Post by Arthur Kirkland on Nov 17, 2010 17:46:17 GMT -5
ARTHUR KIRKLAND
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"Arthur Kirkland. I would prefer to be called this and only this, though obviously if we're on a first name basis then simply 'Arthur' will do. As it is in fact not a long name I would much rather not suffer any of your vile abbreviations.... Although, some twats have taken to calling me 'Artie/Arty'. This though is not as bad as damn well 'Captain Kirk'. Call me this and I swear in the name of the queen that I will castrate you and feed your bollocks to the dogs. You think I'm joking? Che, try it then."
WE CAN’T TELL BY LOOKING AT YOU… ARE YOU MALE, FEMALE, OR SOMETHING IN-BETWEEN IT ALL?
"I.... Are you seriously asking me this?! Dear god, what are they teaching people these days... I am very obviously MALE. Mistake me for anything else and you will suffer the same fate as those who deem it amusing to call be 'Captain Kirk'."
OH, REALLY? HM. YOU SHOULD WORK ON LOOKING IT… ANYWAY, WHEN WERE YOU BORN?
"You know, you ask far too many questions. If I must answer though, my age is 23 years of age. My birthday is the 31st of October, yes I am well aware this is Halloween, thank you very much. Fuh, my star sign is that of the Scorpio, often regarded as the most powerful of star signs."
WELL, YOU LOOK PRETTY FINE FOR YOUR AGE… BUT TSK. THIS OLD AND CAN’T CONTROL IT? NO WONDER YOU’RE HERE.
"What the hell do you mean 'can't control it'? You make it sound like a bloody innuendo! Please, get a better grasp of the English language before you run around making such vile comments. I frankly don't appreciate it!"
SO, WE THOUGHT THAT BRAD PITT WAS HOT AS ALDO RAINE, BUT WHAT ABOUT YOU? …WE’RE THE DEANS, NOT YOU, DON’T GIVE US THAT LOOK.
"I... This is not an appropriate question to ask a gentleman of my standards! Besides which, I've never even heard of Aldo Raine. It sounds like a darn well Latino side-dish! Fuh, besides which, it would be most unconventional for any fellow of my class to to state a preference which may or may not exist."
UHUH. WELL. THAT WAS INTERESTING. NOW, WHAT DO YOU ENJOY DOING?
"Reading of course, I find it to be both relaxing and educational. There is no finer mix than this. However, I'm also partial to sewing, debating, cooking, football (Call it damn well soccer and I will personally destroy you), organization... And British Punk Rock. None of this American crap I've heard of, it has no damn well substance to it.
When the mood strikes a good cup of tea is utterly divine, and most certainly helps sooth the soul after a busy day... If only life was such as this delectable substance. If only if only~"
NOW, WHAT ABOUT THINKS YOU DON’T LIKE? WE WOULD LIKE TO KNOW IN ORDER TO EMBETTER YOUR SITUATION AND LIVING ARRANGEMENTS. LIKE MINDS WITH LIKE MINDS AND ALL…
"Hm, this would perhaps be better given as a direct list, lest I stray about the point.
• People mocking him (It's a pride thing, and he really will give you it back twice as hard)
• His emotions being messed with (Just... don't. It's mean)
• The English language being screwed with (Arthur is VERY proud of British-English. Everything else is an abomination)
• Insolence (>Bl)
• Brat-ish behaviour (>Bl)
• Coffee (Swap it for his tea and you're in for a slow and VERY painful death)
• Burgers & fast food (Actually he likes fast food, he just won't admit it)
• Idiocy (>Bl)
• Being considered weak (Once more a pride thing)
• Ignorance (>Bl)"
DULLY NOTED. WE’LL REMEMBER THAT AS WE PLACE YOU IN CLASSES AND SUCH. NOW, DO YOU HAVE ANY SPECIAL SKILLS OR SOMETHING YOU’RE ACTUALLY GOOD AT? CONTROLLING YOURSELF MUST NOT BE ONE TO BE HERE…
"My control is fine, thank you! It's just... not so good as it should be in certain areas.
Besides that though...
• Determination (Doesn't give up quickly /o/)
• Intelligent (No, seriously 8<)
• Debate skills (Arguing with him= BAD IDEA MAN)
• Eloquence (Very good with words when not cussing)
• Leadership (Speaks for itself
)• Proud (Seriously, it means he pushes on with things)"
HUH. THAT’S CURIOUS – WE NEVER WOULD HAVE THOUGHT THAT WITH YOU. NOW, WHAT DO YOU SUCK AT? …IT’S A WORD, DEAL WITH IT.
