A/N: I know I'm pretty mean when it comes to writing stories since I'm starting this one without actually finishing the other stories I have. Well, my muse for this story here is pretty much active, so… hmmm
Summary: Jack Vessalius had been described as someone with undeveloped individuality. Water. If he found himself earlier than meeting someone who was destined to die, how could everything have played out? OCs. NOT OC-centric.
Note: If anyone's wondering why I'm making this fic when I already pretty much know that Jack is the effing main antagonist, it's because I'm frustrated at the mangaka's dastardliness. Ugh. Jack was— still is— my favourite character. Haha... OCs would be truly unavoidable. I'm sorry.
Also, for every chapter, I'm going ask a question.
**What is June's surname? It's already pretty obvious as far as I'm concerned.
Pairings: Undecided, but It's pretty much inevitable.
Rating: Teen, T
Warnings: Twisted minds, cursing, descriptive gore(toned down), craziness, etc. OCs.
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Chapter One
The Prelude to a Chaotic Symphony
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Winter was a truly cruel season. Bright colours dampen to white and blue, lakes where fishes dwell freeze over. The flowers that bloomed so radiantly in the seasons before had withered to gray, the lush green forests turn a dank black and silver. Crops wilt and the harsh cold winds drape over the homeless. People have no choice but to wear such bulky clothes and are forced to ration their limited supply of food.
He didn't know why such a cruel season could be so beautiful.
Was he so queer as to see the way the sun shone softly on the cotton-like blankets of water? Or the way the brilliant, artistic snowflakes fall, ever so gracefully? Or see the way that rainbows form without even needing the rain?
He knew he was. And hated it.
Lady Luck took lengths to avoid him, Jack decided. His mother cared nothing for him except the fact that he looked too much like his supposed father.
"You're looking more like your father every day, I'm so happy, Jack."
Jack didn't care much about it. He wasn't sure about what he wanted. Nor had he ever thought about it. He was someone who was unfortunate enough to be left in the care of a not so sane mother. Mothers gave warmth and acceptance right? Was it too much to ask?
Apparently, it was.
His mother loathed his existence. She had never said it out loud nor had she shown any outright hostility—so far, he doubted it would last— but her glances and wistful sighs were enough to tell him what exactly she thought of him.
"WHY!? Why doesn't he come for me? I've been waiting for him all this time! He said he loved me!"
He didn't know if he still loved his mother. She was still the one who birthed and raised him after all. But her uncaring attitude proved otherwise. His father had decided to ignore his existence entirely other than a tiny little emblem that was begrudgingly given to him as a token and affirmation of his relation to a family with power. The Vessalius Family.
"Filthy child of adultery."
Jack sighed, a puff of air exiting as a thin wisp of cloud, and exited their quaint little home—no, house, (such a cold and unwelcoming place cannot be called a home his traitorous mind whispered)— quietly, so as to not wake his slumbering (contemptful— shut up brain!) mother and dragged his ragged and torn clothes outside, not the slightest bit insecure. A shirt large enough for someone twice his age was what he was wearing, thin enough that the winter cold was hardly kept away.
His gait was forcibly slouched—just not to have excessively confident steps in such a drab part of Sabrie stand out— having endless self-practice for poise and posture, which was learned merely through sharp eyes and observation, if merely for reducing the amount of energy needed to move. They were poor enough as it is without having to need additional for being so twitchy.
His movements became increasingly fluid as he neared the town proper. Somehow, the hustle and bustle of the place seemed so alien. It was like he was watching through a transparent, one way glass, untouchable, yet still so close... it still looked so alive. He could hear trains whistling by the eastern part of town. People were milled about doing whatever business they had to attend to. Brightly coloured garments, grand carriages, hoarding businessmen, ringing bells, wooden wheels crunching on gravel, the clacking of well bred horses' hooves and the lively blending— a multitude of voices assaulted his senses. Newspaper boys shouted "Extra! Extra!", in a motion of calling. It was a very exhilarating day, in his opinion, having been used to such freezing weather already. He stared at the papers waving in the air and moved to come near the energetic Paper boy, hoping to catch a glimpse of the recent events. He had heard that a tasteless murder had happened again somewhere by the more desolated part of the capital. The ruling classes never divulged information in the newspapers, but sometimes, nosy journalists would do everything in their power to actually snoop around, minding other's businesses and actually find intriguing and surprisingly informative articles. Jack paid close attention to gossip (however, he himself never participated in it) as several key events were usually passed around by word. Information, while scattered and unconfirmed are usually useless, with proper backing and evidences would cost a lot in the information market.
