Your fucking muse (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
yourfuckingmuse) wrote2012-02-25 09:05 pm
yourfuckingmuse) wrote2012-02-25 09:05 pm
Entry tags:
06. The Stenographic Formation
Title: Eternal (That's The Prompt Not A Title, Mouette You Are Cheating)
Pairing/Characters: Athos & Buckingham
Canon: The Three Musketeers (2011) [AU]
Note: So I was trying to Write More Things (TM) and checked out a couple of prompt communities for inspiration, except somehow that one set of prompts only made me think of the inscription on Historicalham's tomb and things just went depressingly downhill from there.
Athos understanding of fashion - contemporary or otherwise - had always been very limited, but even he had known that, without a shadow of doubt, he had just laid his eyes upon the most hideous hat in all of France, England and indeed Europe, if not the entire world. Feathers and tassels askew, painfully gaudy jewels and colours that clashed louder than two ships at sea, struck by misfortune during a thunderstorm.
The only breathtaking feature was its prize, an insult that should incite the crowd to spit at the audacious merchant. Not so with Athos, whose lips had twitched into one of his all too rare smiles as he'd reached for his soon-to-be thoroughly depleted pouch and said his bittersweet goodbyes to the last of his coin.
The look on his face would be worth it, Athos had thought back then and remembered the duke's animate explanations as to why some guests had to be uninvited from his grand birthday celebration at once.
'I could spend England's fortune on her dress and still find her looking like a commoner in filthy rags. I don't expect you to understand, mon chéri, but it is hardly the what, but all the more the how you wear it that matters...'
Back then the musketeer hadn't given Buckingham's rant more than the bare minimum of attention it required, but when he’d seen the cart in the market he had simply known. Presents both endearing and infuriating were always the duke’s forte, but who was to say that Athos couldn't play the game as well?
And surely His Lordship would appreciate the challenge of showing Athos exactly how one was to wear this atrocious piece, although... the musketeer had hoped that the offence he would ultimately cause would not last the entire night. What had the duke’s words been again?
‘And when I return we shall have a more... private celebration.’
...What had his last words been again?
Standing in the dark and quiet hall Athos wasn’t sure he could recall. Perhaps a simple goodbye, delivered with a smirk and the promise of a glorious reunion. Another promise the musketeer shouldn’t have trusted...
In here few of the glorified marble statues bore much resemblance to the men they were supposed to portray. But his face, frozen smoothly in an unerring and eternal smile that may have seemed gentle to strangers yet looked entirely without innocence to those who had known him, came surprisingly close. Too close, given that it was all that was left...
Athos put the hat down a careful distance away from where the candles were lit. Then he turned around and took his leave, not willing himself to spare the tombstone another glance.
Pairing/Characters: Athos & Buckingham
Canon: The Three Musketeers (2011) [AU]
Note: So I was trying to Write More Things (TM) and checked out a couple of prompt communities for inspiration, except somehow that one set of prompts only made me think of the inscription on Historicalham's tomb and things just went depressingly downhill from there.
Athos understanding of fashion - contemporary or otherwise - had always been very limited, but even he had known that, without a shadow of doubt, he had just laid his eyes upon the most hideous hat in all of France, England and indeed Europe, if not the entire world. Feathers and tassels askew, painfully gaudy jewels and colours that clashed louder than two ships at sea, struck by misfortune during a thunderstorm.
The only breathtaking feature was its prize, an insult that should incite the crowd to spit at the audacious merchant. Not so with Athos, whose lips had twitched into one of his all too rare smiles as he'd reached for his soon-to-be thoroughly depleted pouch and said his bittersweet goodbyes to the last of his coin.
The look on his face would be worth it, Athos had thought back then and remembered the duke's animate explanations as to why some guests had to be uninvited from his grand birthday celebration at once.
'I could spend England's fortune on her dress and still find her looking like a commoner in filthy rags. I don't expect you to understand, mon chéri, but it is hardly the what, but all the more the how you wear it that matters...'
Back then the musketeer hadn't given Buckingham's rant more than the bare minimum of attention it required, but when he’d seen the cart in the market he had simply known. Presents both endearing and infuriating were always the duke’s forte, but who was to say that Athos couldn't play the game as well?
And surely His Lordship would appreciate the challenge of showing Athos exactly how one was to wear this atrocious piece, although... the musketeer had hoped that the offence he would ultimately cause would not last the entire night. What had the duke’s words been again?
‘And when I return we shall have a more... private celebration.’
...What had his last words been again?
Standing in the dark and quiet hall Athos wasn’t sure he could recall. Perhaps a simple goodbye, delivered with a smirk and the promise of a glorious reunion. Another promise the musketeer shouldn’t have trusted...
In here few of the glorified marble statues bore much resemblance to the men they were supposed to portray. But his face, frozen smoothly in an unerring and eternal smile that may have seemed gentle to strangers yet looked entirely without innocence to those who had known him, came surprisingly close. Too close, given that it was all that was left...
Athos put the hat down a careful distance away from where the candles were lit. Then he turned around and took his leave, not willing himself to spare the tombstone another glance.