Chapter 10: She Says She's No Good With Words But I'm Worse
Roses? Check. Red Roses? Check. Phone and keys? Check. Concealer properly applied?
Arthur scrutinized himself in the mirror. It looked okay. The bruise had already started to heal. It didn't hurt when he prodded it with the concealer stick.
It kind of looked natural. He put moisturizer over the area before applying the makeup, like Francis instructed him. He could walk around the house like that right? His family wouldn't suspect that he was wearing makeup.
Arthur brushed the issue off and adjusted his outfit. Black blazer, black button down, black skinny tie and a shiny, new pair of dress shoes. Oddly enough, he felt almost uncomfortable in the clothes now.
He frowned as he loosened the tie a bit. Wouldn't it look better with a no-sleeve shirt? Then his blazer wouldn't look bad with his white button down. Both the outfits could be partnered with his black jeans as well. But would it look too-?
Great. Now he was thinking like Elizaveta. Thankfully, three knocks at his door distracted him from his thoughts.
"Are you ready darling?"
Holly Kirkland looked stunning in her black trench coat and knee-high boots. Her crimson, wispy curls were tamed under a gray crocheted beanie. It was the nude lipstick in her hand that warned him however.
Slyly, he tossed the concealer into his desk's chair and hurried her out.
"Yes mum. Do you have your gift?"
The woman held up a shirt with a wry grin as he took up the car keys from the kitchen rack.
"Warriors?" He questioned.
"They were his favorite rugby team!" She exclaimed as they exited their house. Absent-mindedly, Arthur glanced across the street as her mother went on a rant. To his displeasure, Alfred, Matthew and their father were all sitting on the porch, discussing…or were they arguing?
It seemed to be getting pretty heated. Matthew versus Alfred and his father it seemed. Fearing for the Canadian, Arthur plucked up the nerve to shout over.
"Good Morning Matt!"
The three stopped and looked over. Matthew was the only one to rise.
"Hey Artie! Where are you going?"
"Visiting my father! Are you going anywhere?"
He pointedly looked at the blonde's winter boots.
"Yeah!" The Brit noticed the smirk the Canadian sent back at his stoic relatives. "I'm going to stay over at Francis's for Thanksgiving so I might not see you if you end up going to Gilbert's!"
Sneaky bastard. The Brit wasn't stupid. He knew that Matthew wasn't planning on going to the Frenchman's house. That was asking for a night of Bad Touch Trio pranks.
But, hell, Thanksgiving was tomorrow?
"Alright! Have an awesome Thanksgiving you lot! Tell Romano I'll catch up with him after I finish!"
"Later SB! Don't do anything I wouldn't do! And beware all bathrooms!"
The blonde darkly laughed as he entered the passenger's door.
"Hey mum, can I drive?"
"No. You don't even have your permit." The engine started.
"I can apply for it in May. I'll be sixteen by then."
"But you don't have it now. So you cannot drive. Gosh, Arthur, what's gotten into you? You know better than to ask such a question."
"My apologies mam."
The car fell silent. Holly squirmed, sending a glance at her son every once in a while. Oddly, he relished in seeing his mother writhe. Her hatred of silence was amusing to say the least. He held back a smirk as she tapped her finger against the wheel. Holly could only take five minutes of it, apparently, because she slammed the radio on.
'As long as you love me, I'll be your platinum. I'll be your silver.'
Arthur bit back a laugh as his mother began to swivel her head in time to the music in some odd dance. His amusement grew when she let go of the wheel and began to do the robot. Silly things led to even sillier things, and somehow Arthur caught her childishness.
If you happen to be the man that was sitting in the Toyota next to them, they sincerely apologize for scarring you with the mental image of two Brits trying to act like an American rapper, even more so if you are a Big Sean fan.
"Which one is his?" Arthur asked when they finally arrived. His mother gave him a disappointed look.
"You don't remember your own father's grave site?"
Guilt stirred in him. "I-It's been a long time Mum."
"Which is why you should visit more often. Search for him Arthur." His mother's voice was curt. Sensing this bad sign, the boy quickly exited and began his expedition.
Row after row of grave sites stared at him, as if waiting for him to make a move. He clutched the bouquet in his hand. The site was so intimate. He had a father buried amongst their ranks and he still felt as if he were intruding into something sacred. He couldn't drift among the lines, so he decided to shrink back and wait for his mother to guide him to the correct area.
Arthur was moving to sit under an old oak tree when he tripped.
Over his father's gravestone.
'Robin George Kirkland; Father of 7, Loyal Friend, and Witty Song Weaver.'
"What does Song Weaver mean?" He inquired as his mother approached. She didn't respond at first, folding the t-shirt and setting it onto the grave.
"He could craft such amazing tunes, for one. He could write songs and play every instrument known to rock, and others."
"Bloody hell," The blonde breathed. He didn't know that. His father didn't have any instrument other than his guitar in the house. With a new respect, green eyes regarded the slate. Holly smiled.
"Secondly, he was the only member to continue playing throughout concerts. He was the one that brought the band into the next song. He only stopped playing when a dramatic finish was necessary or when the concert had finished."
"That's why he had arthritis pains." Arthur muttered. The two were silent as they wistfully stared at their beloved's grave.
What else didn't he know about his father? Were his friends his family as the Sophomore Slumps were to Arthur?
"I need to go get something." His mother said suddenly. Arthur nodded. When the echoing sound of her footsteps faded to backdrop, he took a deep breath.
"Hey Dad," he began awkwardly. How people would ridicule him when they saw him talking to a crooked slab of stone under a tree!
"It's been a pretty intense year so far. Late August, Francis Bonnefoy-Um, that's the boy that used to steal my homework-decided I had a crush on Alfred. Then when school started he got all his friends to turn me into a punk so I could 'catch the love of my life's attention'."
He paused.
" I know, you don't approve. Stereotype punk really wasn't your thing, but I think I'm getting into real punk Dad. I still fucking love most of my dress clothes, and I'll wear them without caring what anyone else thinks. I've been doing that a lot recently. Not caring. I feel alive. I've been doing what I want, when I want and how I want. I'll wear a pair of skinny jeans with a suit top on Monday and friggin' love it. I think…that's the way to go. I do like the clothes Elizaveta gave me though. Traditional punk dress is pretty Prussian-awesome, like Gil would say."
For some reason, the lack of legitimate response was comforting.
"Elizaveta's this really close friend of mine. I have a lot of close friends now Dad. You'd be surprised; we're like this huge family. There's Francis,surprisingly, who can really be a jackarse sometimes but can inspire those who need help. Elizaveta's nice, but strong and independent. You'd like her. I just know it. I like her. Not like-like of course. Romano's my best mate. He calls me Skinny Bitch because I'm so slim. Oh, Antonio's…"
And so he talked the hour away, talking about his friends, school, the teachers he loved and the ones he hated. He managed to slip his brothers in as well. ("I mean, I'd do anything to save their arses, but they can literally drive me up the wall. Mum had to threaten me with her Nimbus broomstick for me to get off the bookshelf.)
It was Alfred that he spoke of the most though.
"You wouldn't be homophobic right? I mean, Mum says you were as open-minded as she is, so you wouldn't mind if I were bisexual. What do you think about Alfred? I say he's a nice guy but lately he's doing all sorts of things. I mean, we used to talk about everything, and now he's so secretive. When we get into fights, we make up and then we go right back to fighting. Hell, his athlete army gave me a black eye! I'm just so confused Dad. I don't have experience with romance, except for that one time with Chelles during Eight Grade."
He sighed, rubbing his temple.
"My friends keep telling me that he was the one that sent out the athletes, but I don't think that's right. I think that they're being blinded by their hate. Lina and Elizaveta don't believe it was him, and they used to hang out with his crowd so they're probably right. But, I…I-."
"You what?"
Arthur jumped.
"Elizaveta?"
The girl, too, was in all black. Her stockings and dress were darker than midnight, so her black boots were the lightest article on her persona. Her hair was let lose, bangs clipped to the side by a few hair pins. She sat next to him, taking in the scenery.
"Your father chose a comfortable place to be buried. This tree really sets a calm mood," Her delicate knuckles brushed the wood. "His remains may be fertilizing it though."
"I think he would be fine with that. He loved nature so much that his mates used to call him Robin Hood."
"Hmm."
A sideways glance was sent.
"Why are you here?" Arthur asked lowly.
"Visiting my mom."
"I'm sorry."
"It's no biggie."
"May I go see her?"
Green eyes connected, one pair brutally honest, the other vulnerable and defensive.
"I…Sure."
Arthur gingerly placed the bouquet on top of the t-shirt, plucking two roses from it. Affectionately, he rubbed the top of the headstone and smiled.
"Later Dad."
A red head watched from a distance as her son walked off with his friend. She held back the urge to call after him as a rose withdrew itself from the group and began to etch words into the ground.
"Oh dearest," she breathed. The rose stopped in midair. A sad smile on her face, Holly began to step forward.
"He's missed you terribly you know."
A strong gust of wind blew past, wiping whatever was in the ground away. Curiously, the bouquet and t-shirt stayed in place.
"I think…he's starting to find himself, and where he belongs. I can tell that he's much happier. But there's something holding him back dearest. He has some baggage that he can't seem to let go of."
She pursed her lips. As if to comfort her, the levitating rose tickled her neck, making her laugh.
"St-Stop it you! I swear, I'll never bring your sons to you again if you keep tickling me." The rose paused, resting itself in the woman's hair.
"Why thank you Robin." The woman reddened at the gesture, smiling shyly. If someone craned their head in the proper direction, they would see the apparition of a man.
A dashing man with a charming smile enhanced by stubble. A father with jade eyes that pierced you through. A rock musician with warm brown locks concealed under a green cap.
A husband with the softest hands to caress his wife's cheek.
-S.S.C.O.T.Y-
"Here she is!" Elizaveta exclaimed, flamboyantly gesturing. The grave site was covered in flora. The only prominent one was a small white flower with interesting petals and a yellow center. Elizaveta took up the crown of white flowers from the headstone and placed it on her own scalp, doing a little dance.
"They're called edelweiss," She answered before Arthur could ask. "They were my mom's favorite flower."
"Why bring all these flowers here, if they're going to die soon? It's winter."
"Why did you bring roses?"
"…They were my father's favorite thing to hand off to my mum."
The girl winked.
"Sit Arthur, and I shall tell you a story."
"Now? Won't your Dad be looking for you?"
The girl patted the empty soil next to her and he complied, ignoring the fact that the area was dustier than Robin's grave site.
"Both he and Andris know where I am. Besides, it's only a three minute walk to my apartment from here?"
"Ixion Apartments?" Arthur guessed.
"Close enough. I live in Al Bhed Apartments."
"Fancy."
"Nothing like Francis's fancy though."
"I suppose not," The boy gave her a sidelong look, then lowered his gaze. "You said you had a story."
He felt her tense. Arthur held her hand, gently coaxing the facts out of her.
"Once upon a time, there was a ten year old girl who had a terrible case of loneliness. She had but one friend her age, and only got to see that friend for an hour each day. He went to a prestigious school, and only came back at five while her curfew was at six. Every hour, she would listen to him play the piano, cello, or violin."
He already knew who the characters were, but remained silent as she tried to find the right words.
"Unfortunately, this hour was her only time of peace. Day and Night the boys from the richer part of town would find every which way to aggravate her. She hated them, and the girls in her school who were vainer than she believed possible, and insulted her for wearing pants."
…What?
"She only had her family and the pianist to trust, but at school she was alone. Left to deal with savage girls and guys. When she went home, her mother was always there to cheer her up with cookies and cheesy romance flicks and fairy tales. She treasured her mother the most, and would do anything for her,
"But then her mother decided to go out into the city during the worst of snow storms. She just left, and never came back. The girl was the one to answer the phone call when the police reported that her mother was found dead in a car accident with some dumbass drunk driver. That's when she spiraled down into God-Knows-Where. She didn't eat unless forced. She didn't speak. She didn't go to visit the sick pianist and she let her guard down and the girls fucking got to her."
Arthur knew the change would come. He squeezed her hand and shook it, waking her up from memories. She buried her face in his shoulder, voice quaking.
"She cut Artie. She couldn't stop. No one would pay any attention when she suddenly wore long sleeves. No one would ask her what was wrong. So she slashed her arms into ribbons and pitied herself. But that pity grew into resent, and she began to hate herself. She began to believe that the girls were right. She was ugly. She was fat. She was raccoon-eyed. Her family was no help. Her brother couldn't hang out anymore because he had to get three jobs to support her and her deadbeat father."
She let out a breath, shakily smiling.
"But then he appeared. It was around her 12th birthday that she saw one of the rich boys that used to pick on her again.
"Oh? Well, well, mon Cherie. You have a lot of explaining to do."
"I don't need to tell you anything!"
A smug smirk accompanied by an eyebrow quirk.
"No, you don't need to tell me anything about the scars on your arms. You don't need to tell me about your exploits in The Luxia or the way you avoid food as if it were poison. You don't have to tell me anything. But you want to."
The girl reddened, tears welling up. Scowling, she turned and wiped them away with her sleeve. The brunette tried to slip away, but the blonde gently caught her by the shoulder.
"Would you like to accompany for some glace mon Cherie?"
"Some what?"
"Ice-cream. You don't have to eat. You can just watch me."
"Why should I go?"
"I don't know. Why should you go? Perhaps it's because your mother would love for you to be in good health. Perhaps it's because you want to be in good health. Perhaps you just want to see a charming French boy eat ice cream."
He gave her another grin, but this was more sincere than the others.
"You only have one chance at life Eliza. Use it wisely."
A frail palm twitched. A firm hand remained outstretched. The two met in a strong embrace, starting the friendship that would save a life.
The girl, of course, did not know this when she watched the blonde eat.
"The rich boy introduced her to others with their own issues, and they all created something. They still don't know what it is to this day, but it helped them in so many ways. The girl didn't cut after the others found out, broke in, and stole all of her sharp utensils.-She kicked most of their asses of course.-And she began to eat, starting with only five crackers and water a day. She began to be more open; she began to have more fun. Most importantly, she didn't let the comments get to her anymore. She could flip the girls off without a second thought. Oddly enough, the boys that used to ridicule her became her best of friends. Within two years, they were as close as siblings and she could eat as much as she wanted. She relapses occasionally though. She won't deny that."
"Did she continue to see piano boy?"
Arthur wiped away her tears, and offered her a tissue. He pulled her close into his embrace, and lay his head atop of hers. The mild scent of vanilla enchanted him, encouraging him to play with her hair.
Elizaveta sniffled, a sound that pained him to hear.
"Yeah. Piano boy was one of the kids with issues actually."
"Oh? What?"
"It's not my story to tell."
"May I ask what the group of kids called themselves?"
"I think you already know Artie."
Their eyes connected briefly as a stronger bond was built between the two. Elizaveta had trusted him with the knowledge of one of the worst times of her life. Sacred information he knew he wouldn't speak of unless necessary.
"Why?" She knew what he was asking without any further explanation.
"I don't know. If anyone does, it's you and Francis. No one else knows your issue; we can only guess."
"Then Lina…"
"Lina will not be a Sophomore Slump." Elizaveta confirmed. "Her only problem is her confidence. She can be friends with us, but Francis has already confirmed that she's not."
"Isn't that kind of stuck up? I mean, excluding people from a group just because-."
"When you're a Sophomore Slump you have mock-therapy sessions with Francis. Normal people would find them useless."
