A/N: Bell end is British slang for dick head / idiot.
"Tell me why I'm here."
An exasperated sigh met the complaint disguised as a question, having wasted his breath a mere five minutes ago explaining the same line and only getting grumbles in return. But oh, how Arthur well and truly needed to let loose for a night and maybe, just maybe pull that stick out of his ass for a couple of hours. Because as much as Francis enjoyed, or what they'd call 'tolerate', his friend's company, he hadn't picked up a date in quite some time and this was the largest party Francis' connections had gotten them to by far.
And so, with a smile just a little too tight, the Frenchman turned to his stuffy counterpart (currently dressed as Jack the ripper) and replied in a velvet voice, "Because, Arthur, it is Halloween, and surely it is a night better spent with living company than ratty spell books filled with nonsense, no?"
Walking swiftly whilst professionally ignoring the ranting Englishman behind him spewing fouler words than a sailor ever could, Francis approached the grand ebony door, dressed in fake cobwebs and limbs, and knocked three times. Adjusting his masquerade mask and headrest with sewn in rhinestones, Francis slowly ignored the chill seeping into his bones from the crisp and clear night, only a few clouds dappling the murky ink sky. Quietly, with a subdued presence, a marble fountain trickled and shot out water behind them. Neatly trimmed grass was slowly stiffening under the night's incoming chill while the heavy musk of burning firewood slowly descended upon the manor.
The creaking and high pitched whine of one of the heavy set doors alerted the two to their current situation as they were bathed in candle light from inside. Instinctively, they both turned to the man at the door, and with a polite bow from both parties (along with handing over the water marked invitations) they were let into the building and gratefully welcomed the warmth soaking into their bones. Ignoring persistent pestering from waiters as they offered beverage after beverage, the duo found themselves situated by a recliner in the main ballroom.
Airy chatter struggled to make itself heard over the macabre music being played quietly on multiple old record machines, awkwardly forcing the area to feel older in the company of people from newer generations. Muted amber light fell from glass chandeliers and ornate candle holders fixated to the walls, enhancing the garnet walls and faded tapestries that clung desperately to relenting iron nails. The scenery of the night was largely ignored by the patrons who busied themselves with chatting, dancing and games instead of looking out through the intimidatingly tall, polished windows.
Feeling a tad bit out of his element, Arthur ignored how Francis had quickly wandered off to chat with some of the lovely ladies that had attended this gathering and instead found his interest drawn to an old rifle displayed on the wall. The wood itself was old yet well kept, the owner obviously taking plenty of time to keep and polish the walnut wood of the rifle. A couple of dents had embedded themselves in the steel tip as scratches cascaded down the face of the blade. Finding himself so engrossed in his observations, Arthur jumped when an unfamiliar voice called out behind him,
"It is a well kept rifle, isn't it?"
More than a bit startled, Arthur turned to see a somewhat short but thin man adorned in traditional Japanese style clothing, a porcelain mask of a kitsune rested on his face, causing his words to echo somewhat as l's were pronounced with difficulty. The man seemed to realise his mistake, and quickly corrected himself,
"Ah, my apologies. I did not mean to startle you."
Blinking himself out of his stupor, Arthur quickly remembered his manners and replied,
"Ah, i-it wasn't your fault. I was merely engrossed is all. My name is Arthur Kirkland." He held out his hand for the smaller man to take and after a moment of comprehension, the other man complied, shaking his in a gentle but firm grip.
"My name is Honda, Honda Kiku." Mr. Honda turned precisely on his feet and walked up to the rifle Arthur had being viewing moments before and ran his fingers gracefully across the barrel, following the twists and contours as if it were an old friend. "Tell me, Mr. Kirkland," Kiku asked as he continued to trace the wearied lines along the rifle, not looking to face him once. "Do you know what happened at this manor?"
Feeling slightly taken aback, Arthur wet his lips once, twice, and then admitted with his head somewhat lowered in embarrassment, "A-ah, no, I'm afraid not. An...acquaintance of mine invited me to this party, so I do not know much about this area." Hearing his friend's easily distinguishable laugh among the crowd, he glanced quickly behind him and saw Francis flirting in his typical way to someone in an unimaginative ghost costume with the plain white sheet thrown over their head, not even bothering to cut out eye holes as the tattered, dirty ends dragged across the floor. A nostalgic hum from the man in front of him drew his attention back to the current situation.
"The manor itself was built in the summer of 1850, nothing interesting about that, rest assured. However, when the civil war broke out, the manor was used by soldiers as a temporary base, along with holding the bodies of the deceased." Kiku reached out to touch the rifle once more, professionally removing a speck of dust and then lowered his hands. "This rifle is one of the many taken from confederate soldiers, but it had jammed and wouldn't work again, so they decided to use it as some sort of a memorial I suppose..." He trailed off his sentence, quietening as his eyes glimmered with sympathy for the briefest of moments before perking back up again and turning to Arthur. "I apologise, I seem to have gotten somewhat carried away."
"No need to worry, it was fascinating for me." Arthur blurted out, politeness getting the better of himself before curiosity drove him on again with a slight smirk. "So tell me, did you come to this party of your own free will?"
