Summary: Cinderella!AU. Alfred is an expert of numbers. He lives a life of eternal counting and he doesn't quite know when the day will come when those numbers will finally flow to his favor, flipping away from a thousand and one negatives to an exponential positive. And what's math without a little magic? USUK
A/N: HAPPY BIRTHDAY TO MY FRIEND IXIE! I hope this present like, doesn't suck-
We both wrote a story about this concept but I didn't have the balls to post it until today so OOPS.
Anyway, I hope you guys also have a good time reading this... ehe...
Alfred F. Jones never left home without two very important things: a pen (typically one including a name with whichever event had decided to hand them out for free), and a handheld spiral notepad. It's been a constant habit of his since the first day that his stepmother discovered that the child could read and cheat the grocery list by adding extra foods at the end of it. It's only after that event had Alfred carried paper and pen with him to every place he visited. He was an oddball of a kid who loved adding numbers and calculating almost everything that he could see. If Alfred could kiss numbers themselves, he would.
He counted the worth of everything his stepmother 'granted' him so that he knew exactly how much of a 'financial liability' he was to her (Alfred still didn't know the costs yet; she hadn't even ever sent him back to school). He counted how many steps it took to get to the top and the bottom of the house, and how many seconds it took to get to those endpoints.
Alfred especially counted all the money he had saved up from then on until he became 19.
He had a severe minimum wage count of about almost two measly coins a day for about nineteen years. Two cents per day, in a year, would have been $7.30 and by now he had an approximate $138.70; not counting the leap years. Alfred recalled himself grinning from ear to ear earlier that day, excited now to finally reach his goal to pay for the expensive suit he had been eyeing only recently.
Each year, his small little town would host a gala that would always be organized right smack dab in the middle of summer. It was a rumored occasion that stated that a man could find his true love there waiting for him, yet Alfred already knew how many failed dates his stepmother had ended up having. The answer: 13 and counting.
This never stopped Alfred from being as determined as he was. The idea of marriage was a glorious thing; one that could mean finally making something of himself other than just being lumped at home counting bubbles he popped while washing the dishes. The gala… it meant freedom in some aspect. Something that could break him out of his slavery to the woman he called 'caretaker'.
And so the story begins right as Alfred enters into the clothing store, feeling his heartbeat drop several beats per minute upon seeing the horrid effects of how inflation had ruined his chances of being able to attend.
"Sir," he addresses the clerk with a voice crack that made Alfred actually cringe with embarrassment within those few seconds. "Wasn't this suit about $138.70 with the tax? Exact?"
"Aye, it was. But it's the best thing I own in this store. Times are tough, kid. Either you put more pennies in that jar for an extra $10 or no deal."
Alfred sighs. But all hope hadn't lost itself in that moment. His eyes sparkle to the display only next to it, something much more flamboyant. Much more statement worthy. And totally $138.70.
"I'll take that one, please."
In the end, the situation didn't quite add up to its estimated potential.
Alfred had only now gotten himself home with the floofy material still half pouring out of his hands. Glitter filled every crevice on the floor, and perhaps even through the cobwebs just behind the shelves. His expression, however, reads nothing less than excited, and he didn't care to be bothered about cleaning it later if it meant he himself was going to have the chance to get ready for his first ever gala. He could finally set aside time for the 'True Love' part of his life.
But it was an expectation that was met with a metaphorical ax to the heart when Alfred's stepmother comes home and drops her umbrella at the front door.
"...where in the hell did you get that?" she exclaims immediately, eyes straight to the outfit in his arms as if she was even surprised that he was holding it in the first place.
"I bought it with my own money, ma'am," Alfred reasons, though he crosses his fingers from under the fabric. It's an itchy kind, but it's his money's worth. "At the store. Isn't it pretty? They wouldn't let me buy the suit since it was expensive, but this was the next best-"
The statement is never finished and Alfred feels the fabrics of the silk slip through his fingers, mildly scratching his skin. It is being snatched away by a pudgy, scarlet-faced old woman; it's the new image of a thief. Alfred tugs the fabric back, feeling his heart tug as hard as how he was pulling.
"That's mine."
She doesn't relent her decision, tugging it back. Alfred doesn't let go.
"Everything in this household belongs to me, " she insists anyway, and Alfred practically yanks it out of her greedy hands. There wasn't supposed to be an alternative option to the 'happily ever after'. It was supposed to be his own story, and yet unsuccessfully, the tale becomes a broken reality when the fabric tears itself into two pieces.
