The Virtues Of Literature

Part 2

Chapter 2

Francis loves the beauty of art. But not just what he creates on the canvas, or sketchbook. He considers anything in the world that is beautiful art, and vice versa. So whenever Francis looks at Arthur's godforsaken eyebrows, he knows that they'll never find themselves in any of his artwork. Those eyebrows are hideous, and it really makes Francis consider how little people can understand each other, because he sure as hell couldn't understand why on earth his roommate had let the caterpillars on his brow grow to such a size. Arthur's eyebrows are a good source of insult material, however, so Francis doesn't mind too much.

"Hey frog, when's dinner?"

Francis hears the said man's voice drift over from the other room. He moves his eyes from the sautéing vegetables to glare at the seated figure through the doorway, Arthur's messy blonde hair poking out from above the chair.

"Dinner is ready when dinner is ready, mon cher." Francs replies with a growl to the ungrateful Brit.

Francis isn't too bothered about Arthur, however. Making food for the both of them really isn't a problem for him; he would always be wanting to cook full meals. Francis loves cooking - being able to experiment with new favours, use his favourite ingredients, and most of all, the presentation. There are so many different aspects to a dish that can be altered and made to look really good, and wiping down the plate and sprinkling some garnish just gives Francis that satisfaction of a perfect plate of food. It is proof to him that he can express himself and produce masterpieces wherever he is and in any way.

Francis never knew his mother, and his father died when he was 13 but not before teaching him how to cook and paint, as well as combining them. His papa always told him it was natural for a Frenchman to be surrounded by beautiful things, so when Francis moved to the drab country of England for university with its unenthusiastic people and grey weather, he felt like it was a slight betrayal of his father and he put it upon himself to produce his own beauty wherever he went. This made Francis more than ever want to take a pair of tweezers to Arthur's eyebrows.

The two of them settle down on their sofa in front of the telly with their meals on trays on their laps, watching the newest Doctor Who episode. Francis can't help watching Arthur with interest, the Briton is staring at the screen with intense fascination and he can't understand why Arthur is so engaged in the programme. That is until Arthur turns his head and catches Francis' watching eyes and narrows his own.

"What're you looking at?"

"Hmm? Oh, nothing."

"Suspicious bastard." Arthur grumbles, collecting dishes for clearing up.

Francis wanders over to his seat and easel placed in the bay window - he had won rights to set up his art stuff there after beating Arthur in an intense 5 hour game of Monopoly - and sits down in front of a blank canvas. Francis contemplates said canvas for a while, before beginning to place hesitant pencil strokes on the textured material, hoping for the beginnings of a masterpiece. His speciality is still-life paintings, as well as sketches. He feels it is special to be able to capture the essence of a setting and the people and items in it.

He hears the kettle being switched on in the kitchen.

~o0O0o~

Francis chooses a stylish lavender shirt to go with smart trousers and a pair of polished black shoes, and gives himself a once-over in the mirror before stepping out of the flat with his set of keys and heading over to the stairs. Arthur is still out - he has a private English Literature class at the moment - but Francis is meeting up with friends.

He boards the correct train, and rides in silence. He has always detested some of the quirks of the UK. No one talks to each other, and they just look at the ground while rushing to their destinations. But he prefers trains to buses, which are just full of old people, and he is always wary of them taking him the wrong route.