Hi Everybody! I'm back and with a new chapter for you all. This is just fair warning to you all, this story will not end and will a sequel attaching itself to it as part of Francis' story which I will explain later and someone is going to die...really.
Just a heads up so far. suprise ending.
Mathieu balanced his checkbook. Mathieu handled all the press phone calls. Mathieu baked him cookies.
Mathieu this. Mathieu that.
Francis shook all of these thoughts out of his head.
His son was perfect. He was responsible, he was caring, he was clean enough for Francis' tastes, and he was attractive enough to be seen with and had certainly inherited the best of Francis.
He had a silky texture to his hair, one that Francis spent half a lifetime attempting to keep it as soft as a newborn. He had unblemished skin. Francis had bought so many creams and moisturizers just to keep the ones that did grow under control. He had a perfectly slender face with high cheek bones avec enough jaw to be a man with a perfectly aristocratic nose.
He had cupid bow lips like Francis himself. A sweet dip on his upper lip like the bow of the well-known god Cupid from the romans. Not very visible but if you looked closely enough…poof. It was right there.
Francis drew that out too on his sketch book. He began drawing familiar faces, like his grandfather Roma, his mother, his father by memory. Once he was done, he began noticing where certain facial features came from. Boy, now did he understand the gene pool. Francis turned the page of the old notebook and startled himself with the image that was on the next page.
It was the picture he drew of Antonio and Gilbert as they were at Pointe de la Torche. Gilbert was on top of a rock on the natural pier where Antonio sat down watching Gilbert announce to the world that he was the awesomest in the world. Antonio wore a straw hat along with a cotton shirt and shorts. He had lost his sandals in the sand that day because Gilbert thought it would be hilarious to bury them somewhere on the beach.
Francis smiled at those fond memories of his friends.
He flipped through pages and noticed a small little family portrait of the Kirkland clan. They were all there and Arthur standing out with his rather large…how do you say?…King Kong sized eyebrows. Now the other brothers had the similar trait running in the genes, from the youngest brother, Peter up all the way to the Scottish side of Arthur's elder brother.
His smile grew larger and he flipped though more memories. Sketches of interesting people he's seen, random drawings of the city, skilled drawings of beautiful women he's slept with that had beautiful sleeping faces at night.
Francis noted the date of the last entry he wrote.
22-7-1988
Inside was a folded up photo of when he was still in his small studio apartment struggling to become a designer along as an artist. There was a mess everywhere. Paints and fabrics strewn along the apartment.
It was the photo that Ludwig, Gilbert's younger brother had taken. Francis was in some jeans and a button up shirt with an apron covered in paint in glued he had used. Gilbert was at the walls, amateurishly painting yellow pictures of birds on the white walls and Antonio, had his feet paint on the bottom had stepped on a large canvas Francis had on the floor, leaving footprint on their along with Gilbert's and his own on the canvas.
Francis was instantly saddened by the memory of the studio apartment where as he barely became famous, his studio apartment was burned down in a freak accident caused by some hooligans. So much fabric and paint was ruined. So many good memories burnt away.
Francis closed the sketch book abruptly. He didn't care for it anymore. He tossed over his shoulder and began to roll his way back into the kitchen. He had a nice bottle of wine hidden right behind the counter…
" Papa! You'll spoil your lunch!"
Mathieu yelled from the balcony. Francis closed the secret compartment grudgingly, not willing to waste Mathieu's beloved food. Francis wheeled his way into the kitchen. A pot was boiling over with the fire underneath. Francis lowered the fire and stretched his hand to take off the lid of the pot. Steam came out of the pot and Francis instantly recognized the smell.
He placed the lid on the pot once more, leaving the lid ajar. Francis noticed that all the windows were open, allowing the light and fresh air to stream in. The noise of the busy Parisians in the below in the streets streamed like a gentle wave.
Francis noticed the fax machine in his office was on and he wheeled over, pushing himself to the office and noticing it was from Feliks.
Hi Franni! Totally love the designs! Send me some more later kay' Franni? Bye-Feliks
" Papa! Look what I found!" Mathieu excitedly yelled. In his arms and wrapped in the expensive towel which was one of his Turkish towels that he had bought from his business trip in Turkey, was a small messily haired kitten with shocking blue eyes. Mathieu obviously seemed excited. He placed in on the counter island in the kitchen.
