's figure to the best he could in daytime.
His nose crinkled. The odd scent of unbaked tuna rolled his stomach. It was wonderous how sailors could attempt to eat uncooked fish and not deposit their stomach linings, staining the blue water. "And risk with the fish people?"
"That ledge will do," She climbed the small set of stairs where a small unkept balcony full of bird droppings decorated the walk area. Cargo holds were already stacked almost to the balcony itself. Giving them a 270 degrees view of the docks and the patrol guards they must get past.
Aramis relied on his eyes to report the damage. "Two guards at every post. One at plank. Two more with Jussac,"
She sighed. "With these odds, I'll fold. Where's the closest outpost with sails?" Perhaps somewhere else on the narrow end could better there chances without the idiot promoter prowling around.
Aramis asked, "Pirated or legal?"
As far as anyone else knew, the next port would be half a day's ride, not to mention the amount of time to convince a sailor to board the ship and reach the Tower with reasonable spare time. At least Athos knew a few people up North to procure a ready crew that sailed with them beforehand.
Antoinette stomped her irritation. "Might as well make haul from Spain," She nearly spat out.
Aramis, unsure what to do, gave a hesitant sigh. His hands moved to pull her closer, but resisted. Her mood would not likely improve on spot. Licking his lips, he said, "Are you not happy here? Well, here as in Paris?" His eyes disengaged with the obstacles for a hair of a second.
Antoinette chuckled inside. What could cause him to ask such a thing? Her smile resonated. "I'm always happy to be with you and our friends," And then she looked at his hopeful dark eyes and found the reason why she might have been unhappy to begin with. Her descending smile embarassed her. "However it doesn't change anything. We still live all together, with semi-decent honor that might change in four days and a trip across the Channel,"
Aramis did not look at her. Rather he looked to the sky and then to the ship they had chosen to watch for. He wasn't used to showing any emotion that was unnecessary. But for once, he didn't know which emotion to show or to hide. Lately, his befuddled mind thought upon a glimmer of hope, the next, he cast it aside as if... As if the thought scared him. Him! The brave and illusive Aramis, a Musketeer for St. Peter's sake! Confusing as it is, he dared to push the boundaries to think upon it once more.
"One day we'll go. As far away wherever God takes us. We'll sail the seas, explore the world,"
He thought of summer breezes. The lilies would be just in bloom and the sun begun to dazzle white speckles in grave settings. He imagined ribbons intertwined and a bottle of the finest mead in barrels as wide as a man's wingspan. He dallied upon rounds of applauses and grassy hills with a rousing chorus of French violins filling the atmosphere. That one warm breeze would surround him his entire life while the sun shone on. Even when the darkness came, it would be his night the sun came up. What more could he have wanted?
He knew. Boards of wood hauled by the sweat of a Frenchman's brow. Tooth and nail worked hard and long until it was complete. The encased construction would bellow a new generation. A couple of paired smaller feet rebounding the sound of wood to echo in the halls. Light filled it with warmth and surprise. A steady place of peace and eternal rejuvenation.
And then something shattered it. He had remembered. This wasn't the dream he had visioned for months on end. This was Calais. He wasn't surrounded by laughter and music. Rather, the smell of booze and fish and bit of pipe tobacco. The only comparision was the company he desired, was only half way there.
Antoinette broke his concentration, trying to recapture that dream just once more. "One day as in your elongated retirement?" she questioned with a frame of sadness.
Instead of a yes or no, he dared to pull her closer underneath his hat. Their eyes met, and one on the outside would have dreamt them as non-existent in the real world.
"One day soon. I promise you,"
He pulled away to walk off to their other companions. Antoinette, stunned, watched him move away slyly.
She clutched her curls to move them in the back. She murmured to herself, "That doesn't help whatsoever,"
The two returned to their companions, who remained on high alert off to the side.
"Jussac and a lot of help. There's no way past," Aramis reported, tucking Antoinette close to him when he had seen a guard eyed their general direction. Antoinette froze and instantly melted when the stupendous guard returned over to his original post.
Porthos waved a hand over his nearly bald head. He grumbled, "How the hell did he get here so fast?"
