D'Artagnan and the threes-up musketeers

In a last ditch attempt to gain acceptance, D'Artagnan has consented to taking the other three at once, Porthos is really going hell for leather in his mouth, pounding away like a jack hammer and rupturing one of D'Artagnan's tonsils causing blood to spray this way and that. Athos and Aramis are round the back, Athos has already got his helmet in but is tussling with Aramis who, despite his long, snake-like cock, is struggling to gain purchase.

Cardinal Richelieu watches on, tugging desperately at his drink-addled floppy shaft and stabbing his crucifix into his bellend as he desperately tries to feel something, anything.

There are seven shoes and a pair of knickers deposited haphazardly onto the bar.

Geraint watches Hermes push lemon slices around a silver serving tray with an olive fork. From an anteroom, the whoops and screams of their contemporaries can be heard through the closed doors as they rub citrus fruits into their eyes. A servant tips more sliced fruit over their writhing naked bodies into a paddling pool which has been placed there for the occasion. Geraint sighs, knowing he will not be able to lift Hermes from the black gulf of his depression. Instead he walks to the window to stare across the grounds. A pheasant is thrashing about on the lawn overlooking the sunken garden. Its neck is broken.
Geraint tips back his brandy and leaves Hermes to his dark contemplation, he stalks off to the library to compose several lines of verse.