Anticipate the Unexpected [Alfred]

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Alfred
words;; 1063
notes;; I tried to be somewhat neutral with how it was set it up. uwu; Feel free to enter in however you'd like~

Arthur hadn’t expected this outcome. Of course, being contracted was the far more likely possibility than remaining for the rest of his days within the drab fold of the Underground. Untouched and without a prolonged interested glance, a commodity that was more trouble than he was worth if the limited revenue gained from the bets whenever he adopted the arena as his stage was something to go by. Hearing that lone bid for him during the auction felt like ice in his veins.

A feeling that he couldn’t quite describe threatened to break his composure; a mixture of a faint, carefully collected disgust with the idea of being contracted as easily as if he were a space to be rented or a living bauble to entertain the privileged of society. Politics aside, he wouldn’t be human if there wasn't also the smallest bit of relief with the prospect of actually being allowed to leave for the first time in years—to appreciate something as simple as the sight of the blue sky, to be clean, or even to fill his lungs with air that wasn’t tainted with grime, sickness, and other unpleasant stenches unique to the Underground.

He had very little to bring with him, only the plain, clean set of clothes that the Underground had provided him with in an effort to please the onlookers of the auction. There was an unendingly dull sense of monotony that came with the prior auction, just as any other before it. He stood before the crowd, waited for his turn in the ensuing silence, and would return to his designated cell as soon as it was made perfectly clear that bidders were hardly interested in a mutant who refused to play the part of a pet. There was a familiarity with the voice that had called the bid—Francis; the man he’d met quite incidentally barely a week before the auction had taken place. Apparently he’d made somewhat of an impression, enough for the man to slip open his portly pocketbook.

As for the events following the creation of the contract, there had only been a succession of procedures, from the paperwork, to the transportation, to the brief introduction as to what life beneath a contract would be. Arthur had some contact with the various servants and caretakers of the Bonnefoy estate, being given a fresh pair of clothes, accommodations for a room, and any further instruction for the finer points regarding his brief stay. So many 'cans' and 'cannots', all so irritatingly vital and important to avoid attracting trouble where it needn’t be. Its necessity did little to negate just how infuriating it was to be told what was deemed acceptable behaviour and what wasn’t.

Limited freedom.

Arthur wondered if it was worse to have a taste of what you could never have as opposed to being left to rot away in the Underground cells with grand suppositions of outside life. Still—it’s difficult to find scathing criticism of his situation with the freedom to finally, truly scrub away that layer of grime that no Underground-inhabitant truly feels that they can be rid of... or the feeling of high quality clothing brushing against his skin. Simple pleasures can be indisputably sinful.

The last bit of instruction he received from the servants of what he can now see is a grand estate is his ability to call upon his host whenever the need arises. An odd detail—considering that such a request didn’t suggest that his host was the one who could, under law, do whatever he pleased with his purchase. Surely this wasn’t an accurate representation of those who engaged in the bidding and purchasing of mutants. Arthur had yet to discover just what sort of man Francis was beneath the status and grandeur of his position and title—until then, there would be very little, if any, effort for frivolous contact on Arthur's end.

As he had apparently been allowed some measure of freedom within the actual estate and his host had yet to make an appearance longer than small, everyday glimpses along the corridors or any of the other common rooms after making room for a brief conversation asking after his comfort, Arthur was set on a brief exploration of sorts. This was only his second day at the estate and he intended to make use of it. The first room that he happened upon was an absolute feast for the eyes: the state room, which sole purpose was to impress guests. A staple for any large European mansion—in this case, most likely used to entertain distinguished guests of the political sort.

It was lavishly decorated and normally included the finest pieces of art. Arthur's eyes skimmed along the canvas and moldings, secret fancies already springing to mind—ideas and furtive inspirations. The room went deeper. Though his curiosity for the room was hardly satisfied, he decided not to explore further. Back at home, admittance into state rooms was a privilege, and the further one penetrated, the greater the honour. Even if it was entirely permissible in this estate for guests to explore, it still didn’t feel proper to delve deeper without invitation. `

He made his way into the much less formal drawing room where he’d previously discovered an accommodating bottle of cognac brandy, typically an after-dinner refreshment for guests. He’d always had a knack for discovering such things, even in the most unlikely of places, if his years at Weeds were anything to go by. Though less formal, the room was also meant for entertaining. The furnishings were no less attractive. Arthur delicately plucking one of the unused snifters set to the side and poured himself some cognac. Tasting the caramel coloured liquor, his gaze travelled to the modest sized bookshelf and perused the elegant-lettered volumes that it harboured. Books were a luxury in the Underground. Had he not been blessed with an outside source, a dear friend, to smuggle such trinkets between their visits, he might have been a little more starved for literature.

Here at the estate, he would take his time, pouring every bit of deserved attention over whichever volumes he could get his hands on. With a steady gaze focused ahead and the taste of brandy still heavy on his tongue, he hardly spared any further attention to the occasional shuffling and passing voices of servants just outside the room. He was only a wanderer to them—a brief anomaly there by Bonnefoy's willingness to open his pocketbook and home. Arthur held very little expectation for anyone here to give him more than a passing glance, anything beyond fickle consideration for what he was and why he was here.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 1058

Tags: Arthur

Notes: Absolutely fine. Sorry this took so long. uwu

Alfred tucked the beige file folder into his bomber jacket and--just for good measure--slipped a handgun in as well. It was a habit the American had developed through the years. Of course, if he actually had to use it he'd be in a truckload of trouble, but you never knew what you could run into, especially carrying such important evidence around.

The meeting had only ended a few hours ago. Unfortunately, Francis had not been present. Usually this wouldn't be that big of a deal--Alfred and Francis almost always talked a week or two after each meeting to discuss whatever happened (and to get off track...and for Alfred to eat the Frenchman's cooking). However, there was urgent news this week. News that could not wait.

Alfred had volunteered to take the information to Francis, being the closest to him as well as the only one who actually really knew a way to get into Francis's house without some sort of alarm system going off. Still, Alfred found it a little more difficult than usual to bear his cheerful smile as he headed towards Francis's house. Time was of the essence. What he had in his pocket could possibly influence Francis's next actions. The man wasn't stupid, but the more information the better.

...Of course, the information was coded and would make very little sense to those who didn't know the protocols of the FF well. But still. Codes could be broken.

Entering through the back entrance, Alfred slipped into Francis's house. The mansion was just too eerily quiet. Most times, when Alfred entered, Francis was either cooking or talking or nearby to greet him warmly. This time though, Alfred's footsteps echoed in the hallways. There was no one. Well, there was a maid or two, but they were all familiar with Alfred and paid him no attention.

Where was Francis? Alfred had the man's number, but calling him...this wasn't really something you could do over the phone. Still, going to his house in person? Any politician might be here, waiting for Francis as well. How was he to explain his presence--or perhaps just as important, the gun in his pocket?

Alfred didn't usually worry. But maybe it was the silence and the lack of human life. Maybe it was the folder in his jacket.

Alfred shook his head and took a breath. As he exhaled, he allowed a smile to come back on his face. He'd be fine. He knew it.

...Of course, he'd also thought that before the first con he screwed up, but the past was the past.

Francis, if he was in the house at all, was most likely to be in his office at this hour of day. Perhaps on the phone with a politician...or even in a meeting, though now that Alfred was thinking, probably not. He hadn't noticed a car parked outside and no politician worth Francis's time wouldn't be chauffeured to his house. So the office was probably a good place to check.

Poking his head in quickly, Alfred was disappointed that Francis was not in his office. It was empty and bare, neat as Francis always left it. He was careful and would probably know if Alfred shifted his pencil holder half an inch. But this file wasn't something Alfred could just leave in the open. It had to be handed to him personally.

Next, his bedroom. Alfred had only been in there once and he'd been impressed (though that time, Alfred had also sort've hated Francis and therefore hated his bedroom). It was decorated beautifully, with handmade silk curtains or something. Alfred really didn't know and he really hadn't cared enough when he'd explored the bedroom without Francis's knowledge. The bed was plush and absolutely gorgeous as well. However, it was also empty. Alfred closed the door with a sigh. The folder in his jacket seemed to grow heavier by the minute.

Francis wasn't there, which meant the American had to wait for him to return. Alfred headed down the stairs. Where would be the best place to wait? There were no guests which meant that the state room would be empty. If the maids were polishing furiously, it meant company would be expected later, but if not...well, it led to one of Alfred's preferred rooms to stay in. Also, if by some chance Francis had unexpected guests, there were a few easily concealed spaces to hide in.

No maids were dusting or inspecting the lights, which Alfred took as his green light to head onto the smaller room in the corner. To be very honest, he had no idea what the room was called. Most rooms in this house were called something (Francis had told him about all of them in a long speech that mostly made Alfred fall asleep) but Alfred figured that knowing "state room", "bedroom", "office", and "bathroom" were enough to get by on. Of course, if he ever was ready to pull off the Big Scam (he'd been planning it ever since he joined the Freedom Fighters but it was still a hazy production), he would have to know these things. Still, since that wasn't likely in the near future...

As he started turning the doorknob, Alfred wondered what he could do while he waited. If he remembered the room correctly it had some books. None that Alfred liked much though, all mostly old and classic and many in French. Maybe he'd sneak by the kitchen if there was nothing in the room to entertain him...

Lost in his own thoughts, Alfred opened the door quietly and closed it behind him without noticing that there was someone else there. It didn't dawn on him until he turned around.

The guy in front of him was at most a few years older than Alfred, though certainly a bit shorter. He had enormously thick eyebrows and somewhat scruffy blond hair. A glass of caramel colored liquid rested next to him. 

For maybe half a second, Alfred's eyes flitted towards the concealed pocket where his gun was. Then the man seemed to fully register. Plain clothes, too plain for some politician. And Alfred had definitely seen the fabric somewhere before...

Recovering, Alfred gave a wide smile at the man. "Yo!" he said cheerfully. "Hey, I haven't seen you around before. What's your name?"

