The Adoptive Family Project
A FACE Family fanfic; more on FrUK
Rated T
Warnings: Arthur's POV
I sat in the office of some government-owned establishment. The walls were white and the room was decorated sparingly. There was a table in the centre which held a stack of magazines, and a potted plant in the centre. It was painfully quiet. It had the feel of some kind of rehabilitation centre, had I not been accompanied by other people, looking all sorts of negative. Some were nervous, some were bored, some were poker-faced. Some looked hopeless, even. I, on the other hand, felt somewhat furious. I didn't show it, though. I had received the news on the 18th of May, which just riled me up so bad, I was unable to get out of my room wherein I unleashed my bitter fury and anger towards this government. The idea was preposterous! I simply couldn't accept it, and no way would I conform to it. It was like robbing me of my freedom.
It was now the 29th of May, 2012. A Monday afternoon. I was told to go here around this time, which was ever-so-conveniently after work.
I sighed, frowning at how hard this chair is and at how long it's taking for them to call me. I was hardly ever patient, especially in waiting areas like this. I didn't even bring anything to alleviate my boredom. A man walked out of a door, clutching a suitcase in his hand, looking somewhat relieved.
"Mister Kirkland?" A few minutes later, a smiling female's head popped out of the same door where the man had come out. I stood up and nodded, stiffly walking over to her. "Please come in." I wanted to scrub that fake, plastic smile off her face with steel wool. I don't even know where this anger is coming from, but let's pray that this employee won't get the brunt of it.
I walked in and the lady instructed me to walk in another door before taking a seat in front of her secretarial quarters, sprinkled with paperwork and crumbs.
I opened the aforementioned white door, walked in and seated myself in front of the somewhat-surly, bespectacled man who looked like he was in his forties or fifties. His name plaque read 'Mr. Randolph Brigs, Head Representative of The Adoptive Family Project'. I looked up at him with glassy eyes, trying to look composed and invulnerable.
"Ah, Mister Kirkland. It's a pleasure to be meeting with you today," I'm betting ￡50 that he says he's pleased to meet everybody, when in fact he wants to throw up at the sheer amount of work thrusted at him everyday. "I shall discuss to you the details of this project you're obligated to partake in as a citizen of this country."
I had to bite back a retort, and just nodded politely. The way he composed his sentence, and the way he spoke with an underlying threat ('this project you're obligated to partake in as a citizen of this country' my arse! If I had seen this coming, I would have moved to another country faster than you can say 'immigration'!) made me want to strangle him. Something tells me it wouldn't do me good to get on his bad side, though.
He explained to me that the country is already over-populated, and demographics show that a large percentage of people live alone and are single. It takes up space, he said. Why live alone in a house big enough for four or five people? It was a waste of resources, and many people out there are homeless, while these people are all taking up space that can be utilised more efficiently. That is why the government has started this so-called 'The Adoptive Family Project'. They'll assign these single people and put them in groups, relocate them in a house big enough for them and start a life with them. The groupings are usually random, and each group or family is composed of 4-5 people. Then, the houses where these people used to live in shall be vacated and be given to other people in need, backed by the government, of course. Or, it might be claimed as the government's property. I'm pretty sure my flat would fall into the former, since it's too small to even be of any use to them.
What got under my skin was that it was compulsory. I couldn't back out or anything, I can't even ask them to exempt me. I'll have to suffer taking public transportation to work every day because of this, and that means more money spent! Not to mention that I am now also responsible for a bunch of strangers and hold up this household.
I was told that I am assigned with three other people. Mister Brigs showed me their profiles and told me they've all been to his office before me a few days back. They were all men with blonde hair and blue eyes, well, except for one of them who had some kind of bluish-purplish hybrid. The oldest, who was twenty-six, was a man called Francis Bonnefoy. He looks quite smug in his portrait, which somehow ticked me off. The other one, Alfred Franklin Jones, who was nineteen, looked cheerful and brimming with youthful energy. Great, a ball of sunshine now. The last one, and the youngest who was eighteen years old, was Matthew Williams. He looked painfully shy and so not used to having his picture taken. His smile was awkward and it looked quite funny. I don't know how to feel now. These people somehow interested me, but my hatred for this idea shall remain.
I was told to return a week later, things packed and ready to move in. I was going to meet my family and go to our new, relocated house together.
I nodded and left after that; I couldn't take anymore of Mister Brigs' presence. I clutched the photocopies of my housemates' profiles and placed them carelessly in my suitcase. I hurried home, to an empty flat and soon, in the literal sense.
