[Musketeers] FIC: No Such Thing
Title: No Such Thing
Author: evening_bat
Pairing: Gen
Rating: G
Word Count: ~800
Warnings: Crack. Animal Transformation.
Summary: When he'd joined the musketeers, Athos had been prepared for danger. He hadn't been prepared for this.
Notes: The lovely Lynndyre and I have been trading squee and fic plotting for The Musketeers, tremendous fun in and of itself. But then she went and said this: "You called him grumpy cat Athos, and now all I can see is this round fluffy greyish brown ball of grump, with a short fat tail and little furry moustache/beard, and his ears perpetually sideways at the world. XD (Porthos is a huge chocolatey ragdoll cross, able to out-strut basically anything and also to occupy the entirety of a given surface, and Aramis a brown tabby with a long-haired tail, like a plume. Aramis can make the puss-in-boots face.)" My reaction can best be summed up by, "CHALLENGE ACCEPTED." She supplied the (wonderful!) embedded art. You have been warned. :D
No Such Thing
"There is no such thing as 'just a cat'." ~ Robert A. Heinlein
“This. This is why magic is forbidden by the Church.” Athos’ ears flattened back along the curve of his skull, stubby tail lashing irritably behind him.
“Since when do you care about Church doctrine?” Aramis asked, winding himself happily around every convenient furniture leg.
“Since when are you so unconcerned with the practice of witchcraft?”
Both of them glanced up at Porthos’ bland, “Since it could be worse,” but all they could see of him was tufts of dark fur spilling over the edges of the chair upon which he sprawled.
Fine for them to say. Porthos was still a hulking brute, and Aramis hadn’t lost a bit of his usual grace, even if the vain idiot enchanted himself every time he caught sight of his ridiculous plume of a tail. Athos had avoided any extensive self-examination but he knew he was small. And scruffy. And a cat.
“I feel as though you two are failing to accord this situation an appropriate level of gravity.”
“I feel as though you’re failing to cope with the situation because cats don’t drink wine,” said Porthos, peering down at them from the chair.
“To be fair, it’s not that cats don’t drink wine so much as cats can’t pour wine,” Aramis offered, going momentarily still before he sprang from the floor to the top of the table in an effortless leap. “Let me see if d’Artagnan has a bottle handy. If I knock it over, perhaps you can lap it up?”
It was likely for the best that both of them had opted for higher ground. If either of them had been within reach of his han - paws - then Athos would have boxed his ears until he was hearing cathedral bells.
“Best hurry with the wine, Aramis. He’s looking grumpier by the second.”
Fortunately, the door slammed open and spared Athos from having to formulate a response.
“Finally!”
“Took him long enough.”
D’Artagnan, already wide-eyed and flustered, nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of them.
“Oh hello. What are you doing in here? How did you even get in here?” he asked, blinking inanely at what must have seemed to be an invasion of felines.
“D’Artagnan?” Athos tried, rising to his feet. “Can you-”
“Never mind,” d’Artagnan spoke over him. “You can’t be in here. Constance will kill me herself if she thinks I’m keeping strays.”
Aramis bristled at that. “Strays? We’re not strays! Do I look like a stray to you?”
“Aramis,” sighed Athos, giving up and slouching back into an untidy heap on the stone floor. “Priorities, please.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Porthos reassured him, batting a lazy paw at the tail tip that swished past.
“Please be quiet,” d’Artagnan begged, waving his hands in a hasty plea to silence Aramis’ indignant yowl. “Please. I’ve got trouble enough at the moment, the last thing I need is to be thrown out.”
He scooped a startled Aramis right off of the table and tucked him into the crook of his arm, stroking him soothingly. It had the no-doubt intended effect of hushing him, as Aramis was almost immediately reduced to limp, purring bliss.
“Farm boy has good hands,” he managed between rumbles.
“I’m going to tell him you said so after we’re back to ourselves,” Porthos promised gleefully.
Athos interrupted before they could get to the inevitable jokes about making Aramis purr. “If we could return to the problem at hand?” he said loudly, lifting and stretching a paw in illustration.
D’Artagnan startled a bit, before grinning down at Aramis, still slack and happy in his arms. “Okay, enough apologies for you.”
He walked over to the window and propped it open with one hand, lifting Aramis to the windowsill. “Time for you to go.”
Aramis looked from d’Artagnan to the open window and back, before settling to a definitive seat on the sill.
“Oh, come on! Off with you. All of you,” he added, looking over his shoulder at Porthos on the chair and Athos on the floor. “My friends are missing. I don’t have time to be indulging you.”
“And you said he’d be able to help us,” Porthos grumbled.
“I said he was our best chance at getting help,” Athos corrected, scowling up at d’Artagnan. “Since he was right there when it happened.”
“It’s strange, though,” d’Artagnan muttered, oblivious to their conversation. “You truly do put me in mind of…” His brow furrowed in thought as he stared down at Athos.
The unlikely truth appeared to hit him a moment later, and his eyes widened in shock as he gaped at him. “Athos?”
It was small consolation that Aramis laughed so hard that he knocked himself clear to the floor but Athos enjoyed the petty satisfaction.
FIN
Do yourselves a favour and go check out the rest of Lynndyre's awesome art over here. It's brillant! :D (Fic snippets are pending.)
