The night of the hunter

Chapter three

"I agree," Francis said, leaning back in his chair. "London is far more beautiful and and far more interesting city that Paris could ever be. How could I ever have thought differently?" He looked at Arthur, raising his eyebrows and crossing his arms across his chest. "So that's what you want me to say, Arthur?"

Arthur gave him a glare. "That's what you will say, Mr. Bonnefoy, because that's how it is. I only hope there is enough gentleman left in you to admit the truth."

It was the the following day of their meeting in London. The two men were in Arthur's apartment, the Frenchman sitting on a dark green clothed chair while the Englishman was walking restlessly around his living-room, waiting for water to boil in the kitchen. Francis watched him wandering to the chest of drawers and looking absently at some photographs, probably of his family, then moving to a bookshelf and running his fingers across the edges of well-arranged books. There were three bookshelves in Arthur's living-room; apparently this little Englishman loved to read.

As he silently followed Arthur's movements in the room, Francis let his gaze wander around the apartment. As far as he could see, the Englishman seemed to prefer dark colours; all the furniture seemed to be mostly different shades of green and dark wood. It was almost like Arthur had tried to create a forest-like feeling in his apartment, a feeling of dark and unknown forest. Francis couldn't help a small smile forming on his lips. Whether it had or hadn't been a conscious intention of the Englishman, he had succeeded in creating the interesting whole ensemble, which he even seemed to be a part of. With his forest-green eyes and messy hair, Arthur truly looked like he could be a goblin from old fairy tales, a goblin in his secret kingdom. Francis gave a small chuckle at the thought, earning a frown from the Englishman.

"What are you laughing at?"

"Nothing, nothing." Francis gave him a coy smile, which the playful look in his eyes ruined. "I just thought that this apartment suits you perfectly."

"Coming from you, that was hardly a compliment," Arthur snorted. "And could you please stop staring at me, Mr. Bonnefoy?"

"But of course." Francis smiled. "If you start calling me by my first name. I'm sick of all formalities."

"I don't find calling each other by first names necessary in our situation," Arthur said, turning his back to the Frenchman and looking at the photographs again. He took one in his hand and blew at it, probably to get dust off it. Francis sighed dramatically. "Whatever you say," he said. "So, Arthur, do you live alone here?"

"Yes I do, Mr. Bonnefoy."

Francis ignored the significant way the Englishman had emphasized the formal addressing. He had meant what he had said earlier; he was fed up with all people hiding themselves behind useless politeness and formalities. How were people supposed to get to know each other if they always had a barrier of annoying superficiality and distant formalities between themselves and other people? When Francis was communicating with others, he didn't want to be talking with a doll, but with a real person with unique personality and courage to show it.

Maybe that was the reason why he had found himself approaching this Englishman again -the minor reason, that was. Arthur was distant and formal, yes, but he didn't hide his personality like the majority. Even if he was English.

"You don't have any butler or maid to take care of your house?" Was it only Francis' imagination or had Arthur shuddered slightly? However, the whistle of teapot prevented the Englishman from answering the question and he hurried to the kitchen. Soon he came back to the living-room with two teacups, and offered one of them to Francis. Slightly wincing, the Frenchman took the cup. "Merci."

"What comes to maids..." Arthur sat down on a chair opposite to Francis and smelled his tea, then placed the cup on the small wooden table between the two men. "One lady comes to clean here once a week," he told. "A Russian girl."

"Oh," Francis said, taking a tiny sip of his own tea and trying his best not to smell any of it.

The doorbell rang. "That should be Gilbert." Arthur stood up and walked to the door. Francis quickly put his cup on the table.

"Heya, Artie!" Francis heard from the hall. "The awesome me is here! Did you need me for something? Well of course, you always need!"

"...I'm surprised you came on time," was Arthur's dry answer. "Come, to the living-room."

Francis smiled sweetly as his friend and Arthur's cousin paced into the room typically proudly. Gilbert then stopped suddenly, as if he had met the wall, as soon as he saw the Frenchman. "Fran-" The Prussian stared in awe for a second, then, apparently and very correctly sensing troubles, quickly turned on his heels and headed back to the hall. "I have to go. I'm busy."

