Chapter 12: Deploy
-Pink Panther theme comes on-
Antoinette: -in disguise along with me-
Me: -whispers- Why are we dressed like this?
Antoinette: Because... I stole Athos' favorite wine bottle.
Me: Eep! -lowers voice- I mean eep!
Antoinette: We can sneak away if we go quietly-
Athos: -whispers: Not too quiet, apparently.
Antoinette and Me: EEEEPP!
Athos: Wine. Now.
-hands back-
Antoinette: Foiled again!
Cardinal: Hey that's my line!
Me: Go back to France! You're not suppose to be in England right now!
Cardinal: The powers of God can work in mysterious ways, young one.
Me: O.o Okay yeah, Antoinette continue.
Antoinette: -grumbles- Radiolover1029 does not own the Three Musketeers nor the Pink Panther theme song. Just like I do not own Athos' favorite bottle of wine.
Athos: Yep. That reserves to me. Carry on in your reading!
Inside the calamity, there was a French merchant's ship nestled in the peaks of the tempermental English waters. Using trade winds and Arabic originated devices to constellate the stars and their seasonal positions, the crew doused the lights when the first beams of rays lit the water. Men sloshed out of their carbuncle to attend the deck, secure the lines, and cover the mast' holes from pesky birds.
A luxurious captain turned in for a short nap in his cabin, timing in his second in command for control of the steer. He draped the longcoat he wore for these colder times over a carved chair untucked from the desk. The stiffness from his back and eyebrows loosened at last. Leg by leg his boots scattered at his bedside. The natural curl of his back unwound onto the floppy mattress.
Finding comfort, he drew the tricorn master hat over his eyes just as the glass windows shone the light into the cabin.
Light poured half of the estate. But he neither cared nor bothered to buy curtains. No worries when his hat did the job well and with half of the price. Instead of the salty air blowing through his nostrils, the waft of extinquished flame from the desk wavered over.
Similiarly, a porthole opened up half of the light. Sprays of ocean foam played with the air lock seal, teasing the occupants whether it was dawn or dusk. No matter.
Aramis' internal clock told him the correct time without a fleeting glance at the tricky waters. The first sight he saw were the floorboards above him. Not the cement holdings framed with wooden posts adorned in their cozy room. His sharp eyes reminded him through natural signatures of sight and smell, he was aboard the merchant's ship they procured on salt waters that belonged to England.
Then he glanced at a bodily shape he had pulled near him. It was as comfortable as a down pillow but firm with backbone. He wasn't disappointed to see Antoinette curling up near him with hair pieces astray. Sweat on her brow accumulated. Her skin had paled drastically, indictating the long night of emptying the contents of her stomach due to the unpleasant rocking of the ship.
Nevertheless, the few hours at peace her body allowed her could not escape the morning glory on the English shoals. Slowly she adjusted her crusty eyes at the swinging of the cabin. The natural movement of the ship hugged her backside, easing the difficulties of finding a comfortable position.
Antoinette rose her upper half only to slip on her unsteady elbows and fall back on the bed. The groans of her muscles ached. Cracks on her vertebraes indicated her stiff back and connecting shoulders. Aramis braced her forearms and pulled her up against the wallside boards that melted to the bedposts.
She surveyed a hand through her scalp, already cringing at the bedhead she wore. "Oh, my head," She wet her lips at the soreness in the back of her throat. "I must be still on the drink. You've never risen before me," Her eyes meandered to Aramis, who had risen as gracefully as an alleycat, and not the wobbly fish-out-of-water Antoinette.
Aramis' mustache twitched in amusement. He kissed her forehead. "First time for everything. We docked hours ago. Thought the extra rest would do you some good," He put on his boots. "Breakfast?" he hesitated. He treated Antoinette on ship very delicately. As if she were a rare blooming orchid in winter. One wrong breeze and surely the petals would wilt. The same analogy applied to her stomach too.
Antoinette nodded grimly as she caressed her legs to her chest. Her toes curled into the sheets for some stable platform. "Least my appetite is returning... Say, I don't recall coming to bed?" Her eyes widened in wonder as she looked for clues of bottle or mysterious board that magically transported her from to and fro.
