Chapter Text
Prompt No. 30: Borrowed Clothing | Bridal Carry | “Not much longer…”
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Aramis braced his back along the space in the corner near the fireplace and watched wide-eyed as beyond his splayed fingers a chair splintered, crashing into the back of the fleeing man. His successful strike drove him forward and he swung his hand to clear the debris, thwarting the man’s attempt to scramble to his feet. He nodded to Athos as he entered the room, the fire at his back reminding him he’d intended to move past it and upstairs before the escapee startled him.
“I have him,” Athos’ eyes moved over him, checking for injury, “go.”
Aramis nodded, full of pride that he’d accomplished the maneuver and his steps were light on the stairs, taking two at a time as he moved to the upper part of the farmhouse. Only one of the men they’d been tracking had managed to reach the upstairs, Aramis had watched him but his pursuit had been interrupted by the man he’d ultimately hurled furniture toward.
That was a skill Aramis was taking great satisfaction in refining.
A skill owed as much to this form as his other was his light-footedness, and it provided a quick reaction time. It spared him a twisted ankle as skipping stairs meant he narrowly missed the rotted portion his target had already broken open near the landing. Swiveling closer to the banister to take the final steps Aramis pivoted to get his back against the wall at the top. The hall forced him to choose left or right, a wide open window at the right end carried the icy draft that made him dip his chin deeper into his collar.
The man he hunted could have escaped via the wide opening, it was only one floor up – survivable, but unpleasant. With the storm carrying flakes through the window-frame to dust the uneven boards Aramis wondered if he’d chanced leaping through to the knee-high drifts below. Treetops scratched at the horizon in black clumps, the diminishing light made for a shadowy landscape. While his trail would be visible, the falling snow’s pace stood a chance of obscuring the man’s path; it wouldn’t collect enough to fill in any tracks, unless the heavy fall continued throughout the night. They’d no means of predicting nature and if they didn’t collect the remaining men here then it would need to be left until dawn to track them.
He jumped at the bang of the shutter, a frigid blast of air driving the thick wood into the side of the house on screeching hinges.
Tempted to confirm, or disprove, his theory Aramis turned right and stepped carefully along the hall.
The inclement weather had delayed their pursuit and these men had likely been holed up in the house for days. Traps set by them were as likely as natural ones caused by the abandoned house’s poor keeping. The old home demonstrated a lack of maintenance, the wooden planks groaned under his feet and the entire structure voiced complaint at the shifts of gusting wind. He’d drawn his pistol and his other hand tickled the air in preparation for attempting another shove with his magic. Step by step he picked along the floorboards, watching the hazy fluttering beyond the window’s ledge.
He froze at a creak behind him.
Hadn’t leapt from the window then.
He was in the house.
Behind Aramis.
Rising onto the balls of his feet Aramis lifted and turned, rotating on the front of his boots without taking a step. Balancing his weight be about faced and peered across the landing to the darkness of the other side of the hall, no window at its end.
With a gesture more suited to his other form he tilted his head and listened for movement. The drag of wood on wood sounded close enough that Aramis guessed he was behind the door closest to the landing, on his right side – across from the staircase.
~‘He’s in one of the upper rooms, left of the stairs.’~
Aramis started forward keeping his steps light, but making no other effort to disguise them. The man knew he’d come upstairs.
He’d also planned his escape well before the Musketeers had caught up with his own men.
In his feline form Aramis was used to the sensation of floating, his body balanced differently and it was designed to leap and jump in a manner that sometimes made him feel weightless. The ability carried over to his human form to some extent, his vaunted agility he suspected was owed, in part, to his magical nature. In either form, in general, the weightlessness was not accompanied by the burning waft of air that surrounded him at present.
His back hit the floor a heartbeat before his head struck the edge of a floorboard, a pushed up nail scraping a line along his temple. The rush of air and the ringing in his ears were countered by the relentless wind. And Athos.
~‘Aramis!’~
To the gang’s credit he’d not expected an explosion.
Hardly the first time he’d been forced back in the aftermath of a blast Aramis took a moment to asses himself, consciously inventorying his body with subtle movements to detect injury. He sensed no debris lodged in his skin and held a cautious belief that he’d not been struck. There was a possibility he was numb from shock of the attack, but he chose to have faith that his body had not been severely compromised – he’d not been that close to the origin point.