"I don't want to go to therapy!" Arthur exclaimed.
"They're not mandatory. But for me, I use him to vent about my problems so I don't resort to…crude methods."
"Why don't you get professional help?"
The girl grimaced, tensing once more.
"My father doesn't know. My brother knows, but he won't say anything until I'm comfortable enough to actually tell him about it. Not to mention the fact that I'll have to drive to the therapist."
"So, basically, you're family isn't in a position where they can confront you and take you to therapy."
The girl shrugged as Arthur tittered.
"You should talk to them."
"I'm fine with Francis. I only relapsed twice since using him as my 'therapist'. Plus, that was only towards the beginning. I'm fine now. It would be useless."
"If you say so."
The two were quiet, listening to the wind blow past them. Arthur put on his gloves, rubbing his hands together as the cold finally got to him.
"Everyone has issues?"
"Yes."
"What are they?"
"Your job is to make them trust you enough to tell you. You already know Matthew's, Gilbert's, and half of Romano's."
"I do?"
The girl winked and rose. "Later Artie. Have a nice Thanksgiving."
They were all smiles, and then the twig cracked.T The two jumped into attention, glaring over the area.
"Who's there?" Elizaveta shouted, eyes narrowed.
Arthur too rose, running toward the source of the sound. He reached the area just in time to see a blonde teenager speeding out of the entrance.
"Damn it." He muttered.
"Who was it?"
Arthur couldn't meet Elizaveta's eyes.
"Did you see the way he was walking?"
"No. Why?"
"He had a limp. Gil was fighting a blonde that day in the bathroom. He kicked the kid at Francis. When he kicked him, it probably left a huge bruise. If I didn't know any better I would've called his leg broken."
Her eyes widened as her breath caught.
"So…that guy was…"
"One of the jocks." Arthurconcluded.
-S.S.C.O.T.Y-
"Everyone's going to know my entire life story by Monday Gil! I only have four days till I have to face hell!"
'They don't matter. You've got the awesome me to protect you."
"Yeah, but-but,"
The girl let out a strangled sob and buried her face in the albino's chest. Arthur's guilt ate him alive as he attempted to sink lower into his corner.
Gilbert murmured words of comfort to her as she sobbed.
"We'll fix it. Don't worry. I'm sure Francis will think of something before the gossip spreads."
"What if he recorded it? There's no way to fix that! They'll have something to hold over my head!"
"This isn't the Elizaveta I know! What happened to the tomboy that didn't care for others opinions?"
The girl glared at the albino from under her bangs, entire facial features distraught. She wiped her teary eyes and sniffed.
"I don't give a flying fuck about any of them. But if one of them tells their parents, and their parents tell my Dad, I'm stuck in therapy for my entire life. I won't be comfortable with some guy telling me I have problems and making me choke down medication that I don't need. Give me Francis. Not someone trying to turn me into a drug dependent."
"Don't say that-."
"You know why Francis started all of this." Her voice rose as she was filled with a fiery passion. The wolfish fierceness Arthur noted the first day he met her was present, and ready to rip the entire world apart limb from limb.
"He didn't want us to take pills! He didn't want us to end up in hospitals because we tried to do some crazy shit! He didn't want us to end up like him! He didn't….He-He didn't…"
She died down and started crying again. Each sob ripped a new gash in Arthur's chest. He didn't like this at all. The sound of her crying had too much of an effect on him.
"What in the world is going on down here?"
The door of the basement burst open, revealing a man that was probably in his late twenties.
His brown hair was tied back into a long ponytail. His face was cleanly shaved, and had angular features that were pulled into a worried look. His blue eyes were distressed as the man scoped the scene, just as Arthur looked him over.
He was the brunette version of Kurt Cobain with his distressed blue jeans, simple t-shirt, and rugged, old jacket. He walked about with his slippers, every step emanating power as he strode forward. He snuffed the cigarette he held on the wall and tossed it out the window.