"Porthos was knocked out. Athos and I carried you in," Aramis tucked in a bit of his shirt.
Antoinette curled a piece of hair childishly. "Poor Porthos," she murmured.
Aramis laced the ties around his shirt before helping his lovely lady to her feet. Her body leaned against him momentarily, making the few movements to stand up on sleepy feet. "He's seen worse than the grime of a ship," he said.
Even when she came to, Aramis did not let go of Antoinette fearing she would only stumble herself unconscious. Her pale, shaky hands clung onto one of his wrists as he helped her walk to a scrawny chair next to an uneven table.
Aramis left her sitting on the chair searching for things in a trunk. His hands passed over delicate laces and rich velvets he had become familiar with.
Before Antoinette could blush in embarassment as he scrambled into her belongings for something to wear, a curt rattle on the door woke her.
Aramis rushed to the door only to find a cheerful Planchet. Who eventually blushed upon seeing Antoinette in her night clothes that barely seemed decent for wearing. One glare from Aramis and the sound of clenched knuckles brought the rotund man back into his place.
"'Scuse me, miss, master," He avoided the stares from Aramis. "I've procured upon Master Athos' instructions, the necessary instruments for today's assignment," He held a carefully wrapped package with a bit of string attached to keep it's contents intact.
Suddenly the events from last night finally returned to Antoinette. Her stomach roared in uneasiness as she could only guess what was in the package.
Screams of horror would have been kindly to Aramis. But Antoinette was not one to act like a lady most of the time.
"I'm not coming out! Not now, not ever!"
Aramis awaited outside their shared room for her privacy and his sanity. His arm leaned against the door with his head only inches away. With the other hand around his hip, he said, "Antoinette, love, can't be that bad. Open the door," Never to plead, he stood his ground as irritating as it was. He begrudgingly reminded himself if it were possible, never to board a sea dwelling ship again with her.
Antoinette stomped her foot impatiently from the other side of the door. "No! I feel absolutely, bloody bulbous! I'm as round as a pumpkin!" she complained.
On the norm, Aramis would demand entrance. She hasn't stopped him before. And why should either one of them? They have lived together in harmony for six years; sharing intimate and personal connections they hadn't before.
Aramis could almost hear her hesitation. The tilting between whether to unveil whatever has been holding her back or to shame aside in the corner like a dog with it's downed tail.
He whispered against the frame, knowing she would listen. "Netta...Please? Open the door," he called gently. The creaking of the wood beneath his feet shifted ever so slightly. The navigation of her feet on the other side wasn't so hard to tell. Gradually her two feet were detected just on the other side of the door, waiting.
"... Promise you won't laugh?"
"On my heart," he swore.
If it weren't for his hand on the door frame, he would have caught himself on the floor rather than leaning. Antoinette awakwardly stood in the center of the room, her hands twitching at the hip. From a forward glance an ordinary person from far out range wood see a woman in an English peasant garb with odd angles stitched. A curious wanderer would gawk at the fattening surrounding her oval lower stomach. Aramis... all he could see instead of the positionings where the harness was strapped securingly around her waist, was her radiant figure stepping into prenatal perfection.
Though the outfit was too simple for her tastes, his eyes meandered over her body. She waited with bated breath over his judgement. The similiar glaze in his eyes brought him out of the room, out of this ship, and far across the Channel back to Paris.
His visioning of a cottage on the nicer corners of the map with smoke billowing out haunted him. He was confronted with hazy blurs of persons dancing around his mind. Of a woman leaning over a small rocking bed. Of the same woman caressing a baby.
And then the dream ended.
"Well? How bad is it?" Antoinette asked.
Aramis, befuddled to why his dream had suddenly ended, murmured to himself, "No..."
Antoinette cocked her head. "No?"
Caught, he recovered, "No, you j-just look... radiant?" Every adjective felt wrong on his tongue. There couldn't be a word to describe his feelings in that moment. He was puzzled yet happy. Confused and contented. Sorrowed and relieved.
