What have I become,
my sweetest friend?
Everyone I know
e n d
a p p e a r a n c e
Unlike the darkened caverns of hell Alfred's azure, and rather alluring, eyes have ensnared many to follow these small beams of light, unaware of the predator seething behind their comforting, yet unfamiliar glow. Lots have followed him, wanting to catch or corner the source of these orbs, only to find the silhouette they'd been pursuing was a creature of myth, a demon. Jet black hair, possessing a rather large and askew cowlick, along with a pair of horns, and tattered wings to match, clashed with the American's pale, porcelain-like skin; Smooth, and cold to the touch. Though it's marked and flawed by a few scars here and there, as well as a large and rather prominent pentagram that stretches across Alfred's back. Sporting a toothy grin revealed an ivory, set of canines, only a few shades paler than the boy's complexion, yet it blended in perfectly with the fabric that bloomed off the neck-line of his charcoal, U.S. flight jacket. A starred badge imprinted upon the right, upper chest along with a small airplane insignia on the right sleeve, while a large fifty is sprawled across back are all found upon the leathery material. Jeans and a casual shirt tend to be a favourite of his, but sometimes he can be found with dress-pants along with a nice suite; maybe even a tie; it all really depends for the Devil's spontaneous nature can prove to be surprising.
Ouch- That hurt. Yeah, whatever- Emotions are stupid anyway.
p e r s o n a l i t y
If you're not a fan or insults, sarcasm, or assholes then steering away from Alfred is your ticket to happiness. He's curt, blunt, apathetic, rude, and down right cruel- honestly, the guy has a big mouth and an even bigger vocabulary and if you happen to open either you might just find yourself regretting it. While he's usually cold and silent, the devil won't hesitate to go apeshit on anyone who happens to annoy him. Which is everyone. If you can spell "douche" you can spell "Alfred Foster Jones" and if you look up either in a dictionary you'll find them vice versa as definitions. Your dog died? He'll laugh in your face. Your lover got hit by a truck? He'll snort and ask where his fucks are. You're trying to exorcise him? The middle finger is all yours, bucko. But this royal asshole won't just insult you, he'll crush your very being if he sees an opening to. Show him one ray of happiness and Alfred will go on a journey through your mind and soul trying to find a weakness he can pop your heart with. This goes for humans and other demons- including Satan himself. Alfred may be his 'pet' but he's no where near being his friend or loyal subject, which is why the former American doesn't reside in hell, either. No, our cup of tea lives on the mortal plane, and not for souls but for privacy. This isn't to say he won't go tearing through a few towns for a quick meal every now and then, however the pure or corrupted spirits aren't, really, what he's looking for. No- Alfred simply admires how beautiful the human body looks when limp, twitching, impaled, torn in half, or twisted in unspeakable ways. And no, Alfred wasn't once a sweet, kind person whom had something tragic happen to him to corrupt him- he's just always been a sick fuck. So there's no mystery to unravel, or no heartbreak to uncover for he's numb in such areas. He. Doesn't. Care. 'Apathetic' doesn't even begin to cover it. Moving on, comes the topic of normal demon things: Lust, greed, wrath, sloth, gluttony, pride, envy. Out of those seven, Alfred harbors mostly wrath, pride and envy. Wrath for his temper, because despite being an uncaring asshole he's got his panties in such a twist that it looks like a pretzel and any comment, look, or cough could cause him to explode in anger. Pride due to wanting to be hated. It's all he's ever known and thus takes it in stride- which is why affection causes him to go tongue tied and uncomfortable like the secret dork he is. And lastly, envy because he wants something to call his own. This doesn't, really, mean love or anything but Alfred yearns just for one item or being that's sincerely his- That's stable. A nickname, a toy, a picture; anything. Which is also why he has a pinch of greed, for there is one thing in particular he holds very, very close. A jacket- Brown leather, with lighter shades of said color stripping the collar vertically as well as darker. He, really, doesn't grasp why he adores it so much but it just feels important and as though it was made just for him; and while it's hundreds of years old, carrying some tears and blood splatters, he's kept it extremely well maintained. However, he only wears it every now and then- whenever he's feeling especially down. Yes, down. As in upset. Surprise: Upset. Emotions. Wow. Because assholes have feelings too.