Backstory 5. Follow Your Feet.
Francis didn't like his father. Or his mother. They were always so mean to the people that worked in their mansion. Slaves, his father called them. He hit them when they messed up. His mother didn't want him to talk to them. But he still gave them a smile and offered them his left overs at the end of a meal when he could hear their stomachs rumble. He didn't want to be like his father or his mother. No matter what, though, his father had told him that he would be taking up after him. Keeping up the company, keeping up the house…the slaves…
One day, his father told him that he'd be staying up late. He was only about eight, so it was actually really hard, but the slaves gave him some nice, sugary meals that helped him stay up. He made sure to thank them, not only for himself, but also for his father who never would. It was really dark when his father told him to get dressed to leave. He had a smile on his face that told Francis that this wouldn't be good.
He followed his father closely through the dark streets, almost scared of getting lost. There were a lot of homeless people, he'd been told, and they scared him. More than all of the rich people like his father did. His father lead him to a really old looking building where a few other people were going in and Francis swallowed thickly. He followed him into the building, down a small, really dark hallway, and then into what looked like an old theater. There were already a lot of other rich people everywhere and so they took seats near the back of the small theater. There were maybe 10 rows ahead of them to the stage. Francis was confused. What was this?
He could see a couple other kids, who were roughhousing and laughing with each other. Francis was scared to join them. He sat still in his seat, staring at his fidgeting hands. Now he wished he hadn't had that much sugar. The lights dimmed around them and everyone quieted, taking their seats. Francis felt a horrible pit grow in his stomach.
He heard the chains first and then nearly felt like throwing up once the light turned on the stage. It was a man, fairly well built, obviously foreign like all of the slaves in his house. He had chains around his wrists and his ankles.
"We'll start the bidding at 400," a noble on stage said happily. People started raising their hands and the price raised. Why did his father have to bring him here? He didn't like it here…He could hear the boys from before snickering about how stupid the man looked. A man bought him and one of the kids talked about how he couldn't wait to boss him around. Francis numbly shook his head.
The next one was of interest to his father, a slim girl that looked a lot like all of the other "maids" they had around the house. He only bid twice, though, and was quickly bought out. Francis was almost happy, but he was also sad someone else who was cruel bought her. People shouldn't be…bought. They weren't property, even though his dad seemed to think so. Other slaves were shuffled through, his father not gathering enough interest to actually buy any of them. Thankfully.
One of the slaves near the end caught his interest, though. It was a boy, probably his age, with fairly well-kept, bright blonde hair. He was dressed up for this occasion, unlike most other slaves. He was forced to look up, at the crowd, his dull, terrified green eyes reflecting in the light. A few of the nobles let out whistles at the sight of him, the clothing just slightly too big to the point where a bit of skin showed. It was bruised. Francis didn't…understand.
"He's definitely a pretty one," his father mused, leaning forward with obvious interest. Francis wanted to glare at him, but the price for this single boy rang clearly through his ears.
"50,000."
And people raised their hands. Eagerly. Francis didn't understand the look in those men's eyes, but it sent horrible shivers down his spine. He leaned closer to his father, who was at least keeping his wits about him for the time being. The boy, however, seemed to know exactly what was going on, and just looked on with eyes glittering with tears he wasn't allowing to fall. He was…shaking. He was sold for 100,000.
At the end of this…auction…his father hadn't bought anything, but seemed rather pleased, though stayed quiet as they left the theater and started their walk back home. It was that night that Francis decided that he didn't just dislike his father.
He hated him.
Francis fought back a scream as he stumbled backwards, hitting the doorway hard. He was shaking he felt like puking. There was so much blood…He swallowed thickly, evening out his breath, staring at the bed. Two bodies laid in it; his father's and his mother's. He held onto the gun tightly, like it was about to jump out of his hands and shoot him, too. It was only a matter of seconds before a few slaves came into the room and took in the situation.
A female slave rushed over to him, shushing him gently as he started to cry, the tears and pleas coming out without his permission. She carefully took the gun from his hands and laid it on the ground as he continued to cry. He didn't know what to do with himself now.
"I'm not…I'm not sorry," Francis muttered to her, resting his head in the crook of her neck. She paused for only a short moment before rubbing his back.
"I'm not either," she said simply. Francis let out a choked sounding laugh. He was an adult now, more or less, he could make these decisions on his own. He was to take after his father and he'd seen him mess up too much for him to allow it to keep happening. And, of course, his mother would tell the soldiers about this sort of thing, so he had to kill her, too. He didn't regret it…
It was okay, he had a plan. He straightened himself up and offered a smile to her. There were so many slaves in his household, he couldn't just…let them go. They'd be found and enslaved again. So, first, he would deal with finding some way for them to get money of some kind. Maybe they could start over in another country with enough. And he'd give them breaks and he would never make them actually do anything for him unless they wanted to. And he would call for the soldiers in the morning, telling them it was revolutionaries. And they'd take his parents away, he'd be blame free because why was there a need to investigate if it was obviously revolutionaries? He could take over the company. He could make things…make things right.
"Everything's going to be okay now, I promise," he smiled at her, but the tears continued to fall. He couldn't help it.