Bits of ash whirled overhead and the smoke was coiling over the ceiling beams – he expected the fire to catch up with the hazy tendrils in a few moments.
~‘Aramis!’~
Athos.
“Aramis!”
When the shout – he knew it was a shout – was muffled by his ears, yet still carried, Aramis knew Athos had yelled.
~‘Fine...’~ He pushed the thought outward, his concentration was fleeting, but he knew it would reach the other man at this proximity. ~‘I’m fine...just need to get up...’~
~‘Are you hurt?’~
He detected an underlying impatience, well to be fair many times Athos’ voice indicated a finite measure of patience. In the current moment Aramis sensed the concern coming through their bond; Athos was upset. But not with him.
~‘The stairs are impassible.’~
~‘Hmm?’~
~‘They’re engulfed.’~
Aramis heaved his torso up, pushing up on his palms – his pistol having been flung out to the side of the hall when he’d flown backward.
~‘ Oh. ’~
~‘Indeed.’~
Aramis grinned in spite of the vision of the decimated railing and the gaping hole in the space where moments prior there’d been a landing. Clearly, he’d not be taking the stairs back down. He coughed against the building smoke and glanced around the hallway. There was no sign of the man he’d been chasing, presumably he’d had another exit planned before he’d initiated whatever device had just laid waste to half the upstairs.
Well.
He’d have to devise his own exit.
As soon as his head stopped pounding.
God, he was dizzy.
The flickering cast long shadows over his head and told him he’d some time before the flames began to lick down the hallway, but he’d be unwise to linger too long.
~‘Aramis, answer me!’~
“Aramis!” Athos coughed our his order, the calls in his mind becoming more pointed.
~‘I’ll need to devise my own exit.’~
He’d not intend to seek whatever means of departure the other man had used, even if he could traverse the splintered floorboards the flames were spreading around the door-frames further down the hall.
~‘How?’~
~‘Um...’~ Aramis sniffed and expelled the air; it remained manageable, but he knew he’d only minutes before he wouldn’t be able to breathe easily. ~‘Window?’~
~‘Where?’~
Aramis had seen several on the front facade, but expected they were similar in size to the one at the end of the hall. Or smaller. No sense wasting time opening doors for comparison. The criminals they chased were of modest means, but they’d enough means to purchase sufficient supplies for a large explosion. Aramis didn’t wish to test his chances at what else could be concealed behind the remaining doors.
~‘End of the hall.’~ Aramis tilted his head back, already twisting to crawl the remaining feet and rise. ~‘Right side, my side of the house...’~
~‘You’ll jump?’~
~‘Catch me?’~ Aramis teased, ~‘And keep Porthos from coming up.’~
~‘He can’t...anymore than I could...but if I’m to attempt it, then it has to be now. You’re certain you can get out the window?’~
Aramis’ view had lulled him into a false calm, he supposed because he was on the side of the hall that had not yet kindled he was enveloped by the same calm he took advantage of in a battle. There was time. Knowing the danger was imminent was tempered by knowing he’d enough time to decide how to proceed.
~‘Aramis. Are you able?’~
~‘Yes, definitely, yes.’~ He knew Athos would attempt it, it was only his trust in Aramis that held him back. Aramis, for his part, knew he stood a better chance alone, but he needed to move. ~‘Meet me outside.’~
A lone beam broke loose, flipping to tumble through the gap in the landing, and crashed below.
~‘It’s building...hurry up!’~
~‘On my way...’~
Aramis kept low, sliding his arm out to grab his pistol and set himself flush against the boards under the window ledge at the end of the hall.
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Late at night, in the security of one’s bed, myriad alternatives to how a conversation, or a day, or a battle, might have gone came to the mind. Aramis expected his own pre-dream thoughts would haunt him with better decisions he might have made.
He flung belt, sheath and main-gauche out together, relying on the thunk of wood to signal him if his throw had somehow not cleared the sash. Keeping bent in half he leaned on the wall to release his belts and toe off the heel of his boot. He’d been divesting himself of his firearms and clothing as rapidly as possible when it occurred to him that his head injury might complicate two transformation in quick succession.
