College bills as definitely didn't not fall under 'pay-later-kind'. If you didn't have the money for it, you went under a considerable amount of debt. In this day of age, it could be easily done. Internet is a must! Texting is a must! Food! Not really! I can pay that bill next week!
Arthur's childhood was quite simple; don't spend on what you didn't have. It also was a lonely one. When he had entered the school overseas, a couple promises he made to himself.
The first one was the most important, nothing should falter about it.
1) Study for school, not for lovers.
Love is important, but not exactly in this moment. After his studies he'll have time for things like that.
2) Get a job, pay college bills and living first.
This Brit never had much of an appetite, skipping a meal or too was nothing. His older siblings left the nest for an education, only able to come back with dues chocking their financials. Arthur was not going to come back, nor begging for money. He was going to make his leaving.
And that is how he ended up with this job.
A waiter at the ballroom.
This occupation felt beyond crude. The people in the kitchen. Like the Frog. That Frenchman knew how to push those buttons till they couldn't be pushed anymore. They could argue on days without end, and that was the least of it. Yet, the two had a brotherly bond, asking for different help on various subjects. Francis would ask about how to do certain studies, and the Briton occasionally (rarely) asked for help on his love life.
A few dates here and there, never going on a second with the same person. The Frog explained it as 'Not the right l'amour, mon petit! She's waiting around the corner for you!' this phase would repeat itself a couple times after a failed attempt. He'll give up for a month or two, but then the Frenchman would sneak him on a blind date. Some lead to uneventful kissing, while others end at the door. Love didn't work for him, every novel on the subject proved it. He looked and didn't act like anyone in these stories, besides being a gentleman.
The echoing of 'Order up!' brought him back to the present. The arrangement of foods (worth more than his daily pay) told him to go to table 7. Both plates sat on the standard stainless steel, the one to the right reading table 4. Slipping each tray onto his palms, exiting the swaying black doors into the party.
The decorations for this party gave the room a dark, purplish glow. It crawled up the corners, spilling to the hems of the table clothes. Arthur's relief was given when the table tops were located with a few feet of each other. Seven, a corner table, the closest one. "Seven, who ordered the filet minion?" the voice switched to monotone with orders. A small hand raised and the food was given, same with the next couple plates. The last three went to the same person, all quite large meals. This curiosity stirred to see to whom it belonged too, making his eyes widen with shock on who it was.
The American from the quant cafe, the singer from the Fridays. It seemed like the body could eat at least 3 full course meals and still have room for another. A black hole in every definition of the word.
Strands fell across her face, out of the messy bun pinning it to the nape her neck. Her eyes danced around faces, looking for someone of importance. Tight around her neckline appeared to be a diamond studded chocker. He hadn't seen the dress...and forced himself to serve the next table. What was she doing in a coffee shop if she had the money to never work again..? The Briton glanced down at his pauper's clothing, black shoes, slacks and vest over a white pin up. Table 4 was given their food, and made sure the American couldn't see him go back.
His cheeks had flushed how magnificently she could pull together. Violent thoughts of 'STOP' put an end to it. They just met! No! She was too high in the social order for a commoner like himself! The unforgettable French chuckle brought him back completely. Arthur could be called an 'Open Book' on how easily those emotions could be seen through. The short haired blonde's feet took him back to the kitchen on instinct then.
"Mon petit, did you find some l'amour when you left?" Francis slug his arm on his friend's shoulders, face turned to him. "Frog! How many times do I have to tell you? Don't touch me! By the way! Your crappy food is burning!" With an instant push away from Arthur, cheeks becoming redder. This 'Frog' knew this man well enough that he assumed correct. A couple slides of the pan to shuffle the meal to prevent burning. The taller blonde leaned onto the oven behind him, relaxing in a stressful job like that defeated him. "Go out there and make her l'amour you, or I'll do it myself." Another tray was forced onto him, and quickly pushed out the door. He fumbled out, grabbing any trays that we slipping. The Frenchmen looked out the window of the double doors, smiling menacingly. He would really have to dance with her...
