I Wish I Was a Punk Rocker - 1/3
anonymous
August 21 2010, 22:02:31 UTC
“What the hell is this?” was Arthur’s pleasant greeting as he walked into Alfred’s house and saw the boy bent over a plastic guitar, one foot propped heroically up on a footstool, tongue poking out of his mouth, as the music surged and lights blinked and spasmed quick enough to give Arthur an epileptic shock on the television.
Alfred didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Oh hey, Arthur! ‘S’up?”
Arthur made a noise of non-commitment and slammed the door behind him, though the sound was barely heard over the pulsing surge of guitar riffs and clicking plastic buttons Alfred kept slamming in his quest to beat his game.
“I’m glad you’re here, actually,” Alfred said, only sounding a little distracted, the colored chords reflecting in his glasses as his fingers danced between red, green, orange, then back to green, then blue, then blue and green together.
“Is that so?” Arthur asked, setting down his briefcase on the table and trying to ignore the screeching coming from the television. “I recall that I was meant to come here anyway for the sake of working on a plan for-”
“Yeah, yeah, work, work,” Alfred dismissed instantly, and when the song ended, he seemed to relax, setting his foot back down on solid ground with its companion and swiveling around to grin at Arthur. The plastic guitar hung from a strap around his shoulder. “Hey, bro, you wanna do me a favor and grab me a soda? I’m on a roll over here!”
“Don’t call me bro,” Arthur said with a snort, “And no, I won’t.”
“Come oooooon, Artie.”
“Don’t call me that, either.”
“Artie-bo-Bartie!”
“Alfred.” Arthur felt his lip curl and it took all his effort not to go and throw his briefcase at the grinning idiot. “We have work to do.”
“Can’t we do it later? I’m on a roll over here.”
“So you just said.”
Alfred rolled his eyes and kicked a couch pillow over at Arthur’s head. Arthur caught it effortlessly and chucked it back at Alfred’s head. Alfred laughed, ducked, and started a new song. He made a valiant effort of striking a very glorious pose, pushing his foot onto the footstool again, and making a few flailing gestures with his arms. But then the music started and the chords started flying across the screen and Alfred set to work of completing the next stage, not even missing a note. Arthur rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and watched Alfred as he played.
Once it became evident that Alfred really was planning on playing, Arthur turned away and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it up on the back of a chair and sitting down at the table, unlatching his briefcase and starting to dig around for the folders. He’d just have to wait until Alfred was serious-in his years of befriending the idiot, he knew that he had to wait until Alfred was ready to work, because forcing him to work only resulted in counter productivity. It was always better just to wait.
“That’s hardly what I would consider real playing,” Arthur called over his shoulder as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He could always relax a little when he was dealing with Alfred, who was always so casual it was almost painful.
“Well obviously! It’s a video game! And I am the master of video games,” Alfred crowed, and hit a long chord. The music warbled and Alfred grinned victoriously.
Arthur rolled his eyes.
“I’m taking your silence for ‘holy crap, you’re awesome!’, by the way!” Alfred announced.
Arthur snorted. “I’d like to see you play a real guitar, boy.”
“What, like you?”
“I play the bass,” Arthur muttered to himself, shuffling the folders and laying out some of the forms on the table, brow furrowing. “Are you done yet? We have work to do!”
“Tell you what,” Alfred said. “I’ll get to work if you can beat my score in Guitar Hero. Commere.”
“No.”
“Come oooooooooooooooooon.”
“Don’t you start that,” Arthur said and then, just because he was a benevolent person, walked over to Alfred, punching the back of his shoulder without much umf (not that he could harm Alfred, anyway, super-strength imbecile that he was). “But fine. Hand it over.”
Alfred didn’t respond until the song ended, and once it did, he handed it over to Arthur.
Alfred didn’t take his eyes off the screen. “Oh hey, Arthur! ‘S’up?”
Arthur made a noise of non-commitment and slammed the door behind him, though the sound was barely heard over the pulsing surge of guitar riffs and clicking plastic buttons Alfred kept slamming in his quest to beat his game.
“I’m glad you’re here, actually,” Alfred said, only sounding a little distracted, the colored chords reflecting in his glasses as his fingers danced between red, green, orange, then back to green, then blue, then blue and green together.
“Is that so?” Arthur asked, setting down his briefcase on the table and trying to ignore the screeching coming from the television. “I recall that I was meant to come here anyway for the sake of working on a plan for-”
“Yeah, yeah, work, work,” Alfred dismissed instantly, and when the song ended, he seemed to relax, setting his foot back down on solid ground with its companion and swiveling around to grin at Arthur. The plastic guitar hung from a strap around his shoulder. “Hey, bro, you wanna do me a favor and grab me a soda? I’m on a roll over here!”
“Don’t call me bro,” Arthur said with a snort, “And no, I won’t.”
“Come oooooon, Artie.”
“Don’t call me that, either.”
“Artie-bo-Bartie!”
“Alfred.” Arthur felt his lip curl and it took all his effort not to go and throw his briefcase at the grinning idiot. “We have work to do.”
“Can’t we do it later? I’m on a roll over here.”
“So you just said.”
Alfred rolled his eyes and kicked a couch pillow over at Arthur’s head. Arthur caught it effortlessly and chucked it back at Alfred’s head. Alfred laughed, ducked, and started a new song. He made a valiant effort of striking a very glorious pose, pushing his foot onto the footstool again, and making a few flailing gestures with his arms. But then the music started and the chords started flying across the screen and Alfred set to work of completing the next stage, not even missing a note. Arthur rolled his eyes, crossed his arms, and watched Alfred as he played.
Once it became evident that Alfred really was planning on playing, Arthur turned away and shrugged out of his jacket, hanging it up on the back of a chair and sitting down at the table, unlatching his briefcase and starting to dig around for the folders. He’d just have to wait until Alfred was serious-in his years of befriending the idiot, he knew that he had to wait until Alfred was ready to work, because forcing him to work only resulted in counter productivity. It was always better just to wait.
“That’s hardly what I would consider real playing,” Arthur called over his shoulder as he loosened his tie and rolled up his sleeves. He could always relax a little when he was dealing with Alfred, who was always so casual it was almost painful.
“Well obviously! It’s a video game! And I am the master of video games,” Alfred crowed, and hit a long chord. The music warbled and Alfred grinned victoriously.
Arthur rolled his eyes.
“I’m taking your silence for ‘holy crap, you’re awesome!’, by the way!” Alfred announced.
Arthur snorted. “I’d like to see you play a real guitar, boy.”
“What, like you?”
“I play the bass,” Arthur muttered to himself, shuffling the folders and laying out some of the forms on the table, brow furrowing. “Are you done yet? We have work to do!”
“Tell you what,” Alfred said. “I’ll get to work if you can beat my score in Guitar Hero. Commere.”
“No.”
“Come oooooooooooooooooon.”
“Don’t you start that,” Arthur said and then, just because he was a benevolent person, walked over to Alfred, punching the back of his shoulder without much umf (not that he could harm Alfred, anyway, super-strength imbecile that he was). “But fine. Hand it over.”
Alfred didn’t respond until the song ended, and once it did, he handed it over to Arthur.
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