"Hm, well of course I have a few. I'm only human after all.
• Proud
• Socially awkward
• Difficult to understand (He's emotionally closed off. Qft >:C)
• Paranoia
• Temper
• Rude
• Alcohol
• Self-deprecating"
HM. FIGURES. WE SEE A LOT OF CASES LIKE THAT AND- HEY, LOOK, ICE CREAM
"There's no 'e'. Dear god, if you're going to try and distract me with confectioneries then at least do me the common courtesy to use the Queen's English. Not whatever butchered shite you came up with on the spot."
WHOOPS, GUESS YOU MISSED THE TREAT. NOW, YOU MIGHT BE A LITTLE YOUNG YET, BUT GIVEN ANY THOUGHT ON WHAT YOU LIKE IN A PARTNER? DON’T BE SHY.
"First you call me old, and now you call me too young. Will you please make up your mind on the matter? Frankly I find this whole thing to be a bit of a bother when you can't make up your mind as to what you want to refer to me as. When you do in fact decide let me know and then I'll be sure to answer your question."
HM, THAT SCRATCHES OUT MY DAUGHTER… WHAT ABOUT THINGS YOU HATE IN A PERSON? FOR… FUTURE REFERENCE.
"... This I will happily answer.
• Insulting my cooking
• Loud
• Insensitive
• People who never listen
• Arrogance
• Obnoxious-ness
• Those with no concept of personal space
• Insulting me"
YOU’RE QUITE SHALLOW, AREN’T YOU? HM, NO MIRRORS ALLOWED IN YOUR ROOM…
"... Fine? Well it's not like I really need one. I can do my tie perfectly well without one, thank you very much."
NO INTERVIEW WOULD BE COMPLETE WITHOUT SOME BASIC QUESTIONS, RIGHT? JUST ANSWER THEM AS TRUTHFULLY AS POSSIBLE, OKAY?
"Providing it's nothing terribly personal I'm sure I will deal with it well enough, yes."
WHAT IS YOUR FAVOURITE FOOD AND DRINK?
"In terms of a snack? Scones with jam and cream, preferably freshly whipped if I'm honest. For a full meal I'm partial to Land and Sea, fish and chips to the rest of you. A bit of salt and vinegar goes well with it, but that splash of sauce stuff the Scotts insist upon is vile. It's a desecration to a wonderful dish!
As for a drink? Tea. A straight Earl Gray is utter bliss."
FAVOURITE PHRASE OR QUOTE?
"Hm, well there is one by William Shakespeare in regards to the fine nation I come from. Due to the length I'll only give you a snippet of it.
'This royal throne of kings, this sceptred isle,
This earth of majesty, this seat of Mars,
This other Eden, demi-paradise,
This fortress built by Nature for herself'"
FAVOURITE SUBJECT IN SCHOOL?
"English. I adore both English literature and Language. However, I like a vast majority of subjects."
"Red, obviously."
"The library... However, there's a spot near the river within the woodland which I find most serene."
"'Hard Times' by Charles Dickens. It's a truly inspirational work."
FAVOURITE ARTICLE OF CLOTHING?
"I've no favourites. As long as it's functional I've no problem with it. That is, as long as it's simple and functional."
YOU HANDLED THE DRILL WELL… WE ARE IMPRESSED. NOW, TELL US ABOUT YOURSELF.
[THIRD PERSON AHEAD]
For all intensive purposes he's a stern gentleman, held together by the fine threads of sweater vests and suits. He very successfully seems able to be the most polite thing alive, whilst simultaneously being an almost regally proud figure. He seems to have the ability to remain calm and somewhat above the shenanigans going on around him, simply rejecting it from existence where possible. This does tend to make him seem as if he has a stick up his ass though, which in effect tends to put people off wanting to be particularly close to him. The prior fact tends to lead to him as being seemingly lonely, a fact he's liable to vehemently deny no matter what it is that you do or say. More than anything he's likely to tell he he rather likes being alone, and that a man can in fact be an island. As a whole he does manage to maintain this view, making it as a whole rather believable.