"How much?" Jack asked.
The newspaper boy wrinkled his nose. Disgust and annoyance. The blonde realized.
"4 nickels. Are you able to afford it?" He asked skeptically.
Jack slowly felt for a pouch inside his tattered clothes, there lay a few silver and gold coins, probably enough for a week or two so as not to die in starvation. Deciding against wasting any funds, he shook his head, earning a low mutter, "Stupid street rats...". And walked around, searching for torn and thrown newspapers. He saw several papers, none of them really in a condition that would benefit him. However, since it was still morning, the newspaper buyers were more than likely to not finish their papers outside, actually using the papers as entertainment for the whole day. A few minutes of walking around aimlessly while keeping his eyes open had fortunately yielded results, he hadn'texpected it though, it was more of hoping rather than really expecting someone to leave their papers scattered. Someone had left the day's paper on a bench. Coincidence? Probably not. But who was he to question such things?
Jack didn't know how to read. Oh, he knew the alphabet, (He wasn't that undereducated, thank you very much); he merely couldn't join sounds that fast just yet, having little to none practice at it. Newspapers were a good start.
Nothing intellectual had his mother taught him. He was merely a waiting boy, learning to serve tea and put cheap spreading on coarse, tasteless bread. But he was very observant. Perceptive even. It wasn't very hard to learn. With nothing to do the whole day besides sit on a roof— with a fantastic view of the street, silently laughing at people tripping, accidentally torn clothes and the like— in the marketplace, sometimes steal dropped silver and gold coins. (He absolutely refused to become like the kleptomaniac Aron—the street urchin who stole even from his friends.) He learned to see how people interacted, how certain words, flattery, non-verbal actions, all contributed to how the person would act under specific circumstances. For example, a person whose hands sweat a lot are prone to more clumsy movements, eyes darting around the bustling crowds are easier to distract and would jump at vendors calling out their products are easier for the other kids to steal from. Stern old ladies are the people who feels at ease at such a disorderly street and the like. It wasn't that hard to see the patterns, but sometimes there were anomalies where he'd just catalogue it somewhere in his otherwise unused brain.
He took the paper and kept it under his clothes. He shifted purposefully, heading towards a backwater lake that had been frozen in the early winter threshold. The view there was the best of all, it was a little colder than the city—of course it was— but nothing he couldn't handle. He would just create his own way to dispel the frostiness of the air.
The lake wasn't anywhere in Sabrie. It was probably a ten to fifteen minute walk from the last gate to the southeast, just a little east of the Southern District where most of the slums gathered together. Most of the ten minute walk included following a forest path where the trees bended in an awkward backward manner that forms a shape reminiscent of the mouth of a water vase, as if distorted to make way for passers-by, in this case, him.
He started gathering dry wood (which is harder and more time-consuming than it sounds as the winter glade had either drenched the trees or made them home to icicles) and started creating a little bonfire outside the forest, by the frozen lake, for himself, he needed the extra warmth, else he risk suffering hypothermia. He didn't want to die a cold and painful death. It didn't look very fun.
A few strikes of flint and a torn piece of paper later (he made sure it was only an illustration), a little fire started. Stones were aligned in a spiral-like manner, creating a makeshift hearth, and preventing the wood from getting wet by the melting snow around the fire.
He rubbed his hands together and closed his eyes, creating a self-illusion that everything was fine. He blew a warm puff of air towards his freezing hands and smiled sadly. Really, staying at home was lot colder than being able to move around outside. He shifted a bit and noticed that the winter breeze from his east suddenly slowed, wasn't it still the time where the wafting of the winds were strong enough to put out candles…?
"A nice little fire you got there." A voice beside him chirped.
Jack jumped, startled. "Who are you!?" He screamed, making himself lose balance. Why hadn't he noticed anyone coming? He should have! How s/he had said it was disarming, but it served to make him even more suspicious. What was her aim?
"I saw the smoke from the forest. And cause It was cold, and you seemed comfortable."