Vanity, vanity, he did occasionally complicate his own life more than necessary.
Turning his hat as he removed it he tucked his gloves inside to weight it against arcing back to the house.
“Aramis!”
Athos yelled up to him, sounding as though he remained on the ground floor of the home.
“I’m coming, go outside!”
Not much longer, not much longer, he told himself, tugging loose another of his belts.
“What’s the hold up? Get movin’!”
The fools! Well, he’d really no space to judge anyone on that account this evening. His friends were not hopping about and stripping off their clothing whilst flames devoured the very hallway in which they stood. No. No, those fools were stood downstairs whilst the beams and boards over their heads were consumed by fire – waiting on, him.
He could sacrifice his doublet, he supposed, now that his rapier, pistols, main-gauche, and hat were clear. Unbuckling his pauldron, he worked open his doublet and decided against it – there was time, and really the leather was barely broken in. He’d swear Flea left something out of her description on how to shift and maintain clothing and objects: it didn’t work!
If he were to transform now to quickly free himself of his various possessions he’d have to shift immediately back to gather them all up and toss out into the snow. Perhaps it was stubborn, or foolish, but he didn’t want to be changed and then stuck as a cat unable to do anything other than leave his belongings to burn. Down to his linens he tucked his stockings and sash into his boots. He removed the chain about his neck and tugged off his shirt, wrapping it over the chain and shoving both into his other boot. Gathering them up he tossed them into the darkness and began to work the lacing on his braies.
He rubbed the back of his hand distractedly over the sweat beading on his temples and coughed hard against the thickening smoke. When his hand returned to shove the thin fabric free of his hips he was startled by the stark red smear across his skin. Right. Head wounds tended to bleed quite a bit.
Balling up the fabric he used it to blot the side of his head, before pushing hard and crumpling it tight to toss through the window-frame. Tracking its progress he leaned out to check if perhaps he could jump safely from the height. The cold air, and the flakes that melted immediately upon contact with his heated skin, was sobering and he might’ve made the leap if he’d not stripped everything off. He’d considered it earlier, but it had been poor conditions for nearly a week and the men they pursued could’ve used the time to set or dig any number of perils below, unseen under the renewed layers of snow. It would be best if he took as were to take up as small a space as possible when he landed. Now that his skin was bare he much preferred using a body that could twist itself, orient rapidly, and was covered in fur.
He didn’t fancy jumping into a snow bank naked.
Course set he reached into the nebulous space he often imagined before he transformed or drew any magic forth.
The sky had darkened to the point that he was only able to discern some of the shadows where his clothing landed because of backlight from the fire. Flames that were currently fanning hotly on his back and were growing more painful with each passing breath; and each inhalation had become more laborious. He shoved his face out to gulp in a large, greedy, measure of fresh air and the tingle of transformation overtook the prickling heat.
Stood below the smoke on four paws Aramis craned his furred neck to judge the distance to the window opening. Thankfully the fire had not reached the frame, but as his eyes scanned upward he saw them wavering along the ceiling beams.
Wasting no more time he leapt to the ledge and scoured the ground below. His eyesight in this form exchanged some colors, but was overall more keen in the dark. Still, he made out neither Athos nor Porthos on the ground below. The fur in his ears wavered with the chilled wind pushing at him and he peered down to see if he could distinguish a soft place to land.
~‘Athos ?’~
Given their earlier protesting he’d expected at least one of his friends to be awaiting him below.
~‘We’re coming,’~ he paused.
His words had drifted at the end with a fade that Aramis had come to recognize as distraction.
~‘Are you all right?’~ Aramis asked, paws treading light on the wood edge, his fur beginning to soak up the heat. He needed to jump. ~‘I can make the leap, it’s not far...’~
On principal he’d much prefer to know what he was jumping into, but he’d further reach as a cat so he should be able to clear any pitfalls or snares.
~‘Porthos was cut on a trap and – ’~
Aramis might’ve waited until he’d finished before he vaulted from the window, but upon hearing the name he’d anticipated that Porthos was on his way. That Athos was assuring him it was safe. As he dropped he realized Athos had been issuing a warning.
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