du_vallon | (no subject)

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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"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..."

Porthos laughs at both the joke and then the counting, giving Sawyer a smirk as he steps into it, throwing himself wholehearted into the dancing. He's not awful. He's fought enough to be able to pick up steps with some ease, and it's always fun to have a good time with a friend, even when you're not yourself.

"I can see why you like it," he says above the music. "It's fun!"

"Take it back to your husband to be. Pull him in close," Sawyer suggests, demonstrating as he reaches out and brings his hand down to the small of Porthos' back, spanning generously across with his long fingers. "Long as you've both got the rhythm, the rest is whatever you wanna make of it. Can't tell you how many times I've gotten lucky by being able to hold a beat."

He grins. "Not that you'd know it anymore with how often I get out of the apartment."

Porthos cranes his neck up curiously (already resolved to do this and so much more with Aramis at the first chance he gets). "What's so great about your apartment that's keeping you there? Because if it's Clem, I can see why," he jokes, but there's a thread of seriousness in it, his face softening to think of kids. "I already figure when we have our first, I won't see Aramis for a year for all the time he'll spend with the child."

"Definitely the girls. Clem's my kid by birth, but I've also got another little girl staying with me. She showed up here without either of her parents and was livin' at the group home, which... wasn't really the best place for her," Sawyers says, shaking his head slightly. "Ain't a terrible place or anything, but I like to think she's enjoyed livin' with a little sister 'round. And you know, I ain't one of those dads who loves dropping every moment for them, but it feels like the right thing to do. If I'm gonna be a dad, I might as well do it right, or not do it at all."

"That's what I want to do," Porthos admits, a fond and somewhat far-off look on his face as Sawyer talks. "Take in kids that don't have a good lot in life, try and make it better. Sort of making up for my own childhood," he says. "And I wouldn't know what being a good dad looks like, either way, so I bet you're good at it, just because you do care so much," he insists intently.