Francis bowed in return, closing his eyes for the short moment until he leaned back up again. “Thank you for hosting us. Your hospitality is much appreciated. It’s a pleasure you meet you, Monsieur. I am Francis Sol Olivier.” He introduced himself with a bright expression. Pierre seemed like he would be a very friendly host. For a moment, he wondered how many other people lived with him in this impressive house.
Pierre smiled again, eyes twinkling. "It is good to meet you, Mr Olivier." He replied. "Now, come inside, you three must be exhausted. I have placed your rooms near each other, but I assumed there is no room sharing wanted, correct?"
"Correct." Jack replied immediately, already calculating the distance to town and wondering if he could get out tonight. He didn't want to sleep with anyone tonight; he had already done that today. But he wanted to get drunk and kiss people until he lost his mind.
“Yes, thank you,” Francis echoed right after Jack. He briefly glanced over at him, and frowned slightly. Did he still think he was trying to flirt with Elizabeth and that’s why he didn’t want them to share a room? No, there was no need to jump to conclusions or be too cynical.
Francis wanted to get out today too. He needed to take a walk, or go to a shop or something. Spending hours being cooped up in carriages and ships had always made him irrationally irritable.
Pierre nodded. "Right this way." He led them inside. "I understand you'll be staying for a few days, then setting off to Paris? Well, I simply must recommend you a few places to be visiting before you go. This may not be a large city like Paris, but it has its charms and such." He said.
Jack nodded along, only half paying attention as he figured out the logistics of sneaking out of the house and out to the town.
Francis followed along with Pierre, his hands clasping behind his back. His brow raised with some interest at his words. “Oh! Yes, please. That would be very helpful. I haven’t been to many cities in France other than Paris.” As he walked, the tail of his coat lightly billowed behind him.
Pierre smiled again. "Oh good! Hmm. Well, we haven't an Opera house, sadly, so-"
"Surely you have a theater?" Jack asked, hands by his sides.
Pierre sighed, and pressed his lips into a thin line. "The theater, as I'm sure you know, is a den of Sodomy, sin, and miscreants. So no, I will not be recommending the theater.
Jack shrugged a little.
Francis blinked at that, making a face that resembled disgust, even if it wasn’t. It was a shame they didn’t have an opera house. Opera house architecture was always beautiful, especially in France. “I’m not very interested in sitting for a long show anyway,” Francis replied. “Are there any charming places to take a walk outside? It’s a lovely day.” A walk sounded wonderful, even meeting someone knew, just anything to distract him from Jack.
Pierre nodded a little bit. "Yes. There are the gardens here at my home, or you could take a walk along the seashore, if you like." he waved down a boy who had been walking past. "Oh! This is my son, Jules. Jules, these are our guests. Mr Olivier, Mr Montague, and his sister, Miss Montague."
Jules was a charming boy of about 15 or 16, with doll-like blue eyes and curling brown hair. "Oh. Hallo." he greeted with a soft French accent, waving a little. He smiled, flashing a matching pair of dimples.
Jack's eyes flicked up and down Jules appreciatively. "Lovely to meet you, Jules." he said with a smile that bordered on a smirk. "It was very kind of your father to let us stay here."
Francis’ gaze shot over to Jack, his expression tightening for a brief moment until he looked back at Jules. He bowed respectfully, “Hello, pleasure to meet you, Jules.” He murmured in echo. He rose again, his gaze returning to Jack’s expression. He was worried. What if Jack disrespected Pierre’s hospitality by trying to flirt with his son? He wouldn’t do that, would he? Although Francis couldn’t intervene anyway because of that agreement they made of the boat. He silently cursed.
Jules nodded a little. He was a slender boy, of about the same height as Jack. "It is a pleasure to meet the both of you." he replied. He gave a small bow. "Now, if you'll excuse me, I have some lessons to get to." he slipped out of the room.
Jack watched the French boy go for a moment, then returned his attention to Pierre. "You have a lovely home." he complimented.
Pierre smiled. "Thank you kindly. Now, without further interruptions, your rooms." he replied, and led them through the halls. He opened a door. "Here is your room, Miss Montague."
Elizabeth gave a small curtsy, and went into the room.
Francis sighed with relief as the boy walked away. He peered inside Elizabeth’s room curiously. “It’s a lovely room,” he commented. He assumed all of the rooms would be a similar style, at least because in his own house the rooms were all the same. But he could always be wrong; he didn’t know much about noble French houses.
Elizabeth smiled a little. "Yes, it is. Thank you." she said, looking at Pierre.
"You're quite welcome. Get some rest, I shall have one of the servants come to wake you for dinner." Pierre replied.
Elizabeth nodded, and closed the door quietly.
Pierre led them to the next door. "Mr Montague, this is your room, and Mr Olivier, yours is that one there." he gestured to the next door down the hallway. "I hope they are all to your satisfaction."
Francis nodded, “Yes, I’m certain they are. Thank you again, Monsieur.” He dipped his head appreciatively, walking over to the door Pierre had told him was his. He rested his hand on the doorknob and pushed it open. Sitting wasn’t his top priority at the moment, but the thought of a bed and privacy made him sigh happily. He’d left his own bed way too early in the morning for a carriage filled with two people he didn’t know. He didn’t realize how drained he was until now.
