"Alfred! Oh good, you're here. I'm bored. Let's go, spill so blood and come back and have a drink!" The long-haired blonde frenchman excitedly said. Alfred came down the long, barely-lit hall, confronting Francis.
"No, I'm good. Not today, Francis. I've had enough fun today. But I will agree to that drink," Alfred sighed and sat down on the torn-up, old fashioned armchair.
Francis looked back at him, surprised. "Is something wrong? You would always be up to a little murder and drink. Something's the matter, Alfred. It's been a week since you've tended to that Englishman. Oh, and Ivan's back. He's behind the house. Back to his habit, picking those huge sunflowers," Francis snorted through a small laugh and turned and disappeared around the corner. Alfred looked up to kitchen wall, sighing again. The light pink wallpaper peeled over itself, showing the off-white paint behind it.
The broken oven sat right in the middle, facing Alfred directly. The sides were banged in, and only one out of four stoves worked, barely. Alfred studied the kitchen more, without a reason. The fridge in the corner was open, the light in it flickering on and off. Alfred scoffed, shaking his head. How did he get here. Nothing was like this back home in America. Even the jails were nicer. But this is the only place that he could stay, and he has people. They're a little different, a little strange, and bloodthirsty, more so than not. But he knew that if there was any real danger to any of them, they would not be alone. In the first time in a long time, Alfred had friends. People that cared about him. Worried about him when something was wrong. And never questioned him, just because he isn't like everyone in this whole country. Especially since they were just as insane as him. Alfred has been living with Ivan and Francis for almost seven years now, but he never stopped to appreciate how much they mean to him.
Francis came strutting back, carrying two bottles of wine. "I've got the stuff, Alfred! Here," Francis shoved a bottle in his face, laughing to himself. Suddenly, the door slammed open.
"Ivan! How nice, you came in finally. Oh, do you want a bottle?" Francis looked down at his bottle, his expression changing.
"Yes, yes. That would be nice. I'm very tired from my trip, and a nice bottle of vodka would very much kill my thirst. But of course, you would have to bring it to me," Ivan pushed up on his heel, starting to walk into the room again.
"Oh fine. A bottle of wine then? Alright," Francis turned himself to go into the cellar again, but Ivan called after him.
"Francis, don't you dare get me that wine. I said vodka. There's a difference, and I don't like your stupid wine. Bring me the vodka, and there won't be problem. Unless you drop it, then I'll drop you. Off a cliff."
Francis crinkled his nose and softly laughed. "Oh, Ivan. So dramatic all the time. We all know you never seriously injure me or Alfred," Francis scoffed and walked down into the dark cellar opening hidden by the kitchen wall. Ivan slowly walked up behind Alfred and sat down next to the old armchair.
"He really doesn't know that if he steps too far out of line, I will, quote, seriously hurt, end quote, him," Ivan breathed out, noticeably annoyed with the Frenchman.
"You two don't stop, do you? I don't think that you really would, you would just like to," Alfred stated as he stood. "I'm going to bed," Alfred turned around and headed down the hall, turning into the first room on the right. As soon as he closed the door, he opened it again. He was confused, eyes darting around the floor, until he looked back up at Ivan, who was still sitting cross-legged on the floor holding a giant sunflower in his lap.
"I'm gonna go check on the guy in the back," Alfred flatly stated.
"Oh, you got another hostage, Alfred?" Ivan questioned, excitement rising up through him.
Alfred winked. "How do you think I got back here? Do you really think I got away empty-handed? I would never escape without telling them that I cannot be contained by some stupid jail cell," Alfred shrugged and laughed as he turned down the dark corridor. "The head of the royal guard. And he's a special one." Alfred disappeared from Ivan's sight, his outline consumed into the darkness.
