In Which Arthur Makes a Decent Father
Who: Arthur and a "modified" Alfred
When: December 29th
Where: Myrtles House
What: Arthur isn't quite sure what to do with the child that appears at his front door. Calling himself Alfred no less, that's just ridiculous. Right?
The taxi driver had given the little boy a strange look. Mostly because he was a tiny little child stuck in a bomber jacket and what appeared to be boxers. On top of that, he'd been asked to be dropped off at the creepiest house in all of Liberty which appeared to be deserted. But he'd paid and that's all that really mattered (and he wasn't about to say no to such sweet little blue eyes.
Thanking him, the boy lowered himself from the car, tiny feet enveloped in too-big socks as he touched down on the cement. Toddling away up towards the house, the boy clambered up, jumping to hit the doorbell before falling to his knees, eyes filling with tears as he rubbed at his face. The taxi pulled away and there he sat on the steps of the Myrtles House, rubbing at his eyes and trying not to burst into tears.
Alfred F. Jones had turned into a child.
Arthur was not the type to get many visitors. It was simply a fact of life - nothing to get weepy or despondent over. Granted his general misanthropy might have helped with that.
The people who lived (and had lived) in house however…seem to have no lack of people popping over to see them. It had been a nuisance at first, all these blasted people coming and going at all hours of the day (and sometimes the night, but he had soon put an end to that), but it had eventually became routine. An irritating routine, but one nonetheless.
But his tenants were gone. All that remained were him and Dewi (plus his mother at the moment, but Arthur prefer to treat her as a nonentity). But currently he was by himself, thankfully left to his own devices as Dewi (+1 UMA) took a jaunt about town.
Thus he wasn't expecting anyone. Thus his task of changing the light bulb just out of reach in the foyer. Thus the step ladder. Thus him falling off said step ladder when the doorbell rang particularly loudly into his ear.
Thus his grumpy countenance when he flung open the door and saw nothing but air.
...Until he looked down.
A child. Swimming in clothes. With unshed tears in its eyes.
A sight a softhearted would simply sigh and coo over.
Arthur's cantankerous air was unmoved.
"What?" he bit out, on the verge of lecturing the muppet.
"A-Arthur-" Alfred used the bomber's sleeve to wipe at his eyes. When had the Brit been so tall? God this seriously blew. But before he could stop himself, Alfred had launched himself at the trousered legs, clinging to his leg, letting out a whimpering little sigh of tears. His fingers clutched at the fabric, cheeks smearing tears against his leg.
It took him a moment to gather himself. "I-I'm Alfred! A-And I'm a kid and I don't know what do do and it's cold outside and I c-can't do anything a-and I'm so short ghaaaaah-" but the rest of his sentence was lost in blubbering sentences of crying and sobbing.
Before Arthur could think to ask the child where on God’s name was his mummy, the child had attached himself it to his leg, using his trousers as a makeshift handkerchief. Arthur wasn’t so callous as to shake him off and direct him elsewhere (but if the muppet wiped his nose with Arthur’s good trousers there would be words) and found himself patting the lad’s head reflexively, somewhat befuddled.
A befuddlement that amplified tenfold when the boy had sobbed out an explanation.
Arthur wasn't one to take such matters lightly - not after all that happened to him - and although the mention of Alfred sparked the thought of this being a practical joke, Arthur considered what the lad had said.
So it was not out of irritation that he seized the boy by his shoulders and detached him from his leg, but out of contemplation with a hint of suspicious. Warily, Arthur bent down, one knee on the chilled stoop, as he seriously regarded the boy eye-to-eye, looking for signs that this was all an elaborate prank by one of his recently departed tenants.
And yet, all he saw was a distressed boy. One with familiar blue eyes that were more watery than usual and blond hair with an unruly cowlick that Arthur himself had tried and failed to tame.
"...Please tell me you're having me on," was all the Englishman could mutter in the face of such convincing evidence.
Alfred stared right back at Arthur, almost never having been this close to him and resisting the urge to srunch those bushy brows under his now chubby hands. Jeez those were strange at this distance. Strange enough to stop Alfred's sobbing at least.
Shaking his head violently, Alfred threw tiny arms around Alfred's neck and clung to him for dear life. "I-It's me Arthur- I don't know what happened- I woke up this morning and now I'm this size and R-Rosie's not there and Matthew's out and there's nothing I can do-" He shook a little, "A-Arthur you gotta help me man, please- Please there's no one else I can see right now- I can't show Ivan o-or anyone-"
He pulled back to look at Arthur. "And my feet are cold."
Arthur frowned at the odd statement, but it all became quite clear with a quick glance downwards. Regardless if this was a joke or not, the fact remained there was a fairly young lad on his stoop sans shoes and proper attire for winter.
Not even Alfred was idiotic enough to send a child to his doorstep in such a state, believable though it may have been. Although Arthur doubted Alfred would give a prank such thought...
Heaving a sigh and setting the matter aside for now, Arthur pushed himself up to a standing position and took the boy by the shoulder, leading him into the house.
"Come along, let's talk this over where it's warm."
