#xadella

“I can see why he likes you so much.” Della said, smirking not unkindly at the alien floating beside her.

“What?” Xadhoom blurted, pointedly not looking at the duck. Her green glowing eyes were scanning the forest around them, searching for an Evronian that had gotten away from the Avenger.

“I can see why the Duck Avenger likes you so much. You’re full of... spirit.”

Xadhoom’s nose wrinkled. Earthlings were always talking about such nonsense.

xadella:

   Adella had been waiting for her dear Aramis, sat all alone in her home, when the shot rang out. She dropped her glass, barely hearing the shatter as she stood up to investigate— it’d happened so close to her house. Her mind began to race; what if he’d found out about her affair and had shot down her beloved on her steps to teach her a lesson. She hurried down the steps and went outside, swallowing her nausea down.

   What she found shocked her. Not Aramis, but a Musketeer all the same. She recognised his face, and his name came to her. Athos -  she bent and knelt at his side, ignoring the fact she was kneeling in his blood. Blood would wash out. She bit her lip,  ❝C- can you hear me?❞ She whimpered, hoping that if he were conscious — alive — then she could move him inside and try to tend to him. 

                               ❝Where were you shot?❞ 

         Athos had never before felt any need to be cautious whilst roaming the streets of Paris at night. Of course, there were always dangers, but the glint of his sword's hilt and the sight of his holstered pistol at his waist usually warded most common criminals away instantly--after all, it was never a good idea to get on the wrong side of Musketeer, regardless of intent.

         However, this did not mean that he did not have enemies. Many attempts had been made against Musketeers' lives before, mostly by assassins hired no doubt by vengeful men whose illegal plans had been thwarted by the soldiers' efforts to keep Paris lawful. Thus, Athos should not have considered the uniform on his back and the weapons at his hip his only method of protection, especially while he was quite visibly drunk. In fact, he had been stumbling in the general direction back towards his lodgings, looking forward to a long, long sleep but dreading the inevitable hang over in the morning; Athos remembered tripping, body jolting forwards but somehow remedying the near-fall by making him jog a little faster, unfortunately right into the path of the figure in black waiting in the alcove to his left.

         And B A N G went the pistol, bullet burying deep into Athos' left side as he yelped in shock, collapsing to the floor as he gripped the wound, skin and fabric already beginning to get soaked in deep red blood.

         The pain should've been unimaginable, but if there was any bright side to this unfortunate situation it was that the alcohol still running through his veins had numbed him somewhat--in fact, all the Musketeer could do was merely stare at disbelief as his white shirt stained crimson, barely feeling himself drop onto his knees and then onto his front, blood spilling around him like a red pool.

                                                                                 ----ear me? Where ... shot?

         A voice? A friend? A medic? Athos' vision was blurry, but he could make out blonde ringlets and feel soft, womanly fabric against his arm, and the smell of that perfume wafting towards his nose was strangely familiar... Aramis? No, Aramis didn't wear that kind of fragrance, but his lover did----

         ❝ ---- Made... Mademoiselle... Adele? ❞

         Oh, what did it matter who was tending to him? Athos was sober enough to know that he needed this wound to be treated to now or he would not make it through the next hour. Carefully he pointed to the shining red bullet hole glistening at his side, just below his rib cage--he winced as he moved, before awkwardly coughing: