A Witness to Sorrow, or a Guide to Light? (Arthur/Francis)

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

Many lessons were spent with his parents on how to show the proper respect and courtesy to those he interacted with. Some of it seemed ridiculous to Francis, but he tried to follow them as best as any young boy could. Needless to say, he often fell short, especially when he when he was with his good friends, but children will be children and will do what they would. Though that was before, when he was still a free, normal child. Now though, now he found himself in an office Unused to being around this many adults and being told he had a new life now, Francis wanted to cry. He didn’t want a new life filled with these people, these strangers who swore they only had his best at heart. He wanted his mother and father and his two friends; he wanted a hug after he woke from this nightmare, reassurance they would never let mean people take him away. But this wasn’t a dream and Francis knew it. There was a scratch on his arm that burned whenever his clothing touched it. There was also an annoying strand of hair lying right over his face that was tickling his nose, but he didn’t dare move to remedy either of those problems. Despite how they had nice they had treated him, Francis was scared. How could he not be of people that had kidnapped him from the sanctuary of his home?

Sniffling once again, he looked up from staring at the bland carpet in front of him to look around the room. There were a few bookshelves which Francis tried not to pay too much attention to its contents, sure he wouldn't like the books these people had. Looking around at the man who was talking to him, he looked away quickly at the computer that was on the desk, all of his information was being put into the system. He would never get his name out of the database of mutants. Dragging his eyes away, over the file cabinets and the chairs, they rested on a blond boy. Lowering his head quickly, he slowly looked back at the boy from the corner of his blue eye.

He was slightly ashamed someone else was a witness to this, but Francis could only hope he was kind. Taking a slight chance, he gave the boy a tentative smile, hoping for a bit of, well, something, anything to make this go a bit easier.

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

Arthur had been at Weeds for three years now, coming into the school as an intimidated six year old, given away by his own mother, and was now a rather defiant nine year old. An avenging little fiend that went after the ones who bullied him or the few friends he had; the troublemaker who went beneath the administration’s noses to break some of the more inconsequential rules, such as leaving his dorm room in the middle of the night to the library or sneaking food when the dining room was closed. The boy had been acting out, subconsciously on his end, because he didn’t know how else to react to the notion of being rejected by parents that were supposed to love and protect him, or even by a society that he was supposed to somehow fit into. He was a child that held brewing resentments: anger, betrayal, and bitterness; emotions that sometimes felt too adult in his young body, and he didn’t know how to deal with them. As a result, Arthur was one of the worst students at Weeds. In response to his poor behaviour, the punishments varied, and few of them even included the school’s administrator reaching for the rattan cane, leaving marks on his body in addition to the bruises he obtained in fights.

Today wasn’t terribly unlike any other day, Arthur had gotten into another fight with one his most devoted bullies, another student that he’d affectionately dubbed as Pig-Face, once remarking that he looked and acted no better than ill-tempered swine. Pig-Face was larger, older, and stronger than Arthur, and when the fight had turned physical, after he'd quickly and effectively clubbed Arthur on the side of his face, Arthur broke one of the more serious rules at Weeds by using his power against him. Pig-Face’s scream was enough to slice through the chatter in the cafeteria as he was dragged down the corridor by invisible, clawing hands.

Arthur was immediately sent to administration, the welt on his cheek where he’d been clubbed was already darkening. It would be a fantastic, painful bruise the next day. He was still holding a crusty dinner roll in his hands, grabbing it before the staff forced him to leave. He knew he would likely go hungry for the rest of today, not having had enough time to touch his food before Pig-Face decided to start picking on him. Arthur’s words back at him were just as sharp and just as capable of causing the other boy’s blood to grow hot enough to start hitting him. Arthur’s face was stoic as he walked with one of the Weed’s guards to the administrator’s office. He had done this so often, that it was quickly becoming less like the walk of shame that it was intended to be.

Arthur's donated school uniform was wrinkled and disarrayed, but he didn’t seem to mind as he waited to be called into the headmaster’s office. He took the time to meticulously eat the dinner roll that he’d snatched from his tray before leaving, knowing that he’d have to be content until tomorrow. His eyes wandered, noticing that some of the offices to the right of him seemed to be occupied. He didn’t get a chance to give a proper look at them, as his name was called and he walked into the headmaster’s office after the student before him had finished his turn.