The voice apparently belonged to someone female around his age. She had two thin locks of black hair framing her face, reaching just past her shoulders and a low ribbon-tied ponytail that diverged into three separate curls and a black trimmed burnt orange overcoat that seemed very warm. Her hands were covered in gloves too big for her. He wondered why she was here. The blonde knew most of the people around Sabrie by face, and the less than fortunate more so than the well-off families, but she was unfamiliar. Was she some sort of sheltered child? Unlikely. Black hair and pale orange eyes were a combination he hadn't seen in the streets before, though. She wasn't from the West district, surely. North was out, since the only people who could live at the North of the capital had to be in the good graces of the ruling family. Judging by the way the light reflects, her coat was of higher quality than Third class, but not really...
"So why are you here by the lake? This part isn't even inside Sabrie's perimeters." She asked with an eyebrow raised. "You went past a forest trail right? That's pretty dangerous." She chided. Jack gave her a questioning look, he had no intention of answering. And what did she mean by dangerous? That forest path wasn't home to any vicious animals by any stretch of the imagination.
"I'm just curious." She said, standing up, patting pelted orange to remove the snow.
Jack remained silent. He didn't need to answer her. She was just bothering him, he did come here to think after all.
She frowned, "Well, that's not very polite." the orange-eyed chided, leaning over by the edge of the bank and experimentally tapping the frozen lake.
"I'm a street rat. I have no manners." Jack retorted.
"Oh? Then what is that on your wrist?" She asked skeptically, standing warily on the makeshift ice rink. "Those things aren't given away to the homeless for no reason."
Jack hid it instinctively, more of habit than anything else actually. He gets a little defensive when it's brought up. It was the cause of most of his pain. "It's… a keepsake from my mother… My mother… she said that I was a son of someone from the Vessalius Family…"
"You're…? I see."
"My mother is still waiting for him… I don't understand why… He'd clearly abandoned us already."
"Do… you hate your father?" She asked.
"…I would be a saint not to."
"You hate him, huh? A noble?" She stared at him dispassionately, as if the owner of those eyes would kill him if he dared admit his hatred. Was she someone sent to get rid of him? Was she one of of those assassins sent after people who wished to claim a noble's name and influence?
"Why are you looking at me like I want to eat you? I don't think such a skinny person would look delicious. You lack—ah— flesh." She said with an aura of deceptive hunger. "If I wanted you dead, you would have already been dead, with the body in pieces, blood dripping from every single limb I would have torn apart. Innards bursting out from an open cut—"
"Stop!" Jack cut her off, his skin was drastically pale, his mind still conjuring such vivid images of his very gruesome death. Impaled—stop it! I'm gonna have nightmares later…! "You aren't really going to do that are you? Just because I'm a nobleman's bastard son… right?"
She guffawed. Taking a few moments to regain herself. Jack took offence at her humor at his predicament.
"I'm just kidding! I don't really care about nobility. They're stuck-up, annoying, greedy, full of themselves, arrogant, good-for-nothing and truly egotistical. I don't hold a grudge against noblemen in general. Just some people in their ranks who piss me off." She frowned, stomped and stepped back to the bank. Then the place where she stomped shattered. Jack flinched at the collapsing sound. The orange-clad girl glanced at the cracking lake victoriously as if she had done something to be prideful of.
"If the nobles would get rich through merit rather than lineage..." She muttered. The cracking of thin ice seemed to accentuate her annoyance and distaste, Jack noted absently, still scary.
Jack agreed with her statement though. Most of the people who had climbed through the ranks were usually the most humble. And although the nobility system had its advantages to the country's stability, it would never be truly demolished. He thought that if democracy was to be granted, those vile creatures of the night would probably devour them all. And merit had already been the basis before the dukedoms had been created, and that merely resulted to the creation of kingdoms again, then cycle repeat. If unhindered, it would possibly result to an absolute monarchy, which is… worse by most standards.
"I think even a merit system would still breed corruption." Jack said quietly, his voice hardly carrying.
"I know that." She let out an unladylike snort. "It's just a stupid theory. Where'd you learn this, anyway? Politics is not something you can learn from the streets." She inquired.
"The pubs, train stations. High enough people have loose lips around alcohol. I've never studied it though." He answered thoughtfully. Spending your entire childhood in the streets itching to learn anything and everything available and dozens upon dozens of loose mouths would help you grow plenty.
"How about books then? I can bring you some. Not much though. "
Jack flushed. "I-I can't."
"Read?" At his nod, she continued "Then I'll teach you!" She said eagerly, spinning about her booted feet.