Alfred clung to his leg, looking around, seeing the house from a whole new view and it being 100 times creepier than before. While only made him move closer to the Englishman and cling tighter. "W-What am I going to do!? I-I'm tiny! And cold and weak but I-I still think like myself!"
Stumbling a little in the socks, he plopped down on the ground, in favour of pulling them off and struggling out of the bomber, leaving him on the floor in boxers. "It's... weird-" He stood up, holding his boxers up with one hand so they didn't slip down his waist, frowning. The urge to run around on the creaky floor was very very tempting...
"You need suitable clothing," Arthur murmured to himself, noting how heavy the leather jacket must have been.
"Stay here," he ordered sternly in a voice meant for potentially disobedient children and...well, Alfred actually, so not much had changed despite the diminutive size. "Just stay here while I pop upstairs for something for you to wear."
Sparing the boy one last no-nonsense look, Arthur hurried up the staircase, hoping beyond hope that he didn't come back to a ransacked room.
Unable the help himself, Alfred started to poke through the rooms and within a minute was running amok throughout the house, the twenty-one-year old far of his mind seeming to give way to a six-year-old's urges, pulling drawers open and rummaging through them, finding random items and finding them new holding places. Namely on the floor. His laughter echoed through the house as his feet pattered across the hardwood.
Clutching his boxers the whole way, he heard Arthur coming down the stairs and hide himself behind the curtains, rather unaware of the fact that his feet were poking out.
Arthur honestly shouldn't have been surprised when he came back to find things that were once in their rightful places on shelves and in drawers now scattered about like this was some sort of den of...well, uncleanliness.
Really, to expect Alfred(?) to exert any sort of self-control as an adult much less as a child was perhaps asking for too much. He probably would have to appeal to a half a dozen deities (or underworld beings) to ever get Alfred to seriously listen and follow his requests to not fool about. Just cleaning up would take less time.
Giving the feet his curtains had suddenly sprouted a knowing look, Arthur placed the bundle of clothes he had unearthed on the couch before quickly tidying up the mess. Luckily he hadn't been gone long enough for any real damage to take place. But still...a lesson needed to be taught.
"You have until the count of five to come out," Arthur announced lightly. "If I reach five and you're still not out..." he paused, searching for a befitting threat. "I'll...ring up someone else to handle you. Hmm...Ivan, was it?"
Meeping quietly, Alfred poked his head out from behind the curtains and hurried over, launching himself at Arthur's knees again. "No, no! Don't call him, please! I'll be good I swear!"
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled himself up onto the couch, digging through the clothes and finding a sweater, pulling it on and frowning. "Aaaah-" he lifted his arms, the sleeves hanging off his hands, "It's backwards..."
"Hopeless you are," Arthur sighed at the sorry sight. "Here, I'll help you," he relented, before ordering, "Arms up." The boy acquiesced with surprisingly little resistance or complaining and Arthur pulled off the well worn sweater before turning it around and helping Alfred to get it back on.
Grinning and settling lower into the sweater, Alfred's hands curling into fists. "It's so soft..." He said, curling lower into the couch, smiling up at Arthur, "Thanks man, you saved me an awkward trip to the mall." Rummaging through the pile some more, he hummed to himself, "Do you have any juice? Like apple? I want apple juice..."
Arthur swiftly caught the back of Alfred's collar before he could bounce into the kitchen and probably make another mess. "Perhaps instead of worrying about your stomach you should tell me exactly what happened." His voice brooked no argument as he directed the boy toward the couch and sat him down. "From the beginning if you will."
"I put on a load of laundry, set up my bed from IKEA, slept... Oh, and I fed Rosie. And then I just... woke up this morning and BAM!" Alfred squirmed, managing to free himself from Arthur's grip, "I'm tiny now- but I still think like myself...... OH MY GOD, DO YOU THINK IT WAS ALIENS!?"
Arthur resisted the urge to bury his head and his arms and groan...along with the stronger urge to smack some sense into idiot turned smaller idiot. "No, I do not think it was aliens, Alfred." If there was a shadow of doubt before, it was gone now. Only Alfred had such mad, reactionary conspiracy theories.
Alfred huffed, pulling out pants from the pile and glaring up at Arthur. "Turn away you perv," he said, sticking his tongue out, "I need to change my pants."
"I'm not--!" Arthur squawked before cutting himself off from sheer outrage. "My threat still stands you do know?" he reminded darkly.
"And I'm a six... Five? I am a young boy who is in a creepy house and I can say I was lured here by an Englishman." Alfred said, smiling sweetly, "Now turn away."
Arthur's fingers twitched with the urge to strangle, but unlike the utterly juvenile hellion in front of him, he knew how to exercise self-restraint. "I'll do one better," he snapped, and he stormed out of the room and disappeared into the kitchen.
Grinning at his victory over Arthur even in this body, Alfred quickly pulled on the proper attire, running over to the kitchen and peering at Arthur. "Do you have any juice?"
"No," Arthur answered shortly before resuming his foraging for tea. He could have sworn he got some Twinings the other day....
Alfred latched onto his leg, sitting on his foot. "Arthurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."
"Just because you look like a child doesn't give you the right to act like one," Arthur ground out, unwilling to give into such childish antics.
