Angels Don't Always Have Wings--Part Two.B
anonymous
March 3 2010, 02:01:13 UTC
Alfred wasn’t sure what he was supposed to do. He swallowed the quickly-forming lump in his throat and gripped the counter tightly. “Then what can I wish for?”
“I… God damn it. I’m not explaining it all again! Just start wishing, and maybe you’ll get something!”
“But… Who the hell are you, anyway?” Alfred had to slow him down, because everything was just flying over his head. If he could get his name, he could probably call the mental hospital and have someone sent out to retrieve him.
“Arthur Kirkland, formerly of the First Order of the Light, currently,” he paused, sighed, “genie.”
“Right.” Alfred nodded slowly. Surely someone at the hospital would remember someone that talked about lights and genies. “Can, uh, I make a phonecall? If you can just wait here, then-“
“The asylum workers won’t be able to see me if I don’t want them to. If anything, they’d take you for your hallucinations.”
That made Alfred stop. He stared at Arthur, narrowing his eyes. “What are you on about now?”
“If I don’t want them to see me, then they won’t. Only you can see me, and it’s going to stay that way until you make a bleeding wish.” Arthur crossed his arms across his chest, leaned against the counter, and Alfred noticed the toga…again.
“That’s, uh… Pretty short,” he pointed out.
“Standard uniform for the First Division. They didn’t bother taking it before they stuck me in the fucking urn.”
Ah. At least he wasn’t naked. Alfred could be thankful for that.
But wait- “Urn?”
“Yes. Urn. You didn’t know?” Arthur stared at the American, but the boy was staring at him in disbelief. Then he was running to the living room, and the silver jar (urn) above the fireplace.
The “A” that had been etched into the silver was deeper, and filled in with black. It stood out more against the background, and Alfred looked back. Arthur was seated in his chair, arms still crossed, his expression the same. Even the creases on his toga were the same, and-
What the fuck was wrong with his feet? They looked kinda hazy from his angle.
“Getting used to the physical form,” Arthur explained when he saw Alfred staring.
Re: Angels Don't Always Have Wings--Part Two.B
anonymous
March 3 2010, 02:21:30 UTC
Ahahaha, I am loving this so much! Their reactions are just so perfect. Dear anon, it is my sincerest hope that you keep updating at this speed because I simply cannot get enough of this hilarity. :D
Re: Angels Don't Always Have Wings--Part Two.B
anonymous
March 3 2010, 05:06:38 UTC
To quote Alfred - this is *awesome,* anon. Your Arthur in particular is adorable, and I'm really looking forward to the romance. Although the choice of an urn for his bottle really creeps me out for some reason. of course, my fear of ghosts is almost on par with Alfred's, so maybe it's not that surprising.
I'm looking forward to your update, anon. This promises to be fun. ^^
Re: Angels Don't Always Have Wings--Part Two.B
anonymous
March 4 2010, 01:25:51 UTC
OP!Anon here~! PFFFT--YOU'RE AMAZING, AUTHOR!ANON!! ;U; You can have more than my babies! You can have my DOG! AND my cat! DON'T YOU FEEL SPECIAL NOW? <3 ;u;
I'm lovin' these fast updates to death! Keep it up, dearest anon! <3
“I… God damn it. I’m not explaining it all again! Just start wishing, and maybe you’ll get something!”
“But… Who the hell are you, anyway?” Alfred had to slow him down, because everything was just flying over his head. If he could get his name, he could probably call the mental hospital and have someone sent out to retrieve him.
“Arthur Kirkland, formerly of the First Order of the Light, currently,” he paused, sighed, “genie.”
“Right.” Alfred nodded slowly. Surely someone at the hospital would remember someone that talked about lights and genies. “Can, uh, I make a phonecall? If you can just wait here, then-“
“The asylum workers won’t be able to see me if I don’t want them to. If anything, they’d take you for your hallucinations.”
That made Alfred stop. He stared at Arthur, narrowing his eyes. “What are you on about now?”
“If I don’t want them to see me, then they won’t. Only you can see me, and it’s going to stay that way until you make a bleeding wish.” Arthur crossed his arms across his chest, leaned against the counter, and Alfred noticed the toga…again.
“That’s, uh… Pretty short,” he pointed out.
“Standard uniform for the First Division. They didn’t bother taking it before they stuck me in the fucking urn.”
Ah. At least he wasn’t naked. Alfred could be thankful for that.
But wait- “Urn?”
“Yes. Urn. You didn’t know?” Arthur stared at the American, but the boy was staring at him in disbelief. Then he was running to the living room, and the silver jar (urn) above the fireplace.
The “A” that had been etched into the silver was deeper, and filled in with black. It stood out more against the background, and Alfred looked back. Arthur was seated in his chair, arms still crossed, his expression the same. Even the creases on his toga were the same, and-
What the fuck was wrong with his feet? They looked kinda hazy from his angle.
“Getting used to the physical form,” Arthur explained when he saw Alfred staring.
Alfred’s brain had had just about enough.
He passed out (though he would deny it later).
Arthur snorted. “Fucking git.”
Reply
Reply
I'm looking forward to your update, anon. This promises to be fun. ^^
Reply
Reply
PFFFT--YOU'RE AMAZING, AUTHOR!ANON!! ;U;
You can have more than my babies! You can have my DOG! AND my cat! DON'T YOU FEEL SPECIAL NOW? <3 ;u;
I'm lovin' these fast updates to death! Keep it up, dearest anon! <3
Reply
Leave a comment