At first, Arthur assumed this was Gilbert's father. But judging by the way Elizaveta jumped up and ran into the man's embrace, he knew this was not the case.
"Arthur, this is my Uncle-Father Fritz. Uncle-Father, this is Arthur."
"Hello." The blonde gave him a small wave.
He could definitely see why Gilbert liked his uncle so much.
The man shot a smirk Arthur's way. "Pleased to finally meet your acquaintance Junge. My nephew-son never stops talking about how much he wants me to meet you."
"Aww, quit it old man."
The man grinned at the albino, then turned to look at Elizaveta.
"Would someone kindly explain as to why this sweet, little girl is crying? Mein Eliza, has Roderich hurt you?"
"N-No."
"Has he perished already?"
"No!"
"I think you're making it worse old man," Gilbert intervened. "Here, let me explain."
Arthur listened as Gilbert retold the story, putting in his input when it was needed. The old man was a great listener, nodding along to each critical sentence and saving his questions till the end.
"So there's a blonde boy with a limp that knows about Elizaveta's backstory, and will probably spread it through the entire school and as a result, this little girl's parents shall find out."
"Exactly."
"Well, there's only one thing to do at a time like this."
The teenagers looked at the adult expectantly, hope shining in their eyes. With a smile, he pried the girl off of himself and patted her on the head.
"Leave this to me and stay here. I'll be back before you know it."
He gave them one last wave, then flicked Gilbert's nose.
"Don't get into anymore trouble twerp. If I find out that you managed to get into a brawl again this week, I'll box your ears for you."
"Yes Master Fritz sir!"
The albino snickered as his relative shook his head pitifully. The man took his time going up the stairs. It was two minutes before his footsteps faded.
"Gil, you're Uncle's a badarse."
"I know. Pretty damn proud of him. The weird thing is, he plays the flute in an orchestra for a living."
"That's interesting."
Gilbert laughed at his friend's expression. Arthur too grinned for a bit before the albino turned his attention to the girl sprawled on the floor.
"You want anything Princess?"
"No. My life is going to end soon anyway. Anything I eat now would be a waste."
"Chocolate chip cookies and a glass of milk then."
Silence. A quiet that threatened to make him go mad.
"This isn't like you." The Brit blurted suddenly. Her sniffling paused.
"What do you mean?"
He wildly gestured, trying to find the words.
"The-the crying! The whining! The worry! The Elizaveta I know doesn't care about what others think! Much less her family! So what if your father finds out? You don't have to take therapy if you don't want to! Hell, at least you have a father to fret over you!"
His chest rose and fell steadily as his vigor died down into a bitter spite.
"I don't have that luxury," He spat. "Mum has six other kids to care for. Even when Dad was alive, his focus was on Draco and Mac. The athletes of the family. The only one that has ever acted as a father figure to me all the time was Francis. Bloody Francis. How pitiful is that?"
"Oh, so I have it better?" Elizaveta snorted indignantly. "My mom left me when I was 9. My dad left me the same day. I got him back, yeah, but that was after three years. I had to rely on Gilbert, Francis and Antonio, the same kids that bullied me. I had my bullies for a family because my Dad couldn't do anything and my brother was always gone. You think your life sucks? Take a look at the rest of us! Hell, Gil has it worse than both of us and he's still screwing around with a smile!"
She quieted once she realized she was yelling. Arthur, almost infuriated, took in a deep breath, and then cracked a grin.
"I guess both our parental lives are pretty bloody awful."
She paused, looking down.
"Yeah." Her voice was meek. Still not like her usual. How could he erase that scowl?
"Well, I'd hate to break this emo fest, but I bring gifts so shut the hell up about your problems and engage yourselves in awesomeness! Kesesesese!"
Gilbert sauntered down the stairs in his boxers and a hoodie, silver tray in hand.
"Here SB. Take this!" The albino threw a sleek black contraption at the blonde and grandly placed the tray of confections in front of Elizaveta.