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Alfred
words;; 933
notes;; no worries ;u;

Although he had picked a volume, his hands were still frozen over the deep ridges of the spine, over the stiff, unread pages. There was a surreal sense of not belonging; everything around him was so grand and some of it seemingly new and untouched in its finery. His stiff, clean clothes, the book in his hands, the edge of the polished table where his fingers lingered next to the cognac. He’d never before allow his thoughts to linger beyond the walls of the Underground; there seemed little point in the speculation. Though now, having been contracted for the first time, the suppositions, the ‘what if’s’ were almost a torment. He wondered what his life would’ve been like had he not been born with this genetic affliction.

His hands gripped the book tighter as the thoughts deepened. He would’ve attended University—something that he may have finished a year prior from now. He would’ve had a clean start, having originally coming from a family that was far from deprived. He wondered what he would have studied; how he would have lived his life. Would he be different? Would he view and treat others differently? While he knew that there was very little benefit to wonder about such things, he could only allow himself to slip deeper, the walls of his mind clouded with regret and resentment. Next was the torrent of beliefs that they were taught in Weeds, thoughts that they were never allowed to voice; thoughts of how it could possibly be different, what it would feel like to throw off the weight of society’s label, to tear out the humiliating device injected beneath his skin, and to be the person he’d never been allowed to be.

It was an idealistic notion—so fanciful and worthless. He opened the book, flipping through the first blank pages so harshly that he nearly sliced his fingertips along the edges. His eyes were upon the words, but his mind was absorbed elsewhere, in its own thick tempest, the useless possibilities still as excruciating as before. He knew he shouldn’t be so impractical with such alluring ideas that held very little hope of coming to fruition. Still, it was difficult to admit to the curling, painful frustration, to admit that those thoughts continued to be a silent, irritating torment. Fuck it. He couldn’t even concentrate long enough to read. Coming here was pointless.

A distraction, perhaps one that was much needed to pull him from the heavy weight of his thoughts, came with the soft creaking of the door. Arthur held his place in the book while his eyes were drawn to the man, his back still to him as he closed the door behind him quietly. He certainly wasn’t dressed like a servant, most of whom Arthur could vaguely recognise. Perhaps it was common for casual visitors to frequent the estate. He still had very little idea of the usual patterns here, so he tried not to think any less of what felt like a slight intrusion.

When the man turned, seemingly just noticing that there was someone else there, a brief pause followed. The man seemed to look him over, observing details, a motion that Arthur reflected. The man looked pleasing enough, his features smoothed and softened with a certain careless youth. That, or Arthur just felt worn beyond his age, as if all those years spent in the Underground had aged his outlook on the world. The moment Arthur saw the wide smile form over the man’s mouth, he couldn’t force his eyes away. Not many, if any, offered him what seemed to be a genuine smile. And from a stranger, no less. As if he were truly pleased with the prospect of meeting him, or was simply politely pleased with the unexpected company. Whatever the reason, Arthur found that he rather liked it on him.

His eyes still on the man, he was finally able to put down his book, setting it with care on the table. ”Hello,” he attempted to sound mannerly enough, hiding the deeply hidden delight for company as best as he could, no less than a man who'd just been freed from a life sentence, tentatively exploring what was offered. ”Likewise.” Arthur paused, his eyes passing over the man, calling to mind the casual way he seemed to enter, as well as the fact that he’s unattended, suggesting a certain casualness more befitting of an old friend or a close acquaintance of the owner of the estate. Or at least someone familiar enough with the property and the faces that it accommodated. ”I take it you’re a common guest here, then?”

His fingers gripped his glass once more, taking another taste of the cognac, the bittersweet burn teasing at his throat. ”Arthur,” he answered, his eyes raising to meet with the man’s. ”And yours?” Whatever the case, he was likely not who the man had originally been looking for, thus a disappointment, one that the stranger may or may not quickly lose interest in, probably even more so after ascertaining why Arthur was there in the first place. In the meantime, Arthur wanted the company. Furthermore, he had an odd desire to retain the stranger’s friendly smile for as long as he could. ”Care for a drink? Or—perhaps, for some company?” He tried not to linger on just how daft that sounded. Well, the man had closed the door, so he couldn’t be in any sort of hurry. Arthur's face warmed for the briefest of moments, though he blamed it completely on the cognac.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 966

Tags: Arthur

Notes:

"Hello." The man set the thick book in his hands on the nearby table. "Likewise."

The man's voice was so polite, it was sort've disconcerting. Oh sure, Alfred was nice enough to strangers and people he didn't know (making a good impression was always important...at least at the very start). He didn't really sound quite like this man though, with his polite British accent. In fact, if Alfred hadn't known better, he would've thought this man was a politician of sorts. He had that sort of air about him. Cautious, steadfast, polite to a fault. If he'd been dressed differently, Alfred would've thought he was some wealthy businessman here to see Francis for business.

The man surveyed Alfred with uncertainty. Alfred could've sworn there was something else in his eyes or maybe his voice, but it was so formal that Alfred couldn't quite pick it out.

"I take it you're a common guest here, then?" The man seemed to be searching for words to say, as if conversation came somewhat awkwardly to him.

"Oh, no, not really," Alfred laughed. "Don't come around much, but Francis and I are usually on good terms."

Alfred looked at the man curiously. It was becoming more clear. He was a mutant, most likely. That's why the clothing was so familiar–he'd seen it before on every mutant that Francis purchased. The same standard uniform they gave you to try to make you look semi-decent before you were whisked away. He was probably one of Francis's more recent purchases, judging by the fact that Alfred had never seen him before. Alfred knew that Francis was always working hard to purchase the mutants he could. The man seemed a little shy, a little awkward, as if unsure what to do. Calculating his actions, as most mutants did. You didn't want to upset someone important by any chance. No one in their right mind wanted to be sent back to the Underground. Alfred figured if he was a mutant, he would probably never see daylight.

Alfred put both hands in his pockets and took a couple steps towards the mutant. The man raised his glass to his lips, drinking the liquid easily. Was he nervous, or was this just the sort of thing he did? It was difficult to tell.

"Arthur," the man finally said in reply to Alfred's earlier question. "And you?"

"I'm Alfred." Alfred smiled at Arthur, who seemed a little apprehensive. It was odd, and not something that Alfred could really describe. It was as if Arthur was expecting him to do something (though what it could be, Alfred couldn't pinpoint) and was just waiting for it to happen. Like a man sitting next to a grenade, waiting for it to explode.

"Care for a drink? Or—perhaps for some company?" There was a hesitancy in his words and Arthur seemed to be aware of that. Still, it seemed like Arthur had started to get over his nervousness. Whether it was a result from the alcohol he was drinking or if he simply felt relieved to get to the real topic he wanted to discuss, Alfred didn't know.

At last though, Alfred finally understood what exactly was plaguing Arthur. It had certainly taken him long enough. He must simply want some company. Alfred almost laughed, catching himself in time. It must be lonely here, in this gigantic mansion, with only servants hustling around you, knowing you weren't going to be here long. With Francis gone, there must be next to no one to talk to. The Underground was certainly not the place to learn how to socialize from what Alfred had seen of it. He supposed if one was truly determined you could manage to make a few friends, even here in Francis's mansion, but it would be lonely nevertheless. Everyone knew you were only temporary. Even you knew that. And with that knowledge in mind, how could you bear to try to even make friends?

More than that, it must be hard as a mutant, trying to make things work. Being exchanged like a piece of merchandise. Trying to keep your spirits up. How anyone did it, Alfred didn't know.

All these thoughts flashed through Alfred quickly and he gave a small chuckle as he finally answered Arthur's question. "Sure, why not?" he said, heading over to where Arthur stood and picking out a glass for himself. Alfred technically was underage, but he figured Arthur wouldn't particularly care, especially since he didn't know. "Francis isn't here and I've got plenty of time to spare waiting for him."

Alfred poured himself a glass before picking it up. Alfred tipped the glass towards Arthur in a mock toast before raising the rim of the glass to his lips. The alcohol slipped down his throat, a vaguely burning sensation. Alfred wasn't as talented as Francis in recognizing different types of alcohol, but this tasted like brandy of one sort or another. Cognac maybe? Francis kept a few bottles here and there for guests.

"So, Arthur," Alfred said easily as he set his glass down. Though Alfred could certainly appreciate a drink, he wasn't by any means the sort of person who delighted in one. Plus, he figured that Arthur was probably trying to think of something to say and failing. "When'd you get here? I haven't been around for a while, but you weren't here the last time I came. Have you talked to Francis much or did the guy just leave you here alone?" He looked curiously at the man. Now that he was up close, he could see Arthur's eyes properly. They were a bright green, a pretty shade that Alfred rarely saw. "Say, why don't we sit down? Standing around here is making me a tad bit stiff."

i suppose

[/font][/div][/div][/div]

by Worldie for Leia

[/div]

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Alfred
words;; 1,144
notes;; -u-

In all honesty, Arthur couldn’t remember the last time he’d been vaguely polite with a human, the vast majority he’d come into contact with offered far less than any kindness. Their presence carried with them a purpose, whether out of a promise for pain or out of duty for something else entirely. “Oh, no, not really," the man laughed. "Don't come around much, but Francis and I are usually on good terms." Arthur glanced at him when he laughed, speculating if there was more to tell behind his words. ”What brings you here, then?” If he didn’t come around much, then he most likely only came around when he had a definitive purpose as opposed to simply visiting.

When the man glanced over at him curiously, particularly over his attire, Arthur’s expression hardened in the slightest. The man probably knew what he was based simply on what he’d been wearing, let alone the fact that Francis surely had a reputation for buying mutants whenever he could. With his means, it was probably quite often—his home nothing more than a revolving door for such purposes. Arthur had yet to decide if it was just as cruel to procure false hopefulness for the mutants who walked through beneath the guise of a temporary contract. He would be here, live for a bit in a way that was drastically different from the Underground, to be virtually unnoticed due to the temporary label, and to be forced to return just as before. The entire pattern as horribly demeaning, whether these humans, directly or indirectly supporting the system, realised it or not.

