Dormez-Vous?

Chapter 13

As Jeanne and Arthur padded along the peeling dirt road,each step pulling away another layer of gray-brown dust, Arthur couldn't help but feeling that he was being watched. It was a strange feeling, and he couldn't determine why it bothered him so much and made his hair stand stiff like arrows, but he felt that perhaps the person watching was doing so in a threatening way. Bandits, maybe? He looked around himself, but the only living thing he saw was a scrawny black cat digging up food from the gutters. Still, the feelings persisted.

"So, where is the nice house you told me of, that Francis and you supposedly live in?" Jeanne's voice swept over Arthur's sense, draining away his overly-cautious feelings from before. She sounded sarcastic and there was a glint to her eyes, as well as twitching muscles, tugging at the corners of her mouth wickedly. "This area of town doesn't seem very nice at all."

Glancing aside, the young Englishman merely shrugged his shoulders, nostrils flaring with his indignation. "I don't know. Just be quiet until we get there." He muttered, and tromped off ahead of her upon his pudgy legs. He stepped on his worn green cape in his tantrum-like movements and almost tripped and fell flat on his face, causing him to turn a bright red and walk even faster. He knew that Jeanne was snickering behind him.

"Do you think your family has been worried about you?" A pebble flew at the back of Arthur's head, bonking him and then retaliating and landing on the ground. "Do you think they're out looking for you?" Jeanne seemed to just be rephrasing the same question over and over again.

Letting out a sigh, Arthur stopped in his tracks and leaned one small hand against the gray, crumbling alley wall. His green eyes stared distantly ahead and flashed like dying campfires, and for a moment a forlorn aura seemed to overtake him and the area around him. "They hate me." He stated simply, and did not move a muscle, as if to do so would somehow be fatal. His legs quivered ever-so-slightly and he bit his lip as he recalled all the horrid things his siblings had done to him. They had never cared a smidgen for him – maybe Dylan, but that was all – and had only always hurt him and pushed him away. To them, he was the outcast. To Allister...he must be an abomination.

Instead of arguing like many previous people Arthur had said this to tended to do, Jeanne merely made a quiet noise of sadness, and breathed, "Oh." Soft footsteps sounded after a minute, and she slowly made her way over to the boy, ad laid her thin but calloused hand upon his shoulder. "I'm sorry, Arthur." She murmured into his ear, words tickling and warming it all at once.

Swatting her hand away, Arthur resumed his journey back towards the house. Absentmindedly, he hoped that they wouldn't be mad at him for running away. He hoped no one would treat him like Allister, and hit him for it, or like Eily, and scold him until he were deaf. Those kinds of things made him feel absolutely irked to his limit.

"Hey, you know, Francis likes you a lot." Jeanne spouted out of the blue, causing Arthur to spin around furiously. She had a huge grin stuck to her porcelain face and her childishly crooked teeth were glowing like many tiny white moons. "Do you like him back?" Laughing, she slapped him between the shoulders. "You look as red as a cherry!" She squealed after a moment after she inquired the former.

Indeed, Arthur's face was bright red, and he could feel the wretched heating oozing out of his skin in waves. It embarrassed him quite a bit, and he bit his tongue slightly and sucked in his cheeks, as if that would help it dissipate somehow. "A-Are you kidding me? I hate that frog!" Rolling his eyes, he promptly kicked a shoe-full of dirt up at her, then spun around and ran. "In fact, I hate you too! I think all French people are smelly dolts!"

Squealing with surprise, Jeanne hastily wiped the dirt from her ragged clothes and smudged face, but seeing as she was already filthy she soon gave up and smirked like a sly fox instead. Drawing her wooden sword that she always carried, she pointed it straight up into the air and announced: "Then I shall slay you!" before bounding after the little Englishman at full-force.

Arthur screamed – knowing fully well that she wouldn't really kill him, but still a bit frightened of being beaten with the object – and sprinted as fast as he could go. He zipped around corners and splashed mud up onto his trousers and boots, almost falling at least three times. He did not even notice when he ran into the little clearing in front of the old, abandoned house that he and Francis had been residing in. "Well, what are you waiting for?" He demanded, picking a stick up from the ground and raising it into the air. Instead of swinging it like Jeanne had her sword, he twirled it about as if it were a magic want. "Come at me!" He stuck out his tongue to taunt his opponent.