Pushing past crowds of people firmly yet politely, Arthur scoured the area for his so called 'friend' with Kiku having left a few minutes ago to find his dancing partner, thus leaving Arthur on his own. The two had talked for a fair amount of time, but with the main dance coming up, chances of finding a partner were getting slimmer and slimmer. Not that he wanted to dance with Francis or anything, but watching everyone else dance whilst standing alone awkwardly in a corner would make him just look and feel..well...like a twat. Arthur may have been slightly reluctant to mingle with all of the social butterflies, hogging attention wherever they could find it, but he had a reputation to uphold and some things just felt a bit too familiar to the bitter loneliness of his childhood.
Sighing irritably to himself, Arthur promptly collapsed onto one of the many ornate recliners, watching how the light sparkled through the glass nonchalantly when a completely white face blocked his view. Or, more correctly, a dirty white sheet over a head. The sentence, "Hey there, ya got a partner?" was completely ignored as Arthur jumped up from the recliner, letting out a little squawk from the close proximity as adrenaline took over his body. With a rigid body posture he looked to the man, dressed up the same as the one he saw earlier but slightly broader and only just managed to stop himself from screaming, "Are you trying to give me a bloody heart attack?!"
The man only looked slightly phased by the outburst, and instead of apologising, had the nerve to laugh, cackle really, causing Arthur's face to blush furiously as a few heads turned to observe the situation. "Well?! Explain yourself." Arthur huffed, crossing his arms and trying to ignore the mortification washing over him in waves.
Laughter calmed down to giggles and then airy sighs, the 'bell end ghost' as Arthur had hence dubbed him, seemed to raise a hand under the cloth to rub at his eyes before clearing his throat and replying, "Ah, sorry about that there. I didn't mean to startle ya, though that was pretty funny." An angry crease in Arthur's forehead threatened to cause another wave of laughter, but the man repressed it. "Anyway, I was wonderin' if ya have a partner to dance with or not, since ya were sprawled out on the seat."
Realising the man's intention's were not as cruel as Arthur had first guessed, he sighed and let go of his resentment for the current moment, knowing it wouldn't get him anywhere, and admitted, "No, I wasn't able to find a partner in time."
Instead of being laughed at again, or at least teased, the man let out a 'psh' sort of sound before replying, "The dance ain't over yet. Someone took ma brother so I guess I can be yer dancin' partner."
Surprised, although more relieved, Arthur took the opportunity while he could and made his way back into the ballroom with higher lifted spirits than before. "Oh, so as not to be rude, My name's Arthur, Arthur Kirkland. And yours..?"
He heard a call out from the man behind him (probably trying not to trip up on the copious amounts of cloth his costume had, the poor sod) who answered, "Alfred F. Jones, nice ta meet ya, Artie!" and felt his mood turn south somewhat at the ridiculous nickname. A quick insult of "Simple costume for a simple name." was hurled at him, but Arthur missed the reply of, "Well, we were a bit pressed for time." And all throughout the dance, he could have sworn Francis and the other 'ghost' were trying to try him up.
"Don't tell me you bloody blinked again!"
The exclamation was met with a chorus of groans, the group photo to commemorate the party having been meant to be taken 15 minutes ago, and with everyone a hair's breadth from each other, Arthur was starting to get frustrated.
"Oh, but this doesn't get my good side!"
Scratch that, extremely frustrated.
As much as he may have wanted to slap the squabblers silly, he was down at the front and they were up a flight of stairs, protected by the poor people closer to them as their ears were deafened by their noisy one's complaints. And though he wouldn't admit it aloud, Arthur had had a particularly good night. Standing closer to Alfred to make sure that 'everyone will fit in the shot' Arthur gave another weary but real smile at the hosts final line of, "One last time...Cheese!"
Bright white for a moment, and then chatter erupted again.
"Did they get everyone?"
"Yes, yes, everyone's in it-"
"Oh I knew I should've brought my shawl."
"Do you think Nana would like a copy?"
"-Took bloody ages"
"My feet hurt-you know, I-"
Through the cacophony of voices and blurs of colour, Arthur struggled to find the duo but eventually found Francis pestering Alfred brother, and managed to walk up to (or rather shove his way to) the trio. "Well then," He exclaimed, making Francis jump slightly and Alfred snort, "This has been quite the night, but I'm afraid we must get going."
Alfred let out a disappointed 'aaw' at the statement, though Francis only sighed this time, not complaining. "It appears that bushy brows here is correct as it is nearly 4am. As much as I'd like to stay as well, it is rather late."
Feeling his eyebrow twitch at the childhood insult, Arthur simply huffed somewhat, and after farewells were said and tight hugs were given out, the original two left the manor into the chilled, early morning with promises that they'd visit again. And the red stain that Arthur had found on his shirt the following afternoon was quickly washed out and assumed it was picked up by one of the patrons' wine.
The soft sound of paper sliding against paper announced to Arthur that he'd dropped something.
Taking a moment to contemplate that (he was certain he never left loose papers), Arthur bent down, Christ, when had that gotten difficult?!, and picked up what appeared to be an old photograph. The date on the back stated, October 31st 1950, in his crisp, neat handwriting, leaving him to have just been around 19 at the time. Feeling nostalgia pump itself through his veins, he turned the photo over to be greeted by smiling face upon smiling face, all in costume. However, a small detail caused him to freeze up in shock and horror, unable to look away yet unable to figure out the conundrum. With shaking hands, he lifted his reading glasses onto the bridge of his nose and brought the photograph closer to his face, the realisation only become harsher and colder as he brought a hand to his mouth.
Alfred and his brother had no feet.