After hearing his name, he was somewhat pleased that he accepted the offer for a drink as well. It made him feel a little less guilty to indulge in a bit of drink in the middle of the day, not that such a thing would stop him in the first place. The smile finally caught, forming over Arthur's mouth as Alfred poured himself some cognac. ”Might as well. I’m taking advantage before resorting to filching it once more from the Underground store rooms. God knows it’s far easier to indulge here with it lying around in every corner,” there was dry humour in his tone, but the touch of a smile remained. The amusement rose when Alfred raised his glass in a mock toast, a motion that Arthur semi-reflected with his own barely filled glass. He finished what little remained.

”I’ve only been here a few short days after receiving the standard chipping injection.” He glanced at Alfred, as if attempting to gauge the man, wondering where exactly his opinions lie on the matter. Whatever they were, they could hardly be too radical if he casually associated himself with the likes of Francis. He certainly didn’t seem like a business associate of the political or aristocratic sort. Probably for the better; Arthur didn’t think that he could stand being in the same room with the sort that kept the system going.

Although the fact hadn’t been blatantly admitted between them, Arthur was going to assume that Alfred already knew what he was and why he was there. ”This is my first contract; my first venture outside in a little over four years.” It wasn’t necessarily something that most mutants wanted to advertise—it hinted at undesirability among the public, or nothing more than a defiant mutant who was hardly ever compliant. If those were the implications for mutants rarely receiving a contract, then Arthur had no trouble admitting to them.

Arthur shoulders tightened slightly at the mention of Francis in Alfred’s last question. ”We did meet briefly in the Underground. He inconveniently found me where I shouldn’t have been, on the other side of my cell, walking freely in the corridors. I haven’t been in contact with him much since the auction.” He raised a shoulder, as if in casual indifference to the matter, though it was forced. He couldn’t say that he exactly desired much contact with the man who was supposed to be his sodding keeper for God knows how long. He wasn’t going to be too harsh with the man; however, as he didn’t know him too well. Perhaps he could be persuaded otherwise. ”What’s your association with him?” Arthur was vaguely curious in any case—perhaps Alfred could offer him a different perspective of the man who opened his pocketbook for him. In the meantime, Arthur was still the same unruly mutant that had been subjected to his very first contract and he had little idea of how a mutant was expected to behave and appear outside of the filthy, dank walls. Stubborn as he was, however mutants were expected to behave, there was still that lack of desire to put forth effort to please anyone who legally owned him for a short while.

He glanced at Alfred, an almost playful glint entering his eyes as they trailed along the man. The previous awkward tension slowly eased, both with Alfred’s easy manner and the steady flush of liquor. ”And how about you, Alfred? Am I allowed the same curiosity? It seems hardly fair that you already know so much about me just by glancing at my clothes. Tell me a bit about yourself before I start making assumptions, some of which you may not like,” Arthur added, still with a bit of a smile, teasing, of course. Now that he was free from the confines of the Underground, permitted to do as he pleased within small measure of the contract, he wanted to make the most of what he could do and who he could drag along for it—Alfred was the first person to approach him in the manor that day, so naturally, he’d be today’s target.

Raising his eyes at the man once more, he caught him giving him a somewhat curious look, just as Arthur had done earlier. Subtle, pleasant warmth touched his skin. ”Of course,” he responded just before spotting the nearest arrangement of furniture, a sofa and a couple of handsomely carved, upholstered chairs that seemed to look more like embellishments then furniture. He took a place at the sofa, though not before lining the bottom of his glass with just a little more cognac. He seemed to have taken quite a fancy for the warm coloured liquor after only his first taste. ”Although, I do have to admit, that I wouldn’t be opposed to wandering just a bit. As I’m sure you may be aware, the Underground doesn’t offer the most with variety—whether it be the grey, concrete views, the absence of actual food, or even with the people.” His eyes connected with Alfred’s once more, invitation and the smallest bit of light mischief shadowing his gaze. ”If you can be persuaded, perhaps we can steal away for a bit. It’s a pity to be kept here. I’d rather make the most of it before I’m to be locked away again.”

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 860

Tags: Arthur W. Kirkland

Notes:

"What brings you here then?"

Arthur's question was a legitimate response to Alfred's phrasing, which he now realized could probably have been better. "I had time so I decided to drop by,"Alfred said. It was the easiest answer at any rate.

Arthur seemed to finally relax in Alfred's presence as Alfred began to sip his drink. He laughed a little as Arthur dryly commented on the excess of wine lying around Francis's house, comparing it to the Underground. It did stick in Alfred's mind that the man actually snitched alcohol from the storerooms. Most of the mutants he'd met before would never have dared.

"I've only been here a few short days after receiving the standard chipping injection." Alfred was a little surprised at the man's bluntness. He noted how Arthur eyed him with a certain questioning look in his eyes. A test.

Alfred was usually much more easygoing and open about his values with mutants than humans, but even then, he preferred to wait before making his opinion obvious. Mutants were bitter about humans and humans were likely to snitch on you. So Alfred said nothing. He hated chipping. Mutants being treated like filthy animals...it made Alfred's blood boil. He remembered when he first met Francis in this house and how Francis had angered him as well. There were good people out there, yes. But there were also those who were terrible, and Alfred associated chipping with them. He could feel his fingers tightening around the glass he held and reminded himself to stay relaxed.

"This is my first contract; my first venture outside in years," Arthur continued. Alfred raised his eyebrows curiously at his words. The first time in four years...god, Alfred could never live like that. Being cooped up in a tiny cell with no one there...Alfred would die. It would just be as simple as that. He'd die. No doubt about it. It still amazed him that mutants survived in those conditions. Alfred had been through some tough places, but he'd almost always had freedom. That was something he couldn't imagine giving up.

As Arthur spoke of the only time he'd talked to Francis, Alfred felt a little annoyance at the French man. It wasn't his fault, Francis was a busy man after all, but would spending an hour just talking to the mutant be that difficult? Arthur seemed like a cool guy. And it was his first time out in years. It wouldn't be too much to ask.

"What's your association with him?" Arthur's question directed Alfred's attention back towards him.

Alfred hesitated. There were a hundred responses he could make. But Alfred didn't want to lie. Lies got tangled. Besides, it wasn't like anyone would be able to use the information.

"Francis saved my life once," Alfred said quietly, staring at his drink.

Alfred was silent for a moment. That was the closest he'd ever gotten to actually talking about that time with Francis. It was such a somber topic and Alfred didn't know if he wanted to tell Arthur the details. He wondered if the mutant was curious. Probably. No one just left a statement like that without details. But Alfred knew that if he were to go into detail, he would probably lie and for one reason or another, he didn't want to have to lie to Arthur.

"And how about you, Alfred? Am I allowed the same curiosity? It seems hardly fair that you already know so much about me just by glancing at my clothes. Tell me a bit about yourself before I start making assumptions, some of which you may not like." There was a teasing tone that Alfred was glad for and he chuckled a little as well. Though damn, had he been so obvious, looking at Arthur's attire? About to reply, Arthur suggested that they go for a little walk around the mansion, which sounded good to Alfred.

"Sure," he agreed easily. "Let's take a walk. I'll be your tour guide of sorts." Alfred gave Arthur a teasing wink. Alfred knew the mansion well, just not in the typical sense where he could spout of the names of different rooms. Arthur seemed much more the type to know that sort of trivia. "If you've got any questions for me you can ask them on the way there, though I'm not sure what you'd like to know. I'm an open book after all."

Alfred had never really spoken to anyone other than Francis about his past, but a few basic details couldn't hurt too much. Or could they? Alfred swallowed. He tried not to think about his past too much and he didn't like questions. But to deny Arthur something like that would be both rude and suspicious. No, Alfred could handle a few questions as long as Arthur wasn't too curious.

Alfred walked over to the door, opening it for Arthur and sinking into a low, mock bow. "After you, my good sir," he said teasingly. "Let's go explore a little. Wander around. This mansion could use a little life in it." Alfred's grin was back. "You never know what we could find." 

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Alfred
words;; 1,000
notes;; -u-

“I had time so I decided to drop by.” The phrasing of that response was so guarded, revealing so little information, that it was transparently purposeful.

Whatever it was, Alfred wasn’t going to share it, much less so with a complete stranger. Beneath that reasoning, that much Arthur could understand. The secrecy forced his attention to pique on the matter. It’s funny how secret things tend to do that, always causing more curiosity than satisfaction, endangering its likelihood of remaining a secret. Obviously, it caused Arthur’s mind to seek other explanations, the more recent ones growing more absurd and unlikely as he continued to think upon the matter.

It was telling enough watching Alfred’s reactions to his statements. If he were pro-government, then he might have been spurred enough by Arthur's audacity to have said something back to him in the very least. Arthur took his silence as caution—which only continued to raise questions about the man’s origin and what his purpose was for being there. “Francis saved my life once.” There was a pause and Arthur waited for the rest of the story... It never came. He was left with an infuriating lack of information yet again, though he bit back an automatic response, asking for details. Perhaps there would be more in the future. Whatever it was, it was a mystery that Arthur was involuntarily set on unravelling. ”It sounds like a fascinating story,” he replied with a small smile. That would have to do for now; make his interest known, while easing away Alfred’s obligation to explain until he felt ready to.

Arthur pursed his lips slightly when his teasing request was left unanswered. Whoever Alfred was, he was certainly being careful with what he shared, and it was quickly becoming apparent that he either harboured quite a few secrets or was simply a somewhat paranoid person in general, in either case, Arthur couldn’t sway the curious desire to gently chip away at the wall that surrounded the man while making it clear that the deference for his boundaries would remain intact. Arthur was also the owner of a rather unforgiving, painful past, as most mutants were if they ended up in a place like Weeds and were later locked away in the Underground. In that respect, Arthur could understand an unwillingness to share sensitive information.