My days rushed by quickly and in a blur. I had to sort things out, like paperwork and whatnot. I had to inform the necessary people about my change of residence. Then every day, I packed my stuff. Of course I didn't pack them all at once. On the last day, June 4, I packed my personal belongings, my usual clothes and my necessities. I moved around blankly. I tried not to think about it. I felt like nothing. I don't even know how I'm supposed to feel anymore. It's all too quick and sudden and I wasn't even given time to think it over. I cursed the government and its unorthodox ways.
On the morning of the fifth, I sat up blearily on my bed, slowly getting up. The truck which will help me move my stuff is going to arrive here in an hour and all that's left was for me to wash up and eat breakfast. I hired a truck, but all I really need help with were my appliances and furniture, like my couch, my refrigerator, my bed, my bookshelf and my telly. Everything else, I could just squeeze into my car.
An hour and a half later, the truck arrived and I berated the driver for being late. I ignored his apology and started carrying my things out. Another half an hour later, we were already driving to the house where I'm supposed to live in. I followed the truck with my car. My car wasn't that flashy or expensive, but I can manage. It was just a second hand car my dad bought for me when I graduated university.
We arrived there and saw that the others have arrived early. There was the nineteen-year old kid, sitting on the front lawn. He was eating a burger and sucking his soda's straw like a vacuum. The Canadian was carrying things inside and the Frenchman was talking to one of the movers. I got off the truck, the others taking notice of me instantly.
"Please excuse me for a moment," the Frenchman said to the man he was talking to. "Hello! You must be Arthur Kirkland." He smiled, before eyeing me up and down, which made me feel self-conscious.
"Indeed, I am." I nodded awkwardly, looking behind me if my things were ready to take in now.
"Je m'appelle Francis Bonnefoy."
"I already knew that." I said dryly. Of course I did. Francis laughed, an obnoxious laugh at that.
"Is that so? I am honoured, then!"
"Will you excuse me for a moment? I need to start moving my things in now." I said curtly, frowning a bit.
"Let me help! I've already finished sorting my things out earlier." He said eagerly, walking to the back of the truck, five steps ahead of me now.
He helped me put my things inside, but not without trying to strike up conversation here and there. I was too distracted by the weight of my bookshelf to actually even pay attention to him, and frankly, I would have liked to let go of the bookshelf and make the leg land on his foot. He was just that annoying.
I looked up when I have set down my last two boxes full of memorabilia things. I must admit that I am somewhat a shameful pack-rat. Can't seem to find the time to throw things out, and you'll never know when you'll probably need them.
The entire house looked like shit. No, I didn't even need to tone that one down— it just looked like interior design gods mistook this house for a toilet and released shit in the form of mixed-and-matched couches, three large refrigerators, one small refrigerator, at least fifteen chairs of varying kinds (from plastic, to foldable, to wood and to cushioned-wood), four tellies ranging from small to LED, and an unbelievable number of boxes, all labelled with various handwriting with different degrees of carefulness.
I cursed under my breath. What would we need three refrigerators for? Utter bollocks! Electricity bills would skyrocket and I am sure as hell not paying for that! Also, couches with different designs? Lovino, one of my contacts who worked in the interior design industry, would suffer from a coronary at the sight of this. What in the world are we going to do with this mountain of crap?!
I sighed and looked around me. I saw Matthew, the Canadian, still carrying the last of his things into the house, placing them near the door which was the only suitable space left, because he simply cannot swim through all of these things anymore. He then stopped and cast a cursory glance, eyes sweeping the room. He frowned, showing a worried expression.
"Damn... What in the world are we going to do with all these crap?!" I exclaimed. Everyone seemed to be thinking about the same thing, because they all grunted in acknowledgement.
Francis shook his head. "I think we need to sort these out. Who has the most stuff here?"
No one responded. After a while, I realised it was me so I spoke up.
"Are all of those important and worth keeping?"
"N-no..." I frowned, but I knew what he was probably going to try and suggest. And I certainly didn't like that idea. I get... ah... somewhat attached to my possessions. Just a bit.
"Then it's settled. We'll have to sell these things. And that goes for everyone as well." He caught the teenaged American's dismayed face, and clicked his tongue. "You don't have to sell everything, and besides, we'd get some money."
"Can we just arrange the things first and see what we can still keep before deciding to sell them? We still haven't settled into our rooms, after all." Matthew spoke up softly.
"Yeah, and after we do that, we might just have enough space for things after all!" Alfred, the American teenager, piped up in agreement. He sounded kinda hopeful.
"It doesn't change the fact that we have four refrigerators, which is an absurd amount. But all right, we'll see what we can do first." Francis shrugged reluctantly.
