November 1st
If you were to journey through the long corridors that wound their way through the maze-like mansion, and came across the fourth door on your left on the first floor's Eastern hallway, then you would see a very peculiar man having a very peculiar staring match with a Victorian telephone. The man was peculiar because of the frown that was painted on his face using his oddly large eyebrows, and the staring match was peculiar because telephones do not have eyes, and therefore the whole thing is rather pointless.
If you could read minds I would first of all wonder why you would be reading this when you could be using your powers for the greater good, but if you could read minds – and you decided to read this man's – you would, more or less, see this: It wouldn't hurt to invite him just this once, would it? No, of course not, he considers you a friend – he's annoying, loud, stupid- I could go on! – but he won't refuse. Besides, you had to go through his stupid 'Independence Day' nonsense, so why not make him sit through an actual celebration, which, may I remind you, is far older and more traditional than either of his so-called 'national festivals' could ever hope to be. I could just invite someone else… But there isn't the security of them saying yes! Oh for the love of Pete! Phone the stupid moron and just ask him! He won't think much of it – won't try and read too much into it like others might. Pick. Up. The. Damn. Phone.
He lunged forwards, throwing the receiver up to his ear and whirling his finger around the numbers, finally stepping back, panting a little. The few seconds that passed felt like forever, and indeed for Arthur Kirkland, standing drearily in his living room on the first of November, it may well have felt that way, but for Matthew Williams, a brave Canadian who was, at that moment, wrestling a bear, the seconds passed all too quickly. Soon after a voice echoed through the other end and Arthur felt his breathing slow and his heartbeat quicken in one smooth motion.
"Yo. Wassup? Alfred here." Just listening to that annoying accent and misuse of the Queen's English made Arthur just want to punch him in his stupid-
"Yes, it's Arthur-"
"Artie! How's it going bud?" Here he was forced to extend the receiver as far away from his ear as humanly possible, which was, unfortunately, not very far, otherwise he feared the volume would destroy his ears.
Gritting his teeth, Arthur continued, regretting his decision to even get out of bed that morning, when he had woken up on the wrong side. "Fine, fine. Now listen for a moment-"
"Hey, d'ya think you could come over? I just got this awesome new game, but you can only level up if you play with someone else. Think you're my man?" Unbeknownst to Alfred, Arthur had sunk to his knees in frustration and defeat, his hand slowly and shakily bringing itself up to his forehead in preparation for the large shouting fit that was about to present itself – and unbeknownst to the both of them, the brave, bear-wrestling Canadian, Matthew Williams, had won.
"Shut up just for one second!" He yelled, standing up again and beating a clenched fist against the wall. "It's always just constant noise and nonsense spilling from your mouth; all I can hear is constant blah blah blah! Do you ever stop? I'm sick to death of it! I was going to invite you to my house for a Bonfire Night celebration with fireworks! And-and food! But all you've done for yourself is just annoy me. Could you not show some respect and let someone else speak? Is that not the gentlemanly thing to do? Good day, Jones!" And with that Arthur hung up, perhaps a little more violently than was necessary, and sat down heavily on the sofa, arms crossed and absolutely fuming.
Alfred was still blinking in his surprise when his phone informed him that his good friend and old mentor Arthur Kirkland had, indeed, hung up. He was standing there, still slightly taken aback, as he tried to process everything that had been said piece by piece.
Do you ever stop? Of course he stopped talking. Alfred was a person; he needed to eat and sleep, though Arthur may have told him off for talking during both of those activities at some time or another, but that did not really matter. Anyway, he had not spoken a word during the entire rant! So there, Alfred F. Jones could jolly well stop talking.
I was going to invite you to my house for a Bonfire Night celebration. That made Alfred stop and think for a second. The fact that Arthur had considered asking him was – some might say unusually – kind for him to do, and Alfred certainly would not have refused, especially at the mention of fireworks coupled with food. Plus, if he did not go, then Arthur would not come to Thanksgiving later on and for some reason that seemed like a very bad outcome.