Arthur gave a small, albeit pleased smile when Alfred acquiesced to acting as his informal tour guide, the small wink only managing to dust a bit of warm colour over his cheeks. ”Hmm, I’m sure I will have questions, just probably not the sort that you’ll know the answer to,” Arthur couldn’t help but to tease, guessing at Alfred’s lack of knowledge with the function of rooms or even why the layout was constructed or decorated a certain way. He also snorted softly when Alfred claimed to be an open book. Setting his glass down on the table between them, he brushed playfully against Alfred’s shoulder. ”If you are, then I seem to be having trouble getting past the first few pages,” his voice lowered in the slightest, still teasing, the corners of his mouth curling into a small grin before he retreated. ”As promised, I’ll have to fill them with my own theories.”

If Alfred wasn’t going to divulge any further information about himself to Arthur, then he would still make the most of their little meeting. Damn it all if he was going to be left alone for the remainder of the day, he’d snare Alfred with minor entreaties if he had to, even if he only had words and smiles to work with. Watching Alfred walk over toward the door and open it before dipping into a low, mocking bow, Arthur couldn’t help but to feel the warmth of amusement for the somewhat endearing tease. ”Why thank you,” he responded with equal mock seriousness to match Alfred’s show of mock courtesy. ”Are you always this charming as the designated tour guide?”

”Certainly,” Arthur was quick to agree to Alfred’s sentiment regarding the liveliness of the manor. They were currently on the second floor, so Arthur was drawn to the nearest stairwell, keeping in step as well as he could with Alfred, though he was clearly taking the lead with where they were heading. Arthur was probably far too delighted with the simplest things, such as the sight of a large, beautiful, well-organised kitchen or even with the elaborate rooms furnished for comfort and entertainment. It’s likely a natural reaction for most mutants who’ve been locked away for a number of years. Past the thick, decorative rugs of the foyer, Arthur first happened upon the spacious kitchen, with the beautiful cast iron, spotless and tempting on the hanging rack.

He pitched a glance over toward Alfred, wherever he was, his eyes a tad bit bright with intrigue. ”Do you cook?” The first small detail that he would learn about the mysterious Alfred: his culinary physique. He snorted softly at the thought of Alfred cooking, a look of amusement passing over his expression. Of course, Arthur had never indulged in such endeavors, though he was horribly tempted to given the opportunity. Then again, he didn’t think that the servants would appreciate the horrible mess he would likely create in his first attempt.

Walking a little deeper into the room, briefly eyeing the fine appliances along with the other contraptions that he couldn’t identify, he noticed the large window that showcased the lovely back garden, or at least a portion of it. Arthur froze, his eyes immediately drawn to the foliage, and more importantly to the blue sky that peeked between the gentle play of shadow and light against the leaves. Being in a concrete cell for four years, it was truly odd just how much one misses something as simple as fresh colour, so warm and alive. ”I forget how beautiful it is,” Arthur muttered, his voice quieter than before. There’s a slight, somber tightness to his jaw, but he eases it away with a small smile, his eyes once more seeking the self-proclaimed tour guide. ”It’s easy to forget the simple things.”

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 1038

Tags: Arthur W. Kirkland

Notes: I reply too quickly...uwu Don't judge me.

"If you are, then I seem to be having trouble getting past the first few pages." There was a teasing jibe to Arthur's words that Alfred couldn't help but smile at. "As promised, I'll have to fill them with my own theories.

His own theories, huh. Alfred laughed a little at that. He wondered what they would be like. Probably completely off the mark—Arthur didn't have much to go on after all. But who knew?

"Are you always this charming as the designated tour guide?" Alfred sent Arthur another wink. "Always, Arthur. Always."

Alfred let Arthur take the lead. Alfred knew the mansion well enough, of course, but it was Arthur's time to explore. At any rate, he was fairly clueless tour guide, which he assumed Arthur had guessed. He didn't really know where they should go, what rooms would be the best to see. Nah, wandering around and going places was much more Alfred's style. He could...y'know, label the rooms with his own personalized names later. Besides, if Arthur was going to be here for a while, he could probably explore most of the mansion himself.

Arthur seemed to be delighted and amazed by everything, which Alfred assumed was mostly due to the fact that the mutant hadn't been out of the Underground in year. It was almost cute, seeing a grown man older than him like this. Alfred suppressed a grin and settled for a wide smile instead.

They arrived at the kitchen. Alfred had watched Francis cook for him so many times before, but it was very different without the Frenchman and with Arthur next to him instead.

"Cooking?" Alfred tapped his chin. "Well, if you can call it cooking. Enough to live on, at least. Don't think anyone ever taught me anything about cooking so I had to make do. It's been enough to keep me alive at least." He chuckled a bit. "I can make a pretty good hamburger, but it's like, a hamburger. No one can screw up a hamburger. I've never cooked with the fancy stuff that Francis has around here. He's a much better cook than I am."

Arthur walked on a little further, taking such a childish interest in the kitchen that once again tugged a smile onto Alfred's lips. He was about to say something else when Arthur froze, his eyes traveling to the window.

Alfred walked up to him curiously, wondering what had caught his attention. There was the garden, which Alfred had walked through on the way in through the back door. Alfred could even spot the hidden gate he'd come through on his way in.

"I forget how beautiful it is." The quiet words came from Arthur and Alfred wondered once again how it would be, to be trapped in a place with no sunshine, nowhere to run when you were scared or wanted to leave. Alfred wouldn't be able to do it. He'd go crazy. That was what he was fighting for, wasn't it? All those cons and scams and risking his life every other week...that was so that mutants like Arthur could be free as well. That they wouldn't be trapped and enslaved and locked away for their entire lives. To live a life like that...

Alfred felt a little guilty, too. Though he was often more comfortable with mutants than humans, it was times like this that reminded Alfred of what terrible things he'd done, how far he'd gone to make sure that mutants were locked up. He'd been doing so only because of his mother's death, but that was an excuse at its core and Alfred knew it. He didn't think that he'd ever get over that guilt.

"It's easy to forget simple things." Arthur turned to look at him. There was a small smile on the shorter blond's face, but Alfred knew instinctively that it hadn't been there mere seconds before. He played along though. Most people didn't like to be called out for that sort of thing.

"It is," Alfred agreed. Simple things, huh. Alfred hadn't lived a great life, but even he now had gotten used to the beauty that was Francis's garden. The first time, he was like Arthur, but a whole lot more bitter. But at least he'd noticed. Alfred didn't notice it as much anymore. He felt a little guilty again, but he also knew that if he noticed everything, he'd go crazy.

"Hey," Alfred said playfully, clapping his hand on Arthur's shoulder and breaking the solemn mood, "how about we stop staring at the scenery and actually go and enjoy it? It's a pleasant day, not too freezing." Maybe Arthur would cheer up a bit if he actually went and saw the garden, which was pretty impressive to be very honest. Without waiting for an answer, Alfred started heading outside towards the back door.

The garden was an impressive sight indeed, if only because Arthur reminded him that it was. A beautiful fountain, constantly running, was the central stage. Alfred knew nothing of architecture but whoever had designed the garden had made the fountain a centric part. Everything to spiral around it—the flowers, the hedges, the pathways...in the end they all led to the fountain.

Still, the designer had also made it that if you chose to, you could get lost in the garden, in a world of your own design. There were parts that were hidden away, large trees that could conceal you if you chose to let them. It was a place that you could retire to with a book on a summer's day, to hide yourself in the nooks and crannies you found along the garden. But at the same time, should you ever need to find your way back, there was the path right at your feet.

Find your way back... Sometimes Alfred wished he could find his way back. To before his mother died, to when his family was still intact. But that was the thing about time. You could never go back.

Alfred looked at Arthur curiously, remembering that he was supposed to be acting as a tour guide. "Want to go back inside?" he asked. "Or would you rather stay out here?"

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Alfred
words;; 1,088
notes;; sorry that took so long~

"Don't think anyone ever taught me anything about cooking so I had to make do. It's been enough to keep me alive at least." A hint of vague amusement crossed Arthur’s features at the sentiment. ”You and me both,” he muttered regarding the remark about never having been taught, his eyes grazing across the appliances once more. It couldn’t be that difficult, now, could it? ”—Aside from the fact that I’ve yet to learn,” a brief, dry laugh followed, because the idea was absurd. When would he ever have the opportunity? He tucked away that little bit of information about Alfred, enriching his developing theories, however. He didn’t seem like he was from a background of high means, though glancing over him matched with a few of his mannerisms probably could have solved that little mystery all on its own.

"I can make a pretty good hamburger, but it's like, a hamburger. No one can screw up a hamburger." Arthur began to fiddle with the edge of his slightly too-long sleeves, as if straightening them out, though he kept his gaze occupied upon the room. He never felt comfortable whenever he felt ignorant, which would be reasonable given the situation, but it didn’t negate just how under-exposed he felt with even the simple things of life outside the Underground. Weeds was the last place where he’d even been allowed the smallest of glimpses into the city. He had been so young. Even then, the small trips were so scant that he could only loosely remember them. When it came to what the mutants were fed, the food was obviously whatever was the cheapest the government could manage, which oftentimes hardly resembled anything citizens outside the system would eat. So, hearing Alfred talk about something as simple as food, he wished he could give an opinion or at least, on some level, relate to it. Still, he appreciated the sense of normalcy that Alfred was offering him, speaking to him as if he might have been speaking to another normal person. ”I’ve never tried one,” Arthur admitted, the corner of his mouth raising slightly, trying to sound if it hadn’t really mattered whether he’d tried one or not.

Though, it was difficult—difficult to pretend that the idea of stolen years hadn’t affected him. Even for something as simple as seeing the sun, tasting normal food, or remembering the green of the foliage. If one counted Weeds, he’d literally been imprisoned for the vast majority of his life, a fate reserved for hardened criminals or for creatures less than human. Thoughts were broken with warm pressure against his shoulder. He tried not to involuntarily cringe. Too often, being touched conveyed the expectation of pain, beatings from the guards, beatings from the Weeds staff, even from fights with his own kind—he couldn’t help the association, he’d been far too conditioned for it. To his credit, he didn’t flinch, though his shoulders and fingers tightened. He could only hope that Alfred didn’t notice the reaction he tried so hard to hide. Apprehension wasn’t the message he wanted to convey. He wanted more than anything to appear—no, to be—normal, whatever ‘normal’ even means.

