Gorsh, dudes, how'm I doin' so far? Feedback, anybody? First legitimate comment gets a dedication!
Arthur was halfway through the mountainous pile of potatoes when the LaFluer, that French bastard, came into the kitchen. "Boy, go and tidy up your quarters! I've had this boy brought all the way from my country, and I will not have him staying in the merde conditions you let yourself live in!" Arthur wanted to slap him. He kept his room at tiptop condition as much as he could with the bloody tools given. Nevertheless, he nodded, standing and scurrying on those light feet of his to the ladder and scrambling up it quickly. He glanced around and yelped as a broom was shoved through the hatch, landing on his foot heavily.
"Make yourself useful, boy. Break this and I'll skin you." Arthur nodded, lifting the broom and briefly studying the bruise on his bare foot. Wonderful. He sighed and opened the small window, taking a bare moment to look out at the city before getting to work, sweeping out the dust from the corners and using the bristles of the broom to clean out the spiders' webs from the eves.
"Monsieur LaFluer?" Arthur looked up at the faint voice from below as he finished setting up the second, never-used cot that usually resided in the corner of his room. He scurried over and hung his head through the open hatch, hair pulled straight down as he watched the people in the kitchen with his emerald eyes.
"Ah, Francis! I haven't seen you in so long! You look well!" He watched in facination as his master hugged the new boy, who met his eyes over LeFluer's shoulder. Arthur felt like he had an eternity to study the fine features of the other boy. Blonde hair, more of a soft tallow color than his bright shock of hair. Blue eyes with a look of devilish mischief and distain for the world.
"Who is that, Monsieur LaFluer?" Arthur's master glanced over his shoulder and huffed, snarling at Arthur, who cringed. "My apprentice, but the boy's useless, Francis." This 'Francis' boy stepped over and peered at Arthur, giving Arthur a chance to take in his gently used tunic.
"Are you sure, mon? He's too cute, if he lost the black eye!" Arthur felt his face heat up indignantly as his master laughed. "You think so, child? I suppose we could clean him up and sell him to a lady of the court as a toy, but he's too scrawny for that." Arthur held as still as he could, hoping not to invite more comments.
His hopes failed.
"Non, I don't believe so. Come down, um... what's your name, boy?" Arthur felt himself break just a tiny bit inside. One tiny crack in his sanity as he carefully flipped down from the hatch, landing crouched on his feet.
"Arthur." Francis smiled, looking him up and down and glancing at Arthur's master. "He's strong enough for it, though he could stand to put on some muscle." Arthur wanted to slap him. He was muscled like a horse and the fool couldn't see it.
"Oui, but for now he's to be your partner in work here, Francis." Arthur cringed as his master's gaze fell upon him. "Boy, he gets the cot. you'll be sleeping in the shed now." Arthur frowned. "But there's two--" Arthur stumbled back as his master's hand met his cheek heavily.
"No backtalk, boy!" Arthur glared at the Frenchman briefly and nodded slowly, getting to his feet and glaring at the ground.
"Yea, sir. As you wish." Arthur held ready for another strike and was relieved as it never came. "Bien. Go and move your things to the shed, boy." Arthur nodded and turned, scurrying up the ladder and quickly wrapping his few meager posessions in a blanket. He twisted the corners of the woolen blanket together and dropped through the hatch, wincing as the bruised foot gave under him, rolling and making him lose his nimble footing. He tok a deep breath and trudged outside as his master handed the new boy three thick blankets, the like of which Arthur had only ever set hands to when he was tidying the inn's guest rooms for his master.
Arthur stepped outside as it began to drizzle, typical weather in the British isles. He sighed as his dapm hair stuck to his forehead, pushing his way into the shed, the rusty hinges of the door creaking in protest as he stepped into the musky-smelling room.
