The sun was out. A pleasant rolled by. Little birds twittered and twatted away. One could say that it was a rather nice day. Arthur Kirkland might have agreed had he not, when taking a cup of tea and the day's newspaper out to the garden, found an uninvited guest sleeping there.
Kick.
"Beilschmidt, why the hell are you in my garden?"
Kick.
A groan was heard as the albino rolled over.
"I'm sorry, what was that?"
Kick.
"Ach. Halt deinen Fuß."
"English, please."
Kick.
He was really just being a dick about it at this point. He knew it, too.
"Stop it."
"I don't take orders from lumps on my lawn."
Kick.
Now that he felt a bruise forming, Gilbert decided it was time to get up. Grudgingly, he did just that and faced the man with a trigger foot. However, as he opened his mouth to explain himself, he was abruptly cut off.
"Now, while I'm sure whatever excuse you have is absolutely riveting, I don't quite care to hear it. I'd rather you just leave, honestly."
"Come on, Kirkland, do I have to? I just came to see you, is all."
Cue 'charming' grin.
"Beilschmidt, you're an idiot."