Alfred, knowing that this was in fact, the most desperate of times, took a deep breath and prepared himself. As a child, he had perfect this technique and he was surprised with how well he could bring it back to the forefront of his mind.
Big. Blue. Watery. Eyes.
"B-But- A-Artie-"
Arthur could feel his resolve crumbling, but resolutely turned away from the sight before he gave in. "Listen closely. I am willing to help you with this particular matter at hand, but I will not allow you to treat me as if I am someone to fulfill your every whim." Warily, he turned back to face the lad. "In short, no, I will not get apple juice for you."
Damn, this guy was good. "Fine..." Alfred clung closer, burying his face into Arthur's shin. "...Can you take me the store to buy some?"
"....That is practically the same thing, you realise," Arthur wryly remarked.
Flumping to the floor, Alfred started to turn himself around, little bare feet working against the floor, spinning him. "Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase."
Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose, not quite believing what he was seeing. "On second thought your mindset perfectly fits this form."
Coming to a dead stop, Alfred made a star on the ground, staring up at Arthur. "I'm hungry." He said, ignoring Arthur. because he was a mature twenty-one year-old-stuck in a six-ish-year-old's body. "Can you feed me?"
"...I can cook for you," Arthur relented reluctantly, feeling just a tad bit bad. By all means if Alfred was hungry...well, Arthur could just whip up something for him.
It took Alfred less than a second to jump up and sandwich himself to Arthur's leg. "Whaddya gonna make!? Burgers! We should have burgers! And juice!"
"No burgers," he instantly rejected. There was absolutely no way that he could be convinced to give into that particular request. "However, I could heat you up some roast?" He would prefer to make something from scratch, but something told him Alfred would not be willing to wait that long.
"Noooooooooo," Alfred complained, sticking his tongue out, "I'm hungry noooow!"
"Burgers would take longer," Arthur shot back.
Alfred huffed. "Sandwiches?"
"If you don't mind turkey and rye bread," was the dubious response. Alfred could be a picky eater in the strangest of ways sometimes.
Before Alfred could complain more, his stomach growled and he clutched at it, echoing it with a whine. "Okay, okay-- whatever- I'm hungry..."
"So you've told me," Arthur deadpanned, before he made his way to the refrigerator. "Ah..." Perhaps he could cease the whines sooner. "Look in the drawer under the one with the silverware, you might find something to tide you over." Technically Dewi had 'claimed' that drawer, but Arthur couldn't be arsed to care.
Pulling through the contents, Alfred found a pack of Jammie Dodgers and half ripped them open, starting to devour them, getting crumbs everywhere and within the time it took for Arthur to prepare the sandwiches, the boy had managed his way through three fourths of the packet and was grinning contentedly, licking plum jam from his fingers.
Thank the heavens Dewi did indeed have something in there, it made the entire process go all the more quicker. Certainly a worthy sacrifice in his opinion. "There," he announced with flourish. "A sandwich after you finish with those."
Tiny, sugar-coated fingers gripped the edge of the counter and Alfred struggled to see over the edge. Even standing on his tipy-toes wasn't help. Being short seriously blew and he huffed in frustration, blue eyes just making it over the edge. No way was he asking Arthur for help.
Arthur oversaw the dilemma with acute amusment. After all of those laughing remarks about Arthur's shorter stature, this certainly was poetic justice at its finest. As such he couldn't help himself. "Oh dear me, what ever seems to be the matter?"
Alfred paused for a moment, then plopped down onto the heels of his feet, giving Arthur the dirtiest look he could managing before walking over to the dining room and dragging a chair over, making sure it made as much noise as he could before depositing it next the counter and scrambling up onto it, chest now level with the counter. "Nothin'~ Thanks for the sandwich." Picking it up, Arthur dug his teeth in and paused, chewing and swallowing, "Hey, this is really good!"
Despite the irritating display before, Arthur found himself very much flattered at the compliments. After all it wasn't everyday (or any day) that someone admitted to liking his cooking. Granted, this probably didn't exactly count as actual cooking, but it was close enough to bring a pleased flush to Arthur's cheeks. "You honestly like it?"
It wasn't every day that Alfred compliment Arthur on his cooking either, usually finding it one of the better ways to annoy the Brit but whether out of the situation or his hunger, the compliment had left his mouth. "It's really good, thanks," he said, face half buried into the sandwich, getting food all over his face, "I like this bread. Wry? Rye?"
"Rye, yes," he confirmed, before adding with a soft smile, "...And you're very welcome."
Nearly choking on the food at the smile (because hell Alfred hadn't seen Arthur smile like that before) Alfred flushed a little himself, lowering his eyes and finishing his food in silence, wiping at his mouth, food smearing over his sleeves. "Ah- Thank you..."
"Are you quite alright?" Arthur asked with more than a touch of concern. He really hoped nothing was wrong with the sandwich, that's all he needed...
Alfred shook his head. "I'm... A little better..." he hugged Arthur loosely, "I knew coming to you was the best choice... Other people woulda freaked out but you're calm..."
Cautiously, Arthur patted the head of blond hair resting on his chest, not used to such signs of affection from Alfred or...well, anyone for that matter. "Yes...well. I've seen more queer things if you believe me."
