Arthur huffed as he put up his hood over his dark blond hair on his way out into the rain. He only had to go two streets over, but he still wasn't happy about it. "Fifteen," he grumbled looking up at the grey clouds from his porch, "Fifteen years old and I can't even go to a bloody party without getting in trouble!" He hadn't even wanted to go, but that damn Francis had dragged him anyway. Of course, his mother had soon found out that he wasn't at Francis' house, as he had claimed. There had been no drinking, no smoking, nothing of the sort, but Charolette Kirklandwas having none of it. "That damned frog!" Arthur yelled into the wind.
"Arthur Kirkland! I heard that, mister! You had better get going this instant, or you're going to be late!" his mother called with a stern voice from the kitchen window, where she was finishing dishes from supper. Arthur sighed and hopped down the steps. Like I care if I'm late. I don't want to babysit some brat, anyway! He thought rolling his green eyes.
As punishment for going to the party, his mother had decided to make him babysit for a friend of his parents. She couldn't just be like normal mothers and ground him. Arthur tried his best to talk her out of it, but of course, she didn't listen. "Maybe this will teach you some responsibility. You'll think twice about going to another party, as well, I bet," she said ending the conversation for the last time.
He turned on to Park Street and looked at the numbers to get the right one. "92 ... 94... here it is," he muttered reaching the house numbered 96. The name 'Jones' was painted on the mailbox. The house looked about average size, with a small play set outside that looked as though it hadn't been used in a few years. Walking up to the porch, he saw a very small hand print on the stairs. Looking to the other side, he saw that there were two more, one male and one female. Climbing the remaining two steps, he knocked on the door.
The door opened to reveal a tall man, six feet at least. He had light blond hair and brown eyes. He was dressed in a stiff white shirt with a plain red tie, and black dress pants. In all reality, he seemed as though he should be wearing a helmet and a muddy jersey. What did Mom say he did? Security gaurd ... bouncer? What does it matter? Arthur thought before saying, "Hello, Mr. Jones. It's a pleasure to meet you." He stuck his hand out.
"Likewise," the older man grunted. "Alright, Alfred needs to be in bed before ten. If he gets hungry, there are snacks in the cupboard closest to the fridge. If you need to contact me, my number's on the counter."
"Yessir." Arthur replied, walking in as the other stepped aside. Mr. Jones said a farewell and left for work. "Okay, I can do this," he mumbled. "Um, Alfred?" He called wondering where he was the whole time. A kid ran out of the kitchen with crumbs on his mouth. He had blond hair with an odd cowlick sticking out of the top and bright blue eyes. He was pretty tall, considering he was ten. He already came just below Arthur's shoulder.
"Hey! I'm Alfred F. Jones and I'm a hero!" The kid yelled. "So, what's your name, and why does your voice sound funny?"
"I'm Arthur Kirkland and my voice doesn't sound 'funny'," Arthur said with annoyance clear in his voice. Sighing he continued, "It's called an accent, I'm from England."
"Ohhhh," Alfred said dragging the word out. "Okay, Artie I'm hungry!"
"Don't call me that!" Arthur snapped. "You just had cookies, how can you possibly still be hungry?"
Alfred flinched as Arthurs voice rose. "I-I'm sorry," he said with tears filling his eyes. Arthur looked at him and sighed again.
"Alright, alright, you can call me whatever you want, now let's go get you a bloody snack."
"Yay! Can I have a hamburger?!" Alfred said, a wide smile quickly replacing his sadness.
"What- no! You can't have a hamburger!" Arthur said leading Alfred into the kitchen.
"But, why?" Alfred said with a pout.
"Because you already had supper. It's six.", Arthur said rolling his eyes. He looked in the cupboard and grabbed a few cookies and putting them on a saucer, placing them in front of Alfred, who had climbed onto a tall stool at a bar separating the kitchen from the dining room.
"Thanks, Artie! Can I have some milk too?" Arther sighed and searched for glasses and poured him a glass when he found them.
"Here's your bloody milk.", He said placing it front of him.
"Why do you say that?" Alfred said before taking a big gulp and stuffing a cookie in his mouth.
"Because I'm big, so I can."
"I'm big too!" Alfred insisted after finishing his milk and the remaining cookies. He hopped off of the stool. "Bloody!" He said and laughed.
"Hey! Don't say that!" Arthur snapped.
"Bloody! Bloody! Bloody!" The younger said and ran away from Arthur, who was chasing after him in an effort to shut him up.
"Stop it you git!" He yelled chasing him around the couch. He jumped over it to get him faster, but Alfred ran up the stairs.
"Git! Bloody!" Alfred yelled down.
"ALFRED!" Arthur screamed in irritation. "If you don't stop and come down here, then I won't give you cookies when I come, ever." Alfred peeked down to see Arthur's serious face and came bounding down the stairs.
"Aw. You're no fun Artie," he whined. He plopped on the couch and turned on the TV. He flipped through the channels, until he saw Captain America was on. "Alright!" he exclaimed jumping off the couch and pretending to punch and kick whenever there was a bad guy. Arthur plopped on the couch, glad that he had calmed down, for the most part. Alfred watched a few more shows until it was 10:00.
"Okay, Alfred. Off to bed with you.", Arthur said shutting off the TV Alfred pouted, but didn't say anything as he stomped up the stairs. Arthur sighed with relief and waited until 11:00, when Alfred's dad got home and gave him a rid back to his house. Arthur thanked him and walked in the door.
"How was it?" His mother asked, closing whatever book it was she was reading this time.
"Terrible, that kid has way too much energy for his own good," Arthur complained with a yawn.
"By the way, you're babysitting again tomorrow."