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In the time that d'Artagnan has been in Darrow with them, Porthos had too quickly seen that even though he's been making a home for himself and even though he has Aramis, it's something else all-together to have d'Artagnan and another familiar face from home. While the men from the 1800's speak the language, they're too far removed from their time and don't really understand Paris in 1630. D'Artagnan does, and Porthos has been going overboard trying to accommodate him (as has Aramis). One of those simple things has been making sure that d'Artagnan is always around for dinners.

He's going a bit extra tonight, given that they'd been on their own the past few (because Porthos does still want a few nights to themselves) and has just pulled the pasta off the stove, sucking garlic and white wine from his fingers from the braised seafood, peering into the main room for where the others are.

"Either of you want a glass of wine?" he calls out. "I'll give you one if you feed little Athos," he continues, having never really been above bribery. "Dinner's on in about ten minutes, I just need to make sure the roast is done."

Yeah, he's gone a little all out, but now that he has an extra mouth to feed, he feels like he can keep practicing and it's not only him and Aramis that need to choke down the leftovers.

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"You'll give me one anyway," Aramis calls back, smiling at D'Artagnan from his loose sprawl on the chaise. It is remarkably comforting to have the boy around, all the moreso when for months, Aramis has suspected they might never see another brother again, and Aramis has always had a particular fondness for D'Artagnan. He suspects they all do - he might have been an unlooked for addition, but he fit into their lives as if he'd always been there, an extra hand and new fount of trouble, and Aramis has been ridiculously cheerful since they first hosted D'Artagnan beneath their roof.

"He will," he tells D'Artagnan. "Hostly duties and all that. Don't let him trick you into catering to the whims of that cranky beast."

In his window spot - a perch bolted beneath the sill and covered in soft cloth, certainly not by Aramis' hand, certainly not - Athos turns onto his back and regards them with flat eyes.

It's a funny thing, d'Artagnan thinks, how something can at once feel so familiar and so different. This is a far cry from most of the time they spent together at the garrison or on any of their jobs; it at least seems like none of their lives had truly had a quiet moment for a long time. Not, for him, since before he came to Paris. At the same time, it feels like what he's come to think of as home, or as close to it as they can get in this place. Athos' absence is practically palpable, and there's still more he doesn't understand about Darrow than that he does, this makes sense in a way that little else here does or could. And while he'd like to insist that he'd be fine on his own, that they don't need to look out for him, it's hard to turn down a home-cooked meal. Porthos really has gotten quite skilled in the kitchen.

"If he's anything like his namesake, I think the cat would want a glass of wine as well," he points out with a crooked smile, glancing in the cat's direction. It's a rather uncanny resemblance, he thinks, and the fact that he's sure Athos himself wouldn't find it amusing makes it that much funnier. To Porthos, he calls, "I can wait until dinner."

Porthos does hate to be predictable, but he's soon in the common room with wine in two glasses apiece, though he makes a point of handing one to d'Artagnan first so that he can give Aramis a smirk before giving his. "He's right," he admits. "Besides, I've already had two, so you should work at catching up or dinner's bound to be uneven." He drifts over to where the cat is perched, settling a bowl of the food inside the bed while giving his ears a firm stroke while picking him up to curl into his elbow, enjoying the way little Athos purrs and mewls into it.

Every day that d'Artagnan is here, Porthos tends to ask the same question and today's no different. "Did you find anything new today?" he asks, with an eager note in his words, always happy to learn more about this city they're in.

Aramis smiles and does not say that for one so recently arrived, nearly everything will be new to D'Artagnan. Instead, he watches Porthos with the cat, covering a rush of fondness with a roll of his eyes for the way he coddles the thing.

"You have stayed away from Semele's?" he asks, turning his attention to D'Artagnan. They've yet to mention Darrow's darker residents, Aramis unwilling to over burden the boy when there is already so much to take in, but he is eager to keep him away from supernatural creatures as long as he can. Just thinking on it makes the scar on his throat itch, and he curls his fingers around the arm of his chair to prevent scratching it. "And the cemetery and the Asylum, I trust?"

