glad mishap------------------------

[Killian Everard Waldorf]

Rousing by dawn, protocol began with the usual routine within the dormitory. The spacious bathroom never felt as ample as it did during mornings, when his, so called roommates, exited the room and left until no further notice. Killian basked in the solitude as in nothing else, and the constant irenic silence that reigned the habitation from wall to wall. This would last for as long as he wished, since he wouldn’t have any classes until past noon. One of the perks of being at the last year of his Psychology major was that he needn’t attending classes from dawn to dusk, but quite of a scattered agenda with some lessons here and there and plenty voids in between. Waldorf couldn’t be ever more exultant than he was then, strutting outside the dormitories and heading towards the cafeteria due a throe at the pitch of his stomach with a satchel slung over his shoulder and flapping about almost every stride he exerted.



The bloke was up since 9 am this particular morning, unhinged by any peculiar toil at hand and enjoying the distance that people seemed to grant him in his festinated gait. Gallivanting as he did, there was nothing better but to let himself sink in halcyon for the very first time in so long, since he had had a proper night of sleep and slumber was not possessing him as in the prior years – things were fitting well for him.



Without hesitation and almost in no time, the fellow queued for an appetitive that could soothe his hunger down. Perusing on what would be the best choice for a nourishing meal that both satiated his appetite, yet left room for the always reserved dessert – something that would please his sweet tooth, he stood there still, right behind a couple of people lined up before the counter. A couple of minutes in stall and he felt the need to have something in his hands, rather than the always compulsive addiction of staring blankly at his mobile (he had a thing for social networks). He rummaged through his satchel and collected a thick book in his hand. Killian turned it over and cracked it open at the marked page, just letting his eyes roved through its lettered contents. Nonetheless, when he did this reflexive action, his elbow nudged someone’s nape in a ridiculously hefty manner, causing the man at the front to start rubbing his head from the blow and even bent down a little.



“What a clots” he apologised and out jutted his hand a little, almost as a reflex that made him place his palm at his head and the other one at his back, out of mere impulse, “I’m terribly sorry. Please, excuse my clumsiness. Are you ok?” his gaze fixed on his, and for some reason, he couldn’t help but to smirk.

tag: François Laffont

[François Laffont]

College was nothing like high school. While the schedule was the same every day, only the classes changing, college offered lessons at all times of the day, sometimes up until late in the evening. The time each lesson last was also quite different, some as long as those in high school, and others taking much more time. What was left then, they expected the students to know how to divide it between studying, training, socializing, working.... in other word, everything else they needed to do in their day.

It was the reason why Franck was at school this morning. He had no class just yet but it happened to be the only hole in his schedule he could use to study. Had he been studying alone, he would have done so at home, comfortably seated in front of his laptop in his room. With his father gone for work, he could even have sat by the television, or in the kitchen, eating at the same time. But Franck was not the kind of person who watched a lot of television and it just so happened that this study session, he didn’t do it alone. His partner living at the school, he thought more natural for him to come early rather than have them take the bus to town.

The study was over now but Franck still had some work to finish. More importantly though, he needed to eat. Franck may be a morning person but his stomach wasn’t always. He only took something light and quick before driving to school and not his stomach was demanding some actual food to fill itself with. There was only one place for him to go then, and it was the cafeteria.

As always, the cafeteria was a noisy cocoon for him. There weren’t as many students as there would during the lunch breaks, some must already be in class or on their way, but there always seemed to be someone in there. Franck only needed one person for their feelings to come at him. Being in there always felt like being in a room with not enough air. It weighed on him but after nearly ten years at the Academy, Franck learned to take it. Luckily, there was always too many people in here for him to pick anything specific and he always made sure he would not focus on anyone while being in line. Still, he had wished no one would have come after him, as he felt clamped between them. Refusing to focus on that, he placed his attention on the food instead.

Some of his notes having fallen down from the book he had with him, Franck went to kneel down and pick it over when he got hit. He was not quite sure what hit him, only that it hurt enough for him to lose his balance. He recovered it as he dropped his hand holding the book to the ground. The other hand however could not care less about the note right now. It was much too busy holding his head. He looked up as he heard a voice apologizing and Franck blinked a moment at the young man. Was he sorry? There definitely was some of that although there was something else too. “It’s quite alright,” Franck assured, taking a moment before he would stand up again, making sure to pick the sheet so that he would not have to go down again and receive yet another blow. He was rubbing his neck. “What did you hit me with?” Franck asked, his French accent showing through.

[Killian Everard Waldorf]

It was almost a natural and immediate reaction to throw a bewildering glance at him whenever someone set eyes on him for the very first time, and to prick their ears to wathever his Scottish brogue emitted through his lips; Killian was not an individual to apologise and whom to deem well at first, yet manners preceeded him and his haughty temper. 'A man without courtesy is not such thing his father's speech buzzing ever so insistently at his mind. Apologising for something he had done was part of an impulse - instinct, almost. The bloke kept his hand over the fellow's nape, almost as if rubbing it lightly to make it heal, or feel better, at least; that until he realised how eerie should feel having a stranger's hand upon your body. The Scottish retreated and cleared his throat with a raspy sound, bashful on the eventualities at nonce.



It took him a little while to regard at the interspersed papers on the floor, leaning downwards to help him pick up the litter he had provoked upon him. Nonetheless, he could listen and identify the french accent that accompanied his very reply. Waldorf had learnt French during his early years of living, along with German and some titbits of Italian. "Pardon moi. Je suis vraiment désolé" he mentioned in a quite faultless French sentence. His hand groped for some of the cluttered sheets and aided at collecting them into his grip. Once they were all sorted, he shook them a little and attempted to accommodate them before handing them out to him.



