Francis sat on the sofa, his eyes following Arthur spurt around the flat. He had already packed his stuff and had decided to come see how the Brit was doing, in case he needed some help with anything. He was very excited about their little trip, but did a marvelous job hiding it. "What are you looking for?" he asked after Arthur had checked under his bed for the 19th time. "Nothing in particular, just a... never mind," Arthur vaguely answered to Francis' disappointment and went to rummage around the shelves again. A few minutes later a victorious "Aha!" yelled across the apartment signaling of Arthur's success locating the lost item. Cheerfully he came to the couch Francis was sitting on to put away a strangely shaped object wrapped in some old newspapers to his small traveling bag. "My father's birthday was last week and I got him a new walking cane. Hmm, let's see… Clothes, toothbrush, deodorant, charger for the phone… Did you pack clothes you have no objection against getting dirty?" the Brit asked his friend, zipping up the bag. Francis nodded. "I haven't been to a farm in ages, to tell the truth. Last time I think was when I was 13 and it was at Gilbert's place," he reminiscensed. "Alright. But worry not, you'll be teaming up with me, since I know the place and the jobs needed to be done there." Arthur smiled. "What is it?" Francis asked with a small laugh, amused by his friend's smirk. "I think my mum is going to like you a lot," he said, again having a wry smile on his face. "How come?" "Well, you're a man who can COOK superbly, that's something novel to her. Alright, well, let's go," Arthur said, grabbed his bag and took hold of Bosey with a leash. Francis tossed his own bag over his shoulder and having locked the door behind him, he returned the key and moments later they were on their way down with the elevator, since Bosey wasn't too keen on stairs.
"Here, hold him for a moment," Arthur said and handed Francis the leash with the mutt. "I'll go get the car." He ran off to the parking lot behind the house, leaving his friend to stand on the pavement. It was a beautiful evening. The afternoon Sun was shining golden through the branches of budded trees, the sky was clear and a fresh wind was blowing away what was left of the winter blues. There hadn't been snow for two months now and the beginning of April was a befitting spring to Francis' mood lately. Currently, though, he was interested in seeing the type of car Arthur drove. At first he thought he didn't own one since during all the time they've known each other the Brit had never even mentioned using his car, not to mention the fact Francis had never seen it (since he hasn't gotten one himself, he finds no point in going to the parking lot behind the house). Having heard the rumble of an old, yet powerful engine, he turned himself to the road leading to the back of the house.
From there rolled a sky blue vintage car, a majestic piece of machinery by shape and power. With the creaking of the front door, Arthur stepped out of the car, feeling overly happy from hearing a whistle of amusement escaping his friend's lips. "Saying it's a nice car is an understatement," Francis said and looked at it in amazement, for he had always liked vintage cars, saying they were classy. "I'm glad you like it," Arthur smiled and took Bosey from him. "I inherited it from my grandfather after his passing since I had so many fond memories of it from my childhood. I decided to renovate it and make it fitting and efficient to drive around today, which means I had to exchange the engine to a more powerful and environment-friendly. It was costly, but so very worth it," he explained and patted the hood of the car lovingly. "Aston Martin DB4," Francis read from a tiny metal plate at the side of the ride. "Well, we should better get moving or we won't make it there by nightfall," Arthur said and opened the back door to let Bosey hop on the bench, covered with a blanket to keep his claws from harming the creamy leather. Francis threw his bag to the small trunk and joined Arthur, sitting on the passenger's seat. The seats were comfy and the inside was nice and clean, although the ceiling was a little low, but luckily not low enough to make Francis feel uncomfortable. "The doors creak and the engine is a little too loud, but overall it should be a pleasant ride, since I had the suspensioon changed to make the driving smoother," Arthur said and put on his seat-belt, to which the Frenchman did the same. The engine let out a soft, yet loud purr when the Brit turned the key and they drove off the boulevard, Bosey sleeping calmly behind them.
About three hours later after changing interstates they decided to make a stop and stretch legs. Arthur went to a diner to get them something to eat and Francis decided it a good time for a little smoke, when he heard his friend's cellphone ring from the open window of the Martin; he had left it on his seat. The Frenchman checked to see who was calling him and was a little surprised to see Arthur's mother calling. Not feeling like running over the road to his friend, he decided to answer the ringing in case the woman wanted something important. "Hello?" he asked, trying not to sound too French for some reason unbeknownst to him. "Who is this?" came a drawled question from the other side of the line. "Oh, I'm sorry. I am Francis, Arthur's friend. He is away at the moment." "Oh, you're Francis! You're all dear Bosey talks about lately!" came a happy laugh of recognition. Francis' heart skipped a beat. "I was just calling to ask how far are you?" the woman asked. Francis looked around him to see any signs and after having found a blue one, he replied: "It's about two hundred miles until Scotland." All he knew was that the cottage was somewhere near the border of Scotland and that it was 350 miles from London to there. "Oh, that's good. In that case you should arrive in three or four hours, assuming you do stops on the way," Arthur's mother said and continued to tell Francis a little bit more about the way there. After a few minutes they said goodbyes and Francis tossed the phone back on the seat. It was true, they had been making quite a few stops because it was his first time of seeing the great countryside and the lovely and enchanting small towns of Britain. He wished that some day he could take Arthur to see the glory of France with him. He finished his smoke just in time when the Brit came back with a small plastic bag and two steaming cups. "Here, coffee with cream and two teaspoons of sugar. The way you like it, right?" he asked when handing over a cup. Francis nodded with a smile and took a sip from the mug, immediately frowning. "What's wrong?" Arthur asked, rummaging around the bag. "The coffee's awful," Francis answered and tossed it to the bin on the side of the road. "I'll share my tea with you, it's quite alright. I guess us Brits just can't brew coffee the French would tolerate," Arthur smiled, and handed him his cup. Reluctantly Francis accepted it and tried to drink as little as possible to leave most of it to his friend. After having eaten the sandwiches Arthur had bought and drank the tea, they got back inside the car and drove off, making stops every now and then for Arthur to talk about a site and for Francis to take photos of it.