Arthur stopped him and dragged back into the living-room. "You are not," he said, leaving his cousin beside the table and sitting on his previous place again, lifting his teacup to his lips.

The Prussian turned to his friend. "What are you doing here, Francis?" he asked judgementally, as if Francis' presence only was an offence towards his persona. "According to the scolding I got from Arthur after your party, you two being together can mean only trouble."

"Exactly," Arthur said scornfully as Francis burst into laughter. "The trouble has already happened, and you are the one to be blamed for that. So you'll help us."

The crimson eyes moved from Arthur to Francis. "What the hell? It's not like you can become pregnant, right?" Arthur's jaw dropped, and Francis had to wipe away tears of laughter from his eyes. "Let...let me explain," he said, still laughing and receiving a priceless expression from the Englishman. "You see, mon ami, I arrived to London yesterday, and who did I bump into if not this Arthur here. He was wandering in rain in miserable condition, and-"

"I would like you to explain properly, Mr, Bonnefoy!"

"And I kindly offered to take him in my carriage wherever he wanted." Francis saw the Englishman rolling his eyes and smirked. "But being the grumpy Englishman he is, he started insulting me and my city, so-"

"Don't make me sound like-"

Francis sighed dramatically. "Please, Arthur, try to be a gentleman and stop interrupting me." Content, he saw how the Englishman was doing his best to keep himself from losing his temper.

"Yeah, whatever, I don't care what happened!" Gilbert interfered, slumping into a sofa. "Just tell me why you need me here."

"I was just coming to that part, Gilbert," the Frenchman said patiently, as if he was speaking to a child. "Before I was cut off." He threw a significant look at Arthur.

"The point is," the Englishman started to speak. "that we went to a restaurant-"

"Where we were served some kind of excuse of food."

"And our conversation led us to talk about our cities. And since Mr. Bonnefoy seemed to be a real vulgar what comes to London, and kept blabbering about his Paris, we decided to make a small game."

"A game?" Gilbert crossed his arms, threw his head back and gave a loud 'ha'. "I knew you two only bring problems."

"Indeed," Francis said. "And you'll be the judge."

The Prussian laughed cheerily. "No way in hell."

"Oh yes, Gilbert. It's your fault we are in this situation anyway, so take your responsibility." Arthur's voice was stern.

"What do you mean, my fault?"

"Who introduced Arthur to me, Gilbert? You did." Though Francis didn't mind that; he had been bored and in a need of just something challenging like this. Trying not to wince, he took his teacup again, held his breath and emptied the cup as quickly as possible. Luckily the reddish liquid wasn't hot anymore.

Looking at his cousin and his friend, the Prussian apparently realized that the least painful way to survive the whole thing was to cooperate. "Fine then, I should have known you two just can't make it without me. So, what's the point of this little game of yours?"

"To convince the other in superiority of one's own city. Which of course means London," Arthur stated.

Francis smiled slyly. The point of this game, he thought, is the same it was back at the masquerade in Paris: to get Arthur on his knees. Oh no, Francis hadn't forgotten his defeat to the Englishman at his party, and he had travelled to London for one reason only: to finish off what had started in Paris. And this time Francis intended to be the victorious one. He would make Arthur want him. He would make him beg. The Frenchman tried to hold back his smile as pictures of his victory ran through his mind. This game of their cities was just a cover; the real game was hidden beneath it. That delicious-looking Englishman would be at his mercy... Of course, no one else needed to know that.

"And the rules are?"

"We already agreed on them," Arthur said. "We'll take turns in introducing our cities to each other. First, Mr. Bonnefoy will stay here for one week, and I'll take him around the city to the most gorgeous sights, the most delicious restaurants and the best parties. Anything like that, that will show him what London has to offer. Anything. After one week it is my turn to go to Paris, and Mr. Bonnefoy shall show his city to me. Then, we shall have a break of one week, after which we'll have one more round in both cities. The city that has more to offer will win."

