Angels Don't Always Have Wings Part 4.A
anonymous
March 9 2010, 21:05:43 UTC
Arthur was getting angrier and angrier as the days passed. Alfred supposed that it was understandable. After all, he had yet to think of a wish.
At least, he had yet to think of a wish that worked.
He tried world peace.
”Too many people benefit from wars, and that would affect the thinking of those currently in a war. No.”
He tried food.
”Where the hell do you expect me to get it? I can’t produce it out of thin air, I’d have to steal it. No.”
Alfred was left to wallow in self-pity as the genie popped in and out of rooms, demanding everything from wishes to tea, then the bastard had the gall to use his kitchen. Alfred wasn’t sure what the hell the man had made, but it looked toxic (even if Arthur called it “real food”).
Days passed in misery as he tried to work on the house between finding jobs (he’d wished for a job, but Arthur had told him it would be the same as stealing one from someone else).
Then Arthur had started demanding alcohol.
Alcohol that Alfred couldn’t legally buy.
“Bloody useless tosser,” Arthur had mumbled, prodding at a burnt scone with a wand that he had retrieved from-who-the-hell-knows-where. Alfred slumped against the counter as Arthur played with the scone on the table, then he blinked. The scone shrank slowly, flattening and changing to a white color, and Alfred gaped.
“Should help,” Arthur mused as he held the card up.
“Is that an ID?” Alfred demanded.
“Looks about right,” Arthur mused, and he waved triumphantly.
“That’s- that’s illegal! Like stealing! It’s fake!”
“Of course it’s fake,” Arthur muttered. “How the hell would I get one otherwide? It’s not like I can walk into a building and demand one, and they check when you buy alcohol.”
“But-“
“Don’t even start with me on the laws,” Arthur muttered. “I don’t think anyone is going to be mad at me, as long as I pay. Besides, they won’t know.”
And then Arthur had turned his toga into a sweater vest and black pants, and he had disappeared.
He had returned with alcohol later, looking far too giddy and stumbling slightly.
“Think of any wishes yet?” he had asked, and Alfred glared at him.
“I wish you’d put down the booze,” Alfred said dryly, but Arthur just laughed and disappeared into his urn.
Arthur was getting angrier and angrier as the days passed. Alfred supposed that it was understandable. After all, he had yet to think of a wish.
At least, he had yet to think of a wish that worked.
He tried world peace.
”Too many people benefit from wars, and that would affect the thinking of those currently in a war. No.”
He tried food.
”Where the hell do you expect me to get it? I can’t produce it out of thin air, I’d have to steal it. No.”
Alfred was left to wallow in self-pity as the genie popped in and out of rooms, demanding everything from wishes to tea, then the bastard had the gall to use his kitchen. Alfred wasn’t sure what the hell the man had made, but it looked toxic (even if Arthur called it “real food”).
Days passed in misery as he tried to work on the house between finding jobs (he’d wished for a job, but Arthur had told him it would be the same as stealing one from someone else).
Then Arthur had started demanding alcohol.
Alcohol that Alfred couldn’t legally buy.
“Bloody useless tosser,” Arthur had mumbled, prodding at a burnt scone with a wand that he had retrieved from-who-the-hell-knows-where. Alfred slumped against the counter as Arthur played with the scone on the table, then he blinked. The scone shrank slowly, flattening and changing to a white color, and Alfred gaped.
“Should help,” Arthur mused as he held the card up.
“Is that an ID?” Alfred demanded.
“Looks about right,” Arthur mused, and he waved triumphantly.
“That’s- that’s illegal! Like stealing! It’s fake!”
“Of course it’s fake,” Arthur muttered. “How the hell would I get one otherwide? It’s not like I can walk into a building and demand one, and they check when you buy alcohol.”
“But-“
“Don’t even start with me on the laws,” Arthur muttered. “I don’t think anyone is going to be mad at me, as long as I pay. Besides, they won’t know.”
And then Arthur had turned his toga into a sweater vest and black pants, and he had disappeared.
He had returned with alcohol later, looking far too giddy and stumbling slightly.
“Think of any wishes yet?” he had asked, and Alfred glared at him.
“I wish you’d put down the booze,” Alfred said dryly, but Arthur just laughed and disappeared into his urn.
Jackass.
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