It had, at one point, had chickens in it, but those days were long gone, and all that remained was the straw on the ground, kept fairly dry by the flimsy roof overhead. Arthur sighed as there was a flash of lightning and started setting up his new home. Cot in the dryest corner, the few things that he had of his parents next to it. He paused a moment before gathering the dryest hay and shoving it under his cot.
Better. He glanced around and went about making sure the shudders were securely fastened. They were so rusted, though, that he probably couldn't make them open even if he wanted to...
His ears perked up at the sound of someone yelling for him and he sighed, glancing at his face in the bit of window pane, grimacing at the bruises that now smeared down the left side of his face, like someone had rubbed his face in Indian ink.... He sighed and stood, moving to jog through the rain to the main building, ducking inside, where he was met with a slap on the head.
"Boy, you'll be training Francis for the inn, since he'll be working there prodominantly." Arthur nodded with the correct amount of meek humbleness and followed where the finger was pointing, to the main room in the tavern.
Arthur wasn't surprised at the crowd. It was the end of the month and al of the shipments from Southampton had just come in and all of the men who'd helped on the carts would come to the nearest tavern, namely, Arthur's home.
He spied Francis talking to a pretty girl by the inn door and headed for him.
"-ally? You've never tried it before? Trust me, French--" Arthur cleared his throat, giving the girl a nod before looking at Francis, who looked extremely displeased at having his courting interrupted.
"What, boy?" Arthur scowled. "First, you can't possibly be older enough to call me boy with any good reason, and second, I'm to train you for the inn now." Francis was still a moment before a grin slid over his face, making the already appealing boy look like a little French angel.
Arthur wasn't sure he liked angels.
"Oui, Arthur, I will come." The taller French boy glanced at his lady and smiled, quickly obtaining her hand in his and laying a kiss on the back of it, smiling at her with a wink. "Come see me sometime. I might be able to show you--"
"Coime on, you bloody frog." Arthur grabbed the Frenchman's sleeve, dragging him away from the girl as he whined. Arthur stood the boy up on his feet as they reached the stairwell, lip curling in disgust for the French boy.
"Please bother to listen. I'll get a good beating if you mess the bloody job up after I train you." Francis nodded, still grinning like an idiot. "Oui, Angelterre!" Arthur scowled. "Don't talk your bloody French tongue at me, frog. It's Arthur Kirkland to you." Francis laughed merrily, the sound an odd... the only way Arthur could describe it was horrifyingly French.
"Oui, if you wish to be called that. Angelterre is mearly the French name for your land, Arthur."
"It's Kirkland to you." Francis mearly smiled. Arthur shook his head at the percived fool and rolled his eyes. "Come on. We've got a lot of work to get through."
By the time they were done, Francis had nearly set curtains on fire, broken a washbasin, and had dropped a jug on Arthur's cut thumb, which was still throbbing at the end of the training session.
Arthur sighed at the talled boy, scowling. "If I'm useless, then you're a damned fool." Francis shrugged happily and opened his mouth to say something, but was cut off as the door to the tavern was opened and a man called out in a heavy Scottish accent.
"Oi! Where's the owner of this establishment?!" Arthur frowned as Francis tugged on his shirtsleeve. "Is this normal?" Arthur shook his head slowly. the tall man wasn't the tax collector...
He watched the man as Pierre came forward from the back. The disruptive stranger was very tall, at least one hundred and seventy centemeteres, with a bright red cap of shaggy hair. Arthur strained to see more of the man across the room, but froze in terror as his name was called.
"Oh lord in heaven, no, please...." He jumped as he was called again and scurried forward. He frowned as his master waved him back. "Not you, fool! you!" Arthur frowned, eyes widening as Francis padded past him, Arthur realizing what was going on and letting out a breath of slight relief. Whatever trouble he was in, the French boy was taking it. Unless it was something good....
"Blast." The more he thought about it, watching as the stranger appraised Francis, clapping the blonde boy on the back and grinning at Arthur's master, the more Arthur was sure that this person was here for him, and it was probably his uncle.
He'd have to have a nice talk with Francis about this.