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july 1850
"You can't catch me, George!"
"Oh, yes I can!" These words echoed around the tall hallway, the sound of frantic children's footsteps accompanying the racket. The lanky, dark-eyed seven-year-old boy, named George as we have learnt, was desperate to catch up to the older, auburn-haired boy who was sprinting away from him in bare feet, the two slipping and sliding on the flawless, shiny wooden floorboards, bumping into long walls with flowered wallpaper, just missing sleek side-tables adorned with vases which withheld top-quality roses and tulips.
"O-Oh-! I say, watch where you are going, boys! Mr. Lennon, is that a tablecloth??" A tall, dark-haired boy, barely sixteen, carrying a tray with tea and biscuits, was almost knocked off his feet when the two boys weaved past him, calling after them with an outraged yell, but not without a hint of amusement. John was, indeed, draped in an expensive, pure white lace tablecloth, giggling boyishly and grinning all the while as the nine-year-old was chased by George.
"Apologies, Mr. Epstein!" George had managed to call out to the servant before they whipped around a corner, disappearing further into the depths of the manor.
"Come on, slow poke! You can catch up!" The young prince called, bursting into the lounge area, which was luckily empty. The large room was adorned with dark oak bookshelves stacked with hundreds of books, a large velvet sofa in the middle with a dark oak coffee table placed in front , a lace tablecloth on top with a large bowl of various fruits, and another sofa of the same type opposite the other. A large window faced the back gardens, which went on for miles and miles, lace curtains draped in front, creating honeyed patterns which were cast onto the waxed floor, then velvet curtains tied back with golden string next to it. Soft patterned carpet tickled their bare feet as George passed John and flopped onto the sofa, sinking into it.
"That's it! You win, sir captain! I'm defeated!" The dark-haired boy puffed out, pulling off the top hat he stole from his father and dumping it on the floor. "I can chase after you no more."
"Ha! See that? I win! I am the best pirate in all of the land, and you're the worst!" He made a face at his friend, who wasn't really paying attention to the prince, gazing in wonder and amazement at the room he had only seen twice now.
YOU ARE READING
The Blue Danube [OLD]
Fanfic(disclaimer rly old and bad!!!) - Paul McCartney is the son of a wood chopper, barely scrounging on their savings to afford clothes and meals. As for John Lennon, it is quite the opposite. He is a prince , son of Mary - or Mimi, as she is called, th...