He couldn't help but to chuckle at his comment on the instrument utilised for the blow. "It was nothing but the edge of my elbow, I'm afraid. I wanted to extract this, but I might have focused too much strength into the task" he held the book of Ken Follet's World Without End volume just lower than his sight for the french speaking sod to see. "Bit of light reading before breaking a fast" he smirked, barely clasping the stout book of 800-1000 pages long. Whenever he could, he leafed through it every once in a while to inspect its contents and adhere them to his knowledge.



"That's quite a handful of work, and I could see something about the psyche. I think we've shared a few lessons or so. Your visage is quite familiar, and I never forget any" he extended his hand out for him, not only to return the papers, but to introduce himself, "Killian Waldorf" he said, briefly and didn't wait for him to answer, "let me compensate you. This meal is on my behalf"

tag: François Laffont

[François Laffont]

Franck was used to being the one with a weird accent around here. Nearly ten years and he only managed to tone it down a little. It must have to do with the fact that Franck didn’t really want to lose his French. He was French, it was a part of him at the same level as he was a mutant, gay or male. He was not ashamed of his origins, in fact, he was quite proud of them and refused to change it other than to help people better understand him. He knew what his English sounded like when he arrived. It was necessary to get better at it. And he had, although you could clearly hear a little something. He had no idea if that made it obvious that he was French. He had an accent, nothing more.

The other guy also had one, but Franck was not going to dwell on that. He felt hypocrite enough for hating people trying to say French words when he butchered English, he was not going to point out accent. Franck could understand him without struggling too much to comprehend the words coming out of his lips, that was all he asked for. Besides, he was much too surprised at sensing Killian’s hand on him, rubbing where he had accidentally hit him, to really care how or even what he was saying. His dark blue eyes stared right at him, unable to hide how unexpected this was for him. The hand was removed quickly, quick enough to have Franck wonder for a second if he dreamed it, but it still happened. The embarrassment soon followed and Franck knew it was nothing that he felt, more something he picked up from the other man.

This was not the only thing that was there to surprise him. His eyes widened when he heard him speak in French, and rather flawlessly at that too. It took an moment before Franck realised he had been staring at him the whole time. He blinked, recovering his composure. “Your French is excellent,” he pointed out as he took the sheets of paper he was handing over to him.

He explained how this all happened. His elbow. Franck supposed it made sense. As he was kneeling down, his head must have been close to the elbow. His eyes looked down at the book but quickly returned to the young man’s face at his words. “Light reading?” He looked back at the book. “You mean because of the subject, right?” Then again... World Without End did not sound like the kind of title he’d use for what he would consider ‘light’ reading. Titles could be deceiving though and Franck did not recall ever reading that one.

At first, Franck wondered what the guy was talking about until he realised he jumped to what his notes were about. “Oh, yes, I uh, I’m a psychology student,” he shared. He didn’t have quite the time to say anything more regarding classes they might have had together because he extended his hand and introduced himself. Although physical contact was not always safe with Franck, he doubted he’d get anything he shouldn’t sense with a handshake and so he took Killian’s hand. “François, well Franck. That’s how everyone calls me here.” The suggestion of paying his meal was then given. “Oh no, really. It’s alright, you don’t have to do anything like that,” Franck objected, stuttering the words a little as he was taken by surprise. Speaking of meal, he realised they kept the line from moving on and Franck quickly walked the distance that separated them from the person before him. He looked back at Killian and had a little smile. “I mean, it’s nice of you, but you really don’t have to do that.”

[Killian Everard Waldorf]

Killian was accustomed to the usual gawking some people intended upon him, and quite almost out of mere expectation; however uncanny and bizarre it should result to some other, he had learnt to hold back the necessity of snickering and just gaze down at whoever was riveting their eyes on him. Quite out of routine practise, he had developed a stoic behaviour before such affairs, and wasn’t affected by this when he noted that the fellow had done it with him. Nonetheless, he felt a little confounded when he diverted it towards his knack for languages. “My father would behead my linguists if they hadn’t taught me properly” he laughed lightly at his observation on his domain of French, “Phoney modesty, I assume, but I still believe I can improve. Nevertheless, thank you, very much” he was tempted to wink at him, though he never resorted to such vulgar methods of causing an impression. Somehow, he had a hunch he had already done it. To say his ability on linguistics hadn’t been proven, ever, was an understatement, since he hadn’t spoken outside of the private room where his French teacher imparted her lessons - not as though as solitary confinement, but quite on the brink of it.

‘because of the subject?’ the bloke mused within his mind by the moment he referred to the light reading he had explicitly presented to him, and the minor cause of the blunder committed. He squinted just a smidge and let his brows furrowed a little in a blatant expression of uncertainty. “I trust you haven’t been in at any sort of my classes, then. We were demanded to devour books on a daily basis, quite this length” he upped the object in his hands (the book) and roved his eyes in its direction, pointing at it in a whimsical gesture of ‘this is nothing’ mood, “It’s a doddle, really” he smiled at him, and for some reason, it caused a warm feeling at the pitch of his stomach (someone had actually made him enjoy himself, for once), “Call me a daft, but it appeases my mind” he licked his bottom lip and nibbled on it for a whit as he retrieved his attention upon him, “You can have it once I’m done, if you want to” he shrugged slightly, with the offer handed out – he ditched books like paper towels at the loo.

