"Monsieur?" I heard her voice carry through the air that had quieted since the completion of our laast topic. "What is so important to the heart about a kiss?"

Her name was Abelle. She was one of France's greater creations. Her hair was red as fire. Not a common trait for a French maiden, but I had, through talented means, discovered that many of her family's roots still lie in Scotland. This tapestry of warmth caressed her shoulders in a way not even the most lovingly gentle man could. Haphazard strands would catch even the barest whisper of breeze and make it appear to be dancing a tender waltz with the rose kissed pink, satin smooth skin of her cheeks. If Michaelangelo himself were to bring a lady out of his canvas, I had doubts that he would be able to construct a beauty fine as she.

How we had come to meet is a story for another time, but on this day it was my book in which she was showing interest. Or, at least, that was shown on the outside. From her home we had begun to wander, aimlessly but together, along the grassy land owned by her father. There was a shade tree almost in the middle of nowhere which she seemed to favor when the weight of thought became too great to bear. At its roots and against its sturdy trunk she sat while I, absently fidgeting with the grass underneath, lay casually on my side near her feet. What had brought her inquiry to the conversation I will never know. It was not linked to anything we had discussed prior, but the hearts of women are complicated vessels of wonder. When there are desires beating in their breast, one will never know. I do not search for these things. I simply aim to appease them.

"A kiss?" I repeated, falling silent for a bare moment to consider just what sort of reply would be fitting of this venue. My choice was simple. I could construct a precise, educated answer that would most likely bore the poor woman, or I could just be myself! "A kiss' warmth will set the heart afire; spawn lovers whose naked lips ignite desire. Beneath the warm feeling of a simple velvet seduce, a heart's missed stroke.. an empassioned tempo produced. From the bare embrace of tempted lips entice'd a body's heated caress until, in arms and love's churning breaths, a two.. will lie as one.. in rest."

She stared at me though I did not look back. I could hear, from how close she sat, her breath's rhythm had increased upon the end of my brief stanza. Though I very much enjoyed the way women become so empassioned so quickly, I felt perhaps doing so to Abelle would be an injustice. We had never sought to be more than the good friends that we were despite my occasional time spent before the altar in prayer because of my cursed, easily tempted mind. It was then I attempted the educational approach.

"The severity of a kiss can also affect its recipient," I explained. "A kiss can be a comma, a question mark, or.." Without warning I felt surprisingly powerful arms around my neck and upon my lips a pair of the sweetest tasting, cloud-soft lips that have ever dared dance with mine. I felt my mind whirl for its duration until, slowly, almost regrettably she pulled away enough for me to finish with, "an exclamation point."

With the return of every sun comes the return of every shadow. Or at least those who dwell within them. Sort of the way I and each of our companions wallow in the shadow of allfor_one.

He smirks.

At least we like to let him think so. Athos' grandiose disposition may not be a child of admiration. Truly and without arguement is his honor earned at the slash of his blade, and his reputation in the bottom of the bottle, and his heart kept beating by his friends. And verily do I return at his side.. and a bit to the left.

I do greatly anticipate the joy of reuniting with old companions and the possibility of knowing new ones is always cause for excitement, despite my companion beside whom I serve in the name of God.

After all, someone has to make sure the fool doesn't get himself killed.

If there's one thing I can consider that has never done in the past that might be a worthwhile endeavor, it would be dissolving the void that exists between my religion and my blade. Commandment number six of ten states specifically, "Thou shalt not murder." But to whose definition of 'murder' does the commandment refer? If 'murder' is to be defined as the voluntary taking of any man or woman's life, then there is no separation. If murder is defined as the preplanned and careful execution of another, well, then, it adopts an entirely separate consequence under the name of God.

What is it I do, as a Musketeer? Am I a defender or a murderer? Through whose eyes are my actions defined? Atonement is simple, certainly, but is it so easily forgiven? "Hi, father, I just wanted to let you know I killed twenty of the Cardinal's guards today and will probably do it again tomorrow, but if you could forgive me now and forward me an advance on tomorrow's forgiveness, that'd certainly save us both time."

