Fanfiction → Study Hall of the Dead {Chapter 3: 'Til we see the sunlight.}
» Alfred F. Jones, high school drop out and gang member is shot dead on a cold, wet night in New York City. But instead of going to Heaven or Hell, he finds himself joining a bizarre crew of ghosts with severely conflicting personalities and all of eternity to kill.
» Multichaptered
» America ; All Nations ; Eventual Russia/America ; France/England + more
» PG-13, rating may move up
Previous Chapter
xXx
Chapter 3 - Til’ we see the sunlight.
Alfred flailed and fell backward. The chair followed him.
The man who had awoken him from his slumber merely watched as he jumped up and attempted to sort out his shirt, which had ridden upwards and was exposing an amount of skin Alfred was not entirely comfortable broadcasting to the world.
“Slept well?”
He was tall, incredibly tall, with a pale blond hair and a rather large nose. He was also incredibly thick set.
Alfred swallowed once. Then:
“Just who the fuck are you, buddy?”
“I am assuming that means no, then.” He had a thick accent, Eastern European sounding.
“No, I was sleeping just fine until you shoved your fat face in mine and scared the shit out of me!”
“Well, it was time to wake up anyway.”
“Yes, but you didn’t have to wake me up like that did you?? Geez, why am I here again?” Alfred ran a hand through this hair. It felt slightly greasy. Man, he wanted a shower.
“Because you are dead, da? That is why you are here.”
“Oh fuck off.”
The sound of a door opening made them turn around. Through it came two men. One had longish blond hair and the other had short dirty blond hair, and rather thick eyebrows.
A thick English accent: “I’m telling you, frog, this new bloke isn’t going to fall for any of your seducing tricks. I don’t even know how you managed to get Antonio into bed anyway oh er... hi.”
Alfred stared at him.
There was a pause.
“You’re awake.”
“Yes, and he is coming with me to breakfast, yes?” The violet-eyed man put one heavy hand on Alfred’s shoulder.
“Like hell I am buddy. You’re a weird freak with some kind of speech impediment.”
“I am from Russia.” He gave a creepy smile.
“...and you’re a commie. Right, I’m going with these two.”
Alfred marched up to the other men and half pulled them out of the door.
“Right, where are we going?”
The eyebrowed one gave him a glare.
“It isn’t good to mess with Ivan, you know. He can-”
“He punched me once and drew blood,” the other one finished. He sounded very French. “Mon Dieu, that was a catastrophe.”
“Would you stop worrying about your damn complexion once in a while would you? God, you’re like a woman!”
He stormed off down the corridor. Alfred turned to the French man with a questioning look. He was answered with an arm around his shoulders as he was pulled along.
“My dear, before we get to breakfast and you meet everyone else, I must introduce myself and my... companion.
I am Francis Bonnefoy, master of culinary and an expert in the art of l’amour. Et toi?”
“Alfred F. Jones. Uh... I dropped out of highschool and joined a gang.”
Francis winced.
“Well, sometimes things like that happen, non?”
“Yeah I guess...” he trailed off. “Oh! Who’s the man you were with?”
“That would be Arthur Kirkland. He is arrogant, domineering, and horribly English. He talks to faeries and embroiders. Ahh, don’t tell him I told you that, no one else is supposed to know.”
“And the creepy one...?”
“Ivan Braginsky. A Russian. Ah... no one really knows that much about him, but perhaps that is a good thing. There are rumours that he murdered many men before he died.”
Alfred shuddered, before they reached a grand red door.
“Well then. Shall you meet the people you are going to be spending the rest of eternity with?” Francis gripped the handle and flung open the door with a flourish. Immediately the sounds of chatter filled Alfred’s ears. He could see many tables at which a rather large group of people sat, talking and eating.
As soon as Francis entered the room, it got quieter. They were all staring at Alfred, who fidgeted and tried to turn away.
“Nonsense chéri, come here!” Francis grabbed his arm and swung him into full view.
“Mesdames and Monsieurs, here is your new arrival: Alfred Jones!”
The albino man from earlier stood up and came over. His eyes glinted.
“Going to do the introduction now?”
“Of course Gilbert, but he must speak from himself. Go on Alfred, introduce yourself. Name, age, what you did... and of course, how you died.”
Alfred swallowed hard.
“The name is Alfred F. Jones. I was born on July 4th, and I am... 19. I dropped out of high school and joined a gang. Then I was shot and... that's how I ended up here.”
The entire room was silent.
Then one man stood up. He had green eyes, curly brown hair, and a warm smile.
“What a beautiful tale!”
Arthur facepalmed.
xXx
» So Antonio ruins the moment, as usual.