Alfred inhales sharply, just as his stepmother quickly snatches the remains. She goes over to the dumbstruck hero, punching him straight in the jaw with contained irritation.
"I'm not being escorted to the gala with you, much less you wearing a dress."
It's a blur of hazy thoughts after, and Alfred ignores that his glasses had been knocked off his face. He says nothing, leaving the house instantly into the cold, yet welcoming rain. It's a choice he decides to settle with, and the wetness masks his leaking tears.
The next instance Alfred finds himself, he's retreated into the rusted walls of a weathered gazebo; a stage set in the middle of the gardens only as a means for impressing the neighbors. It was hardly ever used to do anything than be a decorative space, but it was his safe zone. His second room.
How he made it out there, in the mist of rain and visual haze, he wasn't sure himself. Alfred just chooses to sit in the center, sniffling quietly as he feels his heart finally sink lower than his stomach. He's dripping, with his head hung low and water dripping off his hair like it would a willow tree's leaves. Alfred sits, hugging his knees. It's only now that he finds it a stupid idea to have run out without any kind of warm clothing. He's only wearing a tank top and knee-length shorts; the perfect attire for someone working the fields. Alfred sighs, with breath collecting into the air as he hugs his knees inward. He wonders briefly if true love would wait another 19 years. Adding the numbers, he'd be 38; probably hitting a midlife crisis and forever starving. Entirely unattractive.
He wipes his eyes, exhausted and tired before he feels a hand plop right on his shoulder.
Alfred jolts instantly, imaging that his stepmother might not have had enough pleasure with the previous encounter. Out of instinct, he swings his fist in the direction he felt the threat appear from, only regretting it immediately after when he hears the curse words of a much lower voice; a young man's instead of a shrill old woman's.
"...that was... entirely unnecessary."
The voice had an odd nasal intonation to it and Alfred had only just turned around, scraping his brain for replies but still unsure of how to approach the apology. It becomes more difficult to even try when he notices that not only was he dealing with a total stranger, but was, in fact, dealing with someone who had a gigantic pair of translucent butterfly wings probably twice his height.
And a nose dripping with newly drawn blood. Alfred winces and tries to hold off his interrogating questions.
"...hey man. I'm really sorry. I didn't mean to do that. Honest."
"I'm sure you didn't," the winged man sounds as if he were mocking him anyway. Alfred didn't feel the any less guilty. "I wouldn't have been summoned to help someone if they didn't need it. Though, I think they forgot to include the part where you're also 'violent'."
Alfred bites his lip. He finally gets one good look at him after hearing him speak, and his eyes went to finally settle on his appearance. As best he could, anyway. He still lacks glasses.
It's the eyebrows that catch him first, furrowed and large. They were accompanied by a pair of pure green eyes staring him down and a hand covering the lower half of his face from the incident. Alfred can't quite see the details of anything more than this. His eyes squint, but he gives up trying. He makes a move to speak, but his foot brushes against something solid and he looks down.
It's a stick with a bright star at the end of it, shining so brightly that it almost hurts to look at.
"I'll take that."
The other scoops it up out of his vision with his free hand, and Alfred blinks as the man makes a swirling motion with it, eventually bopping Alfred's head with the star point.
"Ow! What the…?" Alfred complains, but he opens his eyes again, only to realize the world decided to correct itself. The fields of trees were without doubles this time, and he feels his face with his hands. He can see the world clearly with no need for the specs. Blinking blearily, Alfred looks back again to the wand holder. He gets a glance quick enough to see that the fairy man also performed the same odd ritual on himself, waving his wand around. And he removes his hand away from his face without much mess. His nose didn't look broken anymore. When he is finished with the action, he meets eyes with Alfred that flared with unimaginable annoyance. It's then that Alfred notices the dusting of freckles on his nose; light and fairly obvious. And the anger was more pronounced in his expression. Perhaps not the same as his stepmother, but enough to probably not want to test his patience.
Alfred didn't know if he should be terrified, but evidently, his inner questions were eventually answered by the way the other seems to soften his expression, extending a hand to him. It was forced, and he looked like he was trying his best to avoid blowing up with verbal abuse.
"It's a bit...late for an introduction now. But my name is Arthur. I'm your assigned Fairy Godfather."
Alfred rubs his nose. As abstract as the concept was, he couldn't help but make the comment.
"That...explains the wings."
"I beg your pardon?"
