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“You!” João jabbed a finger through the air, wind whistling past his ears. “I would kill you if you weren’t already dead!”
“Sticks and stones!” Francis shot back, sitting upright in an unseen chair, calm as can be through their swift descent. “I have warned you many times this would come, and here we are!”
“Where is 'here' exactly?!”
“You wouldn’t believe me! Not yet!”
João squinted in a bid to see better. The hole appeared to be leading underground, with luminous spores to light their fall. He spiralled and flailed whilst Francis remained still. Annoying bastard. Friend or not.
"How far does this go?!"
"Can't recall!"
Just perfect. Not only did Francis cause this -and yes, João stood by that belief- but he had no clue when this nightmare would end. And whilst he had time to entertain more complaints: what had João done to deserve such a day? What was wrong with his current afterlife? Why did the powers above taunt him so?
Why could he feel wind, after all this time, when he'd felt nothing ever since his death...?
"Not long now!"
What Francis meant was now. João smacked a pile of cushions which barely padded his landing, causing his ribs to throb and ache. That in itself was also strange; he palmed at his chest and lifted his shirt, something else he couldn't do since dying, and his skin... it felt so warm!
“Francis,” his eyes grew wide. Breath lodged in his throat, yet another thing so wrong. “What’s going on? Why do I feel...?”
“Alive?” Francis finished on his behalf, extending a hand to haul him up. “It’s because you are, at last, my friend. Starting today, your third life begins."
Bare soles slapped against the tiled floors, whilst eyes searched the walls adorned with art, elaborate candlesticks and light. Wealth spoke in tall columns and sculptures aplenty, and gold trim upon every edge.
Dearest, frustrating Francis, a man of great posture and unquestionable elegance, fit the scene like a sword its sheath. João, on the other hand, looked and felt every ounce a lost soul, dressed in no more than his tattered old trousers, and a linen shirt with billowing sleeves.
“Can you tell me where we’re going?” João asked. “You owe me that much, at least.”
“The world owes you plenty,” Francis agreed. “And here you shall find it within these walls. No more seaweed and washed up carcasses for you. This is your life now.”
“You mean I can’t go back?”
Shoes scuffed on the tiles. Francis stopped. He turned on the spot, always graceful in his ways, and arched a brow to convey his alarm. “You may visit as a spirit, if you so wish, but why would you want to return? The world up there killed you far too early, left you a husk for a hundred years, and now you have a chance to be you again.”
João stared at his palms, curled fingers, fanned them out. He was just getting used to a pulse again, much like the cool bite of the tiles through his feet. His senses were ignited and came rushing at once; he could touch, he could taste, he could smell riches throughout this new world, wherever this place may be.
"I don't understand," he breathed.
“You’ll get used to it,” Francis assured him. “And you will find yourself lonely no more. In fact,” he reached for João’s hair, curling impressive long waves round his hand. “You’ll be quite the addition, that much I don’t doubt. And by the way, there’s even food and drink. Just a thing of luxury. You know how it is."
The strands fell from his grasp and hung by João’s side, stopping just beneath his waist. He’d been due a serious haircut just before his death, and then it happened and there he was, stuck with the product of his lazy ways.
That being said, he’d come to like the length. He found himself protective of the hair Francis dropped, combing fingers through to prevent any knots, and insisted again: “Tell me where we’re going.”
Disappointment came in tightly pressed lips, and Francis’ eventual, exaggerated sigh. “I hope you don’t think me some kind of villain,” he stated, proceeding to walk off again. “You were always bound for here, after your death was determined, that is. People like us are granted mercy. Relief.”
“People like us...?”
“Everyone you meet in these walls is the same; those who met unfortunate ends, usually at the hands of someone they trusted.”
“Right,” João bowed his head. That meant Francis was also betrayed, and not once in all of their meetings did João think to ask about his end. Then again, it just wasn’t done. You couldn’t approach another spectre and say hi, how did you die? That was the height of rudeness, surely?
“You think a lot,” Francis observed, the bounce in his stride mirrored in his tone. “Horrid as it probably was... I’m glad you’re here at last.”
“At last? I've been dead for a century!”
“Which is one of the entry requirements. You need to put some time in before earning this life.”
Francis picked up the pace when double doors were in sight; spotless white things also kissed with gold. This world felt too strange, and better, than João. A secret escape or magnificent party, of which he accidentally received invite to attend. When João said as much Francis only laughed. “You won’t be like that for long,” he referred to João’s clothes. “We’ll find something more fitting, enhancing.”
