L'homme Perdu (2b/?)
anonymous
February 21 2010, 23:47:56 UTC
“Honestly I have no idea why he always stares me down like he does-“
“That’s because you’re always blacked out by the time we drag you out.”
The older man frowned his rather large bushy eyebrows gathered together in the center of his forehead, “I have no idea what you’re talking about boy.” He was clearly irritated, but in the kind of way that he knew the younger man was correct.
Alfred just shrugged as the two of them stepped out of the row house that held their apartments onto the side road. They were headed to the main street about a block away where the club was. La Boîte de Nuit was a nice place, a popular spot with people like Arthur, People with talent, who are useful Alfred would often think as they sat around the table drinking and laughing. He wished he had some sort of creativity to contribute, but no, he’d normally behave in that charming charismatic manner that was his mask. Before it had been completely sincere, that wide smile, talent with words, and the ability to charm anyone. Now that was more or less a mask, it was to hide how he really was. He was longing for his brother, Matthew was the only one he could talk to, but writing the words down on paper wouldn’t do, yet going back to America, felt just as bad. Here in France he had Arthur, but well odds were if he was to say anything about the way he felt and how he was betrayed, the other man would surely spout it out while drunk and then it would be out in the air for the whole world to know. That was something he wasn’t willing to risk. The last thing he needed people to know was that he felt like two people, the Real Alfred F. Jones, and the fake one people loved so dearly.
The two came closer to the club it was part of a row like all the other buildings on the street, four floors counting the basement, a balcony over looked the almost always busy road. There was a set of stairs that lead down to a cellar door, and a set leading up to the entrance of the club. A blue and white awning hung over the door way with gold letters in a gaudy, yet somehow still luxurious font spelt out the name of the joint, beneath that the address. A blonde man not too much older than Alfred stood by the door a less then pleased look on his face. The music could be heard on the street, loud jazz with trumpets, Saxes, clarinet, drums and a gorgeous female voice. The two men entered the building and were instantly greeted by a pretty brunette woman in a black drop waist dress, a feathered head band in her bobbed hair. “Monsieur Kirkland! Monsieur Jones!” she said as if she’d been expecting them all day “Soyez le bienvenu!” she added brightly taking their coats and hates behind the counter. After handing them their tickets the two walked into the main room of the club.
Odds are the building had once been a house, like so many of the restaurants and shops that lines the road. The main room wasn’t very large, about the size of two restaurant dining rooms, there was an elevated stage along the back wall and the place was dimly lit by candles on the tables, and a large chandelier that hung over the grand stair case that led up to the second floor where the restrooms and a private room for parties was, than further up to the private third floor. Glasses and dishes were clinking as the people drank and ate meals. There was a crowded dance floor near the front of the stage. Arthur lead the two to their usual table, a booth in the corner farthest from the stage. The spot was situated where they could see everything happening on the floor and the door, plus it was the perfect spot to be able to talk and listen to the music.
“Good evening gentlemen.” Arthur said in English sliding into the booth next to a main with green eyes and straight blonde hair to his shoulders, he was sitting next to another man with slightly long hair, though his was brown.
“That’s because you’re always blacked out by the time we drag you out.”
The older man frowned his rather large bushy eyebrows gathered together in the center of his forehead, “I have no idea what you’re talking about boy.” He was clearly irritated, but in the kind of way that he knew the younger man was correct.
Alfred just shrugged as the two of them stepped out of the row house that held their apartments onto the side road. They were headed to the main street about a block away where the club was. La Boîte de Nuit was a nice place, a popular spot with people like Arthur, People with talent, who are useful Alfred would often think as they sat around the table drinking and laughing. He wished he had some sort of creativity to contribute, but no, he’d normally behave in that charming charismatic manner that was his mask. Before it had been completely sincere, that wide smile, talent with words, and the ability to charm anyone. Now that was more or less a mask, it was to hide how he really was. He was longing for his brother, Matthew was the only one he could talk to, but writing the words down on paper wouldn’t do, yet going back to America, felt just as bad. Here in France he had Arthur, but well odds were if he was to say anything about the way he felt and how he was betrayed, the other man would surely spout it out while drunk and then it would be out in the air for the whole world to know. That was something he wasn’t willing to risk. The last thing he needed people to know was that he felt like two people, the Real Alfred F. Jones, and the fake one people loved so dearly.
The two came closer to the club it was part of a row like all the other buildings on the street, four floors counting the basement, a balcony over looked the almost always busy road. There was a set of stairs that lead down to a cellar door, and a set leading up to the entrance of the club. A blue and white awning hung over the door way with gold letters in a gaudy, yet somehow still luxurious font spelt out the name of the joint, beneath that the address. A blonde man not too much older than Alfred stood by the door a less then pleased look on his face. The music could be heard on the street, loud jazz with trumpets, Saxes, clarinet, drums and a gorgeous female voice. The two men entered the building and were instantly greeted by a pretty brunette woman in a black drop waist dress, a feathered head band in her bobbed hair. “Monsieur Kirkland! Monsieur Jones!” she said as if she’d been expecting them all day “Soyez le bienvenu!” she added brightly taking their coats and hates behind the counter. After handing them their tickets the two walked into the main room of the club.
Odds are the building had once been a house, like so many of the restaurants and shops that lines the road. The main room wasn’t very large, about the size of two restaurant dining rooms, there was an elevated stage along the back wall and the place was dimly lit by candles on the tables, and a large chandelier that hung over the grand stair case that led up to the second floor where the restrooms and a private room for parties was, than further up to the private third floor. Glasses and dishes were clinking as the people drank and ate meals. There was a crowded dance floor near the front of the stage. Arthur lead the two to their usual table, a booth in the corner farthest from the stage. The spot was situated where they could see everything happening on the floor and the door, plus it was the perfect spot to be able to talk and listen to the music.
“Good evening gentlemen.” Arthur said in English sliding into the booth next to a main with green eyes and straight blonde hair to his shoulders, he was sitting next to another man with slightly long hair, though his was brown.
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