On Criticism of English Beer and the Subsequent Throttling of Germans
WHO: Albino and Eyebrow Bastard
WHEN: Sometime after Mortification and before Madness
WHERE: Eyebrow Bastard's Den
WHAT: What's a breaking and entering between two old...uh.
RATING: Please do not do this at home, children! :D
Leaning over the bathroom sink and getting another look at the damage wrought, Arthur gingerly touched the swollen and purple skin around his right eye, hissing as even the most gentle of brushes made him tear up in pain. But. It wasn’t that bad, he decided. All things considering he was fairly lucky that it wasn’t worse. In fact, the last time he received a shiner (in a significantly more brag-worthy and less I-desire-to-live-out-this-mortification-under-a-bloody-huge-rock manner), the blood vessels in his eye had broken and stained his white sclera a demonic shade of red.
After sending more than one nipper scurrying off in throes of terror (which considering what age he was when this happened was a constant source of amusement) along with a couple potential bedmates, there was a brief stint in which he invested in an eye patch.
The constant pirate quips from his peers were certainly worth the rewards reaped.
For a moment, the Arthur of the now briefly entertained the thought of searching his bureau for that scrap of material, but just as quickly shook his head as if to physically dislodge such follies of his youth. He really ought to just continue icing this badge of embarrassment so it could go away all the quicker.
Taking one last look at his sorry appearance in the mirror, Arthur sighed and hung his head a little. Really, to receive such a wound from a (crazed) mother who had thought he was after an red, fuzzy, electronic humanoid--
Well. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that he was supposedly after. All that he remembered was that he decided to take a shortcut through a seemingly empty aisle on his way to the kitchenware section. Before he knew it, he was flat on his back clutching his eye as a woman loomed over him - a child in one hand and an alarmingly large purse (dear God, did she have more children stashed in there!?) in the other - all the while shouting triumphant obscenities at him.
How he got out of there and back home with all his limbs intact was a mystery to even him. But surely he would have nightmares about that purse tonight.
Shuddering a little, Arthur finally pulled himself away from the mirror, determined to not dwell on it anymore than he already had. Granted, it was a promise that he was sure to break within the hour, but it was the thought that counted, right?
Sighing again, Arthur exited his personal bathroom and waffled between the choice of relaxing in his own room or getting some other cold foodstuff to press onto his eye. Now, as the reason for his reluctance to go was the joy of explaining why he looked to be on the losing end of fight, and given that he was fairly sure that Dewi or anyone else wasn’t puttering around downstairs, he saw no rational reason not to quickly pop down to the kitchen.
With that in mind, Arthur left his room and made his way to the stairs, taking two at a time in his haste. He kept his rapid pace until he hit the living room where he mindlessly strode past a shock of white hair lazily resting on antique upholstery.
A beat or two past - just enough time for the, ohgodhelphim, that image to sink in and his feet to skid to a halt and backtrack in a slow, have-I-gone-around-the-bend fashion.
In hindsight, he would have much preferred being mad as a box of frogs. Because then he wouldn’t have to ponder the horrid question of why was there an bastard albino German lounging on his couch (with his shoes on the cushions) like he was the bloody king of Candyland.
“Oh, fuck me.”
WHEN: Sometime after Mortification and before Madness
WHERE: Eyebrow Bastard's Den
WHAT: What's a breaking and entering between two old...uh.
RATING: Please do not do this at home, children! :D
Leaning over the bathroom sink and getting another look at the damage wrought, Arthur gingerly touched the swollen and purple skin around his right eye, hissing as even the most gentle of brushes made him tear up in pain. But. It wasn’t that bad, he decided. All things considering he was fairly lucky that it wasn’t worse. In fact, the last time he received a shiner (in a significantly more brag-worthy and less I-desire-to-live-out-this-mortification-under-a-bloody-huge-rock manner), the blood vessels in his eye had broken and stained his white sclera a demonic shade of red.
After sending more than one nipper scurrying off in throes of terror (which considering what age he was when this happened was a constant source of amusement) along with a couple potential bedmates, there was a brief stint in which he invested in an eye patch.
The constant pirate quips from his peers were certainly worth the rewards reaped.
For a moment, the Arthur of the now briefly entertained the thought of searching his bureau for that scrap of material, but just as quickly shook his head as if to physically dislodge such follies of his youth. He really ought to just continue icing this badge of embarrassment so it could go away all the quicker.
Taking one last look at his sorry appearance in the mirror, Arthur sighed and hung his head a little. Really, to receive such a wound from a (crazed) mother who had thought he was after an red, fuzzy, electronic humanoid--
Well. He wasn’t exactly sure what it was that he was supposedly after. All that he remembered was that he decided to take a shortcut through a seemingly empty aisle on his way to the kitchenware section. Before he knew it, he was flat on his back clutching his eye as a woman loomed over him - a child in one hand and an alarmingly large purse (dear God, did she have more children stashed in there!?) in the other - all the while shouting triumphant obscenities at him.
How he got out of there and back home with all his limbs intact was a mystery to even him. But surely he would have nightmares about that purse tonight.
Shuddering a little, Arthur finally pulled himself away from the mirror, determined to not dwell on it anymore than he already had. Granted, it was a promise that he was sure to break within the hour, but it was the thought that counted, right?
Sighing again, Arthur exited his personal bathroom and waffled between the choice of relaxing in his own room or getting some other cold foodstuff to press onto his eye. Now, as the reason for his reluctance to go was the joy of explaining why he looked to be on the losing end of fight, and given that he was fairly sure that Dewi or anyone else wasn’t puttering around downstairs, he saw no rational reason not to quickly pop down to the kitchen.
With that in mind, Arthur left his room and made his way to the stairs, taking two at a time in his haste. He kept his rapid pace until he hit the living room where he mindlessly strode past a shock of white hair lazily resting on antique upholstery.
A beat or two past - just enough time for the, ohgodhelphim, that image to sink in and his feet to skid to a halt and backtrack in a slow, have-I-gone-around-the-bend fashion.
In hindsight, he would have much preferred being mad as a box of frogs. Because then he wouldn’t have to ponder the horrid question of why was there an bastard albino German lounging on his couch (with his shoes on the cushions) like he was the bloody king of Candyland.
“Oh, fuck me.”