“Enhance what?” João peered down. He couldn’t think of a place which needed such attention, though there were some parts which could benefit, maybe. His chest had always been popular in life, despite how it paled to a local tavern girl, or men who trained until their muscles burst their shirts.
“Again, you think too much.” Francis took João firmly by the shoulders, and pushed him through the double doors.
“Excuse me, coming through- new arrival do you mind?” Francis elbowed through the crowds, tugging a stunned João by the wrist. The room -the Hall, as Francis called it- was a wonderful place indeed. A ballroom of splendour and crystal chandeliers, filled with the heady scent of alcohol and fragrant smoke. He caught whiffs of floral notes, then something sweeter, followed by Winter’s air and mist. Tables of people played cards and dice, others danced and musicians were rife.
As for their clothing... well. João blushed in a fresh wash of shame. Everyone wore heavy, draping fabrics of some kind, each embellished with silver or gold. “They look like royalty,” he said, feeling smaller in Francis’ shadow. “I don’t think I’m meant to be here.”
“Nonsense, the world opened to you.”
“You mean that hole on the beach?”
Francis smiled. “The very one, now come along. I’ll show you who’s worth knowing in this castle, and who’s-”
“Castle?”
“Yes, castle,” Francis droned. “You really must keep up, João, and abandon those feelings of inadequacy. It won’t get you very far.”
João rolled his eyes, fought the urge to argue, and let Francis guide him along.
“Pardon my asking again... but you haunted a beach for one hundred years?”
“It’s where I washed up,” João replied, fumbling with his cuffs underneath the table, whilst eyes stuck firm to their glasses of wine. If he dared to look up he’d be under greater pressure, face to face with Francis and his friends, who all seemed eager to make themselves acquainted. “I couldn’t leave the area even if I wanted to. I could only go so far before something stopped me. Like a wall or... I don’t know. I can’t say what it was.”
“Mm, I understand.” The man to Francis’ left brought a hand to his chin. He’d been introduced as Arthur -just Arthur- so the man decided to ruin Francis’ hair. Arthur had been killed in a mutiny, much like Gilbert the next man along. Ludwig, his calmer sibling, had been murdered out of paranoia, whilst Antonio -a peculiar sort, who rather liked huddling up to João- recalled the tale of his stabbing with vibrant eyes, and a smile unfitting of the bloody memory.
Last of all there was Sadık, who sat between João and Francis, and made his feelings towards the latter very clear. Somewhere during his own story, a case of soldiers selling him out to the enemy, Sadık’s hand went wandering in Francis’ lap. Arthur's face contorted and he shuffled along, only to find himself at Gilbert's own lewd curiosity, and in turn Ludwig wished to flee, bumping into a delighted Antonio.
Generally speaking, and fondling aside, the group were decent men. They didn’t pry into João’s own death, too soon they justified, and whether he agreed with that or not, João didn’t snub their show of kindness. Instead he waved for more wine and gulped it down, finding joy in the buzz and thrumming fingertips. The warm embrace of being tipsy again.
“So who should I not know?” he eventually asked.
“Roderich,” said Francis and Gilbert.
“He’s not so bad,” Antonio objected. Ludwig hummed, not quite set in his mind. Sadık just kept drinking, eyeing João, and then his attention darted across, to the doors where a trio came through.
“Keep it down now,” he announced to the group, and differences aside they all obeyed. They made a good effort of looking busy; Francis stoked up a topic of flowers and art, yet João remained hooked on the three newcomers; two men and a woman. A whole lot of blonde.
“They’re siblings,” Sadık whispered in his ear, now much closer than João recalled. “Abel’s the tallest and eldest, followed by Emma and the youngest, Noah.”
João was trying to catch a glimpse of their faces, but Sadık gave a nudge and hissed don’t stare. To be brutally honest it didn’t make sense; what harm was there in João looking? And what was so important about the siblings, that even the neighbouring tables were putting on an act? They appeared quite harmless as they chose their own table, and signalled for a round of beers, in fact -from what he could see- all had inherited some wonderful traits. A pleasing set indeed.
“It’s not that they’re bad,” Francis said shortly after, waiting for music to fill the Hall. “People feel sorry for them, that’s all.”
João leant forward, intrigued. “How come?”
Francis folded his arms, saying nothing. He glanced to the other half of their table making noise, engaged in lewd tavern tales and jokes, then caught Sadık’s eye for a wordless request.
“They’re tragic,” Sadık took the hint, keeping his voice low and focus on the table. “Take a look again, but be subtle-”
“I am!”