Not in the kitchen Mathieu.
Francis mentally yelled, unleashing the inner cook inside of him. It was unsanitary to place a filthy street animal right on the counter where his food could possibly be made. Francis didn't know where to chastise him for placing the animal on the counter or lean away from the rules.
He missed out his entire childhood and everything else. He knew for a fact at one time or another that children will find animals and beg their parents to keep them.
It was only a kitten after all…
Mathieu noticed right off the bat that the new kitten had the exact personality of his father from what he's seen on documentaries and from what Arthur told him. He's very picky about what he eats, he cleans himself every hour without fail and he's absolutely loves attention.
Papa named the kitten or now cat, Lafayette. An aristocratic and elegant name suited for only the best, as the name suggested.
Lafayette was a well-behaved cat, if you didn't annoy him or pester him. He was handsome, with pure platinum blonde fur that was very long and groomed with bright blue eyes, eerily similar to his father's.
Mathieu found him stuck in the climbing roses by the outside balcony with his body, half-way entangled in the vines.
Lafayette absolutely hated getting his fur dirty and despised with a passion, rainy days and the post-rain where streets and sidewalks would be full of puddles and mud where he could possibly dirty his paws. He did not like going outside without grooming himself and absolutely adored being brushed gently.
But he became family and what can you do? He got into the routine pretty quickly.
Every day, Mathieu takes his father for a walk around the streets after breakfast, Lafayette settles himself on Francis' lap as he rides the wheel chair. Mathieu would often chat about what enters his mind, from the weather and divulging into his past as Francis and Lafayette listened.
They would eat home-made meals made by Mathieu in their rich little apartment complex. Mathieu was extremely talented at his French cooking and pastry making. Lafayette loved seafood the best!
Spring was setting closer upon them until the day of Lent came upon them. Mathieu, being the good little Christian he was, attended the morning mass of Ash Wednesday. Francis was more or less forced to go and sit in the front as he listened to the Priest preach about how Lent is a time of repentance and how we humans are natural sinners that must aspire to salvation.
Francis honestly tuned out of the church and with his ever-growing hair, he successfully hid a pair of ear buds using his scarf and long winter coat. He listened to Edith Piaf and other songs and managed to look attentive by nodding his head and mouth out lyrics at times when they would sing when honestly he was listening to something completely unrelated. Call him a sinner but there was no possibly way he could listen to the old man preach without criticizing him on his horrible fashion sense.
After church, after receiving their ashes,they walked back home to Lafayette who mewed incessantly at being alone.
Mathieu declared he would give up maple syrup for the forty days and that Francis should pick something to give up. Francis waved him off.
Oui eventually.
And that eventually never came. Days passed by. Soon it was Easter and he watched little French children gather plastic eggs full of goodies in April. It showered more regularly nowadays. April was always a rainy month with showers suddenly coming into their morning walks.
May came by and mon dieu was it beautiful. With all the rain that poured in March and April, all the flowers and trees were very lush and green all around. The city was flourishing and buzzing, as tourists came in with their odd accents and teenagers and schoolchildren began to relax for their summer breaks. Shop owners became ready for the income of people and the population seemed to grow with every passing day. Mathieu stopped wearing his heavy hoodies and opted out for loose t-shirts and the lightweight shirts his father bought him earlier. Lafayette seemed to be doing a little courting of his own as he snuck out after their morning walks and came back in time for lunch and then to leave again only to return by dinner time.
Francis, getting more recognized as a silent designer had orders flooding in from magazines and celebrities wanting his designs. He noticed a strange transition from the designs he made before the accident to the ones he made after.
They were becoming more classic and elegant with subtle flairs and odd quirks. They began going into the metropolitan part of Paris, going into the fashion streets made of diamonds filled with beautiful rich people in their designer jeans that cost who knows how many euros and bags imported from all sorts of places. Luxuries sports cars that would cost a common man three times his salary for the next four life times.
Francis would have joint these people with his fount of honor and may have spoken ill of the bourgeois or the new rich from the middle classes. Now, he doesn't care much for it. Being silent has given him the time to watch how others act, observing them and watching how the masks of rich are placed and glued and will often slip up.
