Bad Dreams

~Part 9~END

Ashling skipped down the sidewalk, humming a Celtic song. Carson followed from behind, stretching.

âSo, we got that settled. Can we go home now?â Carson asked.

âNo, I wanna visit Francis first,â Ashling insisted, walking faster.

âThe guyâs a creep! He might rape you! He might rape me,â paranoia slipped onto Carsonâs face, and Ashling smacked him.

âPull yourself together you great twit!â she sighed, âHonestly,â

Carson rubbed his cheek, âThereâs no need to use violence,â he muttered.

Ashling continued walking till she reached a large marble colored mansion. She clapped her hands, âYay! We get to see France!â

âWhy do you even like that guy?â Carson asked, âHeâs technically just Scotâs drinking buddy,â

âSo?â Ashling smiled, âI think heâs very classy,â

âI think he smells,â

Ashling giggled and walked up to the door, knocking timidly at first, then ramming her fists against the wood door like a crazy woman.

âThe fuck Ash?!â Carson shook his head, a smile on his face.

France opened the door a moment later, his face paled, âWhat? What happened?! It wasnât me, I swear!â

He blinked a few times when he saw Ashling and Carson.

âOhhhhh, hi!â

âHiya!â

Ashling walked into the house, dragging Carson along behind her, âWe were in the neighborhood and thought weâd stop by for a bit,â

âWell, thatâs thoughtful of you,â France said smiling, âHowâs Angleterre?â

Ashling just smiled, âHeâs doing a lot better now,â she turned her head, âI hope,â she muttered under her breath.

âThatâs good. It worried me that he was acting soâ€Â¦.well… not like Britain,” France shrugged, “Would you like something to drink,”

“Sure,”

Ashling dragged Carson into the living room and sat down on a lace couch with him. Carson poked the fake grapes that were in a ceramic bowl on a glass table, “This place freaks me out,”

“You’re being paranoid,”

“Only around this guy. There’s no telling what he’ll do. He might be into that weird sadistic stuff. He’ll tie us up and whip us and-,”

“I don’t wanna hear that!” Ashling covered her ears, “Spare me such an image, I’m begging you,”

Carson muttered something and folded his arms.

France walked in carrying a platter with three cups and a tea pot. He set it down and sat down across from Ashling and Carson.

“So, how’s Scot and Wales?”

“Same,” Ashling smiled as she poured herself a cup of tea, “Scot’s been a bit tense lately, and Wales has been worried sick about Arthur, but they’re doing okay,”

“Mm,” France was frowning, “Do you have any idea what might have started the nightmares in the first place?”

“Not a clue,” Ashling sighed and blew on the hot tea, “It never was clear. He sometimes just breaks down I guess,”