"Oh, well, in that case," d'Artagnan says, taking a sip from his glass once Porthos has handed it to him. "We wouldn't want you to have too much of a head start." At least drinking is one regard in which catching up won't be any trouble at all. The same can't be said of any of the rest of this. Porthos and Aramis' help has been invaluable, but as the question he's been posed suggests, there's still a great deal to take in, and he's as curious to see it as he is frustrated by the fact of that being the case. He has to keep reminding himself that they've had almost half a year, a far more substantial amount of time than what he's spent in Darrow. It makes sense that they'd know so much more about it than he does.

Casting a brief glance in the direction of the cat, who may share Athos' name and a very similar expression but seems to have very different mannerisms, he shakes his head a moment later. "Nothing too noteworthy yet today," he says. "And no, I haven't been near any of those places — I'm not sure I've even heard of Semele's." Another sip of wine, and his brow furrows. "What's wrong with it?"

Porthos drags his thumb down Athos' fur before settling him back in his perch to let him eat, shooting Aramis a dangerously cross look. "There's some places here as bad as the Court of Miracles in Paris," is all he says on the topic, seeing as he doesn't want to have to go into an explanation of the horrible creatures out there because it leads to something he's still hesitant to talk about. "That's all."

"Come on, dinner's ready by now, get your lazy arses to the table," he says, trying to switch the topic.

Aramis absorbs that look with an easy smile, standing to offer D'Artagnan a hand up. "It is an honourless place," he says, the best explanation he can offer at the present time. "We have had more opportunity than you to sniff them out. But come."

He looks into the kitchen, resisting the urge to remove a few of his belts to make room for the glut to come. "Porthos has outdone himself. Sit and tell us if you have had any ideas on how to occupy yourself in this strange, new world."

Even, perhaps especially, put like that, their warnings do little more than make d'Artagnan curious as to what it is that makes these two feel like they need to steer him away from there. It's something he files away for later, though. He certainly isn't about to go running off to find out now when there's dinner to be eaten and their company to have. Looking into it can wait until a later time, since he has more of it on his hands than he quite knows what to do with these days.

"I only wish that would leave anything for me to tell," he says, accepting Aramis' hand to get to his feet, and then heading in the direction of the table. "I don't know how you two have done it."

Porthos sets the food on the table, barely glancing up as if he's a bit shamed and doesn't want to match d'Artagnan's gaze for fear he'll be caught out, even though he knows that he and Aramis have decided to tell d'Artagnan, at some point. "You find ways," he says, occupying himself with fetching the roast, taking a long sip of the waiting wine to bolster him before he brings the remaining dinner to the table, still getting accustomed to eating with three instead of two. "I spent the first two months in the library learning about modern things and improving my English," he says. "And then I had other things to occupy my mind and time," he says blithely, catching Aramis' eye with a knowing smirk.

He settles into his seat, spreading his napkin over his trousers, sighing as he stares down at them. "I should introduce you to modern clothing," he says. "Puts the quality stuff less at risk of getting dirty."

Spying that look of curiosity on D'Artagnan's face, Aramis wishes - far from the first time - that Athos were here. He is far better at corralling the boy's energy, and certainly better than Aramis at giving orders to be obeyed. Aramis can hardly lecture anyone on reckless behavior, after all, when it is so often he himself running headlong into danger.

"It took me ages to warm to it," says Aramis, returning that smirk before he turns to D'Artagnan. "Even now I prefer my leathers, but if one wants to blend in, they have passable options. Difficult to hide a weapon in, however," he muses. "And when it comes to modernity, I would still be living in a hot room lit with candles had I arrived alone. Porthos is the one who brought me into the future," he says with a fond smile. "He took to it like a fish to water."