The ever so unwonted notion of hollow bowels seemed constant in him, out of the ordinary, and it didn’t wane but waxed when his grip held onto his, with a little shake – formalities. His ears pricked to every word and how he accented to the pronunciation of his name. ‘François’ he mulled over it for longer than due, as to almost neglect the rest of what he was saying. He was rendered quite steeled to his amiable rejection to the invitation, though they whisked a few steps forth when they realised on the void they were creating on the line. Killian followed insouciant, placing a hand below his chin in a thoughtful gesture. “Fleeting glances. I happen to study Psychology, as well. We must have crossed paths every now and then” he uttered in a mellifluous raspy voice, “amidst my last year, actually” he grinned. “François, It’s a genuine pleasure to meet you” Killian smiled to himself, amply and then laughed, “’Having-to’ implies an obligation, yet I’m not being forced to it. It’s something I believe would grant atonement to my soul” he lifted the lid of his satchel and stowed the book back into its depths – he would be needless of the lecture, seemingly.

The queue advanced more rapid than expected, and thusly they were about the counter about to order, just one person from it. In order to win the brawl, the bloke would make it interesting. “In the sake of the liberty that binds us to our inevitable destiny, I will have a bash at fortuities” a smirk grew wider across his features as he drew a dime out of his trousers, “I call tails” he explained, “should it be tails, not only will you have a free meal in my behest but you will have to join me on mine” he toyed with the metallic circle in his fingers, “otherwise, we can make as though nothing happened and go our separate ways. Still, I’ll be paying for your meal” a clouded hint of remorse struck his countenance, and became evident to whoever glommed at it, “However…” there was a small trickery to it, “you’ll be the one flipping it” he clasped the chap’s hand with his, made it turn around and posited the coin at his palm. “Odds will be in your favour, as I will not peak on the outcome” cards were all set on the table, and he was the one with the final word, “So be it” again, he shrugged, with a cheeky smile lighting up his face.

tag: François Laffont

[François Laffont]

Franck was usually a little more discreet when staring at someone. Without pretending he was not at all, he still believed he did it in such a way that would not appear intimidating. Not that Killian looked all that much intimidated. In fact, he seemed to take it as it was only natural Franck would be looking at him like this. Although the reason why Franck was had a lot more to do with the conversation, and actions both of them made, than the way he looked. For now, at least. “You had linguists? Plural. You learned many other languages?” Maybe it was false modesty, maybe Killian was just trying to make an impression on Franck by speaking in his language, that did not change the fact Franck meant what he said. He shook his head at Killian. “That is still a lot better than anything I’ve heard around here. Well, maybe except for the French teacher...” he admitted, adding the part about the teacher as Killian seemed to choose a modest path regarding this and he didn’t want to sound like he was praising him too much in that case. “There are not that many chances to perfect it here, though.” Franck had the chance to have his father, and a nice selection of French movies and music, but not everyone had that luck. French was definitely not something that mattered to learn around here. Franck could understand this, but it was still something that mattered to him personally.

Franck sensed some amusement coming from Killian as he inquired about the book. It was not his fault if he did not read this one in particular. He could read, that was beside the point, and certainly read books in the past that had this many pages, but he doubted he ever referred to them as ‘light reading’. He said this was something they had him do in his classes. “I remember reading a lot of books for different classes, some close to that length, but I haven’t read this one,” Franck admitted, giving Killian a brief smile. He remembered reading The Perfume, but it was hardly this voluminous. Other books too, mainly for English classes. One particular homework on Poe’s The Raven came to his mind but he shook the thought away quickly.

If Killian was an avid reader, there was nothing wrong with that. When the young man sounded like he was apologizing for it, Franck quickly turned his head towards him. “I wouldn’t call you that. We all have our ways to relax and enjoy a moment alone,” Franck replied. He was slightly surprised about the suggestion of handing it to him after. “Is it good? You took it from the library?” Franck might have no problem lending books, however he may not be tossing them to someone else every time he wanted to get rid of them.

Franck was not expecting anyone to psychoanalyze him while he was waiting in line for food. It might explain why he flinched at Killian’s words. He turned his head to look at the man. He even called him François. Everyone always called him Franck. True, he proved able to speak French without a problem, and his name was hardly the hardest to pronounce, but that was a surprise for him. “You have no reason to feel the need to atone for anything. It already doesn’t hurt anymore,” Franck assured him. It was not quite true, but he knew the pain would not last and it was all that mattered. Killian was persistent however and even called it on a dime to decide whether or not Franck should also join him. Franck smiled. “You don’t need a dime for this,” he said as he looked at the coin in his hand. He handed it over to Killian. “I’ll be happy to eat with you.” Franck mostly didn’t want to feel like he was pushing Killian too firmly away when all he wanted to say was that he didn’t need to do anything more to apologize. He started to have a feeling it was an excuse to have someone joining him for lunch and Franck was more than happy to provide the company.

[Killian Everard Waldorf]

Within the normalcy of his circumstances, Killian would boast on the extensive lexicon he had raked throughout years of personal tutoring – as something as blatant as his feigned modesty - as to poignantly stress that his speaking could be honed with a little practise. “ Yes, indeed. French was part of the sort of compulsory languages I was imparted during my childhood ” he construed shortly, “ French with Marjorie, Italian with Giovanni, German with Wilhelm and Spanish with Clancio ” he numbered with the aid of his hand to count with his fingers, utilising the thumb as the first number - in a traditional manner in which Germans do, unlike commonly practised elsewhere.

“Better is good, then” he smirked a little and pouted lightly at his remark on not having many chances to perfect it, in here. The bloke didn’t exactly concur on his assertion but could even quarrel on the fact; Killian wiggled his head sideways almost inconspicuously, in bland denial “ Never let the limitations of the site you dwell in become yours ” he waited for a moment before he let a chuckle escaped him, smoothly, “ As long as conviction exists, there is nothing to restrain you, but the boundaries you set to yourself ” his father had instilled some logic sense of constant enhancement upon him and his life, to flout the rules of the game and make his own.

