Lunch time - [Arthur and Francis]

Arthur was starving. He hadn't eaten since... last night was it? He definitely hadn't eaten since they day before and it was now 12, Arthur's body needed food. Especially since he was expending more energy than normal, having to exerscise his new wings and expending energy trying to control water. Forced kinetics were very difficult to do, as he had quickly learned.

He opened all the cupboards, rifling through, but found no more than teabags, sugar, various spices and a tin of baked beans. Well, he could have that couldn't he? Baked beans on toast would suffice, yeah. He opened it and tipped them in to a pan, putting that on to heat up while he searched for the bread.

Once he had cleaned the ceiling, he decided that perhaps he should go out to eat. He decided to try out a cafe on the corner that he hadn't happened to go to before. Usually he went to the indian take away, or the places closer to his university. However, he could do with a little bit of human contact, even if it was just going to talk to a waiter or something.

He dressed, so he looked good enough to be seen in public, with a nice pair of skinny jeans, a dress shirt and a waist coat with an an arab scarf. He looked rather good, if he did say so himself. Not that he was vain or anything! He just liked looking neat so that people didn't think he looked like a freak. Plus, these were some of his few clothes that didn't have holes in, he still needed to mend the others.

He went down to the cafe, which was pretty standard to him. Not really greasy spoon type, with plastic seating and everything, more upper class. Arthur was reminded of the sort of thing people drew in typical Parisian scenes. It had wire chairs in curled patterns and pretty, round tables, and a bell above the door that rang as he came in.

He was seated in a corner and picked up a menu, perousing it. Finally, a waiter came up to him and he looked up, "Ah, one tea please - with a dash of milk and the All-Day breakfast, please." He said politely.

Work had finally calmed down a bit after the midday rush. The café always got crowded at 11 and 12 o'clock. Sometimes Francis felt that it was a wonder that he and his colleagues managed, as each and every single person that visited them seemed to want different things. But that was just his imagination as he knew that many ordered the same dish or dessert or whatever it was that they had felt like ordering for the day. There were also those regular guests who almost always ordered the same things. Today, that cute man who usually comes to the café every Tuesday came in, and he actually managed to sneak a little chat with him. Next time he was sure to get his number.

He was in a particularly good mood today, despite the fact that they had been a bit busy and one of his female co-workers had thrown a silly little fit over absolutely nothing - he didn't like her very much so to see their boss scold her was very entertaining for him and the others. So when the bell rang, he was actually feeling a little excited to get some more work. It would be the last order he'd have to cook together, before he could take his lunch break. Oh, beloved lunch break!

The order came in sooner than he had expected. Ah, it seemed that this costumer really knew what they wanted. But Francis, upon hearing the menu, did wonder what this particular costumer looked like. That was such a bad choice for lunch - couldn't he, or she, choose something a little more lunch-like?

In almost no time at all, Francis and a co-worker fixed together the lunch for this costumer and gave it to the waiter who scurried off. One thing that did keep him occupied and made him have a little fun on the days he really didn't want to work, was to imagine what their costumers looks like only by judging by their orders - and the waiters or waitresses would have just as fun as they guessed away.

Wiping at his forehead and putting away his apron, he grabbed himself a chicken salad and a bottle of mineral water, and went out into the café to find somewhere to eat his own lunch - which was much better than that 'breakfast thing' they served.

It didn't take long to spot a familiar figure, sitting alone in the corner, with the exact same order that he had been making just moments ago. Aha, so that's who this 'mysterious' costumer was... Not very mysterious now.

Having nothing better to do, Francis decided to join this poor, lonesome soul in the corner. "Well 'ello there, my dear, dear neighbour," he greeted as he sat down in front of the British man, putting his things on the table. "Do you come 'ere often~?"

Arthur was quite pleased at how quickly his food had come, presumably because the lunchtime rush had passed and the smelled the food before it came and god it smelled good. His stomach was growling, suddenly realising quite how acutely hungry he was. He thanked the waiter who brought it over and grabbed the ketchup, pouring it over the plate so he everything was covered in the tomato sauce. He was going to enjoy this...

He stabbed his fork in to a sausage and took a large bite. He knew it was not how one was supposed to eat; it most certainly wasn’t proper but he was so hungry. Wings took up a lot of energy, even though he didn’t know how to fly at all yet, he still had to take them out and exercise them; if he didn’t do it at least once a day, they were very sore the next day. He’d also been practicing having them, it wasn’t the easiest thing to learn how to control two limbs you never knew you had in a way you’d never had to move before. Not to mention, this food was so good. It was greasy, which was what he wanted but the quality of the food was good too, he’d have to come back here again. As he ate, he wondered if it would be weird if he bought another one too. He was just that hungry.

Then, someone sat next to him and he looked up, blinking and wiping a bit of ketchup from his mouth. He was blond, with long hair and Arthur was sure he recognised him... Then he spoke, with a slight French accent and Arthur did recognise him; it was that guy who lived upstairs, chatty bloke, always trying to nose about in Arthur’s business when they were in the lift together. “Uh...” Arthur stared for a moment, his mouth open slightly. Then he realised he still had a mouthful of chips and shut it, swallowing. “Hi...” He said awkwardly. Why on earth had he decided to sit next to him, it wasn’t as if every other table was full.

