When Francis and Arthur met for the third time, they accidentally exchanged luggage.
Three in the afternoon, when the heat and smog were nearly unbearable and the air was heavy with fumes and coal dust - Arthur was just about at his wit's end, having nearly been bowled over at least twice in his rush to board the train, and he was nearly positive he had been pickpocketed (it was just a pocketwatch, but one lovingly crafted by his father and something he would punch the culprit's lights out for if he was not so terribly late).
Francis felt sure he was being asphyxiated by the press of people around him, and some factory worker had brushed past him and gotten an unsightly streak of grease on his favorite peacoat. He could see the doorway just ahead, with people trying desperately trying to push past the steward and hitch a ride. One young ragamuffin in particular, dirt smudged across both cheeks, tried to worm his way under Francis' arm with- was that a pocketwatch?
With one final, inelegant shove, Francis managed to get onto the first step. He paused to fumble with his ticket, flashing his brightest smile at the steward and his award winning mustache, but a sudden gust of wind blew the pillar of smoke directly into him, and he coughed into his elbow, wincing as the clumps of ash and dirt pattered against his arm.
"Fuck!"
Something that was very much not a smoke cloud collided with him next, and he went sprawling into the doorway, tripping over the stairs and the steward's feet.
A rumble of annoyance came from the crowd waiting to board, and Francis was forced to grab the handle of the nearest bag and scramble backwards to avoid getting kicked by sharp heels and pointed toes. Once his back was against the wall, he struggled to stand, brushing out the worst wrinkles and retying his hair ribbon. How crude some people could be! It was just a train, for heaven's sake.
Which, of course, was why he slipped through the crowd to his assigned seat lest someone snatch it up in the chaos.
21B, yes, that was it. Francis hesitated at the sight of a few suspicious stains in the seat, but it was a booth with a headrest and folding sidetable and he would have room to stretch his legs, so he slid into it with the grace of a cat, tossing a casual wink at the elderly lady to the left.
A disgusted gasp caught his attention.
"It's you!"
Francis had never been addressed with such revulsion. A condescending smile was already firmly in place when he looked up.
"And who have I had the outstanding pleasure of meeting befo- You!"
Arthur rolled his eyes. "Yes, we have established that we are ourselves. Now, if you please, I'd like to claim my seat, which I paid for with my own money."
Never to be caught unawares, Francis didn't even blink, but merely raised his eyebrows and smirked. "Pardonnez-moi, monsieur, but I don't believe this seat was discounted for the lower class. It is, in fact, right here on my ticket."
"It seems you are illiterate, then, because 21B is printed right here on my ticket. Therefore I would appreciate if you could get your cheese-padded arse out of my seat."
An insult to his perfectly healthy, fit bottom was not to be tolerated. Francis' smirk tightened. "It seems we're at an impasse. Shall we consult the steward?"
"Yes, we shall."
The steward was called. He apologised for the inconvenience, but the train was overcrowded and one of them would have to reschedule. Both men were too stubborn to relinquish the seat, and remained squished together. A very, very awkward silence ensued.
Because he was English and therefore the epitome of etiquette, Arthur spoke first.
"I suppose it would be too much to ask for the name of the man who tried to poison me."
Francis snorted derisively. "Oui, as I would not want my name falling from the lips of one so horribly rude and violent."
"Hmph."
A second silence. The two men crossed their arms almost simultaneously, and faced away from each other. Across the row, the elderly lady chuckled to herself.
As the train began to move, the same steward appeared to punch everyone's tickets. He halted at the shared seat, smiling sheepishly.
"Ah, Mr. Bonnefoy, Mr. Kirkland, I must apologize again for the inconvenience. But if you're really sure-"
"I'm sure," Arthur hissed through gritted teeth.
"And I agree with Mr. Kirkland," Francis smirked.
The train ride didn't stay quiet for long, and by the time the two men left, they had succeeded in escaping with the wrong luggage, and the elderly lady was chuckling to herself, happy to have an amusing story for her grandchildren.
Too many ideas and not enough time or motivation. But it looks like I may be getting some free time in the near future before finals start up! Also, the story format may be changing drastically, depending on how convoluted I decide to make the storyline.
Review feed my poor, starving heartstrings.