After asking better directions from a shopkeeper in Birmingham, Alfred ended up going to Holyhead to catch the ferry there. It had taken five hours to get there, and then more time to wait for the ferry, and another two hours after that to actually make the crossing. Then customs, and he was ready to punch someone. They were looking at his guns very suspiciously. Seriously, all these Europeans. He’d managed to convince the officials that they were collector’s items. Still, he wouldn’t mind sending his fist into someone’s face. One thought made him laugh so hard that the next guy over had looked at him like he was insane. He could actually punch someone now and not have to worry about killing them. And, when he found Arthur, he could give him a legit hug, and not have to worry about crushing him or anything! The thought made him perk up a bit, and made him ridiculously happy for the next fifteen minutes.
When he finally reached Connall’s door, he executed his normal knock, and was again surprised that it made practically no sound. Guess he’d just have to knock harder.
Finally, the door flew open, and there was Connall, looking at him with confusion. Really, people didn’t recognize him? “Hi Connall! Wassup?” Alfred asked cheerfully.
Confused recognition bloomed on Connall’s face. “Bloody, what the feck are you doing here? What happened to you? Stop acting the maggot, boyo. Where’s your fella, the dodder.” Connall peered around Alfred’s slim frame, trying to see what was behind him. “Nary didn’t know you with that cap on.” Connall, apparently done trying to find Arthur, looked up at him. Alfred wrinkled his nose a bit trying to wade his way through the slang. Connall always poured it on just cuz he knew he couldn’t understand him. Alfred sighed once he reached the last sentence. Yes, he had grabbed a ManU hat from Arthur’s car. At least Connall hadn’t commented on his body just yet. “The jammy gobshite isn’t here, is he?”
Alfred shook his head, reminded once more what had previously transpired, and then shoving it viciously back. “Can I come in?”
Connall nodded, and welcomed Alfred in. After retrieving two beers from his fridge and sitting down with him in the living room, Connall finally asked, fortunately dropping the overbearing slang. “So, this body isn’t normal, I’ve gathered, nor is Artie on his usual business thing. What happened?”
Alfred launched into an explanation of what had occurred the night before, supplementing his admittedly ineloquent explanation with gestures and sound effects. When he finished, Connall was fixing him with an intense stare. “Are you sure, sure sure, that Artie called him Crowe?” At Alfred’s nod, Connall swore violently.
“What’s wrong?” Alfred asked, worried beyond what he was worried before. Connall had to know something. And he did and apparently it was bad.
Crowe 3a/?
When he finally reached Connall’s door, he executed his normal knock, and was again surprised that it made practically no sound. Guess he’d just have to knock harder.
Finally, the door flew open, and there was Connall, looking at him with confusion. Really, people didn’t recognize him? “Hi Connall! Wassup?” Alfred asked cheerfully.
Confused recognition bloomed on Connall’s face. “Bloody, what the feck are you doing here? What happened to you? Stop acting the maggot, boyo. Where’s your fella, the dodder.” Connall peered around Alfred’s slim frame, trying to see what was behind him. “Nary didn’t know you with that cap on.” Connall, apparently done trying to find Arthur, looked up at him. Alfred wrinkled his nose a bit trying to wade his way through the slang. Connall always poured it on just cuz he knew he couldn’t understand him. Alfred sighed once he reached the last sentence. Yes, he had grabbed a ManU hat from Arthur’s car. At least Connall hadn’t commented on his body just yet. “The jammy gobshite isn’t here, is he?”
Alfred shook his head, reminded once more what had previously transpired, and then shoving it viciously back. “Can I come in?”
Connall nodded, and welcomed Alfred in. After retrieving two beers from his fridge and sitting down with him in the living room, Connall finally asked, fortunately dropping the overbearing slang. “So, this body isn’t normal, I’ve gathered, nor is Artie on his usual business thing. What happened?”
Alfred launched into an explanation of what had occurred the night before, supplementing his admittedly ineloquent explanation with gestures and sound effects. When he finished, Connall was fixing him with an intense stare. “Are you sure, sure sure, that Artie called him Crowe?” At Alfred’s nod, Connall swore violently.
“What’s wrong?” Alfred asked, worried beyond what he was worried before. Connall had to know something. And he did and apparently it was bad.