Past-Part Fills Part 7
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Past-Part Fills Part Seven
Fills from past parts can go here!
Fills from the current part (part 22) MUST go in that part's post until it is full.
Link to the original request (and if an ongoing fill, any previous chapters/sections).
Don't forget to link your new fill at the fill ( Read more... )
“Oh,” Alfred says, stopping still. The hand on his shoulder lifts and he turns around to see Arthur indeed holding a pair of polished black shoes, a stark contrast to the white socks currently on Alfred’s feet. Admitting he’s grateful Arthur caught him now, before he humiliated himself in front of his grandmother, isn’t something Alfred intends to do, so he says instead, “You shouldn’t leave the bedroom, what if someone sees you?”
Arthur frowns, thinking of a reply. Perhaps he has some kind of military-style back-up plan for encountering members of the house that aren’t Alfred - or at least, Alfred hopes he does.
Sooner than Arthur can answer, however, a voice from around the landing corner calls out.
“Master Jones?”
It’s a feminine voice, one belonging to a maid. Footsteps echo, getting closer and closer; Alfred freezes in shock but Arthur leaps back. He’s too far from Alfred’s room to take shelter there, so he hides himself behind the half-opened door of the nearest guest room.
Though it’s not an excellent hiding place by any means, when the maid turns the corner she doesn’t seem to pick up on Arthur’s presence. Alfred quickly walks forward to meet her so she can’t venture any further, knowing that if she does she might spot a glimpse of red tunic - if she spies that, then it’ll likely all be over. How can Alfred possibly explain that it’s just one of his toy soldiers, when the soldier is a fully-grown man?
“Oh, Alfie,” the maid (Jodie, or perhaps Joanne) says as she approaches. “You’re supposed to leave with Mrs Jones in five minutes! Why aren’t you downstairs yet? She’s taking you out for pancakes, I hear; don’t you like ‘em?”
Pancakes. The thought of pancakes sends all hope of functional speech from Alfred’s head. He can only respond with his largest, sunniest grin, hoping the maid will do the usual routine of fawning over him before leaving him alone. Sure enough, she chuckles and turns to depart, muttering something about having to finish taking down some curtains, urging Alfred to hurry up and attend to Verna before she comes searching for him.
Alfred watches the maid walk back around the corner she came from, listening intently to her footsteps. He rejoices internally as they begin to fade into the distance.
“That was close,” Alfred says, looking over his shoulder just in time to see Arthur re-emerging from behind the door. “It may be boring in my room and all, but at least you get to walk around freely, y’know?”
“I suppose,” Arthur mutters, but his gaze feels distant, like he’s mulling something over.
“Why didn’t you just do your transformy-thing?” Alfred asks. “You were fine being a doll in front of Emma.”
“Ah, but you see, Emma’s an attractive woman, and the maid wasn’t my type,” Arthur says, wearing something like a sly grin. He coughs when Alfred stares at him innocently, not quite understanding the joke. “Sometimes I forget how young you are... Now take your shoes and be off with you, lad.”
“Thanks!” Alfred says, taking them from Arthur’s grip. He slips on his socks as he breaks back into a run, but manages to regain his balance in time for leaping onto the banister.
Arthur watches him leave before allowing a sigh.
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