Having a peek at his corporal language, Killian could see contritely at it, perhaps having exceeded expectations on the product of his blathering (sometimes he did incur into gibberish), attempting not to make it noticeable to him that he felt abashed at his blunt statement. Never occurred to him that his assorted lists of lectures could diminish someone’s milestones. “ I didn’t mean to sound brusque as to imply you didn’t read at all. I just have a tendency to opt for swotting rather than bustling about during lessons, and I find anything in compare as a cinch ” the bloke confessed regarding at the way in which his words could have been misinterpreted by him. Nevertheless, the morose instance was left aside as the conversation roved in the direction of the book he was reading then, “ Oh! It’s brilliant! I wage you’ll love it. Although it’s the second part of a series of books from the Pillars of the Earth. I should hand you that one first, actually ” he mulled over it for a succinct moment, “ I believe I still own a copy of it that should be at my dorm ” he laughed shortly, “ If none of the twits I live with nicked it, already. But it’s your if you fancy it ” he shook his head, “ No. Whatever is not academically mired is something I attained by my own means and which represents no bother at gifting it to you ” he had little of starch at the elaborated clarification, “ Nothing that I had looted from the Library ”

Paying meticulous attention to every word blurted out of his lips – ones which he couldn’t exactly ignore – Killian grinned back when he did, and received the dime in a quite mirthful manner, in which he doubted someone could possibly evoke on him – It felt strangely cosy; yet slightly sultry. “ Fair enough. Breakfast is on me, still ” the Scottish sod watched carefully as the person ahead receded from the counter and left the turn open for them.

Killian waited until François advanced the chasm at the queue along him and skimmed the menu with his eyes before making up his mind for a decent appetitive. “ Do you know what you’re ordering, François? ” it was merely out of an impulse that he kept uttering his name, and that he felt that comfortable at pronouncing, almost revelling at it. “ Good morning, love ” he saluted at the tender on the counter who happened to be a gal, “ I’ll have the English Breakfast, if I may and… ” Killian worded at her before groping at his hind trousers pocket to grasp his wallet and cracked it open to draw his credit card out and gave it to her to foot the bill, still hoping for his new mate not to cavil “ and add whatever he’s ordering, as well ” he smiled at François and felt the card being taken from his grip.

tag: François Laffont

[François Laffont]

Franck only learned two languages in his life. One was French, the other English. One he spoke with an accent the other he didn't speak nearly enough. It was a good thing that internet existed. He could easily gain access to a lot of material in French or order it from back home. Although, Franck was not so sure he should be calling France his home anymore. In the past nine years, he went back only once, for about two weeks, and the result of this visit was not to incite him to return there someday. He was most likely to spend the rest of his life here, in America. He didn’t think it was that bad of a prospect.

Franck offered the proper level of amazement when Killian shared with him all the languages he learned throughout his life, even naming the teachers who helped him out at this. He could be lying, but Franck was not the type of person to believe people constantly were. He was more the kind that believed whatever they said. The fact Killian looked so proud about this only had him believe it was true.

Franck was not used to the kind of English Killian spoke. While he understood what he meant, basically telling him that if he wanted to speak French he would get opportunities to do so, it took his brain a moment to make sure he understood it right. “Oh yes, no, I mean... Of course, you can find ways. It’s just... I meant, it’s hard to find other people who speak French around here. Well enough, that is.” Franck looked down, slightly embarrassed at the way this came out. The guy was so well spoken and he offered him this. After almost a decade learning English, speaking it most of his days, Franck felt like he should be better. He may not be bad but Killian sure made him feel differently. “But I do own some French books and movies.” He didn’t feel the point in adding his father could converse with him in that language too.

More word that Franck was not too certain about. Again, he was pretty certain he got the general idea behind them, but it took him a moment, perhaps a little longer than earlier. “I do wish I could read more myself. I often end up feeling like there aren’t enough hours in the day,” he admitted, trying to shrug off the whole matter, mostly because he didn’t want to admit he got about half of what the man said. Explaining it was a second tome was already a lot easier and it could show on Franck’s face that he was growing more comfortable not that he got all that was being said. He might have frowned for a split second at the way he talked of his roommates but any comment about the ‘twits’ Franck may have, he kept to himself. He also got that this did not belong to the school’s library, yet he was still offering. “Are you sure? You bought it,” he said, surprised that he could part so easily with something he acquire on his own.

There was also the matter of the breakfast. Killian was asking him what he’d take, if he even knew. Franck wasn’t so sure, he was looking around. “Toasts, fruits, nothing too much. Maybe eggs too,” he answered as he looked at what was offered. He said nothing as he listened to Killian smooth talking the lady at the counter. If Franck felt like this guy had charm, he now had the confirmation he also knew how to use it. And it convinced Franck that he was heterosexual. Not that he had hoped for anything else. He chased this off his mind and looked at them again only when he was brought in the conversation. He ordered his toasts, eggs and fruits, all with some juice to down it all but he couldn’t help his voice to have less assurance than usual and even stare at Killian, as if wondering if he may not be taking more than he was ready to pay.

[Killian Everard Waldorf]

It was a quirk of his to forgo the environment that girded him and to succumb to the inertia of his own speculations and assumptions; however wrong they were and erred at the time. He was as obtuse as few cohorts were, as to impede his own vision upon that which stood forth. Killian would not regard the fact his expression methods weren't exactly orthodox and that for someone whose provenance wasn't linked to an English one would find a hardship at understanding him. It never crossed his mind, and perhaps it wouldn't either, yet, at some point he couldn't prove himself such dim-witted and he might be able to read through the innuendos. It wasn't like, after all, he could be that blind to an obvious issue. Killian smiled at his comment on the meagre on conversants to speak with, " I can't be of much use, but if you'd like, we could speak to each other in French for practise, whenever you are up to it " he offered, " ...and I enjoy films very much, as well. If you ever felt in need of company at learning " the bloke downed his eyes to the floor and then at him, almost as a sheepish involuntary movement. He felt embarrassed at it, yet he felt exhilarated.



