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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 2, 2012 16:12:17 GMT -5
((<_< I'm sorry for the title, ahah. Also I hope you don't mind the setting, we can always change))
It was the afternoon of a day like any other. It might have been a tuesday, or a wednesday maybe, Francis wasn't really sure. That week, his agenda was pretty empty, more empty than what he liked to see. This also meant that it didn't really matter to him what day it was, since it wouldn't change much his programs.
In fact, the emptiness on his agenda was the real reason he had gone out. He was going to spend the night at home, alone, and he honestly had no idea of what to do. He had run out of books and DVDs, the TV didn't seem to offer anything fancy and his internet connection would die every five minutes. So he had dragged himself to the small but cozy bookstore down the street, to see if they had anything he could entertain himself with.
As he walked through the shop's doors, he still hadn't figured out what he was looking for. A book, or a movie, even, he really didn't care, as long as it tickled his interest - and despite he was bored, he knew his tastes were not easily met when he was in that kind of mood.
So he went through the shelves, looking at the titles with a mostly uninterested eye, until he ended up bumping into something, or someone, he hadn't noticed. Maybe a kid...? He looked down, managing a "Je suis désolé", his voice sounding more apologetic than what he really felt. It wasn't a kid he had nearly stomped over, but another man.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Apr 3, 2012 4:04:06 GMT -5
(Don’t stress! It’s good :3 )
It was a shame that the English section of the quiet book store was so small, Arthur had been looking forward to finding something inspiring tonight. Instead he found teenage romance novels, Twilight and Harry Potter. Not that the last of these wasn’t the best literature since Tolkien, he just knew the series by heart at this point. He skimmed over the Shakespeare but none of it took his fancy and wondered if it was a joke that a Molière was tucked between ‘Romeo and Juliet’ and ‘Othello’. He may have been considered a fantastic play write, and admittedly Arthur had yet to read any of his translated work, but he was French and that instantly took points off.
The Brit couldn’t help pulling the book from the shelf in order to find where it belonged, a habit picked up from years of working in the library, when he was knocked into. Or bowled over, if he were to recount what had happened, although he was known at times to exaggerate. He scowled up at the other even before he heard that dreadful language that he thought should never be spoken out loud. French would be the new Latin if he had his way. His expression softened momentarily when he actually took in the other’s appearance, well dressed with beautifully trimmed locks and defined features contrasting his sweater-vest and unkempt hair. He would have dared to consider him gorgeous if he wasn’t French.
But he was. And that set him right back into a mood. “Well, bloody watch where you’re going.” Now even he had to admit, that wasn’t the best English. Something about the other just instantly annoyed him. "Honestly." He scoffed, turning right back to the shelf and pretending that he was actually interested in the content it held.
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 7, 2012 6:50:09 GMT -5
Francis looked in surprise at the man standing in front of him. He hadn't expected a reply in English, and that had caught him off guard. After all, one didn't expect to find a foreigner in a French bookshop... not that it would have been a completely odd thing to do, that is, it just felt weird. Anyway, Francis had understood his sharp reply completely, stung by the man's bitterness. However, he wondered whether the man had understood what he had said at all - Englishmen, he thought, they barely knew there were other languages in the world a part from their own!
"I already told you I am sorry, but maybe you didn't understand." he said, one eyebrow raised.
Now, wasn't this an oddly looking guy? With those big, dark eyebrows - such a striking contrast with his blond hair, all scruffy. He would use an appointment to his hair stylist, Francis thought immediately - especially because he had pretty green eyes, he thought. Hidden by those giant eyebrows, again, but pretty.
Francis looked at what the man was holding and couldn't help an amused smile. "Moliere? Are you interested in French theatre?" he asked teasingly. Had it be any other book, he would have probably let it go. But given that he had read everything Moliere had written and performed in a number of the plays, he couldn't help to tease that grumpy English guy a bit.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Apr 8, 2012 3:05:09 GMT -5
Arthur simply scoffed as the Frenchman rephrased himself in English with that practically insulting accent of his. And the way he seemed to be scrutinizing the details of his face didn’t escape the Brit’s notice either, making his cheeks warm immediately into a semi-permanent flush. He turned his head back to the shelf and out of his immediate view, knowing exactly what earned such attention and irritated all the more by it. He didn’t have the money or the skills to maintain his appearance, and really most other clothing suited him even less than what he was wearing or were far too impractical.
His finger subconsciously traced the edges of the play in hand nervously, wanting to tell him to stop judging him this instant. There was nothing wrong with how he looked, he wasn’t stunning, but he wasn’t some freak either.
