In which an author's note joke is taken too far and I am not even sorry.
The day following Arthur's first chat with Alfred, Arthur found himself in the exceptionally awkward position of having coffee with his neighbor, Berwald Oxenstierna.
"Here ya go," Berwald rumbled. Along with the coffee, Berwald sat before him a heavenly smelling slice of almond-glazed coffee cake.
"Thank you," Arthur stammered quickly. He didn't dare tell the man that he preferred anything tea related over coffee any day, not while he was a guest in Berwald's house.
Berwald nodded, grunting in satisfaction, and with his host duties tended to, he sat down across the table. Arthur looked down into his mug, gentle swirls of steam rising up from the pitch black liquid.
There were many things questionable about this situation, more even than Arthur forcing himself to settle with the wrong kind of caffeinated beverage. Berwald, a viking of a man from Sweden, had one of those faces that was hard to say no to, unless you wanted to risk bodily harm. It's not that Arthur presumed the man to be violent. In fact, Arthur hardly knew him aside from living next to him the past few years. Every now and then, Arthur caught glimpses of Berwald coming and going, and there were the scant amount of times that they engaged in conversation with one another. Berwald, with his stony expression and penetrating teal-hued eyes, came off as perpetually brooding and bothered by anyone who would approach him. That's why Arthur had been cautious about giving the Swede a wide berth of space.
That's also why Arthur was rather confounded about as to how he came to be inside Berwald's house, being treated to coffee and cake. Then again, Arthur did know how. What he couldn't comprehend was why. Why did Berwald invite him over after witnessing Arthur's attempt to break into someone's house?
Perhaps this called for an explanation.
The true scoundrel of this tale was a cat named Jasper. The Scottish Fold came and went from Arthur's house, courtesy of a cat door. He had the roam of the yard and hardly strayed beyond the perimeter, as far as his owner was aware. If Arthur had his next meal ready, the man could stick his head out the door and call out to him, and the feline would trot in swiftly with a petulant meow that might as well say, "It's about time."
Earlier that day, Arthur called for Jasper, not thinking anything of it when the cat didn't immediately waltz in. As the minutes passed though, and Arthur called again with no response, he began to worry.
Needing to vent, Arthur switched on his camera and vlogged himself.
"It has been nearly fifteen minutes and there have been no signs of Jasper," Arthur confided while he walked around his kitchen. He kept glancing out the window as if he would catch a glimpse of his wayward cat. "I've called for him and looked about the yard, yet there is no trace. He's not one to skip out on meals. I suspect foul play is involved."
By that, Arthur wasn't sure if he meant Jasper was up to something or if something had gone horribly wrong and he was injured or taken by some heinous cat napper.
"This calls for an investigation," Arthur told the camera.
First Arthur checked around the house. He looked under the bed, in the closet, the bathtub, the window seat in the dining room, the kitchen cupboards, and any other of Jasper's favorite hiding places.
Next, Arthur searched the yard. He checked the bushes, the flowerbeds, the trees, under the car, in the car, and he even held his breath as he looked out into the street for signs of a crumpled pile of fur.
"Nothing," Arthur told the camera, shaking his head and trudging inside. "Absolutely nothing. No news is good news, as they say, but I don't like this at all."
Where had his little pussycat gone?
More minutes passed. Arthur spent the time pacing the kitchen, brooding over whether or not to broaden the search.
That's when he happened to glance out the window, the one that looked towards his neighbor's house, and what he saw didn't register in his mind because of the sheer absurdity of it all.
There was Jasper, but rather than being outside, he was perched behind the glass of his neighbor's window.
Jasper was inside his neighbor's house.
"Bollocks," Arthur uttered in disbelief.
Now you must be thinking that Jasper was in Berwald's house. This is not the case, as Arthur had another neighbor. A far more pernicious and intolerable neighbor. A neighbor of nightmare and revulsion. For you see this neighbor . . . was French.
Arthur's hatred for the French began in secondary school with a boy by the name of Francis Bonnefoy. Their first exchange of words had been insults, Francis remarking on the size of Arthur's brows and Arthur lambasting Francis's snarky accent. That day ended in a fist fight and they had been rivals ever since.