“I'm not so sure about that. Anyway, you see the big guy, Abel?”
“Just the back of his head,” João complained. Not that it was a terrible view, per se, but he’d much rather see the man from the front. “What about him?”
“He’s a bit- no...” Sadık hesitated. “It's fair to say they were all involved. The heirs to a handsome inheritance.”
“Ah.”
“Ah indeed,” said Sadık. “Their estranged uncle didn’t like that one bit, thought he deserved the house, the jewels, but he played a good game, tricked the lot. He begged their parents for forgiveness, he got it, and then-... it’s obvious really. The parents were poisoned during dinner, and the siblings knocked out and taken down to the cramped cellar. The bastard uncle locked them in, then set the whole house ablaze.”
“I get wanting money, but why burn the house?”
“Your guess is as good as ours,” Francis intervened, presumably taking the reins from there. “The point about Abel...” he gestured with his head. “Is that only he woke up in time. The upper levels of the house had already fallen by that point, and where does that leave the cellar?”
João chewed his lip. “It’d cave in, surely? But-...” no. He shook his head. He didn’t want to picture such a scene.
“Abel tried to hold the low ceiling as best he could, anything to prevent them being crushed, but in the end he’s here like us. Despite doing the hundred years, enough time to digest the trauma, he barely says a word,” Francis muttered thanks when Arthur passed a pipe, and brought it to his lips for a taste. “Can’t say I blame him, really. He’s always been convinced he killed his siblings, because he couldn’t hold a ceiling- an entire house. Isn’t it awful?”
“Ridiculous,” Arthur joined in. “Poor bastard will ruin himself at this rate, and dare I say he’ll-”
“Alright, I think that’s enough,” Antonio cut through the talk. His hand found João’s and gave it a squeeze. “You haven’t seen your room yet, correct? I’ll take you there now, if you’d like.”
“Thanks for that, back there I mean.”
“No problem at all,” Antonio matched João’s sluggish pace, admiring the large windows and moonlit hallway. “They should’ve waited a bit before mentioning that story. Even I still feel queasy thinking about-” he stopped suddenly, opting to nudge João instead. “Let’s not dwell on it too hard, yeah? It’s supposed to be your special night.”
“How so?” João cocked a brow. “All I did was fall in a hole.”
“It’s your 100th anniversary though, yes?” Antonio beamed. “I still remember mine now. Great times. A whole lot of-”
“I don’t want to know.”
“Look at me.”
Antonio jumped ahead and in the way, leaving João no choice but to comply. Their eyes were almost level; one pair alert, the other sleepy, and a thread of unease wove its way through João’s bones. Staring at Antonio felt off from the start, like he was faced with a murky pond, and his reflection had been greatly distorted.
“The others think we kinda’ look alike,” said Antonio. “But I’ve been dead far longer than you, so I dunno’.”
“Are you expecting an answer from me?”
“Not really,” Antonio shrugged, already bored and moving ahead, both in quick feet and a vibrant laugh. “We’ll be holding our own party later on, you should come.”
João frowned. “It’s late enough.”
“Did death kill your sense of fun too?”
“No.”
“It really did,” Antonio replied. “But you’ll change, people often do. You’ll find that our friendship group is... hands on, shall we say? Except for Gil and Lud, that’s just a big no. Lud likes to vent his passions elsewhere, oh and Francis and Sadık are an actual thing, so don’t interfere there either.”
So that was it, João groaned inside. The party in question was bound to be an orgy, and how did he not realise before? This ‘third life’ seemed entirely devoted to pleasure, be it through the highs of gambling infinite funds, or drinking a whole keg of ale without consequences.
As for the carnal aspect... João raised a hand to feel his throat, tracing a line across unbroken skin.
“The others said you think too much.”
“The others say a lot,” João remarked. Perhaps too much for anyone’s good.
João tossed and turned on a bed he should love. He wrestled with silks and oversized pillows, finding it too much against his skin. Being ‘alive’ was beginning to agitate. He almost scalded his hands underneath the tap before bed, and the luxury of that was another level of surprise.
With each new discovery his head felt stuffed. João sat up in bed and covered his ears, hoping the silence would ease his thoughts. He wanted his beach. His simple beach. He wanted the gulls he thought he hated.
“But it’s not so bad,” he mumbled aloud, taking in the sight of white walls, a balcony, and organza drapes which could block no light. “It’s just not what you’re used to, so... you’ll manage. You’ll- no.”
