#|| scenes.

            WITHIN THE FOUR WALLS of the garrison, his guard is down.          The usual state of complete alert demanded by a man of his trade is left           at the door as the musketeer surrenders to the silent moment of prayer.          Aramis does not notice her arrival, he is focused on the conversation he          has with his God.  In a way, she was part of it ; present in his thoughts and           modest wishes for protection and happiness ––– hardly wished for his own           person, mind you. He prayed for the safety of his brothers in arms, for the           Queen and King, for Henry and Agnes ( amongst others who had somehow           left a mark in him ) and, of course, for Katerina. 

                          A muttered AMEN leaves under the breath of bearded lips, which            then proceed to kiss the gilded rosary that never left his neck. It is only then            that the devout turns, mildly startled to see that he was not alone in the room. 

       Chocolate like eyes rest upon the bright screen; reading the name it displays.         He'd been dreading this sight, that awful looking picture of a drunken Athos         popping up as an indication that confrontation was soon to come. Sly as he         was, not even Aramis could avoid is determined friend for too long. Better         open his case strongly, eh? 

                                ❝ Whatever you've heard, the story is                                 completely different if you know my side. ❞ 

The musketeer moves through the crowd as easily as he'd spotted  a familiar face in its midst. One quick glance at his watch is given,  notifying him that his timing was appropriate of a gentleman. It is  with a charming smile that he approaches her, even despite knowing  his charms would have no effect whatsoever on the fellow Kingsman.  Still, it was worth the shot, wasn't it? 

            ❝ Before you say anything, I'm not late.                    I'm precisely on time. You are early. ❞ 

                               He notes, hardly apologetic, before                                   taking the seat across from hers. 

As per usual, it is up to him to calm the nerves of his fellow musketeer  in a night of avid drinking. God only knew how easily offended Porthos  could get, and under the influence of alcohol ––– well, he pitied the poor  soul who made the mistake of getting on the glorious soldier's bad side. Not only did he pity them, he would promptly get in between the famed  brawler and his unwarned opponent and effectively stop further damage  from taking place. Once Porthos calmed down and turned away, Aramis'  attention shifted to the lanky fellow.