Puzzled. Why now did they come? Six years ago... hell, even one year ago he would never waste a farthing on the subject. Happy. The mood in his visions seemed to unstopper the feelings he had only reserved for a select few to see.
Confused. In that brief ionic moment, he had mixed up fantasy with his reality. His love, his reason for living day to day, held a beaker to the foggy depths of his muddled mind. But then when he crossed that light, vaguely traceable line between what's real and what's not, he forgot his place. Content. Utterly strange, yet he wouldn't have minded to envision the both of them away from duty and praticalities in the countryside perhaps; in a small sector away in Paris that was undiscovered.
Sorrowed. And then to only realize the dream he had wished was only due to a small memory of Antoinette wearing a fake pregancy for the mission, left little recollection of that happiness. Relief washed over for him, but only in pity. There was still a job to be done, and unfortunate for the both of them, it could very well be one of their last ones together.
Antoinette endured the hints of Aramis' set of emotions she had identified only years ago. Yes, she did identify them well. That didn't mean she had to think a little bit more of why he had done so. She forced her mind to ease at the task at hand.
"Thought I had to be glowing," Her smile broke at the chunks of doubt in her frown line.
Absentmindedly, Aramis stalked forth and brushed his hand across her curls. Her face wasn't powdered with the makeup she was used to wearing. Her face was clean and showcasing her natural feminine features. He slowly bent forward his lips on to her. She recieved him gladly as the hand wrapped around the nape of her neck and the other twined around her belly to her back.
He whispered across their easy breaths, "You are,"
Forgetting he had left the door wide open, Athos walked past the door and gazed in at their steamy kiss and a very round Antoinette. His brow furrowed before he lifted one of the brows open in curiosity.
Antoinette blushed and tried to hide herself away from Athos staring. Aramis did not try to conceal her as she wanted to. He dared Athos to crack a joke or say a thing about her obvious condition. It was then he remembered the plan.
"Oh, right," His face recognized, and then returned to his stoic nature before proceeding down the hall way.
Aramis rolled his eyes at his blantant expression before closing the door so he could appreciate the brief time he had with her. And before she would have to tear down the fake stuffing, ending Aramis' well spent time in the land of forgotten dreams.
How ironic Antoinette and Aramis procured a pumpkin cart was beyond her imagination. By the time they had made well into the fortress, the staring had decreased at herself and it came to a second nature to rub her obtuse belly. For acting purposes, of course.
She remembered the few stares from knowing mothers who looked back at the toddlers playing near the fruit stands before reaching the gates. Antoinette constantly reminded herself she was playing an English woman. The English took care of the English. If she were to be dressed as the French woman she grew up to be, there would have been a lot more stares and some added obscene gestures.
"Don't worry there, love! You'll be good as new by afternoon tea." Aramis' heavily thickened vowels coarsened. If she had a hat, she would tip it off to Aramis at his bravada. His fake Cockney accent only made the ploy better.
"Can't you drive any faster, you blighter?" But it was Antoinette that would swim in the pool of their success. This was one of the rare occasions she could act like she was fighting with him and yet win because of her fake 'deliverance' to word play.
She sat uncomfortably on the open carriage of the cart and made that well known to any passing bystanders. She huffed and puffed and mainly protected her sheening face and bulging stomach from the afternoon heat.
Aramis nodded off to the horse to carry on, looking for the positioning points Athos had discussed to the grave of their assignments. "Well, do you want to ride around on top of a bloomin' pumpkin cart? Not the easiest thing to carry, aye?" He laughed to himself while carefully slapping the back of her.
Antoinette narrowed her eyes. "Are you insulting me? At my neediest time!" Her herald turned a few heads.
Aramis' eyes widened as he fumbled with the reigns. To a 'T' he managed to perform without fault. His shaky hands would only cause the scene to a crescendo. "No, no- Luv, if you only-"
A thunderous crash the whinnying of horses echoed the walls of the fort. Porthos, decked into a docker man's outfit of choice stood in mad defiance at the couple on top of their cart. The horses backed out of their corraled crash but only to trap theirselves on their master's will.