Eyes squeezed shut and he groaned. There was no use in lying to himself. He had to get up, get out, so he did. He put on a navy, ankle-length velvet robe -his own choice in colour, at least- and marched right through the chequered corridor.
Where he was going, he hadn’t decided. Just away would do at the moment, and as fast as possible the preferable speed. If he raced far enough he might find an exit, the castle grounds and a river perhaps. Wherever this world was, there must be a sea, and there he would find some peace! There he would feel safe and-
“Fuck!” he grabbed the front of his robe, tripped and stumbled into a balcony’s balustrade. Served him right for wanting fresh air. Seeing a figure there had caught him off-guard, and finding Abel, of all people, by his side, worry etched into a worsening brow... João’s tongue couldn’t form the words.
“You alright?” Abel took the initiative.
“I almost fell.”
“Yes, you did.”
João laughed. Call it madness seeping in, or the result of too much stress. Whatever the case Abel didn’t seem to mind, in fact his mouth twitched and he held up a pipe, smiling around its lip. He waited for João to steady his feet, then offered a hand to shake. “Name’s Abel.”
“João.”
“The newcomer,” Abel nodded, propping an elbow on the balustrade. “First night is tough.”
“It really is!”
Something clicked in the back of João’s head. He searched Abel top to toe; dressed in his linen tunic and trousers, with a rust coloured robe on top, and thought back to events in the Hall. What João heard, and what he saw, didn’t match. The Abel who caused hush appeared at ease, enjoying his pipe and admiring the stars.
“It’s difficult,” Abel went on, further proving Francis and the others wrong. “You spend a whole century devoid of feeling, unable to appreciate the sun or wind, and then it floods back when you’re here,” Abel stared at his palm. “I think the heart is the worst part, personally.”
That much, João understood. His heart was doing leaps and jumps behind his ribs, and his own palms became wet to touch. When Abel wasn’t looking he wiped them dry, and flinched when an object came in too close.
“Apologies,” Abel held out the pipe. “Thought you might want some. It helps with the nerves.”
“I won’t say no,” João grasped the stem, inhaling deep once and passing it back. So far so good, the company was nice. Abel was very nice. The man possessed enough sense not to gawk as others would, or immediately grab for João’s long hair. That last part was proving an issue, for people in this world didn’t understand privacy, or else they did and failed to care.
“Excuse my asking,” Abel’s voice was soft, nothing like the drunken rabble of the Hall. “But I saw you with Ludwig and the others... he’s a good person. He’ll help you if you ask.”
“You’re friends?”
“He listens to me, and vice versa,” Abel answered. “The rest of that group are quite lively in comparison. I thought they would’ve dragged you to one of their parties.”
João grimaced. “They offered. Many times.”
Too many, if he had to be blunt. He lost count of all the knocks upon his door, all the pleas and c’mon, it’ll be fun! He didn’t hate the group, not at all, they were fun, but he couldn’t get involved, not in what they desired.
“S’not my place to comment,” Abel mumbled. “Sorry if I caused offence.”
“You didn’t.”
A grunt. Abel shrugged. He went back to smoking his pipe. True to his word he resorted to quiet, whilst João felt the skin of his throat once more, and yearned to get a weight off his chest. Better late than never, as some might say, and Abel did claim to be a listener of sorts.
“I died on a ship, technically,” he announced. It got Abel’s attention, his face hard to read. “I used to sail a lot, I loved it, and our crew weren’t strangers to... releasing tension. People slept with one another, it was fine.”
Abel blinked slowly, as if saying go on. He noted the fingers around João’s throat. “Is that where you were...?”
“Yeah,” João swallowed a lump. “I switched up partners one night, because my usual said he was tired. He found out what I’d done, charmed me into sex, and slit my throat partway through the act. Next thing I know I’m on some beach; invisible to all and my corpse long gone. It probably made a good dinner for the gulls.”
“I’m sorry.”
“Don’t be,” João smiled, removing his hand at last. “Hopefully it explains why I’m not with the rest. It’s not like I’ll die again, or that I’m afraid of having sex. It’s just the-... y’know.”
“The memories.”
“Mm.” João proceed to fumble with his hair, winding curls around his index finger. “It’s been a hundred years, I’ve had time to process. I’d just rather do it with someone gentle and- oh,” he caught Abel smiling. “Don’t look like that, I do trust the others! I know they’re not evil but they are rather drunk, and their hands can be fairly grabby. I’ll be hurled like some doll in the wind.”
“That’s quite the image.”
