du_vallon | (no subject)

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This is not even close to the bachelor party that Porthos had in mind when he'd started to plan for this -- or, rather, allowed Allison and Courfeyrac to do most of the planning while he and Aramis offered suggestions. The morning of, he'd woken up and taken one look down to find himself still in his female form. Two full days to the wedding and he's not back to normal. It's starting to get worrying.

At least there's the promise of a great deal of alcohol tonight, though. He goes about the usual business through the day. Heads to the gym, opens the business for a few hours, heads up to Kagura just to check on the reception, and when evening rolls around, he puts himself together in things all borrowed in order to feel a little closer to home. True, none of his own uniform fits, but the stolen pieces of others do.

It's why Porthos shows up to the bachelor party in a pair of comfortable shorts that he'd taken from Allison, Aramis' boots, with d'Artagnan's scarf worked in as a belt. He's got on a white tank top that he'd shrunk in the wash, comfortable under Athos' stolen doublet. And he's made sure not to leave Constance out by borrowing an earring for his piercing. He might not be himself, but he'll be damned if he's going to feel like that.

And now, he's happy to stand at the door of the club with a tray of shots (having already had one or two), gesturing for people to come inside and join. He's not entirely sure what a night like this is supposed to be like, but he figures alcohol and good friends never goes wrong.

So let the bachelor party begin.

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"Hmm," Sawyer hums to himself once he arrives at the bachelor party, carrying a fine bottle of scotch with him as an intended present for the happy couple. The only problem is, after he's lingered around the chaotic crowd for a few minutes, it's become evident to him that the half of the pair he actually knows isn't present. Which makes him regret coming, feeling as though he sticks out like a sore thumb.

That is, until his gaze lands on a woman wearing the same expressions, who carries her weight in a way seen less often among ladies. Sawyer frowns.

"Wait, you can't be serious," he mutters to himself, rubbing at his forehead in confusion.

Porthos sights his new friend and beams as soon as he sees Sawyer from across the room. "Hey, welcome!" he greets above the noise, hopping from off his perch in order to get to where Sawyer is, plucking up a pair of shots in order to offer one out. "Sorry to be a little out of sorts, but I'm not exactly myself right now," he deadpans.

"Well, jesus, this place can sure deliver a kick in the pants," Sawyer whistles, shaking his head as he gives his friend another once-over. If it weren't for the fact that he knows that this young woman is actually Porthos, Sawyer's pretty sure that he'd be laying the moves on her — no, him — right this instant.

And that's a thought he'd rather strike from his mind.

"How long's this been goin' on? It ain't like, a spell that you opted into, right?" Sawyer asks, clapping a hand fondly down on his friend's shoulder.

When Sawyer implies what he does, Porthos' face turns dangerous -- it's nowhere near as menacing as normal, but the scar is still over his eye and he can still pull off enough menace that it doesn't look as adorable as it could. "Trust me, I want out of this more than you know," he vows. "I'm meant to be married in thirty-six hours. I don't want to do it like this," he says with a rough gesture to what he looks like, now.

Even as much as he and Aramis are enjoying the private perks of this, he still wants to be wed as himself. "Come on," he coaxes. "Drink, so you can stop asking me stupid questions."

"Hey, don't call me out for bein' stupid — I'm pretty sure there's a whole damn movement around why the word 'tranny' is offensive that I still don't get," Sawyer confesses. It's one thing that's been painfully clear ever since he's arrived in Darrow, that he's in a far more liberal setting than he was before. It's not necessarily a thought that's constantly on his mind, but it tempers his words when he deals with other people, if only because he doesn't want to land Clementine in the position of paying for her father's choices.

With an amused snort, he reaches out to clap a hand down on Porthos' shoulder, still a little more gently than he might otherwise were Porthos in his usual form.

"You make a cute lady, though. Wouldn't have figured," admits Sawyer as he takes a swig of his drink. "Oh, and speakin' of drinks, I got you guys a better one to share when you ain't surrounded by dozens of people."