"A twenty-one year old turned six isn't strange?" Alfred let him go, laughing and sliding down off of the chair, little legs flailing as he tried to touch down on the ground.
"Strange but not the strangest incident I've come across," Arthur admitted. "But. We digress. I know I asked you before...but could you tell me every detail? You said you woke up like this? Well, then, tell me what you did last night before sleeping."
Alfred, still flailing, slid off the chair, plopping onto the ground, sitting on his bottom, peering up at Arthur. "I... Laundry, Rosie, a walk, was at Ivan's house-" a shudder here, barely noticeable- "-and... Well I saved someone from being mugged."
"...You didn't accidentally offend someone during all of this, did you?" Arthur asked wearily, knowing Alfred's particular talent in that area.
"No!" Alfred said, jabbing Arthur in the shin. "I was great these last few weeks!"
"I find it hard to believe you," Arthur replied crossly, rubbing his shin.
Shaking his head, Alfred stood up. "I didn't..." he sighed, starting to rub at his eyes. Everything was getting so complicated and- and- before he knew it, his breath was hitching and he was curling his knees to his chest, blue eyes filling with tears, "I-I was good-"
Arthur's eyes widened at the sudden onslaught of tears - he was never this weepy in response to Arthur's comments. He usually just laughed it off and continued to be an utter prat. An Alfred that abruptly burst into tears was not something Arthur was used to. "E-erm, can you remember anything else?" he was quick to interject, hoping to distract him long enough to prevent full out bawling.
"I was a-alone-" Alfred said, looking up at Arthur, "M-Mattie was gone, Ivan wasn't there... My laundry was done and I couldn't reach it... S-So I called the taxi as soon as I could."
Arthur still couldn't see the link. "Anything else? The smallest of details may be able to help."
"No!" Alfred snapped at him, tears spilling over, "That's all I-I remember, n-nothing else."
"Really? Nothing at all odd?" Arthur frowned. None of this added up. People did not just spontaneously shrink - there was always a reason behind it. "How about the past few days?"
By now, Alfred had curled up onto the floor in the fetal position. "I-I don't know, I've been s-so good lately Artie-"
Arthur sighed at the somewhat melodramatic display in front of him, feeling a bit sorry for the boy. "Come now, it's not all that bad. Whatever happened to that disgustingly sunny disposition of yours?"
"Gooooooooooooooooooooooone," Alfred whined out, rubbing at his eyes, cheeks wet with tears. "I-I don't wanna be sunny!" Which was true. The last thing Alfred wanted right now was to be bright and bubbly. He wanted a hug and someone to comfort him and now he was seriously regretting coming to Arthur because the stupid mean ol' Brit was just asking him stupid questions that made his head hurt.
"Then what do you want to be?" Arthur asked tiredly. All of these moodswings were making him exhausted.
"I want a hug."
"...From who?"
Alfred gave him a withering look. "The queen you dick."
"More believable than what you're possibly suggesting," Arthur scoffed.
"Fine, just let me sob on the floor of your kitchen."
"You are not extorting a hug out of me." He could scarcely believe he had to say such words. And to Alfred of all people.
That was pretty much it for Alfred. He burst into tears, scrabbling up onto his feet, kicking Arthur once in the shins before running off to hide himself in the only place he knew worked. Under the stairs.
"I thought you said the kitchen," Arthur muttered to himself rubbing his shins once more. Just had to kick in the same place twice, didn't he...
"You're a mean old man and I hate you!"
"Original!" Arthur called back, in no mood to chase him down and encourage such juvenile behaviour.
"AT LEAST I'D HUG A CRYING KID IN MY KITCHEN."
"You're supposed to be twenty one years old!"
"DO I LOOK TWENTY ONE?" Alfred poked his head out of the stairs. "NO. NO I DON'T."
"But do you have twenty one years worth of memories," Arthur asked pointedly.
Alfred stood at the opening of the kitchen, fists tight at his sides, blue eyes still rimmed with tears. "Y-Yeah! And I'm stuck in this b-body!" Tired of this, Alfred merely ran over, throwing himself at Alfred in a flurry of tiny flailing fists with eventually ended with him sagged against Arthur, sobbing.
Totally.
Mature.
Twenty-one year old.
Arthur was at a lost at what to do. Yes, there was what Alfred requested, but he couldn't....he wasn't... Well. Chances were he would bollocks the whole thing up.
And then where would that leave them?
Alfred wrapped arms around him, clinging to him tightly. "I-I'm alone A-Artie-" he shivered with each word, "W-What will happen to me?"
Questions he could deal with. "Eventually you'll turn back to normal, or we'll find a way and you can continue on as if none of this mess happened."
Staring up at him with watery blue eyes, Alfred swallowed. "R-Really?"
"If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't have said it. You should know that much at least."
Somehow, that calmed him down and Alfred clung to his legs, letting himself simmer down. "O-okay..." he sighed, "Sorry about your shins."
Arthur faintly smiled at the sentiment. "Remember the next time you're cross with me."
"...Can we go get apple juice now?"
"...If that whole scene was for juice, I will throttle you no matter what age you look."