The main glip in his personality would be the fact he has a stupidly short temper, along with an almost crazed eccentric streak. If something bothers that he has no way at all to deal with (usually in mental matters) he's liable to convince himself he doesn't feel that way. For example, if lonely he may point out something that he considers to be more so, and then mock the hell out of it to make himself feel better over the fact. This can at times making him seem utterly crazy (something not helped by the fact he talks to 'himself'). Mentioning these spells though is usually a bad idea, something just coming behind insulting his cooking. Rubbing him up the wrong way inevitably leads to him snapping, whilst yes for the most part at his gentlemanly nature will account for this, however his temper can still be described in one word. Terrible. Depending on the severity of it he can easily become violently aggressive with it, going so far as to lash out on occasion. Thankfully after years of restraint such things are usually rather rare.
Arthur does have a rather deceptively cunning streak. It's not a lesser known thing that he has moments of being totally pitiful, however it seems to be forgotten that he was once a rather successful empire. He has a sharp mind, and is thus more than capable of picking something apart should he need to do so. In a more common ground this is something seen through scathing comments, and sarcastic quips. Often what he says is rather witty, and can put the victim of such into the awkward position of not really knowing what to say. That or he ends up with his ass kicked for it. Arthur is a man of both bark and bite, however in recent times the bark has started becoming louder than the bite in some cases.
Arthur as a whole is a rather melancholic man. He tends to dwell on things long since past, letting them dig at him time and time again. This can leave him seeming to be a rather depressive character, almost pitiful at times, and indeed on occasion this could be said. Such a side of him is very usually reserved for times where he's in the privacy of his own home, thus not so many have seen it. There are a few of course, usually those close to him. Due to this he's usually able to maintain the more domineering persona for all to see, making him seem more like a jerk than could be necessarily true. As a whole this doesn't seem to bother him. More than anything he seems to appreciate the fact, using it as a scarily effective barrier to keep people away from him where possible.
Under it all he does have a heart, it's simply that he never wears it on his sleeve. When you get past the scathing comments and sharp sarcasm he's a pretty decent guy at the end of the day, being somewhat of a romanticist at heart. The thing is it's simply a long haul to get him to show such a thing freely; indeed, such a thing's happened perhaps only once or twice. Due to this he's more often seen as a heartless imperialist, which could possibly true in some ways. His aloofness is an utterly terrific guise for this whole thing, his paranoia driving him to cover everything up. At the end of the day he finds it easier to be a lonely jackass, than a broken hearted sap. In a way you could call him rather weak for such a thing, he is after all taking the easy way out on the matter. However, after a few thousand years of getting screwed over by people it's easy to see why he may do such a thing. Saying this though, it's entirely possible that it's an almost reflexive defence now, and not simply him going out of his way to be a bastard with you. In the end it's somewhat hard to tell with him.
Due to his teen years as a punkish rebel there's still a part of him that's totally wild, one that just yearns to break free of polite conformity. Over time he's simply shuttered these things away, forcing them down under a slab of stoic arrogance, however in certain situations all the guises fall away. A fine example would be when he manages to get himself utterly drunk. During such times he becomes wild and rebellious, causing utter hell for the poor souls he's around. He has a nasty tendency to cast his mind back onto things he'd rather forget, and so whilst drinking is a vice to try and numb such thing's it's not at all uncommon for him to simply to make himself worse over the whole thing. He's the very definition of a bad drunk. He's either depressively angry, or a violent punk. Frankly neither is particularly good. All of this goes to show very prominently that he still has the very clear ability to be a merciless rebel in him, taking one back to all those years ago where he very literally ruled the world.
HOW ABOUT FAMILY? ARE YOU LEAVING ANYONE BEHIND?
"I have a younger brother, but frankly I'd rather not talk about my so called family. They're a bunch of stuck up bastards that I want nothing to do with, and I'm damn sure the feeling is totally mutual."
THAT’S INTERESTING… REMINDS US OF HOME. NOW, WHAT HAS BROUGHT YOU TO OUR ESTABLISHMENT, EXACTLY?
"After I 'changed' by mistake and got stuck in the damn zoo for a night I decided enough was enough. That's the top and bottom of it, and I'm willing to talk no more about it."
NOW, SO WE KNOW WHEN SCHEDULING YOU, DO YOU WORK ANYWHERE AT THE MOMENT? WHAT ABOUT LIVING? DO YOU HAVE AN APARTMENT OFF CAMPUS, OR SHALL WE PUT YOU IN A DORM?
"I've no job right now, though I hear the local library may be hiring people soon. If this is indeed the case then I'd adore to find myself there... Though of course I'd have to be careful not to simply find myself reading all of the time instead. Due to the fact I am in fact unemployed I stay on site, so a dormitory assignment would be most appreciated."