The bloke he had just bumped into represented an intriguing part of the world he couldn't fathom in a whole, as to just throw little of assumptions at it instead of a thorough grapple around the gist of how people mingled so well with each other and how communication bridges could be erected between civilizations, as to connect a country and its culture with another - he could be speaking of himself, as well, and his Scottish essence. He didn't last on it for long enough before he said he was in necessity of more readings. Killian scoffed at those attempting to read as much as he did, though he valued endeavours beyond almost any other merit. " and perhaps I should read less, admittedly " he flushed inconspicuously, maybe to himself. " Yeah. It's matter, and insubstantial. Material is material, and I firmly believe on bestowing those things you are no longer in use of, rather than just ditching them " he granted with as much cordiality as he could muster. Killian was not someone who actually gave away his belongings, yet, he felt like it would be good to do it for a change.



Killian was endowed with a certain knack for reading people, and François couldn't be the exception to it. He noted carefully at his insuciant mien and the ulterior thoughts that somehow he began to leaf through, as if it was a book. Scraping through the fragments, he could glimpse a deem on him being 'heterosexual' as if he was cooing aloud for him to read it. He laughed lightly. It was unbeknownst to almost everyone about his deviant orientation that neither inclined towards men nor towards women, but quite oscillated from one to another, swinging in a fickle trajectory. ' no. I'm not ' he mused as he smirked whilst receiving the credit card once everything had been paid. " nice appetite " he mentioned, intentionally landing his hand on the counter, except, instead of doing it at the wooden surface, he happened to place his hand upon François' nonchalantly, and not even regarding on his reaction to it. He waited a couple of minutes there until both trolleys with food were handed out at them. He caressed the hand softly with a light tapping before lifting both limbs to fetch the food (that smooth manoeuvre should suffice to let him know he was interested on him). " If we need anything else, we can come back " he indicated to the french bloke and winked at him. Wallowing in wealth, Killian had no problem at being generous.



The Scottish strolled across the hall until he spotted a free seat, right at the boundaries where a wall of glass separated the cafeteria from the outdoors and where some students sauntered around, feeling his breakfast companion quite close, following his every stride. " Here " the chap stowed the food at the table before pulling the seat backwards and settling down, expecting François to do the same at the seat next to him. He didn't dare to scan through his mind, but he could think that his mind was bombarded with consequential interrogations and that at any moment he would set the affair on the table (the caressing of the hand) - or so he inferred. " Bon appétit " clutching a fork, the bloke disposed to munch on his meal, chopping a morsel of sausage and taking it to his mouth. He masticated slowly and delicately, before swallowing. " How long have you been studying, François? " he queried just before having another chunk of food aimed towards his lips.

tag: François Laffont

[François Laffont]

Franck never had much people to speak French with around here. One who did it often was gone by now, something that had to be expected when you met in a school and you were always one year under everyone else your age. It was not Franck’s fault, it had nothing to do with him not being smart enough to be with them. Simply, his knowledge in English when he arrived clearly did not match that of the other students, who had always spoken that language whereas he had just recently started to learn it. As for French, while they offered classes for the student to learn it, this was not one of those lessons everyone just run to get. It was probably the other way around. So the offer Killian suggested was met with a brief smile. “It could be interesting. I’ll keep it in mind.” Franck laughed at the mention of the movies and the company he may find in the other young man if he so asked. “Have you ever watched a French movie? I’ve seen some with other friends, they all seem to find them weird. Or maybe it’s just my taste that is,” he answered. The fact this could be Killian’s way of flirting with him seemed to go totally unnoticed by Franck. The look he gave though should have warned Franck to at least get some facts straight right now, only Franck had this tendency of assuming every guy he met were straight and saw in him nothing but a friendly figure. To assume there could be more, Franck would have needed to feel some strong attraction if not lust from the guy. Everything else fell into the ‘being friendly’ category.

Franck chose to smile and even chuckle at Killian’s assumption that he should read less. If that was how he enjoyed spending his time, Franck saw nothing wrong in it. As for himself, he was too much of a people person, he needed the company of others too much to enjoy such a solitary activity like the other guy seemed to. It took a moment for Franck to understand what he said next. The nod he had was hesitant while his brain worked at high speed to translate this for him into a sentence he would better understand. “Right. Best give it to someone who could have a use to it than see it lost,” he said, pretty sure it was what the other man meant to say and agreeing with that.

Franck may have ended up questioning his first idea of Killian when he felt the man’s hand touching his. He startled at this, more because he did not expect such a gesture than a dislike for it. Killian was not looking at him, he noticed for he turned his head in the guy’s direction, but he also didn’t simply remove his hand when feeling he touched someone else’s. Franck was unsure what he was supposed to think of this. Because of the other people around, and the fact Franck never truly focused his power on Killian, he did not sense much from him, or at least couldn’t tell whether this came from him or someone else. The physical contact offered a connection but Franck did not take that road. What he sensed was nothing that he should be concerned about, nothing he shouldn’t have known. Until he found what Killian truly wanted him to get.

Franck sensed it before he even caressed his hand. The gesture only left him a little flustered and even more confused. It took him a short moment to fully understand what Killian had said. “Oh, I’m sure it is more than enough,” he assured, his voice lower than he meant it to be. It took him even longer to realise he had to leave the line and nearly ran into Killian as he followed him. The guy found a table for them and Franck joined him, sitting next to him. As he expected, Franck had a lot of questions in mind but was too sensible to dare speak any of them.

