Prompt Post - Part Ten
I am REALLY, REALLY SORRY about taking so long, guys, and about not being around much recently. I've been busier than I have in a while, and it just kept slipping my mind between uni applications and volunteering and all sorts- for some reason I thought we were much further off a new post.
If there is anything I haven't responded to, as of now, I'm ( Read more... )
Alfred and Johnny stepped into the mud room, and the three boys- Johnny, Scarecrow, and Doc- smelled the house. Scarecrow carefully picked out and identified the smells. Doc identified what each smell meant, and quickly relayed the information to Johnny. Johnny would decide what to do with the information.
Flour, butter, eggs, bacon, meat, blood, soaps, sour milk, soot, Gas- from an oven, a big oven, carpets, dusty, empty space- too much empty space, expensive perfumes, colognes, dirty laundry, different kinds of hair gel with masculine scents, hair wax, silver polish, Tung oil, sawdust, water that’s underground, bat guano, ammonia, medicines, sterilization, strong solvents.
‘’This is a big house, but almost no one lives here. There are, at most, two people that live here. They are all men. Women sometimes come here, but they don’t stay. One of the men knows how to cook well enough, but one of the others cannot cook at all. Some one who lives here is very wealthy, and doesn't mind showing it. There are old antiques here that are kept in very good repair. There is a massive cave system beneath the house; bats live in the caves. They have to clean a lot.’’
‘Bruce Wayne and Great-uncle Alfred live here. They’re hiding something, but now I live here too. I just hope that I-’
“This way, Johnny. Your room is over here.” Alfred interrupts Johnny’s train of thought, his voice hushed in the soft mid-afternoon light. It is mid-winter, so the sun sets around five in the afternoon, but Johnny is approximately two hours ahead of the time in Gotham, and is a little more tired than he should be, jet lag being what it is. The soft winter light falls gently into the former maid’s quarters, illuminating a rather bare room. Well, I should say, bare of any personal touches; the room obviously hadn’t been re-furnished since 1906, when the maid was still in residence.
The walls were a soft, neutral shade of pink, inasmuch as a shade of pink can truly be called neutral. The curtains are fine, thin lace, flowers picked out in dark rose on the valance, the fabric gently draping to about three inches above the baseboard. There are shelves of some dark wood, on the same wall that the door opens onto.
Johnny steps into the room, the light from the slowly setting sun catching on a previously hidden tiffany-style lamp, sitting on a low table next to the bed; it’s purple, green, and pink glass gleaming in the soft light. The bed is a twin, and almost six feet long. Johnny looks at his great-uncle, asking him with his eyes “May I? Is this-?”
“We can certainly change anything you don’t like in here, but I think that this room will suit you, Johnny. Do you like it?” Alfred's voice is gently questioning; Johnny can hear that he cares.
Johnny has walked into the center of the room, his face curiously blank. He had set his bag at the foot of his bed, toed off his sandals at the doorway of his room. At his great-uncle's words, he turned, and practically flew into the older man, his long, boney arms wrapping around the older man. Johnny presses his face into Alfred, overcome with emotion.
To his credit, Alfred only hesitates a moment before hugging his great-nephew back.
Oh Johnny...
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