"Oy! You! What the devil do you think you are doing?" Aramis yelled at Porthos' blunder. Antoinette breathed heavily from the impact and clutched her non-aching stomach.
"I thought you saw the signal!" Porthos re-did the waving signal indicating the impending doom they would tangle theirselves into.
A fake contraction unnerved passing people's ears. "AHHHH!" Antoinette screamed on cue. The two men, distracted with each other, kept glaring daggers.
Aramis mockingly waved his arms around like Porthos. "I saw you waving like an idiot!"
"Well, that was the bloody signal!"
Antoinette drew her hands into fists and waved one at Porthos. "Stow it! The both of you! AHHHH!" She grabbed her back.
Aramis bellowed, "Couldn't you have been more cautious? I have a baby on board!"
Menacingly, Porthos laughed in the hilarity. "Frankly, the only creature I see is breathing like a dragon on the mead!"
"How dare you insult my wife!"
"MY WATER JUST BROKE!"
Aramis slapped a hand to his forehead and groaned. "Look what you done now! You've dumbed her down into labor!"
Porthos stomped his foot over a broken piece of his cargo. He had half a mind to continue the act with the throwing of things but thought otherwise. "My bad, perhaps the little devil inside will show you not to knock up your lass!"
Aramis stood up and yelled down at him, "I'm trying to see things from your point of view, but, unfortunately, I can't get my head that far up my ass!"
"Up your ass? I'll tell you what-"
"Yes!"
Antoinette rolled her eyes as she attracted the bystanders with her ear piercing screams. She could only imagine the pain but it also felt a little rushed and too convienent for the both of them to run into each other while she was about to give birth. She dialed down her screams and managed to draw a line of sweat on her forehead from the afternoon sun.
"If you had been paying any attention you would have noticed your wife besides you delivering your evil spawn, you half wit!" Porthos spat.
Having enough of the conundrum, one of the on duty sergeants with a troupe of footmen marched over to seal away any of the obnoxious intruders.
"That's enough of that!" he sounded off.
Aramis shut his trap but still glowered at Porthos. Meanwhile, their companion sat uncomfortably huffing and puffing with a fan busily wafting air towards her.
Porthos scoffed at Aramis before praising the soldier. "Finally, good, at last, a peace officer! Now listen, Sergeant, I would like you to arrest this man!"
Aramis scowled, "Arrest me? You can't arrest me!"
"Don't you tell me that! I've lost my prized bantam!"
"Bantams? They are rotten!"
"They are not rotten! The only rotten thing in sight is the stench of your eau de cologne! Smells like the bloody Thames on sewage day!" Porthos almost let slip with his noticable French accent. He downed his natural voice with rough cords of an English fisherman.
"Harriagan!" he swore. "You would know since you bathe in it, you rowdy rat!"
The sergeant had a short tolerance for these things and it was easily told by his twitching mustache. "OY!" he yelled for their attention span. "I will not have infernal filth blockage the fort! If you two can't behave, I'm afraid I will have all of your arrested for obstruction of the peace!" he threatened lowly. Firearms were cocked but not intentionally aimed at.
Antoinette threw one of the baby (how the irony) pumpkins over his head like a bleeding fury. Her nails seemed to turn into pale claws and wisps of air moved violently in the wind. "CAN'T YOU SEE I'M GIVING BIRTH, DAMN IT!"
Aramis groaned in emotional pain at the frightened men. "Now you've done it!"
So... I feel terrible that this has been on hold this long. Hopefully this chapter is alright, I did kinda rush it towards the end, but yeah... It seems like now the only days I can update are Saturdays and the slim chances of Sundays due to the insane amount of work and chores piled up each day. :P Someone's gotta do it!
peak of writing this chapter: You get an insight of Aramis' mind towards their future together.
pit: trying to think of insults Aramis and Porthos can say to each other that's comical...
Read, review, and enjoy! - radiolover1029