He was brought back to reality by Killian’s question. “Hm?” But he heard right and it helped him come back to his meal. “I’ve been sent to Bellefonte when I was thirteen so... nine years? A little more, perhaps. If you ask about college, I still have one more year to go after this one,” he answered as he opened his bottle of juice. He gave Killian a sheepish smile. “My knowledge of English was not to the other students’ level so I had to spend a year or so to reach theirs.”

[Killian Everard Waldorf]

So little of things could bedazzle and inveigle the mind of Waldorf as to retain the concentration for longer than due. Whenever something was worth of awing and contemplation, Killian could let his time unravel in accord to whatever time-lapse was prescribed for such activity. Cinephile as he was, it was the seventh art the one capable of still riveting his focus, along with a tranquil and agreeable banter in any other language where English was not implicated. " Weird sounds about right " Killian quipped, letting a visible smirk upon his countenance, " Normal is common and dull. Weird is fascinating, with the proper weirdness ounce " he chuckled lightly and darted his gaze towards his, as he aimed for a fixated visual contact - some people said his piercing eyes could undress the soul of whoever they were set at, and he believed it to be true, at certain circumstances. " I have also been accused of having abnormal penchants, quite often, really " he shrugged a little and rolled his eyes, " I call it: uniqueness, instead "



It wasn't Killian's fashion to just hand out books out of the blue. Rumour has it, whenever he could, he would build up a single room for all of the books he owned and he had read throughout his livelihood - although such room might actually be a hall, and it would allegedly be two to three stories tall. " As long as you keep your word of making a good use of it, it wouldn't hurt that much the detachment " the bloke was not one to whinge on everything and to wince with every thing he was relinquished of - even as to be readings. Once it would pertain to the french bloke, he could do with it whatever he pleased, as to even tip to an opprobious behaviour if he wished so, as it would stop being his by the moment he accepted it. From a subjective angle, anything could be impish or benevolent with a wry or righteous path of action.



The Scottish went for another mouthful with eggs and some beans to it, opening wide as he let it in, listening to François as he explained about his scholar history. The bloke arched a brow at it and held a napkin to wipe his lips a little before speaking again, " That's different. I hadn't known of someone with such strife " he jested and smiled, scrutinising through his expressions, and fidgeting - there was something he wasn't saying and he was mulling over for quite a while, ever since the grazing of the hands. " So dauntless of you to venture on such journey. Praiseworthy, even " he clasped his mug and took a short swill from his English Breakfast tea, sweetened with a sugar cube. " All that commitment and conviction upon enhancing ourseleves. I couldn't think of anything else I had employed around a decade on doing if it's not related to studying or so " he smirked, once more, except this time it withheld some allure notion. " Should we find such devotion for different factors, rather than swotting " he waited a speck of time before noticing that his words could result a little baffling, " swotting as to study assiduously, and without a rest " he grinned at the french sod.



" Why here? " from all niches of the world, François had chosen this particular nook for settling down, and he was intrigued by it. Killian wasn't there by choice, yet at some point he was - it was the only thing he had known of, outside of the commodities of a household. Perhaps, the query was to find out why he would stay in there with all the complications he was somehow listing, inconspicuously. " Feel the liberty to ask whatever is crossing your mind, François. I'm actually inciting you to do so " he nibbled on his lower lip and laughed lightly. He relished in such affairs.

tag: François Laffont


OCC: I'm terribly sorry for the delay on the reply. Life has been pretty hectic as of late, and I could barely muster some time to reply. I hope it's not shabby.

[François Laffont]

When Killian confirmed that French movies were weird, Franck assumed the guy was also not a fan. Admittedly, they made quite a few that were just like any other movie you can see around here. But Franck didn't show his friends that many French productions. Like that movie where the girl got sick because a water lily was growing in her lung. It was based on a book and Franck did think it was a truly beautiful movie but he realised now that he maybe should have gone for something more conventional.

However, Killian didn’t say it to degrade the French contribution to the seventh art. It was to look down on more ‘normal’ movies and celebrate weirdness. He did not expect that and showed some surprised at this. “I have to admit that it was not really an ordinary. Perhaps you know of it. L’Écume des Jours. It was inspired by a book by Boris Vian. I’m sorry, I don’t remember the name they gave it in English,” he said with a somewhat sheepish expression as he tried to remember it. He was pretty certain that it was written somewhere on the DVD cover, only Franck had not seen it in a while so he could not recall.

Franck was usually not afraid to look at people in the eyes but something about the other man’s gaze forced him to look away in a shy manner. He looked up again at his words and to add “Uniqueness, I like that,” but he quickly looked away again after that.

Killian then asked him to take good care of the book he meant to give him. “Of course,” he assured although any other word he could have found to add to that caught up in his throat. He still felt like he should return it to Killian whenever he’d be done. He didn’t expect to be handed a book and didn’t even know if he’d like the story but he was ready to give it a try, since someone else gave it to him.

He was not sure how he should take Killian’s remark but Franck not being one to judge people badly, he didn't think he could be mocking him in some way. Taking that out of the equation, he was ready to answer like Killian wasn’t amused. “I spent most of my first year alone with the teachers. It’s... my power, it kind of made it hard for me to be around people. I needed to get used to it before I could handle a class full of students.” Franck nodded, saying this as though Killian really asked to know and might not have simply be teasing. After all, the whole praise sounded partially to Franck as though he was making fun of him. At the same time, Franck was ready to give him the benefit of the doubt and claim it was only because he didn’t get half of what he was saying.

He did get the question though. Why here. A question that made sense, the British school being a lot closer to France than Bellefonte after all. “My father chose me for,” he said, as though that was enough to explain. “Things at home didn’t go so well, he thought some distance would be good for me.” He didn't want to go too deep on the subject and his whole attitude must prove it to Killian. He even lost some of his appetite. He was encouraged to ask questions of his own. Franck could easily let Killian talk for hours if he wanted, of whatever he wanted. But it would be good for Franck to choose a topic first. “How come you’re here in Bellefonte? I’m sorry, I don’t mean to sound rude it’s just... you talk as though you had some private tutors all of your life. Why choose Bellefonte for college?”