"At least one of us did," d'Artagnan says with a small smile. For that to even be the case is fairly confusing, but he thinks he prefers it to the alternative. After all, it isn't as if there's anything to be done about their predicament, if what he's been told is true, and the fact that Porthos and Aramis have been here for months seems to speak to the fact that it is. Better to have one of them taking well to it than all of them being equally lost, and either having to rely on strangers or getting nowhere at all. Many of the people he's encountered have been helpful, but it simply isn't the same. "I suppose dressing like the locals would be a good start." Even if the clothes people wear are as strange as anything else about this place. "And you know if the two of you need help with anything, it isn't as if I have much keeping me busy."

Porthos is flushed in the cheeks at all the praise, rising to fetch the last of the meal (salt, pepper, and cheese) before he returns, pressing his hand to the place between Aramis' shoulderblade (hidden to d'Artagnan, but grounding for Porthos) as he leans his hip against the table. "I was just saying we could use someone to fetch us coffee in the morning," he says, utterly serious even if his eyes sparkle with the tease of it all.

"Most of what we've been doing lately has been security and guarding," he admits. "Have to pay for the clothes and the house improvements somehow."

Edited 2014-09-13 18:23 (UTC)

"And the food and wine," Aramis adds. "And the cat's little comforts. And the modern weapons," he adds with relish. "Mam'selle Argent is going to introduce me to all manner of new pistols. They take no time to wad at all."

Aramis beams over the table at d'Artagnan. "As much as there is here to shock and dismay us, there are ten new wonders on the heels of every hardship. The modern world offers us much we could not have had back home." His smile gentles, then, a touch of nerves behind it, but one would have to know Aramis as well as Porthos does to see it.

"I know it is not Paris, my young friend, nor the life you might have chosen for yourself. But it is not at all terrible, and I hope you will not judge us if we have thrown ourselves into it wholesale."

Edited 2014-09-14 03:04 (UTC)

"I don't think I can hold it against you," d'Artagnan says with a resigned sort of smile. He might not be able to understand it, but then, the amount of time he's had here is nothing compared to the months Porthos and Aramis have lived in Darrow. Perhaps once he's been here for a little longer, it will be easier for him to throw himself into it as well. Difficult to imagine, so far, but it shouldn't be impossible. If the two of them could do it, after all, then there's no reason why he shouldn't be able to, as well, no matter how much trouble he may still be having with it for now. "You might have to find someone else to fetch your coffee, but should you need help with any of the rest of it, know that you have it."

Porthos catches the look in Aramis' eye and leans forward, hand shifting to Aramis' wrist to cover it, squeezing possessively and light so the bruises will be touched as he keeps close in his physical space, pouring the wine to top up his glass as an excuse to be so near, as if chancing fate because d'Artagnan has said he won't hold it against them. Trouble is, he doesn't know everything yet and Porthos hates lying.

He slants his gaze to the side, giving Aramis a curious look, wordlessly asking if they should tell him with that opening. "Even if wholesale includes something that's beyond your understanding of Paris as it was, back then?"

Edited 2014-09-15 17:04 (UTC)

"A subject that encompasses a great many things, to be sure," adds Aramis with another spike of nerves at Porthos' look, but of course it must come out sometime. Were it only Aramis, he would probably have had out with it by now, but this is Porthos, too, and Aramis will not be reckless with him. He is not yet certain that time is here and now, but they may at least test the waters.

"Many of the prejudices once faced in Paris are gone," he says. "Porthos, for example, receives no condemnation for his birth or his dark skin. He is free to live any life he chooses, and any who stand in his way for reasons of his parentage would be the ones condemned. I must say that I find modern sensibilities much improved."

He drinks from the glass Porthos has just refilled. "The freedoms of society are seemingly endless. Did you know that here, lovers often cohabit without being man and wife? Or that even two women or two men may marry under the law?"

