Good morning, good afternoon or whatever time you will read this.
My native language is not English, so please excuse my poor grammar or use of words.
Pairing: Scotland x France
Rating: T
Genre: Adventure
Disclaimer: France and Scotland belong to Europe, Francis Bonnefoy belongs to Himaruya and Alasdair Iain Kirkland (Scotland) belongs to a user in pixiv. I'll name him this way in this story… Everyone gives him another name.. *le shrug*
_
The young blond boy woke up late this morning. He was being woken by the rooster in the yard usually, but this time the rooster had not managed to do the trick. But his nurse certainly did.
"Wake up, you foul boy. It's time for school."
"Oh s…school!", he had been wanting to say something different. Alas, he hurried to get dressed. She had been asking if he needed help with getting dressed. "Non, Madame, I am almost 9 years old. I'm a big boy now."
"Big boys get up earlier than you. You'll miss out breakfast. You are lucky I packed you something to eat in lunch break."
"Merci, Madame.", the boy missed out on tying one shoe and grabbed his satchel, and the lunch package with the other hand to rush out to the street where other kids were already on the way to school.
It was one of those summer days in the old Victorian age in San Francisco which you would seem to remember but always forget. A day with no age, no event to pinpoint. The dust from the street was whirling around and the children of the richer families were running to school while the others either worked or lived on the street.
Luckily, the city was kind of separated; there were the rich houses, there were the slums.
But our boy actually found school boring, though it could have been regarded a privilege. He didn't have many friends in class. So often he would just spend the class staring out of the window. From there he could see the harbour. The pompous Sailing ships that would invite to sail far, far away to where no one had been before. And then he started to build the impressive castles of dreams in the air. Maybe he would travel with a ship to India, maybe to Europe, maybe to China. The language would be difficult, but that wasn't of his concern. He could speak French and English fluently after all. And for one thing the learning just had to be good.
That were his thoughts until the teacher got him back onto the ground with maths.
"…cis? Francis! Can you tell me what is the solution to f(x)=x-3?"
"N-no…", Francis blushed and looked down in an attempt to look like he was ashamed. Mr. Beilschmidt however didn't seem to be too pleased. He asked Francis to get up and come to the front of class.
The other children were already snickering here and there. There were also girls in the class, but they were only blushing and looked away.
As soon as Francis was in the front, the tall teacher, whose face the boy didn't remember, took out his stick and punished the boy.
Back then it was nothing unusual. Punishment was given to children who wouldn't pay attention in class. Girls would get firm slaps onto their hands while boys got it onto their bum. Plus, they had to stand the rest of the lesson in the corner…
When school was over for that day, Francis could luckily not feel the pain on his bum anymore. He was walking home with his heads full of thoughts on this and that. They had homework for historical class. It was about a war in Europe between England and France…
How could a girl have defeated the English? Or had the teacher said that they had not been defeated immediately? Then how did it make a difference if there had been a girl or not? And when did she live? What was her name again?
During Dinner, the blond boy still thought about the dates and names of those being involved in that war. When did the war start? Why did it start and who started it?
"Edward the first, then the black prince. The prince of England….", he murmured.
"Francis, could you please put away that book?", the nurse asked. "The cook has cooked your favourite dish."
"…King of Valois. …Oui?", the blond boy looked up and it was like his bubble had been bursted.
Of course he wasn't sitting alone at the dinner table. But his family was kind of weird to have as company. There was his father who was constantly hiding behind the newspaper. He couldn't also not remember his face.
Then there was his sister Isabella, his two baby brothers Lovino and Feliciano. As for Isabella, she wasn't allowed to go to school at her age anymore. She would soon be sent to a boarding school to learn how to be a good housewife. The two younger brothers were still too young for school.
The days flew by and nothing special happened. Just the urge in Francis grew louder. He wanted to break out of the solitude of this life. There was just waking up, school, Dinner, Homework, going to bed. And everything just to build an uncertain future. What was he meant to be after all of this distress? What was he going to become? A business man like this father who hid behind a newspaper?
No, Francis wouldn't want his children to never remember his face. He wanted to become something different. Especially because he was aware that he was a dreamer. Well, maybe…not a dreamer. There was something out there he /could/ reach. Just not by school.
Anyway, one day he walked to school. The sun shone as usual. But this time he went stray, walked down to the harbour of San Francisco. But eventually he ended up in the Slums…
"Oh look, a kid from the upper class!", someone shouted.
After a short while, a dozen kids followed Francis. There he was, the rich boy with the sailor outfit, the neat short white pants and the neat little straw hat with the navy blue ribbon. He almost looked like a girl.
And there were the 'street rats'; children clothed in rags and covered in dirt. Some of them also had marks of former fights. Scars, bruises, missing teeth… or had there been baby teeth before? And their age also ranged roughly from 5 to 15. Then, they had encircled him, leaving Francis no choice but to stand still.
"Where do you think you're going, beauty?"
"Go home and cry to mommy!"
They started to laugh and howl. It was actually quite scary. Violence was something not known in Francis' fixed world – well besides being a bit punished by the teacher for not paying attention. But this here was a different level.
The children here didn't know where to stop. Or what was theirs and not theirs.
Suddenly, one of them snatched Francis' satchel and ripped it open. "What do we have here? Can you read? You filthy rich boy."
They threw the books around and toyed with the expensive pens.
"Stop that!", Francis screamed and lunged at the boy holding the ripped bag. He threw his fist at him.