He was scolded quite bitterly, with this being his second visit into the headmaster's office this week—he was reminded that he was an aggravation, a disappointment, and would amount to nothing. No one would buy a misbehaving mutant like him. He’d heard all this before. And Arthur was ordered to hold out his bare hands while the man reached for the thin, hard cane behind him…

With his skin red, tingly, and tight, he left the office. That ball of nasty resentment only brewing even further inside, but this time he almost felt like he wanted to cry; he felt like a shell that was only starting to crack beneath the pressure. Crying was never okay. Arthur had learned that when he spent his first year in Weeds; crying got him nowhere. No one ever acknowledged or saw his pain or his tears; no one would reach for him. So, he learned to stop crying.

As Arthur made his way through the administration office, stuffing his red hands deep in his trouser pockets, he grew curious about the occupied admit offices and decided to glance over from a distance. He noticed a boy sitting in front of one of the staff members behind a computer, probably inputting his information. Despite the hum of the computers, the loud voices of the adults in the area, Arthur clearly heard the very small, soft sniffles. And it wasn’t until the boy looked at him that he noticed just how frightened he looked, and well, the fact that he was rather nice looking. He felt the heat in his ears and he glanced down at the ugly, stained carpet.

He remembered his own process upon admission, though it was through the mind of a traumatised six year old, so their experiences were likely different, and yet at the same time, not so different. He distinctly remembered the fear of being in a strange place with no one to turn to. In some ways, he was still very much in that situation, if not for a few friends at Weeds who helped to make it somewhat bearable. Friends are the only anchors in a place like this. By the time Arthur had gathered enough nerve to glance back up at the blond boy, he noticed him smiling at him. Smiling was a brave thing to do on a first day, even if it was somewhat forced.

The corners of Arthur’s mouth curved briefly in response. He glanced around, making sure that none of the administrative staff were watching him to make sure he’d leave. When he seemed to be in the clear, he glanced over at the boy once more before he chose one of the seats close to the doors of the administration office. One leg was drawn up on the seat, arms hugging his leg close. It was best to wait for the man processing the boy to finish inputting information before attempting any further contact.

...

tag: Francis L. Bonnefoy
words: 1019
notes: sorry it's so long uvu

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

The man behind the desk droned on and on, his voice making Francis want to curl up in a ball and hope that this was a bad dream. Closing his eyes and opening them up again, he looked down at the floor; he had not woken up, his eyes still rested on the cheap oak desk in front of him. He yearned to see the cherry desk his father had, he so badly wanted his mother to stroke his hair and whisper it was going to be alright. But these thing were impossible and so Francis could only try to hide his mourning till he could escape somewhere alone.

What seemed like an eternity later to the sad, frightened boy, the man dismissed him, telling him people were only there to look out for him and he should come to the adults if he ever felt discomfort. Nodding, he was still frightened, but he wanted to believe that this was for the best of him. Turning around with the click clack of the man’s keyboard still typing away, he saw the other blond boy that he had taken a chance to smile at, was sitting there in the seats behind him. Was he waiting on Francis to be dismissed to? Or was he there to wait to see the man himself? He didn’t know if he wanted this boy to witness this proceeding. Carefully sitting down, he tried not to look at the other boy, embarrassed that his own eyes were still watery and that he had overheard what the administrator had to say. He couldn't reach up and wipe them while others were around. Carefully, he looked at the way the other crossed his legs and cleared his throat.

"Bon-bonjour... Je.... My name is Francis is it très ....it’s good to meet you."

Had heard a clearing of a throat, not so subtly reminder telling him to use English instead of his native language. Looking down again so hopefully they couldn’t see him frown, he swallowed. He hated using English all the time, it was hard for him to remember a lot of English, even though he had to use it with people his parents introduced him to. Though, right now, he was having problems remembering some words.. Yes, he knew he wasn’t quite acting his age and he was technically a teenager now, but he was still a child, and an afraid one at that. Slowly, he lifted his face back up from the worn carpet to look at the other boy; it was easy to see the smile was gone. And the way that Francis was feeling, it would be a long time until it returned.

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

Arthur waited until the man talking to the other boy had dismissed him. The adults here seemed to talk a lot, always telling them how wonderful the school is and how lucky they were to attend here such at an early age—a head start, they called it. Bollocks. At what, exactly? Learning just how abnormal up you were compared to ‘normal’ people and learning to accept that? They had a way of making everything seem much nicer and well put together than it actually was. It took Arthur a couple of years to learn that, though he’d only been here for three years. Though the headmaster didn’t seem confident that those three years reflected in his school records thus far. The man kept lecturing how Arthur still had a lot to learn and had ‘so little time’ to absorb all he could from Weeds. As if his young brain needed to ferment a while longer in their toxic lessons and unfair treatments.

