Because Fairies Hang Out in California
It was a list, in the scratchy, spider-scrawl that was Arthur’s writing when he didn’t care about what it looked like, or who was going to see. This was not an essay for his Literature class, which deserved only his best copperplate writing; this was a list composed entirely for the French frog. The idiot was honestly the last person he had hoped would help him, but with his (few and far between) friends all had schedules, he realised that, truthfully, Francis Bonnefoy was probably the only person who would willingly accompany him and stay with him for the duration of the search.
Even if it was only to mock him.
Because, when you’re going on an epic search through the local park for fairies and any other creatures of the magical variety, it’s best to have company of some sort.
He ran a quick mind-check of the things he’d need and packed. Torch, food, map, shiny things for distraction, compass, more food, a small first aid kit.
Really, all he needed now was Francis.
[OOC: A long overdue post. orz.]