Upon graduating, Arthur thought he would never again see Francis Bonnefoy. However, years later, in fate's most massive cockup of the century, the couple next door happened to move out and that very same cheesy monkey from his school days took their place.
And now Jasper was in that man's house.
"You miserable, sorry, wretched, no good fiendish, obnoxious—" Arthur cursed on, not knowing whether he was talking about his cat or the Frenchman. Either way, Arthur stormed out of his house on a mission.
The irate Brit marched across the grass and towards the window, whipping out his camera to film the disaster of the day.
"Look who I found in my neighbor's house," Arthur seethed, approaching the window. Jasper watched calmly from the window sill, sitting by a decorative vase and at least twenty centimeters above Arthur's head.
"How in fuck's name did you get in there? Are you off your trolley?" Arthur demanded.
Jasper meowed silently and pawed at the window.
"Don't give me that look," Arthur said. "You can't claim that Francis catnapped you, because his sorry arse isn't even here. And I would know because I searched all over the sodding place for you."
This was truth; Francis's car was gone. Arthur didn't care one bit where the man had gone. What mattered was when he came back to find Arthur's cat in his house. Arthur could perfectly imagine what he would say and found himself imitating Francis with a purposely atrocious French accent.
"Looks like even your cat has become weary of you. Is there anyone who can tolerate your prickly presence? Oh hon hon hon— Shut up Francis!"
"Mew," came a muffled chirp.
"You too Jasper! This is your fault! You just had to go nosing around in places where you don't belong! Or is this an act of rebellion? Are you siding with the French now? You're in league with him, aren't you?"
In answer, Jasper brushed against the glass, much like he would against Arthur's leg when he wanted attention. That would have been fine and all, had the vase not been in the way and crashed to the floor. And Arthur knew that it crashed from the shattering sound that startled even the cat.
"Gordon Bennet, what did you DO?!" Arthur screeched.
This could not be happening. His cat could not be in his archrival's house, destroying objects that were possibly dusty heirlooms from some dead aunt. Normally, Arthur wouldn't mind causing Francis trouble. But if Francis came home now and saw the broken vase? Who knew how much that vase costed? That could be ten thousand pounds for all Arthur knew!
Arthur couldn't let that happen. He had to get Jasper, get the vase, and fix this somehow, or at the very least he needed to hide the evidence. Oh what was that Francis? Your special vase went missing? Haven't the foggiest clue how that happened. The best of British to you, old chap.
"Right, right," Arthur said, breathing heavily and running a hand through his hair. "Just need to . . . get in somehow. If my bloody cat can do it, so can I."
That would turn out to no avail. The doors were locked up nice and tight, and though Arthur may have been a bit of a delinquent in his youth, he had no idea how to pick a lock. No amount of pulling would magically unlock it, and staring at the thick, maroon wood in pathetic desperation had no affect either. Furthermore, the windows wouldn't be opening anytime soon. All except one.
"This is the only unlocked one that I can reach," Arthur muttered.
He stared at the same window that Jasper lounged in before. The cat remained there, taunting him. Arthur left briefly to grab a wooden stool from his kitchen. If he wanted to reach the window and have enough leverage to open it, Arthur needed the extra height.
"Right then, look away children," Arthur told the camera. In reality he just turned the device off and sat it on the ground. No need to have documented proof of his crime—uh, not crime. No, there was nothing criminal about retrieving his cat. Breaking and entering doesn't count if they're French.
Arthur pressed his hands against the white, painted wood frame and shoved upwards. The house was one of the older sort, like Arthur's, and features were bound to run less smoothly as they aged. As it was, Arthur had to put all of his strength into pushing. It slid haltingly, creating the most awful, loud thunking noises.
"Come on, you piece of shite," Arthur grunted, but the window refused halfway up.
Giving up, Arthur let go and hunched to catch his breath. Jasper meowed directly into his face.
"Come here, pesky beast." He pulled Jasper through and stepped off the stool. The cat, growling at the sudden grab, writhed until he was let down.
"Away with you," Arthur shooed and Jasper scurried off towards the proper house.
