let it be known that alice kingsley takes an age to get ready. not that
he would blame this solely on her, of course; from what he remembers
of her mother -- which isn't all that much, if he's honest, given that he
was but a child when she died -- she too could take hours, at the very
least. still, mrs kingsley hadn't been trying to get into whatever it is
that alice was doubtlessly attempting -- in fine contrast with her youngest
daughter, mrs kingsley had been a very proper, well-behaved lady --
but the very idea of alice cavorting about, smiling gracefully & playing with
a string of pearls about her neck was enough to sneak a snort of laughter
from behind his lips.
peter sighed for what felt like the thousandth time. say what you will about
the beauty of alice's house, it was hardly a comfortable place. indeed, he
thought as he readjusted his position on the edge of a particularly firm
couch, it was quite possibly the most uncomfortable place he knew of ( &
he'd been sleeping on the lumpy, stiff beds at harlington hall, the local
orphanage, since he was just a child ). he leaned forward, elbows on his
knees, & tugged a zippo lighter from his pocket with a call of,
❛ alice, if you don't hurry the bloody hell up,
i'm gonna strangle somethin'. ❜
a huff of air escaped his mouth after the words were said & done, shards
of deep-set sapphire rolling as he flicked the lighter on & off, on & off.