Welcome, friends and foe. This is my fanfiction and I would like for you to read it. ^^ Have a good day everyone!

Prologue:

Welcome to the old farmer land France, the year is around 1840, in time to function like Norway's "husmenn-bønder." (people who loaned land to work on. The payment is two days of work on the owner's farm.)

One man stood on a hill surrounded by black and white cows. He wore worn clothes, in fact, it was his only set. Francis Bonnefoy took care of the few cows he and his fellow farmers owned together. A voice from afar called on him. Jack, a young lad with a lot of potential jogged up to him.
"Why don't you rest a bit, you too?" Francis smiled weakly at him as he pushed long blond hair out of his eyes. The sun was evilly hot today, if not everyday. It made everybody lazy and unfit for the physical hard work their run down farm required.
"Non, I want to keep going a little longer. If everybody thinks like you, the work won't be done in time. Our snobbish king want his fees paid this month, won't he? Go ahead, you." The blond haired farmer received a manly pat on the back before Jack was gone.

Francis began to hum on his favorite song. Nobody heard him out here, only the small minded grass eating cows. He stopped after receiving threatening looks from the four legged milk spillers. One of them "mroowed", its strong legs digging up the ground. It looked terribly angry. With a pissed off cow, the farmer had no choice but to run.

Trees, bushes and other cows flashed by as Francis ran by. "Shit shit shit!" He swore. The Frenchman yelped, his feet stuck in a root on the ground. He flailed with his arms to gain balance again, but down down he fell, into the hole in the ground. His friends couldn't hear him anymore. He'd disappeared, and it was out of this world!

oO^v^Oo
We're in modern England. Hope you've had a nice travel...

"What."
The first thing Francis noticed was the buildings. They were alien, huge and scary. 'Where is the grass? Where are the cows?' He looked around. People dressed in black, depressing strange clothes passed him. They looked at him like he was a rare animal, a Amish. Francis stared at them, mouth agape. 'What. Is. This?' Not okay with all the attention, he turned to a place with almost nobody in it.

A dark alleyway devoured his form as he walked in. Homeless men gazed at him, no hope or interest in their eyes. The Frenchman hurried past them. He didn't trust them. "Jack," he called out. Clanck clanck, said his dirty leather shoes, not even a whisper of a half dead guy reached him. At the end of the alley, one person lightened up the gloomy mood. This man walked in the middle of a tight packed crowd. His light yellow hair and young face stuck out between brown and dirty colored hair, not to forget old, tired, worn faces. 'Why don't I follow him for the mean while. He looks... just my type.'

Francis almost forgot the whole catastrophe, and the start of a smirk played on his lips. He made his way into the crowd, a bit unsure if he should feel uneasy with all the body contact, or very happy. He hadn't touched soft flesh of a lover in years. The young blonde man continued walking, turning into a smaller street with less people. Now, the farmer could see what the unknown man wore. A large brown city coat hugged his shoulders, torso and it continued over his bottom. One thing that stood out was how text hung on the coat. 'S-W-A-T,' Francis carefully read. He wasn't good at reading, but he could do. Blue out washed jeans complicated the colors, and melted into a good looking image.

The still unknown man rested his feet on the stone pavement, his body tensed. Was it adrenaline that pumped through his veins, the instinct to fight for himself? Three steps, and the stranger turned around. Blue met blue, and Francis knew this feeling. His heart beat faster, his mind spun and his mouth went dry like a desert. He was scared, yet shy.

Francis stood there, silently admiring the stranger's looks, completely lost in his own world when a shout broke the perfect moment.
"On him, guys!" It was the unknown man before him that had let those cruel words escape past his lips.

Big, rough hands grabbed Francis from nowhere. With inhuman strength, he was brought to the ground.
"My ribs," he choked out.
"Sir Jones. What should we do?" One of the big handed brutes asked. The man in front of them, most possibly Jones, clapped his hands twice, a smug smile on his lips. He spoke up after making sure his glasses sat nicely on his nose.
"Bring him along to my office, but do not stand out or attract attention. I have some questions for him." They helped Francis up, and the farmer wondered if they had turned on their 'mom's best kids' mode.
"Yes sir." So then, with Francis between them, they blended into the crowd.