Snow fell, and Jack didn't know why, but the snow seemed... more captivating. More radiant than what he had observed before. He had already put falling snowflakes in a high regard, but... this certain scene had its own allure. He wasn't sure what it is, but it was just…
"Beautiful, right?" Jack started a little, a little embarrassed to be caught staring.
"Uh, yeah..." he replied dumbly, scratching his cheek.
"Hmm..." She looked around, "Which reminds me, it's nearly noon now...Would you like some lunch?"
As if being reminded, his stomach grumbled. Not the first for the day, actually, seeing as he had eaten only a piece of coarse bread and three cups of water which was his breakfast, as usual.
"I don't eat lunch." he responded flatly, earning a disapproving glance. Why was she even concerned about someone she had just met? He hardly knew her.
"That's not good for you health! Let's go eat something, I have to do something about that skinny figure of yours!" She smiled brightly
Without even letting the blonde answer, she pulled him up. And killing the fire with a well aimed kick at the snow on the ground, pelting the firewood (making Jack pout slightly - that was hard to start!) she frowned thoughtfully...
"What would you prefer? Sandwiches or pasta? We can't enter any establishments with such clothing... Sandwiches are a lot more convenient... Sandwiches it is then!" She motioned to grab his hand, but Jack stepped backward, eyeing her with unmasked confusion.
"Why do you even care?" He asked quietly, maybe even a little desperately. "You've only met me today. I doubt we know each other. We don't even know each other's names. Your concern is... "
"Well, this lake..." She started, cutting him off, "is very important to me and my... late mother. Anyone drawn in to this lake, is..." She smiled sadly. The wistful tone caught Jack off-guard, even in the streets, people this open were very few. Why was she telling him such a personal thing? Why? And that trailing words... What was it she wanted to say? But he held his tongue. He already knew too much of someone whom he met mere minutes ago.
"And well, I planned on doing one good deed a day, and I was supposed to help the person I first see after visiting my mom's grave." She motioned to a bit west where Jack could make out a small building out of pebbles. The altar probably.
One good deed a day? He felt something constrict in his chest. It was only for today, of course, how silly was he to think that someone would just reach out a hand to a stranger? "You don't really have to trust me. I mean, well...what would I gain from trying to not help you? Ah! Name! My name is Axadia Dawnweller—how rude of me, not even introducing myself. But just Dia, please. People only call me Axadia when they're angry or when they're my dad. Yours?"
"Jack... Just Jack." He introduced himself quietly. She was a little too talkative, wasn't she? She wasn't like June and Felice—his only other female acquaintances. They seemed to pale in comparison with her hawkish and spontaneous attitude. She was so... unique. He could tell even if he had only known her for a while. June had a charm of her own, though, being a third daughter of a foreign Duke, they were in the same position, only so that June actually goes to school. (How ironic, that someone with supposed lesser opportunities is actually given some advantages.) Many bachelors would clamor over her (turned fifteen this fall), but she usually dismissed them bluntly and coldly when they were too dull for her, he had unluckily landed on the 'interesting' category and usually met with him every now and then (around a one or two week gap). He never really understood her. She treated him like she would a useless and troublesome little brother,(it annoyed him as he was months older than her). June was an established gossip, always up to date with the relationships of noblemen and women and knew way too much for his liking. Felice, on the other hand, was buried in debts, her father and mother being merely a cook and handmaid respectively. But she refused to wear a dress twice. The only redeeming quality about her was her silver tongue and her ability to make people believe she was who she said she was. June had refused to help her financially, with the possibility of both of them going bankrupt. "Unfashionable" she says... He thought it was irresponsibly wasteful.
"Nice too meet you too, Jack Vessalius." She said cheekily. Jack stared. "Oh, don't look at me like that. That crest does belong to the Vessalius family, right? It's only fair after all, I gave you my whole name." Well, it did seem fair... but... He sighed.
Dia... She was certainly different. Most girls her age—or as he could conclude from his acquaintances and mouthy housewives— were engrossed in impressing the younger noblemen and sharing gossip. He really wondered why preteens like them would think about marriage so early in their lives, when they can't even make a decision of whether or not to eat something that has of questionable properties. Girls were more focused on prettifying themselves than even try to contribute to society.
