DISCLAIMER: The characters from the television program The Magnificent Seven are the property of Trilogy and The Mirisch Co. I am making no money from their use.
This Story is created for entertainment purposes only, no infringement intended. Not to be copied without permission from the author.
RATINGS: PG - violence, mild language
WARNING: This Story contains an alternative Universe theme, if this type of story is not to your liking or will somehow offend you please delete this mail immediately and do not read any further Furthermore this story contain semi graphic images of a terrorism nature, if you feel this may disturb you please find a different story that you will enjoy.
NOTES: Eternal thanks to Mog for letting me play in her ATF AU sandpit. Thanks heaps to Enid (known affectionately here as my font of all knowledge) for all the brainpicking I have done. Thanks to my net sisters Lyn and Dayna for all the collaboration and characterisation help, couldn’t have done it without you. Keep your tissues handy.
PART 4
All seven men were at the CDC in plenty of time for their lift to arrive. The Minibus collected them and delivered them to the hotel where the party was being held. None of the men noticing the looks of gratification they received for the persons they passed on their walk towards their destination.
It seemed almost as if they had truly become musketeers. They walked down the wide corridor in a line, no one in front of another, they moved as one. Chris their leader, walked in the middle of his men, his gait proud and true, the blue velvet of his costume the perfect foil for his rugged blond good looks. On his right, his best friend, his blue gaze intensified by the blue of his velvet cape, his long curly locks held back by a tight leather thong, one hand resting lightly on the imitation musket that rest in a holster against his thigh as he walked. On his left, his oldest friend, who wore the costume with the dashing debonair carelessness of Errol Flynn, one side of the cape flung back over his shoulder. If ever there was a costume made for Buck Wilmington it was the musketeer uniform. He rested his hand lightly on the hilt of the rapier that was slung from his waist. His deep blue eyes gleamed with merriment, as he himself realised what a commotion their arrival was causing.
Ezra walked on the right of Vin, his countenance immaculate, one gloved hand on the hilt of his rapier. He had arrived this evening at the CDC bearing seven pairs of white suede gloves, wide cuffs to accommodate the lace cuffs of their shirts. He had told his counterparts that no gentleman would arrive with bare hands and that had been all it had taken. They had all donned their gloves without questions. His green eyes darkened to the colour of rainforest leaves reflecting his contentedness in the deep blue velvet. He was the one who looked most like he belonged in the uniform, dashing, charming and yet still with that hint of danger.
On Buck’s left, his best friend and pseudo little brother walked, his head tall, proud to be in the company of the other men, his thick black hair swept back under the plumed hat he wore at a jaunty angle. Both sides of his cape flicked back, one hand on his musket, the other hand resting on his rapier. The sparkle in his deep brown eyes reminding onlookers of the youth and innocent zest for life of the fabled D’Artagnan.
To Ezra’s right walked the oldest and perhaps wisest of the seven, his step equalling the smaller man to his left. He wasn’t sure if it was the kinship he shared with the others or the attention they were receiving, but dressed as they were he felt almost invincible beside his brothers. Nathan walked to the left of JD, feeling a little conspicuous in front of the crowd they appeared to be attracting. He knew that they gave a formidable appearance but he knew that they didn’t need the clothes to make a lasting impression to the outside world. He lifted his head a jaunty tilt to his chin and walked proudly forward. Bearing the aura they carried with them wherever they went, but united in uniform as they were there was no mistaking their unity.
As the doorman flung open the doors for them and they stood on the slightly raised entrance to the ballroom, they paused watching every head in the room turn toward them. They were completely unaware of the picture they presented to the outside world in the costumes they wore. Arriving individually they would have caused a stir, but arriving as a team they commanded the attention of every person in the huge ballroom. The women wanted them, the men wanted to be them, and the seven were completely oblivious.
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