However, Jeanne was not paying much attention. Instead, she was staring past Arthur with a shocked look on her face. Her chapped lips were drawn into a tiny upside-down "D" shape, and her body went still and unmoving.

"What? What is the problem...?" Arthur dropped the stick-wand, suddenly feeling intimated and wondering if something awful was standing behind him, ready to attack him. He did not move a muscle.

Jeanne slowly smiled once again.

"Arthur! I've been looking everywhere for you!" A familiar voice piped, and thin, white arms were promptly wound about the young boy's waist. He squealed with surprise as those arms tightened their grip to that of a vice, and suddenly his body was above the ground.

Wriggling around with all his might, he growled, "Put me down this instant! Let me go! Imbecile!" and tried to bite his attacker. Jeanne, instead of aiding him, was leaning against her wooden sword from a distance and laughing merrily, as if this was something that was okay – some stranger harassing poor Arthur. He just knew French people were untrustworthy.

After much squeezing and cooing, the assailant finally dropped Arthur down, and the latter spun around to face him. It was Francis Bonnefoy, eyes sharp blue and loving, and rosebud lips a perfect smile. There were little sparkles of wetness in the corners of his eyes, and Arthur feared he was crying, but as he looked closer, there seemed to be nothing there. "...oh. You. Hello." The Brit wasn't quite sure what so say, and he felt abashed, nonetheless, that he didn't recognize his friend's voice right away. Thus he started troubling himself over what an awful person he must be, not to recognize his friends, and with a sad little noise he cast his emerald eyes towards his shoes and the ground, and hid them beneath thickened eyebrows.

"What? Are you not happy to see me?" Francis inquired with a disappointed tone to his voice, but at the same time, he seemed to be expecting this.

Gilbert, who was straying but Francis' side – and had a bruise on his face – decided that this would be the perfect moment to pop his own opinion in. "Of course he does not want to see you, Fracine."He groaned and rolled his ruby-red eyes back into his head. His fingers sought a little cross on his neck that dangled there from a tattered string, and he stroked the old thing listlessly. "He ran away because of you."

"I didn't-." Arthur began, but was cut off by the door to the abandoned house flying open, and a bombardment of children rushing out in a deadly wave.

"Francis! You found him! Bien, bien!" Antonio chirped, rushing over with Lovino close by his side. Feliciano was padding alongside Ludwig, whom went straight to Arthur and gave him a death-glare, followed by a hug. The Italian boy joined in as well and soon Arthur was squished. Antonio made his way to Francis, however. "Ah, who is that young girl over there, though?" He asked, and a darkness suddenly overtook his countenance. The same happened to Gilbert all at once.

Arthur watched Francis look away, and then give Arthur a little glance as he said. "That is one of my close friends. Her name is Jeanne." His plastic smile never faltered, and before anyone could say anything anymore, he sprang forwards and ran to his old comrade, hugging her with all his force and kissing her cheeks. "Jeanne! I haven't seen you in so long! Come meet my friends!" He said, and let go of the girl's body, bounding back towards where he came.

Looking quite enthralled that Francis had invited her, Jeanne hurriedly nodded and began to follow. She went much slower, however, with a shyness to her step, and an uncertainty as well. "H-Hello, I am-."

She did not get to finish, as suddenly a parade of horses burst into the clearing and she was wrenched up by the arm by a noble looking man with ice-cold eyes and a horrifically angry expression. Arthur recognized him at once:

Francis' father.

AN: Hey, everyone, I finally wrote another chapter! Sorry for the wait. I wont give you a long excuse, but to spare the details, again, I am not mentally well. Fortunately I am working on a solution to fixing that!

I know this probably is a bit rusty, so please forgive the writing, but I promise I will be reading and writing a lot this summer (even if it's not uploaded to FF) so I can improve!

I decided that this "book" is going to be 15 chapters. The second half of it is going to be titled something else, and it too will have 15 chapters hopefully. Anyways, in addition, I have come to the conclusion that I like switching characters POVs every chapter, not a million times per chapter if it's not necessary So, thus, I'll be doing that more. :)

Reviews are appreciated, but I love to talk to anyone just for fun as well~! Au revoir!