Bet you can't guess what movie soundtrack I listened to while writing this one!
"Come, Charles. Let's just find Captain de Treville and explain what happened." Felice begged, sitting on a small cart under a tree in Cooper's Yard. She'd had more than enough of men today! She was dreading their dueling interviews to come.
"They insulted me. The record needs setting straight." D'Artagnan answered casually, eating an apple.
"I can understand that with the lazy drunkard, and the lavish giant. They acted like you were a pickpocket. But that ticket scribbler? Could we not have just paid the fine?"
"In case you haven't noticed, we appear to be quite short of money." D'Artagnan gave her a pointed look.
"What if they're...like...you know, that blasted brute who tried to kill us?"
"They won't be." D'Artagnan said firmly. "That drunk was so buzzed he could hardly stand up straight. The old man in the fancy jacket's much too wide for a brawl. And that officer? He was so gussied up he doesn't look like he's ever held a sword a day in his life."
"They might kill you. Kill us both."
"We're Gascons. Since when do you run from a fight, Felice? That's not like you at all. Normally, you'd be cheering me on." D'Artagnan commented.
Since those jackals attacked me and tried to force themselves on me, all because you couldn't keep your stupid mouth shut! Felice desperately wanted to say. But how was D'Artagnan to know that Rochefort was going to shoot him before they even got started? "I believe once again you're biting off more than you can chew, that's all." Felice swallowed, afraid to tell D'Artagnan her true feelings.
"Never stopped me before. Hey, stop worrying. I'll handle this."
"Like you handled this morning?" Felice asked curtly. D'Artagnan gave her a long look. Her face grew red from speaking so harshly, but her eyes were full of hurt. D'Artagnan felt a wave of guilt. How had he not seen it? She was still discouraged from their encounter with Rochefort and his band jerks. And seriously, could he blame her? He'd been ready to defend his horse's feelings but in the passed twenty minutes hadn't given thoughts to his sister's, whose great insult had been so much worse.
She has every right to blame me. "I'm sorry." D'Artagnan said meekly. "That won't happen again, Felice. I swear it!"
"I wish I could believe you."
"Believe me." D'Artagnan bowed, kissing her hand. He winced painfully as he straightened up. His stomach still throbbed from Rochefort's boot.
"Tall, cheap, and sulky, twelve o'clock." Felice whispered to him. D'Artagnan turned and saw the former drunkard walk calmly into the square. He'd cleaned himself up and was wearing a matching black cape and large feathered hat. If not for their first view of him earlier, they would've guessed him to be a gentleman of nobility.
"Don't worry. Ahh. There you are. Shall we get to it?" D'Artagnan suggested.
"So, are you ready to meet your Maker?" Athos asked in the same monotone he'd used before.
"Oh, hardly. I have other appointments." D'Artagnan grinned.
"You're going to miss them, I'm afraid."
"Well, I'll do my best to be on time."
"My seconds." Athos actually chuckled, removing his hat and cape. Felice remained in her spot, and said nothing, hoping they would not notice her. But to her chagrin, the other two grumps from the town arrived, right on time. She gulped and kept her hand over her sword hilt...just in case.
"You!" Aramis scowled.
"Ah ha. I was beginning to think you weren't going to show up." D'Artagnan teased.
"You are fighting this rascal?" Porthos huffed.
"My appointments. One o'clock." D'Artagnan pointed his sword in Porthos's direction, then Aramis's. "Two o'clock."
"And you are a party to this, Mademoiselle?" Porthos asked, his fists on his hips.
"Oh, trust me, gentlemen. This featherbrained foolishness was not my idea!" Felice answered, a little more defensively than she'd planned. "As a matter of fact, I did my bloody best to talk him out of it. But, well...you can see for yourselves." D'Artagnan gave a smug bow.
"How long have you been in Paris?" Athos inquired curiously.
"Just arrived this morning." D'Artagnan answered.
"Not the welcome we were expecting." Felice mumbled, looking away.
"You have been busy." Athos commented.
"Patience is not one of my virtues." D'Artagnan shrugged innocently.
"You can say that again." Felice rolled her eyes.
"Neither are good manners." Porthos grumbled.
"Wait for your turn, old man."
"What would you like me to put on your headstone? Little sh-?" Porthos growled.
"How about brick head?" Felice interjected.
"D'Artagnan." Her brother said proudly.
"D'Artagnan?" Athos repeated, a glimmer of something that otherwise could've been called fondness shone in his eyes.
"Oh, and uh, my baby sister, Mademoiselle Felice D'Artagnan." D'Artagnan smiled.
"Miss." Aramis tipped his wide hat.
