Newt imagines 2

The gladers

This is a bbc musketeers imagine. Basically I really like the series and wanted to put Newt in it cause he makes everything perfect ❤️. Here is a link to an online site to watch it, if your interested: http://123movies.fm/watch/QvMm1pv2-the-musketeers-season-1.html
I saw Alby as captain Treville because their both leaders and all. Then I can't pin the other four down to characters because they all have interlocking characteristics, so I put Thomas as the trainee like D'Artagnan because he is the new test greenie in TMR. Then Minho, Gally and Newt play the parts of the other three musketeers. Athos, Aramis and Porthos.
And I kind of want y/n to be semi like Constance, because Constance is a babe. But without the whole married drama.
This is one of many imagines... I hope you enjoy them!

I wondered the streets of Paris, the concentration in each step was like watching a famous physician, but I was sharper than any man. A ready eye always lurked over my shoulder, my ears primed as I worked a continuous path amongst the market stalls, careful to avoid my Sunday dress trailing in the filth that litters the streets of France like a plague.
Then I heard the haggard voice like wailing maidens to my ears. So I made my way to the flour stall.
The haggard voice belongs to one of the eldest farmers to work on the market, that did not make him any less of an arsehole. He was toying with a poor man, thieving him of his money. The man's dark hair was one I hadn't seen before, his red face working deeper and deeper as he got frustrated with the flour farmer, and his ridiculous prices. "I wouldn't waste my money on that if I was you." I said leaning over to see the small bag, probably filled with poorly crushed, damp flour. "Monsieur." I add remembering the world of manners, a place filled with simple rich folk. Now that I looked closer, I noticed the finery in his leather jacket, the simple patterned print.
He turned to me. "You, mam'selle, know about flour?" He questioned with this look of disbelief on his face.
I rolled my eyes. "I know that I'm a cook and that this.... Man, will sell you shocking quantity and quality for his..." I spat on the bag. "Offensive prices."
The farmer slapped the air shooing me away. "You be out of her' you buggerin'..."
The dark haired man, cut open the bag and out poured the shitty contents. He stared at me in a new light. "Tell me what you know about flour." He begged and I laughed, as we turned away from the stall leaving the farmer to curse and spit at us.
We walked and chatted, I missed the feeling of friends.
"You heard of the gladers? Mam'selle." He asked looking at me, serious.
I pretended to ponder but who didn't know about them. The Kings highest, personal soldiers, meant to be the finest throughout the whole of France. Ones I have seen causing street baffles with the red guard many a time near the inn. I spoke to their leader many times back in the palace.
"I've heard of them." I smiled.
He smiled back unknowingly. "Well we had a.... Dilemma with the old cook and are doing a round of interviews tomorrow at dawn for a new one."
I tried to show that I had to way it up, check a diary or two, when really I could sleep nearby on a back street and be there first thing. "I will see if I can make it."
He smiled and begged his pardon heading off into the far depth of the city.
***
Soon I was sat on a wooden balcony, it creaked on its posts. I sat gingerly anxiously tapping my foot.

The door opened and I watched bedazzled as a young lady dressed in a clean yellow dress, with red roses on and a matching shawl, bursted out the room like a flower in need of blossoming. Floods of sobs and tears pouring down her face. She was gone before I could close my gapping mouth. "Next!" A rough voice barked.
So I went in, dressed in the same outfit as normal. I didn't sit like a petty woman crying for a job, I sat like a confident noble upon a horse. Opposite me were five guys, the dark haired man from yesterday in the rear corner. I recognised Alby, I knew he had retired years ago from all the fighting, but I couldn't put a name to the others.
I instantly recognised the burnt leather imprint on the closest fours right shoulder, it was a radiant corn in full bloom and glory. A symbol of growth and care, a shoulder crest of pride for every man in the streets to envy.
It was the sign of a glader.