So, back to the Return (last for a week or so, because I am off to the land of no bandwidth to speak of.)
So the bad guys have gone away, and the peasants of Pinon reveal just how small the budget for extras were for this ep. Adding the poor sod on the ground being ignored by everyone including the man he saved from a savage beating, 20 souls or so are supposed to be the entire adult population of Pinon, apparently the only ones working to keep Athos’s family in the style he is no longer grateful for. Either that village has some combine harvesters hiding behind the picturesquely ramshackle village buildings to work sodding enormous farm land, or Pinon is just one of about ten villages supporting the La Fère estate. (Is Athos going to do a tour of each in turn, telling them he hates them and to fuck off out of his life, or will he send a round robin, I wonder?)
The Musketeers who aren’t drugged, hungover, and pissed off have arrived
And Athos insists on flashing us, so not GIFing this would be rude, right?
Watch this darling bit of dehorsing from Porthos/Howard Charles (contrasting with Tom B who apparently was extremely wary while dismounting, according to Tamla and Alexandra):
Porthos proceeds to also ignore and literally step over the groaning hero (still being utterly ignored) on the ground. (Note his shirt, unlike Athos’s, and despite the nasty whipping, is not damaged at all.)
For some reason, it has fallen to d’Artagnan to lecture the cranky bugger of our hearts about his duty, and Athos uses the cloak to indicate his level of not giving a fuckedness (Also, considering how hot it was during filming, and in the plot, why the hell was he forced to wear a wool cloak? And stand near a cooking fire in this scene?)
As Athos walks away, clearly thinking “Why me?” and “How much would I pay for someone to shoot me right now?”, Porthos, never one to run away from a potential bomb, leaps in with both feet
Athos does his best to kill him with his aristocratic brain
Porthos is obviously unconcerned by Athos’s frame of mind, his headache, or his pathological hatred of anything to do with his old life
And here we have a man at the point of turning into a human catherine wheel (no pun intended) with the amount of rage he’s carrying, a man who has been drugged, beaten up, knocked out, kicked in the guts, and forced to wear wool in 35+° C heat, letting everyone in the vicinity know that he will not be responsible for his actions if they touch him, speak to him, or look at him. Or breathe funny
I declare Athos the winner of the murder stare Olympics. Treville has a scary one, Porthos can look murderous, but only Athos can look *up* at someone while dirty, ragged, sweaty and sore, and make them wish they were at least a kilometre away in any direction :)
More coming, but not for a week or so. Have a happy Thanksgiving, my American friends.