Francis listened to Chéri and nodded as he pointed to a crumb again. "Skye, s-k-y-e." He knew they were smart and would get it quickly.

When they let him know they got it, he nodded and ate some bread he'd been preparing to rip. The next question had him pause. He was sure he could be honest but was that what they really wanted to know. Finally he looked down. "Family ah... kicked me out." He didn't know how to explain it in French but tried to put a hand over his heart and then gestured holding it in his hand and it breaking in half.

He looked to see if he understood.

“Sky” more or less, Chéri understood a word in principle identical to one they already vaguely remembered. “Skye, Hebrides” they summed up ad then tried to equate it to “Whitby, England?” not precisely the same, but something akin. The concept of geography was developing in their mind.

Francis explained about his situation, but Chéri had no idea what he meant. They knew it wasn’t good though. “Family?” and they repeated the broken heart gesture. “Why?” they asked.

Francis scratched his cheek in thought and nodded but waved his hand back and forth as if to say 'sort of'. He didn't know how to explain an island mass attached to scotland and the name of a specific island. It was too confusing so he left it be.

He was disappointed the other didn't get it, but it was fine. He was sure if it was reversed, he'd have no clue what Cheri meant. He thought hard and gestured to himself and then gestured to the side as if there was another there and pretended to hug someone. Then gagged and rolled his eyes back and pretended to collapse on the table dead. It was very cruel to Lewis, but it had no baring on his last moments or anything else about him. He then tried to gesture being scared of something or someone and then gestured moving from his island to Whitby.

I am here because I was afraid where I was. That bit was clear to Chéri, who bent their head to the side and observed Francis. “You… peur?” it sounded like poor, it didn’t sound like fear, but Chéri wasn’t sure how to communicate that, so they went for mimic: they put both their hands on the side of their face and made a scared expression.

Francis seemed in thought and sighed wishing it was easier to speak. The scared expression seemed right, so he nodded. He searched the kitchen, then snapped his fingers. He stood and crept to the door to look around and disappeared. He was sure if any of the priests or Higgins caught him, he'd be kicked out but the place seemed empty. Not a door was locked, and no one here. What was going on with these people?

He went into what looked like a study and dug around to find papers and a very fancy pen and went back to the kitchen. He couldn't write but....

He drew stick figures, of a figure with straight features and another one with a triangle and lines falling from their head to be a woman. He then pointed to the stick figure and drew it next to a similar figure and then scribbled a big heart around them.

Chéri hadn’t thought of drawing, but somehow it was very fitting. It was also something they could do in the future if they so wished, to explain more complicated concepts to non-French speakers. Like Francis. They had a lot of drawing ahead of them.

They made a not of asking Christine for some form of paper.

Chéri followed Francis drawing. A man, a woman, love. Chéri nodded. “Une femme?” Chéri asked, wondering if there could be someone like that around.

Francis looked confused and realized Cheri meant a woman. He realized it was confusing and redrew to make it clear it was two male figures and with a heart around them. "Men." He said simply. Then drew a group of stick figures and lots of frowning faces.

Then he seemed in thought and redrew the two male figures and put x's over one of their eyes and the other had a sad face.

Chéri did a big “oooooh” but since the sentence had no words and they needed some clarity, the considered how to put their comment. After intent consideration, their question took an odd shape, but the clearest one they could muster “Oscar Wilde?” a verb, a subject, a concept. Anything fit to those two large words.

Chéri indicated the non X one “Francis?” the story was becoming clearer.

That name was becoming a curse to them all. Putting their personal lives in people's minds because of news from some big name writer. He frowned sharply and his eyes became downcast before nodding a little. "Yeah..." he said and stared at the scribbled face with x's for eyes. "This.. was Lewis." He tapped it slightly.

For Chéri, the Wilde trial was different: it wasn’t the paper that had done the trick, as much as the fact that they had personally had dealings with the man. They remembered his voice, his presence and more. They also remembered the panic that had taken their former lover and his group of friends. It was just… something that had changed things to a deeper level, in a way they couldn’t explain. “Lewis,” Chéri repeated. “Quand?” they thought about it and then added “Year?” maybe that was clearer.