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Alfred F. Jones

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Cosplay and Conventions [11 May 2010|02:03am]
Alfred checked his appearance in the mirror one last time. After much coaxing he had gotten his cowlick to lay down flat. His normal glasses were in the pocket of the off-white frock coat he wore. Instead he wore a entirely different pair of half circle glasses. He spoke a few words. His attention was on how he said them. He repeated it to himself and then a broad smile broke across his face. The accent was perfect.

When he left the house he thought about how today was going to be a great day. Many of the nations would be in costume at the convention. They would never expect him to be dressed as non-American character. He had worked long and hard at everything, even going so far as to start speaking in the accent he had worked so hard to get rid of two hundred years ago. He would be hiding right under everyone’s noses and the wouldn’t realize it was him. He was positive that this year he would be the last one recognized and caught by Hungary and Japan.

He tossed a cricket ball up and down and caught it in his hands. He hadn’t really played since Arthur had banned him from competition for not being part of the British Empire. Now, when approached with the subject of cricket he would refuse to play or feign ignorance. The character’s passion for cricket was one of the reasons he picked this costume.

When he got to the convention center it was warm inside despite the air conditioning. The many bodies plus the sweater and frock coat he wore was part of the reason. He gave an inner laugh. No one would suspect that America would be dressed as the Doctor. They would expect him to be Captain Kirk or Naruto. Yes, he was very confident he would win this year.
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Breaking and Entering [20 Dec 2009|02:24am]
    Alfred F. Jones was a hero.  Not only was he a hero, but he was the U. S. Of A.  That made him the hero of all heros.  No feat should be impossible for him.  Sadly, he may have found a foe he could not defeat. 

    Right in front of Alfred was a very thickly made door.  That door belonged to a beautiful English cottage.  That cottage belonged to Arthur Kirkland.  Alfred had a key in his hands.  It was supposed to be for this door, but the key wouldn’t work.  He knew it should work.  He had used the key before.  

    It had taken him a lot of hard work to get Arthur’s key and make a duplicate without him noticing.  He had made Matthew pretend to be him while Alfred had taken the drunken nation’s key and made a copy of it.  It had taken an enormous amount or bribery, persuasion and good old fashioned American charm to get the dead done.

    America in the end sighed to himself.  It was well before dawn and he didn’t want to wake the crabby old man so early, it would put him in an even worse mood then normal.  This meant that he would have to use his old method of getting inside.

    Alfred quickly walked around to the side and began to quickly climb a tree with practiced ease.  When he was a good thirty feet up he began to edge slowly onto a thick branch.  The zipper on his bomber jacket made little pinging noises.  When he was as far out as he dared, he leapt.  For a second he was flying though the air.  The next second he was crashed into the wall of the house and holding on desperately to a windowsill.  His feet madly scrabbled for the almost invisible footholds he needed.  The second he had his toes on something he began to pull himself up.

    The windowsill was thick and could take his weight.  The window itself was broken and could not be closed all the way.  Now that he wasn’t in danger of falling he was easily able to push the window open as he pulled himself up, over the sill and he rolled into the third floor room.
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