[action!] First Snow and a Frenchman's Apartment
[Alfred’s computer has been taken away by Dewi and he has nothing to keep him occupied but his phone and his lines. He’d abandoned John’s script entirely, it starting to interfere too much with Les Mis. It was nice to just sit there and hum some of the songs. And as the hours ticked by, slowly, the lines were embedding themselves in his head.
Hopefully the first night wouldn’t be a completely fuck up. He could handle this… This was easy, right? Yes- Dammit he was Alfred F. Jones; this was supposed to be easy! He could do this! But just as this new determination flooded into him, his phone rang.
The conversation that followed was Francis’ old land lady was ranting at him over the phone, telling him that either the Frenchman’s stuff needed to be moved out or the rent needed to be paid for another month. Promising her that he’d move the stuff, Alfred hung up, sighing.
Nice of his uncle to leave his number.
Giving up on getting any lines done that morning, Alfred slipped on his backpack, and moved to the window and pulled back the curtains, staring. Overnight, it appeared that Liberty had been covered in half-a-foot of snow. Alfred groaned, thumping his head against the window before walking over to the cupboard, starting to root through it. He needed gloves, touque, coat and boots and that took a good fifteen minutes to find and another ten to collect himself to put them on.
Finally set, he quickly snuck out of his window and down the old roof into the backyard, nearly landing on one of the sheep but just missing it. The snow crunched and groaned under his feet and he carefully herded the two trembling sheep inside into the boot room. He'd leave them for Dewi or Raj to deal with, he had more important things to do at that moment.
Alfred took the bus, not keen on trying to ride his bike in the snow and due to it being a Saturday morning, the bus was almost completely empty and he sat alone, watching the snowy city pass by. It was warm inside the bus and he smiled behind his hand. Snow meant that he was not going to leave the house... Maybe Matthew would come back and mock him for being lazy in the winter. He didn't mind. Mattie had Winter and Spring while Alfred had Summer and Fall. Not a bad trade-off.
Arriving at Francis' apartment, Alfred quickly told the landlady who he was and she grumbled all the way leading him upstairs, opening the door for him and leaving him alone in the apartment. It was still and dusty and Alfred felt like he was breaking some kind of seal by walking inside. He pulled off his hat and gloves, putting them on a small table in the entrance hallway, not bothering to take off his boots as he picked through the rooms.
Most of this stuff he could probably pawn. He needed the cash anyway and his feelings towards Francis had never been more than lukewarm since he'd found out that he'd slept with Ivan. Plus, Francis probably took all the important things he needed with him anyway. Francis didn't seem like a material sort of man. He liked people and company, not things. Or so Alfred hoped.
It struck him, there standing in the middle of Francis' bedroom, that he didn't really know his uncle. He wasn't sure if he ever really wanted to.
Just as he was about to leave, maybe call in a few favours to help move the stuff out, he paused at the front door, noting the row of keys on the wall. It was empty save for a single set of keys with a small Eiffel Tower hanging from the ring. Curious, Alfred picked up the keys, frowning at them. Francis never had a car...
Taking a few things from the apartment (like a few bottles of the nice wine and the delicious French coffee the man always seemed to have along with a few more... interesting toys from the bedroom) Alfred packed these safely away in his backpack before taking the keys and heading down to the parkade that held the apartment residents' vehicles, Alfred made his way over to Francis' stall and paused, looking at the machine draped in a brown tarp.
He walked over, pulling it off with a flourish and stood back, staring at the near-brand-new bike. He stared at it for almost a full minute before touching it carefully, his gloved finger leaving a mark in the dust. A motorbike. How much could this sell for? He sat down on the floor of the parkade, pulling out his laptop and searching around forums whatever sources he could find but there was no definite price. Until he found an Aussie site dedicated to Lamborghini-worship.
100K. 100,000.00$. A hundred thousand dollars.
He looked at the bike with new wonder. He could definitely pawn it. Have no more debts, no more money troubles, for a while at least. But something else was tugging at Alfred. The image of himself on that bike, speeding along the highways of his beloved country on this little puppy.
Pawn it and be financially stable; keep it and be the coolest kid on the block.
Shoving the keys into the ignition, Alfred turned them and the engine roared under him, the panel lighting up. Whooping loudly as it rumbled, Alfred couldn't help but twist his wrist and gun the machine, smiling like an idiot. But the glee was short-lived and with a sinking feeling, he had to slump back in the seat, turning the motorbike off, sighing.
He had no idea how to drive it. There was licenses involved and fees with that and studying on top of his schoolwork, John's movie and Les Mis. But then... This was a bike and he wanted to ride it and nothin' was gonna stop him. Slowly climbing off, Alfred fiddled with the gears for a moment, managing to get it into neutral.