"So, are we going to go get that sandwich or not, Jack?" She had said his name without any disdain or mockery, and it felt... nice. Only a few people had ever looked at him like he wasn't trash. June, Aron(that sleazebag snatcher is surprisingly respectful) and now, Dia. The sound of his name in that melodious voice had kept his good spirits and actually found himself looking forward to being led around the town. (He had wondered if she actually knew the places they were going, but it seemed that she did not as they would havr gotten stuck in dead ends a few times, had he not told her beforehand.)
After the midday snack (Jack had never tasted something so delicious), Dia decided that he needed to dress appropriately for the weather, but he had no such money for a new piece of cloth, but she had protested. Standing in the side of a clothing store, they talked.
"I can't afford such ridiculous prices!" Jack explained, his awe and disbelief at the sheer amount of money that was needed to buy a single overcoat.
"I brought enough money to buy a whole set of clothes, though." She replied off handedly, steering him clear from the bustling crowds so as to not catch attention. His appearance was worse than a mouse's, and he had never been called anything that might resemble a compliment.
"But you aren't going to meet me again after this day ends, why waste money on me? I'm—"
"Who says we're not?" She cut him off. "This isn't just a one-day thing, you idiot." She huffed in annoyance.
"It isn't...?" Jack replied, perplexed. Wasn't he just some pet for the day to her?
"Of course it's not! You're actually pretty fun to hang around with when you're not second guessing yourself. I'm not that rich to do this on a mere whim. Viscount Vessalius has more money than all of our assets combined." Dia said exasperatedly, her eyes darting over the crowds, as if she was looking for someone.
"If you're not that rich then why do you insist in giving me proper clothing?" Of all the reactions Jack was sure she would have, he did not expect the tinting of her cheeks and her darting eyes stopped and found the wall increasingly attractive.
"W-well..." The sable haired girl stammered. And froze as if she slapped herself. What was wrong with her? He was pretty sure he didn't say anything that could have offended her... "I wouldn't want to avoid crowds. It's a hassle. You might just get picked on." She said with finality as if she just decided it for herself. Jack decided he would never get girls.
"Well, that... makes sense." He complied reluctantly. "But I still won't allow you to spend for me. It might be an insignificant amount for you, but I still have my pride. Poor or not."
"Then, I'm bringing you clothes tomorrow! I won't have to spend anything for it! A lost set of clothes won't even be noticed." She insisted. How stubborn.
"That isn't any better." He returned lightly, this time with a small smile. "You've already— Why are you staring at me like that?"
Dia stared.
Jack blinked, suddenly self conscious. He started to squirm under the scrutinizing—or at least he thought so— gaze, and felt his flush—due to the biting cold— brighten.
"You have a very pretty smile." She said reluctantly. He turned even redder, if that was even possible. Then indignantly putting her hands to her hips, "But your bearings don't even bring out the slightest of your features! You are good looking, okay? That's the reason! There! I said it!" She declared, making wild gestures, her face red with effort. "I refuse to let such fairness go to waste!"
Jack was dumbfounded. Wasn't he… ugly? His mom had never called him handsome or fair, just that he resembled the person she had loved. His view for his father was tainted, so he imagined him to be very ugly. Never fair or beautiful.
"You don't believe me? Are you telling me that my sense of beauty is off? Why—"
"N-no..." He responded weakly, temporarily pacifying the irate female. "I'm just surprised... No one's ever called me beautiful before..." He trailed off.
"Truly?" He nodded. "Then they're either idiots or blind." Jack laughed nervously at her menacing tone.
Jack noticed that Dia fell thoughtful, but he couldn't blame her. Even he was drifting in his own thoughts. This was by far the best day he could wish for. He had learned so many new things, and for once actually talked to someone who didn't really look at him with a glare or something else.
But he was digressing.
"Hey, Jack?" She asked thoughtfully, shadows casting over her eyes.
"What?" The blonde prompted, curious.
"Are you really sure you don't want new clothes?"
He sighed exasperatedly.
"Yes." Jack said with finality. "I'm sure."
.
.
The day went by a little too fast in Jack's opinion. He couldn't even remember how many times he had laughed during the day and more so the last time he had even smiled out of mirth.
He glanced around, noting that several other people were waiting for the train to come. Sabrie's Train Station was magnificent, luxuriously decorated and furnished, with carved wood as decorations, the lighting was also bright and homey. There were also ticket booths one of which Dia was waiting in line to purchase a ticket.
"I need to leave in the next train. The one after that's pretty late in the night already." She said absently, reading the ticket.