It was the right time to dance...right before the main courses came out. A couple dancers, all in pairs took the floor. The person he was looking for appeared to be waltzing with a tall, ashen blonde man. Could he infer when she may have a significant other already? Even if he tried to separate them. The man gave off the aura to beat any living soul to a pulp. They moved swiftly with the music, meeting the beat perfectly. How could he step in with something like that. Turning to give a furious expression at the face at the window, to see that it was making its way to the couple.
THAT FROG WAS NOT GOING TO GET THIS ONE!
Arthur stepped in front of the bearded man, forcing a smile to take the American to dance with.
His breathe caught at the dress, how it fit her frame. A sky blue at the spine, an open back with a divide to show her large cleavage. It tied at the waist, flowing to the floor. The color faded into darker shades as you drifted down to her feet. A pair of black chucks. American at its best.
"May I take this fine lady for a dance?" A smile tugged at the corner of his lips. "Da, hurt her. I will kill you." The taller man's accent told the Brit that the other was Russian, and that threat made the pale man lose some completion. That soul wasn't the type to joke. The former dancing partner left the floor, the smile never leaving his face. Abby facial muscles went from shock to amuse on the exchange between the two men.
The Frenchman was gone when he turned around the room, most likely smug in the kitchen at the advancement forced. The Brit's current expression was wearing one of annoyance, staring at the black doors. "Hey! Are you going to dance with me or not? Ivan is getting pissed..." The smile on her face removed some of his tension, "I shall M'lady." Positioning his body correctly left hand in the middle of her shoulder blades and the lowest of her waist. She lifted her open hand to hold with his, already moving gliding across the room.
õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ
AN: I suggest you listen to this song for the rest of the chapter.
LINK: http : / .com/ watch?v=vMMmcelxL5c (without spaces of course)
õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ
The performer for the evening started a new track, the baritone filling the rooms.
"When marimba rhythms start to play..."
They caught the beat, trying outwit each other's moves. Moving correctly, starting to push others off not on purpose, but for better competition.
"Dance with me, make me sway,"
He pulled her down, forcing her to lean back.
"Like a lazy ocean hugs the shore, hold me close, sway me more..."
Abby took the dominant move, bringing closer, smile becoming greater.
"Like a flower bending in the breeze, bend with me, sway with easy"
Arthur stomped his foot, smirking as he spun her close to his body.
"When we dance you have a way with me, stay with me, sway with me..."
The clangs of the room seemed to melt away, only depending on the song for reality.
"Other dancers may be on the floor, Dear, but my eyes will see only you..."
This time she brought him down, proud of being able to do so.
"Only you have the magic technique..! When we sway, I go weak..."
He leaned over to her neck, only to force her out with a spin of his arm.
"I can hear the sounds of violins, long before it begins..."
The Russian stood up, the aura turning darker around him. The Brit brought her back, moving feet away from the source.
"Making me thrill as only you know how, Sway me smooth...sway me now..!"
'Ivan' increased his pace towards them, the blonde sensing the danger, opened their intertwined fingers to give her off. The instrumental started, the Brit taking the chance to escape from the situation. Ivan nodded with the creepy smile, laughing inside at the fail swooning. The American had a slight tinge in her cheeks, then shaking her head once before grinning to her beloved.
The bearded blonde saw the whole incident, chuckling with amusement. If the Frenchmen knew the Brit could dance like that. He would have made a move at him long ago. But he had a lovely lover of his own, long before that mess came into his life.
"Mon petit, who is your petite amie?" He cornered the smaller one, needing an answer. "S-she's not my girlfriend! She has a b-boyfriend!" The Brit spoke the words, face changing shades with each one. "Honhon! Not yet mon petit, I see some l'amour in your future!" The chef got up, pushing by the waiter's forehead.
No...She couldn't...He shouldn't! Arguing within himself the rest of the night, staying away from that side of the room. Without his knowledge, she wanted to see her dancing partner again, for an encore.
õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ
The long (to say the least) night came to end, hardly able to make it to the sofa from it. That nightfall, Hero slept by his side, from smelling his previous owner's scent on the Brit.
õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ~ ───Ｏ（≧∇≦）Ｏ──── ~õ.õ
Sorry this chapter isn't as long as the first. I had a Halloween chapter going...but it deleted itself. I had at least 2 pages of huge paragraphs…review if I should rewrite it~ Btw! This fic is going to be ~20 chapters!