The question caused him to smirk a little bit and respond as arrogantly as ever. “Certainly not. This belongs with the rest of the French garbage.” Arthur gestured over his shoulder, meaning the rest of the small store of course. “Clearly some optimistic git thought it belonged with Shakespeare.” He snorted, still unsure why he was talking to this man in the first place. Insults or not, it was unusual for him to not simply roll his eyes and walk away, muttering under his breath.
(Enjoy your holiday >u< )
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 12, 2012 8:23:23 GMT -5
Francis looked in amusement at how the other became red for... embarrassment? Anger? The flush on his pale skin made the contrast with his green eyes even stronger, and Francis' smile grew bigger. The man looked very nervous, and normally Francis would reproach himself for upsetting a poor foreigner like that, but given the sharp response he gave, he still seemed quite combative.
"Well, maybe Shakespeare wouldn't mind Moliere's company, how would you tell?" he teased. Then he crossed his arms on the chest, looking down at the other with a slightly more serious expression. "Insulting this place it's not very kind of you, though. Did you expect to find books in English when we can sell and read them in our perfectly musical language, here?"
Actually, why had he come in the shop to begin with, if he thought everything was garbage? Normally, Francis would label him as very annoying and rude, but today he was bored, and the man seemed to provide him the entertainment he needed.
"One should examine oneself for a very long time before thinking of condemning others." he quoted from Moliere himself, and chuckled knowingly. He had done him the favor of quoting it in English - after all, he wouldn't have been able to understand the original, from what Francis could gather.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Apr 12, 2012 8:58:25 GMT -5
Arthur scoffed at the question, wishing that he could truly speak on Shakespeare’s behalf in his answer. “Maybe he would have. It doesn’t change the fact that Shakespeare was and will always be better; and this play does not belong in this particular section.” His eyes drifted back to the other in a defiant challenge, one he normally wouldn’t pursue but he was in another country and it wasn’t as if he were a regular at this store. The next comment earned him a simple shrug of his shoulders along with the lazy reply, “I never claimed to be kind.”
He resisted the urge to laugh very obnoxiously at the placement of French and musical in the same sentence. There was absolutely no worse torture to his ears than that dreadful, nasally language. Of course this was just his prejudice speaking, it’s quite possible he would have no problem with the language at all if it wasn’t spoken by Frenchman. Most other European languages were deemed passable after all, by his standards anyway.
There was no doubt in the Brit’s mind that the French git had just quoted the playwright and he made a show of rolling his eyes at his nerve. “To thine own self be true.” Arthur supplied in retaliation. “I am not suffering from some sort of existential crisis and I’m not about to question myself. And so if I do know myself… well, I guess that means I can condemn all I’d like!” He said in a sort of mock revelation, accompanied by a smile.
(Hmmm... said I was going to bed and then I reply. Oh well~ XD)
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 15, 2012 17:47:37 GMT -5
Francis sighed. "Are you some kind of order-maniac? Maybe they were... exchanging opinions." he argued, but wondered why someone who referred as all those shelves and books as garbage would then bother to put books back in the place where they belonged. Or maybe the idea of seeing Moliere's name next to Shakespeare's sounded simply too gross to that ruffled blonde.
"Well, well, don't sound that angry, now. I was just quoting." He replied, hands up, amused by how nastily the man had sounded. "I'm glad you think you're so well aware of yourself." Well, the British surely didn't seem to care much about what others could think of him - he wouldn't have been acting so bitchy, otherwise. "But please recognize that your sharp words could cut someone else's tender heart." he said, in an overdramatic tone.
Then again, one could not simply quote Hamlet in Francis' presence and hope he would shut up. He held his own chest with one hand, while the other raised to lightly touch the British man's shoulder. "Now cracks a noble heart. Good-night, sweet prince; and flights of angels sing thee to thy rest." he said in soft tone, a sad smile now depicted on his face.
Francis knew most of Hamlet by heart - art was art, no matter if such a poet like Shakespeare had shared his linguistic origin with the trivial, irritating man in front of him.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Apr 16, 2012 6:56:14 GMT -5
Arthur felt a pang of annoyance when the Frenchman questioned his obsession with order as if it didn’t matter if the books were in the right spot or not. What if someone had wanted this? They wouldn’t have been able to find it because some inconsiderate twit had been too lazy to put it back. “I know from personal experience that it can be rather irritating when looking for a book that has been misplaced.” He explained as best he could without referencing the fact that it was because he worked in a library that he had picked up this slightly compulsive habit.
He snubbed the notion that the other’s words had any effect on him at all, especially anger; he’d been trying to be a smart ass, that’s all. “And I was pointing out that your quote has little to do with me or this conversation.” Although, even he couldn’t entirely believe his own words, not that he showed this uncertainty when the other played the victim card. “Again, it sounds as though you’re assuming that I am ‘kind’.”
