Mathieu peeled away the carrot's rough outer skin. He cut off the tops and bottoms and sliced the carrots in half and then once more in half. He tossed the carrots carelessly in the pot filled with water. He sliced some potatoes that were already washed and placed those inside the pot.
He also added in some turnips and celery. He ripped the skin of the onions off, a familiar scent of onions. He chopped the onions into 4 moderate pieces and placed those in the pot. He grabbed the handles of the pot and placed it under the sink. Letting the water fill the pot, Mathieu tackled the meat next. He cut them up in large pieces that still could be eaten in three bites. The type of meat he used was beef shanks from the butcher's shop he visited yesterday.
He stopped the water and placed the pieces of meat in and began to boil. He added the necessary spices: cloves, garlic, bay leaves etc. He cleaned up his mess to gently cut some French bread as sides.*
All throughout this, he whistled a song he caught off his brother, Alfred. Francis watched him cook. He cooked magnificently, like he was raised in a cooking household all his life and trained at Le Cordon Bleu*. He definitely had his skill in cooking. Not to mention Mathieu also looked similar in a way, not inferior but never superior.
Francis sketched Mathieu who was at the sink. The way the locks of straw would brush against his cheek ever so gently. How his mouth at the corners would twitch upward.
Francis continued to draw up until he reached Mathieu's clothing.
Mon dieu it's horrible!
His son wore a loose hoodie that were a few sizes too large. He also wore loose jeans that were possibly bought from a thrift store. The shoes he had on were also scraggly, multiple holes around them with duck-tape holding the front part together.
How could the son of a self-made billionaire, supermodel and internationally known fashion designer wear such cheap peasant clothes? It was a very outrage in itself. Francis noticed his laptop was charging in his office in the other side of the room.
Francis, through the only useful American-the Internet, Francis bought an entire wardrobe for Mathieu. This would not do! If he was going to make up to Mathieu for all those years of no communication, he would start by getting him expensive clothing. If only he knew his size in clothing. He couldn't be larger than Francis himself. Maybe pudgy but that was a different story. Francis was sure that Mathieu was taller than he was.
Francis got closer to Mathieu who was stirring the pot to a boil. The sleeve of the large jacket revealed slender wrists, almost like a girl's.
A carrot piece jumped out of the pot and onto the floor. Mathieu thought nothing of it and tossed it back into the pot as it were nothing. Francis raised a brow. You could have at least washed it.
"Five second rule Papa" Mathieu replied, almost as Francis himself asked the question.
Francis just shook his head. Children. Yet Mathieu wasn't a child. He was a fully-grown adult. Francis wondered how well Angleterre* raised him. His old rival was such an old fashioned man that it wouldn't be shocking to see Mathieu in breeches and stocking.
Francis wheeled off; leaving Mathieu to his own devices whilst he went into his office to see what has been going on in the world. A month more in that stuffy room surely would have made him go insane. Francis wheeled pass a mirror and wheeled back. Sacre Bleu! What is this!
Crow's feet on his gorgeous face!
Merde!
This would not do! How could he have ignored his beauty regime for a month and not realize this! There lines everywhere! At the corners of his eyes, around his forehead and mouth!
God shoot him now…
Francis was about to yell at someone to get him his facial creams when out came the most horrendous sound in all of history.
The very sound of a frog croak.
Francis cried. Angleterre would just love to hear him now wouldn't he? To mock him in his time of misery and called a frog prince.
"Papa? You own a pet frog?" Mathieu called out, wondering where the croak of a frog was heard.
Francis sobbed even more.
He punched what he thought to be a wall but it was actually the mirror. He may have punched his CaFa Gitchi mirror a little too hard. It shattered under the pressure and successfully cut his hand. Mathieu heard the shattered and immediately ran towards the sound.
Francis held out his hand, letting the blood drip down. Blood was such a pretty color. Red was the very essence of life isn't it?
Later, after Mathieu wrapped Francis' hand in bandages, Arthur called. Mathieu left Francis to freeload for a little while.
"Yes Arthur I'm doing fine…No. it hasn't been a bother. " Mathieu sighed. Arthur worried too much.
"Are you sure lad? That pompous bastard hasn't been working you too hard has he?" The Briton asked caringly.
"No…it's been more of a silence actually. He was out like a light for a few days and after that, he didn't really do anything than that. He's been looking out in space lately." Mathieu placed the phone under his chin and between his shoulder.
"You can never be too careful about these things Matthew!" The Briton urged.
