Chapter 29

Skull considers himself a simple guy with simple tastes. Some have asked if the small entourage is enough for him. If he's truly happy with the pitiful pay everyone gets after the shows (his being slightly large thanks to his popularity being one of the reasons they're popular), but it doesn't seem to matter how many times he tries to explain, they don't seem to get it.

He already tried going on a Tour; the pay was more than nice as he got to buy a new bike and hundreds of people chanting his name as he defied physics certainly has its own appeal. The whole trip was nice for his ego, which he openly admits may have always been a bit larger than normal. But, and this is an important 'but', it was too stifling for his liking. The routines, having to follow a schedule, being ordered around from one horde of fans to another and do anything to make it more profiting was awful. His own stubbornness to finish the tour was the only reason he didn't drop it midway with only his clothes on his back and his bike under him.

People don't seem to understand when he says he felt chained as his deal was actually a pretty good one and offered more freedom than most, probably only because the one behind it all was a fan. Saying 'it wasn't enough' sounds kind of a dick thing to say even in his own mind, but it's the truth. Luckily he's good at changing the topic as now everyone calls him Skull and doesn't ask for his real name. A thing he hasn't used since he was twelve years boy, trying to make a living with only a traveling clown as a friend. But that's not a really interesting story, at least not to him who has been around circus long enough to know how to the show business works.

However, what happened before? He hates that he was the protagonist of it, but he has enough love for good stories to admit his childhood may be book material. He doesn't even know when he should start if he wrote it (Not that he has any writing skills or plans to tell to someone with them, of course). It probably was when he was five and his mother decided to have another kid or maybe it was when he was seven and he first died.

He probably should start with the day he was born and was named Sorrel for the chestnut hair he was born with. Lots of hair like your grandpa, his father used to tell him. Suffice to say, his father was not a creative person, but he was a German who survived World War II despite his father being Hebrew, so maybe he only named for his grandfather's famous chestnut hair and not his actual name because of fear.

He never got the chance to ask him, so fast-forward five years and he's an older brother. Not the usual older brother, oh no. At age five he had decided he would be the best older brother in the whole world. Pretty ambitious, but in his defense, his little brother was a cute little thing. Or that's what he remembers as two years later he died for the first time and everything got complicated.

If he had died in a quiet place, far away from people, it would have been fine. Well, mostly fine but still fine. But no, he had to die in a park after falling from the largest tree there was on Sunday midday. And only because his footing failed him.

"You're hitting your face," a voice tells him from his right. He doesn't need to turn to know it's Ethan.

"I know," he says but doesn't stop hitting his forehead with the helmet. "I'm thinking."

"Your usual monologue?"

He doesn't protest as he knows nothing will change his mind. 'I'm just thinking' doesn't seem to work with them, so he only nods.

He feels his stare five more seconds before Ethan stands up. "I'll go for a bite. Have fun."

With him gone, he places the helmet on his lap and looks around. No one is staring at him, which he doesn't know if it's good or not. Well, nothing he can do about it. Remembering his first death always makes him want to punch something, a thing that has only increased the rumors about his quirkiness.

Still. It was so stupid. And obvious. There simply wasn't a way to shrug it off as just an accident with the way his body fell in a horrific way from such height and her mother cried.

The fact his hair and eyes gained a purple hint afterward didn't help with covering things up either.

Knowing all that, he shouldn't have put such fuss when his parents told him they were moving out, but he was a kid. He didn't get the worried gazes constantly exchanged by them or why everyone in his family was hurried to move them out of France.

He, with his simple child mind, though they didn't want him. He knew it was weird to wake up fine from the injury he suffered, her mother explained to him, but he didn't get it.

He understood better after the second time he died. He fell from the stairs, funnily enough. Or maybe not funny. His parents certainly didn't consider it that way when they called the doctors. Not that he could blame them as he heard his neck bend in such a way, everyone thought he was already a lost cause.

Until he woke up, his head entirely covered by purple hair.

His name never sounded more than a joke than the couple of days after the miracle was declared and his parents were preparing to move out again. The only difference was that this time they weren't quick enough.

In two months he was going to be nine, which he remembers clearly as his brother's birthday was the month before and spring was almost over. The change was not really subtle with the heat increasing and the sun turning way too annoying, but… is one of the last things he remembers of that little house, of his family.

He remembers his name, Sorell, the ironic name for a purple-haired person. He doesn't remember theirs, his parent's names. They were always mom and dad to him. Jules, his brother's name was a different matter as he was supposed to be the best big brother in the world.

Not that is true. He doesn't even remember their faces.

"You're brooding now."

He doesn't lookup. He knows his eyes are tearing up enough to be noticeable. Ethan probably knows this, he always knows so he doesn't even say anything when he puts the helmet on. Maybe they can pretend it's because he's cold and too lazy to go for a knit hat.

He stands up and walks towards the trees near. "I'll go for a piss," he explains unnecessarily.

"The food will be ready in half an hour."

Skull hums with a nod and continues walking until trees surround him and he can't hear the murmur of the people and he can pretend he's alone, which considering his previous experiences and the fact he received a suspicious card and ring only a week ago is not maybe a good idea.

The way the clearing he found himself in seems to be getting colder only seems to make it clearer.

I probably should go, he thinks, but the weird chill running down his spine doesn't seem to agree with him.

And that's when the weird black-colored flames appear around him from thin air.

They're terrifying and oh so familiar.

He's always been afraid of his own purple flames, but he can help but feel some comfort in the way they easily come to him at his call to protect him.