It both irritated and surprised Arthur that he knew the origin of the quote and could return with his own. Still, just a tiny spark of admiration started since clearly the man was more than simply well read and was coping very well with this banter. Really though, it wasn’t fair that he was clearly intelligent as well as good looking and the Brit was determined not to let him get the better of him. “Aren’t you the enthusiast?” He drawled, shrugging the offending hand from his shoulder and looking more annoyed than he actually felt by the gesture. “Although, I’d rather you not look at me while quoting that.” Not just because it was Shakespeare but because he had no intention of playing Hamelt. On reflection, Hamlet had probably not been the best play to quote from when claiming to not be suffering from any sort of existential or identity crisis.
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 18, 2012 18:04:16 GMT -5
Francis nodded. He could see the man's point on misplaced books - but then again, this was just a little bookshop in a little street, where all the books were stuffed and things weren't sorted out in the neat and clear manner they were in the huge, chain bookstores you found in the main shopping streets. It had happened to him to find books put somewhere they didn't belong at all, but Francis had never been too fond of order so he didn't mind - on the contrary, he had found himself often taking out those books, flipping through them and deciding to buy them, disregarding the titles or the writers he had been looking for.
Francis crossed his arms on his chest, looking down at the other man as if he was a hissing, barking puppy who was never going to scratch or bite him anyway. "I've well understood that you're not kind, at this point, thank you." he pointed out - although the man hadn't yet walked away plainly insulting him, which would have qualified him as a total asshole.
"An enthusiast, you say? I guess you can say I am, when it comes to theatre, oui." he admitted. Well, he surely had been a fanatic, in the past. Now... he wasn't quite sure of what he was anymore. But, for whatever reason, he just had to stand for Moliere, at first, and then to go on quoting Shakespeare... He wasn't sure if it was just some weird competition spirit that had just awaken, or if the man had truly managed to take out a bit of his old passion - either way, he was, admittedly, enjoying it. "And I realize that calling you sweet prince must be quite traumatic, sorry for that." he apologized jokingly.
"Anyway, I'm sorry you stumbled upon Moliere while you were looking for something else." he said, deciding to act like a civil person "Especially since I wouldn't have stumbled upon you, if you didn't, I guess?" he chuckled. "What were you searching for, anyway? This is a French bookshop, after all." he inquired.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Apr 19, 2012 7:32:06 GMT -5
Arthur sent a scowl in the Frenchman’s direction at the claim that he had picked up on his unkind nature, and despite being the one to say it blankly, he wanted to snap back that he didn’t know him at all and couldn’t judge that. Although, clearly he had made this judgement and Arthur had to wonder why it mattered if it did at all. He came to the conclusion that it shouldn’t. “Sod off.” He muttered under his breath, ever the charmer.
It was pretty obvious at this point that the man had a great love of theatre, even if Arthur wouldn’t consider quoting the most prominent of playwrights anything to brag about. After all, he could easily recite Hamlet from memory, even if it was the only play he knew in its entirety. The Brit scoffed at the other’s teasing and shot back simply, “It’s more the corpse I’d rather not identify with.” He couldn’t help but take great offence once more at his tone though, wondering what exactly he was implying there. Even now he could feel his cheeks burning in irritation.
Admittedly, the way the Frenchman managed to hold himself with a smile after the rain of snide comments and insults made him feel like the smaller person. As if he could really just brush aside their conversation and ask what he was looking for? Was he offering help? Arthur wouldn’t be able to accept it out of stubborn pride. “Nothing in particular…”
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 20, 2012 16:25:53 GMT -5
Francis noticed the man's initial scowl - but then again, the Englishman had asked for that statement, hadn't he? Not that he did anything to prove Francis wrong about his kindness, anyway, so he decided to let it go.
Especially because the second thing the man said touched on a string he preferred not to be touched. "You're right, I guess." he sighed, with an half-hearted smile. After all, Francis did talk with corpses. Well, not corpses in general, of course, and he didn't actually talk to a real corpse, but.. well, hadn't been for that stupid accident, he and Jeanne would still have real life conversations, right? He would sit in their living room, and have her in front of him on their sofa - no graveyards, no gravestones, no old people who stared at him curiously when they came to bring flowers to their long-time deceased spouses. Francis had often wondered if he would turn into one of them, with the years.
With that, he could as well have walked away to chew on his sad thoughts in silence, but damn, hadn't he come to the bookshop to prevent his mind from indulging in that kind of feelings? Indeed he had. So he decided to not drop the conversation... he guessed that the man wouldn't stand him any longer, anyway.