HM, ALRIGHT. LET’S SAY YOUR HOME IS BEING FLOODED. …PRETEND YOU LIVE ON THE COAST OR SOMETHING, OKAY? ANYWAY, WHAT THREE
"You don't need to thank me for correcting your grammar. I simply ask that you refrain from making such mistakes again.
Any way, if I were to save three things... For one there's the arcane spell book my grandfather bought me the year before he died, that would most certainly be on the list. I would also be sure to save the first tea set I was given. It's bone china and rather delicate. Finally.... Well finally I wouldn't have moved somewhere with a high flood risk, so actually I have no need to answer this question."
WE NEVER WOULD HAVE PICTURED YOU THE TYPE TO CARE. HOW ODD.
"I'm English. It's in my blood to have the heart of a poet."
NOW, WE ALL KNOW WHAT REASON YOU’RE HERE… BUT WE DON’T KNOW WHAT YOU ARE. MIND TELLING US YOUR SPECIES?
"A clouded leopard... Shut the hell up, it's not my fucking fault!
[Third Person]
Clouded leopards are grumpy, aggressive, and pretty reclusive. it seemed to fit him well 8<"
HM. WE HAVE FACILITIES THAT YOU MAY FIND USEFUL. I’M SURE YOU’VE READ THE HANDBOOK THOUGH, RIGHT? IF SO, PLEASE GIVE US THE THREE HIDDEN WORDS IN A SENTENCE OR TWO.
"As a gentleman I must keep moving forward with this application and... wait... Why are you giving me maple syrup?"
YOU’RE NOT AS MUCH OF A SLACKER AS WE THOUGHT. THAT’S GOOD. WE ARE IMPRESSED WITH YOU.
"Slacker? The British do not slack, especially not the English. However, I thank you for your praise. I appreciate it greatly."
WELL, THAT JUST ABOUT WRAPS EVERYTHING UP… IS THERE ANYTHING ELSE YOU WOULD LIKE TO TELL US?
"Frankly I'm only here to learn, nothing more and nothing less. If I do have any secret intentions (which I do not) then I most certainly would not inform you of them."
WE’LL TAKE OUR LEAVE NOW. PLEASE WAIT FOR VERIFICATION INTO THE SYSTEM.
"Sod off, I've already missed my afternoon tea, you shan't waste any more of my time."
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GEARR/FLOWER MUTT has been endlessly trailing around on this planet for EIGHTEEN years, they appear to be stuck. Whoops. So they took up role playing to pass the time, and have been doing so for THREE years. How interesting! They are located in the GMT +0 time-zone, for future globe-trotting reference! But I guess you can always reach them at MSN: eridor@hotmail.co.uk SKYPE: gearrble AIM: mysticgearr .
Well, let’s get this paper into the system! :
Hearing the usher to enter he scowled, grasping the handle and pushing it open. Really this was all rather rude, and not at all the proper way to treat a guest. Especially not a political one, which indeed Arthur was on this occasion. Indeed, things were made worse when the other proceeded to bloody well ignore him in favour of the telephone. Well then, that was rather wonderful.
When the other finally did notice him he could have smirked at the shock in those damn blue eyes of his, instead he simply favoured looking away to fix his attention on anything but Alfred. It was perhaps a fair reaction, and yet perhaps not. America had undoubtedly been an aid with supplies, his people would have been far worse off had it not been for such things. It wasn't enough though, not by a longshot. They actually needed direct support, and he hated to admit that. Call it a pride thing if you wished... Hell, you'd probably be about right. England simply didn't want to admit that he couldn't just go in, red coat ablaze, and kick it all into shape as he'd done so many times prior. It was sad really, and he truly hated the felling of it all slipping through his fingers. Ever since the rain he'd been drowning.
The boy really wasn't happy to see him though, was he? Judging by the tone of voice he'd most certainly say not. Hmph, well he didn't really blame him. After everything in the past it was perhaps no small wonder. Besides which, Europe had been dogging the lad to try and drag him into things. The British had been no exception to this, and perhaps they'd been stronger in their efforts than some. It was pitiful really. Utterly shameful.
"England... Shouldn't you be... you know... warring? If you're here to drag me into the war, you can turn around. I've said enough times that I don't want any part of it."