I have almost everyone’s death stories planned out; Alfred will probably hear a lot of them next chapter.
And man, I’m sorry for long waits orz
Next Chapter
» Multichaptered
» America ; All Nations ; Eventual Russia/America ; France/England + more
» PG-13, rating may move up
Previous Chapter
xXx
Chapter 3 - Til’ we see the sunlight.
Alfred flailed and fell backward. The chair followed him.
The man who had awoken him from his slumber merely watched as he jumped up and attempted to sort out his shirt, which had ridden upwards and was exposing an amount of skin Alfred was not entirely comfortable broadcasting to the world.
“Slept well?”
He was tall, incredibly tall, with a pale blond hair and a rather large nose. He was also incredibly thick set.
Alfred swallowed once. Then:
“Just who the fuck are you, buddy?”
“I am assuming that means no, then.” He had a thick accent, Eastern European sounding.
“No, I was sleeping just fine until you shoved your fat face in mine and scared the shit out of me!”
“Well, it was time to wake up anyway.”
“Yes, but you didn’t have to wake me up like that did you?? Geez, why am I here again?” Alfred ran a hand through this hair. It felt slightly greasy. Man, he wanted a shower.
“Because you are dead, da? That is why you are here.”
“Oh fuck off.”
The sound of a door opening made them turn around. Through it came two men. One had longish blond hair and the other had short dirty blond hair, and rather thick eyebrows.
A thick English accent: “I’m telling you, frog, this new bloke isn’t going to fall for any of your seducing tricks. I don’t even know how you managed to get Antonio into bed anyway oh er... hi.”
Alfred stared at him.
There was a pause.
“You’re awake.”
“Yes, and he is coming with me to breakfast, yes?” The violet-eyed man put one heavy hand on Alfred’s shoulder.
“Like hell I am buddy. You’re a weird freak with some kind of speech impediment.”
“I am from Russia.” He gave a creepy smile.
“...and you’re a commie. Right, I’m going with these two.”
Alfred marched up to the other men and half pulled them out of the door.
“Right, where are we going?”
The eyebrowed one gave him a glare.
“It isn’t good to mess with Ivan, you know. He can-”
“He punched me once and drew blood,” the other one finished. He sounded very French. “Mon Dieu, that was a catastrophe.”
“Would you stop worrying about your damn complexion once in a while would you? God, you’re like a woman!”
He stormed off down the corridor. Alfred turned to the French man with a questioning look. He was answered with an arm around his shoulders as he was pulled along.
“My dear, before we get to breakfast and you meet everyone else, I must introduce myself and my... companion.
I am Francis Bonnefoy, master of culinary and an expert in the art of l’amour. Et toi?”
“Alfred F. Jones. Uh... I dropped out of highschool and joined a gang.”
Francis winced.
“Well, sometimes things like that happen, non?”
“Yeah I guess...” he trailed off. “Oh! Who’s the man you were with?”
“That would be Arthur Kirkland. He is arrogant, domineering, and horribly English. He talks to faeries and embroiders. Ahh, don’t tell him I told you that, no one else is supposed to know.”
“And the creepy one...?”
“Ivan Braginsky. A Russian. Ah... no one really knows that much about him, but perhaps that is a good thing. There are rumours that he murdered many men before he died.”
Alfred shuddered, before they reached a grand red door.
“Well then. Shall you meet the people you are going to be spending the rest of eternity with?” Francis gripped the handle and flung open the door with a flourish. Immediately the sounds of chatter filled Alfred’s ears. He could see many tables at which a rather large group of people sat, talking and eating.
As soon as Francis entered the room, it got quieter. They were all staring at Alfred, who fidgeted and tried to turn away.
“Nonsense chéri, come here!” Francis grabbed his arm and swung him into full view.
“Mesdames and Monsieurs, here is your new arrival: Alfred Jones!”
The albino man from earlier stood up and came over. His eyes glinted.
“Going to do the introduction now?”
“Of course Gilbert, but he must speak from himself. Go on Alfred, introduce yourself. Name, age, what you did... and of course, how you died.”
Alfred swallowed hard.
“The name is Alfred F. Jones. I was born on July 4th, and I am... 19. I dropped out of high school and joined a gang. Then I was shot and... that's how I ended up here.”
The entire room was silent.
Then one man stood up. He had green eyes, curly brown hair, and a warm smile.
“What a beautiful tale!”
Arthur facepalmed.
xXx
» So Antonio ruins the moment, as usual.
I have almost everyone’s death stories planned out; Alfred will probably hear a lot of them next chapter.
And man, I’m sorry for long waits orz
Next Chapter