Arthur approached gambling house with more than a little caution. He had never seen a gambling house before, of course he had not; he was from a well-to-do family! Ignoring the fact that his brothers often gambled, he had never had any desire to throw money away.
The current establishment looked more like a whore house without the whores, not that he had ever been to the red light district either!
The doorman was a squat but muscular man with more hairs in his nose than his entire head. Plucking up his courage, he approached him, clearing his throat loudly so that he could be heard over the loud voices coming from within.
“I’m here with a message for Mr Alfred Jones.”
The man fixed him in his sight, scowling as if he resented being forced to do his job. Grumbling under his breath, he hoped from the stool where he had been half-sleeping and unlocked the iron door, leading him into a place with nefariously narrow corridors with purple walls and disgustingly ruddy red carpets stained with alcohol.
“Can’t he gamble in a more refined place,” Arthur hissed under his breath. Stupid Alfred and his stupid habits!
The man brought him along a series of doors. Muffled voices shouted behind the oak, sounds of struggles and even the odd scream made Arthur jump.
“The one on th’ end,” the doorman grunted, thrusting his thumb in the direction of the last door at the end of the corridor before ambling back to his post.
Arthur forgot to thank the man, not that he had really done anything to be thanked. He was too busy staring at the door as though it were a portal to the underworld. This was shady. This was definitely shady.
He chided himself for being so weak. No, he would go in there, march up to that idiot Alfred, and give him a piece of his mind about gambling and how it corrupted the soul or something! His hand as already firmly wrapped around the handle when his courage was suddenly drained by the angry shouts coming from within.
“Damn you Jones! You cheated!”
It figured that someone would be angry with Alfred. That was not what caused him to pause. Though muffled, he knew that voice.
“Don’t be such a sore loser, I never use underhanded tricks,” he could hear the glee on Alfred’s voice.
“Dammit, my entire fortune is riding on this!”
“B – Brother?” Arthur whispered and pressed his ear to the door.
“Maybe you should quit,” Alfred advised.
“Screw you! I’ve already lost this much!”
Yes, his brother had already lost their estates and almost all of their wealth Was that not why they sold him To pay for their debts? Yet now his stupid brother was doing the same thing he had before, only this time they would not be able to sell him again if they got into trouble.
Arthur could hear Alfred sigh. “If you insist.”
“Bastard, is taking my little brother not enough for you?”
“I was under the impression that you didn’t like him. Besides I - ”
There was a loud thud, which sounded distinctly like someone slamming something down on the table.
“Don’t screw with me! This is all your fault! In fact you were the one who suggested we sell him to pay off the money we owed! You said that you would help cover our debts if we did!”
Arthur jerked his head back, his heart thumping. Alfred had really said that? But that was impossible, how had Alfred even been aware of his existence before that day when he had been sold as a slave? Had this whole thing been orchestrated by him? Arthur could not imagine why.
His hands curled into tight fists. He did not know why this sudden realisation hurt him either. It was as if someone had driven a stake into his chest, it was a burning fire that continually seared him without relief. He always knew that man had been rotten, hadn’t he? He always knew that man had been no good.
“What did I ever do to you?” Arthur muttered, turning his back to the door.
Re: Pride goeth before destruction [15/?]
The current establishment looked more like a whore house without the whores, not that he had ever been to the red light district either!
The doorman was a squat but muscular man with more hairs in his nose than his entire head. Plucking up his courage, he approached him, clearing his throat loudly so that he could be heard over the loud voices coming from within.
“I’m here with a message for Mr Alfred Jones.”
The man fixed him in his sight, scowling as if he resented being forced to do his job. Grumbling under his breath, he hoped from the stool where he had been half-sleeping and unlocked the iron door, leading him into a place with nefariously narrow corridors with purple walls and disgustingly ruddy red carpets stained with alcohol.
“Can’t he gamble in a more refined place,” Arthur hissed under his breath. Stupid Alfred and his stupid habits!
The man brought him along a series of doors. Muffled voices shouted behind the oak, sounds of struggles and even the odd scream made Arthur jump.
“The one on th’ end,” the doorman grunted, thrusting his thumb in the direction of the last door at the end of the corridor before ambling back to his post.
Arthur forgot to thank the man, not that he had really done anything to be thanked. He was too busy staring at the door as though it were a portal to the underworld. This was shady. This was definitely shady.
He chided himself for being so weak. No, he would go in there, march up to that idiot Alfred, and give him a piece of his mind about gambling and how it corrupted the soul or something! His hand as already firmly wrapped around the handle when his courage was suddenly drained by the angry shouts coming from within.
“Damn you Jones! You cheated!”
It figured that someone would be angry with Alfred. That was not what caused him to pause. Though muffled, he knew that voice.
“Don’t be such a sore loser, I never use underhanded tricks,” he could hear the glee on Alfred’s voice.
“Dammit, my entire fortune is riding on this!”
“B – Brother?” Arthur whispered and pressed his ear to the door.
“Maybe you should quit,” Alfred advised.
“Screw you! I’ve already lost this much!”
Yes, his brother had already lost their estates and almost all of their wealth Was that not why they sold him To pay for their debts? Yet now his stupid brother was doing the same thing he had before, only this time they would not be able to sell him again if they got into trouble.
Arthur could hear Alfred sigh. “If you insist.”
“Bastard, is taking my little brother not enough for you?”
“I was under the impression that you didn’t like him. Besides I - ”
There was a loud thud, which sounded distinctly like someone slamming something down on the table.
“Don’t screw with me! This is all your fault! In fact you were the one who suggested we sell him to pay off the money we owed! You said that you would help cover our debts if we did!”
Arthur jerked his head back, his heart thumping. Alfred had really said that? But that was impossible, how had Alfred even been aware of his existence before that day when he had been sold as a slave? Had this whole thing been orchestrated by him? Arthur could not imagine why.
His hands curled into tight fists. He did not know why this sudden realisation hurt him either. It was as if someone had driven a stake into his chest, it was a burning fire that continually seared him without relief. He always knew that man had been rotten, hadn’t he? He always knew that man had been no good.
“What did I ever do to you?” Arthur muttered, turning his back to the door.