Alfred felt confident of himself walking down the hall, but as he neared Arthur's room, he didn't feel the same. He didn't know what he meant when he told Ivan Arthur was special. He was just another hostage. It's not like the fact that Arthur is very important to England, because he's taken people that meant a lot to many things. So why is Arthur different? Why does Alfred feel something he's never felt before from the moment Arthur turned slightly when he caught him. Alfred always tried to shake off the feeling, but it's still there, right in the middle of his stomach. It wasn't right, he is a dangerous person that shouldn't feel things like this, especially if they make him so vulnerable. He neared the shut door, a slight shiver running down his spine. Alfred tried to ignore it, opening the door. Alfred slowly pushed it open, listening through the creak the hinges spat out. He gazed in the room, eyes darting around the room, looking for an outline through the dark.
"What do you want? It's late, can't I be alone?" Arthur's voice shot through the silence of the room. Alfred's back stiffened, reminded of the fact that Arthur doesn't like him around him. He understands Arthur's feelings, though. After all, he just met him early this morning, and he did literally drag him here after a threat on his life. He gets it, but Alfred just wished that Arthur was more accepting of what happened already.
"Arthur, you hate me don't you?"
"Well, you did put a threat on my life and you wouldn't have minded killing me, cutting my head off. There's a fine line between stranger and enemy. A stranger is someone you don't know. An enemy is someone whom you do know, but is not a friend. When they threaten your life, just like you did. Even if you're acting like a friend now, that's nothing. You're closer to enemy than being a friend," Arthur stated as if it was the most obvious thing in the world. For some reason, being called an enemy right now hurt him. Whether it was the fact that it was directly to him, or if something about particularly him calling him an enemy. Either way, it hurt him. People that don't know him call him a monster. Faces he's never even seen turn away from him in disgust. He's used to it, and it never bothered him before. But now, it did.
"Ya'know Arthur, the only way to not go back to jail, or worse, killed, would be to take a hostage. The only reason why I put a threat on you was so I could go free. I've told you the only reason why I'm supposeably the dangerous man in the world. I didn't put you in any harm. I've taken many hostages before, and the ones that I go for and still don't take, they go free. I've never ever killed or harmed a hostage or someone who I was looking at for taking hostage, in any way, let alone thought about it. I've said it for blackmail among the people, like I did for you. But if they decided to go after me and forget about your life, I would've left you and ran. I wouldn't hesitate in leaving you there, and never think about harming you. The worse that would happen would be accidently cutting you from moving away quickly, but that's it. I swear, I would never harm someone that doesn't have a main reason to it. Maybe, not even then. I'll never hurt an innocent person," Alfred flatly said.
"Would you ever consider me not innocent?" Arthur questioned further. Alfred's brow furrowed, causing amusement to show out into Arthur's face.
"Listen, I would never hurt you, okay? I can't promise anything about Ivan and Francis, but I won't. The only reason I brought you here was so I could go free from the stupid prison. It's not anything you think it is, okay?" Alfred was getting quite sad with how Arthur saw his actions. Even with explaining how it is, Arthur refuses to believe him.
"What can it take? What can I do to make you believe me? I promise on everything, on my life, I would never hurt an innocent person. Oh, on a different note, we have food. It's probably very little compared to what you're used to, all that fancy stuff. But it's food. Do you want any?" Alfred tried to change the subject, suddenly concerned about Arthur.
"I don't want your food, sir. I'd rather starve and die here, than live here. Actually, no. Not live, exist. There is no life here, all anyone could do is simply be here," Arthur looked away from, turning his head with his eyes on the floor. Alfred stared at his dark silhouette sitting on the bed, unmoving. He turned to go after a few seconds.
"If you need anything, please come out and say something." Alfred stepped off on his heel.
"Wait."
Alfred stopped, startled, and turned his head back to look at him.
"You got free from them. You got away. Why can't I go now?" Arthur kept his eyes off Alfred.