When the other blond boy was done being lectured to, he glanced back at him, Arthur only stared back. And when the boy chose to sit close to him, only then did Arthur notice that the boy seemed like he was about to cry, his eyes were watery and the skin around his eyes seemed a little agitated. All the new children cried. Arthur didn't remember how long it had taken him to stop crying—six years old at the time. Three years ago seemed like a lifetime away, back when he was considered semi-normal. Only semi, because his mother seemed to hate him regardless. It didn’t seem normal for mothers to hate their children. At least, not when he noticed how other mothers behaved.

Arthur dug into his worn trousers pockets, wondering if he had any tissue. He pulled out a stick of old, nearly confiscated gum, a paper clip, a long piece of string, and a folded up piece of paper. While he was searching his other pocket, he heard the sad boy speak. His nose wrinkled slightly when he realised that the kid was likely fluent in frog. But when he heard one of the adults clearing his throat, a not so subtle rebuke toward the poor boy, Arthur decided then and there that it didn’t sound that bad, no matter what his father said. If speaking frog was something that upset the administrators and the teachers, then Arthur wouldn’t mind it. In fact, he’d probably encourage it.

”Hi Francis… I’m Arthur,” the nine year old responded, trying not to give any of the adults any looks that might send him straight back into the headmaster’s office. He didn’t need to be lectured again on proper mutant behaviour. ”It’d probably be better to meet under better circumstances, yeah?” Arthur frowned when he realised that Francis might not have gotten all that—it’s a pity that he didn’t know how to speak frog a little more. ”Still, it’s nice to meet you, too.” Finally, he found a tissue in his other pocket. It was crumpled up, but clean. Arthur carefully smoothed out the tissue on his knee before handing it to Francis. ”I promise it’s clean.” And only then did he realise he needed an excuse for giving it to him. If Arthur were in Francis's place, he wouldn’t have appreciated someone else acknowledging his tears. But then again, not everyone seemed as bothered by publicly displaying their emotions as he was. ”It’s for your… you have something… on your nose,” he finished lamely.

When Francis had looked at him after staring at the carpet and having been nonverbally rebuked by one of the adults, he was once again struck by just how sad he looked. Arthur regarded him for a moment, then back down at his lap, before sneaking a glance back up at the other boy. ”You know… you can speak frog whenever you’d like around me… I won’t really understand you, but you can teach me? And then I can teach you English so you won’t get into trouble?” Aside from trying very awkwardly to be kind to the sad boy, Arthur was determined to learn the swears and other bad words. If the adults hated it, then they’d hate it even more of Arthur insulted them in it. If anything, the thought made him feel a little better.

...

tag: Francis L. Bonnefoy
words: 733
notes: kiddos

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

In the time that it took Francis to sit down, he was already remembering the way his mother used to dry his tears and his father admonishing him, for he was a teenager now and the way of tears was in the past. Especially now, it seemed that when he most wanted to cry, he could only remeber multiple people, espeially his captures telling him that big kids don't cry.. not in those exact same words, but that was what francis got from it. Mostly he was told how good a mutant he was going to be and how well he was going to sell when he was olde if he retained his looks. That was another thing that made him want to cry. Adults always told him how pretty he was, and he loved the attention, but it was only his friends that made it seem like he was wanted for more than his looks.. they were his friends because they wanted to be and truely cared for him. Here though... here the only one he got that impression with was this boy in front of him who just offered him a tissue.

"It'd probably be better to meet under better circumstances, yeah?... you have something.. on your nose."

Francis knew why the boy was offering the tissue and was slightly thankful for the lie. Taking the tissues, he patted his eyes and did wipe his nose, just holding it to his face for a moment, gathering his words. it was moments like this that he wished he paid more attention in his English lessons and stopped insisting that English was such a dumb language and that the whole world should learn French. Though he was glad for his friends, he could understand it better than he could speak it. Carefully, he lifted a hand and ran it though Arthur's messy hair, trying to see if he could get it to lay down more and not be stuck the way it was. It was one way he thought that he could get his thanks across. Francis was always a physical person, and this was no different. Those soft green eyes seemed so friendly to him, he couldn't help hoping that at least this boy could end up being a friend to him too.

"Ou.... yes. Thank you."

The words felt weird coming off of his tongue with his thick accent, the muscle unused to such movements and harshness. It was one thing his father had always complained about, the harshness of the language that stuck on the tongue and forced its movements; whereas french flowed and let it move about freely. It was a free language that was being forced from him and a captive language to fit his current surroundings.

