Alfred F. Jones was not pretty, beautiful or any of those terms in relations to the phrase 'good looks.' He was not ugly, or gross to look at. His looks are average. There is nothing wrong with that.
Alfred has blue eyes that have seen better days but sometimes if looked at, the eyes seem to lure you to being lost in the eyes' essence almost like being lost in a well or lost at sea, which hides underneath his dark brown rectangular glasses. He has blond hair, with bangs, parted to both sides of his face. A random strand of hair stands in between where the hair parts, defying gravity. Its' name is nantucket. He is usually seen wearing a brown bomber jacket with a t-shirt, jeans and some expensive high tops like converses.
He does not have many friends, seldom a few and those he befriended, he barely hangs out with. Much less invite over to his house. There is nothing wrong with his house, he just preferred solitude. Yeah, I think that is about right. He lives his life like every other teenager on this planet, getting bullied and pretty much being an idiotic teen. The idiotic teen that he is so bent on being.
He lives pretty much alone except for the fact that he has the company of his usually absent mother figure, who goes by the name of Arthur Kirkland. Arthur Kirkland has a messy bob, with bangs, and big caterpillar like eyebrows. His eyes are a captivating emerald green and he is mostly seen attired in suits or very formal outfits.
Alfred barely remembers his father and brother, as more days pass, the less he does. He does not mind really, he just remembers the codename 'papa.'
Alfred has the original unpublished manuscript, which is memorized by now, with rips and a few tears from the constant use, a story that this 'papa' had written a while back. Always bringing this book wherever he goes, never forgetting it anywhere, as the story reminds him of something that Alfred probably has forgotten. Along with half of his family members. The title of the story is called Dieu comme nous. Alfred thought that this novel was simply unworldly.
He despises reading, but this one book was read to him over and over by 'papa' or Arthur in his early childhood. By reading it, he almost remembers his 'papas' voice and expression as he read this aloud until Alfred could not keep his eyes up anymore-and thus fell asleep in the comfort of 'papa' or Arthur's arms.
Like almost everyone else, he has really weird and creepy dreams. Actually, he thought that the novel "Dieu comme nous" influenced most of his dreams. Although he barely remembers any except for his annoyance to waking himself, in the middle of the night, to find out that he was crying for an unknown reason.
"Pray for forgiveness from the god of war..." Is the only phrase he ever remembers from his dreams. Thinking back, most of his dreams he forgot by the next morn anyways. He hoped that this 'god of war' was a fictional character like a kick arsce superhero that saves billions of lives. That little voice pounded in his head, never ceasing, even when Al clutched his head in agony.
He rolled out of his bed, to wash his face that was recently covered in salt water from all those tears. Slowly walking to his restroom, turning the sink handle, which let drips of water sploosh out. Drip drip drip. Running his hands underneath the water and splashing it onto his face. The noises from the water ceased as he grabbed a small towel that hangs by the sink. Wiping his face, before drying his hands. Placing the towel back on its' hanger. He grabs a brush to rid his hair of any tangles that it had gained during his tossing and turning in his sleep.
Yawning as he started to untangle his hair, dropping his brush as looked at himself in the mirror. He was usually tan but as of today, he became a pasty white color. Also, he almost constantly tripped over his feet-which was odd since he had good vision-forcing himself to wear his glasses that were usually too strong of a prescription for himself. He also had fake glasses. After he took care of his hygiene, he fumbled back into his bedroom to get a decent change of clothes to wear for the day.
He found a pair of dark denim jeans that had holes by the knees from constant use, a black t-shirt with a glow in the dark neon orange batman symbol, a black with splattered rainbow batman symbols that looked more like a designer seatbelt but was actually just a belt and the usual bomber jacket that has the airplane on one sleeve, along with the star on the front and the giant number fifty on the back of the coat.
Slipping on white adios socks, first on his right then on his left. He grabbed a backpack with the overall appearance that it is black with gray and neon yellow altering decals of the symbol from the legend of Zelda. It was a very light bag, only a few books were in it. A few notebooks, a sketchbook, his wallet, tools for writing or sketching and his favorite novel [which was mostly in french except for the handwritten notes to him from 'papa'.]