He reached up to press his hesitant fingers over Alfred’s, brushing against the warm texture of his skin, as if to prove to himself that he didn’t mind, even beneath the tightening of his shoulders. In an offhand thought, he wondered if Alfred had ever hurt anyone before. It was a stupid thought, really—of course everyone has had the experience of hurting others—that’s what people seem to excel at best. With a brief squeeze to his fingers, the uneasiness in his features softened in the slightest, his interest piqued with the suggestion. ”That sounds—“ he was in the middle of a reply, though Alfred was already heading through the back door. ”—lovely,” he finished, his tone quiet and dry as he followed.

He noticed the ease at which Alfred seemed to know his way around, as any person would react to a place that they knew all too well. ”Do you come here often?” His intentions were less inquisitive, yet another testing of the boundaries to see if Alfred would even be willing to disclose the simplest of truths to him. A test, then, if nothing else. This wasn’t unusual for Arthur, gauging and measuring people’s reactions and answers, hardly short of an investigator, before he felt comfortable enough to offer up an opinion about someone. His tone was light, his attention wandering among the intricacy of the garden surrounding them. He found that he liked the secrecy that the garden seemed to hold, the hidden corners and places that offer a quiet sanctuary, probably because he’d experienced so few of those moments. Alfred seemed to be thinking about something as well, his own attention snagged somewhere toward the centre of the garden, only to glance back at him, as if remembering his role.

Arthur mulled over the suggestions, while he did want to stay out here to enjoy the beautiful outdoors, he still had yet to fully explore the rest of the manor, which might also provide him with more opportunities to learn more about this man who seemed so intent on hiding even simple pieces of information, or so they seemed simple. ”We can finish exploring,” Arthur answered, the corner of his mouth rising slightly. ”Although, I wouldn’t mind wandering back to enjoy the solitude. I daresay, this is my favourite portion of the tour so far.” He waited for Alfred to move before making his way back inside. ”I hope I’m not taking up your time needlessly,” Arthur continued to speak, still gauging and still curious as he walked to the other end of the kitchen where an unexplored corridor awaited. ”I’m sure you have more important things to do than to humour someone who will likely not even be here the next time you visit,” he offered up a bit of arid commentary that also gave room for Alfred to respond, though the sideways glance at Alfred’s profile gave away the appreciation he felt for it nonetheless. They approached a hallway of doors as well as a side stairwell leading to the right wing of the second floor. Here, he had little idea as to which direction he wanted to continue down next. He still had yet to discover rooms that he’d likely marvel over, such as the library, the study rooms, or even the wine cellar.

MADE BY ★MEULK OF GS

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 1135

Tags: Arthur W. Kirkland

Notes: Don't judge my replying speed. ><

"Do you come here often?" Arthur's tone was light as he looked through the garden with curiosity.

Alfred ran his fingers through his hair as he thought about the question. Did he come here often? "No, not really, I don't think," Alfred said. "Maybe once or twice a month. Francis and I can't meet much, with his job and politics and stuff." Alfred shrugged. "I don't mind, really."

He did though, a little. Alfred didn't think about it too often. Francis was a busy man, with his position in the government. Alfred was a criminal. By every definition, they should not be associated with each other, should not know each other really. It was pure coincidence that they did and getting to see Francis once or twice a month was already pretty great. Still, it was a bit lonely. Other than the Freedom Fighters and Francis, Alfred was close to very few people. There were others he could easily learn to care for, however, with what Alfred was doing that really wasn't a good idea. Maybe it was good that the two of them only got to see each other once in a while.

Still. Francis was the only one who Alfred could be honest with most of the time. And while Alfred was far from an honest man, he didn't like lying all the time.

At Arthur's response, Alfred and Arthur both headed inside. Alfred felt glad that Arthur had liked the garden. He was a pretty terrible tour guide but at least he'd gotten something right. He couldn't give Arthur any dates or times or even a really good description of a single room, but he figured this was the least he could do.

"I hope I'm not taking up your time needlessly." Alfred looked at Arthur, who headed towards the end of a corridor. The man focused ahead of him. There was a dryness to his tone that Alfred had trouble placing.

"I’m sure you have more important things to do than to humour someone who will likely not even be here the next time you visit," Arthur continued. Was he still concerned about that? Arthur glanced at him for half a second. Alfred doubted that Arthur really didn't want his presence. It was more like Arthur was afraid to intrude on him. It was almost a little sad, to believe that your presence was truly and completely unwanted, to believe that it should be disregarded and abandoned for other activities.

Alfred snorted. "I told you, didn't I?" he said cheerfully as they approached a new hallway. "I'm here for this entire afternoon—or at least until Francis gets back. I've got plenty of time and you're the best thing that's happened to me today." He gave Arthur a wide grin and squeezed his shoulder lightly. "Now stop thinking so much. Could drive you insane." He gave Arthur another friendly wink before confidently stepping forwards, even though he had next to no idea where he was headed.

Arthur's comment had reminded Alfred a little of the documents in his jacket. He wondered briefly to himself when Francis would get back. It didn't matter too much—Alfred was enjoying himself at the moment. There was something nice about being with Arthur, poking his head around Francis's house. Would Francis be annoyed at him? Maybe.

"I think the library is somewhere around here," Alfred said. In fact, he was fairly certain that the large wooden doors right in front of them led directly to the place. "Francis's library is ginormous. I don't even know how anyone would be able to afford that many books, much less collect them in one place." Alfred chuckled. "It's a pretty sweet collection, to be honest. Not that I would be able to read most of them. I can speak French but I'm sort of iffy on reading it."

Alfred pushed open the wooden doors to the library. There was a lingering smell of books Shelves and shelves of books. Alfred had never really seen anyone read them, but Arthur seemed like the sort who would be interested in reading. He had been reading, after all, when they'd met a little while earlier. Alfred liked books, but not the sort that Francis had in his library. Those were often political novels or romantic French classics. Alfred preferred action stories. Much easier to lose yourself in.

There were two large windows in the library that let light in. The library was kept immaculate, probably cleaned several times a week, each surface dusted, polished, and shined. However, if you looked closely, there was some signs of disuse. Most of the books looked unread and if you took them out, you could tell that they were dusty. Alfred was fairly certain that the only use the library had nowadays was for secret meetings to be held out of the public's eyes.

Alfred picked up one of the thick novels on the shelf. There was a thin layer of dust on it, which he blew off gently. Les Misérables. The name sounded vaguely familiar, though Alfred couldn't think of from where. "Do you like reading, Arthur?" he asked, weighing the heavy book in his hand. Might as well get it straight instead of just going off intuition. He was curious, too. Alfred was curious by nature, but he figured it was a decent time as any to ask Arthur a few more questions. Mutants could be a little touchy about personal questions, but Alfred figured that something as simple as that was fine. "You've been asking me a couple of questions, don't you think I deserve a couple as well?" Alfred smiled at the man. Granted, he probably had more to hide than Arthur did. He'd been down to the Underground more often than he liked. There wasn't a lot you could hide down there.

The library was very quiet and very peaceful, with just the two of them wandering around the halls. Alfred had never explored the library thoroughly. It was one of the few places that he didn't know the ins-and-outs of.

There was the turning of a doorknob and instinctively, Alfred froze. It was probably just a maid, but there was also the off chance that... If it was a politician, Alfred didn't want to have to explain his presence. The folder in his jacket felt particularly heavy at the moment. He subconsciously took a step back.

A maid entered and Alfred broke into a relieved smile. "Hey Martha," Alfred called. The maid smiled, dipping her head at him, before continuing on with her work.

He glanced to his side, catching the eye of Arthur. Shit, he'd forgotten that Arthur was here as well. Maybe he'd ignore Alfred's actions. That wasn't too much to hope for, was it?

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Alfred
words;; 1,270
notes;; haha, no you spoil me with quick replies, ffff

Alfred stated that he didn’t mind not visiting often, but there didn’t seem to be strong conviction to his words, at least not enough so for Arthur to find much belief in them. Did Alfred miss the company? From what little that Arthur was able to gather about Francis, he really couldn’t yet tell if his company was all that desirable. Then again, Alfred also stated that there was an incident that involved life or death between them, perhaps two two were close. Or perhaps he was simply lonely and didn’t mind who would spare the time for him. The more Arthur pondered over such scenarios, the easier it was to detect an almost painful sort of familiarity with the notion. Arthur understood loneliness all too well; in that vein, perhaps they’ve already inadvertently discovered something in common.

Arthur’s expression didn’t change, but he did feel the smallest bit of relief with Alfred’s answer with having something better to do. It’s easy to be told things and to expect very little of what was promised to actually follow through. The man seemed enthusiastic enough for it to be the truth, so Arthur decided to drop the subject altogether. Even if the man decided to leave, there was little that could be done. ”If you consider the company of an ill-humoured mutant to be the highlight of your day, then a severe reevaluation is probably in order,” his remark was both sardonic and teasing, but there was a bit of a smile forming over Arthur’s mouth upon noticing Alfred’s, his eyes trailing once over the man as they entered the corridor. When Alfred squeezed his shoulder again, Arthur was fighting a small rush of warmth to his face, quickly coming to the realisation that Alfred was rather carefree with his touch. There was a small, quick exhale that sounded vaguely like suppressed amusement at Alfred’s following comment about thinking too much. ”There’s not much else to do when placed in a concrete cell for days on end. It’s a habit that won't leave me so easily.”

