The SCP-9683 instances are a strange bunch, but by Foundation standards they are quite mundane and uninteresting. Atleast, that's what most people working with SCP-9683 thought before they decended into the chaos which is the lives of the personified countries.
Entering the house, Dr. Idalia calmly strolled down the hallway, a clipboard in her hand. She wondered where Alfred was, usually he would've been in the living room or garden, but he was no where to be seen.
Venturing into the kitchen, Dr. Idalia heard soft, pleasant humming and the sounds of footsteps.
"Alfred?" She called out. Instead of Alfred standing in the kitchen, it was Tolys.
Tolys was wearing a simple white long-sleeved shirt and dark green work trousers with weathered leather boots. Dr. Idalia noticed he was filling up a tea kettle while wearing a yellow apron.
"Hey Tolys," Idalia beamed towards him fondly. "I haven't seen you in ages, how are you?" She asked enthusiastically, putting her guard down for a moment.
The young man gave her a weary smile, exhaustion etched upon his face. "Dr. Idalia, good to see you to," He replied, giving her a weary smile. "I'm alright myself," "Are you looking for Alfred?"
She nodded, "Yes, have you seen Alfred?" "The Council is requesting his presence,"
"Alfred is in one of his storage rooms I think," "I can take you there if you'd like doctor," He offered kindly.
"Thank you, I can manage," "See you soon Toyls," Dr. Idalia replied back politely as possible. She was in a rush after all, the O5 Council demanding her to find the whereabouts of the strange boy, as he was ignoring their calls.
Stepping up the stairs, Dr. Idalia felt a feeling of unease go through herself. Gripping her pen tighter, Dr. Idalia looked around the desolate corridor. It must've been ghosts, she thought, thanking that there was some light.
Hearing sounds of clattering in a room up ahead, Dr. Idalia took a step forwards and realised the door was wide opened.
"Alfred?" Dr. Idalia asked while staring at Alfred himself, who was kneeling down in front of a dark brown chest that had been worn down over the years. He seemed to be holding what looked like a kind of weapon.
Alfred didn't reply, simply holding the weapon delicately as if it would shatter in his hands at any moment. His gaze layed down upon the object as if in a trance, lost in his own thoughts.
"Yes doctor?" he replied back after a few seconds, standing up and staring at her with the weapon in his hands.
"What are you doing here?" "You've been ignoring the Council's calls for several hours,"
A look of regret came over his face though he schooled it quickly. "Oh, sorry," he laughed, though it felt forced. "I just wanted to clean out this old room, it's been collecting too much dust for centuries," "I just got kinda caught up," He gave her a smile. Unfortunately for Alfred, Dr. Idalia wasn't fooled. On his face, there was a solemn look of age, of centuries of experience weighing down upon his shoulder.
Dr. Idalia nodded in understanding. "If you don't mind me asking, what is that in your hand?"
A pained look was evident on his face when she spoke.
"It's a musket rifle I used to fight with," "England gave it to me," He replied, gazing at it with a nostalgic longing.
"May I see?" "I think I can recognise what era its from," Dr. Idalia asked curiously, Alfred handing the rifle into her hands as if it was a precious jewel.
He looked at his watch. "Thanks for reminding me doctor," he replied nodding in gratitude. "I will call the Council back," She nodded back at him, as Alfred exited the room.
Watching him leave, the exaggerated smile that Alfred wore slipped into a more neutral, stony expression.
Looking around the room again, Dr. Idalia noticed colourful wooden toy blocks scattered along the floor, age clearly wasting away at the wood. Next to the wooden toys, was a fancy looking toy box, which had a red and blue checkered pattern, with a black background. The toy box reminded the doctor of a miniature castle, one of elegance and grace, as well as darkness. Several toy soldiers layed scattered around on the floor, each individual faces pained differently from the other. The toy soldiers' paint had been chipped and worn away.
Dr. Idalia picked one up and noticed that a red-coat uniform was drawn on the wooden soldier, the painting being from someone above the level of an amateur. Whoever had hand-crafted the toy so lovingly had careful eyes with skilful hands.
Putting the toy down upright, she scanned the room around again, noting that a strange feeling lingered around the objects that spread around askew on the floor.
It was certainly a weird place. Dr. Idalia stood up again with the rifle, placing it inside the old, wooden chest.