When: December 29th
Where: Myrtles House
What: Arthur isn't quite sure what to do with the child that appears at his front door. Calling himself Alfred no less, that's just ridiculous. Right?
The taxi driver had given the little boy a strange look. Mostly because he was a tiny little child stuck in a bomber jacket and what appeared to be boxers. On top of that, he'd been asked to be dropped off at the creepiest house in all of Liberty which appeared to be deserted. But he'd paid and that's all that really mattered (and he wasn't about to say no to such sweet little blue eyes.
Thanking him, the boy lowered himself from the car, tiny feet enveloped in too-big socks as he touched down on the cement. Toddling away up towards the house, the boy clambered up, jumping to hit the doorbell before falling to his knees, eyes filling with tears as he rubbed at his face. The taxi pulled away and there he sat on the steps of the Myrtles House, rubbing at his eyes and trying not to burst into tears.
Alfred F. Jones had turned into a child.
Arthur was not the type to get many visitors. It was simply a fact of life - nothing to get weepy or despondent over. Granted his general misanthropy might have helped with that.
The people who lived (and had lived) in house however…seem to have no lack of people popping over to see them. It had been a nuisance at first, all these blasted people coming and going at all hours of the day (and sometimes the night, but he had soon put an end to that), but it had eventually became routine. An irritating routine, but one nonetheless.
But his tenants were gone. All that remained were him and Dewi (plus his mother at the moment, but Arthur prefer to treat her as a nonentity). But currently he was by himself, thankfully left to his own devices as Dewi (+1 UMA) took a jaunt about town.
Thus he wasn't expecting anyone. Thus his task of changing the light bulb just out of reach in the foyer. Thus the step ladder. Thus him falling off said step ladder when the doorbell rang particularly loudly into his ear.
Thus his grumpy countenance when he flung open the door and saw nothing but air.
...Until he looked down.
A child. Swimming in clothes. With unshed tears in its eyes.
A sight a softhearted would simply sigh and coo over.
Arthur's cantankerous air was unmoved.
"What?" he bit out, on the verge of lecturing the muppet.
"A-Arthur-" Alfred used the bomber's sleeve to wipe at his eyes. When had the Brit been so tall? God this seriously blew. But before he could stop himself, Alfred had launched himself at the trousered legs, clinging to his leg, letting out a whimpering little sigh of tears. His fingers clutched at the fabric, cheeks smearing tears against his leg.
It took him a moment to gather himself. "I-I'm Alfred! A-And I'm a kid and I don't know what do do and it's cold outside and I c-can't do anything a-and I'm so short ghaaaaah-" but the rest of his sentence was lost in blubbering sentences of crying and sobbing.
Before Arthur could think to ask the child where on God’s name was his mummy, the child had attached himself it to his leg, using his trousers as a makeshift handkerchief. Arthur wasn’t so callous as to shake him off and direct him elsewhere (but if the muppet wiped his nose with Arthur’s good trousers there would be words) and found himself patting the lad’s head reflexively, somewhat befuddled.
A befuddlement that amplified tenfold when the boy had sobbed out an explanation.
Arthur wasn't one to take such matters lightly - not after all that happened to him - and although the mention of Alfred sparked the thought of this being a practical joke, Arthur considered what the lad had said.
So it was not out of irritation that he seized the boy by his shoulders and detached him from his leg, but out of contemplation with a hint of suspicious. Warily, Arthur bent down, one knee on the chilled stoop, as he seriously regarded the boy eye-to-eye, looking for signs that this was all an elaborate prank by one of his recently departed tenants.
And yet, all he saw was a distressed boy. One with familiar blue eyes that were more watery than usual and blond hair with an unruly cowlick that Arthur himself had tried and failed to tame.
"...Please tell me you're having me on," was all the Englishman could mutter in the face of such convincing evidence.
Alfred stared right back at Arthur, almost never having been this close to him and resisting the urge to srunch those bushy brows under his now chubby hands. Jeez those were strange at this distance. Strange enough to stop Alfred's sobbing at least.
Shaking his head violently, Alfred threw tiny arms around Alfred's neck and clung to him for dear life. "I-It's me Arthur- I don't know what happened- I woke up this morning and now I'm this size and R-Rosie's not there and Matthew's out and there's nothing I can do-" He shook a little, "A-Arthur you gotta help me man, please- Please there's no one else I can see right now- I can't show Ivan o-or anyone-"
He pulled back to look at Arthur. "And my feet are cold."
Arthur frowned at the odd statement, but it all became quite clear with a quick glance downwards. Regardless if this was a joke or not, the fact remained there was a fairly young lad on his stoop sans shoes and proper attire for winter.
Not even Alfred was idiotic enough to send a child to his doorstep in such a state, believable though it may have been. Although Arthur doubted Alfred would give a prank such thought...
Heaving a sigh and setting the matter aside for now, Arthur pushed himself up to a standing position and took the boy by the shoulder, leading him into the house.
"Come along, let's talk this over where it's warm."
Alfred clung to his leg, looking around, seeing the house from a whole new view and it being 100 times creepier than before. While only made him move closer to the Englishman and cling tighter. "W-What am I going to do!? I-I'm tiny! And cold and weak but I-I still think like myself!"