[Killian Everard Waldorf]

Encaptured by the motion of his plump lips that lured every trace of attention upon them, Killian could barely fathom what the coy french was uttering. " I must confess that I haven't had the actual pleasure of watching a French film " he paused for a little and downed his eyes to the floor with a bashful notion encircling his chest " though I'd love to, since I've always felt fascinated by the French idiosyncrasy " he smiled at the jesting and let his hand behind his own nape, just rubbing the side of it, lightly (unconscious reflexes - almost like a quirk). Sometimes it wasn't it all about the film you intended to eye but the company you shared with whoever had chosen to stay and watch the film with you. " I'm a pretty open minded individual; almost liberal, indeed. Just without edging towards a hedonistic behaviour " the bloke was engrossed by philosophy and it was something quite notorious at the manner he expressed himself.



Waldorf's stare didn't wane upon his figure. It was everything about his posture and the way he seemed to have built up a wall between them, as though he didn't want something to occur. Killian was good at reading people, and he wouldn't be the exception - especially when he could glimpse into his thoughts. The Scottish listened carefully to every word emitted - paying thorough understanding at the 'powers' whit. He arched a brow with interest and let his body leant slightly forth, hunching a little, quite apprehensively. " What kind of gift have you been endowed with, François? " his divesting gaze landed upon his, almost as penetrating through his soul, " In my case, I can skim through people's thoughts. Yours are quite cryptic and muddling " he stated, without giving a toss about what consequences could befall upon him. Killian was fickle as no one could ever be, and he would always swerve from an orthodox course. Even when he could seem recursive, he loved to enlighten every shadowed matter.



" What an execrable matter. I believe we all have our own skeletons " he interjected as he commented on the issues at his dwelling. He didn't revel on snooping but he could just pry a little when it was a blatant necessity of his. " Dark deep truths we keep to ourselves, as we simper " he continued, letting out a sigh just as the inquiry began. " Rude? " he laughed lightly, " Why should we apologise for having an easily piqued curiosity? " he said, quite curtly as he swallowed heavy and slowly " I didn't choose it. It chose me " he construed, brief and concisely. " Logan did " he out jutted his arm and rolled the sleeve over until he showed a bold black cross at his forearm, quite of the size of his face. " Nothing prepares you for loss, really " his smirk turned into a deadpan stare at his own forearm, with a visible trace of a smile " that bloody little bugger "



Killian retreated slowly and slumped down his limb, rolling on the sleeves on the other arm so they would be equally arranged " I come from Scotland, and from a prestigious lineage with strictness and protocols. The languages weren't a choice, but an imposition - Although I strangely grew fonder of them with time " he spoke a little acutely, yet it was not to François but to the overall of it, laughing at the end of the phrase. " My psychiatrist strongly recommended a completely different environment that could help me forgo the thought of my deceased sibling, and when the opportunity presented before me, I couldn't say 'no' to it " for a moment, silence ensued. Killian laughed low and quite ironically, " Something he's helped me to overcome, naturally. After all, it's his profession, and he's an specialist on the subject " he downed his right hand and shovelled for a generous portion of eggs and sausage, ushering it to his mouth.



" Pardon this sullen bit, please. And ask away, that I'm an open book " he smiled and retrieved his erected stance with his back plastered to the back of the seat, taking another morsel of food to his mouth.

tag: François Laffont

[François Laffont]

Franck actually felt a little ridiculous to talk of French movies with Killian. To be more specific, it was his enthusiasm over something that he assumed meant really little to anyone else in this school that made him feel like he was exaggerating and needed to tone down. Yet, at the same time, he wasn’t talking as though he was a passionate cinema lover so the topic might also be why he was so embarrassed. Or the fact that he was debating whether or not Killian was simply humoring him. Wasn’t he teasing him when suggesting he’d like to see a French movie? He seemed rather amused but there was more to it and this left Franck quite confused and at a loss for words. Franck didn’t think he was a shy person, not even when someone flirted with him but there was something that did make him feel more bashful this time. Maybe it was the fact that he just didn’t know what this guy wanted with him exactly. He seemed to be flirting yet at the same time Franck’s mind fought against this thought. It was all very puzzling.

And what should he make of his comment about being liberal? Surely, that couldn’t sound good for Franck. “Is that your way of telling me you’d like to watch one with me?” Franck asked, preferring to ignore whatever else it may imply, at least for now. It had been too long since Franck did that. He could get someone to try his luck with him when he went out in a club, but such activity was rare for Franck. The proximity with so many people at once was rough on him and the raw energy coming out of the crowd gathered was intoxicating. He tended to leave before anything could happen. And when was the last time he’d been with someone? He’d rather not think about it. It was best to focus on the conversation and leave whatever thought he may have about this far, far away in his mind. He was most certainly mistaken. He had to remind himself of that. Franck simply sucked at finding out the gay or bisexual men. He could be thrown in a room with nine of them and only one straight guy that he’d go for the heterosexual one. He didn’t want to read too much into Killian’s actions.

Besides, they were now discussing powers and Killian asked about his. Franck looked at him, almost as if a bit ashamed. “Empathy,” he answered on a low tone. “I know, we’re all capable of it. But it’s different. I can... feel, whatever everyone else feels,” he explained. The thought then came to him that perhaps, for once, the question that would follow would not be if he could sense when someone was lustful and if that turned him on too. He never understood why, when he explained his power, the emotional state that had to be used as a reference had to be lust.