"What? That's all? Bwahaha! My sister can punch harder than you!"
Francis tried a few more punchs, each one harder than the next. Unlike these boys here, the rich boy had never needed to fight, not verbal nor physical.
To the surprise of everyone, Francis had striken down the first of the 'street rats'. It was a boy just about his age but with short brown hair and thick eyebrows. A little speechless, the blond looked down at him. Francis himself also didn't look so neat as he had before. His nose was bleeding, he had lost his hat and his clothes were torn and dirty. It was inevitable that he would get into trouble at home.
"Now it's my turn. You punched my brother. I need to restore my family's honour.", a ginger haired boy with the same thick eyebrows said and raised his fists while he went at the rich boy.
Francis gulped and looked at the other, not thinking that he would be able to beat him too. "What? Wait, I just punched him because he ripped my bag. What does that have to do with family honour?"
"Because…", the ginger said. "This is the rule here."
Several kids nodded. Also, they wouldn't attack or interfere anymore but stand in a circle around them like in a boxing fight.
Round number two was just as victorious for Francis as the first round. Now he looked even more bruised and he wiped his nose with his sleeve when he had finished off the ginger. He had to admit that it had been a tough fight.
But then… a pipsqueak with flaxen blond locks showed up with eyebrows that almost seemed to big for that face. "Now you have to fight me!", he swung his tiny fists.
"What? How many of you are there?"
"Just me! Come on."
"I don't hit little children.", Francis contradicted. That was his impression until the small blond kicked his shin. It hurt worse than it should have!
The fight however also didn't last long. Then again before he could finish off the last of the Kirkland kids, the children ran all away.
Francis was certain he had won the fight and wanted to go on his knees. But a strong hand gripped his upper arm and dragged him with them. At first he couldn't even see who it was. The long blond hair was sticking to the blood on his forehead.
"Th' polis is comin', quick!"
Their little spurt ended somewhere near the harbour between large stacks of wood that would keep the police from seeing them. Eventually the police lost track of them and left the area.
"Crakin' rammy ye pat oan thare. Ye pure beat a' th' kirklands…except fur yin.", the stranger grinned, Francis could hear that. "The Kirkland family has four boys."
The rich boy sorted out his blood-stained hair with a handkerchief he had dug from the insides of his pants' pockets. Then he could see the stranger in all his brilliance.
Cherry red hair, green sly eyes, thick eyebrows. The boy in front of him must have been about 14 or 15 years old. And he was grinning mischievously.
"Oh non…", Francis groaned and fell onto his bum.
He couldn't take another fight. And also not with obviously the eldest of the Kirkland brothers.
"Haha, Dinnae worry, ah will nae rammy ye!", the redhead cheerfully said. "Ye managed tae beat up mah brothers. That's a'richt. Enough fowk honour disturbed. Ah would nae wantae fall fae grace by bein' punched intae a pulp by a wee blond lik' ye."
That guy must have been kidding.
The redhead was lifting up the torn bag. He must have somehow gotten it. Also, all the books were in there. Not in their best shape but seemingly fine. He tossed it towards Francis. "There. Can't use them anyway."
"Th-thank you…", the blond figured that the redhead had saved his life.
There had never been a police. Or had there? Maybe the redhead had alarmed them. Who knows. Also, from all the street kids this one looked the tidiest.
"Nae problem."
"Wait!... What's your name?"
The redhead had been climbing a stack of wood and was about to get lost. "Th' name's 'Fox Kit'."
Well it was no real name. More like a nickname. But it would be all that Francis would receive from him. The blond jammed the bag underneath his arm and followed the other the best he could.
"How come urr ye follaein me?"
"Why not?"
The 'Fox Kit' turned around and grinned. "Ye keek lik' jobby!"
The blond followed the redhead over the stacks of wood, then over to the forest until they came to a stream.
"'ere, ye kin wash yer coupon.", the redhead proposed.
It took Francis a good while to wash his face and to work it just so he was halfway presentable and free from blood. "…My father is so going to kill me. I don't want to go home."
"Ye don't waant to…? laddie, ye don't even ken whit ye hae. Ah wish ah hud parents lik' ye hae. Living oan th' wynd is tough as jobby. An' a' aff tae schuil. Ah wish ah cuid gang."
"If you would look a bit like me I could swap with you. I would do it with pleasure. …You know, a person never wants what a person has enough of. At least for me. I like a change every now and then. This was also why I came down…"
"…Yer an eejit. Guys lik' yer aff tae git themselves murdurred gey soon. 'n' nae even th' cash o` yer daddy is aff tae hulp ye."
"So what? I want to see the world! School life is boring. I don't want to become like my father. Like a bureaucrat, like a lawyer, always sitting in the middle of dusty shelves. I mean… it's nice to read over the world, but how awesome is it to once see with your naked eye what is written in those books?"
The redhead frowned. There was some truth in those words. The blond boy obviously stood up for what he wanted. There was a strong will in this pretty skull. "Bit ah wid an' a' lik' tae read. …you wid git tae mair aboot they hings ye see."
"Then why don't we put ourselves together? I teach you how to read and you'll be my bodyguard while I can go and see the world.", it would be like a perfect symphony.
The Fox Kit sighed. "Ye dae nae ken whit yer saying. Just… juist gang back tae yer hoose th'day. If ye aye wantae gang wi' me tomorrow… let's catch up wi` at th' rail station. 'n' bring whit yi'll waant tae tak' fur a journey, if yer willed."