“it’s um...” He tried to remember his name, it was on the tip of his tongue... B...B... ah! “Bonnefoy, isn’t it?” He asked, politely, though really he wanted to tell the other man to get the hell away from him and let him eat in peace. Nosy git.

“I don’t think I’ve ever been before.” He said, forcing himself to return to eating in a manner more befitting a public place, cutting some bacon with his fork and placing the small morsel in his mouth. It was nowhere near as satisfying as scoffing his food. “What about you?” He asked. Why was he making conversation; he wanted the man to bugger off. He was far too polite for his own good, really.

Francis had a hard time to keep himself from laughing at the sight before him. The Brit was such a fascinating human being, and he was just so cute when he looked at him with that surprised face. Though, now it was in a rather bizarre way. Mouth hanging open and showing off his half-chewed chips that were covered in that nasty red substance that Francis believed he had developed and allergy to. Not a real allergy, but he just couldn't stand the taste of ketchup destroying what could be otherwise very good food. Except from the fact that what the other man was eating wasn't really good food in his eyes...

Yes, why indeed had he decided to sit beside this man who didn't seem to have much table manners when he thought no one was looking. But at least he behaved now, and Francis hoped he wouldn't have to look into the other man's mouth like that again. Ugh.

"Yes that's right, but please, dear- call me Francis. We shouldn't 'ave to be so formal - it's not like we are complete strangers, am I not right?" he smiled, and hummed softly. "Mmmh... Your name starts with an A. A. Kirkland. May I ask what the A stands for?"

"Is that so? Well, I wouldn't really know. I don't usually step outside the kitchen aside from when I 'ave my breaks, like now. Which leads us to your next question - why, I am 'ere almost everyday. I work 'ere~" he grinned lightly at being able to say that he was working here. He really liked work - most of the time, and especially when he had such cute co workers. One who he could even speak French with! Despite the fact that he sometimes cringed because she was from Canada and spoke a different kind of French.

He uncapped his bottle, and took a small sip from the water. How refreshing. "So... Since I'm always interested in what the costumers think - 'ow is your meal so far?" he asked.

He could see the amusement on the man’s face as he stared at him and he scowled. He didn’t particularily enjoy being laughed at, but at least theman had the decency to try and stop himself. Slowing down to show that he wasn’t just an animal was agonising though. Why couldn’t the bastard go bother someone else? He’d never really liked him.

“Fine, Francis.” He corrected himself, licking his lips clean. He supposed they weren’t complete strangers but his upbringing dictated that he was serious and polite at all times until you could consider each other propery friends. However, he’d specifically asked to be called by his first name, so to deny him would be equally as rude. “The A stands for Arthur.” He said.

“Oh you work here, huh?” Arthur had applied for work in a restaurant once. He’d made a decent waiter but whenever he was in the kitchen, he somehow managed to knock things and set them on fire. Not to mention they’d complained he looked too ‘scruffy’. He couldn’t help the fact that his hair wouldn’t look neat no matter what he did! “I haven’t seen you waiting so... do you work in the kitchen?” He asked.

Arthur forked a small piece of fried bread, dumping a load of baked beans on top of it and shoving the whole thing in his mouth. Then Francis spoke again and he looked up? “Uh?” He said, then shut his mouth to stop beans from escaping. He swallowed. So... Francis had made this food? It was really good, well, there wasonl so well one could do an English breakfast, it didn’t have much finesse, however, it was well cooked, the food seemed fresh and high quality. It was pretty delicious but he couldn’t have Francis knowing that. “Well... it’s pretty good, I suppose.” He muttered, downplaying it as much as he could while still shoving his face at the most socially acceptable rate he could muster.

Oh how Francis would've loved to argue with him that it was impossible to not like someone if you didn't know them well enough! He and Arthur did not really know each other very much, and it would take a lot of him to say that he disliked the man with the thick eyebrows. He just... Didn't the man's attitude, at times. While he was polite, he never seemed very enthustiatic to speak with him. Ah, what a pity- Francis who just loved to talk and learn new things about people- especially the ones that were his neighbours!

"Aaah, Arthur... Just like the king, yes~?" he mused, a little fascinated with the other's name. He had heard some children speaking of some 'King Arthur'. He had never focused much on English history - he never really did have a reason to, not really knowing he would move to London before he one day just happened to be here.

"Yes, I work in the kitchen," Francis replied, then gave the younger man an odd look. What in the world was that about? Did Arthur not quite believe that he could work in the kitchen - or was he surprised when he realised that he had made his food? Whatever it was, he was not happy with seeing the other's half chewn food. It was almost that it caused him to shudder, but he managed to keep a straight face.