"Yeah, well, if I'd wanted it, I would've done it the slow way, earned it," he says with a grumble, trying to let the offense die down from where he felt somewhat rubbed the wrong way that maybe he'd done something like this on purpose. Even as much as he wants to give Aramis all the things he wants, it isn't this way.

"Cute, huh? It's lucky I'm adorable when I'm a bloke," he jokes, because he knows that while he can be dangerous, Aramis has often remarked on the powerfully pitiful nature of his pout and laugh. "But keep talkin' about the drinks, because I love when a friend says he's got something better."

"Well, it ain't somethin' that you should give out at an open bar, anyway, not unless you want it gone in less than a minute," Sawyer says, reaching behind himself for a bottle of Bunnahabhain. "Best damn scotch I've ever had, and yet I can't even pronounce the damn thing. All I know's that it's smooth on the tongue and looks damn good in a glass."

He grins. "You can let this be its own sort of foreplay."

Porthos peers at the label and squints, wondering what language that's supposed to be in. He snorts through his delight before he casts his gaze upwards. "I'm gonna have to get a lock and key," he warns, given that he really doesn't think he trusts Athos around a bottle of something so fine. "If it's as good as you're saying."

"What? Afraid the husband-to-be's gonna down a few too many and be drowsy through your first night together? Save it for after the fun stuff, then," Sawyer suggests, his nose wrinkling slightly, if only because he doesn't exactly savor the idea of imagining any pair he knows tossing around between the sheets. "Unless you're afraid of someone else at the party sniffin' out the good stuff."

Porthos laughs wryly as he studies the bottle, glancing up at Sawyer. "Not the husband-to-be," he clarifies, looking through the crowd to where Athos is, unsurprisingly, already in his cups of something. "The best friend," he says with a knowing nod. "He's got a bit of an appreciation for alcohol, I guess you could say, in a way that isn't exactly normal."

"Havin' been that man with an abnormal appreciation for alcohol before, all I can say is that I hope the drink puts a smile on his face more often than a frown," Sawyer says with a brief shake of his head. He remembers the days when alcohol felt like more of a necessity than not; knowing how easy the slide can be is what keeps him careful now, not wanting to negatively affect the girls at home. "But it shouldn't be too hard to keep him from drinkin' it all. Hide it in a pile of your things for the few days followin' the wedding. But save him a shot or two towards the end, keeps him from feeling left out."

That gets an even deeper laugh from Porthos, who might be a little tipsy, but that's still a hilarious notion even without a drink in him. He wipes away at a tear of amusement, settling himself down. "Athos? Smiling? Nah," he drawls. "Only if hell's freezing over," he notes, even though the man does smile a touch more lately.

"We'll keep it in the suite," he promises. "Aramis'll be over the moon. Thank you. I mean, I barely know you yet, and this is something more than I'd ever expect."

"The way I figure, anyone who makes my kid happy is worth thanking," Sawyer says earnestly, his expression relaxing a touch. He's not entirely sure how much he has in common with Porthos, but one nice thing about having spent so long stranded on an island with people who weren't a thing like him was how Sawyer learned that he can get along with just about anyone, given time and the right frame of mind.

Porthos is the most easygoing of the two of them, anyway. Or so Sawyer suspects.

"Just set a good example for Cleo, and we'll get along just fine. Even if I've gotta increase her hat budget."

Porthos smiles warmly to think of Clementine and how good a kid she is. Honestly, she really is, and he kind of hopes that when he and Aramis decide it's their turn, they get that lucky. "Maybe you can tell me when her birthday is," he suggests. "I could buy her a mini Musketeer one. I've had to replace Aramis' feathers twice already, I'm practically their best customer."

"Long as she isn't as bad as other kids in their terrible twos, I can't see anythin' wrong with that," Sawyer says, grinning at the very thought. Clementine makes it a hell of a lot easier for Sawyer to maintain friendships with folks, but most of all, Sawyer enjoys seeing how much affection she's able to earn just by being her. "Gotta train her not to pull everything apart, but her birthday's in September. September twenty-first. She was... actually born in the spring, but with the time shift she had in gettin' here, I figure her birthday should be in fall now."

