Sumina
-chapter two-
La Maison de Bonnefoy
A/N: Excuse the title if it's incorrect…I'm not a speaker of French. Hahaha…just pulled it offline, really. But if it's correct, it should translate to "The House of Bonnefoy". Anyhow, enjoy the chapter, guys!
Rating: T, still; for violence, coarse language and some gruesome images.
Chapter Pairings: In this chapter, there's some subtle FrancexCanda.
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The estate before his eyes was too much for him to comprehend. Ivan's head swam as he took in all around him, while Yao worried and fussed over him like a mother hen. Before he could sway and fall over, the tall Russian sat upon the steps of the massive front doors, holding his forehead, collecting himself. Yao's soft voice soothed him, "Don't worry about it, aru. It happens to everyone the first time they're teleported, aru." The voice was balmy and sweet to his ears. He could practically feel the swirling sensation in his mind settle down, his former clarity returning to him. Dismissing Yao, he placed the mirror in his enormous pocket (the handle stuck out slightly), walked up the steps, and knocked on the ringers of the double-doors.
Several minutes after, the door was slowly slid open. In the doorway stood a meek-looking young boy, no older than nineteen, with warm, gold-blond hair pulled back into a neat ponytail – excluding one long, springy piece that bounced up in an unruly fashion – and azure eyes ringed in darker blue. He was dressed in a dark suit with white gloves, dress shirt, and gold accents. Perched atop his nose was a pair of glasses, which he would adjust occasionally. "Yes?" he began in a quiet, whispery tone. "Can I help you, sir?"
"Ah, is Francis Bonnefoy home? I need to speak with him," Ivan explained, looking past the serving man.
"Yes, sir, Monsieur Bonnefoy is home…but do you have an appointment with him? He is, um…currently busy," the boy spoke up in a very gentle tone. Fixing him with a scrutinizing gaze, Ivan could not decide if the boy was lying or if he was simply unsure. "What brings you here, sir?"
"Tell him Wang Yao sent me." The boy stiffened immediately.
"R-Right away, sir!" as he spoke, the boy turned on his heel and dashed down the hall, calling out, "Monsieur! Monsieur!!"
Ivan waited patiently for the blond to return. When he did, he looked slightly shaken, and began in an even quieter voice—which Ivan was in disbelief that it could get any quieter; he had to strain his ears and crane his neck closer to the boy to even make out the basics of what he was saying—"Monsieur Bonnefoy will see you now, sir. Follow me, sir." He led Ivan down massive hallways and through several doors before entering a large study, with one high-arched window overlooking a beautiful rose garden. The serving boy led him over to a two-person table, covered in fresh glasses and a single bottle of wine. He retreated next to his master, standing to the side, arms folded behind his back.
There sat the master of the home, with beautiful golden locks, bright blue eyes, and slight stubble on his chin – dressed in rich clothes that only the wealthy could afford. He sipped from a glass of dark red wine, placed it upon the table as he saw his guest. It wasn't strange for Ivan to get stares. He had always been tall for his age; always strong and intimidating…at first it had bothered him, but as time passed he found that it was better to accept his abnormalities. With these he learned that it was simply easier to scare things from others. As he stared, Ivan raised an eyebrow. Immediately after the Frenchman gestured to the chair across from his, "Sit, sit! It would be rude for me to not offer a chair to my guest." When Ivan did as he was told, Francis smiled at him in a smooth, experienced way. "So, may I ask what your business is here, Ivan?"
"How do you know my name?" Ivan started in a sharp tone, careful to smooth the edges and hide his initial shock. What he got in response? A pointed, loud laugh; something he did not expect either.
"Oh, that is quite unimportant, Ivan!" he began, his chuckles coming to a halt as he spoke his name yet again. "What is important is why you have come to me. Wang Yao sent you, you say?"
"…That's correct. He did send me," as Ivan said this, Francis chuckled yet again.
"You say Wang Yao has sent you! Oh, mon dieu, no one else would believe you!" Just as Ivan was to ask him why, he was interrupted with, "do not ask, for you will find out soon enough. Now then! Your business here: please, present the item of interest."
Ivan pulled the mirror from his pocket. Carefully—too carefully, Francis noted—Ivan placed the ornate object in his hands. He watched the Frenchman turn the mirror over with care, examine every inch of it. Francis made occasional hums of thought. Whether they were negative or positive, he was not quite sure. It was several minutes before the blond looked up, as if surprised that the Russian was still there. "What are you still doing here? I will need some time to trace the spell," he placed the mirror down and looked towards the serving boy near him. Oddly enough, his smile widened and curled up into a slight grin. "Matthew, would you please escort our guest to the waiting area and serve him while I work?"