"Arthur please? My father is paralyzed and has lost the ability to speak. All day he just sulks in his room and stares out to the window. My dad's in pain Arthur…can't you see. He's hurt and crushed because Mister Antonio or Mister Gilbert didn't bother to assist him at the hearings. He's crushed because he has no one to rely upon. It wasn't like I was needed back at the company…"
"That's preposterous! You were very well needed especially after Alfred ran off on us! Who else could I rely upon to inherit my company but you Matthew? You are the only successful child I've managed to raise after Alfred…"
"So I was your back-up eh? " Mathieu remarked cynically.
"Don't take it like that lad…We both know Alfred couldn't have managed it anyways…really the boy should have just joined the military like he said he would. "
"I'm sorry Arthur. But I'm needed here in Paris more. Someone has to take care of my Father and that's me. Besides…I'm the eldest anyways, I don't mind." Mathieu smiled.
"Alright. I'll be sending money anyways to cover your expenses."
"Arthur-no! I'll get a job here. You don't need to waste your money on—" Mathieu argued.
" I can waste my money however I please poppet! I bet you your idiot father hasn't got a penny to his name now after wasting it on wine and all sorts of expensive scrap! Besides…I've been quite awful to you since the hearing haven't I?"
"Arthur. That's just to be expected. I spoke out of—"
"You didn't speak out of term. You spoke out of kindness lad. Your hearts too big that's the problem. I don't know where you get it from but it's most certainly not from Father that's for sure."
"I get it from you Arthur. You were the one taught me that."
"*chuckle* Flattery will get you nowhere Lad. I only did my best. I'll leave you to be then. Goodbye Matthew."
"Au revoir Arthur!" Mathieu cheekily replied.
"Now wait just a bloody—"
Mathieu hung up. There would be no point in worrying Arthur more. Mathieu dried off his hands from washing some dishes and began to mop the marble floors.
He whistled again. Thoughts going back and forth between memories and the present. He thought about the first time he saw his father's face. He was at Arthur's newly furnished office building.
He was sitting in the lobby with his newly acquainted Kumakitchi or Kumajenso, which Arthur said his father sent to him for his birthday.
He sat quietly and well-behaved on the large chair where his small legs dangled, not yet touching the floor. He scanned around the room until his eye was caught by a magazine cover.
On the cover was a man who was half naked on the cover. He had very pale skin that was translucent like snow. Golden curls famed his face. They almost looked like gold. He had very big blue eyes which were framed by golden lashes. He wore only a long pelt of black fur only. It contrasted deeply to his snowy white skin. He smiled innocently in the way where he knew he was doing something he shouldn't but he's doing it for his amusement.
He nervously grabbed the magazine and ripped off the cover page. He didn't show anyone until Arthur found it in his room when he was cleaning.
"That's your piss-poor father poppet. Once again sinning the world with his horrible frog face."
He liked Arthur well enough. Arthur didn't cook the greatest (95% of his food is trash. The 5% is toxic waste) and maybe he came off as rude and standoffish but he means well. He made sure that there was food on the table and a roof above his head.
He has a cynical personality and has sharp-mouth but he was always nice to Alfred and him. From over the years he's learned about how his Father had many love affairs and how he and Arthur are old rivals. But his father has to have been kind enough to let Arthur take care of Alfred and him right?
When they were young, they didn't have enough money to buy new school clothes so Arthur taught himself to sew and made them fashionable clothing out of clothes from the thrift store. From there, he made them blankets, pillows, pajamas up until the point he started to build his new company, Kirkland Revels, a publishing company.
Mathieu still longed to go with his original goal of being doctor or a vet. But business management wasn't a bad choice. A little bland but it was still a good choice.
Mathieu sighed. Life is just full of mysteries and twists.
Outside, the sky seemed to darken and soon it began to cleanse the area. Droplets hit the pedestrians who began scurrying to shelter away from the rain.
" Oh no. It seems the rain has come." Mathieu didn't particularly like the rain. Being in London where it rained as often as a hello seemed to do that to person.
Paris showers never last long
Francis wrote down on a piece of paper.
It was true. Even if it rained, it only meant that the sun would soon shine brighter the next time.
*The meal Mattie is making could closely been a French dish called Pot au Feu although there are a lot of variations.
* Le Cordon Bleu is culinary school in Paris that is renowned in culinary scholastics and Julia Childs also studied there. There are more schools around the world although the one in Paris is more well known.
* Angleterre means England in French
So hi! Thanks for reading and please continue to review cuz I feed off reviews. I love you all! sorry if updates aren't fast enough. Writer's block. :P