"Gentlemen." Felice said aloofly, then to her brother, "I am not a baby, you buffoon."
"Athos." Athos introduced himself. "This is Porthos and Aramis."
D'Artagnan and Felice glanced at each other, wide-eyed. "The three musketeers." He spoke in awe.
"You three?! The musketeers of old? The ones that Father told us so much about? Unbelievable!" Felice gawked.
"I've heard of you, from my father. A musketeer himself. In fact, I came to Paris to be one of you." D'Artagnan explained.
"Good luck with that, Charles." Felice shook her head.
"Oui. I can talk myself out of any situation." D'Artagnan boasted.
"Well, I for one, agree with the young lady. I'm afraid you're a little late." Aramis said icily.
"What happened?"
"Bad mission. Budget cuts. Cardinal, progress, take your pick." Athos said in a defeated tone. Porthos and Aramis hung their heads glumly.
"In other words, you were sacked!" Felice remarked cockily, feeling emboldened now that she understood their identities. It slightly put her at ease, a little.
"Sacked is putting it rather harshly." Porthos guffawed in protest. "Sidelined might be more fitting."
"A drunk, a stooge, and a magistrate." Felice snickered. "Quite a combination. Sounds like a poorly thrown together recipe."
"Mmm." D'Artagnan agreed.
"Well, welcome to Paris. Pity we'll have to kill you, lad." Aramis sighed.
Not so fast, Monsieur Ticket Scribbler! Felice thought angrily. I've already had one man threaten my brother today, and with too near success! That was more than enough! Porthos laughed while Aramis creased his eyebrows.
"Whelp, if I can't become a musketeer, I might as well fight one or three." D'Artagnan grinned.
"This oughtta be good." Felice crossed her arms, sounding bored.
"Kill him already. It's lunch time and I'm starving." Porthos mocked. Athos shrugged casually and crossed blades with D'Artagnan who looked all too eager to begin.
"Oh, be careful, Charles." Felice whispered.
"On guard." Athos said.
"Halt!"
The small party's attention was startled by a commanding voice. They all glowered when they saw bands of red and black uniforms lining the cobblestone streets. "Ugh, Jusaac." Athos groaned.
Felice instantly rose to her feet and drew her sword, clenching the hilt with trembling hands. They'd come! They'd come back for her and Charles! She sidled next to D'Artagnan.
"Well, well, well. How the mighty have fallen. Dueling at the fines of the edicts?" Jusaac taunted.
"We got tired of rolling peddlers for spare change." Athos said.
"Now, surrender your weapons and come along with us. Unless of course, you would rather resist." Jusaac smirked. Scads of more uniformed men lined the balconies of the structures around, and even more filled in the blank lines on the street. They were surrounded!
"Change of plans. Kill the boy, kick their arses, and then get lunch. I could do with some exercise." Porthos suggested. D'Artagnan grinned nonchalantly.
"Undone!" Felice corrected the bald giant. "I say we unite as fellows in arms, and give these wolves a taste of their own medicine!"
Porthos laughed heartily. "Or merely a free for all, huh? That'll be the day, little lady. You two rascals intend to take on the entire Cardinal's guard yourselves, is that it?" Aramis had noticed that Felice had suddenly grown pale and was holding her sword as if it were her own lifeline.
"You were saying?" Jusaac interjected smugly.
"On the other hand, discretion is the better part of valor." Porthos sighed in resignation.
"You're the musketeers!" D'Artagnan pointed out, stunned that these three heroes were going to just stand around in misery, feeling sorry for themselves.
"Wrong. We were the musketeers. Now we're just...us." Athos answered dejectedly.
The gates on the other side of the yard opened, and a new group of uniformed, and well armed soldiers ran in. Behind them, mounted on a brown steed was none other than the horrid man with the black cape and the eye patch!
"Rochefort." Athos said lowly.
Felice gasped loudly, D'Artagnan protectively pushing her behind himself. It was him! D'Artagnan squared his shoulders. Rochefort looked right at the two of them! Felice glared defiantly at him, but couldn't help trembling at the sight of him. He wore that same look, the one that made her feel completely naked in this public place, even though she was fully clothed. D'Artagnan equally narrowed his blue eyes at the cowardly villain. He shifted on his heel, as if speaking to his sister.
"Stay close to me." D'Artagnan whispered to Felice. Then, without warning, he attacked!
The musketeers stood there, watching in awe and worry as D'Artagnan whirled through the barrage of soldiers coming at him, managing to slay or injure each one of them. He was like a little tornado with that sword, never staying in one place more than five seconds. He hopped onto a rope and not only slashed at the enemies, but kicked a few of them and bumped into a workman's construction site which tumbled to the ground, on top of a few soldiers. Porthos laughed at the irony of it all: one fiery country boy knocking the tar out of these lethally trained Cardinal's guards!