The serving boy—Matthew—nodded, though he looked slightly flustered. His cheeks were colored a rosy hue as he gestured at Ivan, "F-Follow me, please, sir." Reluctantly, Ivan stood up and followed the boy, who was now at a near-sprint. He took long strides in order to keep up, turning his head and looking back at Francis and Wang Yao in the mirror.
Several hallways and doors later, Matthew had led him into a colorful room with plush chairs pulled up around a roaring fireplace. On either side there were two doors near a wide window, while the rest of the walls were dedicated to shelves piled with books and photographs of charming places in France. The warm wallpaper was seen mostly near the fireplace – a gentle sunny yellow with golden patterns. Lamps were lit at a very low light, so the color of the chairs and the soft carpeting beneath Ivan's feet were kept a mystery. He looked around with wonder that did not overtake his face.
The blond next to him cleared his throat. "This will be your room for the night, sir. I hope you find everything to your liking. The bedroom is to the left, the bathroom to the right. If you need anything, please call, sir." As he turned on his heel, Ivan's eyes went wide.
"What?! 'For the night'?!" he hissed, eyes narrowed. Matthew turned back to him, eyes wider than the angered man's before him. Fear was seated deep within them.
"Y-Yes, sir! Monsieur Bonnefoy will need the night to do his work! Please, calm yourself – nothing will happen to your object in his care!" While he panicked, his voice was still ridiculously low. Ivan found his seething anger stilling, coming to a slow halt. It wouldn't be right to yell at such a meek young boy, would it?
"…Very well. Thank you, Matthew." Ivan turned away and began to wander about the room.
"Your very w-welcome, s-sir. Have a g-good night." From his trembling voice, it was obvious he was still a little shaken. As he turned once again, he thought he heard Matthew mutter, "Crazy bastard…" but left it up to his imagination as the door slid shut behind the blond.
While still too early to sleep, Ivan decided to explore the rooms left for him. He wandered first over to the lamps and turned them on, looking down at the carpet: a light off-white, with no apparent patterns. Then moving over to the fireplace, he noted that the mantle was a brilliant white marble with dark gray lines running through it. As he passed the walls, he ran his hands on the smooth mahogany shelves and the spines of the old books. Most were French. He knew that he would not be reading tonight. Making his way towards the door to the right was a very slow process. When he reached the far wall he took his time to observe the front lawn through his window. It was a beautiful green with trees on either side of a long reflecting pool.
After some time, Ivan moved away from the window. He moved towards the right and opened the mahogany door into a marble-floored hallway with clean off-white walls. Passing through them, he found niches with overhead lights that illuminated little pots of colorful flowers. The room attached to the hallway was elliptical, with the same white marble flooring. In the center was a deep pill-shaped bathtub, surrounded by carved white sidings of faux-wood. Brown patterns in the marble flooring surrounded it. Covering most of the wall behind the bathtub was several windows overlooking the front lawn, obscured by clean white cotton drapes drawn neatly together. A set of blue double-doors was to the right, next to which was a nook, three sides covered by mirrors and a mirrored cabinet down to the floor, painted with gold, crackling accents. The sink was a clean white with a rich gold faucet to match the bathtub. Through the double-doors Ivan found an off-white room with a toilet and glass doors to an overhead shower. He shook his head, found himself some towels and soap, stripped down and showered.
After he had cleaned himself thoroughly, the Russian wrapped a towel around his waist and put a hand-towel over his head, rubbing his scalp vigorously. He wandered back into the first room and through the door to the left, entering a room with warm brown walls and white crown molding. The dressers, nightstands, and bed posts were all the same light brown with intricate carvings. On the left wall was the dresser, with a vase of roses on it, above which hung a large mirror. The king-sized bed was covered in red velvet sheets and white pillows, with the nightstands on both sides of the bed, two glass lamps lit brightly on their surfaces. He found pajamas on the bed; silk, delicate against his skin. As he lay down in the bed, he found himself falling fast asleep.
Matthew woke him in the morning. "Breakfast is ready, sir. Monsieur Bonnefoy will speak with you then." Ivan rubbed his eyes and yawned, pulling the covers from his body and dressing himself in the same clothes from yesterday. They had been folded and washed while he had slept. When he had clothed himself, Matthew led him into a large dining room. The table was long, and only Francis sat at the end. Ivan rolled his eyes. 'How excessive.' He was sat down right next to Francis, so that the two sat at one edge of the table.
