Aramis (romantichero) wrote in the100, @ 2016-03-15 00:15:00 |
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Entry tags: | !log/thread, aramis, porthos |
WHO: Aramis & Porthos
WHEN: Right after Little Shop auditions sometime?
WHERE: Mess Hall!
WHAT: Just a conversation and friendly banter.
WARNING: PG!
Porthos had been humming the odd tune for days without realizing it. He'd never thought of a life in theatre - it was hard enough keeping himself fed before he became a soldier. But the idea of playing a part for the entertainment of everyone here appealed to him now. There'd been a lot sad faces lately, and nothing he could do to help. That was a situation that generally made Porthos anxious and cranky. Throw in the thought that he could be left here with Aramis at any moment and Porthos could use all the distraction he could get. Auditions had felt good, surprisingly. At least he hadn't made an ass of himself. But after watching Aramis work his charm on Allison, Porthos unconsciously hummed a bit more often. It was probably better than sticking his nose in, since that had amounted to nothing. Carrying a plate of breakfast to the table Aramis had already claimed, Porthos stopped humming long enough to plop down into a seat. “I almost think I shoulda got into food service,” he mumbled, poking something on his plate with a frown. “But then I'd miss out on coloring’ with the kids.” And there’d be no one keeping an eye on you, he left unsaid. Though the affectionately annoyed look he gave Aramis probably said it for him. Aramis looked up at Porthos with the same expression he often used - pleased. Honestly, just being around Porthos generally improved his mood, and this place didn’t hurt things. Things were bleak outside to the rest of the world but really, they were left and people were surviving despite the odds. He liked it here. It had the quiet that he had longed for in the end, after the trial, and enough to keep both of them occupied. For the most part. At the very least, Porthos walking around humming was pleasant. Aramis was much more of a spectator than participant when it came to showing off - he preferred a subtle art - but spectating was something he did well as far as Porthos was concerned. “Come now, the food isn’t that bad.” He admonished, at the same time as he began digging in with his fork. “It’s not bread, cheese and wine for every meal, but it’s worlds above what we eat when hunting is scarce. And yes, you would miss out on all of those Mr. Porthos likenesses that we’re so fond of.” Porthos flashed a wider smile and took a hearty bite. He was fond of those Mr. Porthos likenesses, exceedingly so, but hearing Aramis say it made it a little better. Still, he wasn’t quite ready to be all sunshine and smiles this early, so he shrugged and pointed at Aramis with his fork. “You would miss me too. Can’t have you moping around the kids, now can we?” he smirked crookedly, leaning over to stab a piece of Aramis’ breakfast and taking the bite for himself. With the fork in his mouth, his eyes tracked the cafeteria. He was unconconsciously scanning for danger, even here at breakfast. You could take the Musketeer out of the Garrison but you couldn’t take the Garrison out of the Musketeer and all that. As nice as everyone had been, as well as they were settling in, Porthos kept waiting for the other shoe to drop. The auditions were a good distraction, but until anything actually came of them, Porthos still had too much energy to burn. “I live with you, Porthos. You sleep three feet away.” Aramis rolled his eyes at the dramatics, but he knew full well that he would miss Porthos. Even seeing him daily was a far cry from spending the entire day with him, which is something they were both accustomed to. It was difficult enough being separated from Athos and d’Artagnan for this long of a period, wrenching Porthos from his grasp would have been a nightmare. He took another bite, but as Porthos looked around, Aramis looked at him. He made a glance to see if there was anything in particular that Porthos had noted, but was back onto his friend’s face. He knew that look, the look that he himself had from time to time, having trouble adjusting to the surroundings and waiting for an attack. But there was no point in ignoring it. “What’s wrong?” Chuckling at Aramis’ petulant response, Porthos shot him a sideways glance before continue to eat with half his attention on the people around them and the cafeteria itself. The weirdness of everything modern had faded to the background the last few weeks, but even now, he felt