"You don't live in Sabrie, right?" Of course she didn't. Why else would she have purchased a ticket out?
"No. I don't." Dia smiled briefly. "My residence is by the next stop west, L'Renouille."
"...I won't be able to visit you then." the blonde concluded. "I doubt Marquis Dawnweller would appreciate someone with indecent clothes barging in his household without so much as a notice." Jack said lightly, the glint in his eyes showed knowing. Jack remembered how he knew of the name Dawnweller before. It was one of the families that June had rattled off at the top of her head when she had deemed him too clueless of the workings of the noble world—she was actually just showing off, and Jack never saw fit to tell her off since she had been too frustrated at the world at that time. She had told him which families to please and which families to avoid. The Dawnwellers were one of the latter.
Dia's lips curved into a smile. "How astute of you. I never knew you were this well-informed."
Jack just shrugged, not letting it bother him.
"And you're right. Daddy dearest would throw a fit when you do." the ravenette said sickeningly sweetly. "Although, my elder siblings would probably take it as a queue to annoy our father..."
"You lied when you said that my biological father was richer than you, correct? You are a Marquis' daughter. Only a step away from Dukedom."
"Yes, it was a lie. Everything else I said? They're true… to an extent."
"Oh… Are you going to Sabrie tomorrow?" Jack asked.
"That depends." Jack's eyes turned disappointedly downcast. "I'll try my best, though."
The trains whistled, signaling the need to leave."See you soon! I'll definitely come visit again!"
.
.
Jack stood by the front door of his house, praying to whatever deity exists that his mother was asleep, but it was still early into the night... perhaps he should stay out for a while. That was definitely what Dia would have told him. But the sound of the door opening gave him little choice. An image of his irate mother appeared in place of the door.
"Where have you been the whole day, Jack!?" His mother screeched. "Why weren't you here this morning!?"
Jack remained silent, preferring not to waste effort in trying to placate someone who had lost any semblance of reason. He didn't know why, but for some reason, he absolutely loathed everything right now. Was it his mother that inspired such thoughts? He didn't know. Was it his situation that made him think like this? He didn't know either.
Jack was dragged by his ear to his room, enunciating words of hurt. His mother screamed obscenities at him, hurtful words resounding in his ringing ears.
"You useless child!" It… hurt.
His good day just took a turn for the worst.
.
.
.
.
"She... was a good woman." June said quietly, fiddling with a dark pink rose in her hand.
The funeral happened around eleven in the morning. Everyone had a flower. His was a Snowdrop. "I liked your mom before... that happened."
Good? He snorted silently. Hardly. He didn't need her misplaced pity. He knew—of course he did— this day would come. He didn't know if he was sad or thankful, angry or hopeless. He didn't know. He just felt numb but neither felt tears threatening to spill nor sobs trying to escape. Nothing. Jack knew himself that what his mother did amounted to suicide. Death by depression. What an unfitting was for the death of someone who desired nothing but love. But was it really just love she wanted? He didn't know. He had endlessly tried to be there for his mother, but she refused to accept it, only reaching out for his dastardly father. Once she had even mistook him from his father that he has never even seen the face of before.
Jack was dressed up nicely (Dia would probably laugh at him, actually relenting to wear something properly). In a smart and casual but borderline formal checkered shorts and a black dress shirt under dark gray suit with a black tie. June had spent too much money on this for his liking. Said teen –who was beside him— had her dark red hair up in a sophisticated bun with a braid around it and wore a modestly designed mourning dress, the only possible praising for it was that it highly accented her features as a young lady. Felice who had her blue-tinted hair in an extravagant flowing manner had worn a black sequined dress that was slit halfway through her thigh, creating an effect similar to a raging waterfall, the ruffles were everywhere and it hurt his eyes to even look.
The funeral was small, as his mother's relatives were either dead or in another country. There were people situated around a previously dug hole and a wooden casket just a few feet off. The only people there were their neighbors, Felice, June, Aron and a Baskerville—he never knew why a member of that family had to be the one that did the funerary ceremony. June had once said that the Baskervilles were powerful, not just in their wide sphere of influence but their supposed connection to the 'abyss' (The heaven or hell that they believe exists. It was just something fictional to scare off the kids from disobeying their parents, Jack was pretty sure) that prayed for the safety of the soul in the hundred year cycle. But... maybe it wasn't as baseless as he had first thought. There was something off about that Baskerville that set him apart from the crowd. Maybe it was because of his connection to such a powerful family but that was unlikely... was he...