"I can teach you English so you won’t get into trouble"

At hearing that, the young boy couldn't help but perk up at that offer. Here was his chance and he could have a way to keep his own language at the same time. His eye light up and he felt happier than he had in a long time. This boy, this Arthur seemed to understand what he was going through and was determined to help at in a way that he knew how to. Leaning forward, he placed a small peck to both of his cheeks, a wide smile across his face.

"Mer.... Thank you very much. I no have words for this yet... But thank you."

He hugged the boy back, grateful and full of appreciation and no way to express it besides the few words and the hug and the kisses. These were the ways he was taught to show appreciation and greetings, so that was what he showed Arthur now.

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

Arthur, along with every child here at Weeds, knew exactly what Francis was going through at the moment. All of them had either been taken away from their families or given away by them. The small English boy was one of the latter. And looking over the other, he wondered what exactly his story was, not that he was going to be asking for it anytime soon. That would be thoughtlessly rude. The bridge of Arthur’s lightly freckled nose scrunched in the slightest when Francis ran his fingers through his hair. Normally he didn’t allow anyone to touch his hair, probably attempting to fix the mess, but he made an allowance this time. It was clear that Francis was a little touchy, but if that made him feel better, then there was no harm in it, he supposed. The adults seemed particularly annoyed by Arthur's messy hair, likely thinking that he clearly cared little about being at his best in front of them, and in the future, in front of potential buyers. As long as it wasn't them, then he didn't particularly mind.

”You’re welcome,” he responded, hugging his leg a little tighter against his chest, cheek still resting against his knee, turned so that he was facing the boy next to him. Who said he didn’t have manners? He wasn't really a little shit that liked to stir up trouble just for the sake of being a prat, like the adults seemed to think. Arthur just preferred to show his manners to people he thought deserved them. It was worth offering to learn French in return for the way Francis’s eyes lit up toward him, causing his chest to tighten slightly. Arthur wasn’t used to pleasing others.

Of course, Arthur’s face only darkened incrementally when the boy pecked his cheeks. And in very boyish fashion, Arthur resisted the urge to wipe the kisses off his cheeks, as if Francis had marked him and everyone would know that Arthur had been kissed. The wide smile that the French boy wore, again, made the effort of restraint worth it. And Arthur tried, very hesitantly, but honestly to smile back, the corners of his mouth curving ever so slightly. It was difficult to smile in a place like this, in a situation like this. Even more unexpected was the hug right after. Arthur didn’t know what to say or do exactly, so he kept where he was, his eyes briefly passing over the adults over Francis's shoulder to make sure that no one was watching their little exchange. Anything witnessed by them was dangerous, possible leverage that they could use to punish him, or Francis.

”You don’t need words; I understand you perfectly well,” Arthur’s mouth quirked a little at Francis’s statement, despite the slowly cooling redness of his face. Still tentative, and with a shyness that Arthur wasn’t normally accustomed to, not in a place where he was usually so daringly audacious with the adults at the school, he reached to take Francis’s hand. ”I can show you around… I don’t like staying in the administrator’s office more than I need to. I feel like they’ll just find something else to yell at me about the longer I stay.” Carefully, Arthur got up from his seat, fingers tightening against the other boy’s hand in the process while leading him toward the heavy double doors.

...

tag: Francis L. Bonnefoy
words: 566
notes: ;3;

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

”I can show you around… I don’t like staying in the administrator’s office more than I need to. I feel like they’ll just find something else to yell at me about the longer I stay.”

He nodded but stayed quiet. He wanted Gil with his jokes; he wanted Toni with his sweet smile and words it was going to be alright. But they weren't here, he only had this odd boy who was nice to him but called him a frog. While it might not look like it, Francis could understand more English than he could speak, his tongue got tripped over the letters that should have been silent. He had taken the tissue from Arthur, wiping his nose at being told there was something on it, and discreetly tried to wipe his eyes. He didn’t want to cry in front of the adults, he had already been scolded once for just such actions. He was determined to never have them yell at him again, he hated being yelled at and talked down to. He would do what they wanted so he never had to feel like he was below anyone else again.

A small warmth was gained in his chest with Arthur's hand around his, but it wasn't enough. Carefully as he was able to be, he squeezed his fingers that were tangled up with Arthur’s and moved closer so he could hold Arthur’s arm with his free arm. He only whispered that he wasn't a frog; that he didn't croak when he talked.