Arthur’s interest was certainly piqued the moment that Alfred mentioned that the library would be near. The last he’d set foot in a library was during his years at Weeds, and those usually consisted of nightly visits to filch books that hopefully wouldn’t have been missed, stealing them away to read in the cold of his room, hidden within the far corners beneath his bed. Alfred spoke again, breaking him from the memory, offering a brief explanation of the estate's library. ”So you enjoy reading, I take it?” Arthur tried not to feel the twinge of envy when Alfred mentioned that he could speak something other than his native language. His own education was scant at best, not when the Weeds staff were far more concerned with teaching them how to be proper pets. What he’d managed to filch from the library was all the spare education, aside from the basics, that he’d managed to acquire.

When the doors were opened, Arthur was somewhat transfixed. Nothing could hold a candle to the strange mixture of nostalgia for the feel and smell of a library along with the unadulterated enjoyment that he knew he would find being in such a room again. The library in Weeds had always meant more to him than just books, it was where he’d met friends and where he’d oftentimes kept such friendships flourishing within the secret corners and beneath the shadow of the oncoming night. Books were sometimes even given or taken as keepsakes, as mutants could own little else while at Weeds. They weren't entitled to own anything in the Underground. Arthur entered the library, immediately drawn to the shelves. Browsing the titles, the gleam of anticipation in his eyes dimmed somewhat when he noticed that the vast majority of the titles were in French. Of course, he shouldn’t have expected any less. His fingertips trailed lightly across the flowery script of one volume, leaving behind small tracts among the layer of dust between the titles.

”It’s a pity that this room doesn’t seem to receive much use. All these books, all the wealth that went into purchasing such beautiful volumes and most of them seem hardly opened.” Arthur pulled out the book with the gold lettering, the spine stiff and creaking while the pages were still rather rigid, as if it had never received any proper love. If he were fortunate enough to own a library, well—then again, such musings were useless. Arthur closed the book that was indecipherable to his eyes and pushed it back into place.

”I love reading,” he glanced over at Alfred, who seemed to be testing the weight of a thick book. ”I’d dare to say that it was the only way I was able to stay sane at the Academy,” something a little heavier passed over Arthur's gaze, mentally leafing over memories that are probably better left unmentioned. For now, he tried to ignore them with a small, forced smile, an attempt to lighten the moment. ”It’s easy to get lost, to forget even the worst circumstances for a bit. I’ll read almost anything I can get my hands on.” Here he sported a somewhat wry grin, far more genuine. ”Unfortunately, the Underground officials are rather closed-minded to the notion; books are confiscated as quickly as anything else, whether because it’s a source of entertainment or even a reminder of just how human we really are. There’s perhaps nothing more dangerous to the system than a learned mutant”

If nothing else, Arthur was somewhat flattered by the genuine curiosity, having received hardly any interested glance outside from the few mutants who knew him well in the Underground or otherwise. ”By all means,” He offered Alfred free-reign. Time would tell if this was a particularly wise action. Arthur had yet to see the extent of Alfred’s curiosity. For now, he was intrigued with what the man desired to know about him.

The moment was interrupted with the sound of the door opening. Alfred reacted very strangely, with the change in his expression and stepping back, very clearly as if he either hiding something important or he was preparing to run from someone or something. Matching that with how guarded Alfred had been regarding any questions directed toward him since the start of their little guided tour, Arthur’s curiosity was renewed. He waited as soon as the maid passed on and silence once again descended between them. With a poised and calm ease, he walked closer from where he’d been examining the section of books just moments ago. Passing one of the handsomely carved desks adjacent to where Alfred was standing, his fingers briefly trailed absently along the edge of the surface. When he was close enough, he turned to face Alfred, their distance now significantly shortened, as he leaned slightly against the desk directly behind him.

As he glanced over Alfred’s posture and expression, the green of his eyes were livened with something, a mixture of interest along with a trace of amusement, one that bordered on the somewhat smug. Perhaps the slow and steady unravelling of this man’s tightly wound secret was possible yet. Arthur could be dreadfully persistent and patient when he needed to be. If one tactic failed, then he would simply try another with practised fluidity. ”So, Alfred. Indulge me while I fabricate my theory. You’re not supposed to be here, are you?” Blunt. A direct inquiry, as Alfred didn’t seem quite as receptive to the indirect ones, though that was likely only half true if the maids were apparently familiar with the man. Arthur wondered if that familiarity extended to Bonnefoy as well. In that case— ”Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that your visits tend to be rather clandestine affairs? Here the corner of his mouth rose slightly, making the nearly mischievous interest clear in his expression. Clandestine—secretive—just as this man seemed to be. Even if he was missing the mark, the voiced assumptions were audacious enough to give Alfred a chance to defend himself. Whatever his answer, Arthur was most curious.

MADE BY MEULK OF GS

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 1216

Tags: Arthur W. Kirkland    

Notes:

"I like books, just not old ones as much," Alfred laughed. "I like to read action novels, not the sort of thing you'd find here in Francis's house. I can't really stand Shakespeare...I mean, some of it's okay but it's so...formal." Alfred shrugged. He wasn't really sure where he was going with that. He hadn't read Shakespeare in years. It was the closest things to the books in Francis's library though.

So Arthur liked reading. That was hardly surprising. Alfred noticed that Arthur seemed to falter a bit as he mentioned the Academy. Alfred wanted to avoid the subject. It didn't seem to bring many pleasant memories to Arthur's mind either. There was a forced smile on Arthur's face, one that Alfred could read well. He had that look sometimes, didn't he? Though he certainly hoped he looked a little more convincing than Arthur did...

Arthur seemed to lighten up as he talked more about books and reading though, about losing himself in the world of a story. Alfred smiled. That's what he liked as well. Being able to lose yourself and forget the world around you. Forget who you are, who you were, who you could be and immerse yourself in the shoes of someone else, the story of someone else. That's why Alfred liked to read as well. Also why he preferred action-packed stories...it was much easier to fall into the rhythm of the story when you couldn't stop turning the pages.

”Unfortunately, the Underground officials are rather closed-minded to the notion; books are confiscated as quickly as anything else, whether because it’s a source of entertainment or even a reminder of just how human we really are. There’s perhaps nothing more dangerous to the system than a learned mutant.”

A reminder of how human we really are. Alfred decided he rather liked it when Arthur talked. Being human...that didn't mean whether or not you had powers or abilities. Maybe at one point, Alfred thought it did, but he'd changed since then, hadn't he? A few years ago he would've snarled at the comment, today he smiled. Being human was so much more than genetics. Alfred couldn't really put a finger on exactly what the definition was. All he knew was it was more than what society today seemed to believe.

The idea of a learned mutant intrigued Alfred. What if they all knew that they were equal? Would that spark a rebellion? Francis seemed to want to take a more cautious approach to the manner, which Alfred agreed upon, at least for now. But what about later, when the time was ripe? Would it take a revolution to change society's mind around?

Maybe Alfred was being reckless, maybe it was his American upbringing. Everyone fancied themselves a revolutionary, didn't they? Thinking that what they were doing was right, that they could change the world, sometimes no matter what the cost. Things didn't just change, Alfred knew that well. No, it was better to stay on the quiet side, especially now.

When the maid left, Arthur was quiet for a bit. Alfred prayed silently that the man was simply lost in his thoughts and been distracted by Martha enough to not notice how Alfred had reacted. The man walked over from where he'd been, pausing and brushing his fingers against one of the library's many ornate desks. The silence hung heavily between the two of them. Alfred wanted to say something, but he had no idea what. Each second seemed to be like a ticking bomb that could go off at any point. He had to say something, anything...

The mischievous smirk on Arthur's face made it quite clear to Alfred that his actions had not gone unnoticed. Shit, he'd screwed up. It'd been an instinctive, harmless act but he'd still screwed up. Alfred's mind seemed to run at a hundred miles an hour as he scrambled for legitimate reasons why he would react the way he had. He knew the questions were coming, maybe Arthur would hint them subtly so that Alfred could shrug them off and—

"So, Alfred. Indulge me while I fabricate my theory. You’re not supposed to be here, are you?" Shit. Blunt, straightforward, right to the point, he could not dodge this bullet. Shit. Abort mission. Alfred paled a little as his mind searched for answers and excuses. Just something, anything. Um...God, he had nothing. What excuse could he make? He was paranoid, no, then he'd have to be paranoid about something. He was wary of strangers...wait, no, Arthur had been a stranger just a little bit before, that made no sense. ...He didn't like maids? No, but he'd just greeted Martha, uh...

"Or perhaps it would be more accurate to say that your visits tend to be rather clandestine affairs?" Clandestine affairs? What was Arthur even saying?

Alfred couldn't really think further, Arthur was waiting for an answer. Talk, Alfred, talk. Avoid the subject. Talk.

Alfred laughed awkwardly, rubbing the back of his head. "No, it's nothing like that, I, um..." Well, he wasn't really supposed to be here but it wasn't that Alfred couldn't be here... "I just dropped by unexpectedly, that's all." Alfred gave a weak grin. "I'm not particularly fond of people sneaking up on me, that's all," he added. That was technically true. Not the best excuse, but maybe Arthur wouldn't be curious enough to ask more.

Alfred turned away and slid Les Misérables back into its place. When he was done, he looked back at Arthur with an all-too-bright smile on his face. "But enough about me! Let's talk about you." He chuckled. "That's much more interesting, don't you think?"

What questions did Alfred want to ask? There were many he was curious about... But Alfred was usually careful with questions. He knew that he didn't like being questioned about his history, who he used to be. Most mutants didn't either. Family...that was a touchy subject as well.

What could he start with? Something basic. Something that Arthur would be comfortable talking about. Friends, maybe? Wouldn't be too close for comfort. But no, that didn't satisfy Alfred's curiosity. He wanted to know about Arthur, not his friendships.

Alfred made his way over to the desk that Arthur was leaning against. He sat down on it next to Arthur before turning to look at him. "Let's start with something simple, shall we?" he asked with a smile on his face. "We've been talking for a while now and I still don't know something as simple as your favorite color. Or I dunno, what you like to eat." Alfred shrugged. "It's the little things that are interesting, aren't they? The little things that make a person who he is." Alfred grinned. Now that he was talking, words seemed to flow much easier. "What's your favorite book, Arthur? Or best friend? Or what's some little embarrassing thing that happened to you years ago that you still blush about?" He punched Arthur lightly on the arm. "You say you're just an 'ill-humored' mutant but I dismiss that out of hand. So do tell. What makes Arthur Arthur?"