"Naturally, the quality beats the number," Francis added. "We'll write short critique after each week we spend in the other's city, and your job is to read them and make your decision of the winner. Naturally, we will be honest."

"Of course, neither me nor Mr. Bonnefoy can arrange or have any business with the activity we will attend," Arthur said. "That wouldn't be fair."

"Sounds simple," Gilbert nodded. "So, the main question now is, why Arthur addresses you by 'mister' but you call him by his name, Francis?"

"Because he is a stubborn idiot," Francis scoffed.

"Because he is a brainless frog," Arthur explained.

"I see," the Prussian laughed. "Francis is my buddy, Artie, you can call him by his first name."

"Well he isn't my friend, so he shouldn't even be calling me by my first name," the Englishman responded sharply. Francis rolled his eyes. Englishmen, he mouthed to Gilbert, who grinned.

"So, when does this game of yours start?"

"How about tomorrow?" Francis suggested. Arthur rose his eyes from his now empty teacup. "Tomorrow? But it's Sunday tomorrow."

Francis let out a long and knowing 'oh', and continued pityingly. "Does it mean London is dead on Sundays? Not a good start for your game, mon cher."

Arthur was looking at his cup again. "No," he snapped. "I just have some business to do tomorrow morning."

"Come on, Artie, you won't spend the whole day at the graveyard, will you?" Gilbert uttered. "I'm the judge and I say you start tomorrow!"

"Graveyard?" Francis arched his eyebrow questioningly and Arthur shot a murderous glare at the Prussian. "My condolences."

"It's nothing, it happened very long time ago," the Englishman said to his teacup, then looked back at Francis with his forest-green eyes. "We start tomorrow, then. If Gilbert says so." He smiled arrogantly, like he had done at the masquerade a couple of weeks ago. "My city will seduce you."

Francis gave a laughter of disbelief. "Your city? Please. I will seduce London."

It was Arthur's turn to laugh. "Ha! You couldn't seduce even that waitress from yesterday's restaurant."

That scornful thing was seriously questioning his, his, seducing skills! The Frenchman laughed, this time longer than before. "You are a funny man, Arthur." He set his eyes on the Englishman and smirked. "Did you just really say that? You? Don't make me laugh."

Arthur's eyes flashed. "I take it you want to add something to our game?"

Francis leaned forward. "Oui, mon cher. Shall we add a small seducing competition?"

"Deal."

For the first time, Gilbert felt a little anxious for what he might have done by causing the Englishman and the Frenchman meet each other.

xXx

"Well, this should be it," Francis said, content. The paper with rules of their game was laying in front of him on the wooden table.

"Gilbert, read the rules for us so that we'll see if there is something that needs to be corrected," Arthur asked the Prussian, who, rolling his eyes, obeyed.

"Seducing game..." he muttered, then started reading aloud. "When seducing people, the object of seduction must be the one who asks something more than just chatting. If the seducer himself suggests anything, the result won't count."

Both Francis and Arthur nodded, and Gilbert continued. "Sex doesn't count; many people want that for their own motives only. Therefore the seducer has to get both name and address, written down, of the object of seducing as a proof of succeeding. The seducer is not allowed to ask for required evidence (as in the rule number one). Clear?"

"Yes, yes, move on."

"Competitors are not allowed to interfere with each others' personal lives, and possible misfortunes of the opponent are forbade to be used against him. Also, the personal problems of competitors won't give them any break or extra in the game."

"Oui."

"Gentlemanly and honesty are obligatory; it's forbidden to disturb the opponent in any way. The winner will be the one, who has more addresses and whose city has better commentary. The winner will be chosen by Gilbert, the awesome neutral judge. And: breaking rules will mean losing the game, with no exceptions." Gilbert finished and gave other two men a dramatic look. "Am I understood?"

"For once," Francis nodded.

"Since it's not you who came up with the rules," Arthur muttered. "So, tomorrow it starts, then." He turned to Francis and smiled scornfully. "Good luck, Mr. Bonnefoy."

"Same to you, Arthur." Francis chuckled darkly. "You'll need it."

X

AN: Now that things got somewhat explained, the actual plot can finally start in the next chapter... Or something like that. =P