So we did. We still had a lot of time. We took our things upstairs to our rooms, enlisting help from the other moving people-personnel-whatever. It wasn't the cleanest job, though. I was pretty sure my dust allergy was surfacing again. I kept on sneezing a lot and scratching my skin the whole time. So many boxes and whatnot.
My room was at the farthest end of the hall, so it was certainly more tiring. As I passed by each time, I caught glimpses of the others' rooms. Alfred's was quite reminiscent of a child's room, a shelf filled with comic books and another shelf filled with action figures and collectibles. Walls plastered with posters and doodles (which admittedly sucked). His bedsheets were superhero-themed, even. Matthew's room was quite simple, a few posters up as well, but it was very neat. He had a desk with a lamp, a side with books from left to right, but that was it. He did have quite a few stuffed toys, the largest being a white bear. I personally thought it was adorable. Francis' room, which was next to mine, was stylish and impressively decorated. There was a certain aura emanating from the room, a kind of ambience spilling from it. It had this velvet-y, inviting feel to it. I gave a slight shudder and walked past it, too.
My room... Well... It was a huge mess right now. I still haven't gotten around to arranging my things, even if hours have passed. I had way too many boxes, and I still can't figure out what to do with half of my stuff. My bed and bookshelves were set up, though.
By the end of the day, we were almost done, settled into our rooms and all. All four televisions were placed in their respective positions. Each one of us owned one, and everyone had one in their room except for me. I had to give mine up for the living room, because I think we'd need one there anyway. Besides, I didn't mind. I didn't really care for a telly inside my room, since it just distracted me a lot. Our rooms looked mostly sorted now, and our only problem was the first floor, because it was still an interior-design disaster. It was awful, the way the curtains clashed with the couches, the hideous plastic chairs beside the cushioned, wooden ones, not to mention we still had three refrigerators. The largest one will be used now. Also, we had five wall clocks eerily tick-tocking away when it was quiet.
Now, I didn't know nor care much for designing stuff, but the way this looked horrible even to someone as design-blind as me reminded me why my former house was bland and boring. It was better to be safe, I guess. I preferred that rather than experimenting with random furniture and whatnot. At least my house didn't look like IKEA and Home Depot vomited all over it.
We all sat down on the most decent-looking couch, which was Francis', and sighed in relief and/or fatigue.
I looked distastefully at the other side of the room, where two refrigerators were towering near a smaller one, and four couches unceremoniously tossed together. Francis' furniture certainly was silently agreed on to be the most acceptable in terms of condition, therefore they were spared. I could tell it was a large blow to the self-esteem for the American, who thought his furniture was worth keeping, even though it looked like it was bought fifth-hand, tattered in some places, and quite worn-out.
"Looks like we still have a problem." Alfred huffed. Not only excess furniture graced the other side of the room, but also other things that couldn't be fit into our rooms. They were still in their boxes, some of them with half-torn packing tape on top, and some of them unopened, but surely filled with things we'd probably not use for the next ten years.
Francis wearily shook his head. "It looks like we'll still have to sell some of them."
Matthew nodded. "Well, at least we know what to sell now."
"I want the small fridge for my room." Alfred whined. He had been whining about it all day. He had been whining about it to Matthew the most, though. He owned it and Alfred was practically on his knees, trying to make Matthew give it to him.
"B-but, I don't see why you'll need one. The electric bill will shoot up if we use two refrigerators..."
"I need one because reasons..." Alfred pouted, clutching a throw pillow.
Matthew sighed and gave in, and Alfred whooped in joy, fist-pumping. I groaned a bit. It's not like Alfred was even going to contribute to the utilities here, which was gravely annoying because I would have to since I was working, and I surely don't want to pay for his idiotic selfishness.
Alfred was now bounding up the stairs, carrying the small refrigerator with ease, grinning madly to himself because he had just scored his very own food storage appliance.
"Can we just talk about this tomorrow? Mon Dieu, my body is aching now. Do excuse me." The Frenchman groaned and rose from his seat, slowly going upstairs while clutching his head.
"I'll be heading upstairs too, if you don't mind." Matthew nodded to me, before following Francis. I decided to nod and follow suit and it was only then, when I had entered my room, I heard Alfred exclaiming in disbelief, "Aww, guys! Where did you all go? Why did you guys leave me? Not cool!"
Well, all I wanted was my hard-earned rest now. And he could go on downstairs about how uncool it was to leave him— my body was aching horrendously and I certainly couldn't care less.
A/N: All right, ANOTHER fanfic idea that made it. I hope you guys don't hate me for publishing a lot but not updating just as fast. =7=;; Anyway, this is FACE family and it's actually more FrUK-centric! /gasp Still deciding if I'll include AmeCan in this one, though... Hmm... Anyway, see you guys in the next chapter~