While on the nearly two-hour walk back to the Myrtle House, Alfred gained an entire new appreciation for pack mules.]
Hopefully the first night wouldn’t be a completely fuck up. He could handle this… This was easy, right? Yes- Dammit he was Alfred F. Jones; this was supposed to be easy! He could do this! But just as this new determination flooded into him, his phone rang.
The conversation that followed was Francis’ old land lady was ranting at him over the phone, telling him that either the Frenchman’s stuff needed to be moved out or the rent needed to be paid for another month. Promising her that he’d move the stuff, Alfred hung up, sighing.
Nice of his uncle to leave his number.
Giving up on getting any lines done that morning, Alfred slipped on his backpack, and moved to the window and pulled back the curtains, staring. Overnight, it appeared that Liberty had been covered in half-a-foot of snow. Alfred groaned, thumping his head against the window before walking over to the cupboard, starting to root through it. He needed gloves, touque, coat and boots and that took a good fifteen minutes to find and another ten to collect himself to put them on.
Finally set, he quickly snuck out of his window and down the old roof into the backyard, nearly landing on one of the sheep but just missing it. The snow crunched and groaned under his feet and he carefully herded the two trembling sheep inside into the boot room. He'd leave them for Dewi or Raj to deal with, he had more important things to do at that moment.
Alfred took the bus, not keen on trying to ride his bike in the snow and due to it being a Saturday morning, the bus was almost completely empty and he sat alone, watching the snowy city pass by. It was warm inside the bus and he smiled behind his hand. Snow meant that he was not going to leave the house... Maybe Matthew would come back and mock him for being lazy in the winter. He didn't mind. Mattie had Winter and Spring while Alfred had Summer and Fall. Not a bad trade-off.
Arriving at Francis' apartment, Alfred quickly told the landlady who he was and she grumbled all the way leading him upstairs, opening the door for him and leaving him alone in the apartment. It was still and dusty and Alfred felt like he was breaking some kind of seal by walking inside. He pulled off his hat and gloves, putting them on a small table in the entrance hallway, not bothering to take off his boots as he picked through the rooms.
Most of this stuff he could probably pawn. He needed the cash anyway and his feelings towards Francis had never been more than lukewarm since he'd found out that he'd slept with Ivan. Plus, Francis probably took all the important things he needed with him anyway. Francis didn't seem like a material sort of man. He liked people and company, not things. Or so Alfred hoped.
It struck him, there standing in the middle of Francis' bedroom, that he didn't really know his uncle. He wasn't sure if he ever really wanted to.
Just as he was about to leave, maybe call in a few favours to help move the stuff out, he paused at the front door, noting the row of keys on the wall. It was empty save for a single set of keys with a small Eiffel Tower hanging from the ring. Curious, Alfred picked up the keys, frowning at them. Francis never had a car...
Taking a few things from the apartment (like a few bottles of the nice wine and the delicious French coffee the man always seemed to have along with a few more... interesting toys from the bedroom) Alfred packed these safely away in his backpack before taking the keys and heading down to the parkade that held the apartment residents' vehicles, Alfred made his way over to Francis' stall and paused, looking at the machine draped in a brown tarp.
He walked over, pulling it off with a flourish and stood back, staring at the near-brand-new bike. He stared at it for almost a full minute before touching it carefully, his gloved finger leaving a mark in the dust. A motorbike. How much could this sell for? He sat down on the floor of the parkade, pulling out his laptop and searching around forums whatever sources he could find but there was no definite price. Until he found an Aussie site dedicated to Lamborghini-worship.
100K. 100,000.00$. A hundred thousand dollars.
He looked at the bike with new wonder. He could definitely pawn it. Have no more debts, no more money troubles, for a while at least. But something else was tugging at Alfred. The image of himself on that bike, speeding along the highways of his beloved country on this little puppy.
Pawn it and be financially stable; keep it and be the coolest kid on the block.
Shoving the keys into the ignition, Alfred turned them and the engine roared under him, the panel lighting up. Whooping loudly as it rumbled, Alfred couldn't help but twist his wrist and gun the machine, smiling like an idiot. But the glee was short-lived and with a sinking feeling, he had to slump back in the seat, turning the motorbike off, sighing.
He had no idea how to drive it. There was licenses involved and fees with that and studying on top of his schoolwork, John's movie and Les Mis. But then... This was a bike and he wanted to ride it and nothin' was gonna stop him. Slowly climbing off, Alfred fiddled with the gears for a moment, managing to get it into neutral.
While on the nearly two-hour walk back to the Myrtle House, Alfred gained an entire new appreciation for pack mules.]