The way they look at each other, the way the conversation shifts, d'Artagnan can't help but get the sense that this is meant to be leading somewhere specific, or at least that there's a reason for it. This all seems too pointed, too deliberate, for an idle conversation, no matter the setting, and though he hasn't a clue what this might be heading towards, or what the purpose is, it would be too difficult not to be just a little suspicious of their motives. The two of them have been immensely helpful when it comes to helping him find his footing here, but this to be something more than that. He just has to find out what.

"I was aware of the first, but not the second," he says, frowning slightly, before reaching for his glass again to take a sip from it. There's been no reason for it to be brought to his attention, though, so that isn't a surprise. It's as strange a thought as anything else here, nothing that would ever have been so accepted back in their own world and time, he's sure of it. "I would never have imagined such a thing. Though that isn't saying much when that's true of all of this."

Porthos tops off d'Artagnan's wine and then his own, wondering if the alcohol will give him the courage to take what Aramis has offered as a beginning and follow it to its natural end. He bows his head low as Aramis speaks about his skin and parentage, stomach twisting a little to think of how this place also serves its reminders of such a thing. His tongue feels swollen with nerves and wariness, but he should press on as he serves the seafood pasta and cuts the roast.

"We attended a wedding the other day," he notes with an air of casual that he doesn't feel. "A man marrying his woman of sixteen years, two kids out of wedlock and a third on the way. Before here, I never would have thought that possible, just like I never would have thought of finding myself in a situation of being with someone without having to worry about the angry looks of Parisians or the fire of a stake." There. He's said it and his skin only prickles slightly with sweat. He swallows back the awareness that he's given no details, but details are secondary to giving d'Artagnan the knowledge that Porthos is taking advantage of the future in a way that serves him happiness.

"Except, I did find that. Here."

At Porthos' ducked head, Aramis lays a hand on his shoulder and leaves it there, squeezing in apology for bringing up fresh hurts. "D'Artagnan," he says, coming to a decision within himself, "Forgive us, we did not bring you here with this in mind."

Exchanging a last look with Porthos, Aramis shifts to face him. "You are always welcome here or anywhere else we are. You are our brother, and in Darrow or otherwise, I would lay down my life for you. But I feel it is wrong to lie, especially about matters of the heart, and to continue to hide would be a disservice to both of us. Porthos and I do not share these quarters as brothers, though we will always be at least that much to the other."

Aramis takes a breath. "We share this home as lovers."

Perhaps, given the way they'd led up to the subject, so pointedly steering the conversation in that direction, d'Artagnan should have seen that response coming. He doesn't know how he could have, though, when the very idea seems like more than he can make sense of, leaving him frowning at the two not so much out of displeasure but rather pure confusion. It isn't as if he was unaware that that sort of thing happened, though Porthos is certainly right about the kind of reaction it would have been met with back in their own time. But he's known the two of them for a long time now, or at least what feels like it, and it's hard to reconcile what they've just told him with the way things were before. It's hard to come to terms with that being alright here at all, not something that would endanger them.

Coming from anyone else, he's sure he would have even more trouble with it. As it is, it's got his head spinning, prompting him to take a long sip of his wine as if that could help on some front. But what Aramis has said to him is reciprocated, that much he knows without having to give it any thought, and just as Porthos' heritage has never made a difference to him, he knows that, ultimately, this won't, either, once he comes to terms with it. It's just getting there that's going to be difficult, this being so unexpected.

"The two of you..." he starts, then trails off, brow creased. "I'm sorry, I'm not entirely sure what to say."

There's something in Aramis' speech that makes Porthos feel an edge of fear, as if he's never really thought about what would happen if they stopped being what they are and now that the idea is in his head, it makes him uneasy. Coupled with d'Artagnan's reaction, Porthos feels like he's being strangled to the point that words can't escape his throat. Stubbornness wars with shame and he lifts his chin with old defiance, even if the uncertainty lurks in his eyes. "No," he agrees, finally finding his voice past the hoarse brambles in its path. "I'm sure you don't."