"To the right you have an assortment of cookies. In the middle, you will find a slice of apple pie surrounded by bowls of four different ice creams. Finally, to your left, there are various flavors of Turkish Delights and the fancy-ass chocolate Franny brought back from France."
"Oh god, Gil, you don't screw around."
"When it comes to severe depressions, I let myself eat cake. I'm telling you guys, Marie-Antoinette knew her shit."
Proudly, the boy snatched up a truffle and popped it in his mouth, savoring the taste as he pulled his phone out of his pocket.
Party Rock is in the house tonight! Everybody just-!
"Gil, what is this?" Elizaveta's scowl was replaced by a grimace.
"Generic pop music." The boy replied cheerily, sitting cross legged next to Arthur. "It'll make you feel better. Just listen. Oh, we're going to play a game called Crisis Core, Artie. I think you'll like it…"
That's how they spent their afternoon. Oddly enough, the music did brighten up the girl's mood. She found herself humming along to it as she slowly inched next to the boys to watch them play. Between the three of them, the tray of sweets was quickly finished. The chocolate managed to bring her sweet smile back. In turn, seeing that grin made Arthur beam out of relief.
When Uncle Fritz came in, however, the mood turned into excitement.
All eyes were glued onto the CDs in the man's hands.
"Are those…?"
"Mein Gott, that kid wouldn't stop screaming." The collapsed in a chair, rubbing his knuckles. "So I found him in this local shop, getting copies made. I waited outside until he was done, which is why it took so long."
The game was abandoned as the teens crowded around Frederick, eyes eager for a story. He told the tale with the commanding aura of a war general, and the magic of a true story crafter.
"I dragged him out back, into the alley," he began lowly. "The kid was ready to piss on his knickers. His eyes were open as wide as saucers and his pupils kept darting around. He was nothing more than a mouse trapped in a corner. When I asked for the disks though, he objected fiercely. So I had to rough him up a bit."
"Give him the old gentleman slap, and if he doesn't submit, fight him like a hoodlum."
Fritz grinned. "That's my nephew. It never came down to fighting like a hoodlum. I only had to brush his face with my fingertips before her dropped all the CDs and the original disk. He was already up and running before I could make him vow to remain silent about the whole thing. Sorry Eliza."
"I'll be fine." The girl said strongly. "There's no proof. You made sure of that. Thank you Uncle Fritz."
The man grinned, before rising.
"I met your mother on the way Arthur. She was going crazy looking for you. She kept showing you picture to strangers and asking whether they've seen her lad Arthur. I suggest you get something on that black eye and call her up before she shows your baby picture to the wrong guy."
Gilbert started to laugh as the Brit hung his head in shame.
"Thank you. I guess I'd better go then. See you lot on Monday, if not tomorrow. Have a nice Thanksgiving."
He gave Elizaveta a tight hug.
'Don't do anything I wouldn't do. The power of Christ compels you to put the cutting utensil down.'
"Whoa, someone get me a quote book or something. Arthur Kirkland just cracked a funny joke."
"Sweet Jesus! Miracles happen! We sacrificed the gentleman and now we've got a witty punk! Someone please sing the praise!"
"Ignore him." Uncle Fritz, ushered Arthur out as Gilbert began to belt the Godspell soundtrack .
"Thanks for everything."
Blue eyes quizzically looked the blonde over.
"Why are you thanking me? I didn't do anything for you yet."
"You fixed my mistake. That's enough for me. I…Have a nice Thanksgiving Father Fritz. It was pleasant meeting you."
He rushed out, suddenly overwhelmed.
Well, Monday is sure to be a riot isn't it?
/
HIATUS! I've always hated this word and now I have to use it. Yes, I'm taking a break for September. I have too many Honors classes to adjust to so I really won't have time to be working on this as much as I did before. When I come back, updates will probably once every two weeks depending on what's going on.
Thank you so much for the reviews, comments, alerts and faves. You guys are the best, and I wish you all luck this school year. (Especially the seniors)
Out of curiosity, is anyone else taking Honors or AP classes?