1. Introduction
Screams that echoed through the house, rapid insults and curses invented new and select for this very occasion. Throats burning from released anger, pain and uncertainty, yielding to fists and feet and- just for a moment before they regain control of their sense- swords that dance through the air. Spinning and clashing. Close enough to kiss.
The sky outside was soft and grey. Rain was dripping from the clouds, light and fast, wetting the pavement and turning the whole world a few shades darker. Seldom few were outside, the rest hidden in their brick boxes, waiting for the weather to pass. One man stood out, a splash of blue in the dark surroundings, face inclined to the sky and eyes closed. After a few moments, he tossed his head in a practised way that sent drops of water spiralling away. He opened his eyes and started walking.
Eyes, bleu de France, hard and unyielding, thousands of secrets poised to strike and none of them his own. Years of information and experience that knew how to pierce careful armour, knew how to slip past any and all defences, knowledge that centred and specified around one man.
Inside the teashop, it was warm and soothing. A hum of noise from the kitchen, voices and appliances existing as one, filled the air with purpose and direction. The walls were cluttered with paintings and posters; cold, cheap metal tables that were heated by hot hands, hot plates and conversation filled the floor. Tucked into a corner was a man staring out into the empty street. He sat alone, his hands nursing a cup of tea.
Cold green met blue, as lips called on centuries of practice on how to hurt, cynical wit and a sharp tongue. A mouth- that was good at many things and excelled at sarcasm- that made biting comments, hands desperate for something to hit and settling for sending a serving dish smashing into a wall.
The noise faded as ears focused on one sound, chair legs scraping the dusty tiles. Green eyes flickered to the warm drink, then to the side. They spoke of quiet curiosity. The lips of the man dressed in blue quirked into an apologetic smile, and a second later one hand had stolen the cup. An affronted noise, which was quickly dismissed by a wave of a French hand.
"It's too cold to wait for a drink, mon cher."
Lies and misguided self-righteous that lead to one kicking the front door open and the other kicking it closed.
"You don't just take drinks from people," was the response, impressive eyebrows furrowed. "I payed for it."
An unconcerned sip, then a pained expression. "Tea? How very disappointing; you can have it back."
An exasperated noise and the drink changed hands. "I suppose you'd have preferred coffee."
Wrapped up in cold and instant regret when the dust had settled and the heart keened for the mind's ignorance.
A moment's hesitation. "It's nice to meet you, Arthur."
"And you Francis."
Francis let out a soft sigh that was followed by a quick movement round the table. One hand slipped into his, and Arthur offered him a smile.
"I may be wrong," he said as he turned his attention to his drink, leaning towards the Frenchman. "But I think this introduction has been done wrong. I think we're supposed to introduce ourselves, rather than each other and then we start getting to know each other better."
"Mon petit lapin, I think we know each other better than we know ourselves," Francis replied, one arm slipping round the shorter man.
Both hearts and minds thanked the way they could try and start again, with a simple introduction.