He quietly slipped down the stairs, figuring that someone will clean his almost clean room with the exception of the unmade bed and the scattered video games on the floor. Hopefully, someone will. He was certain of it, he was not going to clean his room... Whatever.
As approached the last step, he heard a voice call out to him, making him wince and curse inward. The voice ordered him to sit his arse down and eat breakfast before wandering aimlessly. Tossing the bag aside, by the stairway that led from his room to the living room.
He sluggishly meandered to the table, where his 'mother' sat. The briton bitterly smiled as he asked his son to join him for a nice english breakfast with a cup of Earl Grey. You might of just asked Alfred to digest poison.
Pulling the chair out and slumping down, annoyed that Arthur was attempting whatever he failed last time on him.
"Where are you off to, Alfred?" The british male asked as he sipped his tea.
"School." the American smugly replied as he stared into his cup of tea, filling it with lots of sugar.
"Alfred, there is no school today." He curtly replied, looking into the eyes of his oldest son.
"I know, i know." Al replied in a mocking tone as he continued, "I still have school, y'know."
"What idiotic antics did you pursue this time, Al?" Arthur said with a sigh.
"Nothing. Glad that you actually care this time, Mumsy" he said, either in defiance or with dry humor
"What made you think that, love?" Arthur replied quickly.
"Nothing, nothing. Can I, like go now?" Alfred as he poured more than five cubes of sugar in his cup of tea.
"I suppose I cannot keep you, if this is an important matter that you must attend to." Arthur said, as Alfred started to rise from his seat, "Sit, Alfred. I never said I was through speaking with you for now."
"What is so important iggy that-" The american whined.
"Do not call me that, Alfred. There are two important matters I want to discuss-" Arthur started.
"None of it concerns me, so why tell me?" Al interrupted.
"Both matters concern you, git. We are expecting guests by the end of this next week, a boy around your age and his guardian. Please treat them courteously. The second matter.." The british male droned as he saw the american start look spaced out, "Listen to me will you! The second matter regards your utmost attention. Alfred. Alfred. ALFRED! "
"Hm? What 'boot those two dudes?" The american joked.
"I beg your pardon?" The shocked Arthur barely gasped.
"The boy and his 'rent?" questioned Alfred.
"Ah, very good. I was afraid I lost your attention and it is too early in the morning for yelling. The second matter was about your schoolwork." Stated Arthur.
"So?" Alfred laughed, "Chill dude, take a chill pill."
"I am calm, Alfred. If I was not, I would be yelling right about now." He truthfully stated.
Alfred started to rise again as he was done speaking to this annoying mother of his.
"Alfred.." His mother murmured, "Are you well? You look pale."
"No, no, no. I feel fine, and the hero never lies." He meekly replied.
"Very well. Please take care of yourself, love." Arthur said tenderly as he finished his second cup of Earl Grey tea.
"Iggy. Iggy, have you ever heard about the 'god of war.'" Alfred asked as he tripped over his chair.
"I have. What would you like to hear about that subject? Please refrain your idiotic whims on that horrid nickname 'Iggy.'" Arthur chuckled rather fondly as he answered.
Alfred was quick enough to trip over the chair again, for some unknown reason.
"Careful." In a feeble whisper Arthur, continued "Are you alright, Alfred?"
Dusting himself off as he laughed his signature yet annoying laugh, smiling as he forcefully rambled with all his mental strength that he could muster , "Dude, I am chill. I am so chill, that I am chill. Almost too chill for you-"
As he walked away from the kitchen area, his idiotic laughter was still heard by Arthur. The loud picking up of his backpack, the quick sound of Alfred putting on his black army boots and the slam of the door- which made Arthur almost drop his third or fourth cup of tea.
The murmur of the phrase "What a peculiar lad, he is" which was said by Arthur was, actually heard by Alfred but he choose to ignored it.
The only real question was if the boy, Alfred, actually went to school.