Francis really needed some sleep. That much he was certain of. He'd missed his 18th birthday in favor of studying, trying to find something that could possibly help him. He was getting very good with technology, yes, but that wouldn't help him unless he was really good. He wanted to be able to do something to change this country, he couldn't just leave it like it was. He had plenty of money to do that. He only spent money on himself when it came to essential food. The rest went to all of the slaves. The ones that had long-since left to Merkatus and the ones that still remained. Until he could secretly give them enough money to leave, he gave them plenty of food and clothing and anything they could possibly need. And he still had more money than he knew what to do with. He could be useful…somehow, he just had to find out how. For now, that meant being an expert in everything involving technology that he could get his hands on. Perhaps with that information up his sleeve, he could be useful to…someone. Anyone.
But revolutionaries would never turn to a noble for help, now would they? Francis huffed, leaning back in his chair as he thought. He had to find some way to be of use. He may be different, but there were still slaves suffering at the hands of unforgiving masters, people that suffered on the streets because they couldn't afford food. His mind wandered to that slave he had seen that night, the one that everyone took so much interest in. He knew now that the boy was a sex slave, and apparently a good one if he sold for so much. It made him sick to think that there were some people that were willing to do that. Even to children…Francis shook his head. He couldn't get emotional now.
He had to think clearly.
He had to be of use to the revolutionaries and he would do that from the sidelines for as long as he could, but sooner or later, he would come out of the shadows. He would help them. He had to. He didn't have any other choice.
Francis sighed heavily, tapping his finger impatiently on a nearby table as he sipped at champagne. It was a party, completely filled to the brim with people being served by slaves. But no one said out loud what they were. That was illegal. As long as it was a secret, everything was perfectly legal. Francis rolled his eyes. He hated it here. But he'd finally managed to get in contact with some revolutionaries. After a long year of studying more than his brain could hold and sleeping far less than his body needed, he made contact. And they said to meet with someone there. It was just a shame they obviously neglected to inform him what his contact looked like. They knew his face, yet he wasn't allowed this person's face?
"Well, you seem to be enjoying yourself as much as I am," a voice quipped behind him and Francis sighed, about ready to start another stupid conversation he didn't hope to enjoy. He took a sip of champagne as he turned to see the man and nearly spit out the liquid as he took him in. He carefully swallowed as he regarded the man. Well kept, but slightly ragged bright blonde hair…and most certainly those intensely sad, hopeless eyes that held a little bit of fire in them. He was dressed just as everyone else, but there was something about it, the way he carried himself, and just how snug his tie was around his neck, that made it seem like this man needed to feel important. "Surprised?" the man smirked slightly, taking an elegant sip of his drink, as if he had done it all of his life. But Francis knew he hadn't done it all of his life. This was the slave from that first night his father had taken him to a slave trade. How had he…?
"You could say I wasn't expecting to see a face like yours here," Francis said simply. Surely, considering the life this man had had in the past, it wouldn't be wise for Francis to bring it up. As far as this man was concerned, Francis knew nothing about him. But there was a chance he could be with the revolutionaries…The closer Francis looked, he was able to see that the man had hints of being foreign in his face, but it was hidden fairly well. He fit in quite well, like he was meant to be with the party guests, not the slaves. But Francis figured that must have been on purpose.
"Right," the man sighed. He drank from his champagne once again before looking harshly at Francis. "I have a few questions for you. Depending on how you answer, I might not kill you." Francis blinked at the harshness of his words. "What do you want with this group of revolutionaries?"
"This group?" Francis asked curiously, ensuring that their conversation seemed like every other pointless conversation morphing together in the ballroom.
"Surely you know there are many groups," the man rolled his eyes. "Ours would be the most popular, considering the leadership behind the scenes…"
Francis had no idea what went on "behind the scenes", but he just nodded. Fine, he could work with this. The most well-known had to be the easiest to contact, he had managed to worm his way through a very large, anonymous network, until he reached a place that knew his name and face and information. Most likely from a spy, but he wasn't going to question anything.
"I would have to say my hatred for this country spawns from my father," Francis said simply. "He was a vile man. He treated his slaves like property he could abuse, wasted his money on objects worth nothing in the long run, and only cared for appearances. The more I've looked at society, the more I've realized that far too many people are allowed to act like that. I want to stop this."
"And your perspective on slavery?" the man asked, forcing out a casual voice as he took a rather large drink of his champagne. Francis smiled simply.
"I think it should be banned in private, just as it should be banned in public," Francis said simply. "No human should be treated as property."
"That's rare to hear from someone of your status," the man snorted. "What are your skills, aside from being a prick from birth?"
"My father's…my company deals with computers and electronics," Francis said smoothly. "I know practically everything about any piece of technology you could obtain in this country. I can hack into most anything, unless the king himself uses it. I can fight somewhat, though my skills are best placed elsewhere."
"How do you feel about killing someone?" the man asked.
"Well," Francis mused, swirling the small remaining liquid in his glass. "I've already killed my parents, so I believe I'm about numb to it now." The man looked at him quizzically, as if he was trying to answer some of his questions himself. The man was nervous, he wasn't used to this, by any means.