Questions. Dozens and dozens of questions. Bombard them on someone and perhaps you wouldn't have to answer any yourself.

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Alfred
words;; 1,475
notes;; uvu

“Ah, so, not a lover of the classics,” Arthur responded, his eyes grazing across the innumerable, indecipherable titles. ”Blasphemy,” his attention once more on Alfred, a hint of mock reproach in his voice, the corners of his mouth lifted somewhat, giving away the fact that he was teasing . Although he couldn’t say for sure, it seemed safe to assume that the majority of the library held such treasures, a personal preference and love of Arthur’s. Although in all honesty, anything that held clever writing and thought-provoking ideas behind the prose was worthy of consideration. Action, though. That preference in a genre hinted toward the idea that Alfred could be easily bored—though, perhaps once his attention had been thoroughly and hopelessly captured, then there may have been little that could sway that focus.

Whatever the case, Arthur was quick to become comfortable with the conclusion that this man was a stubborn little bugger—set firmly against yielding his secrets to Arthur, which just managed to make them all the more tantalising to the oddly inquisitive mutant. Very well. Arthur could be just as tenacious, his effort just as relentless. Anticipation hung between them the closer that he was able to draw himself toward Alfred. Even if the tension didn’t read quite as clearly in his expression, the feeling could be felt nonetheless and Arthur secretly reveled in it. He had never been averse to using and being confronted with uncomfortable silences—they were at times the best tools to use, to bath the other’s nerves, and keep them guessing his intentions before he managed to vaguely grasp at the very thing he was blindly searching for beneath the person’s carefully crafted façade.

There was an even thicker silence as Alfred forced out a somewhat awkward laugh, only painting the tenseness in the atmosphere with something even more noticeable. Arthur’s eyes, clear and focused with intention, connected with Alfred’s as the man continued to make his half-arsed excuses. ”I’m not particularly fond of people sneaking up on me, that’s all.” As poor as the excuse was, Alfred did seem quite startled and perhaps even apprehensive when he happened upon the room that Arthur had been in on the second floor—their first inevitable meeting. He remembered his eyes flitting toward his pocket, a tense, almost automatic motion before sliding into a smooth greeting. That didn’t quite seem like the response of someone who meant to be there, or at the very least, was completely at ease with where he was. Arthur thought it best not to voice his incredulity, simply raising a brow, the disbelief clear in his expression when Alfred had finished his fumbled justification.

Still, Arthur didn’t want to completely alarm the man from further interaction with him. He had little to gain for the moment other than satiating his own curiosity and unravelling what was quickly turning into a worthwhile diversion from the heavier components of his situation. Much like reading, in fact. Alfred was his distraction, a book that he was set on unlocking.

When Alfred turned back to face the man after he’d slid the book back into the shelf, words were already spilling from his lips, already maneuvering the conversation toward Arthur. He could feel his fingers tighten against the edge of the desk, an odd mixture of intrigue, frustration, and relief that Alfred didn’t seem averted to Arthur’s subsidiary confrontation—even still, he dared to continue to keep him company. It was difficult to tell if Alfred was truly curious about him or if he was simply using that as a means of escape.

There was a short pause, a silent debate within Arthur occurring, deliberating whether or not to play along with Alfred’s transparent attempt. Trust had always been such a delicate thing, the first step often demanding that at least one person had to relent, had to allow the other past that tightly-held barrier, to draw them close before the other dared to do the same. Arthur, unfortunately, had very little hide. Everything about him was on file. If Alfred was truly curious and motivated enough, he could likely worm his way into the Underground files (if he harboured said skills, of course) and soon enough know every detail of Arthur’s life—albeit, the dry and strictly factual version of it.

The whispers of the prior smirk never quite left his expression, a small, breathy sound of vague amusement escaped Arthur’s throat when Alfred stated that he was a far more interesting subject. Arthur couldn’t disagree more. Although—watching as Alfred made his way, sitting next to him on the desk, attempting to question the hell out of Arthur instead of simply leaving the room, was fuel enough for the laughable belief that Alfred must have at least been intrigued by him enough to attempt to redirect his attention as opposed to seeking a much simpler solution. The man who’s supposed vice was his conditional interest, Arthur presumed this would at least be interesting. He wondered when Alfred would grow tired of his newfound whim.

”What makes Arthur Arthur?”

Arthur was silent during Alfred’s tirade of questions, an unflattering attempt at turning the attention towards him. It was amusing to think that there were so many points of discussion that a human would think 'normal', when the fact of the matter was that a mutant’s life was touched entirely and completely by the government’s ownership in their existence—the grasp of their circumstance was all-encompassing, an attempt at choking the life from those who dared to think themselves better than property to be rented. Still, he kept his front, tried not to allow any of that to bleed through into his expression as he thought his answer thorough.

”Circumstances shape us—probably more so than I care to notice,” Arthur raised his shoulders slightly in a contemplative shrug. ”If you really care to know the details, then I ask for yours in return. It’s only fair.” He pushed himself back to sit next to Alfred along the hardwood desk, a horrid way to treat such a beautiful piece, but he found himself caring very little for the rules with so few eyes upon him at the moment. ”For instance, I prefer colours that I’m not exposed to very often, such as the blue of the sky or the green of the grass and shrubbery. A liking for certain foods is difficult to discover when being dictated what to eat, when to eat, and even if you get to eat.” Arthur paused, his thoughts wandering to the foods that he had tried in the short time that he’d experienced in his contract thus far. ”—although, I do enjoy marmalade. I just tried it yesterday.” He glanced at Alfred, colour briefly touching his face at the mention, wishing that he could better answer even the most unassuming of questions. ”I have so little time with my contract—I don’t suppose you have any suggestions while I have the chance?” There was a small surge of amusement in his chest at the thought of Alfred’s hypothetical recommendations.

His heart dropped a little at the mention of a good friend, his thoughts drifting toward one in particular, currently owned and exploited by the very entity responsible for their misery, so his words faltered in that regard. ”So, yes, circumstances are powerful—they manage to invade even the smallest details you’re so curious over,” a small smile formed over Arthur’s mouth, thinking over the sad irony. ”I’m perhaps better defined by the things that I don’t do in response to these government-imposed circumstances. I don’t often do as I ought to—they call me ‘ill-humoured’, disobedient, poorly trained, and wholly undesirable. All by their definition, of course. It's all rather flattering, wouldn't you say?” the corners of his mouth rose even further, genuine and proud to admit to such a thing as undesirability in the eyes of the government. He would always be far more proud as a misfit among compliant mutants than to be accepted and praised as a faceless puppet to be used as someone would a plaything or a room to be rented.

”I suppose you could say that I thrive on their displeasure.” The words of criticism felt forbidden on his tongue, but that much more thrilling to say. Again, that nearly wicked curl of his lips was visible, though this time he tried to temper the self-satisfied humour as he glanced over at Alfred, the sly curiosity in his eyes still alight and searching. ”I’ve shared a bit about myself—I daresay that it’s your turn, Mr. Jones, even if they are ordinary details.” He briefly pushed his shoulder against Alfred’s in response to the light punch earlier. ”Like you, I’m interested in the ordinary—call it a novelty of mine.”

MADE BY MEULK OF GS

[Alfred F. Jones]

it's a

revolution

Word count: 1502

Tags: Arthur

Notes: Sherlock deduction theory things, yes.

Arthur had been staring straight at Alfred while he'd been making his excuses and trying to wiggle his way out of Arthur's questioning. God, Alfred did not like questions. He fidgeted a little under the man's gaze.

Arthur seemed to hesitate, as if considering turning the topic back to what it had originally been. Alfred prayed to God that Arthur wouldn't return to the line of questioning he'd been headed down. Please. He'd give up ice cream for a week.

The man seemed to be debating the thought in his mind. Alfred could almost see the gears in his brain spinning at a hundred miles an hour. Oh please, please. There was a faint smirk on Arthur's face that seemed to have. He even looked amused.

Please, God, I'll give up burgers too.

"Circumstances shape us—probably more so than I care to notice." Alfred's face relaxed in visible relief. The tension that had filled him seemed to dissipate into the atmosphere almost as if it had never existed.

Wait. Shit. This meant he actually had to give up ice cream and burgers for a week. Alfred blinked as this thought occurred to him. What else was there to eat in Russia?

Arthur shrugged, bringing Alfred's attention back to the man. "If you really care to know the details, then I ask for yours in return. It’s only fair."

It's only fair. Arthur had a point. It was unfair, for Alfred to be asking all of these questions while he ignored all of Arthur's. Alfred felt a little guilty. Alfred liked to think of himself as fair, but maybe he really wasn't. Then again, to think of himself as fair...well, there were a lot of things that he had screwed up...

He was better now, right? But maybe he wasn't...

Alfred's thoughts were diverted when Arthur chose to sit next to him on the table. Francis would probably kill him later for setting such a bad example. Well, if he found out, that was.

"For instance, I prefer colours that I’m not exposed to very often, such as the blue of the sky or the green of the grass and shrubbery."

Arthur...really knew how to talk. Alfred smiled a little, easing into the conversation. He was once again reminded of how much he liked to listen to Arthur talk. He wasn't sure what it was about what Arthur said. Maybe it was because Alfred rarely bothered to talk to people for long periods of time. This was one of the longer conversations he'd held with anyone other than Francis and Alfred rather liked it.

Circumstances...Alfred thought back to how Arthur had begun to answer his questions. Circumstances shaped people. That was true. He thought about Matthew and about home, about his mother and his father. It had been a while since Alfred let himself think about them. Even now, he felt guilt creep up within him. Circumstances. They had shaped Alfred, they shaped everyone. But that didn't mean they had to define you, did it? Alfred hoped not. He didn't want to live as the person he had been.