"June?" He asked the dark red haired girl quietly, while the Baskerville was chanting some sort of prayer in another language.
June looked at him with her, prompting him to continue.
"What's his status?" She raised her eyebrow but answered in an equally silent tone.
"He's a servant." She said nonchalantly. "Hardly notable. Why the sudden interest?" and why now? Had hung over the air. But June knew when not to pry.
"Nothing..."
An eyebrow shot up."Oh? Anything related to the cycle of death and rebirth by any chance?"
Jack stiffened. He wasn't really supposed to be surprised. June could probably ask a rock where and what era it came from by just staring at it. Damn her perceptiveness. He just nodded mutely.
"We'll talk later. You can't go around not knowing information as vital as this."
He nodded, watching the Baskerville finish his 'prayer'. Unnamed men lifted up the casket onto the lowering platform then rotating the lever that lowered the casket.
A few seconds of silence reigned over the area, only the silent howling of the wind had been heard. Jack found it fitting. There were no excessively dramatic cries for their endless grief nor pleas for return of the dead. A silent funeral for silent sorrow. Maybe... if his mother had stopped waiting, hoping, this wouldn't have happened. Therr were too many maybes... Maybe if his father had taken them in officially? Maybe if he tried harder to please his mother? Maybe if she was stronger willed? But it was useless. He knew that he could never turn time back.
"I've never seen you cry before..." June tried to sound unconcerned, but failed.
"Cry...?" Jack had tried to find his voice, and when he did, it sounded like a croak.
He found tears running down his face... He was crying? Why was he crying? Why waste tears upon her death? Why? He... felt a strange emptiness in his chest when his mother just hadn't woken up that morning a week ago. Why?
"Just let the tears fall." He heard June's voice try to comfort him.
He didn't know, but he found it... relieving. His tears just streamed down and his chest clenched. Maybe... he wasn't as numb as people around him said. Maybe... he did care after all.
.
.
A few hours after the funeral, Jack had gone back to his house with June following him. His perception of time was somehow warped with his raging emotions of grief and disappointment that he hadn't even noticed that he had already been sitting in their dining table.
"Are... you okay?" June asked. He didn't know why, but never had June called him by his name. It was always 'blondie', you or she would find a way to phrase her sentences without needing to say his name...
"I'm..." He couldn't say he was fine. Because in all honesty, he wasn't. He just needed to think for a while. "...going to be okay." But hadn't he already sorted this out enough when his mother started losing her mind. He had to face the reality that what she did to herself was irreversible; it was just the final nail in the coffin(no pun intended) that she had passed away a mere two weeks after that happened. She couldn't even feed herself by that time and nothing more than a breathing vegetable.
June sighed. "I have the whole day to myself. I would stay if you wanted... You just lost someone after all." A few minutes if silence had Jack sorting out this mess in his head, his brain had already caught up with the fact that he had already accepted the permanent loss of his mother. What he felt was just his feeling of the past.
"I've already grieved twice June. That's more than enough." Jack said with renewed determination.
June blinked at him. That... was fast. Could that had been her, she would have curled up in her bed and cried until no more tears would have been left.
"That's good then. Take a little nap." She ordered. "Then we'll talk about that information of the Baskervilles I recently acquired."
"Can't we talk now?" Jack said impatiently.
"You look like death trampled all over you. Rest for a bit." She said annoyedly.
Jack rolled his eyes and entered his room, leaving an exasperated June on his dining table.
When his head hit his pillow, he had succumbed to sleep almost immediately.
At least he had his rest.
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"Where should I start?" June asked.
"How about the Baskervilles first?" Jack said after a moment of thought.
"Okay then." She coughed into her hand and drew out a notebook from her balloon skirt. All her clothes had at least a single hardbound journal that pretty much summarized every piece of information she hadn't already memorized by heart. "You already know that the Baskervilles are connected to the abyss correct?"
"Wasn't that just a myth?" Jack inquired.
"All myths have something they originated from." She scoffed. "The abyss undoubtedly, presently exists. A lot of present evidence proves its existence." She stated bluntly, taking Jack by surprise. It... really exists?