Antoinette fixed her sleeves drooping down. "I feel sorry for the five ponies he's injured," she said nonchalantly.
D'Artagnan kept close to Constance, whom was the only one in the group uneasy. Wouldn't mind her fears: escaping the castle, riding off in the dead of night with wanted vigiliants and now at their most difficult task yet. "Now what?"
Athos made a fist in his concentration. He had studied the changing of the men while Aramis and Antoinette looked for weak vantage points. "We need a distraction,"
Antoinette offered, "I'll go,"
Her lover retracted her submission. "I'll go," he said defiant to her wishes.
Porthos, out of the loop, thought what the hell. "I'll go,"
From nowhere a pip squeak voice called over the huddled group. "I could go," Planchet smiled. Athos, Porthos, Aramis, and D'Artagnan stared down at him weirdly. Antoinette and Constance shared a look and shrugged. Feeling the heat of their glares, Planchet stepped away. "Probably not,"
Constance huffed. This was getting them nowhere. Why she had signed up to join them was beyond her. Oh wait- she didn't. She was a lady in waiting, not a street fighter. Obviously her skills were nothing compared to Antoinette. It wouldn't do any of them good- even D'Artagnan- if they carried around dead weight.
"Wrong," she said. The group turned towards her surprised at her confidence wavering in her voice. "Wrong on all counts. You'll need every sword where you're going. I can't help you there, but I can help. Right here, right now,"
Besides her, D'Artagnan did not look happy. In fact he was almost petrified with fear. One day he was asked by a beautiful lady to help her and the QUeen and with a promising kiss; the next she offered her head on the guillotine.
"If they catch you..." D'Artagnan paused.
She shook her head. "They won't,"
For emphasis D'Artagnan repeated, "If they catch you-"
Antoinette noticed Constance was in no mood to back out what she had already drawn. A year ago, young Constance would have never dreamt to aid and abed wrongly accused criminals on a dangerous mission. The most danger she had occured in was when she had pricked her finger on a needle pulling thread through. Antoinette could not help but feel a small part of her feel pride. The same pride she had once experienced when she truly became independent from her father.
"I'm the Queen's lady-in-waiting. You, on the other hand, are a wanted fugitive, and about to steal from the most powerful man in England. Which one of us should be worried?" Concern etched on her brow. D'Artagnan's eyes glowed over at Constance; a woman readily sacrificing herself for the love of her new friends.
A tinge of a smile crept up Aramis' stoic face. He leaned down to Antoinette. "Remind you?" he whispered huskliy. She had felt the blushing red stain her cheeks as her eyes muddled over yester years.
D'Artagnan took his window of opportunity to kiss Constance once more. Antoinette had always wondered what they had looked like as a couple. She could finally see that love spark between the couple. On the outside looking in, she blushed once more feeling the moment was too private to look upon.
"Go. Go so that you can come back," Constance asked of him. His smile of reassurance sent waves of relief between the two of them.
"Were we ever that sappy?" she asked to herself. Aramis drew her in and kissed her forehead lovingly as his answer.
At the same time, a semi-annoyed/semi-snickering Athos and Porthos responded, "Yes,"
She crinkled her nose, "Touchy,"
Constance's smile turned into a smirk. She eyed D'Artagnan's hat. "Now give me that hat,"
The plan was put to action. Constance would hide her appearance in men's clothes, shielding away possible reference she would draw herself as a woman. Antoinette slipped her hair underneath D'Artagnan's concelaing hat. The collar of his jacket popped open to hide the feminine blush she applied yesterday. When the transformation was complete, D'Artagnan painstakingly watched from the thatch opening of an alley behind the cargo hold, his Constance ride in open daylight.
She rode on Buttercup, exposing the fact to the guards plainly. Jussac was snared from the start and confirmed his suspicions when the hooligan's dark eyes gazed at him before rearing the creature underneath.
"D'Artagnan!" he yelled for his subordinates. He whistled to the other men on horses to square him up before he rode past the gates. "Get after him!" his coarse voice commanded. Five or six guardsmen rode on after their prey.
D'Artagnan waited for the last lame soldier to disappear around the corner before kicking down the thatch disguise. From behind him, the men and lady followed quickly to the docks. Time was of the essence.