Good day, Jones! Drat, the fact that he was referred to by his surname made Alfred wince, remembering back when he was a kid; being referred to by his last name usually meant he was in deep, deep trouble and that Arthur was very, very angry – this is destroying-pointless-vase-that-nobody-liked-but-now-appears-to-be-an-ancient-heirloom-that-is-utterly-one-hundred-percent-irreplaceable angry.
As Alfred decided to distract himself using the game he had mentioned, hoping that some food would also help with the decision of whether or not to call Arthur back, his brother Matthew returned triumphant, albeit with slightly torn clothes. He took off his coat and, after hanging it up, decided that he well deserved a nice, steamy, maple syrup-covered batch of pancakes. It took him a short while to realise that something was not quite right with his entrance into the house. He was sitting and facing the formidable tower of pancakes, drumming his fingers against the table impatiently trying to figure out exactly what it was that was missing. It only took a small yelp from the sofa where his brother was playing some odd platform game for Matthew to realise that he had not been pounced on when he opened the door and barricaded with all sorts of random facts in a loud American accent. Deciding that something was wrong with Alfred, Matthew did his best to finish the pancakes quickly and cosy down on the sofa next to his brother, softly prodding the younger in the side in the hopes of gaining his attention, but he just got a sort of grunt, which was probably the best Alfred could manage with his tongue sticking out as much as it did in his concentration.
"So…" said Matthew, attempting to begin some form of conversation and picking off some dried blood from a nosebleed he had gained from his earlier brawl. "Did anything happen while I was out getting supplies?" He could not help nudging Alfred in some encouraging show to get him to say something, which was not often a problem in the household – the problem tended to lean more towards getting him to shut up afterwards.
Alfred just shrugged, putting his energy into hitting one button on his controls repeatedly as fast as he could. "Well, Artie called; said he was going to invite me to a bonfire celebration or something, but apparently I annoyed him. I mean, can you believe that?" Matthew's facial expression changed to one of pain, as he could very well imagine Alfred getting on everyone's nerves in one day – he had that much potential for annoyance.
"You going to call him back?"
"Maybe."
"Maybe?"
"Yeah, I mean I asked him if he wanted to play this game with me and he didn't even care. I don't know if it's worth it."
"Why can't I play with you, eh?"
Alfred paused the game and turned to his elder brother with a look that said 'I'm sorry, but…' and those were exactly the words he said as he put his hands on Matthew's shoulders and let their blue eyes meet. "I'm sorry, but I just don't know if you'd be all that great at it."
Matthew could almost feel his eyebrows leaving his forehead they rose so high in disbelief and his eyes kept switching from narrowed to having all the white showing as his mouth flexed its muscles looking for something to say. Could his brother not remember how Arthur played video games? Matthew would be ten times better than him any day! Finally he removed Alfred's hands from his shoulders and left, raising his hands defensively.
"Fine Alfred. I don't care. You can play your stupid game by yourself. When you're confused and Arthur hates you, don't come to me, 'cos I will be too busy actually being nice to people who offer to help me. Jerk." He added slamming his bedroom door shut and turning on some music to calm his nerves.
Deciding against continuing with his game, Alfred turned off the machine and went off in search of food; it was getting late anyway, so he could sleep on it and hopefully come up with a solution tomorrow. He returned to the sofa with a Burger King meal Matthew must have picked up on the way over. The place was not getting much attention, but the two brothers remained loyal to it, they had even started a tradition of going every Thursday for dinner, and Alfred was convinced that Matthew had a thing for one of the girls who worked there and requested that she serve them every time.
Putting KICKASSIA into the DVD player, he settled back into the sofa, grinning broadly and looking forward to watching the film, but somehow his mind kept wondering back to the telephone call and then to the conversation with Matthew. The voices in his head struck up a conversation. Maybe you're the problem. Squeaked Reason, the quietest and least listened to of all the voices. You annoyed two people so maybe it's you not them. Alfred was trying his best to focus on the film without his conscious telling him these things, so he silently thanked Ego and Arrogance for shutting the smaller voice up so he could continue watching.
Arthur on the other hand, had secretly wanted Alfred to call back, and when he did not, that just put the elder into an even fouler mood than before, causing him to storm up to his bedroom and toss and turn all night in his mental discomfort.