"Ah, Ivan! Did you sleep well?" Francis smiled as a plate of food was set down in front of himself and his guest.
"Yes, I did—thank you for your hospitality." He answered, adding on his thanks as an afterthought. The two tucked into their meals, speaking only when their plates were cleared. "So, did you figure out anything?"
"What a terrible question! Such an insult! Of course I have," Francis shouted, slightly irked. "I am the best in my field. I have done what you came here for."
Ivan did not apologize. "And?"
Francis chuckled lightly. "And your mirror has been enchanted by someone I knew very well. Typical, for his work to show up in my home; his magic's pattern is quite distinguished. It was complex, with strong barriers to cover up his identity. The wizard is the greatest in his field…or so he says." He is smirking as he speaks. "Ha! The man that has worked his magic on your mirror is Arthur Kirkland."
"Arthur Kirkland," Ivan repeated, committing the name to memory. "Where can I find him?"
"Ah, such a difficult question…I see you are intent on finding this man. He is a recluse these days. Nothing left for him to venture outside for, once he came along…. I have never been sure of where Kirkland lives. You should find someone else to help you. I would recommend the Oracle Karpusi. He may be able to help you."
"And where can I find him?" Ivan raised an eyebrow at Francis' reaction.
"That is hard to say, as well. He moves around often. Perhaps someone else could help you?" He handed Ivan the mirror and smiled.
Ivan placed the mirror in his coat pocket and stood, wrapping the scarf around his neck tighter. "Thank you, Mister Bonnefoy. I'll be going now." Francis smiled at him and gestured at the blond near them.
"Matthew, please show our guest to the door. Good day, Ivan Braginsky. Please tell the Oracle that I said hello when you find him."
"Yes, Monsieur," Matthew leads Ivan from the dining room. "This way, sir," he led him down more hallways until the massive front doors were reached once more, opened them, and stood to the side to let him through. "Good day."
Ivan nodded at him and walked through the doorway. When he had exited the estate all together, he pulled the mirror from his pocket and looked down at the surface, calling the name, "Yao!" An irritated, drowsy face faded into view.
"What, aru? I was sleeping," he snapped, glaring at Ivan.
Ivan chuckled at Yao's sleepiness. "Arthur Kirkland sealed you in this mirror. Bonnefoy tells us that we should find an Oracle. Karpusi, he called him." When he said this, Yao became alert.
"Kirkland! I knew he would do something like this one day, aru!" he growled, glaring angrily. "Bah! An Oracle's help? There are always conditions for them, aru…always conditions! They won't tell you a thing if it's up to their gods, aru!"
"It seems to be the only way though, Yao. Let's just try it," he tried to calm the angry dark-haired male. Yao took a deep breath and shut his eyes.
"Fine. If it's the only way, aru," Yao agreed, and Ivan smiled at him with approval. "I'll track this Oracle down and get us there. Just give me a bit." Ivan nodded and tucked the mirror into his coat pocket, adjusting the strap of his bag. He took his time taking in the sights, and when an hour or two passed, Yao's voice came from his pocket. "Okay! I found him, aru. It's time to leave, aru." Ivan took hold of the handle on the mirror and felt himself being lifted from the ground, churned and battered by foreign winds.
"He's gone, Monsieur." Matthew murmured, sitting across from his master at a small coffee table. He had been picking at his pancakes, really, but he hadn't been feeling well. "I felt his presence fade."
"Very good, Matthew," Francis complimented the Canadian, his smile wide and charming. "Your sensitivity is coming along smoothly…I am sure that by the time you are twenty, you will be able to identify anyone's patterns just as well as I can. But please, Matthew, remember that you have been given the privilege of calling me Francis, non?"
"Y-Yes…Francis," he blushed slightly. "But something troubles me…."
"And what would that be, mon amour?"
"I felt very strong magic take Ivan from the estate…strong ancient magic. It was…it was Wang Yao's! But…" Francis brought a finger to Matthew's lips.
"Shh," he soothed, pulling away from the darker blond. "All things are possible, Matthew. Keep your mind open, and answers can be found." He placed his hand atop Matthew's own and placed a kiss on his cheek. "Let us hope both Ivan Braginsky and Wang Yao find the Oracle." Matthew nodded in agreement and followed Francis off into the various hallways of their home, wishing both of them luck on the hunt ahead.