Birds of a feather // Saltburn fanfic

Dinner

Appetizer / Hors d'oeuvre

It's the first weekend after the opening. The gallery is not open on the weekends so it's easiest to do the switch then. Francis isn't there of course they have people to do all of these dirty jobs. Francis is too experienced and successful to be sneaking around like the criminal they are. All they do now is build relationships and then turn them into money. It's quite easy and there's no one that does it better than them.

The phone rings, it's on of their contacts selling and replacing the art.

'Francis are you fucking kidding me?'

'What are you on about?'

'Is this a fucking joke? If it is it's not fucking funny mate.'

'They're fake. They're all fucking fake Francis. What am I supposed to do with these, huh?'

'What do you mean they're fake?'

'What do I mean? That they're not real mate. Fake. '

'But. I don't understand. How?'

'Oh how ironic. The scammer gets scammed. It's quite pathetic Francis. I almost feel sorry for you. Anyways I'm not paying for any if this I hope you know that.'

Entrée / soup

Even thought it took a couple of hours to get to Saltburn Francis's anger did not settle with the time. It only multiplied. They spent the whole way there thinking of all the insults they were going to confront that little fucker with when faced with him. Not even a thought crossed their delusional mind about the fact that they were the one originally fucking over Oliver.

It was just past midnight when Francis arrived. Not the sight they expected. There were several fancy cars and limousines parked by the gates and as they approached the building the sound of music kept amplifying from within the building.

Of course he's throwing a fucking party. No one greeted them by the gate this time. No butler, no footmen. As they went deeper into the maze that is Saltburn they saw more and more people. Loud music, colourful lights, fog machines, smell of alcohol, smoke, expensive parfumes and puke, some people wearing three piece suits and ballgowns while others are topless or naked. Francis have been to a handful of these kind of rich people parties they even enjoyed it from time to time but now only one thing was on their mind and that was fury.

Francis never thought they would ever be happy to see the frigid and bitter butler of Saltburn, but after frantically searching for Oliver in the halls and libraries and endless rooms of the estate with no success they knew Duncan was one of the only people who could help them out.

'Where is he Duncan?'

Francis practically screamed across the room where they found the butler in one of the corners assisting a footman with cleaning up broken glass. Duncan turned around and gazed up at Francis after hearing his name.

'Ah, Mx Brown. He has been expecting you. I believe he is downstairs.'

'And where the fuck is downstairs?!'

'Across the hall to the left.'

Duncan signaled with his hand to one of the exists of the room they were standing in. Francis turned on their heel and left in the direction they were given without saying thanks or even goodbye. All manners have left them and they were just set on finally confronting Oliver. Like a hound dog who caught smell of their prey.

First course / fish

It was a rather narrow staircase probably a later addition to the house. While descending Francis had to bypass a few of the partiers who were sitting on the steps chatting or tangled up in the corners making out.