himself get stuck staring at a wall unit near the door, something technological and foreign to him. Aramis’ question brought him snapping back to attention with a forkful of his breakfast halfway to his mouth. “Besides the fact that we’re here, in this strange place, with witches and angels and the bloody Devil, while the rest of our friends are at home dealing with war?” Porthos smiled a somber twist of his mouth. “Nothing’s wrong. I’m just out of sorts and faking it only goes so far.” Suddenly realizing he was sounding like a complainer and judging himself for it, Porthos exhaled loudly, a more genuine smile close behind. “You should’ve auditioned with me. You feelin’ alright?” Aramis conceded his head in amused defeat, nodding in agreement. So, yes, Porthos had a point about witches, angels and everything else odd that this world had to offer, but Aramis had yet to find any of that off-putting. The Devil, to be sure, was worrying, but he… liked people. Aramis, that was, not the Devil - who he’d avoided thus far for his own sanity, but it was easy enough for Aramis to stay busy away from all of that. “We’re all out of place so-” He didn’t shrug, but he was tempted. Mentions of the war were still enough to make him a tad bit twitchy, given there was a chance he knew that his stubborn brain would turn them down for fighting if he was on his path of self-discovery. But Aramis didn’t vocalize that worry. Instead, he flashed Porthos a charming smile. “Me? Audition? Oh no, I much prefer watching you make a fool of yourself.” “Oi!” Porthos laughed and stabbed another bite of Aramis’ breakfast, this time waggling it in Aramis’ face before eating it. “I was great! I had presence,” he grinned around a mouthful of food. “Okay, so maybe I’m not impressin’ any angels with my voice. Still.” Leaning back, Porthos stretched out his legs and didn’t track his gaze away again. Focusing on Aramis was better than feeling paranoid and out of place, even if they’d felt a little off as a pair since they got here. That was just one more reason to aim an affectionate smile at his best friend. “Bet you’d have done better.” Porthos lifted his glass of water in cheers. “Won over a few hearts while you were at it.” Aramis laughed, returning in kind by reaching over and snatching food from Porthos’ own plate. This was familiar, but back home they were more likely to do it to d’Artagnan in unity these days. Leaning back in his own chair, he matched Porthos’ gaze and wiggled his eyebrows. “You were brilliant, of course. Knocked them dead, except without actually managing to do that. I could see you playing one of the villains easily, my friend.” It was meant in jest, but Porthos had been foreboding as he usually was. People didn’t always get to see that grin of his that Aramis was so fond of. “But no, I don’t sing. Unless I’ve been drinking.” He waved a hand in the air. “Charming is one thing, but I’d rather do that behind the scenes.” “Yeah? You think so?” Porthos squared his shoulders and cocked one eyebrow wickedly at the villain comment. The mischief in his eyes took away from the “evil” but he could work on that. If he got a part, anyway. How odd their lives had become. Porthos sagged back to the table, propping his chin up in one hand and picking at his food. “Honestly, I’ll settle for something halfway distractin’.” Especially if Aramis was going to be hanging around behind the scenes, charming people. Which of course he would be. He’d have plenty of opportunities while getting up close and personal for fittings, even. Porthos bit back a sigh and smirked wide instead. “Suppose watchin’ you seamstress’ll do if I don’t end up with a part. Figured I could sign up to help build stuff anyway.” “You as a villain? Easily. You have that brutish look about you.” From anyone else and that would have been an insult to Porthos, but from Aramis? It was said with all the affection in the world. It was no secret to anyone near them that Aramis enjoyed that brutish figure immensely. His eyebrows shot up and Aramis barked out a laugh. He was looking forward to being behind the scenes, working with people and sewing something besides flesh. Teasing Porthos when he messed up a line or went too far. “You’ll just enjoy watching me sew on something that isn’t you. Is it going to give you flashbacks to all those times I was putting you better together?” Smirking, Porthos flicked a tiny chunk of meat - dragon, probably, but who even knew at this point - across the table at Aramis. He didn't take the brutish comment as anything but good. Literally anyone else and he