I didn't win.
"Josef, why again did we come here?" Mick inquired, growing steadily more exasperated with his friend. Josef seemed to examine every single photograph with excruciating detail, observing the smallest things that likely none of the humans could see.
"Mick, my friend, you must learn to appreciate the past as I do."
"Yes, well, you lived through it. I'm just looking at blurry photos." He grumbled, once again stopping to wait for the man that was completely absorbed in a portrait of the English royal family in the 1850s.
"Look at this." Josef murmured. "They made Victoria look so…prudish in the photo. So…distinguished." Mick rolled his eyes.
"And let me guess, you have a different story to tell?" Josef shot him a warning look.
"Who says I knew her?"
"You didn't?"
"I never said that." He winced.
It was then that Mick saw something that he thought he might find some interest in: working classes of the mid nineteenth century.
Now there are some people I can connect to, came the thought. He immediately headed for the wing, leaving Josef to rub his face in Queen Victoria's hair or whatever.
Hands stuck firmly in his pockets, he sauntered into the room only to be met with a puzzled stare from the security guard leaning idly against the wall. Mick stopped in his tracks to return the stare with a glare…
Until he realized the man was staring at someone behind him, and Mick felt like a fool. Curious as to whom the man's focus was concentrated so directly on, Mick chanced a glance behind him.
Surprisingly, Josef himself was wandering down the hall, taking his own sweet time admiring the sepia tone depictions of history.
If an odd spectator had bothered to examine the visitors of the photography exhibit, he or she would, with almost sure certainty, not have pegged the two men as having come together – one a wavy haired thirty-something with a pea coat, whom you might imagine as drawing guns on bad guys or taking his red-clad lady out to a dance club, the other a twenty-something barely into manhood, dressed in slacks and suspenders and a rather out-of-place black bowtie, who (despite his age) could easily be imagined situating himself behind a desk for a solid eight hours. (A/N: Wow. Longest sentence ever.)
It occurred to Mick that the security guard's odd examination was probably of Josef, which he found a bit strange. Sure, a young man in full business attire was a bit out of the ordinary, but art connoisseurs were known to be a little on the eccentric side, were they not?
Ignoring it for the time being, Mick rewound to once again try and tug Josef along by an invisible little leash.
"Come on. You've seen the photos. I'd like to see this room." He jerked his head towards the wing they'd almost made it to.
"Just a sec, kay." It was like pulling teeth with this one.
"Josef! Come back later by yourself! Just hurry up!" Josef scowled at him.
"Patience, patience, young man." For this they received more than a few baffled glances.
"Josef." Mick groaned, exasperated.
"Fine." Josef spat, hurrying ahead like an angry little boy denied his cookie.
Once again, the guard gave Josef a Look.
Josef Looked right back.
They wandered about the room, staring at photos of varying sizes. There were farmers and merchants, locksmiths and shoe repairers, and a preponderance of servants. Of this majority, most were royal servants, photographed with their masters – ladies-in-waiting, maids, even a carriage boy or two.
It was one of these that caught Mick's attention.
"Josef?" Josef was still trickling along at the pace of slime mold. He looked up.
"What now?"
"Is this…?" He didn't have to finish the question before Josef hurried over, noting the look of bewilderment and amusement on his friend's face.
The photograph was of a carriage about to tow Princess Beatrice away. In the back, however, a man stood balancing precariously on the lip of the vessel. A man who looked surprisingly similar to Josef.
"I thought silver emulsion made vamp photos impossible."
"Apparently the girls thought it was funny to cover my face in make up that day. That's what you're seeing." He grumbled. "Bitches," he added under his breath.
There was silence for a moment.
"You were a carriage boy to the royal family?" Mick choked on his laughter. Josef glared daggers at him.
"Horse hand."
"Yeah, sure, if it makes you feel better."
"Shut up! This is serious. There are people I know who visit here!"
"We've got a problem." Mick said finally. This could be difficult to deal with.
Josef, however, did not share Mick's moral values…
Or, for that matter, Mick's respect for the law.
He promptly grabbed the photo, hand darting in and out again in a blur of motion so fast that the alarm never even went off. There was, however, an extremely loud popping noise as the strings it had hung from were jolted rudely out of the ceiling.
Josef's gaze darted to and fro shiftily, the photograph tucked under his armpit like a…well, like a stolen object. They were receiving alarmed eye contact.
Josef leaned in to Mick, tensing in preparation.
"Run."
And they did.
A/N: …I haven't done third person in a while, so forgive me if I'm a little rusty. I just sorta kinda felt like it. Tell me what you think! Feed the plot bunnies! Even the constructive criticism plot bunnies!
(l l)
(-.x)
(o o)
(")(")
His face is screwed up in (constructive criticism) thoughts. Feel free to name him.