Angels Don't Always Have Wings--Part 4.B
anonymous
March 9 2010, 21:07:11 UTC
As more time passed, Arthur seemed to accept the fact that he was never going to get a working wish from the American. He sat around and watched Alfred work, moping around on the couch and complaining about the food. Of course, after a while the moping turned into banter, and while it wasn’t friendly, it also wasn’t unfriendly; it leaned more towards good-natured.
The two slowly became used to each other, and while both refused to refer to the other as a friend, they did give in and go with acquaintance.
However, there was still the matter of Arthur’s seemingly endless appetite for alcohol. While Arthur complained about Alfred’s love for cheeseburgers, Alfred complained about his addiction to alcohol (and often indicated that considering his personality, he wasn’t surprised they kicked him out of the “Upper Realm”).
Which was how they found themselves one night, seated before the television with alcohol and burgers, the remote tossed carelessly on the coffee table that separated the couch from the television.
Alfred didn’t know what had possessed him to invite the man to watch a movie with him. All he knew was that one moment he was waiting eagerly for the movie to start, and the next he was cringing, grabbing onto the back of the toga and putting forth a valiant effort to survive through The Ring.
Arthur just drank, complaining about Hollywood and other institutes that Alfred couldn’t quite hear. Arthur quickly became a suitable distraction from the horror that was the movie, and Alfred turned towards him slightly to listen.
“Fucking Hollywood,” Arthur murmured. “Fucking realms. My bleeding wings. Bastards.”
“Really?” Alfred offered, leaning closer.
“Fuckin’ jerks. I w’s gonna retire on that.” Arthur seemed to sink deeper into his seat. “Jus’ ‘cause ‘e was from th’ Lower Realm didn’t mean I had t’ get punished.” He raised his bottle. “Friggin’ prejudiced.” Arthur finally turned his eyes to Alfred, and he pointed at him with a trembling finger. “Don’t make deals with th’ devil! They’ll stick y’ in a bottle.” He hiccupped. “Or an urn.”
Alfred shuddered and backed away. Arthur really creeped him out at times. He forced his eyes back to the television, settling in place and narrowing his eyes. He was determined to watch it through to the end, come hell or high water, and-
He screamed.
Arthur slapped him in the back of the head.
“Behind him! She’s behind him! What’s he doing, oh my god!”
“It’s a horror movie, git,” Arthur offered before taking another drink. “What’s there t’ be scared ‘bout?”
“She’s jus- she’s coming out of the tv!” Alfred grabbed onto Arthur’s arm, clinging tightly to him as the angel scowled and drank more.
Arthur was really wishing he had taken the demon’s offer for world domination instead of money. At least then he’d still have his wings.
As more time passed, Arthur seemed to accept the fact that he was never going to get a working wish from the American. He sat around and watched Alfred work, moping around on the couch and complaining about the food. Of course, after a while the moping turned into banter, and while it wasn’t friendly, it also wasn’t unfriendly; it leaned more towards good-natured.
The two slowly became used to each other, and while both refused to refer to the other as a friend, they did give in and go with acquaintance.
However, there was still the matter of Arthur’s seemingly endless appetite for alcohol. While Arthur complained about Alfred’s love for cheeseburgers, Alfred complained about his addiction to alcohol (and often indicated that considering his personality, he wasn’t surprised they kicked him out of the “Upper Realm”).
Which was how they found themselves one night, seated before the television with alcohol and burgers, the remote tossed carelessly on the coffee table that separated the couch from the television.
Alfred didn’t know what had possessed him to invite the man to watch a movie with him. All he knew was that one moment he was waiting eagerly for the movie to start, and the next he was cringing, grabbing onto the back of the toga and putting forth a valiant effort to survive through The Ring.
Arthur just drank, complaining about Hollywood and other institutes that Alfred couldn’t quite hear. Arthur quickly became a suitable distraction from the horror that was the movie, and Alfred turned towards him slightly to listen.
“Fucking Hollywood,” Arthur murmured. “Fucking realms. My bleeding wings. Bastards.”
“Really?” Alfred offered, leaning closer.
“Fuckin’ jerks. I w’s gonna retire on that.” Arthur seemed to sink deeper into his seat. “Jus’ ‘cause ‘e was from th’ Lower Realm didn’t mean I had t’ get punished.” He raised his bottle. “Friggin’ prejudiced.” Arthur finally turned his eyes to Alfred, and he pointed at him with a trembling finger. “Don’t make deals with th’ devil! They’ll stick y’ in a bottle.” He hiccupped. “Or an urn.”
Alfred shuddered and backed away. Arthur really creeped him out at times. He forced his eyes back to the television, settling in place and narrowing his eyes. He was determined to watch it through to the end, come hell or high water, and-
He screamed.
Arthur slapped him in the back of the head.
“Behind him! She’s behind him! What’s he doing, oh my god!”
“It’s a horror movie, git,” Arthur offered before taking another drink. “What’s there t’ be scared ‘bout?”
“She’s jus- she’s coming out of the tv!” Alfred grabbed onto Arthur’s arm, clinging tightly to him as the angel scowled and drank more.
Arthur was really wishing he had taken the demon’s offer for world domination instead of money. At least then he’d still have his wings.
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