It's not difficult to see by my creative illustration. In order to continue on my path of righteousness while sedating my ambitious, adventurous desire, there must be some sort of common ground. There's nothing a little research and, perhaps, a bit of creative interpretation can't remedy.

I remember it was the day after my coronation. I'd already spent a couple of considerable years under the Cardinal's watchful eye, learning form him the many ways of the religious politician. I'd barely worn the brand new royal blue tunic of the Musketeer before I received a summons to Richelieu's chamber by means of a royal messenger. I thought this odd, naturally, as it was normally only the king's priority to utilize the royal messengers, however I was tempted not to think much on it. The request had come from the man I'd begun to idolize, therefore suspicion was not a commodity that was to be had that day. Not until I had shared wine and conversation with my teacher.

( The meeting. )

What would lie under the blanket of truth would be a different story altogether, so it is with this I leave you to wonder. It should give you reason to seek me again.

Aramis grins and departs.

OOC: Firstly I'd just like to extend an apology for not responding to those who've responded to my previous post. Between my current job and trying to get on with the local police department, my son's birthday, and my miraculous fourth wedding anniversary, November's been a nice little touch of hell. I'll get Aramis to reply as soon as he sobers up.


Secondly:











... give me hugs.

The sound of a motorcycle's engine purring outside the book store purred to a halt before Aramis lowered the kickstand and anchored the black and chrome bike down on it. From the inside pocket of his leather jacket he pulled out a clean white terry cloth washcloth and brushed it over the fuel tank, tossing the gathered dust from the pair of silver French Musketeer crosses that'd been custom airbrushed on either side. After a brief inspection of its quality he pushed the washcloth back in his pocket and pulled his mirrored aviator sunglasses from his eyes.

A little bell rang when he pushed the store's front door open and his eyes immediately fell upon the shelves, seeking their listed generes by type. Fiction, SciFi, Reference, Religious, etc. It wouldn't be hard to see the back of his leather jacket that, framed in a circular pattern on both the top and bottom of a crucified eagle, are the words "God Probably Rides A Harley". The suit that the man wears, spite the shoulder-length curled brown hair that he wears proudly along with the goatee that accents his soft lips, is easily identified by the black slacks and black shirt with the tight collar complete with a square, white cap of a priest. Who'd have thought?

Aramis halts in the fiction section and begins to peruse the titles, seeming to be searching for something particular.

She was the fairest maiden I'd laid my eyes upon since we'd departed Le Havre en route to Paris, assigned to escort a shipment of arms for the Cardinal's elite well-trained militia from the port at Le Havre. It was an overnight stop in Rouen that a.. borderline sinful binge of wine and merriment at the expense of Porthos was assembled. I remember the story well...

( The Maiden )

What happened after that was a discovery that I dare not recall without a great deal of discomposure. What I will admit is that the experience did not evolve into an antic evening of sin and I departed that inn with a new resolve toward my vow of chastity to the echoing chortles and chuckles of my Musketeer companions. The moral of my story? Trust not always in your eyes for not all books' stories are as beautiful as their covers make them appear. Sometimes you'll discover.. secret.. unpleasant things while turning the pages. It wasn't until returning to Paris that, upon counsel with those more experienced in the taverns northwest of Paris, I learned the Taverne de Bijoux Cachée, meaning "Tavern of Hidden Jewels"... doesn't refer to shiny riches. *shudders*

As seen on will_porter's, lt_wes_janson's, and logan_maxwell's journals...

IF YOUR LIFE WAS A MOVIE, WHAT WOULD THE SOUNDTRACK BE?
1. Open your library (iTunes, Winamp, Media Player, iPod, etc)
2. Put it on shuffle
3. Press play
4. For every question, type the song that's playing
5. When you go to a new question, press the next button
6. Don't lie and try to pretend you're cool.

( The Songs )

Hmm. Not bad. Not bad at all.