Aramis, however, noticed a different scenario. Felice was fighting efficiently, yes, but the soldiers unlike the ones cut off guard by D'Artagnan, liked to corner her and some of them even fought dirty, to the point of pulling her back by the hair and slinging her to the ground. She stabbed them for that before they could give her more, but they weren't fighting fair. Felice rolled along the ground, kicking at their shins, stabbing their hips, and tripping them. One of them grabbed her arm and she bit him with all her might.
The boy not only was holding his own, but appeared to be enjoying himself. Aramis threw off his hat and cloak, drawing his sword. The young lady, though capable should not have to fight by herself, not without a gentleman to defend her honor. And unlike her stubborn brother, she looked more like she was fighting these men for pure survival, not sport.
"Shall we?" He suggested. Porthos and Athos also drew their swords. D'Artagnan and Felice were cornered back to back.
"This looks bad." Felice swallowed.
"Wait for it." D'Artagnan added. Then they felt other bodies behind them, and found themselves back to back with...the musketeers! They'd come to help after all!
"Let's even the odds." Athos said. All at once, the five fighters clanged their swords against their enemies. Porthos wasn't even using his sword, but rather his own fists and whatever item he could lay his hands on: water buckets, walking sticks, farming hoes, and pitch forks, razor straps, rolling pins. Aramis parried and cut with two swords. The soldiers who gave up fighting Porthos-the ones he hadn't clobbered into the street, that is-formed circles around Aramis, believing the smaller church man would be easier to take down. That was a mistake.
As for Athos? Well, Athos, the oldest of the musketeers in this place, was a one man army. And he didn't use tricks either to get the wanted result. He simply flowed through the path of adversaries with smooth footwork and easily cut them down, not to mention even headbutted some. Not one was left who had a moment before challenged Athos! The crowds cheered and yelled and applauded.
A young lass in a copper gown, with sky blue eyes and golden tresses of air was watching from the sidelines, carrying a basket of flowers. She observed the chaos curiously. D'Artagnan found himself fighting Jusaac closely in her view. He caught sight of her and kicked Jusaac in the chest. "Enjoying the show?" He asked the girl, as if he wasn't fighting for his life at all.
"Watch out!" She warned him as Jusaac got back to his feet.
"YOU!" He growled, charging at D'Artagnan who simply stepped back and let the guy run headfirst into a wall.
"You didn't answer my question."
"Are you always this cocky?"
"Only on Tuesdays. And when beautiful women are involved!"
"D-, you!" Jusaac howled, returning to finish the boy off. D'Artagnan parried, kicked him, and elbowed him across the head.
"Hey! Can't you see we're trying to have a conversation?" He complained.
Unbelievable! "What the heck? Charles, keep those puppy eyes of yours on your enemy, and give me a hand!" Felice scolded him from across the courtyard.
One of Rochefort's men calmly walked toward Felice as she downed another soldier. Then she looked up and saw what was coming toward her. She nearly froze, meeting his eyes. She recognized him from the Meung village! He'd been one of them, one of the dirt-bags who'd held her down and clawed at her bodice to remove her clothes!
He grinned, remembering her. She white-knuckle gripped her sword and bladed her stance, but backed away. He came closer. He slowly lowered his sword, intent on playing an entirely different game. Gritting her teeth, she charged at him and swung her sword with all her might towards his neck. Being a trained soldier, he was faster and dodged away in time, snickering. She came at him again. He stood there, acting nonchalant. This was her chance! She was going to make him pay. Anger and pure fear from what he'd done before spieled through her veins. She lunged and swiped toward his chest but instead he caught her by the arm, the one holding her sword.
"Unhand me, you filthy cad!" She shouted, squirming.
"Strong talk from a little Gascon slut." He leered. She elbowed him in the chest but that only made him laugh. She leaned forward and bit down into his arm with all her strength. He only angrily yanked her closer to himself. She kicked his calf and suddenly, the guard flinched, his eyes wide with shock, a pitiful yelp escaping his throat. His grip slackened as he slumped down at her feet. Standing behind where the guard had been, was the tall, dark musketeer with the golden cross around his neck who had ticketed them for Buttercup's biological urge.
Felice stared up at him, realizing what he'd just done for her. "Th-thanks." She said shakily.
"Shall we get back to it then, miss?" Aramis suggested. She agreed, and scowling down once more at the fallen guard's corpse, adrenaline pulsing her entire being, she raced to help her brother.