Pierre dipped his head. "Of course. Let me know if you need anything. Again, I will send servants to wake you up to eat." he replied. He left.
Jack went into his own room. He pulled off his waistcoat and undid the top button on his shirt for a far more casual look, letting out a breath and flopping onto the bed. He wondered if he could, perhaps, flirt with Jules and perhaps earn a kiss from the French boy. Or, perhaps, something more? He smiled to himself.
Francis closed the door behind him after Pierre left. He peeled off his coat and rested it on one of the chairs before sitting on the bed. He sighed deeply, taking a look around the person-less room. At last, here was a quite place to think with a healthy dose of solitude. He raked both hands through his hair, undoing the ribbon that held his strands together, and sinking back onto the bed with one arm outstretched, and the other over his eyes. His thoughts turned to Jack for a moment, and his golden hair, but he quickly shoved it out of his mind.
Jack closed his eyes with a soft sigh. He wasn't going to try that just yet. He needed to rest. His thoughts drifted to Francis, and he bit back a groan. God, he didn't want to have to spend the rest of his tour with the other male. But then again, maybe it wouldn't be so bad, now that they had their agreement. Maybe. Hopefully.
Francis slowly felt himself succumbing to the drowsy darkness he had made with his arm over his eyes. Somehow, his thoughts kept returning to Jack. Even if he was physically attractive, Francis found his demeanor very unappealing, even nauseating. He couldn’t imagine being intimate with anyone he had just met. But with the agreement they made on the boat, at least he wouldn’t be directly affected by Jack’s questionable decisions.
Jack knew that the way he acted wasn't appealing in the least. But…he didn't know how to act any different anymore. Not after Jasper. He couldn't let himself get so close again. He couldn't. If– no, when his father found out…the beating would be worse this time, and he didn't want that again. Didn't want to be curled on the floor, desperately trying to protect himself, while his father beat the daylights out of him while calling him all sorts of things.
Francis buried his hand in his hair, loosely holding a handful of it. His heart ached like an empty cave in the pit of his stomach. He wished his brother were still at his side to give him advice. Advice about Jack, and his conflicting feelings. His brother would understand Jack better than Francis ever could, with his alcohol and going out with people he didn’t know. He missed being able to confide in him, but he was never able to tell him about being attracted to other males.
It was hard to forget about regrets. Maybe Jack was partially right about the alcohol. It would be nice to forget once in a while.
"Pervert" "Sodomite" "Fag" so many names hissed in his ears as his father's fists made contact. Jack had hardly been able to move when his father had finished with him, and everything had hurt so much. So damn much. He didn't ever, ever want that again. Never ever.
(gtg to bed now. Good night!)
(Gnight!)
Francis closed his eyes tight against his sleeve, and he pressed a few strands of hair in between his thumb and forefinger. Seeing his brother’s frigid body on the ice above the lake had ingrained itself into his mind. It was the moment that it became real. It was a stupid, drunk decision his brother made that night, and he blamed the alcohol for it. If his brother wasn’t drunk, he wouldn’t have gone walking that night, or at least he wouldn’t have been so careless. It was the alcohol.
Jack got up and dug through his bags, pulling out his last flask. He only had the two, and only this one was full, since he had drunk the other on the carriage ride over. He wanted to forget Jasper's face, forget his father's fists and words and anger, forget the boys that had slapped him or hit him for touching them because there was something so very, very wrong with him, because he liked other boys and not just women, and there was something so very wrong with him, and he didn't know how to fix it or fight it or change it.
Francis inhaled through his nose. He was tired, but he soon learned that he wouldn’t be getting any sleep right now. He let out the breath through an audible sigh, uncurling his hand out of his hair and extending his arm to rest on the bed. He heard Jack walking around in the room beside him. Was he planning on going somewhere, perhaps? Francis needed a way to forget about his misery, preferably without alcohol, but he wasn’t sure how yet. He sat up, combing his hands through his mussed hair to clean it up a bit.
Jack leaned his head against the wall, letting out a breath that sounded more like a sob. He lifted the flask up, weighing it. God, he didn't know what to do. He couldn't show up to supper drunk; Pierre would be highly offended by that. But God, he wanted to forget. He closed his eyes, rubbing his face with a hand. "What is wrong with me?" he said softly, curling his hand into a fist. "Why am I like this?" his voice was quiet, choked and miserable.
Francis rubbed his hand down his face, the grief from his brother still in the front of his mind. He held his breath for a moment to suppress the tremble he felt would creep into his breath if he exhaled again.
But he looked up when he heard Jack’s voice through the wall. He couldn’t hear exactly what he said, but the tome didn’t sound very positive. He closed his mouth and swallowed nervously. He let go of his held breath. On one hand, Francis didn’t like Jack, and they had an agreement to stay out of each other’s business. But on the other hand, he’d never been one to just let someone go through emotional turmoil when he could help it. And he was right there. He grit his teeth. What would his brother do?