knickknack [3d/?]
anonymous
January 16 2012, 00:38:21 UTC
The study is a large room, furnished with leather chairs and towering bookcases. They’re utterly terrifying and rather quite daunting, filled with dusty tomes and scientific publications -- things Alfred’s grandfather likes to read, when he’s bored and there’s nothing else to do.
The study is also the room in which Alfred receives his lessons, a blackboard set up on the west wall near the large window that stretches from floor to ceiling. Light pours through that glass in Summer -- light can’t pour because it isn’t liquid, Alfred’s been taught that by his tutor before, but there’s no other word for it -- and the sheer amount of it always gives Alfred a headache by the end of the day.
“Did you complete the page on pi?” his tutor demands.
Alfred feebly nods, hands trembling as he raises the piece of paper in question. His tutor, though intelligent, is a terrifying man from Texas with a penchant for slamming his hands against walls and tables to gain Alfred’s attention if he doesn’t listen. That’s why Alfred lives in both awe and fear of him, and on the whole loathes his education -- he prefers it when he’s with Emma, because she teaches him interesting things about giraffes.
“Good,” his tutor says gruffly, snatching the document and marching over to his own designated desk. It’s littered with textbooks and writing utensils that Alfred isn’t ever allowed to touch, lest he be reported to his grandparents for disobedience. “Start the questions on page fourteen and I’ll mark these ones.”
Alfred nods again, hunching over his desk before settling down to work. He isn’t quite sure how much time passes before he hears another voice -- the tick of the clock is annoying and the sound of his tutor’s wheezy breathing is worse -- but he looks up when he does.
It’s his grandmother, entering the room with flair as she asks, “Alfred! Why are there girl’s toys in your room?”
Alfred’s tutor snickers under his breath as Alfred sits up like a shot, eyes widening with horror. “Ah, uh -- what?”
“There’s a dolls’ house,” she snaps. “You shouldn’t be playing with those kinds of things, Alfred.”
“It’s not mine,” Alfred insists. “I-I’m fixing it. For a friend. For…” He thinks of all the girls he knows that aren’t his mother and his grandmother and the crazy Angelique girl from school; he can only think of one and says, “For Emma.”
“The housekeeper?”
“Y-yeah, she broke some of the little furniture, so I’m fixing them for her,” Alfred lies -- but he knows Emma will back him up if she’s asked about it. “Because I’m…” (what did Kirkland say he was the other day…?) “…because I’m gallant.”
There’s a moment of silence, and Alfred’s tutor exchanges a small smile with Alfred’s grandmother. He hopes he hasn’t just used that word stupidly; he has no idea what it means, but it sounds good.
“Your first infatuation,” his grandmother says with an overly-dramatic sigh, and Alfred reddens at the very suggestion. “This is so sweet, Alfred. I simply have to tell Harold.”
Alfred‘s mind wipes itself clean. He doesn’t like Emma in that way, but he doesn’t want to talk back and expose his falsehoods, so he stays quiet.
His grandmother waves a polite goodbye to Alfred’s tutor and departs from the room, her gown enveloping her as she slips from the room, door gently clicking shut behind her. Unsure as to what exactly just happened, Alfred stares dead ahead, frozen in thought and painfully aware of the flush spreading across his face.
“Are you done with page fourteen yet, boy?” his tutor snaps, drawing him back into reality.
“No, Sir,” Alfred mutters quickly, picking up his pen to resume writing.
The study is also the room in which Alfred receives his lessons, a blackboard set up on the west wall near the large window that stretches from floor to ceiling. Light pours through that glass in Summer -- light can’t pour because it isn’t liquid, Alfred’s been taught that by his tutor before, but there’s no other word for it -- and the sheer amount of it always gives Alfred a headache by the end of the day.
“Did you complete the page on pi?” his tutor demands.
Alfred feebly nods, hands trembling as he raises the piece of paper in question. His tutor, though intelligent, is a terrifying man from Texas with a penchant for slamming his hands against walls and tables to gain Alfred’s attention if he doesn’t listen. That’s why Alfred lives in both awe and fear of him, and on the whole loathes his education -- he prefers it when he’s with Emma, because she teaches him interesting things about giraffes.
“Good,” his tutor says gruffly, snatching the document and marching over to his own designated desk. It’s littered with textbooks and writing utensils that Alfred isn’t ever allowed to touch, lest he be reported to his grandparents for disobedience. “Start the questions on page fourteen and I’ll mark these ones.”
Alfred nods again, hunching over his desk before settling down to work. He isn’t quite sure how much time passes before he hears another voice -- the tick of the clock is annoying and the sound of his tutor’s wheezy breathing is worse -- but he looks up when he does.
It’s his grandmother, entering the room with flair as she asks, “Alfred! Why are there girl’s toys in your room?”
Alfred’s tutor snickers under his breath as Alfred sits up like a shot, eyes widening with horror. “Ah, uh -- what?”
“There’s a dolls’ house,” she snaps. “You shouldn’t be playing with those kinds of things, Alfred.”
“It’s not mine,” Alfred insists. “I-I’m fixing it. For a friend. For…” He thinks of all the girls he knows that aren’t his mother and his grandmother and the crazy Angelique girl from school; he can only think of one and says, “For Emma.”
“The housekeeper?”
“Y-yeah, she broke some of the little furniture, so I’m fixing them for her,” Alfred lies -- but he knows Emma will back him up if she’s asked about it. “Because I’m…” (what did Kirkland say he was the other day…?) “…because I’m gallant.”
There’s a moment of silence, and Alfred’s tutor exchanges a small smile with Alfred’s grandmother. He hopes he hasn’t just used that word stupidly; he has no idea what it means, but it sounds good.
“Your first infatuation,” his grandmother says with an overly-dramatic sigh, and Alfred reddens at the very suggestion. “This is so sweet, Alfred. I simply have to tell Harold.”
Alfred‘s mind wipes itself clean. He doesn’t like Emma in that way, but he doesn’t want to talk back and expose his falsehoods, so he stays quiet.
His grandmother waves a polite goodbye to Alfred’s tutor and departs from the room, her gown enveloping her as she slips from the room, door gently clicking shut behind her. Unsure as to what exactly just happened, Alfred stares dead ahead, frozen in thought and painfully aware of the flush spreading across his face.
“Are you done with page fourteen yet, boy?” his tutor snaps, drawing him back into reality.
“No, Sir,” Alfred mutters quickly, picking up his pen to resume writing.
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