Not like he actually needed it. D'Artagnan was merely toying with Jusaac now, ever trying to appear the fearless warrior in front of the lovely girl standing at attention. "Back for more?" D'Artagnan asked Jusaac, tossing him his dropped sword. Jusaac stared at him, weighing his choice. The boy had kicked his rear at every turn. Besides, it wouldn't be chivalrous to slay the kid before a lady. He spat and marched off in disgust.
The fight was over! Red and black cloaked figures lay everywhere. The remaining soldiers fled for their lives. Porthos had pelted them with ordinary household items, his enormous knuckles, and even his head. They'd ran in terror when he'd even touched his sword. The crowd was loudly cheering and shouting, "Musketeers! Musketeers!"
"I've forgotten the feeling." Athos murmured solemnly.
"We all have." Aramis agreed softly. Porthos was twittering his mustache and proudly waving to the crowd, relishing in the entire moment of praises.
Felice stood hunched over, panting profusely. Maybe her brother had been having fun, but not her. She'd been doing everything in her power to make sure those cads didn't get the chance to touch her again! Now that it was over, and the adrenaline of survival mode was wearing off, she felt incredibly weary.
"You alright, miss? You appear quite faint." Aramis said, helping her stand up properly.
"Is it really over? Is he gone?" Felice asked.
"Aye. Rochefort is gone. We've won." Aramis assured her.
"Thank God." Felice panted.
"What is your name?" D'Artagnan asked his female audience flirtatiously. She looked startled.
"I'm afraid I must go!" She replied quickly, and gathering her skirts and petticoats, she ran.
"Hey! But wait, I didn't get your name! When will I see you again?"
Porthos clapped him on the shoulder. "She's right, lad. The ladies of Paris are infinitely more complicated. A thousand ways of saying no and only some of them mean yes." He said.
"Thank you for the assistance." Felice sighed.
"No problem, lass." Aramis bowed. "Just doing my civic duty. You are not much hurt, I hope?"
"No, sir."
"You know, I was doing alright back there." D'Artagnan shrugged, complaining as they gathered together. Felice jabbed him in the ribs with her elbow. "Well, the more the merrier I suppose. You alright?" He asked his sister lowly.
"I'm still standing." She said heavily.
"In case anyone would care to know, I waylaid at least fifteen of them." Porthos boasted.
"You are right. We do not care to know." Athos rolled his eyes glumly.
"I'd like to see anyone beat that." Porthos continued, ignoring Athos's disgruntled attitude.
"Twenty-six." D'Artagnan smirked proudly. Porthos glared.
"You exaggerate, boy."
"Not at all. I counted. I keep score of all my fights."
"Twenty-six to fifteen?" Aramis laughed. "Porthos, my friend, I believe you are slipping. Back in the day, you could…"
"I'll have you know, dear Aramis, that my hand has not lost its muscle memory in forty years!" Porthos bellowed. "Someone just stole my plunder is all." He narrowed his eyes at D'Artagnan who shrugged with an angelic smile.
"Oh for-enough bantering." Felice scolded. "I for one, have had one skirmish too many today, and do not wish to remain out here come nightfall."
"The girl's right. Let's go." Athos said.
"You're reckless, arrogant, impetuous, you'll probably be dead by nightfall, but I like you, lad." Porthos smiled.
"Lovely. Then he should fit right in with the rest of you." Felice said smugly.
"Ahh. A little Gascon spunk?" Porthos smiled. "I like it."
"Might as well get used to it." D'Artagnan teased.
"Oh, speak for yourself, hot head." Felice retorted.
"So, what now? Do we pick up where we left off?"
"No, I think there's been enough fighting for one day." Athos answered.
"Besides, any man who is an enemy of Rochefort is a friend of mine." Porthos added.
"Who exactly is Rochefort?" D'Artagnan asked as he and Felice both walked on either side of Buttercup.
"Captain of the Cardinal's guard, a right hand of the most powerful man in France. Rochefort is the most feared swordsman in Europe. You certainly know how to pick your fights!" Aramis chuckled incredulously.
"He insulted my horse. He stole my letter of recommendation to Monsieur de Treville! And he tried to hurt my sister." D'Artagnan answered. The men's faces sobered at that. She stiffened, her pale cheeks flushing.
Thank you, Charles, for announcing my shame to all of Paris! She thought, tears welling up at the back of her eyes and her blinking not to show it.
"Apologies, Miss. We were not aware." Aramis said softly. She bit her lip but kept walking, looking straight ahead.
"Rochefort's a bad egg, no denying that." Porthos remarked. "Where are you staying?"
"We have no idea." Felice responded.
"I for one, would like to meet Monsieur de Treville and see if he will not take me into his brigade." D'Artagnan announced.