"In that case, when it comes time for her birthday, I'll make sure to have something in her size, maybe with a bit of a feather," he jokes warmly, nudging Sawyer as Porthos studies the room around them. "Can I convince you to share another drink? Maybe have a dance?"

"You can convince me to share five more drinks, s'far as I'm concerned," Sawyer admits, and he's glad that he warned the babysitter in advance that he might be out for a good portion of the night, because it's nice to have the opportunity to simply hang around other people his age for once. "And as for dancin', you realize if it comes after those five drinks, I may forgot that you're you and start tryin' to flirt. If you're up for makin' your husband-to-be jealous, though..."

Sawyer tilts his head, grinning.

"And what if I like the man he becomes when he gets all persnickety and jealous, hmm?" Porthos jokes, because he's not entirely sure him, with his scars, makes for the prettiest woman by far, but he knows that he's hardly the worst either. Besides that, he knows Aramis loves him and would have to see Porthos' attentions scattered.

It's practically enough to beg him to do something about it. "A little jealousy never hurt a soul," Porthos says, lifting up two shots from a passing tray.

"Then... I'm sure we could manage something," Sawyer says, and even if he's not entirely sure he can turn his charm on all the way just yet, he also doesn't doubt that alcohol will at least help him play along. He's been known to charm a man or two in the past before, when the mood suits him, and especially if there's some ulterior motive on his end.

And securing more adult mentors for Clementine feels like a pretty noble goal, all things considered.

"Just tell me when he's looking, and we can indulge in a salsa or two. You know how to salsa? Or do I get the honor of teaching you that dance?"

"The only salsa I know is a food I make sometimes," Porthos replies, a completely lost look on his face. He's trying so hard to learn as much as he can, but the future doesn't make a lick of sense to Porthos half the time. He tips his head to the side curiously, wondering whether they're about to have food.

"The only thing the dance has in common with the food is that it can also be kinda spicy," Sawyer says, smirking as he takes a step back and holds his hands out for Porthos. "C'mon, I'll show you a little right now. Salsa starts out pretty easy; you figure out the basic steps, then you can make it take on whatever personality you want. Probably why it's so popular."

Porthos grasps hold of Sawyer's hands, beaming warmly even though he knows he's about to wander into a ridiculously ill-thought out decision given his lack of grace when ti comes to dancing. "Only dancing I know is what Aramis has taught me. So, bit of a waltz thing. I mean," he clarifies, "I know the sort where two people get their bodies together and just move to the rhythm, but I think everyone knows that sort."

"Well... this kinda dance may have the goal of that second dance you mentioned," Sawyer says, his eyes glittering wickedly at the thought. Certainly, whenever he feels like he gets the chance, he'd rather throw away the formalities and go with the flow of the moment. "But the thing about salsa is that you can get started without moving any part of your upper body. Take it in groups of four steps. Watch."

Sawyer makes sure to step back a little from where Porthos stands to give himself some space, then goes through the eight count of the basic salsa. "Step forward, two, three, four, step back, two, three, four."

Fixated on the steps, Porthos' brow is furrowed immensely, staring down and trying to figure this out. He's taught himself much more than this, so he figures that it shouldn't be that much of a problem to figure this out. He gnaws on her lower lip and figures that the best way of learning is doing, even if he's only got it about half down.

"Just don't shout too loud when I step on your toes, but I think I've got it," he says cheerfully.

"At least you're lighter now than you'd usually be," Sawyer points out, pursing his lips and hesitantly getting into place. Something about the remark makes him genuinely hesitant, convinced that Porthos wouldn't make light of his abilities unless there really is something that he's lacking in. Porthos doesn't really strike Sawyer as the self-abasing type, after all.

But then again, he's probably danced with worst.

"Let's have it, then. I'll count slow, alright? And five, six, seven, eight..."