I remembered the sound of the hoofbeats belonging to the cocoa brown steed she always rode from her father's farm merely a mile north of the abbey in which I was studying o'er the summer. We'd met frequently when in the country I travelled, spending summers at the abbey in my aspirations to become an abbé. The abbey itself was measurably small when compared to others that had been written about in books. It stood only two stories high, minus the pair of towers, and its brick walls were laced in green grape vines that had exploded from the modest vinyard in the back lot. The vineyard itself had yielded to the surrounding nature, now thriving amidst dense brush for company. At arriving appearance, one might judge that it was an abandoned construct, however the monks inside keep the building well maintained. Some had described it as a run-down, condemned building. I had always considered it a poetic irony that something so demure would house the teachings of the greatest of man's aspirations: the Glory of God.

It was just beyond the sanctity of the vineyard that we would rendezvous where my abecedary would rarely find us. To consort with my lady Jenine was as forbidden by God as it was by the abbey but young hearts pay little homage to young loins and the pair often argue. Out of the eyes of the abbey though naught escaping the eyes of God would we commemorate our love for each other. As I slipped deeper into willingness to forgo everything for which the cross stood just to make the sunset last one minute longer as I sat beside her, the greater her commitment to God was being secretly strengthened until, at the foot of the vineyard on the final summer I was to spend in the abbey before denouncing my willingness to travel the path of light, she was not to come. Though I lie in wait for the better part of the day, there was no horse. No hoofbeats to excite a young, slowly breaking heart.

It was as I turned to leave that I noticed a single white envelope pinned to one of the large grape leaves facing me. I plucked it from its unnatural base, opened it, and read each word carefully.

"Dearest René,

It is with the heaviest of hearts that I leave you with this note in my absence. You once spoke of me, in jest, a coward for not following the truth that beats in my breast when I spoke of my fear in being with you. My will misled my courage and I forbade God to be with me each time we were together."

Oh just wait. It gets better.

"My heart will always beat in time with yours, my dearest love, but my life is owed to only one whom I can no longer forsake. God is my father and it is unto him that I must go and, in doing so, I've been forced to make the hardest decision which is to no longer wear the ring of your love. I hope that you will understand and I know the timing of this message comes ill in the shadow of your decision to withdraw from priesthood. I hope, in time, you will forgive me.

Forever wishing to be in your heart,
Jenine"

Hm. Needless to say I now wear the robes of a musketeer and have been, since, trying to polish my halo as to redeem myself from an ill-founded decision. Taking lessons from the Cardinal only proved to be black mark number two on an already tainted holy record, but I feel, in time, I shall repent my sins to the satisfaction of God and to St. Peter's pearly gates I shall next be seen.

I'm considering picking up another muse. I'm constantly taunted about where my writing limits lie so my brain IM'd Dr. Hannibal Lecter below is a mediocre taste (screen test) of a mock-post.

( The contemplations of Dr. Lecter )

However, given my life's time restricting schedule, I would have to drop one character to take on Dr. Lecter, should the decision be made to do so.

Thus, this is where you, interested readers, come in. Being the indecisive curr that I am and based on the screen test above, what is your opinion on me taking Dr. Lecter on? And secondly, which character should go, if Dr. Lecter is to arrive? Aramis, or Draco?

S.O.S.!

I do much to support the supposed talents of any who meet me. Everyone knows me to be a patient, uplifting man. Though I chuckle to admit it, my mun has gone against mine and Draco's expressed wishes not to and sat down to readopt a tale he had begun an age ago. Now I understand that poking fun at anothers' artistic expression is unethical and disrespectful, don't get me wrong. The last thing I want is to anger my mun who, much to my delight and dismay from time to time, may just write me into a situation I would otherwise be righteously uncomfortable. Yet I still shake my head, for if you knew the theme behind which this story is born, you would agree with me. I'm uncertain if any of you have had the sarcastic delight of witnessing the video game Star Fox, but..

Well..

sfa_diamondrose

My mun just informed me that it's in-writing so it will be updated as chapters progress. The poor man. My job is done. I'm going to go hide.. in a tavern.. in a dark corner.

Aramis touches the four points of the cross upon his breast.

