Arthur didn't have the need to lock his door, the elevator took care of it for him. During the time this house was built, London was under a massive fear of vampiric creatures and all the supernatural due to all the literature out there related to them and notable amount of sightings, whether true or not. Because of that the elevator had a built-in key-system, which meant that if you don't insert your key, you can't get to the floor you live on. Although complicated and full of flaws in both logic and assessment (for example, if you lose your century-old key), it eased the hearts of Londonians of that time. And it eased Arthur's heart too, even though he knew such a simple thing wouldn't help against paranormal stuff, but much rather, against burglars (hence the lack of stairs). "You know, Bosey, I'm in a very good mood at the moment," he said cheerfully and twirled from one end of the room to the other. "I can't explain, but there is something about today." Bosey has seen his master act strangely before, it wasn't a sight or anything. He was a lonely man, not by lack of friends or family, but rather by his soul. Being lonely among other people is one of mankind's greatest curses, or at least, that's what Arthur thought. Having entered his office, he sighed, a note of sadness emitting from his tone. He looked at the dozens of photographs hanging from the wall - about his family, friends, his past events, adventures and happenings - and he felt even more lonely. All happy memories, but just what they were: only memories. Dead friends can't be brought back, past events can't be relived, family can't be brought back together just like it used to be. "I've made a lot of mistakes in my life, Bosey," Arthur said and looked at the pictures, "but you know what they say - you can't just mope around. What has happened, has happened, and you just have to deal with it." Bosey grunted gruffly and fell to his side to lay on the cool floor. Arthur looked at him, smiling, and noticed his old electric guitar hang on the other wall. "Why not," he thought and took it from the wall, plugged it in to his wireless amp and struck a few chords. It made him feel much better and a minute later he was dancing around his apartment, playing and singing along to "Renegade" by Styx.
Francis was having a great day too. An hour had passed since he left his apartment and already he had 7 numbers from admiring British women. "It's a pity I have to take each and every one of them on a date," he sighed when he secured himself a spot on the park bench. "But contacts in flower and pastry shops are great." He looked at the people around him; he has always found amusement in doing that. Whenever he saw someone who piqued his interest, he would take a picture of them. And whenever people came to ask why he was violating their rights for privacy, he could always only work his charm and tell them he's doing it for a magazine of sort (be it Vogue, National Geographic or something else), and people would forgive him. He was completely aware he was a handsome and an earnest man and he had planned to use his "abilities" to the fullest. Call it being sly, but it helped him get by and helped the people he's been with feel better about themselves. "No woman would ever be good enough for you," he remembered his mother say a long time ago. He smiled and thought of all the women he had taken advantage of, like others liked to put it. He would always get angry at them for saying that, because he felt he did no such thing. He only satisfied the physical and emotional needs of these women and what most, himself. "And I'm sure the ladies would agree with me," he chuckled and snapped a few photos of two sparrows sitting on the old small stone wall which surrounded the park. A buzzing in his pocket indicated someone was calling him. He took his phone out and stared at the screen for a few moments before answering. "Yes, Antonio?"
"Hey, I've told you that when you answer the phone you should address me by my full name!" a voice shouted from the other side. Francis sighed at the dumb tradition. "Yes, KING Antonio Fernandez Carriedo, how may I be of assistance?" The other man laughed. "My darling Francis Bonnefoy, how have you been? Haven't heard from you in over a month!" "That's not why you called!" Francis heard another man scream in the background. "Give me the phone!" "No! It's MY phone!" The Frenchman sighed as two of his best friends fought over the phone. "Francis Bonnefoy, you there?" a nasal voice asked. "Oui-oui, Gilbert Beilschmidt."
Francis, Antonio and Gilbert have been friends as long as they remembered. Known as the "bad friends trio", stories about them have reached the ears of many. Naming it harmless fun, they have had countless adventures and although there are times when they are at each other's throats for lesser things, they wouldn't change their friendship for anything other in the world.