"Well…" Alfred searched for a reasonable explanation that has truth to it. "If I let you, you would go back. They would realize that you're free, and come look for me. They would not only kill me, but also Ivan and Francis. They would trash this place, more than it already is, and probably burn it. Ruin everything. And what satisfaction could bring you if you left? Nobody there cares about anyone. Everyone is a nobody, no matter how important they are. As long as the Queen is safe, no one cares how many guards die. They'll just replace you without any hint of guilt or sorrow. So why, why would you want to anyway? Just so you have luxury? Have you ever socialized with anyone outside of being a guard? There's nothing in going back. It'll be as empty as this room. Darkness, dirty, and you alone. Think about it," Alfred scoffed. Arthur didn't reply. He knew Alfred was right. Alfred turned to go again.
"Wait." Alfred was shocked. Arthur asked to wait again. Alfred wondered if he was warming up to him, if he was finally ready to believe him.
"What is it?" Alfred questioned, excitement uplifting inside him, for reasons he does not know.
"What food do you have here? I'm hungry. And I don't really want to die, especially here," Arthur breathed out.
"Uh, not much, but uh, yeah, I'm not sure. I'm sure we have bread, I know there's water. Oh, and there's alcohol, like whiskey and wine and brandy and vodka. But the vodka is Ivan's, so you can't have that. I'm sure there's more, though. I haven't been here for, like, awhile. I'll go see, and bring you whatever. Okay? I'll be back." Alfred left from standing in the doorframe and walked quickly down the dusty hallway.
When he reached the kitchen, Alfred threw the cabinets open and scrambled through them. Empty, except some bread and a couple unopened cans of beans. He grabbed the bread loaf and a can and slammed them on the counter, half running to fridge to look for more food.
"Alfred calm down! I thought you were just gonna go check on him and go to bed. Ahh, is he hungry? Or are you seriously that food obsessed?" Francis came back out of the cellar and casually walked up behind the island counter in the middle of the counter.
"Francis, be useful for once and heat up those beans. Oh, and why were you in the cellar? Were you seriously freaking drinking again? Please, get your drunk ass in here and help me. Heat those up," Alfred spat out at Francis while frantically rummaging through the fridge.
"Oh my god, Alfred, calm down. He's not going to die if you don't feed him right this second. As long as he gets food by tomorrow night, he won't get drastically sick," Francis said calmly as he grabbed the can of beans and put them on the stove.
"He asked for food, Francis. I am obliged to get that to him. Simple," Alfred stated hurriedly. He looked at Francis who stopped helping him.
"What?"
"Alfred, you don't know how to cook food, you only know who to eat it, mon ami. Let me make it and go calm yourself, away from the fire, please."
Alfred backed away from the almost broken stove, turned, and walked down the long, narrow hall. When he reached the last door on the right, the door opened before Alfred put his hand on the knob. Arthur looked up at Alfred's face for a couple seconds and went back to his small bed in the corner. Arthur did notice the small change in behavior and look in Alfred's eyes over the past week, but he still tends to frighten him.
"Arthur, Francis is making food for you. Please come out of here, though."
Arthur looked up from the window to Alfred. "If you want me to come out of this room, let me go."
Alfred felt surprise with a hint of unknown sadness flow through him. But he backed from the wood door and simply said, "Fine. You can leave. I had no intention of doing anything with you and planning to let you go soon anyway." Alfred stared at Arthur, trying to read his intentions.
"Then why did you keep me here anyways? I had nothing to do, almost nothing to eat, and barely any sleep. Normal people don't do that to other people," Arthur stood and walked out the door. He stared down the hall, and looked back at Alfred.
"How do I know you're not going to kill me when my back is turned, American?"
"I won't. Go out this backdoor, Francis won't see you. Be careful of Ivan, he can quite a nightmare when he wants to," Alfred stated flatly, walking to the hidden door near the room Arthur stayed in, and opened it for Arthur.
"I don't trust you, American, but thank you. For letting me out. I wouldn't live here, you don't know how to properly hold a prisoner," Arthur grabbed the door before walking out. He gave Alfred a slight smile, in humor of his statement.
"Well, I can say the same to your country's prisons," Alfred winked. With that, Arthur walked out into the night, disappearing past Alfred's sight.
To be continued...