Stumbling a little in the socks, he plopped down on the ground, in favour of pulling them off and struggling out of the bomber, leaving him on the floor in boxers. "It's... weird-" He stood up, holding his boxers up with one hand so they didn't slip down his waist, frowning. The urge to run around on the creaky floor was very very tempting...
"You need suitable clothing," Arthur murmured to himself, noting how heavy the leather jacket must have been.
"Stay here," he ordered sternly in a voice meant for potentially disobedient children and...well, Alfred actually, so not much had changed despite the diminutive size. "Just stay here while I pop upstairs for something for you to wear."
Sparing the boy one last no-nonsense look, Arthur hurried up the staircase, hoping beyond hope that he didn't come back to a ransacked room.
Unable the help himself, Alfred started to poke through the rooms and within a minute was running amok throughout the house, the twenty-one-year old far of his mind seeming to give way to a six-year-old's urges, pulling drawers open and rummaging through them, finding random items and finding them new holding places. Namely on the floor. His laughter echoed through the house as his feet pattered across the hardwood.
Clutching his boxers the whole way, he heard Arthur coming down the stairs and hide himself behind the curtains, rather unaware of the fact that his feet were poking out.
Arthur honestly shouldn't have been surprised when he came back to find things that were once in their rightful places on shelves and in drawers now scattered about like this was some sort of den of...well, uncleanliness.
Really, to expect Alfred(?) to exert any sort of self-control as an adult much less as a child was perhaps asking for too much. He probably would have to appeal to a half a dozen deities (or underworld beings) to ever get Alfred to seriously listen and follow his requests to not fool about. Just cleaning up would take less time.
Giving the feet his curtains had suddenly sprouted a knowing look, Arthur placed the bundle of clothes he had unearthed on the couch before quickly tidying up the mess. Luckily he hadn't been gone long enough for any real damage to take place. But still...a lesson needed to be taught.
"You have until the count of five to come out," Arthur announced lightly. "If I reach five and you're still not out..." he paused, searching for a befitting threat. "I'll...ring up someone else to handle you. Hmm...Ivan, was it?"
Meeping quietly, Alfred poked his head out from behind the curtains and hurried over, launching himself at Arthur's knees again. "No, no! Don't call him, please! I'll be good I swear!"
Without waiting for an answer, he pulled himself up onto the couch, digging through the clothes and finding a sweater, pulling it on and frowning. "Aaaah-" he lifted his arms, the sleeves hanging off his hands, "It's backwards..."
"Hopeless you are," Arthur sighed at the sorry sight. "Here, I'll help you," he relented, before ordering, "Arms up." The boy acquiesced with surprisingly little resistance or complaining and Arthur pulled off the well worn sweater before turning it around and helping Alfred to get it back on.
Grinning and settling lower into the sweater, Alfred's hands curling into fists. "It's so soft..." He said, curling lower into the couch, smiling up at Arthur, "Thanks man, you saved me an awkward trip to the mall." Rummaging through the pile some more, he hummed to himself, "Do you have any juice? Like apple? I want apple juice..."
Arthur swiftly caught the back of Alfred's collar before he could bounce into the kitchen and probably make another mess. "Perhaps instead of worrying about your stomach you should tell me exactly what happened." His voice brooked no argument as he directed the boy toward the couch and sat him down. "From the beginning if you will."
"I put on a load of laundry, set up my bed from IKEA, slept... Oh, and I fed Rosie. And then I just... woke up this morning and BAM!" Alfred squirmed, managing to free himself from Arthur's grip, "I'm tiny now- but I still think like myself...... OH MY GOD, DO YOU THINK IT WAS ALIENS!?"
Arthur resisted the urge to bury his head and his arms and groan...along with the stronger urge to smack some sense into idiot turned smaller idiot. "No, I do not think it was aliens, Alfred." If there was a shadow of doubt before, it was gone now. Only Alfred had such mad, reactionary conspiracy theories.
Alfred huffed, pulling out pants from the pile and glaring up at Arthur. "Turn away you perv," he said, sticking his tongue out, "I need to change my pants."
"I'm not--!" Arthur squawked before cutting himself off from sheer outrage. "My threat still stands you do know?" he reminded darkly.
"And I'm a six... Five? I am a young boy who is in a creepy house and I can say I was lured here by an Englishman." Alfred said, smiling sweetly, "Now turn away."
Arthur's fingers twitched with the urge to strangle, but unlike the utterly juvenile hellion in front of him, he knew how to exercise self-restraint. "I'll do one better," he snapped, and he stormed out of the room and disappeared into the kitchen.
Grinning at his victory over Arthur even in this body, Alfred quickly pulled on the proper attire, running over to the kitchen and peering at Arthur. "Do you have any juice?"
"No," Arthur answered shortly before resuming his foraging for tea. He could have sworn he got some Twinings the other day....
Alfred latched onto his leg, sitting on his foot. "Arthurrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrrr."
"Just because you look like a child doesn't give you the right to act like one," Arthur ground out, unwilling to give into such childish antics.