"Good-good. Listen, how is London, eh? Seen some nice ladies, great places to drink yet?" Gilbert asked him, which to Francis replied scuffly that he's only been there for a day. "Great! Then we have a chance to discover all the good things together! We've just arrived in London, we're standing in front of the airport, I don't know which one, though." Francis sat on the bench, dumbfounded. He knew where Gilbert was aiming at: they wanted to meet him, but he had already promised to go to a pub with Arthur and even though he really liked his friends, he was looking forward to getting to know the Brit more closely too. After all, he was going to live next door to the guy and the walls weren't that thick, so it was better to know what was there waiting him. "Listen, I have plans tonight, I'm not so sure," he started but was cut off by Antonio. "Ohoho, so you DO have an "appointment" today with some girl? Is she hot? Does she have hot friends?" "No, nothing like that," Francis shook his head, even though he knew they couldn't see him. "Oh, so it's A GUY?" he heard Antonio laugh. "No, Antonio, it's not a date or something. I'm just going to a pub to hear more about the people here." He immediately regretted his words, but it was too late - he could hear his friends exclaim in joy. "Fits us well, we're thirsty anyway!" Gilbert said, having grabbed the phone once again. "We'll meet you in your apartment in two hours, okay? We got your new address from your mama, hahaha." The phone went silent when the Prussian abrubtly hung up on him. Francis facepalmed and stood up. "Guess I have some shopping to do," he said to himself and started to walk towards a market he had noticed earlier. He was glad he had found a bazaar here, and such a diverse one at that - being an excellent chef means knowing the importance of fresh fruit, vegetables, meat, bread and spices have in cuisine. He wasn't accustomed to using pounds instead of euros yet, but he was sure he would get the hang of it in no time.
He was currently admiring how spring green the leeks were when he felt a hand on his shoulder. "Funny we keep running into each other all the time," Arthur smiled. "Arthùr, fancy meeting you here! I didn't know you were a market-goer." Francis was happy - maybe he could run into him here every once in a while and talk to him more. "Well, it beats the food-store on the corner of the fifth anytime," he said and looked at a barrel of potatoes, "although the prices are a little crispier here." "Oh, perfect, a fellow cook!" the Frenchman cheered, remembering all the British cook-shows which ran on some channels in France. "You can tell me which is average-priced and which is not, I'm so used to euros, you see." Arthur agreed and they spent the next 45 minutes roaming the market. Finally on the road home, bags and baskets full of goods, Francis felt like he could have a little chit-chat with the Brit. "So... Have you lived all your life here, in London? Do you know a lot about this town?" Arthur shook his head and they stopped behind the red stoplight. "No, I lived with my parents near the border of Scotland until I was sixteen and then I occasionally visited London, but I've lived here for when I started university and stayed here to work, so... about 5 years, maybe? Yeah, 5-6 sounds right. But I know an awful lot of this place, but there's no way to tell you everything about it, there's some things you just have to see for yourself." Francis smiled. The man was sounding more and more intriguing for him, he may not have been the usual grey Brit he thought he would be after all. "So," Arthur coughed, "what brings you to this mulky place anyway? You were talking of some project." "I don't understand, I think the rayon we live in is beautiful," Francis asked and looked at Arthur, who was startled by the sudden questioning look in his eyes. "O-oh, no, I mean, smog - smoke and fog - and rain are the main characteristics of this euro-city, not to mention the people who live here. Of course our neighborhood is wonderful, I wouldn't even consider living here if it weren't for our cul-de-sac." Francis was satisfied and decided to answer his question. "Actually there was no project. I just thought I should say something as a legit reason to move here. What I really was searching for is diversity, I wanted something different." Arthur chuckled. "I hear you, Francis, I hear you - I've done a great deal of things just do find some diversity." "Really?" Francis was even more interested. Oh, how he would love to visit his apartment some day, not to mention how much he was waiting for tonight. They talked about more minor things when they were walking along the nicely paved sidewalks, when Francis suddenly stopped. "What's wrong?" Arthur asked. "We're almost there, what are you looking at?" He followed the Frenchman's horrified gaze to the front door of their apartment block and found two young men, no older than himself, standing in front of it. "Friends of yours?" he asked when he was studying the two men, both so different looking from each other. Francis nodded. "You could say that." He watched in horror as Arthur noticed the two waving at them. He swallowed heavily and decided to walk in front of Arthur in case their sharp tongues might reach him first. Clearly confused by the Frenchman's sudden silence, Arthur, a little cautiously, followed him to the building.