Dragging behind was a top heavy Planchet, carrying all the supplies in well organized bundles strapped to his person and suitcases. "Wait!" he cried heaving the luggage with him to the best of his fat legs could carry him.
The good captain allowed the entire bottom deck and board to the Musketeers. Rent wasn't as cheap as the other times they sailed on the vessel, but this time-sensitive issue could handle a few minor speedbumps. They sailed as soon as the tide allowed them.
The rocky waves known in the Channel were perilious but not too unfamiliar to the quartet. At the very least they had found reasonable transportation that would have normally taken hours to find theirselves sailors or pirates to take wanted men upon a fill-in-the-blanks mission.
However Porthos, cheerful and pleasant, found disdain in traveling seaside. Only for one particular reason...
"At the very least they could have spared three cabin rooms! Cheap bastards," he complained in the galleyway. Planchet wheezed on a bench regaining any blood left pumping through his back and legs. To his sides were Athos and D'Artagnan inspecting their belongings, and replacing the packages onto the tables to be sorted. Most concealed weaponry that need not be used until the morrow. But not Musketeer slept without a knife or half cocked barrel under his pillow.
D'Artagnan watched his fellow companion. "Why? For them?" He nodded to a queasy Antoinette clutching her stomach with Aramis rubbing her back affectionately.
Athos took a bite out of the unloaded bread. "Mostly for her," he gestured. "Antoinette has a... sensitive stomach when it comes to sea travel,"
A big wave crashed the boat into a series of rocking side to side until the bottom leveled out again. Antoinette clawed at her stomach; this time nearly keeling over to touch her knees to her head.
In random spasms, her back locked up and she needingly searched for comfort with both parts of her body out of it's normal statue. "Why's the floor moving? Make it stop!" Her head banged and clattered like Planchet moving through a porcelain shop.
Aramis drew her legs and her lower half closer to him on the bench against the wall. He rubbed her back kneading the knots out. He kissed her slightly damp hair.
"We're on a boat, love,"
Antoinette felt another bout of uneasiness surging from the bottom of the boat. "Oh, I don't feel well," Her skin blanched.
Soothingly, Aramis remained calm. "It's alright," That was until he worriedly called out for the only man to yell at. "Planchet!"
The ditzy man, half-asleep, scuttled down the hallway. "Yes! A bottle for the miss! Coming right up!" He hastened to the galleyway for some ailment for the sickly lady.
D'Artagnan knew he wasn't a homely person when it came to house work or any type of wife duty. Although he did know enough to keep his head on his shoulders and his tie on his pants drawn, he had no reconcilation with remedies for common sickness other than the few times he was ill in Gascony.
"Alcohol?" he questioned. Being drunk wouldn't help but make her retch her entire stomach's contents all over the deck. "Wouldn't that make it worse?" He subconsciously took three steps away from the heavy-lidded Antoinette whose hair was drawn back and with a bucket in her hands if she were to throw up. Aramis held her against him, not afraid of vomit or it's stench.
"No," Athos said handing the uncorked bottle from Planchet to Aramis. He coaxed the bucket out of her prying hands long enough to replace it.
Porthos laughed to himself. "On the contrary, it's the best side of her we've ever seen of her. Be lucky you weren't here the first time when we learned the hard way. Last night's mussels and oysters spewed all over the place," He and D'Artagnan inwardly cringed at the tale telling.
Antoinette sipped daintly at the bottle, testing her throat. She glared pitifully at Porthos over the rim. "If I were five inches taller and feet planted firmly on the ground, I would challenge you," Her stomach grumbled again. She took to the bottle again in a rush.
Porthos replied, "Whatever keeps the pot roast down. Drink up me hearty!"
"Stop forcing it down my throat, Aramis! I do need to breathe," she said not a minute later when D'Artagnan witnessed a nervous looking Aramis feed her the bottle as she forced the spit in her mouth down her throat haphazardly.
He rolled his eyes at her weary state and held the bottle back in her hands. "Hehe, sorry. Another glass?" he tempted her.