With that done, Arthur stood there staring at the half-opened window in consideration.
"Just how did he get in there?"
He could puzzle over it later. Now he had to get inside and take the broken vase before Francis returned. The window was open well enough, and Arthur reasoned that he had a slim enough build to shimmy his way in. He could do this.
Five minutes later, he never regretted a decision more in his life.
"So this is how my life ends," Arthur mused morosely.
He was stuck.
Half his body in, half of it out, and Arthur wedged by the window frame about the waist.
"How humiliating."
He'd already twisted this way and that in a bout of fury. Now, certain that his hips were as sore as his ego, he slumped in defeat.
What a way to go. Arse in the air and stuck in the window of a Frenchman's house. All he needed now was for someone to find him in this position and he could promptly die of mortification.
"What're you doin'?"
Oh God, why?
Arthur stiffened, hyper aware of the way he hung awkwardly and how someone stood somewhere by him. It made matters worse that he couldn't even turn to see who had come to laugh at him.
"Sorry?" Arthur asked. He knew that wasn't Francis's voice, but what was worse, being found by a stranger or Francis?
. . . Francis. Yeah, Francis.
"What're you doin' to Francis's house?" the deep voice asked.
"Oh—oh, Berwald? Is that you?"
"Mm."
Arthur forced out a laugh. "Oh, fancy meeting you here."
What was he saying? It's not like they were running into each other at the market. Arthur was stuck in a window and Berwald was talking to his bum.
Kill me now.
Jasper peered around the back porch step, watching his master's blundering predicament from a safe distance. Humans were clunky creatures, unable to fit through small spaces that the superior feline species laughed at. He should have known better. Jasper thought his human to be slightly smarter than the rest of his kind, if only by association to Jasper himself.
He dug his claws into the dirt, meowing to himself in agitation. "You ruined my reconnaissance mission, you twit. We could have had eyes on the inside! But nooo, you want to blame me for being the only one around who takes the initiative. Imbecile. It's your own fault, getting caught."
And caught he was. Not only by the window, but by the large bear-like man who lived next door. He assisted Jasper's master out of the hole in the wall, and afterwards, they faced off against each other, their lips moving in what Jasper theorized to be growls of aggression.
"Bite his leg!" Jasper cheered at his human. In most fights, it would be more prudent to go for the eyes first, to render the opponent blind; however, the bear human had some sort of protective gear on his face. His master would have to make do with the legs. If he clawed and kicked at them enough, the bear man couldn't run.
Instead of getting rough, the humans came to some sort of agreement and the bear man led Jasper's human to the house next door. This wasn't just a dispute over territory anymore. This was a hostage situation!
"Don't just let him take you without a fight! Assert your dominance!" Jasper yowled, but alas, it was too late. His human disappeared inside and Jasper was left alone.
"What a disappointment," Jasper sighed. He knew that his human was smaller than the bear man, but that shouldn't have stopped him! He could have at least hissed at the brute, used intimidation tactics.
"Do humans have no pride?" Jasper wondered. "What a pity. Now I suppose I should go rescue him. It wouldn't do to let him die. He does provide me food."
Jasper purred in approval, stretched out his limbs, and arched his back languidly. Then he trotted up the steps to go inside his master's home.
Jasper would rescue his human eventually. But first, he was fairly certain it was lunch time, and food doesn't eat itself.
You guys, I was kidding about adding Berwald. You weren't supposed to make me want to actually do it! But I did have fun with this, and we even got Jasper's point of view! His perspective is like Arthur's, just ten times more pretentious. I love it.
Something interesting about this chapter, other than the fact that Berwald wasn't supposed to be in it. Francis was going to be in it, and he was even going to have a cute poodle named Gigi. But sadly, they didn't make the cut. I had a need for Swede.
Also, this story already has over a 100 favs? I can't even. Thank you guys, and a BIG THANK YOU to all of you who have reviewed and given me encouragement. Your kind words motivate me and seriously make me want to cry from happiness. I love you guys.
And a SUPER BIG THANK YOU to Asky030 for translating this story for Chinese readers! Please tell them I said hi and that I love them.