Re: In Memoriam [3b/?]
anonymous
June 14 2010, 09:58:34 UTC
But he had no time for any of it. He had to pass the Academy exams, make sure that he did not lose his scholarship and so many hundred other things that all crowded out the voices that told him that this life was wrong, wrong, wrong.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied stiffly. Gilbert shrugged. “Forget it.”
So they dropped it.
They kept walking for a few meters more without running into a single soul.
“Where is everyone?” Alfred stared suspiciously around the empty spaces. Even the weather-worn buildings were silent in their reply.
“That’s weird. Usually it’s teeming with people,” Gilbert agreed with his misgivings.
A distant rumble caused him to glance up at the sky. Dark clouds were gathering, and not because of the factory smoke.
“Ah, Gilbert,” Alfred tugged and pointed.
Gilbert looked up. “Shit!” he swore just as the warning sirens started to blare and they began to run. “It’s going to rain!”
He grabbed Alfred’s hand, pulling him to the side of the road. He tried the door of a random building. Locked. He tried another. Shut up. He pounded and banged his fists against the side but no one answered his calls.
The clouds hung over them now. They opened up and the first drops began to fall.
“Shit, come on!” Gilbert pulled him away as the sirens seems to scream louder in their ears.
The drizzle of rain turned into a shower. Alfred pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to prevent being burnt and lowered his head so that the rain would not hit his face.
“Fucking hell!” Gilbert swore as the rain burnt and stung through his cloak.
“In here!” he pulled him to a building whose door had not been boarded up, though there were metal shutters over the windows. He kicked open the door and bundled Alfred in, diving through shortly after before slamming the door behind them before any more rain could get in.
He heard the rain sizzle as it burned into his cloak. A moment later they were inside, panting and relieved.
The room was almost empty of furniture. It appeared to be an old abandoned bar whose tables and chairs had all gone. Now only the counter remained, and the dried up taps which no longer produced a drop of sweet alcohol.
“Fuck, I got hit!” Gilbert hissed, clutching his burnt hand, which was beginning to turn red and tender
Something trilled up Alfred’s spine. A distinct feeling - he did not know what to call it déjà vu? Nostalgia? - hit his heart, making him tremble in excitement.
Later, he would call that sensation a premonition of the cracked china plate that soared over their heads, barely missing Gilbert by a finger breadth. However, he always knew differently.
“Knock before you enter, fuck-head!” an angry snarl came from behind the counter. Gilbert only barely managed to duck in time before a cup follow the way of the plate and smashed into a thousand pieces on one of the support beams.
Alfred looked in bewilderment as a strand of sandy blond hair emerged from behind the counter, shortly followed by a pair of shockingly thick eyebrows, shortly followed by shockingly green eyes, shortly followed by a petite nose and a dark scowl and then the rest of the body.
“Arthur!” Gilbert grinned happily, as though said man had not tried to decapitate him with tableware only moments before. “I thought this dump looked like your place!”
Arthur pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the counter, his boots swinging and the creases looking as if they were both smiling and grimacing. He had a dark, tattered cloak which made him look bigger than he actually was, a gas mask slung the wrong way around, and an equally tattered waistcoat with a faded white rose prints buttoned over a patch-work shirt.
Alfred stared at his shabby clothes. That same trill of excitement tickled his spine. He had never been to the slums before but there was something so wonderfully, strangely, painfully familiar about that face that he was staring at, something so comforting.
Gilbert had called him Arthur. Even that name sounded familiar. Arthur. Like the taste of boiled candy - roll it on the end of your tongue and -
“Looks like someone got wet,” a second voice interrupted his thoughts.
“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” he replied stiffly.
Gilbert shrugged. “Forget it.”
So they dropped it.
They kept walking for a few meters more without running into a single soul.
“Where is everyone?” Alfred stared suspiciously around the empty spaces. Even the weather-worn buildings were silent in their reply.
“That’s weird. Usually it’s teeming with people,” Gilbert agreed with his misgivings.
A distant rumble caused him to glance up at the sky. Dark clouds were gathering, and not because of the factory smoke.
“Ah, Gilbert,” Alfred tugged and pointed.
Gilbert looked up. “Shit!” he swore just as the warning sirens started to blare and they began to run. “It’s going to rain!”
He grabbed Alfred’s hand, pulling him to the side of the road. He tried the door of a random building. Locked. He tried another. Shut up. He pounded and banged his fists against the side but no one answered his calls.
The clouds hung over them now. They opened up and the first drops began to fall.
“Shit, come on!” Gilbert pulled him away as the sirens seems to scream louder in their ears.
The drizzle of rain turned into a shower. Alfred pulled the hood of his cloak over his head to prevent being burnt and lowered his head so that the rain would not hit his face.
“Fucking hell!” Gilbert swore as the rain burnt and stung through his cloak.
“In here!” he pulled him to a building whose door had not been boarded up, though there were metal shutters over the windows. He kicked open the door and bundled Alfred in, diving through shortly after before slamming the door behind them before any more rain could get in.
He heard the rain sizzle as it burned into his cloak. A moment later they were inside, panting and relieved.
The room was almost empty of furniture. It appeared to be an old abandoned bar whose tables and chairs had all gone. Now only the counter remained, and the dried up taps which no longer produced a drop of sweet alcohol.
“Fuck, I got hit!” Gilbert hissed, clutching his burnt hand, which was beginning to turn red and tender
Something trilled up Alfred’s spine. A distinct feeling - he did not know what to call it déjà vu? Nostalgia? - hit his heart, making him tremble in excitement.
Later, he would call that sensation a premonition of the cracked china plate that soared over their heads, barely missing Gilbert by a finger breadth. However, he always knew differently.
“Knock before you enter, fuck-head!” an angry snarl came from behind the counter.
Gilbert only barely managed to duck in time before a cup follow the way of the plate and smashed into a thousand pieces on one of the support beams.
Alfred looked in bewilderment as a strand of sandy blond hair emerged from behind the counter, shortly followed by a pair of shockingly thick eyebrows, shortly followed by shockingly green eyes, shortly followed by a petite nose and a dark scowl and then the rest of the body.
“Arthur!” Gilbert grinned happily, as though said man had not tried to decapitate him with tableware only moments before. “I thought this dump looked like your place!”
Arthur pulled himself up to sit on the edge of the counter, his boots swinging and the creases looking as if they were both smiling and grimacing. He had a dark, tattered cloak which made him look bigger than he actually was, a gas mask slung the wrong way around, and an equally tattered waistcoat with a faded white rose prints buttoned over a patch-work shirt.
Alfred stared at his shabby clothes. That same trill of excitement tickled his spine. He had never been to the slums before but there was something so wonderfully, strangely, painfully familiar about that face that he was staring at, something so comforting.
Gilbert had called him Arthur. Even that name sounded familiar. Arthur. Like the taste of boiled candy - roll it on the end of your tongue and -
“Looks like someone got wet,” a second voice interrupted his thoughts.
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