"There's no going back once you do this," the man said clearly. "Your current life…it will become a fantasy if you decide to go with me. You're rich, so your money would be used for our purposes, you won't have any left by the end of this. There's no guarantee for how long you'll live, considering you'll be going directly against the king."
"That is exactly what I wanted to hear," Francis smirked, drinking the last of his drink and wishing there was already more. He was sure he could convince this man to allow some of his money to go to the slaves remaining in his house.
"Last thing," the man said pointedly. "We aren't a group that is going to go around making speeches or doing protests. We are going to be something…special. The ones orchestrating all of this have taken notice that the king has a group of assassins to do his bidding. We are going to fight fire with fire, in a sense. You will have to help me find appropriate candidates, naturally. And you'll be expected to be one of those candidates."
"I believe I can handle that," Francis said simply.
"My name is Arthur," the man said simply. "Arthur Kirkland."
"Francis," he bowed his head lightly to him. "I would love to hear more about these plans you have."
Francis liked Arthur's mansion. Well, he wasn't quite sure who it originally belonged to, but he still enjoyed it. It was bright, happy, and the kitchen was flawless. There were servants, most likely past slaves, that were all smiles, more than happy to be there and help him, especially when he treated them with kindness. It was around lunchtime one day when Francis had made Arthur something to eat. He noticed that the man hardly slept or ate much, as he was far too busy to even notice that he was still, in fact, human and still needed to sleep and eat.
So, with the lunch on a tray, he walked to the study, where Arthur was nearly constantly. He carefully opened the door, offering a soft smile and nod to the woman that attempted to help him. As he stepped into the study, however, he smiled slightly as he lightly closed the door. Arthur was lying on a couch on his back, his arm slung over his eyes to block the light, as he breathed softly signaling that he was asleep. Francis lightly shook his head and placed the tray on a nearby table, thankful that it wouldn't go bad after allowing Arthur to sleep for just a few hours.
He did notice, however, that a frown was tracing the man's face. Arthur was subtly flinching as well. Francis sighed, kneeling beside his friend. He had noticed small things about him. He never allowed a weakness to show in front of anyone, and that included never sleeping in front of someone. He was uncomfortable with having his back to anyone, and he didn't like anyone seeing his neck. There was nothing he could do for Arthur, sadly, but he would do what he could for him.
"I'm sorry," Francis sighed, lightly patting Arthur's hand that wasn't dangling from his arm on his face. "I wish there was more that I could do." Arthur didn't flinch anymore when Francis touched him. This time, however, he did do something interesting. Arthur turned over onto his side, his back to Francis.
Francis smiled softly before standing. He nodded to Arthur as he left the study. He had to appreciate the little things.
Francis laughed beside his friends as they sat in their hideout. He never would have expected, in joining a group for assassins, that he would find such happy people. He and Arthur had managed to find a rather large group, all considering, that worked fairly well together. He was currently sitting with his friends in the living room of their hideout. Gilbert and Antonio were on the couch with him while Ludwig stood to the side, Feliciano talking his ear off. Lovino was slouched on the floor, pretending not to care about his brother. Arthur was sitting slightly to the side on a computer Francis had gotten for him, doing research into…whatever it was he looked into.
"Come on, you can't deny I'm the hottest one here," Gilbert smirked happily, lounging back into the couch.
"And how many people have you managed to sleep with?" Francis asked with a raised eyebrow.
"Hey, I've had more important shit to do with my life," Gilbert laughed. "I mean, seriously, how many of us have actually slept with someone?"
"I've slept with a few," Antonio mused.
"You would be amazed how many noblewomen love a person who is soft on his own slaves," Francis smirked and Gilbert glared at the two of them.
"Okay, okay, I can totally get Francis," Gilbert put his hands up in surrender, "but what fucking idiot sleeps with a soldier? Let alone one that fucking talked as much as you did when you were one."
"I can't give away all of my secrets," Antonio shrugged.
"The only fucking girls that flirted with you were prostitutes," Lovino grumbled and Gilbert howled with laughter.
"Would you keep it down?" Arthur sighed. "Some of us are trying to work."
"Aw, come on, Artie!" Feliciano smiled. "We've got some downtime right now! Might as well enjoy it."
"Mr. Stick Up His Ass has never enjoyed anything," Gilbert snorted. "Same goes for Luddy."
"I told you to stop calling me that," Ludwig said.
"Gilbert never obeys orders," Antonio snickered.
"Yeah, because you're so fucking great at obeying orders, too," Gilbert nudged Antonio with his elbow.
Francis couldn't help but smile. This was nice. It made him happy that he had sacrificed his life before this group. Nothing could hold a candle to this life.
Oh, my God, not a bitter ending. That's weird. Yeah, Francis' wasn't that deep, thought the beginning was a little harsh. He just handled it well. I enjoyed his meeting with Arthur, mostly because it's fun to see those two before the entire group was formed. And then I can't get enough of the original group, mostly because I missed writing Feli so freaking much. I killed him off so early…
Anywho, next up is Arthur's. Warnings will be up before that, but y'all know enough about his past to know what to expect from something like that.