"And by a lot, I mean a lot. Have you heard of the term 'chains'?" He looked at her blankly. "No? Tch. These chains I'm talking about aren't those prison shackles that bind convicts or criminals. Chains— in brief— are dark beings that seek stability. Do you remember that you used to call the mysterious deaths and disappearances around Sabrie 'vile creatures of the night'? Those are chains."
"Wait, wait. How do you even know this? Isn't this—" Jack frowned.
"I have sources. Reliable sources. And don't interrupt me when I'm talking." She snapped. Jack flinched.
"S-sorry..." He said meekly.
"Good. Well then the chain's existence is unstable as I've told you. The only way to achieve stability is to have a contractor."
"A contractor? Why would they even agree to a contract like that?"
"That's because the abyss isn't just the 'heaven' or 'hell'. It's where every distortion starts and goes to. The abyss is like different dimension that is closely tied with ours. The time there is warped. Meaning a second there might mean years—even centuries—here, rewind may even be possible. The abyss is a place filled with light, purity but also distortion, twistedness and endless darkness. And there has been rumours that when you meet with the person or thing that governs the abyss, they will grant you a wish. That person or thing resides in the deepest and most twisted core of the abyss."
"A wish?" He asked hopefully.
"Yes. However, don't even think about looking for a chain for this wish." She warned dangerously. "There are none who succeeded in that hopeless venture. Did you think that there aren't risks? The person who makes a contract would be tattooed with a clock. Once that clock hand makes a full revolution, the contractor would be sent to the abyss's core. Either you're going to be dissolved slowly until you lose your sense of self and disappear or become equally mindless and become distorted enough to become a chain."
Jack gulped. That... didn't sound like a good choice of death.
"I'm only telling you this because even if you're still pretty much useless, I wouldn't want you dead or chain-ified." June said bitingly.
Jack couldn't help but let his mouth quirk up. That was a pretty roundabout of saying she was concerned.
"Why are you grinning like that?"
"Nothing." He said smoothly, copying Felice's neutrally pleasant tone.
June opened her mouth to retort nastily but decided against it and instead. "I'll forgive you this time, but if you try to pull a Felice on me again, you'll definitely regret it, blondie."
Jack just chuckled.
June scoffed.
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June left a little late into the afternoon, leaving Jack alone in his house that now seemed too spacious... Jack sighed. He had been used to such long stretching silence that he didn't quite care even if he had no one to talk to at all; but it seemed June's snappy retorts and scathing remarks made him miss such undivided attention. When they were talking, June never seemed to hold back on her harsh words— she was like that by nature and he had long been used to it. And their small talks were truly uplifting to his spirits; regardless of what tragedy just happened.
He sighed again, looking at a small pouch of coins that would probably finalize the pay for this house and probably keep him fed for a week and a few more days without lunch. Maybe if he sold them the deed to this place..? But that would be stupid. They had just finished the installment and lands couldn't just be sold that stupidly, even if it was just around a hundred or two square meters. His mother had had several jewelries as gifts from his biological father. Those were a lot more valuable than selling a rundown shack in the slums... probably. He was never good at comparing them. His clothes wouldn't do him any good if he ran around wearing those clothes. He wouldn't even last a day without getting robbed. How did Dia run around wearing cashmere— yes, cashmere now he figured out what it was, Felice's rants about her clothes were strangely informative— coat around the slums? That was too excessive. She should have stood out in the dull colored district. Why didn't she? Wait. Dia! Dia had sent a letter of reply for the letter he sent. June had snapped at him for actually disregarding the list she gave him, but when he told him that Dia hadn't forced Jack to do anything, she looked at him in an annoyed manner but relented as Jack had always been a good judge of character.
June told him that when he had frowned at and was wary around a man—who seemed friendly enough— that had guided them in arranging a small funeral; the redhead had later discovered—just in time too— that it was just a con artist that was tricking them into paying him.
The winter glades were already abating, but there were bound to be several snowfalls in the last week of December. Dia's letter had arrived after June had left, in the hands of an annoyed servant wearing a silver-orange overcoat.
"You're wasting the young lady's time, you dirty garbage."
He was probably jealous, but... even if he knew that... he felt as if... he was dragging everyone down with his being too dependent on everyone around him. Maybe... he should try and rise up in society. Even if he was going to the metaphorical den of lions and wolves. He outright refused to be useless.
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This was written around the span of a week or two… so it's pretty crappy. I've no idea where this story is heading.
Leave a review? They make me guilty enough to actually not let my readers down. :))