"Nothing in particular, mh?" he said, thoughtfully "This is curious, because I also came here without nothing in particular to look for. Odd enough, mh? And this makes me wonder why you're even here, if you're not looking for anything in particular and you don't seem to like most of what is in the shop." he underlined - although he didn't mean to tease, or not entirely, at least, since he was really starting to be a bit curious about the shorter man.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Apr 21, 2012 1:53:10 GMT -5
The admission that Arthur was right caused him to quirk a prominent brow in question. Of course, he knew he was right about the entire debate, but he hadn’t expected the other to let it drop like he did. “As always…” He said, more to fill the silence then to be as arrogant as the comment sounded.
It was a little unsettling when the Frenchman looked lost in his thoughts, quiet for the first time. He was pretty sure he hadn’t even said something offensive that time. It left him curious, but not enough to question if the other was alright. After all, it wasn’t like it was his problem.
He seemed to have regained his spirits a moment later though, even teasing the Brit a little. Arthur honestly wasn’t quite sure what to make of the man. Well that’s not entirely true. He knew he didn’t like him and that should have been enough. And to be honest, he didn’t really think it was too odd that neither of them were looking for anything in particular when they met, although he didn’t comment on it this time. “I like books.” Arthur said simply and folded his arms against his slight frame. “And I had expectations that weren’t met.”
He had to hold his tongue to ask why he was in here if he wasn’t looking for anything either. Plays were probably the only thing he read, the Brit was sure. Although if he did have an interest in any other literature he wondered what it would be. The books one read could tell you so much about them.
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on Apr 25, 2012 16:28:05 GMT -5
This time, Francis laughed openly. Expectations that weren't met, really? Who was he, part of the evergreen English royalty? What was he expecting? "Your expectations must be really really high, then. I'm very sorry our humble stores don't meet them." he said, still amused, and with a voice that sounded anything but sorry. He coughed a bit, regaining control. Now, the man asked for that kind of answers, really, but Francis realized that he was being a bit.. well.. too straightforward. After all, English royalty probably expected to be treated in an entirely different manner.
"Anyway, would you mind me making up for that? I know a pretty caffè down the street, and I think their pastries are good enough to cheer you up." he told him. The man looked acid - the sort of mood that required a lot of sugar to cool down. "I'm Francis, by the way." he added, stretching his hand towards the other man with a charming smile.
He didn't even know from where that sudden invitation came... but then again, he had come into that shop in search of something to pass the time with that evening, right? He had thought more about a book or a movie, but the Englishman seemed to provide enough entertainment on his own.
"Your expectations will be surely met, this time." he winked for good measure.
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Post by Arthur Kirkland on Apr 26, 2012 8:26:00 GMT -5
Arthur was not in the least impressed by the Frenchman’s laughter.
“They’re manageable.” He scoffed, thinking that he himself is not entirely hard to please. Well, except perhaps with literature and even then he’s been known to indulge in a trashy novel or two. They often made one feel better about themselves at the very least.
The question made the Brit look up at the other once again with poorly hidden curiosity only to turn to a look of annoyance at the offer presented. He didn’t want to spend another minute with this man, or so he told himself. Although one benefit sprung to mind, if he was with a local then he wouldn’t have to suffer while ordering which involved a lot of pointing and speaking at an agonizingly slow pace. It was like getting teeth pulled sometimes. Then again, it would mean enduring this man’s company who he wasn’t taken by in the least…
Still undecided, he eyed the hand suspiciously before deciding that it would be beyond rude to ignore it. Hesitantly he slipped his hand into Francis’ and sighed. “Arthur Kirkland.” He couldn’t bring himself to add a simple ‘nice to meet you’.
The wink caused the Brit to tug his hand back with a scowl since clearly the man knew how good looking he was. Unless all Frenchman were perpetual flirts, which Arthur would easily believe. “I’d hope so. The company won’t make up for it.” He smirked at the other; quite the contrast to his glowing red face.
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Post by Francis Bonnefoy on May 1, 2012 13:40:28 GMT -5
Arthur? It sounded like a very... royal name, indeed. However, he thought better of commenting and making any King Arthur joke, especially since he knew that any "sword in the stone" joke coming out of his mouth could take a very dirty meaning, and that wouldn't sound appropriate in that bookshop.
At the other's uncertain answer, Francis' smile broadened. It looked like Arthur didn't like his flirting, and yet he wasn't insulting him plainly nor explicitly rejecting his offer. "Oh, then I'll take this as a yes." he decided. A failed rejection counted as acceptance, in his mind.
Francis knew he was a tease, and he enjoyed his role immensely. Besides, the man's adorably irritated and embarrassed expression was worth all his efforts. He gently placed an hand on his shoulder and lead him towards the shop's door. "After you." he invited keeping the door open so the British could get out from the shop first ...and possibly run away, if he really despised the idea of spending the time of a coffee with him.
The place was really just a few doors after the bookshop, they could spot the sign on the side of the road. There were a couple of tables outside, in front of the door, and one was occupied by a mother with two kids, who seemed to enjoy immensely their slices of cake.
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