“You’re welcome. Enjoy it.”
Abel’s shoulders trembled, but not out of fear. João’s honesty coaxed a fit of laughter from the man, who had to use his pipe to keep his mouth shut, and even then he still let one slip. He smacked a hand against stone and sucked in air, offering more sorrys along the way.
“That was rude of me, I shouldn’t have-”
“Go ahead,” João encouraged, finding the situation funny himself. “Was it the thought of a gentle shag, or me being- Abel.”
He’d started again, and damn it all, João found it sweet. Who was this strange man he’d encountered? Who was this imposter tearing up the rumours, and honestly? Saving his night. Saving his whole experience of this newfound world.
“I’m so glad I amuse you,” João exhaled through his nose, and breathed in to puff out his chest. “I’m sure I’ve made a wonderful first impression.”
“You have. You did.”
“You did...?”
Abel recovered and pat down his tunic. His pipe was placed on the balustrade. Feet turned and the rest of Abel followed, then he nodded in a show of respect.
“You were told about me, weren’t you? About how my siblings and I were killed?”
João met his stare, admiring the greens. He hadn't noticed the colour until then. “Everyone changed when you entered the Hall. I asked why and I was told.”
“I see.”
“I shouldn’t have pried.”
“It’s okay." Abel’s eyes began to crease. He smiled. Fingers pulled at the sleeves of his heavy robe. “You knew all of that, and yet...” he paused to swallow. “From the moment you bumped into me here, you never asked for more. People normally do, they’re drawn to tragedy. They want to know how I felt in that cellar, and whether I was truly the only one awake.”
“They doubt you?” João asked, incredulous.
“Probably,” Abel shrugged. “The point is I want to thank you. Thank you for listening to this, first of all, n’ for not looking at me like they do. I don’t want the pity, or the constant pretending. Sometimes I don’t want to go in the Hall.”
“I don’t blame you.”
Abel hummed. João’s hair had called for his attention, catching moonlight in every wave. “It’s getting late, you must be tired. I didn’t mean to keep you up longer.”
“I’m here to escape my room.”
João took some joy in Abel’s response. The widening of eyes, the way his throat bobbed, and how his wayward focus kept finding dark hair. For a man who supposedly never talked, for a man rumoured to be closed to all, he had practically exposed his guts and bones, and even his preferences in others became clear.
“I don’t know where I’ll go,” João mock pouted, twirling more hair to see if Abel followed (which he did). “I suppose I could curl up out here. Unless there’s a convenient bed of sand anywhere?”
Abel’s mouth flapped and nothing came out. Hands clenched, uncurled, back again. He glared at his pipe for no reason at all. The pink of his cheeks accentuated green eyes, and then he coughed excessively loud.
“You could-” he stumbled too soon. “With me. My room. S’not that bad.”
“For the gentle shag, you mean?”
Pink exploded into red. Abel choked on spit. “That’s not what I-!”
“I wouldn’t mind that,” João finished.
Abel appeared to be considering his options. He tucked the pipe inside a hidden pocket, whilst the other hand reached out, but not to shake. “Very well, we’ll go to mine,” he announced. “And as for the ‘plan’, let’s see how we go.”
How disappointing, João wanted to say, until fingers wove together, and Abel’s palm pressed against his own. The man’s skin was hot and his pulse throbbing hard. At last, João understood. This wasn’t like the touch he’d had in the Hall, all the bumping, or pulling on his wrist. This was something quite different... tender, and then a thumb brushed his knuckles and caused him to squeak.
“Ask before doing that!”
“I told you so,” Abel grunted. “Your body’s still sensitive. You’re not used to it yet.”
“Great. When will it stop?”
“Not really sure.”
“That’s helpful.”
Abel snorted, leading the way. “I hear that lips are particularly sensitive.”
“And I heard,” João countered fast. “That you were a lonely, silent man. Where has all of this confidence come from?”
“It was always there,” Abel replied. “The gossip isn’t wrong; I can be quiet, and I do ignore most people in this place. But I'm human as well, understand? I have urges like anyone else."
"Elaborate, please," João purred.
That was all Abel needed to hear, before tossing his cares to the wind. He disregarded the chance of spectators, the very people who would start up fresh rumours, and claimed parted lips to kiss João deep.
"The first life was short. The second, agonising."
He led João towards the wall. Hands roamed backs and fisted hair, pulling Abel's robe from his shoulder as well. Abel parted the next kiss with laboured breaths, holding a giddy João safe in his arms.
"... I will choose how I live the third."