Alfred quickly takes 'Arthur's' outstretched hand, trying to brush off his own rudeness. "Alfred F. Jones. I'm uh. I'm sorry for hitting your face like that. Don't get to see a whole lot of new people around here, and they normally aren't the good kind of people anyway."
Arthur's lip twitches. "I'm aware."
Alfred gives a bit of an uneasy smile, then releases the hand grip before then rubbing his eyes several times. To make sure he wasn't dreaming, of course.
"So uh. Fairy Godfather."
"In the flesh," Arthur says this with some aura of higher authority, giving a curt bow. One that Alfred chooses to ignore. He's had enough of high and mighty. Alfred just tilts his head only a fraction as a response before replying.
"You're a lot shorter than I imagined."
"And for a pure soul, you're a bit of a brute as well."
The comment is unwarranted but Alfred can't help but laugh as he says it, figuring perhaps this was a much better topic to shift to than being overly self-reflective like earlier.
"You're also a little crude to be a Fairy Godfather. Sure I'm talking to the right guy?"
Arthur the fairy just rolls his eyes. "And cheeky too. Wow."
"Touché."
Despite the negative comments, Alfred couldn't help but finally calm down. He figured perhaps he deserved this kind of treatment since he was the one who technically hit him without warning in the first place. He sighs after, then just rubbing the back of his neck.
'Arthur' also did fix his eyes too. A double favor that he clearly didn't have to do.
"Anyway," Alfred says. "What's a Fairy Godfather doing in a place like this? Are you supposed to grant wishes or something?"
Arthur only crosses his arms and exhales sharply. Maybe this question was part of Arthur's F.A.Q.
"I'm here because I'm supposed to give second chances," the fairy replies, wiping the rest of the crusting blood off his nose. It was an answer that at least didn't sound like he was trying to provoke him anymore. Which was good. "Apparently you want to go to the gala. And I'm supposed to make sure that happens, so here I am. I just hope you make reasonable requests."
Alfred furrows his brows. "Wait so. You're gonna help me get to the gala and find my soulmate?"
The fairy man looks jostled at that assumption. "Well. Perhaps not that far along. But hopefully, yes."
"But wouldn't that mean you're more of a cupid kinda guy more than a fairy?"
Arthur snorts. "It would appear so."
"But I'm not even dressed for it!" Alfred complains. "My outfit…"
It's then Arthur's turn to laugh, though it came out more as a chuckle. "You mean the dress?"
Alfred pouts. "Hey. There's nothing wrong with dresses. It's what I could afford."
Arthur just rolls his eyes again, but he's smiling as he does so. He twirls his wrist in a circular motion as he holds the wand. And Alfred looks down when he notices light radiating off his body, widening his eyes when he recognizes the exact tuxedo that he had wanted to buy in the store only hours ago.
"Holy hell."
"You're very welcome."
Alfred felt his smile return to him, and it was the kind that bubbled up to the surface enough to make his eyes water. He looks happily at Arthur, making an expression that was almost ruined by tears. Arthur then seemed to look away briefly.
"...please don't cry on me. I'd rather not use the excess magic for laundry maintenance."
"Thank you so much, Arthur. You're like, the best Fairy Godfather ever."
Alfred catches Arthur off guard, and he pulls him into a tight embrace. Enough to squeeze all his feelings in a single motion, but not too much that he didn't make Arthur gasping for breath. Arthur's cheeks flush, but he tries to maintain a stable expression.
"...I already said you're welcome. Now can you...let go?"
Alfred opens his arms, and Arthur practically stumbles out of balance. But he gains his composure again, brushing himself off as he adjusts his stance. Alfred keeps his gaze downward at the tuxedo. He doesn't even ask about the transportation, but it's clear that even if he didn't ask, it would still be provided for. And he looks up at Arthur without any fail of his smile wavering. "You want to come?"
"Wait, wait. What?" Arthur sputters, but Alfred offers his hand, giving a bright grin. "You know, you can't just arrive at a party by yourself. You need a date. And I'm thinking maybe since I can't pay y'back for this suit in a few years-"
"Alfred, you don't even have to pay me back for this. And inviting me is the most ludicrous thing anyone has ever suggested to me."
"But does that mean yes then?"
Arthur sighed loudly. "Well,"
"You're a fairy of chances, aren't you? Why don't you stick around? I kinda need a date, you know. And it's the last chance I'm gonna get before I get married."
Arthur then feels himself chuckle again. "Twisting my words already. Alright. But only since you asked."
Posted November 30, 2017