Killian also share with his. Telepathy, no doubt, with the way he described it. But Franck was surprised about what he had to say of his thoughts. “Really?” He had no idea of that but he realised it made sense since he wasn’t even sure what his thoughts were right now. He was also a little puzzled about what he said, again. This time, it had nothing to do with him not understanding the words. He did that just fine. Only he was not sure if Killian was asking him to stop sharing about his life or encouraging to do so if he wanted. Luckily, Franck could turn the attention on Killian by asking him some questions.

He had a little sheepish smile as he seemed to question why his comment could come off as rude. “I didn’t want you to think I meant I didn't want you here at Bellefonte,” he explained. “Logan?” he whispered before looking at Killian as he rolled up his sleeve and showed him a tattoo. He frowned, having the feeling he should feel sorry for Killian, as he talked of loss, but also not getting exactly how that made him come here. Killian shared his story and Franck could finally understand how the two were connected. “I’m really sorry for your brother,” he said, assuming Logan was a guy. Sometimes, he got names wrong but he was pretty sure it was a man’s name. “Is that why you chose psychology?”

[Killian Everard Waldorf]

“ Only in means of a consensual accord ” the words slipped off his lips, almost as a premeditated perusing that didn’t threaten to come out, but just oozed slippery and stealthily, as unobtrusive as the rest of his pondering, still lingering within his mind. Killian didn’t know at a certain rate if the bloke in question was straight or not, yet he was pretty heedless on the matter – it wouldn’t be the first one to come into ambivalence in sexual regards when it referred to the posh fellow – not to boast on it, but the bloke was capable of seducing a lesbian in a festive reunion, whom happened to be a cousin’s companion, at the time (pernicious side of his, shoaling).



It didn’t take long for the grimace to grow wider on the French’s façade and for Kilian to note the conspicuous confounded expression to rephrase in a quite more intelligible way “ Solely if you consent with it ” an having another pause “ I meant, if you are ok with it ” it was a matter of a habit of eloquence that needed polishing whenever he was not set on a pedestal and donned with regalia for a speech. It was oft for him to feel asinine at certain situations, as such. Killian smirked mischievously and added “ You might have the honour of selecting the film, though ” it was best he remained his mouth shut before he began prevaricating, and so he did, for at least as due.



The abrupt mention of the word made him wince inwardly, just as he could sense a shiver creeping up his spine and causing the collateral damage that could be traduced into a scowl, ‘ empathy ’ the bloke shallowed a hefty knot in his throat before fixating his very gaze upon his, almost as if enticed by it. The rest of it that came ensued didn’t seem to do a thing for his nerves but to render him defenceless, quite. It was one thing to know what dwelled inside someone’s thoughts and be able to scrap through the bits of words, but he knew it was way more overwhelming the capacity to endure someone’s angst and share it, purposelessly, having to succumb before the sentiments and ailments that whoever else was experiencing then. “ How do you cope with it? ” Killian felt enthralled by this notion, as to even feel possessed by it. “ Do you hold grapple upon it? ” he was sieged by more questions than he was of answers, and it just muddled him deeply. “ I’m sorry to be this snoopy. I just find it a bother to have words in my head, thus I couldn’t envision having to collect sentiments instead ” he placed a hand below his chin in a dubitative wont, a little perplexed, “ I admire you, François, truly ” nothing else was said from his behalf, barring the notorious glint in his eyes.



“ Indeed ” he mused aloud as in reference to how intricate his deems were, “ quite enigmatic, indeed ” he let his eying felt onto the plate below him and back to him, with a subtle hint of embarrassment that he couldn’t help to dissimulate “ …and I apologise, in advance, for peeking through them ” he smiled briefly before arching a brow playfully, “ and yes, I said ‘in-advance’ because I won’t halt at it ” he hoisted the napkin and rubbed his lips with it, taking whatever portion had been misplaced during his own feeding, “ I do not mean to pester, though I don’t hold a grapple on it, to be honest ” he concluded, attempting to elude whatever maelstrom of misunderstandings these could evoke.



“ No one asserted such assumptions, François ” he grinned at him, quite laconically, regardless of being wordlessly intended, “ There is no offense taken, unless you want it otherwise ” again, his brow arched in a quite devious intention – perhaps he wanted him to say or even deem he was not in discomfort with the idea of having him close. Past the litany and the catharsis whit of his whining, the French paid his respects and condolences about his brother’s departure, for which Killian only grunted a little, “ Don’t be. Logan is long gone. We lost him to Cancer ” he construed, quite terse (it was not a theme of his delight). “ I made this tattoo after his name, in the irony of death, and not in a Christian analogy. The cross for the inevitability, in representation of the absence of life, demarked by destiny, which is allegedly inescapable and soon or later it finds us all ” he blathered, as an old fashion of his, “ No. He is not the reason I study Psychology ” he laughed shortly, before the soppy instance.



“ My ability is the reason behind my career selection ” he smiled at the handsome flustered chap. He forked up a heap of food and took it to his mouth for chewing. After a couple of more bites and another sip of his tea, the bloke was prepared for moving along the conversation, “ I adapt rapidly, and I see myself as of a pliable character ” he spoke, “ Nonetheless, I encounter human relationships as convoluted and futile as scarce things are ” he laughed sarcastically, “ Regardless of having the capacity to probe the mind, I am not capable of discerning amongst the mare magnum that it withholds ” he was amidst a soliloquy and he then realised he was being brusque, “ In other words, I can see what people think, but I can’t assimilate it ” he puckered his lips in a displeasing gesture, “ and I foolishly believed that if I could study the mind from its interior, I could decipher it and be closer to a true revelation of the concept of humanity ” he sighed, “ fruitless path I chose. The closer I am, the farther I feel from the truth ”

tag: François Laffont