Alfred, knowing that this was in fact, the most desperate of times, took a deep breath and prepared himself. As a child, he had perfect this technique and he was surprised with how well he could bring it back to the forefront of his mind.
Big. Blue. Watery. Eyes.
"B-But- A-Artie-"
Arthur could feel his resolve crumbling, but resolutely turned away from the sight before he gave in. "Listen closely. I am willing to help you with this particular matter at hand, but I will not allow you to treat me as if I am someone to fulfill your every whim." Warily, he turned back to face the lad. "In short, no, I will not get apple juice for you."
Damn, this guy was good. "Fine..." Alfred clung closer, burying his face into Arthur's shin. "...Can you take me the store to buy some?"
"....That is practically the same thing, you realise," Arthur wryly remarked.
Flumping to the floor, Alfred started to turn himself around, little bare feet working against the floor, spinning him. "Pleaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaaase."
Arthur rubbed the bridge of his nose, not quite believing what he was seeing. "On second thought your mindset perfectly fits this form."
Coming to a dead stop, Alfred made a star on the ground, staring up at Arthur. "I'm hungry." He said, ignoring Arthur. because he was a mature twenty-one year-old-stuck in a six-ish-year-old's body. "Can you feed me?"
"...I can cook for you," Arthur relented reluctantly, feeling just a tad bit bad. By all means if Alfred was hungry...well, Arthur could just whip up something for him.
It took Alfred less than a second to jump up and sandwich himself to Arthur's leg. "Whaddya gonna make!? Burgers! We should have burgers! And juice!"
"No burgers," he instantly rejected. There was absolutely no way that he could be convinced to give into that particular request. "However, I could heat you up some roast?" He would prefer to make something from scratch, but something told him Alfred would not be willing to wait that long.
"Noooooooooo," Alfred complained, sticking his tongue out, "I'm hungry noooow!"
"Burgers would take longer," Arthur shot back.
Alfred huffed. "Sandwiches?"
"If you don't mind turkey and rye bread," was the dubious response. Alfred could be a picky eater in the strangest of ways sometimes.
Before Alfred could complain more, his stomach growled and he clutched at it, echoing it with a whine. "Okay, okay-- whatever- I'm hungry..."
"So you've told me," Arthur deadpanned, before he made his way to the refrigerator. "Ah..." Perhaps he could cease the whines sooner. "Look in the drawer under the one with the silverware, you might find something to tide you over." Technically Dewi had 'claimed' that drawer, but Arthur couldn't be arsed to care.
Pulling through the contents, Alfred found a pack of Jammie Dodgers and half ripped them open, starting to devour them, getting crumbs everywhere and within the time it took for Arthur to prepare the sandwiches, the boy had managed his way through three fourths of the packet and was grinning contentedly, licking plum jam from his fingers.
Thank the heavens Dewi did indeed have something in there, it made the entire process go all the more quicker. Certainly a worthy sacrifice in his opinion. "There," he announced with flourish. "A sandwich after you finish with those."
Tiny, sugar-coated fingers gripped the edge of the counter and Alfred struggled to see over the edge. Even standing on his tipy-toes wasn't help. Being short seriously blew and he huffed in frustration, blue eyes just making it over the edge. No way was he asking Arthur for help.
Arthur oversaw the dilemma with acute amusment. After all of those laughing remarks about Arthur's shorter stature, this certainly was poetic justice at its finest. As such he couldn't help himself. "Oh dear me, what ever seems to be the matter?"
Alfred paused for a moment, then plopped down onto the heels of his feet, giving Arthur the dirtiest look he could managing before walking over to the dining room and dragging a chair over, making sure it made as much noise as he could before depositing it next the counter and scrambling up onto it, chest now level with the counter. "Nothin'~ Thanks for the sandwich." Picking it up, Arthur dug his teeth in and paused, chewing and swallowing, "Hey, this is really good!"
Despite the irritating display before, Arthur found himself very much flattered at the compliments. After all it wasn't everyday (or any day) that someone admitted to liking his cooking. Granted, this probably didn't exactly count as actual cooking, but it was close enough to bring a pleased flush to Arthur's cheeks. "You honestly like it?"
It wasn't every day that Alfred compliment Arthur on his cooking either, usually finding it one of the better ways to annoy the Brit but whether out of the situation or his hunger, the compliment had left his mouth. "It's really good, thanks," he said, face half buried into the sandwich, getting food all over his face, "I like this bread. Wry? Rye?"
"Rye, yes," he confirmed, before adding with a soft smile, "...And you're very welcome."
Nearly choking on the food at the smile (because hell Alfred hadn't seen Arthur smile like that before) Alfred flushed a little himself, lowering his eyes and finishing his food in silence, wiping at his mouth, food smearing over his sleeves. "Ah- Thank you..."
"Are you quite alright?" Arthur asked with more than a touch of concern. He really hoped nothing was wrong with the sandwich, that's all he needed...
Alfred shook his head. "I'm... A little better..." he hugged Arthur loosely, "I knew coming to you was the best choice... Other people woulda freaked out but you're calm..."
Cautiously, Arthur patted the head of blond hair resting on his chest, not used to such signs of affection from Alfred or...well, anyone for that matter. "Yes...well. I've seen more queer things if you believe me."