He saw how these roses with prickly thorns turn an ugly black and then make the rest of the garden inferior with their arrogance until the rest of the garden leaves and the garden became packed with weeds upon weeds until the garden dies off.
Mathieu was walking him down streets of Rue de Louvre. Francis has walked these streets hundreds of times, business, pleasure (but the first time actually seeing the streets for what they are) but Mathieu was captivated by the city. He enjoyed everyone's accents. He loved wandering the Parisian streets, loving the tender history of the city and how the new and old coincide with each other in the city.
Nothing at all like Toronto.
Mathieu has always wanted to go to France, ever since he was a young child. He knew a bit of French from the schooling required in Canada and how it became interchangeable in English literature. He wanted to be with these inquisitive and strange Parisians who sought the future and glorified their past.
He had inherited his Father's French looks no? The French side of him was what won the girls over instead of Alfred's rough and messy exterior.
He half-wondered what Alfred would do if he met their Father? He'd probably whine about their accents and beg to be taken to a McDonalds close by only to be swayed by the French women walking around.
The women here were very attractive. They weren't like the laid-back Californians with their loose shirts, short shorts and tanned skin from being in the sun. They weren't like the London females who sexily teased you with their long jackets that covered their skin making every available piece of flesh a surprise. These women walked seductively, subtly moving their hips in long skirts with high heels carrying briefcases of work with them. With soft feminine touches here and there and irresistibly natural skins enhanced by natural beauty products.
He was a male after all.
Lafayette seemed to enjoy himself with the warm weather and warm breezes going through his fur.
On May 14, they wandered around Paris on Museum Night. Mathieu took an incredible amount of photos, about each and every painting, statue and sculpture allowed to be photographed. Francis took one of Mathieu by the Louvre Museum by its glass encased pyramid. Francis took many photographs of Mathieu, like a parent would for his child, wanting to capture of moment.
They watched an intense Tennis match by play-hard tennis competitors at Roland Garros. They streamed down by the Seine River on a diner boat, admiring and enjoying some cuisine at twilight, admiring the lit streets and pleasantness of it all.
Mathieu laughed as a sudden thunderstorm scared the jeepers out of Lafayette, whose long fur stood on ends and hissed at the window. Francis merely comforted the frightened cat in his lap.
In all, these last few months were the happiest moments in Francis' life so far. Better than having to seduce women and men into his bed or having to attend rich socialite gatherings only to put up face.
Nothing could break his happiness…not even wine.
Avec- (French) with
Oui-(French) Yes!
mon dieu-(French)My god or oh my god.
The fount of honour -(Latin: fons honorum) -refers to a person, who, by virtue of his or her official position, has the exclusive right of conferring legitimate titles of nobility and orders of chivalry to other persons. Especially popular in the middle ages up until the Old Regime.
bourgeois-A French word bourgeoisie (citizen class) is used denoting a social class oriented to materialism and hedonism, and to upholding the interests of the capitalist class. In the pre–Revolutionary French feudal order, the term bourgeois denoted a social class that comprised the wealthier members of the Third Estate, the commons of the French realm.
So yeah. Don't say I didn't warn you about a suprise ending coming up in a few chapters. WerewolvesBite moved away so I'm without a fanfic buddy. My friends are lame. Me and my Friend ZombieRots talked about America's kids, the 50 states and how they would be included in WW1 and WW2 and she won't shut up about how Japan must have felt bombing a little island and how he's a jerk and blah blah blah and how Alaska must be taken therapy sessions cuz Russia got her pissed and i'm like...I don't give a fuck. Nations for the most part, I believe, have stopped regretting decisions affecting others and move on with their lives. If they kept regretting every little mistake then they wouldn't be nations. Yeah they'll be guilty but what can they do? The past is the past? We can only look to the future. So i don't really feel any sympathy for any one of them anymore. Germany caused the Holocaust. Horrible i know but it's happened before and the only reason we're so traumatized about is because it only happened 2 generations. That's what's scary. We hate Hitler because yeah he was racist, but he wasn't the only one but he's awful because he was the one who suceeded.
Sorry...longest Author's note I've done in a while.
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