Not a second sooner she dropped the bottle back to his hands and spewed in the bucket of last night's pot roast much to everyone's distaste.
Antoinette had felt much better when she had thrown up the last bits of whatever gnawed at her stomach. Aramis had to force the alcohol down her throat for two reasons. One, to fizzle down her stomach from eating itself. And two, the smell of course. Not that he didn't mind. On occasion they would take turns taking care of one another. However it was less prefered when using the sea route in Aramis' case.
He almost didn't allow her to attend the the briefing meeting. Almost. She had her ways, and nearly all of them were promises for what she intending on doing as soon as she was setting foot on land again. How could he resist such a scandalous offer?
They now all stood in a private sector of the ship with Athos at it's center. rafter lights and lanterns lit the map of a model of the Tower. He gestured the routes as he explained them in detail.
"The diamonds will be in Buckingham's personal vault, located in the lowest, most secure level of the Tower, next to the crown jewels. The lock is state of the art. It requires a key that Buckingham carries on his person at all times. Corridor leading up to it is booby-trapped," The golden highlighted corridor was mapped out as a sort of danger code.
Three weapons at the corner rested at the curling corners. Antoinette tipped to the side one to gaze at a hidden docking tower a bit more. Planchet arrived in the room with a tray of well refined French baguettes and cheese to accompany the wine bottle. She cringed at the thought of the food. The bottle, though, she would gladly take.
"Oh, I'm glad that's straightforward. Tempt anyone with some bread and cheese, if you..." All looked at him in disbelief. He recognized that look more than anything. "You hadn't finished the briefing, actually. I'm so sorry. Please don't tell me off," he deadpanned.
Athos didn't bother to waste his breath. He continued on, "Then it gets worse, a lot worse. We have to cross three stone walls and a moat. And there's just a couple hundred high trained soldiers with a predilection for not being robbed. Although, since Buckingham undoubtedly knows we're coming, thanks to Milady, that number is likely to be greater,"
D'Artagnan studied the map curiously. His eyes widened in curiosity. "And why can't we just tell Buckingham Milady is plotting against him?"
He sighed reluctantly. It wasn't easy to see her again, let alone know she would be within the same vicinity as him. But he had to stow away all feelings in order to return the Queen's diamonds in their rightful place in Paris. "Because he wouldn't believe us. Why should he? We're his sworn enemies. Besides, Milady would have made sure," He rolled his eyes.
"How?"
Porthos blantantly suggested, "Don't think too hard, lad," He wiggled his eyebrows in effect. Antoinette giggled to herself at his plain lewdness this trip.
Athos snapped something on the board because their attention was brought back to him. He eyed them cautiously. "We can't outshoot them, but we can outsmart them. She knows us. What we look like, how we move, how we think. So, we divide the forces, independent teams, each with our own point of entry to maximize our chances. There's five of us. So we use-"
Planchet interrupted pointedly, "Well, there's six of us, actually, if you..."
In fear of Athos' rage for the second interruption from him, Aramis cleared his throat. Athos cracked a knuckle intimidatingly before pointing a finger at the moat. "As a skilled diver, I take the aquatic route, through the Traitor's Gate,"
"Aramis will undoubtedly rely on agility and stealth. Key in on every tower, every rooftop," Aramis took into depth every nook and cranny where guards were most likely stashed, what point of entry was safest or alternative to drop down, etc.
"Porthos will employ brute strength," Just as his method was crude and unorthodox, Porthos neither cared about studying maps or drawings. He needed only rely on his two hands and a menacing grin to the enemy before they were knocked out.
"Although underestimated, Antoinette will use her charm and wit to capture any guard's attentions only to strike them back," Antoinette thought back to the last mission in Venice. How easily it was to distract the Italian man from his daily doings in order to get what she wanted. This one, however, would prove to be a challenge though. English men weren't as gullible as the guppies in Venice. They were just as cunning and rash as their fellow Frenchmen. She smirked at her new task. It would prove to be fun but extremely difficult.