He could tell that he was older than Arthur, for he was taller, but Arthur had more experience.

"...where... are we going?"

His words were a bit slow as he was concentrating on his English, trying to speak the approved language as well as he could. He wished he did better studying. He would learn quickly from Arthur and, if someone else wanted to teach him, from whoever else also.  He wasn't sure if he wanted to make anymore friends here or not, but he knew he should so he didn't become a burden on Arthur..

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

He noticed the way that Francis became very quiet, how still and silent he was despite having been torn from his previous life and thrown into something completely different. Already, the adults here had that impact on him. He was already learning how to behave, and that saddened Arthur in a way that he was still coming to fully understand. When Francis moved closer, Arthur allowed him to take his arm captive, feeling the slight tangle of limbs. But Arthur didn’t mind, as it seemed that the new boy relied on touch to feel better. He let them out of the office so that they wouldn’t have the adult eyes on them.

Arthur grinned a little at Francis’s whisper. ”Okay, I won’t call you one, then. As much,” he teased quietly. In Arthur’s limited experience, he wasn’t even sure why they were called frogs. He simply remembered his father making that verbal connection countless times, and of course, Arthur had followed suit. Even if thinking about his father, or his mother, brought up a tight pain in his chest.

”The library… I left my book bag there before I got into a fight…” he muttered, a brief collection of heat in his face with the admittance. As they passed down the corridor, Arthur pointed out the different areas of the building, the dining hall, some of the offices of the staff, before leading him down a completely different part that led to the library with its restricted hours. As they passed through the doors along with the posted sign that listed when the library was open, Arthur waved vaguely toward it. ”Those are only the suggested times that it’s open… if you ever want to come here afterhours, just find me and I’ll get you right in. I do it all the time.” Again, that rather mischievous, but stubbornly-set expression as he glanced over at Francis, a small smile forming.

Once inside, it didn’t take long for Arthur to locate his bag, squished between one of the bookshelves and the wall where he’d stashed it quickly before a staff member could find it and explore the contents. Nosy bastards. Arthur reached out with his free hand and wretched it free, slinging it over his arm as he tightened his other arm, as if to squeeze Francis in a childish, but playful manner. ”Do you like sweets? Want to break your first ever rule with me?” he asked, the playfulness now bleeding into his voice. ”Don’t worry, I promise that you’ll get away with it… And it’s not even really that bad.” Spoken like he’d done far, far worse.

Still with that conspiratorial grin, he tugged Francis along with him to a corner of the library normally reserved for the books for the younger children, the sides and corners of the room littered with large pillows, donated chairs, and ratty plush items to sink into. Arthur sat in the hidden corner behind a shelf, pillows on the floor and hard sides of the shelves, something that he’d concocted earlier before nearly getting caught. That playful gleam to Arthur’s gaze never really left as he plopped down on one of them, looking up at Francis. Perhaps he’d found a new friend to potentially break the little rules with, the prospect giving Arthur cause to smile just a little bit more.

...

tag: Francis L. Bonnefoy
words: 549
notes: cuties

[Francis L. Bonnefoy]

Francis could only listen to Arthur as he showed him around, trying to memorize the paths that was taken so he didn't end up looking like a fool later on. He was happy that he made a friend, one who seemed to know so much and one that went out of his way to give him a kind hand and word.

”Do you like sweets? Want to break your first ever rule with me? Don’t worry, I promise that you’ll get away with it… And it’s not even really that bad.”

Francis could only look a bit confused as he searched his memory banks for the meaning of that word. The last time he had heard it was from his old friends back at one of the hotels their families had all been staying in. Eyes brightening a bit as he realized what was being said, he nodded vigorously. Carefully holding a hand out for the item, he sat down on one of the cushions near Arthur’s feet. Francis loved pillows and was glad to be enjoying these for now and knew that whenever they were able to hide away in this spot, he would take the pillows for himself. Of course he didn’t notice that the position he took could show that Arthur was surperior towards him at this moment, but it was true. He was the one with knowledge of the goings on in this place, he was the one most suited to help Francis here.

“Thank you Arthur… for being nice to me. I’m glad I have someone to trust…. I can trust you, oui?”

He thought he could trust Arthur, he needed people, he knew he did. He also knew that once Arthur was his friend, he would be loyal to him no matter what. He would do what he could for Arthur, try to protect him from some trouble just like he used to do for ….. he couldn’t think of them anymore, it was in his past and he knew he wouldn’t see them again. Arthur and this school was his life now and he knew it was going to be very different from here on out.