(A/N: Here it is, the second chapter of British Maid! Hope you like~)
Holy. Shit.
Those were the only two words continuously flying through Arthur's head as he stared up at the grand house (or was it a mansion?) in front of him. Bright, brass handles, polished windows, the modern style, and the perfect lawn. He stood still, open-mouthed and gaping at it. No wonder 'Freedom Avenue' had seemed so familiar! It all came back to his head. Freedom Avenue had the reputation of having extravagant houses that belonged to celebrities and entrepreneurs, and made people like him drool and envy them. He gulped, suddenly nervous. Someone living like this, Alfred F. Jones, had posted that same flyer for a maid? Er, or butler, in his case. Millions of circumstances of what might go wrong soared through Arthur's head.
What if he thinks i'm inferior to him?
What if he doesn't like me?
What if he hates me and then talks bad about me?
What if I say something stupid?
What if I don't get the job...?
His amount of urge to get the job overwhelmed him. Ever since a young age he had always been quite a hard worker and in high school he was the president of the student council, but he was always too ambitious to settle for a job like this. He really, really wanted this job.
Realizing he had been standing on the sidewalk facing the house for more than a few minutes, gawking and looking like a bloody idiot, Arthur regained his focus and cleared his throat, walking up the steps and shakily ringing the doorbell. He wiped his hands on his pants, hoping he had dressed alright. Khaki pants, a crisp white dress shirt, and a green tie that went well with his eyes was what he chose for today. He got worried again. He'd arrived exactly at 3, assuming that was what Alfred had meant when he'd said, "drop by around 3" but he hated not having an exact time. More pessimistic thoughts arrived.
What if I overdressed?
What if I underdressed?
What if he thinks I'm ugly?
He had no more time to think more negative thoughts before a young man about his age, maybe even a year or two younger, answered the door.
Holy. Shit.
Alfred F. Jones was the type of man Arthur would describe as "America in human form." Blonde hair, sky blue eyes, and a tall, lean figure was his appearance. He was dressed in a shirt with the pattern of the American flag, jeans, and white socks. A pair of wire-rimmed rectangular glasses completed his look, and honestly, at Arthur's first thoughts, made him look rather handsome... for a man.
"H-Hello..." Arthur stammered.
Alfred smiled brightly, staring directly at Arthur. Almost too directly, as if he were trying very hard to keep his eyes on his face, but yet had a far away look to them. "Hello! How may I help ya?"
"U-Uh, well... I'm Arthur, and I believe you told me over the phone to come to your house for the interview for the job of your mai- butler!" Arthur was confused, had Alfred forgotten since then? Had he come to the wrong house? Gods, if he had done that, he would never live it down...
To his relief, Alfred's face lit up with recognition and he stated, "Oh yeah, I remember you! Arthur, yes, Arthur! Oh shoot, is it already that time? Yikes, it's already 3... sorry 'bout that. Oh yeah, come on in!" He opened the door wider, revealing a grand hallway with a rather fine looking carpet and shiny white tile.
"Th-thanks..." Arthur walked in, and Alfred closed the door behind them, locking the door and whistling a tune to himself. He led Arthur down the hall, turning right and entering what Arthur assumed was his office. It was a nice size, spacious and had a window with a good view of the garden right outside. It had a large desk with a computer and a big chair on wheels. Alfred grabbed the armrests securely before plopping down onto it, and Arthur awkwardly stood in front of the desk. He looked around for a chair, but there were only two bookshelves, a rug, and a plant that looked a little too deprived of water. He winced at the sight, then focused right back on Alfred, worried that he might have seen him staring around the room. But Arthur couldn't help it. Born and raised in Britain, his old home had been furnished with a touch of the "olden days," as his "friend" Francis liked to put it. "Oh cherie, we are just saying zhat you are 'orrible at cooking and zhat you are a grand-pere at heart," he had said to Arthur in college, earning a smack from him.
But Alfred hadn't seemed to pay any mind to Arthur's behavior at his point, much to his relief and questioning. 'Maybe he's one of those oblivious people that can never seem to see what's happening in front of them...? he thought, waiting for Alfred to speak. That made sense, Alfred was rather loud and Arthur wouldn't be surprised if he walked straight into a lovers' quarrel offering hamburgers.
Alfred stared at him with his bright blue eyes. Dear god, they were blue, like a crystal clear sky Arthur wanted to stare into forev- WHAT WAS HE SAYING. Alfred was an American young man who obviously had way too much money for his own good! What the hell was Arthur thinking?
"So, Arthur Kirkland," he began, Arthur straightened up, "how old are you?"
"Twenty-three." Arthur replied.
Alfred's face lit up. Oh, you're British, that's cool!"
Arthur felt himself smiling. Normally, people would say something along the lines of "Dude, you're accent is soooo British!" And Alfred that just said the fact that he was British was cool, that had to account for something-
"Your accent is soooo British!"
Arthur face-palmed. Yes, Alfred F. Jones was most definitely American.
(A/N: So there you have it! The second chapter of British Maid! I'm sorry for not updating earlier, I had exams to study for and tons of cleaning to do! Please don't kill me! I'm sorry! *shot* I'm coming up with more ideas for this story as well. I hoped you liked it! 'Till next time! ^^)