Aramis commented, "Routine,"
Athos nodded. "That's how it's done. And that's exactly what she'll expect. So we do the unexpected. We go in broad daylight. One man, hiding in plain sight. With all the extra security, there'll be a lot of new faces, that's their weakness,"
Antoinette's curl of a smile frowned. As much as she looked forward to reorganize her tactics, it clearly was not meant to be. Athos directed to D'Artagnan. The youth seemed overwhelmed by the next direction.
"And you, D'Artagnan, you're the wild card. We are the decoys. Now we'll try and create a distraction, keep them occupied, keep them aways from you as much as possible, but, ultimately, it's down to you. You wanted to be a Musketeer? You want to serve France? This is your chance," D'Artagnan heard his words but the message did not seem to sink in.
Antoinette gave the lecture spiel a try. Her hand gripped on the table. "Failure isn't an option," she said getting that straight across. D'Artagnan, taken back, eyed her strangely. "This isn't some match where you bruise an elbow or get a scratch and go home to try again the next day. Your life, from the moment we step on English soil, is in peril. The point of no return possibly,"
"Wow, nice pep talk?" he said sarcastically. The whole point of her monologue was to curtly put it to him life was a tightrope. It could dip down and create a kind of security blanket, allowing every possibility a chance to succeed at. Or if he wasn't careful the rope could slip from underneath and engulf him to his doom.
She wrapped up, "But... Play your strategies to beyond the best of your abilities, and we can succeed. We're counting on you," She smiled warmly at him. D'Artagnan's smirk or grin he usually wore no longer welcomed him. Sunk in as deep as the ocean bottom was understanding. It was etched on his face.
"Alright. I'm interested," he said trying to regain his smog features.
"Good," Athos approved. He clapped his hands together and drew aside some nautical instruments in his hands. "Let's talk costuming,"
Porthos cheered, "Jolly!"
Antoinette gratefully leaned in. "Fabulous, I've been dying to shop for some new things," Her eyes lit up like a child during Yuletide.
Athos' face registered a sly fox. His mouth swallowed down the words and the laughter he had shared with Porthos an hour before Aramis deemed her healthy enough to be out and about. "Actually, what you want and what you need are two different ideals," Porthos struggled to keep his chest booming with laughs.
Confused, she cocked her head. "I'm not following?"
Athos twitched the nautical instrument in his hand to bend out before reaching his other hand out for a piece of cheese from the platter to the side. Through a mouthful, he said, "Let's put it this way. Congratulations Mr. and Mrs. Smith for your expecting child!"
Porthos burst out, D'Artagnan and Plancet looked ready to become unsteady from shock, and poor Antoinette chocked on air. Aramis reached the table for stability, unlike tipsy half sober Antoinette who swayed time to time.
"WHAT?" she hollered.
Planchet was kind enough to leave the spare bottles of frothy drink to Porthos and a sea sick Antoinette before shuffling down the tipsy ship. In the galleyway, at a table for six, Antoinette and Porthos occupied each side of the bench. She waved a fan at her heating body from cold and hot flashes. Another side effect to sea travelling.
Porthos, on the other hand, sat with his legs on the bench and floor, elevating and securing his spot while the ship moved side to side.
"Ha ha!" He pointed a finger accusedly towards his ill mate. "You have to play as an old hag!" His coarse laughter sprang another bout of sickness from her esophagus.
Tired and waiting for the feelings to subside, she cried, "Shut it!" Her head pounded like a mallet. "He only said a local villager who just so happens to be due at any moment," Her fingers stopping fanning and started alternating between rubbing her forehead, clutch the stitches prodding her sides and exhausting heavy sighs.
Porthos took the fan with delight. He aired himself coolly. "Still! The hilarity of it all!" he recalled another laugh.
Antoinette, not in the mood for pins and needles underneath her skin, said, "Do you think I'm looking forward to being fat under my petticoats?" Her voice mixed with strange acidic tastes and sarcasm.
He shook his head no like a child. "Not the least bit," He paused for dramatic effect and a gulp of wine. She allowed her eyes to move circular. "Athos put him in a right state. Did you see his bewildered expression? Ha ha! Oh, the irony," He continued his next few swallows of wine and laughter bubble.
"I don't see the irony. Care to explain?" Antoinette's movement in her stomach stopped. Her eyes lowered to the drink and drank it greedily. Whatever it took to numb the pain, she would take it.
