Of course it had to be like this. Arthur surely could not come in to his house and sit on the couch, reading novels from centuries or even merely decades past. No, that was to simple, too easy, too satisfying! And of course, if one is to receive a distracting – not to mention annoying – phone call, it might as well be from his or her historical enemy.
"What do you want?" Arthur demanded as he picked up the phone. He had nearly dropped it, seeing as it was much lighter than the dial telephone that had garnished the coffee table until recently.
"What is wrong?"
"Nothing, except for the fact that you decided to phone me just as I was starting to relax for the first time in forty-eight hours."
Someone knocked on the front door.
"I'll ring you back later."
Before Francis could say anything, Arthur pressed the End button a little harder than necessary and slammed it back on the stand. This provided an unsatisfactory amount of relief, but it would have to do for now.
Arthur sighed and headed for the front door. What he would give to finally get lost in a book, whether he travelled to Verona or Neverland. Arthur just knew that soon, and very soon, he would have to come up with a reason to send the guest home, but unfortunately, he couldn't use the time as an excuse, as it was only three in the afternoon. Perhaps the excuse would come when the time was right.
"Why he-" The Englishman stopped and sighed again, this time in disappointment, for the visitors standing at his door were none other than Francis Bonnefoy himself along with a certain unruly American. "Why?"
"Because, dude, you need help."
"With what?"
Alfred grinned and shook his head.
"You'll see."