Angels Don't Always Have Wings--Prologue
anonymous
March 1 2010, 21:44:01 UTC
Very short prologue. Chapters will have more substance. I promise.
Alfred Jones wasn’t sure what had attracted him to the old house. Maybe it was the rumor that moonshiners had used it, or that it had supposedly been a part of the underground railroad.
Either way, the house held a certain charm, and he had bought it without a second thought. It definitely needed some work, with the stairs that were falling apart, the doors that were threatening to fall off their hinges…
It would be a daunting project, he knew. Even Matthew had told him not to buy the place, but, well, he was his own person! He didn’t need to listen to his twin’s annoying babble (which was completely annoying. Did he already mention that?).
Alfred dropped his duffel bag (the last of his property) onto the couch and wandered up the stairs. He had never really had the chance to explore the house, but he wanted to at least check out the attic. He had looked in it briefly to see old trunks and bureaus, and had been rather eager to have a go at them. It was like an adventure of sorts, exploring the attic and finding hidden treasure!
So, like a little kid, Alfred found himself pulling down the old ladder to the attic, placing one foot gingerly on the bottom rung and testing his weight. Nothing happened aside from a slight wobble, and he pulled himself up, rung after rung, and then into the small opening and the darkness of the attic.
He sneezed. It had been quite some time since the house had last had an owner, and it was obvious in the attic. It was later in the day since the last time he had taken a look, and as a result, it was darker. He could feel the dust under him as he leaned back, pressing his hands to the ground to steady him. He used one hand to search for a light switch, or even one of those old chains on the ceiling, but there was nothing there no matter how hard he looked (or rather, felt. He couldn’t really see anything).
Alfred hadn’t realized quite how challenging the attic would be to negotiate. As he wandered through it, he quickly discovered that many of the boards that should be on the floor were absent. And that meant hopping from two-by-four to two-by-four, keeping his balance, and not plunging his foot through the insulation that peeked up from below. He didn’t want to be the cause of any more damage to the house, especially when he wanted to fix it up.
He had finally found somewhere he could relax and not worry about his balance, and he realized that he should have brought a flashlight. The only light in the attic came from the trap door, and it really wasn’t doing much to break through the darkness. It barely reached him, and he found himself moving his hands about wildly in the hopes that he would find one of those boxes he had been curious about.
His hand finally bumped against something, and he latched onto it. It felt coarse under his skin, and his mind supplied cardboard as he picked it up and steadied it against his waist, holding it with one hand. He fought his way back across the beams and then back to the ladder, taking his prize down and setting it on the floor before returning to the room above to find more.
The bureaus would have to wait to be moved. That much was obvious. Alfred had found that what the boxes had been set on was an old bureau, beside an old table and chair (and another bureau), and he had moved the lighter furniture down below.
But not before grabbing the silver jar that had been lying in the insulation. He had accidentally knocked it with his foot (after almost plunging through the bathroom ceiling), and when he finally took all that he could carry down from the attic and into the living room, he looked it over.
It was a nice silver (if a bit dusty, and not that shiny). It was shaped like a tall and narrow vase, with the wide top, narrow neck, and the wider body. There was an etched symbol on the front that he couldn’t make heads or tails of, but he figured that it would be easy to tell when it was cleaner.
For now, he decided that it would make a pretty centerpiece, and so he placed it on the mantle above the fireplace and left to look through his other treasures.
Thank you verrrry much for filling this so quickly! ;u; it's WOOONERFUL so far~! I can't wait until little Arthur shows up in the flesh! ouo And if it was you who asked it--yes you can make it angsty with fluffy ending~ Whatever author!anon wants! 8D
Alfred Jones wasn’t sure what had attracted him to the old house. Maybe it was the rumor that moonshiners had used it, or that it had supposedly been a part of the underground railroad.
Either way, the house held a certain charm, and he had bought it without a second thought. It definitely needed some work, with the stairs that were falling apart, the doors that were threatening to fall off their hinges…
It would be a daunting project, he knew. Even Matthew had told him not to buy the place, but, well, he was his own person! He didn’t need to listen to his twin’s annoying babble (which was completely annoying. Did he already mention that?).
Alfred dropped his duffel bag (the last of his property) onto the couch and wandered up the stairs. He had never really had the chance to explore the house, but he wanted to at least check out the attic. He had looked in it briefly to see old trunks and bureaus, and had been rather eager to have a go at them. It was like an adventure of sorts, exploring the attic and finding hidden treasure!
So, like a little kid, Alfred found himself pulling down the old ladder to the attic, placing one foot gingerly on the bottom rung and testing his weight. Nothing happened aside from a slight wobble, and he pulled himself up, rung after rung, and then into the small opening and the darkness of the attic.
He sneezed. It had been quite some time since the house had last had an owner, and it was obvious in the attic. It was later in the day since the last time he had taken a look, and as a result, it was darker. He could feel the dust under him as he leaned back, pressing his hands to the ground to steady him. He used one hand to search for a light switch, or even one of those old chains on the ceiling, but there was nothing there no matter how hard he looked (or rather, felt. He couldn’t really see anything).
Alfred hadn’t realized quite how challenging the attic would be to negotiate. As he wandered through it, he quickly discovered that many of the boards that should be on the floor were absent. And that meant hopping from two-by-four to two-by-four, keeping his balance, and not plunging his foot through the insulation that peeked up from below. He didn’t want to be the cause of any more damage to the house, especially when he wanted to fix it up.
He had finally found somewhere he could relax and not worry about his balance, and he realized that he should have brought a flashlight. The only light in the attic came from the trap door, and it really wasn’t doing much to break through the darkness. It barely reached him, and he found himself moving his hands about wildly in the hopes that he would find one of those boxes he had been curious about.
His hand finally bumped against something, and he latched onto it. It felt coarse under his skin, and his mind supplied cardboard as he picked it up and steadied it against his waist, holding it with one hand. He fought his way back across the beams and then back to the ladder, taking his prize down and setting it on the floor before returning to the room above to find more.
The bureaus would have to wait to be moved. That much was obvious. Alfred had found that what the boxes had been set on was an old bureau, beside an old table and chair (and another bureau), and he had moved the lighter furniture down below.
But not before grabbing the silver jar that had been lying in the insulation. He had accidentally knocked it with his foot (after almost plunging through the bathroom ceiling), and when he finally took all that he could carry down from the attic and into the living room, he looked it over.
It was a nice silver (if a bit dusty, and not that shiny). It was shaped like a tall and narrow vase, with the wide top, narrow neck, and the wider body. There was an etched symbol on the front that he couldn’t make heads or tails of, but he figured that it would be easy to tell when it was cleaner.
For now, he decided that it would make a pretty centerpiece, and so he placed it on the mantle above the fireplace and left to look through his other treasures.
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recaptcha: transition approves. Why yes it does, captcha!
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Thank you verrrry much for filling this so quickly! ;u; it's WOOONERFUL so far~! I can't wait until little Arthur shows up in the flesh! ouo
And if it was you who asked it--yes you can make it angsty with fluffy ending~ Whatever author!anon wants! 8D
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Yay~
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