But it kind of burst like a bubble when the food was 'supposedly pretty good'. "... Oh, really?" he said with a raised brow, eyes going a bit slim. He never liked that kind of feedback, as it never gave him anything to work with. Besides, he had seen Arthur stuff his face before... There was something fishy about this. "Well then, I guess it can't be 'elped. Would you rather 'ave 'ad something else, or is there something wrong with my cooking?"

"Yes. Well, the one in the stories." He clarified, "There never was a real king Arthur, as far as we can tell. But it's hardly surprising, since the tales talked of dragons and women who lived in lakes. It didn't sound very real. But yes, I am named after that fictional king." He was rather pedantic sometimes, especially when he was feeling hostile. He liked the Arthurian ledgends a lot, in fact they were his first favourite set of stories. He had a couple of different copies of it, as strange and useless as that may seem.

Arthur had been a little caught off guard about the fact that his neighbor, the person who was sitting beside him had made his food. Probably because he didn't expect him to be in the front, eating his lunch with a customer. Oh but maybe he always did this, it was nothing speical. That would make sense, actually. "Oh I see. Um, are you a cook?" He asked.

Francis seemed like he didn't believe Arthur when he said that he thought the food was alright. He certianly acted like he didn't, raising an eyebrow. Presumably he thought his cooking was better than that. Conceited bastard. Arthur didn't want to feed his ego anymore. "Hm? No nothing's wrong. It's just fine. Why does something have to be spectacular before it's okay? What's wrong with 'fine'?" Although most of the time, Arthur was a perfectionist himself, he wasn't going to mention that.

"Look so is there something else you wanted or are you just here to bother me while I eat?" He asked.

Francis never thought it would happen, but he actually listened full-heartedly to what the other had to say about the legend of king Arthur. Even if it was a fairytale and that the king never was, it was a bit charming that the man beside him was named after the protagonist in the stories. He started to wonder a little about what Arthur's parents were like, to name him like that...

"Yes, I am indeed a cook. And it didn't really sound as if you meant what you said," he resisted the urge to huff at the Brit and took a long sip from his bottle. "But I guess that a peacock cannot impress every other bird that 'e meets."

He gasped softly, and put a hand over his heart dramatically when the other seemed to accuse him of being out to bother him. Well, he guessed that it had turned out to be a reason, but that was not only it. He just wanted to be a nice person and have a conversation with Arthur! Was that a crime?

"Non- I did not come 'ere to bother you, I came 'ere because I wanted to keep you company and maybe even get to know you better. But, oh - do you dislike me, somehow?" he asked, acting a bit dramatic. Not that he would care much really... If Arthur really disliked, then he could dislike him too without having any bad feelings. He preferred to like people, but oh - there wasn't enough space in his heart for everyone that he met.

"A peacock only impresses other peacocks." Arthur said sharply, trying to take this man down a peg. "And usually only female peacocks at that. Have you ever seen a pigeon staring at a peacock?" He asked, sneering slightly. He didn't know why he was being so rude, but something about the man rubbed him up the wrong way. "Your food is fine, that's as good as anything, isn't it?" He reiterated. Though he was a perfectionist himself, admittedly. If someone didn't like something he'd done, he'd bother them until they told him what he could do better. But he was a hypocrite. He could just imagine this man as a peacock, he seemed like the type. He cared about his appearence and probably showed off a lot.

And he was so dramatic. Arthur told him that Francis was bothering him and he gasped. Arthur rolled his eyes, "I didn't need any company." He was perfectly happy sitting by himself, why couldn't people understand that? He always looked 'so lonely'. Nosy gits. "Fine, you can stay I guess. I don't dislike you, I just don't know why you're bothering me."

Well, someone really took everything literally, and was definitely rude about it. Okay, maybe it didn't sound as well as he had liked it to... But that didn't really matter. He did have a meaning behind what he had said, and just maybe he had to clarify that to the other. "Oh dear me, that's not what I meant. I just meant that everyone can't like you, even if try to make them like you. And I guess what you say about the food is true... You're still eating it, so..."

Francis blinked at what the other said, as he took another sip from his bottle of water. The Englishman didn't dislike him? Well, that was a new one... There weren't many people who could say that out loud - and then afterwards, still add the fact that he's bothering them. What an interesting man... "Why, thank you. That's good to 'ear - that you don't dislike me, that is. And well... I guess I did go 'ere to bother you- Just a little, because I want to get to know you more," he said, and finally decided to take the first bite of his salad. "We're neighbours, after all. We should know at least something more about each other than just names..."

He looked down at his plate and continued eating, stabbing the food just a little viciously in his frustration. He wanted to eat, he didn't care if it disgusted Francis or not. On fact, if it did, it might make him go away. He wasn't going to tell him to go away, but if he chose to do so, well, that was fine by Arthur. "Why on earth would you want to get to know me?" He asked after swallowing. It seemed utterly baffling that after he had been so rude and grumpy, Francis would want to delve deeper in to his psyche. "Well... I suppose so." He'd never been that friendly with his neighbours. There were few that he actually knew by name, and then there were even fewer that he actually talked to. "Do you know of your other neighbours by name?"