Dear Lord,
It's in these times that we often take for granted that which has been given unconditionally by the sacrifices of others. That to forget, O' Lord, is what we dare not wish. In the backs of our minds and in the bottoms of our hearts does our love and adoration go to those under your care.
Lord, we ask that you watch over those who were called to your courts the fateful day cowardice superceeded freedom. We ask that you care for those who volunteered their lives for the sake of saving anothers'. Lord, we ask that you give strength to those who survive those you have called back and ask that you send them our love as well, for they are not alone, nor will ever be.
Lord, we ask that you watch over those who fight beyond these shores and give them unyielding strength to secure what it was they who desecrate your name tried to demolish, for it is unto those heroes your sword and shield should be with now. We ask that you keep them safe, Lord, and bring them home to their waiting families. For those who have fallen bravely upon the battlefield, we ask you to give them our sincerest gratitude, for we know no sacrifice will ever be greater.
And Lord, we pray.. after five long years we still pray.. that all of us are allowed the power to fight againt this evil and rid it from this Earth that it will never.. ever.. cause another tear to be shed.
For this, O' Lord, we pray.
Amen.


OOC: I cheated ;P this is only partially IC. ((X-Posted in Darius' service))

The English will define monogamy as marriage to only one person at a time. In the Bible, Deuteronomy 22:9: "Do not plant two kinds of seed in your vineyard; if you do, not only the crops you plant but also the fruit of the vineyard will be defiled." Books can tell you propriety through the eyes of one man. My thoughts rely not on books, but on where it is the source of monogamy, love, originates. My belief is that the heart holds all answers to the questions of love. Whether or not we understand those answers is irrelevant, just that we know that they're there.

Don't misunderstand me. I feel that polygamy is wrong despite many's belief that monogamy is a type of wood, but my reason for my belief doesn't come from God's rules. I fail to wonder how, if someone truely and unconditionally has love for another, they can share that same love with others. The possibility, beit on a physical or metaphysical level, is nonexistent. Some may love parts of some, and parts of others, thereby giving birth to the illusion that love abound exists.. but that is not true and unconditional love. That's just being picky.

If one has come to the end of the seemingly endless quest for love, then that one will feel every need - every craving he or she has, is, and will experience filled by that other person. When you love someone and can look at others, be they better looking or more talented than your mate, and feel no attractions beyond what may impress you about that individual then, my friends, you have found your monogamous love.

If you allow something to happen to that.. then you're simply an idiot. Farewell.

TM Topic: Look out! Select the word(s) of your choice and complete the scene. You're walking past a window and a book whistles past your head. You immediately…

... duck the sound of pages flapping within inches of a mild concussion. Upon straightening, my blade sang with freedom as I pulled it from its scabbard, my boots grinding the loose gravel street underneath my feet as I turned to face the origin of the projectile only to see Porthos in the building from whence the book came, ranting curses in the French tongue and stamping about having another one of his tantrums. An entertained, albeit disgruntled, smirk slid over my lips and I casually returned my polished rapier to its peaceful slumber. I picked the book up off of the street, blew the settled dust off the cover, and scoffed a shallow noise when I recognized the cross inlay. There was little surprise in my reaction. I'd considered my rambunctious companion to be the type to find little solace in the readings of the Good Book. Noticing a cloth bookmark between a pair of the pages, I curiously turned to it and skimmed the text until I found one passage that probably served as the catalyst to Porthos' disgruntled demeanor. He hadn't even made it past Exodus.

I read aloud from the marked passages that I had requested he pay closer attention to. "Then he said to the people, 'Prepare yourselves for the third day. Abstain from sexual relations.' 19:15. 'As for the Gentile believers, we have written to them our decision that they should abstain from food sacrificed to idols, from blood, from the meat of strangled animals and from sexual immorality.' 21:25.." And then my ears were assaulted by Porthos' voice booming from the window out of which the book was thrown. "You want to condemn me to your version of hell, Aramis!" Raising my brow, I turned to face my angered companion, holding the book up in a nonchelant manner. "Well spoken, Porthos," I countered. "My hell. An eternal afterlife of peace and persistent euphoria. Why do I torture you so?" His only response, void of available comment, was to spit on the avenue below the window and then slam the shutters closed. I breathed a short chuckle, slid the book into my broad pocket, then turned to continue on my way down the road.