"A twenty-one year old turned six isn't strange?" Alfred let him go, laughing and sliding down off of the chair, little legs flailing as he tried to touch down on the ground.
"Strange but not the strangest incident I've come across," Arthur admitted. "But. We digress. I know I asked you before...but could you tell me every detail? You said you woke up like this? Well, then, tell me what you did last night before sleeping."
Alfred, still flailing, slid off the chair, plopping onto the ground, sitting on his bottom, peering up at Arthur. "I... Laundry, Rosie, a walk, was at Ivan's house-" a shudder here, barely noticeable- "-and... Well I saved someone from being mugged."
"...You didn't accidentally offend someone during all of this, did you?" Arthur asked wearily, knowing Alfred's particular talent in that area.
"No!" Alfred said, jabbing Arthur in the shin. "I was great these last few weeks!"
"I find it hard to believe you," Arthur replied crossly, rubbing his shin.
Shaking his head, Alfred stood up. "I didn't..." he sighed, starting to rub at his eyes. Everything was getting so complicated and- and- before he knew it, his breath was hitching and he was curling his knees to his chest, blue eyes filling with tears, "I-I was good-"
Arthur's eyes widened at the sudden onslaught of tears - he was never this weepy in response to Arthur's comments. He usually just laughed it off and continued to be an utter prat. An Alfred that abruptly burst into tears was not something Arthur was used to. "E-erm, can you remember anything else?" he was quick to interject, hoping to distract him long enough to prevent full out bawling.
"I was a-alone-" Alfred said, looking up at Arthur, "M-Mattie was gone, Ivan wasn't there... My laundry was done and I couldn't reach it... S-So I called the taxi as soon as I could."
Arthur still couldn't see the link. "Anything else? The smallest of details may be able to help."
"No!" Alfred snapped at him, tears spilling over, "That's all I-I remember, n-nothing else."
"Really? Nothing at all odd?" Arthur frowned. None of this added up. People did not just spontaneously shrink - there was always a reason behind it. "How about the past few days?"
By now, Alfred had curled up onto the floor in the fetal position. "I-I don't know, I've been s-so good lately Artie-"
Arthur sighed at the somewhat melodramatic display in front of him, feeling a bit sorry for the boy. "Come now, it's not all that bad. Whatever happened to that disgustingly sunny disposition of yours?"
"Gooooooooooooooooooooooone," Alfred whined out, rubbing at his eyes, cheeks wet with tears. "I-I don't wanna be sunny!" Which was true. The last thing Alfred wanted right now was to be bright and bubbly. He wanted a hug and someone to comfort him and now he was seriously regretting coming to Arthur because the stupid mean ol' Brit was just asking him stupid questions that made his head hurt.
"Then what do you want to be?" Arthur asked tiredly. All of these moodswings were making him exhausted.
"I want a hug."
"...From who?"
Alfred gave him a withering look. "The queen you dick."
"More believable than what you're possibly suggesting," Arthur scoffed.
"Fine, just let me sob on the floor of your kitchen."
"You are not extorting a hug out of me." He could scarcely believe he had to say such words. And to Alfred of all people.
That was pretty much it for Alfred. He burst into tears, scrabbling up onto his feet, kicking Arthur once in the shins before running off to hide himself in the only place he knew worked. Under the stairs.
"I thought you said the kitchen," Arthur muttered to himself rubbing his shins once more. Just had to kick in the same place twice, didn't he...
"You're a mean old man and I hate you!"
"Original!" Arthur called back, in no mood to chase him down and encourage such juvenile behaviour.
"AT LEAST I'D HUG A CRYING KID IN MY KITCHEN."
"You're supposed to be twenty one years old!"
"DO I LOOK TWENTY ONE?" Alfred poked his head out of the stairs. "NO. NO I DON'T."
"But do you have twenty one years worth of memories," Arthur asked pointedly.
Alfred stood at the opening of the kitchen, fists tight at his sides, blue eyes still rimmed with tears. "Y-Yeah! And I'm stuck in this b-body!" Tired of this, Alfred merely ran over, throwing himself at Alfred in a flurry of tiny flailing fists with eventually ended with him sagged against Arthur, sobbing.
Totally.
Mature.
Twenty-one year old.
Arthur was at a lost at what to do. Yes, there was what Alfred requested, but he couldn't....he wasn't... Well. Chances were he would bollocks the whole thing up.
And then where would that leave them?
Alfred wrapped arms around him, clinging to him tightly. "I-I'm alone A-Artie-" he shivered with each word, "W-What will happen to me?"
Questions he could deal with. "Eventually you'll turn back to normal, or we'll find a way and you can continue on as if none of this mess happened."
Staring up at him with watery blue eyes, Alfred swallowed. "R-Really?"
"If I didn't mean it, I wouldn't have said it. You should know that much at least."
Somehow, that calmed him down and Alfred clung to his legs, letting himself simmer down. "O-okay..." he sighed, "Sorry about your shins."
Arthur faintly smiled at the sentiment. "Remember the next time you're cross with me."
"...Can we go get apple juice now?"
"...If that whole scene was for juice, I will throttle you no matter what age you look."