The Liar's Heart 2h/? (US/UK, OC/UK)
anonymous
February 13 2010, 21:17:43 UTC
He could just picture Arthur taking off his shoes and throwing them at someone. It was weird, though - he usually ranted about how much he hated him and how much he was an idiot when he was drunk.
At first, Arthur simply sat there, unresponsive. But then, he figured Alfred would get suspicious if he kept his mouth shut. He knew he was a talkative drunk, after all. Francis and Alfred wouldn't let him live that fact down. Damn it, though, he really didn't trust himself not to say something stupid.
"Something like that," he replied with what he hoped was a gruff enough tone that Alfred would take the hint that he didn't want to talk about it. "... Sorry, I've got a bloody awful headache," he added as an afterthought. "Can you not talk?"
Alfred raised his eyebrows at him. He'd never seen Arthur this quiet and unresponsive before and it was starting to bother him. Maybe he wasn't drunk, after all. Or it'd just worn off already.
He frowned, trying not to look bothered by that. “I'm not a chauffeur, you know. It's not like I had to pick you up.” He did stay quiet after that, but it was obvious he was a bit miffed at Arthur. He thought, longingly, of his warm bed at home.
Arthur shot him a sullen glare. "Ungrateful brat!" he snapped, sounding more like he was drunk, even though he was genuinely upset. "You could have just left me there! It's not my fault you drove out here; I'm not your boss!"
That little outburst left him panting and red in the face. He quickly looked away from Alfred. Now his head really was hurting. He wondered if maybe there was something wrong with him. After all, he'd been out of it enough to call Alfred, of all people, to come and help him.
Even though Alfred was ticked that Arthur was being a complete jerk, he relaxed very slightly. Arthur was just drunk, which meant that there was nothing to worry about. This was just the same as picking him up from the bar.
Arthur really did drink too much.
He smiled, brightly - the smile that obviously meant he was going to say one of his usual remarks. “Man, England, you sure go drink at the bar a lot, huh? Even though we have a meeting tomorrow; and you call me irresponsible.” Ignoring the fact he'd just gotten home, but at least he wasn't falling over himself drunk.
"Don't preach at me," Arthur snapped. The comment hit him hard. He'd been trying to go home to sleep... to be responsible for the meeting tomorrow. But Oliver had wanted him to stay and he'd gotten so mad about it, even accusing Arthur of cheating on him...
He turned his face to the window and stared out grumpily. "Maybe I needed something to forget about that idiocy you spouted today. It's not like I've ever missed a meeting - unlike you." This at least felt normal enough, even if Alfred was a moron. It made things feel a little better.
Alfred rolled his eyes at him. This was more familiar, even though he still felt like he was missing something. “Okay, drunkard.” He replied, mentally listing the turns he had to make to get to Arthur's house. It was always strange driving here - he was used to England driving. It was the house he'd grown up in, after all.
At first, Arthur simply sat there, unresponsive. But then, he figured Alfred would get suspicious if he kept his mouth shut. He knew he was a talkative drunk, after all. Francis and Alfred wouldn't let him live that fact down. Damn it, though, he really didn't trust himself not to say something stupid.
"Something like that," he replied with what he hoped was a gruff enough tone that Alfred would take the hint that he didn't want to talk about it. "... Sorry, I've got a bloody awful headache," he added as an afterthought. "Can you not talk?"
Alfred raised his eyebrows at him. He'd never seen Arthur this quiet and unresponsive before and it was starting to bother him. Maybe he wasn't drunk, after all. Or it'd just worn off already.
He frowned, trying not to look bothered by that. “I'm not a chauffeur, you know. It's not like I had to pick you up.” He did stay quiet after that, but it was obvious he was a bit miffed at Arthur. He thought, longingly, of his warm bed at home.
Arthur shot him a sullen glare. "Ungrateful brat!" he snapped, sounding more like he was drunk, even though he was genuinely upset. "You could have just left me there! It's not my fault you drove out here; I'm not your boss!"
That little outburst left him panting and red in the face. He quickly looked away from Alfred. Now his head really was hurting. He wondered if maybe there was something wrong with him. After all, he'd been out of it enough to call Alfred, of all people, to come and help him.
Even though Alfred was ticked that Arthur was being a complete jerk, he relaxed very slightly. Arthur was just drunk, which meant that there was nothing to worry about. This was just the same as picking him up from the bar.
Arthur really did drink too much.
He smiled, brightly - the smile that obviously meant he was going to say one of his usual remarks. “Man, England, you sure go drink at the bar a lot, huh? Even though we have a meeting tomorrow; and you call me irresponsible.” Ignoring the fact he'd just gotten home, but at least he wasn't falling over himself drunk.
"Don't preach at me," Arthur snapped. The comment hit him hard. He'd been trying to go home to sleep... to be responsible for the meeting tomorrow. But Oliver had wanted him to stay and he'd gotten so mad about it, even accusing Arthur of cheating on him...
He turned his face to the window and stared out grumpily. "Maybe I needed something to forget about that idiocy you spouted today. It's not like I've ever missed a meeting - unlike you." This at least felt normal enough, even if Alfred was a moron. It made things feel a little better.
Alfred rolled his eyes at him. This was more familiar, even though he still felt like he was missing something. “Okay, drunkard.” He replied, mentally listing the turns he had to make to get to Arthur's house. It was always strange driving here - he was used to England driving. It was the house he'd grown up in, after all.
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