She did, however, manage to remember the look of point blank surprise on Aramis. Like a deer trapped in a hunter's cage. It was up to Antoinette to determine whether his reaction was one of a good thing or a bad thing.
After all, he did mention children not too long ago. But did he meant after marriage? After his career? Most likely he did not expect Athos to word his plan in that direction. That would have to be right, right? Otherwise, it would give off the impression Aramis neither wanted nor desired children... ever.
Of course she had felt that way once upon a time when she had to help act as a mid wife to one of her mother's carefully bred horses deliver a foal. The agony and pain shocked the little 14 year old Antoinette into a hysteria. Right to the point she avoided any contact with the local boys until her mother righted what she had believed hellish torture.
Now older, the mere thought of a child no longer scarred her. But the moment she imagined children of her and Aramis' own scared her. She did not want to end up like her parents. Miserable, uncontent, and above all deranged.
Could she end up with her father's temper? Not likely. Could Aramis turn his stealthy emotions into pure hatred?... She denied it continuously. Aramis would never hit or push her down the stairs like that wretched man. But... It's the ridiculous notion of fear of heights. No one can be afraid of heights... only falling off them. Just the same, Antoinette is not afraid of marriage and children; it's the after effects she dreads.
Porthos put her back to her muddled state of mind. "That the padre managed to do everything backwards in his life? Work for the Church, meeting you, meeting you, have a child, etc?" He said suggestively. "What's next? Popping the question?"
Antoinette blew her heightened fear off by laughing nervously. "Oh don't be so ridiculous. Aramis would pop open a bottle of bourbon before ever thinking of asking me in marriage," Her eyes didn't bother to widen. Mentally they were round as saucers, knowing that very well could have been a possibility for her if they weren't too careful...
Porthos wondered, "Why not? Haven't you already lived the married life? What's a slip of paper to any of you?" The beer guzzled down his throat. He twiddled his thumb over the neck of it fondly.
Antoinette shook her head feeling sick again. "Then it would be a total change. We would move out most likely, find a place of our own. Maybe live in my estate. Out of Paris," she mumbled lastly.
He eyed her strangely. He set aside the alcohol to study his drunken lady friend in her mellow seat. "So you're saying, get married, have all the crazy sex you want, and live lavishly out in the grounds? The only flaw I see is me not having a joshing buddy anymore!" he chortled.
"Besides, who said you would live out of Paris? You know you can't stand your father's lands while he's still weezing," He demonstrated her father's set of pipes humorously. "Until that day, wouldn't expect you to live too far away,"
Antoinette asked offended, "You mean to say you don't see Aramis and I travelling?"
He confirmed her suspicions with a nod of the bottle to his mouth. "To a Church, yes. Elsewhere? If it's a mission..." His steady hands gestured so and so. "Antoinette, picking up things and heading off would be much to difficult for Aramis. He needs focus. Work. Something to distract him. And I'm afraid your bosom and legs won't distract him long enough for a trip," His grip loosened on the table.
Antoinette rubbed her nose before covering her mouth with her hand. She drew miscellaneous shapes into the carved wood. "I understand it's hard for him but... He deserves it. Out of the both of us,"
He smiled. "And he's willing to give that up to be with you. Why change the scenery when the scenery is already perfect?"
His compliment eased her. She snuck back the fan from his hands. "You're right. Maybe we won't move far away," she pondered fanning herself. "I'd miss our drunken conversations too much," Her fan directed to the two of them.
He threw back his head and dangling earring in laughter. "I'll drink to that," he decided.
She clinged her tankard jovially with Porthos'. "Cheers,"
So I used Milady's speech and twisted it to match the story. Loved writing this chapter. Was so in the mood to write it for some reason :)
The peak of writing this: writing Athos' amusing dialogue.
The pit: Hmmm... Incorporating the historical references for Calais as well as it's descriptions. It's a shipyard. Not much to go on about it. :P I dread writing about the Tower. You would too if you had to figure out a cunning way for the Musketeers to get from their point in the movie to where they are mysteriously on the boat firing away at Buckingham.
Anywho, read on!