In a huge door, up a staircase, down a staircase and in another door. There's where "the office" laid. 'What have they put around my hands?' Francis glanced down at his wrists and frowned. Two metal rings with something between to connect them hugged his wrists. Jones led him to a... was it a chair? What a strange chair.
"Sit down, please." The farmer lifted his lands from his lap and showed them to the other man before jiggling childishly with the metal.
"What is this? Why am I here!" The last question came out as a frustrated cry.

Jones stared at him, his mouth a straight line. He was not amused at all.
"Those are handcuffs to keep you and me safe from yourself. I suspect you of being a french spy. Now, tell me your name." Francis snorted. 'Spy? Me?'
"Non. I won't say anything until I get to see my farmer friends. Where is they? I demand you show me to my cows. I've a lot of work to do before the sun goes down."

Jones inspected the suspect over his glasses.
"This is a city. We don't have cows or farmers here," he started before standing up. "I better give a call to the boss of East side mental institution. We're good friends, you see. Please stay here." He pulled his smartphone out of his coat pocket and left the room, locking the door.

Francis bolted from his chair to the door in few seconds, tugging on the door handle.
"Why won't it open?!" He banged on the hard wood, panicking a bit. A metallic voice chimed from a speaker.
"Suspect, keep calm! Wait for Mr. Jones to return! He's just around the corner..!"

oO^v^Oo

Tino Väinämöinen sat silently in his driver's seat in the bus, gazing at the never-ending road. What a long day, he trailed off. A bus-driver's life is always so hectic! Wake up early in the morning and go to sleep very, very late. The company he worked for had really hit the golden bird these days, but he wasn't as happy as in the earlier days. The job took some serious tolls on him.

Today was a pretty nice day. The beautiful evening sun was about to go hide behind cliffs and mountains, to let darkness take over. Tino parked the bus in the usual parking lot outside the city, for the hundred time. The lightly chubby man picked up his newspapers before sitting down in the section at the back of the bus. To read it here was a common routine among his bus driver colleges. At first, he'd thought of it as plain weird, but the habit was indeed nice, because he had nobody waiting at home for him, just his dog, Hana Tamago. Hana Tamago meant "Flower Egg," but who cares? The dog was a good companion.

Then, something out of routine happened. The bus door was kicked open and in walked a tall guy. He didn't really walk, he swayed from side to side, almost tripping himself, but what is the difference? He grunted tiredly, just the way old men do after a really long day of work. Tino placed his newspapers on the seat beside the one he occupied himself and tried to appear as professional as possible, but his hands shook and a sweat pearl rolled down his brow.
"H-hi? Can I help you mister?" The intruder didn't answer his question. He only walked further into the bus, forcing Tino against the last seat in the back, because god help him, the other man held a knife in his left hand.

Tino tried to meet his eyes, but always had to advert his gaze. One more step and the knife would poke his stomach. Did the man want to accuse him of eating too much of the Christmas pork? Yes? Yes. That must definitely be the case of problem here. Even a blind man could have understood. The Finn looked up as the other man grunted.
"You're very pretty." Wait, wait, wait! Baby fat and pretty did not go well together. The stranger brushed some stands of yellow hair out of Tino's eyes before placing it behind his ear. "Be my wife, hn? If not, I'll call the police." The bus driver took off his cap, placed it over the newspapers and felt a light tugging at the corners of his mouth as he lifted his taser to match the stranger's position. His head felt so light, boiling to the brim with craziness.
"No, that'll be my job." Berwald stared at it, not really sensing any danger at all. "Now show me some interesting dance moves. I'll go get the music."

And so, the bus shook all night to the heavy vibrations due to very loud ABBA music and VERY slutty twerking.

A/N

Hahaha, I feel a crack!fic coming up...

Please leave a comment or two XD

-MobileWriter