Warring? Well, it was good to see the other was as good with words as ever. He'd hate to think such a thing would have changed, it'd have been downright terrible to even consider such a thing. “Yes, I probably should be.” Because for a nation there was no rest. They had to keep pushing onwards and upwards regardless of pain, and most certainly regardless of death. There was a reason war was a last resort, and this was it. War was terrible. War was vile. War was everything that you never wanted to see embodied within one thing that you would be forced to to face day after day. However, it was also here and now. Yes, he really should be out 'warring', though in a way he was. There were many ways to fight a battle, and not all of them involved being on the battlefront. What he was doing was indeed another form of war, though it was one that was far more refined than the others.
The finality of his voice to the latter comment almost made him blanch though. Almost. With a scowl his posture tensed, already straight back seeming to hold him more so despite the seemingly impossible nature of it. Yes he ached, and yes it tugged at the various healing wounds across his frame... But he'd be fucked if he was talked to like that by anyone. Let alone America.
“If you wish me to leave then I shall, I've little notion to be dealing with such an obnoxious prat now of all times.” Because right now his life sucked. That was pretty much the only word that did the whole thing justice when all was said and done. Right now he didn't need some pain in the ass brat telling him what to do, and it was simply America's bad luck that he had a natural gift of worsening Arthur's already sour moods. “Bear in mind though, the news I bring you is more important to you than it is to I. I'd not bring myself here just to entertain the idea of trying to get you to join this war, such a thing would be far below me.” Yet here he was doing exactly that. Granted his methods were different, and yes they were less direct, but in the end he had in fact pulled himself halfway around the world just to try and get this one nation on his damn side. “Still, do give the word if you want me gone.” Because he probably would leave. He was in no mood for the boy's rude words, none at all.
"Germany's pissing me off, though. But away from that, what did you come for?"
Pissing him off? England barely contained the mirthless chuckle at such a statement. Thus far Alfred had lost little in this whole thing, and he dare to call himself pissed off? It was ironic really, and not in a way he much cared for. Still, there was no doubt that his boss would be chuffed to bits to hear such a thing. It would after all heighten the chances of all this working, he couldn't say he much cared for the method. Oh it was true, England himself was a manipulative bastard. He did as he pleased to reach his own goals, often caring little for those that got caught up in the crossfire. This though... Ah, it was enough to brush at his spluttering excuse of morality.
Finally looking back he narrowed his eyes. “Yes, well that's the Krauts for you. Tossers, the lot of them.” And by god did he hate them. They were in the way and wouldn't move. It was a pain to say the least.
With the request though he pulled out the translated sheet, offering it to the boy. “Here,” he huffed, making the thing seem like the biggest damn pain in the world. “The original is with Mr Bell, this is obviously a copy. I've little doubt your President will be receiving a call upon the matter at some point. Frankly I'm amused he's not already.” America's people could be so slow on matters. Still, there was nothing he could really do about the whole thing. Just so long as this worked he'd not have to deal with the bother of America not believing him then he would of course be fine. “We obtained the cipher text from the Mexican Telegraph office a short time ago, along with a copy of the deciphered text.” Lies. It was all lies in a way. Yes, the first part was true in a sense, they had indeed gotten the cipher text from Mexico... But only after obtaining it themselves. He doubted Alfred would know though, fuck, he knew damn well the lad wouldn't see through Arthur's eloquently constructed misstruths. He doubted any would.
Finishing himself on the matter he looked away, scanning the room briefly before furrowing his brows. “However, this is hardly an appropriate conversation to be having in one's bedroom.” In truth he was simply tired., and thus standing wasn't exactly something he wanted to be doing. He was damn sure there would be a conference room around somewhere, and then he could at long last just sit down. Still, having just come from a war to cross the damn Atlantic who the hell could blame him for being shattered?
When the other finally did notice him he could have smirked at the shock in those damn blue eyes of his, instead he simply favoured looking away to fix his attention on anything but Alfred. It was perhaps a fair reaction, and yet perhaps not. America had undoubtedly been an aid with supplies, his people would have been far worse off had it not been for such things. It wasn't enough though, not by a longshot. They actually needed direct support, and he hated to admit that. Call it a pride thing if you wished... Hell, you'd probably be about right. England simply didn't want to admit that he couldn't just go in, red coat ablaze, and kick it all into shape as he'd done so many times prior. It was sad really, and he truly hated the felling of it all slipping through his fingers. Ever since the rain he'd been drowning.
The boy really wasn't happy to see him though, was he? Judging by the tone of voice he'd most certainly say not. Hmph, well he didn't really blame him. After everything in the past it was perhaps no small wonder. Besides which, Europe had been dogging the lad to try and drag him into things. The British had been no exception to this, and perhaps they'd been stronger in their efforts than some. It was pitiful really. Utterly shameful.
