"...And then I'll use this spell to kill him. The quicker the better, I think."
Francis nodded, only half paying attention to all that Arthur had just said. "Oui, oui... and what about the rest of us?"
"Well I was hoping they wouldn't be a problem. Oliver's really the only one I was even concerned about, but now... I'm not so sure." Arthur tucked his spell book back under his arm, wincing as he did so, and steadied himself on the wall.
"Time for a rest?" The Frenchman smirked, but then sighed. "You really aren't in any state to be fighting anyone."
"I'm perfectly alright." Arthur waved his free hand in front of him. "And, of course, I'll be better once I don't havethis 2p business to worry about."
Francis nodded, hesitantly. "In zat case, we'd better be going, non?" He gestured down the hallway, towards where he assumed the library to be. In his hands he carried his rarely used hand gun, which had always been more ornamental than anything. He really hated carrying weapons of any kind, and he was getting a little uneasy holding it with the intention of actually using it.
Arthur knew how uncomfortable he was. He pushed himself off the wall, and as they moved down the hallway, he tried to smile as he spoke. "If it makes you feel any better, I don't think you'll have much to worry about. Francois is probably just as lazy as you are. He may not even be dangerous."
"Oh, Monsieur Angleterre, you insult me." Francis said in mock annoyance. But, being honest with himself, he was a bit more concerned than he was showing. His main worry wasn't having to fight his 2p, it was more he was afraid of other people seeing what he was really like, deep down. He prided himself on his exterior visage he put on, not showing people the troubles he felt beneath. But this Francois would most definitely show all of that, without holding back. What would his brothers that of him after seeing that?
For the remainder of the very short walk to the library door, they said nothing else to each other. Arthur managed to make the couple minute walk without another rest, and Francis continued to shift his gun in between his hands uncomfortably. They made it to the door, more or less ready for whatever happened to be on the other side.
Which, to neither of their surprises, really, was nothing.
"Bollocks! Now what?" Arthur leaned on the door frame. Couldn't one thing be easy?
"Perhaps you should wait 'ere? And I will go look for mine?" Francis suggested.
"I don't see what else we should do. That bastard could be anywhere in this place." He rubbed his head and sighed. "Yes, alright. I assume they're all upstairs right now, including Matthew. You might as well go see what you can do."
Francis nodded. "Oui. If I do not find them, I will come back for you." He continued down the hall, towards the staircase. "And if you get ze chance, finish 'im!"
That was the last Arthur heard of Francis before the Frenchman turned the corner. Feeling the exhaustion taking over him even more, he turned to sit down in the same chair he had been tied to multiple times at this point. As he sat, it occurred to him that this was probably the first time he had ever actually felt his real age. Then the idea soured when he thought it could also be the last time he could ever feel that way. He shook his head.
"Pull yourself together, England, old chap. You're still a country and countries fight until the very end. You don't want to make it easy for him, do you?"
He opened the book to the page he had dogeared (one habit he also assumed Oliver had), running his finger along the instructions for the spell. All he needed to do was read the incantation, and hope no one was near Oliver when he did it. It wouldn't kill anyone else, obviously, but it could very easily mess them up if he wasn't careful.
Taking a deep breath, Arthur waited.
And waited.
...
Francis, on the other hand, was getting ready to fight. He peered around the corner at the top of the stairs, and caught sight of a rather frantic looking man with long blonde hair and questionable hygiene, talking to a large silent man wearing a red flannel shirt. Huh. He had assumed they would be more... frightening.
Above them was the attic, which was where Matthew and this Allen were supposed to be. Both of the men looked unarmed for the time being. He could easily take them on his own, right?
Well, he'd never get to find out, as he realized as he noticed a shadow being cast from behind him, and the strong smell of iron in the air.
"Would you care for a cupcake, poppet?"
My apologizes that it has (yet again) been a few days since I updated. I spent a few days visiting family in the mountains where there was little to no signal, and I was without my computer. FORGIVE ME FOR LEAVING YOU INTERNET I SHAN'T DO IT AGAIN.
Also, I missed Oliver's eerie little end lines. So I did one for absolutely no reason other that my own whims. Deal with it.
But yaaaaassss I'm back on track. (I'm pretty sure).
Thanks for all the continued positivity for the last few chapters! I love all you guys!