Every instinct wants to bow his head low, but he resolutely stares forward avoiding both d'Artagnan and Aramis' gaze as he carves the roast with steady and careful hands. "I hate that word," is what he says, finally, though he's sure talking of this is a terrible idea, but his nerves push him to say something. "Always have." Lovers makes him think of noble romances and clandestine affairs. It's never been something he's equated with himself.

Keen as his eyes have been on d'Artagnan to read his reaction, Aramis' gaze now cuts sideways, watching Porthos cut the roast with even strokes. "I'm certain then that between us we will find a better one," he says, pressing a hand to the small of Porthos' back as he turns his attention back to d'Artagnan.

While not necessarily encouraging, this is certainly not the worst way this revelation could have been taken, and he takes courage in that, just as Aramis takes courage in generous heart he knows d'Artagnan to possess. "As with everything in Darrow, I'm sure acceptance will take time. That is no burden to me. I only hope that you will continue to think of us as you always have - your friends and brothers. Now."

For the sake of normalcy, Aramis takes hold of d'Artagnan's plate to slide towards the roast. "Shock is no reason to lose one's appetite."

Shock may not be, but with so much to try to make sense of, d'Artagnan had nearly forgotten about the food, the reason he'd come by in the first place, if only for a moment. Even with Aramis' reminder, he still feels too stunned to do much yet, expression remaining deeply confused. It isn't as if he can't understand what it is they're trying to tell him, in theory; everything they've said since makes fairly clear that there's no way he could have somehow misunderstood. There is comfort, though, in what Aramis says. When the very idea of this being acceptable is so new to him, let alone that it pertains to his friends from before this place, there's no way it could have been entirely easy to come to terms with.

Some things, however, require no questions. "That you are my brothers is as true as it ever has been," he says, and hopes in a distant, half-realized sort of way that it might prove to be a reassurance to them both in turn. "If nothing has changed that by now, I'm not sure anything could." They're still the same people he knew in Paris, d'Artagnan reminds himself, however far removed from that time and place they might be, and he has had a good deal to be grateful to them for, both there and here. This, he may not truly comprehend yet, but they've been through too much together for it to entirely alter his perception of them.

Porthos chances a careful look up in the midst of slicing the roast, tracking d'Artagnan's expression as he speaks as if he's trying to gauge the sincerity of his words. He slides a full plate over to him, heaping with more meat than would be a normal portion if they were back in Paris, but overindulging in food has been one of Porthos' favourite pasttimes. Relief floods him when no derision or hate seems to come and his shoulders sag with honest relief. "We'd never abandon you," Porthos swears with the fiercest of loyalty and devotion. "Especially in a place like this. You're our brother," he echoes, "and that means that I'll do anything you need from me, from us, to keep that bond strong."

Aramis flashes them both a smile, d'Artagnan's a little dimmer than usual, but only because Aramis doesn't want to assail him with cheer when he's already pushed him so far off-kilter.

"Perhaps our endeavors here will again be jobs for three," he says. "Working security and the odd investigative case." Perhaps more, when Porthos allows it. "The extra coin will only help you in the end, and it is best to keep busy here. It is the only way to acclimate."

"I would be happy to help," d'Artagnan says, casting what he intends to be a reassuring smile in each of their direction. "Honestly, I'd be glad for the work just to be doing something." So far, all he's had to do here is try to get used to being in Darrow at all, and while it might have been better not to have to go right to work without a chance to get his bearings, he isn't used to this kind of idleness, and it doesn't sit well with him. Besides, whatever may have changed, it's good to know that that's one thing that hasn't. Perhaps joining the two of them in their business venture will help him get used to the things that have. Glancing down at his plate, he reaches for the silverware, adding, "This looks wonderful."

Porthos' stomach flips and warms to think of his food being worthy of d'Artagnan's approval, which isn't something that he'd really thought about earning, but now that he has it, he's beyond pleased and proud. "I like to think that I've picked up a thing or two. I mean, it has been about six months," he admits. "And seeing as my career in the lights isn't going anywhere, I have to get good at something."

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