wouldn't have leveled a blink-and-you-missed-it heated stare in reply, but he didn't need Aramis recognizing what that affectionate tone did to him. Hence the catapulted food and not a word about it. Pushing his plate away, Porthos sat up and shook his head about the flashbacks. “Doubt it. I'm usually drunk, knocked out, or angrier than a bear when you're puttin’ me back together.” And often a little distracted by Aramis leaning over him with that concentrated furrow between his eyebrows, but Porthos left that part unsaid. “I definitely prefer watchin’ you work on somethin’ else, though. I'm sure you do too.” Aramis laughed again, but wrinkled his nose at having food flicked at him. “That was a waste of perfectly good food,” he pointed out, sarcastic tone just hanging there between them. It made him miss the point of affection, though his own was still there and blatantly on his face, as he stared across at his friend. “Oh, trust me. I remember those times you’re ‘angrier than a bear’,” Aramis pointed to a non-existent scar on his cheek, from a time early on in their friendship where Porthos had accidentally clipped him and opened a wound. Thankfully, it hadn’t been very deep, but Aramis still took delight in teasing his friend over it. Even when he knew it made him feel terrible. “But yes, I much prefer sewing people back together that aren’t infinitely stronger than me and those I care about.” Or prone to giving him hold-down fantasies. Porthos definitely didn’t need a reminder about hurting Aramis, but the years had taken the edge off that particular guilt, at least. Mostly that meant Porthos frowned childishly and aimed apologetic eyes across the table. “You should remember the times I’ve been knocked out, seein’ as they’re just as common and you helped get me that way.” Waggling his eyebrows, Porthos let his puppet-like frown roll up into an impish smile. “I do like that part about me bein’ infinitely stronger, though. I’m gonna remind you that you said that later.” After a pause, Porthos pointed at Aramis and smirked a little more off-kilter. “Probably when you’re makin’ eyes at someone you shouldn’t.” Aramis sent a guilty smile back to Porthos, but ended it with a ‘couldn’t be helped’ shrug. Sometimes it was just more fun to get that kind of frown out of Porthos, and this was one of those times. Especially if it helped keep his mind off of the weirdness of this particular place, since it was obvious Aramis was settling in a little easier. “Athos is usually at fault for that, his fists are nearly as dangerous as yours.” It was Aramis’ turn to pout, and he did, even as he finished his food and pushed the tray to the side. He didn’t take the comment seriously, he reserved that for certain people. But in this case, he knew it was teasing, and it was more fun to make Porthos feel bad. He stuck his chin out defiantly. “All the more reason to keep my affairs away from your prying eyes, I suppose.” That one probably shouldn’t have stung quite the way it did, in that personal way he seemed to be taking everything these days, but Porthos was hardly surprised. Mention of Athos didn’t help. His smirk only faltered a little, though, then rallied into a warm smile. “Hey, I’m just thinkin’ how sad you get when you don’t last through Lent, that’s all.” Climbing to his feet, Porthos clapped a hand on Aramis’ shoulder and nodded towards the mess hall exit. “But if you’ve taken offense, we could go work on those fists of yours. Two birds, one stone, and all that,” he grinned. Aramis pushed himself to his feet, which put him in close, direct contact with Porthos. It was nothing that made him uncomfortable, being the touchy-feely person he was, and he clamped a hand on Porthos shoulder to mimic his friend, while pressed up against him. “Porthos, my dear, you may be onto something. Because after that lack of faith, I’m strangely feeling the urge to punch you.” He directed his hand to the open doorway. “Lead the way.” Porthos watched Aramis stand, a taunting lift of his eyebrows the only immediate response to his nearness. Inside, of course, Porthos was already winding up tight and ready to spring into action. Standing this close to Aramis, well, the action he wanted to spring into wasn’t an option, but a fight would probably turn into wrestling of some sort and that would start the day off just right too. Hooking his arm around Aramis’ neck, Porthos tugged him towards the doors and dumped their plates off for cleaning as he went. “Oh, I’ll lead the way, alright. You just focus on that urge, Aramis. Don’t want you gettin’ distracted.” |