"A liking for certain foods is difficult to discover when being dictated what to eat, when to eat, and even if you get to eat." Arthur's life was so different from Alfred's. Alfred might have been through some pretty shitty circumstances, but Arthur's were worse. Being a mutant in this corrupt society, well to put it eloquently, sucked.

Equality. Would that ever happen? Alfred didn't know. Sometimes he thought so...sometimes he was convinced it never would. But he had to keep fighting for it.

Arthur paused in answering Alfred's questions. "—although, I do enjoy marmalade. I just tried it yesterday." Arthur glanced over at Alfred, almost embarrassed. "I have so little time with my contract—I don’t suppose you have any suggestions while I have the chance?"

Alfred smiled. "Burgers," he said, his tone absolutely serious. "If Francis offers to cook, take him up on it. He's a great cook. Though you might want to avoid it if he offers you snails..." Alfred made a face. Not that he had anything against snails, but it was so weird, what the French ate... Alfred tapped his chin, thinking of more. "I can eat just about anything. I'd just say try it all. Enjoy yourself."

Arthur didn't bother answering Alfred's question about his best friend, which made Alfred wonder. He wouldn't ask. Maybe it was a sensitive topic. Alfred had asked plenty about Arthur already.

"So, yes, circumstances are powerful—they manage to invade even the smallest details you’re so curious over." There was a sadness to the smile that Arthur wore as he said those words. It didn't sound like he'd ever had a life outside of being a mutant. Alfred couldn't imagine not being free. No matter what had happened, Alfred had always been free. He'd always made his own choices and he supposed that meant he was the only one to blame when they went wrong. That was independence. And Alfred would never give that up without a fight.

"I’m perhaps better defined by the things that I don’t do in response to these government-imposed circumstances. I don’t often do as I ought to—they call me ‘ill-humoured’, disobedient, poorly trained, and wholly undesirable. All by their definition, of course. It's all rather flattering, wouldn't you say?" There was a pride to Arthur's words and Alfred couldn't help but smile along as well. Arthur was a fighter, and he was stubborn and he wasn't about to just back down. It was disenchanting the number of mutants who believed they weren't equal to humans, who really truly thought they deserved to be where they were. Society was to blame for that and for the longest time, Alfred was to blame for that as well. But from time to time, there were mutants like Arthur who didn't just accept the rules the way they were presented. It was refreshing, no, not just that. It made Alfred feel a little more hopeful, like maybe there was a chance.

"The best of compliments," Alfred found himself saying softly. And perhaps that was stupid of him, admitting to that. Archadia was far from a democracy—no, the world was far from a democracy. To even say those words could be incriminating. But Alfred knew somehow that Arthur wasn't just the government's puppet. That he felt the same way.

"I suppose you could say I thrive on their displeasure." Alfred's smile only grew wider. Didn't Alfred operate in a similar manner? He and Arthur might have been born into different circumstances, but in a way, they were very similar. Alfred's mind briefly wandered to the scams and cons he had pulled, handing the government their just deserts. He thrived on that as well.

"I’ve shared a bit about myself—I daresay that it’s your turn, Mr. Jones, even if they are ordinary details." Alfred looked back at Arthur, who bumped him lightly on the shoulder. "Like you, I’m interested in the ordinary—call it a novelty of mine."

So it was his turn, wasn't it? It was only fair, after all... Alfred pondered what to tell Arthur. He hadn't asked any specific questions, which didn't leave Alfred with much to go on. But he'd make do.

"Alright, that's fair," Alfred said easily as he thought about what to say. "Since you haven't asked me anything, I'll just answer the questions I asked you."

What had he asked Arthur again? Oh yes...colors. "My favorite colors...well, I like most colors. But I'd say blue. Blue, red, and white, the colors of America." Alfred looked at the ceiling as he recalled what else he'd asked the blond. "I like burgers, but like I said, I can eat almost anything."

Alfred bit his lip, unsure of what else he had to offer. "Best friend...I'd say Francis." Alfred shrugged. "But like I said before, we don't meet much, so I don't know." He laughed a little at this. What sort of person didn't even know whether or not he had a best friend? Alfred, apparently. "And um...I dunno. I don't get out much, don't really do much." Lies and lies. Well, partially lies.

He really didn't know what to say, or what Arthur wanted to know. "Say, how about you ask me questions," Alfred suggested. Maybe that wasn't very smart. Hadn't Alfred been avoiding Arthur's questions moments earlier? But somehow, Alfred found he trusted Arthur. Maybe it was his comments about defying the government, maybe it was simply the fact that Alfred felt like he'd been asking too many questions. But either way, Alfred gave Arthur free rein."Because I don't know what you want to know." Alfred gave Arthur a smile. "Go ahead, ask me anything. I'll answer what I can and you can make your Sherlock deduction theory things based off of those."

i suppose

by Worldie for Leia

[Arthur W. Kirkland]

tag;; Alfred
words;; 1,070
notes;; I'm so sorry this took so long... ;;

Alfred was certainly anxious enough to be hiding something; the slight fidgeting was enough to give away the fleeting nerves that seemed to be flitting about beneath his skin. He would like his answer, then. And immediately he could tell that Alfred was almost visibly relieved when Arthur veered off the topic, the tension melting between them. His own unseen grasp over the possibilities, the questions that remained unanswered, remained, but Arthur wasn’t going to make that known—at least not in this meeting. He had hardly any idea if he would even see this man again, the possibility seemed unlikely considering that he apparently wasn’t even supposed to be here in the first place.

Only when he was glancing over at Alfred did he notice just how much Alfred seemed to ease back into what had been a comfortable conversation and atmosphere before the sharper realisations and questions had been raised. Arthur would never regret asking questions and satisfying his curiosity, although that regret may lie more in easing Alfred’s smile from his features. But sure, enough, there it was again. It didn’t seem false or forced for polite consideration, but perhaps he was a superb liar that managed to work the correct expression without thought. Even if that were so, Arthur still looked for it, some semblance of warm satisfaction settling in him when it was spotted.

Arthur’s expression softened a tad when Alfred provided his own answer for which foods were worth trying. ”Anything is better than what we’re offered, I’m sure,” he responded, a certain lightness to his tone creeping over the slight glumness of the subject—captivity, the lack of choice, and glimpses of freedom and how to take advantage of them. ”I’d like to try—cooking, I mean.” Can’t say that he’d be any good, but it was the assertion that he could make something, that it would be his choice and his action that made it more worthwhile than the actual cooking. He hadn’t tried before, so why not?

Then again, he wasn’t entirely ‘normal’ either. ”The best of compliments.” Hearing Alfred’s reiteration, almost a confirmation of his subtle attempt at proving Alfred’s thoughts, he felt the elusive warmth of small triumph. He briefly bit at the underside of his lip, his thoughts forming over how he wanted to put this. ”You admire the unconventional, I take it—those who question and challenge the structure of society?” Their words were treading a very dangerous line. Technically safe words, but the underlying insinuation definitely had the potential to be incriminating. Arthur’s eyes lingered on Alfred, a mixture of an almost daring interest. Alfred was proving a challenge to read, but the man seemed to be somewhat more willing to open with Arthur's understated attempts.

Arthur had been purposeful with leaving his questions open ended; it left room for Alfred to take it in whatever direction he wanted. And whatever direction he choose may be at least somewhat telling. In the end, Alfred seemed content with answering the questions that he’d asked Arthur. He was fine with that. Not entirely too revealing, but at least Alfred didn’t seem like he was about to bolt from the room anymore. He almost wanted to snort softly at his answer regarding his favourite colours, and was hardly successful with suppressing it. Still, he’d only meant it somewhat teasingly. Arthur’s expression waned somewhat; however, when he picked up on something from Alfred’s answer regarding a best friend, a question that Arthur had not so subtly avoided. His best mate was someone he rarely met with? He was either lying quite horribly about it, or it was true—in which case, it would be a rather unhappy truth. Which of course, was followed with the answers that he rarely ever left his home and hardly did much.

True or not, the image that Alfred put forth sounded like a rather lonely one. Was Alfred lonely beneath those bright smiles of his? It wouldn’t surprise him. Not everyone could pass through life without some semblance of shadow lingering beneath their carefully constructed mask. Arthur was torn from his thoughts when Alfred made a suggestion. ”Say, how about you ask me questions.”

”Oh?” Arthur couldn’t help the small spread of a dryly amused grin at that. How wonderfully ironic. ”You want me to indulge in my curiosity, Mr. Jones? I’m sure you’ve discovered by now that it’s rather insatiable. Do you think you can handle it?” Although his words were unapologetically serious, Arthur delivered the words lightly, his eyes gleaming with the soft dare. Still, Alfred smiled at him, and seemed a little more open than before. Perhaps he was shedding yet another paperthin layer of his guard around the true persona beneath.

”Very well,” he responded before Alfred could think to take back his offer. However, once granted the freedom to ask whatever he wanted, he had to pause to think about where he wanted to go with it. He felt as if he’d been thrown into a vast field and had only a scant time limit to discover its buried secrets. ”What do you do for a living?” Just then, another notion occurred to him, something that would perhaps make it a little more interesting for Arthur to fit the pieces of the enigma of this man together. ”Before you answer that, I’d like to add a simple rule. Just in case you’re tempted, I prefer silence over a lie.” Because silence can be a hell of a lot more revealing than most people believe. That—and Arthur liked the idea of the mystery deepening instead of attempting to sort out the information that Alfred presented. He paused for a moment, though his curiosity was gaining more impetus than his attempt at subtlety. His next questioned seemed harmless enough, particularly for anyone who lived in this wreck of a city with corruption that seemed to smear behind its pretty façade like a poorly concealed, festering wound. ”It's obvious you're not from around here, so I suppose that begs the obvious question—what brought you to this cesspool of a city?” His 'mild' description of this small section of the world warranted a small, wry smile. For now, Arthur calmly held back the rest of his questions. He wasn’t going to bombard Alfred like he’d previously done to him. Simply wait, allow Alfred to give his first questions the consideration they deserved.

MADE BY MEULK OF GS