"England... Shouldn't you be... you know... warring? If you're here to drag me into the war, you can turn around. I've said enough times that I don't want any part of it."
Warring? Well, it was good to see the other was as good with words as ever. He'd hate to think such a thing would have changed, it'd have been downright terrible to even consider such a thing. “Yes, I probably should be.” Because for a nation there was no rest. They had to keep pushing onwards and upwards regardless of pain, and most certainly regardless of death. There was a reason war was a last resort, and this was it. War was terrible. War was vile. War was everything that you never wanted to see embodied within one thing that you would be forced to to face day after day. However, it was also here and now. Yes, he really should be out 'warring', though in a way he was. There were many ways to fight a battle, and not all of them involved being on the battlefront. What he was doing was indeed another form of war, though it was one that was far more refined than the others.
The finality of his voice to the latter comment almost made him blanch though. Almost. With a scowl his posture tensed, already straight back seeming to hold him more so despite the seemingly impossible nature of it. Yes he ached, and yes it tugged at the various healing wounds across his frame... But he'd be fucked if he was talked to like that by anyone. Let alone America.
“If you wish me to leave then I shall, I've little notion to be dealing with such an obnoxious prat now of all times.” Because right now his life sucked. That was pretty much the only word that did the whole thing justice when all was said and done. Right now he didn't need some pain in the ass brat telling him what to do, and it was simply America's bad luck that he had a natural gift of worsening Arthur's already sour moods. “Bear in mind though, the news I bring you is more important to you than it is to I. I'd not bring myself here just to entertain the idea of trying to get you to join this war, such a thing would be far below me.” Yet here he was doing exactly that. Granted his methods were different, and yes they were less direct, but in the end he had in fact pulled himself halfway around the world just to try and get this one nation on his damn side. “Still, do give the word if you want me gone.” Because he probably would leave. He was in no mood for the boy's rude words, none at all.
"Germany's pissing me off, though. But away from that, what did you come for?"
Pissing him off? England barely contained the mirthless chuckle at such a statement. Thus far Alfred had lost little in this whole thing, and he dare to call himself pissed off? It was ironic really, and not in a way he much cared for. Still, there was no doubt that his boss would be chuffed to bits to hear such a thing. It would after all heighten the chances of all this working, he couldn't say he much cared for the method. Oh it was true, England himself was a manipulative bastard. He did as he pleased to reach his own goals, often caring little for those that got caught up in the crossfire. This though... Ah, it was enough to brush at his spluttering excuse of morality.
Finally looking back he narrowed his eyes. “Yes, well that's the Krauts for you. Tossers, the lot of them.” And by god did he hate them. They were in the way and wouldn't move. It was a pain to say the least.
With the request though he pulled out the translated sheet, offering it to the boy. “Here,” he huffed, making the thing seem like the biggest damn pain in the world. “The original is with Mr Bell, this is obviously a copy. I've little doubt your President will be receiving a call upon the matter at some point. Frankly I'm amused he's not already.” America's people could be so slow on matters. Still, there was nothing he could really do about the whole thing. Just so long as this worked he'd not have to deal with the bother of America not believing him then he would of course be fine. “We obtained the cipher text from the Mexican Telegraph office a short time ago, along with a copy of the deciphered text.” Lies. It was all lies in a way. Yes, the first part was true in a sense, they had indeed gotten the cipher text from Mexico... But only after obtaining it themselves. He doubted Alfred would know though, fuck, he knew damn well the lad wouldn't see through Arthur's eloquently constructed misstruths. He doubted any would.
Finishing himself on the matter he looked away, scanning the room briefly before furrowing his brows. “However, this is hardly an appropriate conversation to be having in one's bedroom.” In truth he was simply tired., and thus standing wasn't exactly something he wanted to be doing. He was damn sure there would be a conference room around somewhere, and then he could at long last just sit down. Still, having just come from a war to cross the damn Atlantic who the hell could blame him for being shattered?
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say hold up, wait a minute. let me put some pimpin' in
it! yep, that's right, this sexy application template was made
by yours truly: CHRISS a.k.a. LENNY GOT LAID ?! @
CAUTION 2.0.
Maple just edited it to her liking.
[/right]it! yep, that's right, this sexy application template was made
by yours truly: CHRISS a.k.a. LENNY GOT LAID ?! @
CAUTION 2.0.
Maple just edited it to her liking.