Author: evening_bat
Pairing: Gen
Rating: G
Word Count: ~800
Warnings: Crack. Animal Transformation.
Summary: When he'd joined the musketeers, Athos had been prepared for danger. He hadn't been prepared for this.
Notes: The lovely Lynndyre and I have been trading squee and fic plotting for The Musketeers, tremendous fun in and of itself. But then she went and said this: "You called him grumpy cat Athos, and now all I can see is this round fluffy greyish brown ball of grump, with a short fat tail and little furry moustache/beard, and his ears perpetually sideways at the world. XD (Porthos is a huge chocolatey ragdoll cross, able to out-strut basically anything and also to occupy the entirety of a given surface, and Aramis a brown tabby with a long-haired tail, like a plume. Aramis can make the puss-in-boots face.)" My reaction can best be summed up by, "CHALLENGE ACCEPTED." She supplied the (wonderful!) embedded art. You have been warned. :D
No Such Thing
"There is no such thing as 'just a cat'." ~ Robert A. Heinlein
“This. This is why magic is forbidden by the Church.” Athos’ ears flattened back along the curve of his skull, stubby tail lashing irritably behind him.
“Since when do you care about Church doctrine?” Aramis asked, winding himself happily around every convenient furniture leg.
“Since when are you so unconcerned with the practice of witchcraft?”
Both of them glanced up at Porthos’ bland, “Since it could be worse,” but all they could see of him was tufts of dark fur spilling over the edges of the chair upon which he sprawled.
Fine for them to say. Porthos was still a hulking brute, and Aramis hadn’t lost a bit of his usual grace, even if the vain idiot enchanted himself every time he caught sight of his ridiculous plume of a tail. Athos had avoided any extensive self-examination but he knew he was small. And scruffy. And a cat.
“I feel as though you two are failing to accord this situation an appropriate level of gravity.”
“I feel as though you’re failing to cope with the situation because cats don’t drink wine,” said Porthos, peering down at them from the chair.
“To be fair, it’s not that cats don’t drink wine so much as cats can’t pour wine,” Aramis offered, going momentarily still before he sprang from the floor to the top of the table in an effortless leap. “Let me see if d’Artagnan has a bottle handy. If I knock it over, perhaps you can lap it up?”
It was likely for the best that both of them had opted for higher ground. If either of them had been within reach of his han - paws - then Athos would have boxed his ears until he was hearing cathedral bells.
“Best hurry with the wine, Aramis. He’s looking grumpier by the second.”
Fortunately, the door slammed open and spared Athos from having to formulate a response.
“Finally!”
“Took him long enough.”
D’Artagnan, already wide-eyed and flustered, nearly tripped over his own feet at the sight of them.
“Oh hello. What are you doing in here? How did you even get in here?” he asked, blinking inanely at what must have seemed to be an invasion of felines.
“D’Artagnan?” Athos tried, rising to his feet. “Can you-”
“Never mind,” d’Artagnan spoke over him. “You can’t be in here. Constance will kill me herself if she thinks I’m keeping strays.”
Aramis bristled at that. “Strays? We’re not strays! Do I look like a stray to you?”
“Aramis,” sighed Athos, giving up and slouching back into an untidy heap on the stone floor. “Priorities, please.”
“You’re gorgeous,” Porthos reassured him, batting a lazy paw at the tail tip that swished past.
“Please be quiet,” d’Artagnan begged, waving his hands in a hasty plea to silence Aramis’ indignant yowl. “Please. I’ve got trouble enough at the moment, the last thing I need is to be thrown out.”
He scooped a startled Aramis right off of the table and tucked him into the crook of his arm, stroking him soothingly. It had the no-doubt intended effect of hushing him, as Aramis was almost immediately reduced to limp, purring bliss.
“Farm boy has good hands,” he managed between rumbles.
“I’m going to tell him you said so after we’re back to ourselves,” Porthos promised gleefully.
Athos interrupted before they could get to the inevitable jokes about making Aramis purr. “If we could return to the problem at hand?” he said loudly, lifting and stretching a paw in illustration.
D’Artagnan startled a bit, before grinning down at Aramis, still slack and happy in his arms. “Okay, enough apologies for you.”
He walked over to the window and propped it open with one hand, lifting Aramis to the windowsill. “Time for you to go.”
Aramis looked from d’Artagnan to the open window and back, before settling to a definitive seat on the sill.
“Oh, come on! Off with you. All of you,” he added, looking over his shoulder at Porthos on the chair and Athos on the floor. “My friends are missing. I don’t have time to be indulging you.”
“And you said he’d be able to help us,” Porthos grumbled.
“I said he was our best chance at getting help,” Athos corrected, scowling up at d’Artagnan. “Since he was right there when it happened.”
“It’s strange, though,” d’Artagnan muttered, oblivious to their conversation. “You truly do put me in mind of…” His brow furrowed in thought as he stared down at Athos.
The unlikely truth appeared to hit him a moment later, and his eyes widened in shock as he gaped at him. “Athos?”
It was small consolation that Aramis laughed so hard that he knocked himself clear to the floor but Athos enjoyed the petty satisfaction.
FIN
Do yourselves a favour and go check out the rest of Lynndyre's awesome art over here. It's brillant! :D (Fic snippets are pending.)