A/N: hello yes i update

disclaimer: totally own

lol i lie

"the speaking"

'the signing'

'the thoughts'

'text written on the screen'

Chapter 9

Arthur arrived back at his 'house' at around ten. He ran up the many flights of stairs, not caring how out of breath he was, or how much his body protested.

Finally on the correct floor, the Brit unlocked the door as fast as possible and burst into the flat.

"Alright," He yelled, "Which one of you wankers stole me bloody memory stick!"

None of his family turned around. Well, I lie. His mother twisted her head from where she was standing in the doorway between the kitchen and the living room. She looked like a grotesque, make-up wearing owl; head twisted almost one hundred and eighty degrees.

"Don't… like… elders!" She hissed.

"Mother, you wouldn't happen to know why my memory stick went? I put it I my bag last night, and when I went to hand it in, it was gone." His mother stared back, green eyes wide. "What about you Liam? Or Dylan? Allistor, how about you? Father, have you seen my memory stick?"

This time, it was his father that turned around. "Shut yer trap boy. I haven't seen yer bloody stick."

Arthur glanced at his mother. When one of your senses has gone, the others become more sensitive to make up for the fact that one has gone. With his hearing lost, his sight, smell, touch and taste had become better. He saw the brief flash of guilt that crossed her face, before it was gone, lost under a sea of make-up. The teen sent her a look, a look that said 'i-know-that-you-took-it-so-tell-me-where-it-is'.

His mother sighed and looked pointedly at the washing machine before flouncing past him and out of the door. As soon as she had left, Arthur ran to the machine (by now his family had gone back to watching whatever crappy TV show was on) and opened the big circular bit. The memory stick wasn't there. He tried the part where you put the soap powder, and there, in the centre of the drawer, was his super rad union jack memory stick.

Wow. His mother sure was in a nice mood today.

Moving back into the bedroom, Arthur pulled out his phone and texted Francis.

'I found it.'

~oOo~

The Frenchman in question had long since fallen asleep, phone clutched in his hand. He was awoken suddenly when a sound emanated from the apple device.

'What does the fox say? DING DING A LING A LING A LING DING DING A DING A LING'

Francis shot up, phone falling from his grasp and clattering to the floor. He quickly retrieved the mobile and checked the screen. There upon the screen, encased in a little green bubble, were the words he had been waiting for.

'Arthur: I found it.'

He fell to his knees, throwing his hands in the air. Then he did a little victory dance. Finally, when Francis had calmed down, he smoothly unlocked the phone and typed a reply.

'That's great I was worried about you! Why didn't you call me back?'

His finger hovered over the send button. Should he send it? Was he sounding too needy, too desperate?

'Shut up and send it already!'

Before he could protest, his brain had already sent the command to press the button to his fingers. His manicured nail tapped the screen and the whizzing noise signalled that the message had indeed been sent.

The Frenchman sat down on his bed, staring at the screen. He waited. And waited. And just to be different, he waited.

Eventually, the screen flashed again, and the familiar words rang throughout the room.

'What does the fox say?'

"The fox says please shut up." He muttered to the phone, as he typed a reply to Arthur's message.

'I only just checked my phone now. Sorry about that.'

'That's alright cher. I was just a bit worried, that's all.'

Send.

~oOo~

Arthur stared at the screen of his old nokia. He'd had the phone for about five years, ever since he started 'big school'. He thought it was such a big deal, having his own phone when his family couldn't afford very much. But when he got to school, and everyone else had iPhones or Blackberry's or really cool sliding phones, and he was stuck with that stupid old brick, he realised how wrong he was.

He was so naïve back then. So innocent.

But I'm getting off track. Arthur stared at the screen of his old nokia. There, emblazoned on the screen, were words.

'That's great I was worried about you! Why didn't you call me back?'

Did he really mean it? Did Francis actually care?

'He's just saying that. He doesn't actually mean it. Tomorrow, you're in for a bashing for sure bro.'

'Ignore that voice Arthur. Listen to me, the good fairy. Yes, Francis cares about you. He cares about you a lot more than you think.'

'Shut the fuck up. Don't listen to that bitch. Her name isn't even the good fairy, it's Rose, and her mother's an alcoholic and this is how she deals with it, by sending grammatically correct messages to strangers inside their heads.'

'Can you please be quiet Dave? I'm trying to make this guy feel like someone actually cares which he does by the way Arthur!'

'Bitch, please be quiet. Now Artie, listen here, because I aint gonna say this twice. Also, I gotta go bust some sweet tunes on my disks. But anyway, Rose is wrong, and I'm right. Francis doesn't give two shits about you. Tomorrow at school you're gonna get beaten. Strider out.'

'Get back here Dave! Oh wait, Arthur, Francis does care. Dave's an idiot.'

While his mind was having a messed up internal monologue that totally wasn't influenced by a certain web comic that the author has been reading lately, a lot of time had passed. Around five minutes actually. Before this so called 'Dave' could come and tell him not to do so, Arthur sent a reply.

'I only just checked my phone now. Sorry about that.'

Rose seemed a lot nicer than Dave. She also used proper grammar and was polite, which worked wonders in making Arthur trust her.

However, a little voice niggled at the back of his mind, that maybe Francis didn't care Actually, that voice was about half and half. Rose and Dave seemed to have been collecting followers.

His phone beeped.

'That's alright cher. I was just a bit worried, that's all.'

Cher? Wasn't that an affectionate term in French?

Then again, Arthur had never been much good at French, even when he had been taking it. And besides, Francis called everyone cher.

Again with the being worried thing. Arthur was really starting to side with Rose on this one. Maybe Francis did care.

'Yes, that's it Arthur! You've got it! See Strider, I told you! And I'm always right.'

'Bitch'

'Jerk.'

That's enough about Rose and Dave for now. Arthur quickly replied, before the two weird mind things could come and convince him otherwise.

'I'll bring it in tomorrow. I'm gonna go to bed now. Goodnight.'

He was met almost instantly with a reply.

'Bonne nuit ;)'

As he sunk into the sheets, Arthur could only wonder about what would happen tomorrow.

'I hate you Lalonde.'

'The feeling's mutual Strider.'

'Come on guys, I thought we were friends!'

'Yeah, Jade's right! Let's stop arguing and go have some cake (as long as it's not Betty Crocker. Damn I hate that bitch.)

'Hmm… I agree with John. Let's eat cake.'

'Agreed.'

A/N: Hey guys! Proper authors note here.

I hope you liked this chapter! It's written in a bit of a rush, so I'm sorry if it's bad. Also, can anyone guess the web comic I've been reading lately and has kind of taken over my life?

I'm sorry guys, there's gonna be no update next Monday. It's my fifteenth birthday next week, so I'm going out with my family for tea also, I'll be trying out my presents :D

Review please? They make me super happy!