Brotherly Bonding - The British Way
WHO: Arthur and Dewi
WHEN: 14 October (Wednesday Afternoon)
WHERE: The Myrtles House
WHAT: Disrupting Teatime - The Welsh Way
RATING: Rated S for...
Sheep Shagging
(This is what you get for being a lazy git and making me create the post.)
( Long-Suffering Cut - The English Way )
WHEN: 14 October (Wednesday Afternoon)
WHERE: The Myrtles House
WHAT: Disrupting Teatime - The Welsh Way
RATING: Rated S for...
Sheep Shagging
(This is what you get for being a lazy git and making me create the post.)
( Long-Suffering Cut - The English Way )
Its loveliness increases; it will never
Pass into nothingness; but still will keep
A bower quiet for us, and a sleep
Full of sweet dreams, and health, and quiet breathing.
Therefore, on every morrow, are we wreathing
A flowery band to bind us to the earth,
Spite of despondence, of the inhuman dearth
Of noble natures, of the gloomy days,
Of all the unhealthy and o'er-darkened ways::
Made for our searching: yes, in spite of all,
Some shape of beauty moves away the pall
From our dark spirits. Such the sun, the moon,
Trees old and young, sprouting a shady boon
For simple sheep--
Arthur paused, halting Keats’ rustic opening scene of the classic epic Endymion. He shifted the book to one hand - careful not to jostle the cup and saucer balancing on his thigh - and laid it next to him on the settee. He plucked the teacup from his leg, taking one quick sip, before bending forward to gently set it on the coffee table - sighing a little mournfully at leaving it behind, even for a moment.
Pushing himself off of the settee, he raised his arms over his head and arched his back until one of his vertebrae let out a gratifying crack. Pleased, Arthur straightened out his shirt out of pure habit and headed into the foyer - from where he could have sworn he heard a light knocking sound.
If this were a normal residence, he would assume that someone would be at the front door, but given the reputation that his house had...cultivated with the citizens of Liberty and considering that the last proper visitors (visitors that didn’t end up residing with him) he had was well over two months ago with Macbeth and Peter...well, one could understand his doubts.
Though he supposed it couldn’t hurt to check...
Foregoing looking into the spyhole - as he was most unfortunately a bit too short to adequately use it without standing on the tips of his toes and making a complete fool out of himself - Arthur carelessly unlocked and opened the door, not really expecting anyone to be behind it.
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There was a moment, during the part when his heart stopped, when his nerves settled at the hope of an empty (save for the ghosts) house. He tapped his foot to the song Voice Dance - a piece his upper-choir was currently working on - and hummed the tenor part at a volume that could be easily be masked by the creaking of the floorboards beneath his quite dashing navy blue Converse. It was an unspoken rule of his that he would wait thirty - count them: thirty - seconds before turning briskly on his heel and leaving, but... just for safe measure, he shortened it to twenty-five.
...fourteen... thirteen...
The house groaned again, seemingly swaying in the breeze, not unlike the autumn-bare trees dotting the front lawn. He remembered the roses being a duller red when he last visited. There were deep groves leading up to the largest bushel, and they reminded Dewi of a person being dragged into them.
...ten... nine...
He took a step backward to assess the front door, tilting his head and observing like a piece of modern art.
...three... two...
He spared himself the effort of mouthing the final number and crooked his shoulders parallel to the abandoned road. No sooner had his foot produced a loud crrrreeeeaaaaak upon the first stair had the echo of an unlocking deadbolt ruptured his eardrums. He spun around, deer-caught-in-headlights eyes landing on the sweatervested figure of his younger half-brother.
He stood in a fashion that could rival a marble statue. Maybe if he continued this persona, Arthur wouldn't notice him.
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Heaving a sigh, Arthur wondered if it was too late to pretend he couldn’t see the oddly frozen posture on his veranda. It was almost comical really - the way that Dewi was poised to run with such an expression on his face. Hm, much like what a Pompeian would have looked like when faced with an erupting Mount Vesuvius.
...Did he just compare himself to a volcano?
“You know,” He started, crossing his arms and leaning against the door frame. “If you intended to knock on my door and dash away, I advise you to do so before I open the door.”
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He snapped up in at-ease stance and turned his torso in the direction of Arthur, grinning in a lopsided fashion that would, hopefully, clear his half-brother's memory of the previous, ahem, affair.
"I had no intention of doing that," he replied with that very same grin brightening up even his tone. "You just took too long to get to the door."
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How on earth were they able to live with each other before...?
“I had to double check that I wasn’t hearing things,” he primly answered back. “Your knock had the strength of an elderly woman behind it.”
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And yet the two of them were roommates once.
"Ah, speaking of elderly, how has your back been lately?" Dewi inquired with a clever smirk plastered onto his face. His hands burrowed deep into the pockets of his pinstripe jeans as he approached his younger sibling, only about an inch advantage over him, but it was enough.
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He stewed in silence while Dewi rocked back and forth on his ratty plimsolls (My god, how long had he had those? It looked to be a breeding ground for bacteria.) while whistling a jaunty tune that Arthur thought was utterly grating.
“Why are you here?” He spoke up, irritated, yet honestly curious. “Last time you were here you swore up and down that you would never step foot in this house again.” His eyebrow arched, demanding an explanation.
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“Why are you here?”
Ouch. Tally one for Arthur. Dewi had been so preoccupied that he had forgotten to conjure up an excuse.
“Last time you were here you swore up and down that you would never step foot in this house again.”
Tally two for Arthur. He had hoped his younger brother had forgotten that, but… he made quite the exit that night. It was raining outside, the taxi driver was hammering his fist against the horn (obviously frightened by the aura of his residence.) Arthur was trying to enjoy his afternoon tea. And after a brief argument (over god knows what!), the Welshman shouted those final words and shuffled out into the rain with his briefcase balancing atop his head as a makeshift umbrella.
He didn’t want to talk about it. Because he didn’t want to say that he actually planned on doing this for a few days now. He knew Arthur would never let him live it down. “I came by to see if your house refrained from eating you. Hallowe’en is around the corner, you know.”
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But this time...
Arthur’s eyes widened and his breath caught in his throat. How could he have...? He had never told any of his brothers what had happened to him back in August, nor did he ever plan to. He was in no mood for their mocking, or God forbid, their pity. Just the thought of them thinking him on such a level and actually feeling sorry for him set him on edge.
“Stop spouting such nonsense,” Arthur ground out, a little harsher than he had intended. “Be serious for once in your bloody life.”
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This reaction would need some further prodding.
But not out here, no. That would be improper. Judging by the position of the sun in the sky (and the watch he managed to sneak a peek at from under his cuff), it was somewhere around four pm, which, as any good Brit would know, was teatime.
“Is that Earl Grey I smell?” He inquired with a quirky, attempting-to-throw-Arthur-off grin.
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No doubt Dewi would try to weasel something else out of him. Too bad for him that Arthur was most certainly on his guard now and would put up a hardy fight before giving anything else away.
“No, it’s one of those plug-in air fresheners that smell like Earl Grey,” he retorted, not budging a centimetre from the archway that would allow his brother access inside.
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