More musketeer fic

( Wherein the author, carried away by 19th century prose styles, pens a thousand-word action sequence )

For previous instalments, see below:

The Beginning, wherein d'Artagnan is neither a musketeer, nor a guardsmen, but both at once, and is sent out on a scouting mission.

Part the Seceond, Wherein they are ambushed by the English, in the sense of riding dead into the middle of a group of Englishmen obliviously landing a boat.

Part the Third, wherein an assassination is thwarted.

Some SGA (season one) meta, some self-indulgent whining

While driving back from DC last night, I had the minor epiphany that one of the things I love about slash fic is its wish fulfillment quality. ( Why yes, I do have issues )

Anyway, that musing led into Atlantis musing, since I’m watching season one on DVD and it’s therefore taking over my brain.

( All those people who picked on me in high school live in another galaxy now! )

And in a vaguely related tangent: pixyofthestyx, I’ve decided that the Planet of the Prussians will have tech roughly equivalent to WWI, including chlorine gas and old-school wood-and-fabric biplanes with pusher propellers. There will be much fanboying of the biplanes, possibly to the extent that the blatantly obvious evil of the locals will be completely ignored in favor of pilot squee. (“But Elizabeth! They let me fly their ghetto-tastic fighter plane! How was I supposed to know they were evil?” “The fact that they were researching chemical warfare didn’t tip you off?” “Well, maybe, but… airplane!!!”)