Rays of sunlight reflected in their cocktail glasses, sparkling bright. "Why did you have to remind me of that jerk!?", Alessia groaned and grimaced. Both friends laughed shrill and loud, drawing annoyed glares from neighbouring tables. Seconds later Alessia joined both her friends. It had been too long ago to be mad or to lose herself in memories. "But you do remember how sad he looked when we found him lying in front of your front door, scratching at the door, desperate to get in while you sat behind that door!", Greta grinned wickedly and pulled the sweet mixture of alcohol and juice through a straw. Alessia rolled her eyes and sighed, "It's not like you'd ever let me forget!". More laughter disturbed the small space.
The three women finally found a Sunday afternoon to go out. It had taken over two months. Every single date had been taken up by something else, somehow. Weddings, birthdays, random other events. Adult life was tough, it seemed. None of the three had imagined that before they had graduated University of Bologna. From there the tight group of girls had moved out into Italy. Alessia to Rome. Greta to Naples. Valentina back to Florence. Now they sat in Rome, in front of an old cafe in a side street near the Basilica di San Lorenzo in Lucina. Late afternoon showed its brightest and they would go clubbing later. Tomorrow would be the Assumption of Mary, a public holiday all across Italy and being in August, the night wouldn't cool down.
Before clubbing however, they needed to catch up and reminisce of the old days, when University life still had them in its claws. A time long past, yet all of them enjoyed the memories. Especially the embarrassing ones, for some reason. "How's love treating you now?", Valentina steered the conversation back on track, giving the poor woman a breather. "Ah you know, I've met one or two guys. They've been rather nice, but I don't think anything serious will come from it", Alessia offered shyly, unwilling to offer any details for some reason, but Greta immediately pounced on that, "So you're sleeping with at least one guy? I don't know my last.… ouch! What was that for!". Valentina pointed at the neighbouring table with her eyes and crossed her legs again. Maybe the kick had been too hard, she didn't know. Nothing could be done about that now. "Alright, I get it", the oldest of them pushed her glasses up her nose and rubbed the side of her right leg, just above the ankle, "Fuck, that hurt, you didn't have to kick so hard". The youngest of the three wasn't sorry. She just shrugged and gave a weak, apologetic smile. Alessia glanced between the two and pulled the strap of her bra up her shoulder. It had come down her arm from under the sleeveless summer dress. All of them wore summer dresses in similar styles. This year's fashion was quite bright and favourable to all figures, by being wide enough to avoid clinging to the waist, yet flaring quite a bit around the hips and covering even the knees.
***
Valentina blinked. Bright sunlight replaced by pitch black darkness. She blinked again. The black sky stayed. Pain shot through her and she heard voices somewhere far away, muffled through layers of walls. The pain subsided and she was back in Rome. Her brow was sweaty, the dress clung to her back and the heat felt unbearable, yet she persisted. Greta and Alessia danced next to her. Lasers tinted the faces and walls in bright green and red. Artificial fog distorted the beams in an ever moving spectacle. Her thoughts were light, muffled, distant. Something was wrong. The music lacked impact and everyone moved too slow. Way too slow.
The woman blinked again. Darkness returned. A heaving followed and her mouth took the taste of salty bile. With another blink, her stomach turned upside down. The feeling reminded her of a roller coaster. Pictures of Vienna emerged, when her mother had taken her home to her homeland for the first time. On every tourist visit to Vienna stood the Prater. Yet the thoughts didn't manage to stay in Vienna. Another blink and she saw a white light in front of her and she was hovering. Both of her hands tried to reach for the light. Something beyond the light. Another distraction from being raised in a Catholic country sneaked into her mind. Was this Heaven's door? Was she dying or already dead?
Disrupted thoughts chased another as gravity pulled her away from the light. It became a tiny dot, far far away. Valentina was screaming from the top of her lungs. The distance to the white spot grew bigger and bigger and finally her curved back hit something hard. A wall, something so hard it would kill her. She had died when all air escaped her lungs on impact. Except that the pain was replaced by freezing cold water, that ate her. A huge maw swallowing the woman whole. Her eyes widened, salt lips pressed shut, frantic movements tried to move her to the surface, without orientation, without air, without energy. The black ocean reached for her soul. The last thing she remembered was salty, cold water filling her mouth.
***
The groan wouldn't come out right. It hurt. Coughing didn't help, it was even more painful. Panic took her by surprise when she couldn't feel her arms, or legs. Her eyes shot open and her head jerked around. Was she still alive? Everything was dark, but muffled voices became louder. "… came to", someone near her mumbled. Their voice was soothing, old and reminded her of granpa. A picture of an old man in a military uniform flicked past her mental eyes. It brought with it a headache. The kind that splits your skull into pieces and makes you wish for a quick death. That meant she wasn't quite dead yet. Or maybe she was dead and someone dropped her into hell, ever tormented by skull-splitting headache until all eternity. Using the facial muscles lead to more pain. It was unbearable.
After spending an endless time in agony, more and more senses returned. It wasn't that hands and feet were gone, they were just numb and cold. Sense of smell and taste revealed salty bile, just as before. Eyes still worked, yet this place was dark disregarding a few very dim lanterns. Hearing came back as well. A faint hum working in tandem with a soft clicking reminded her of old engines. "Oi lady, can you hear me!", the same voice as before asked her. Eyes searched for the source of the voice and found a bearded man with a hat kneeling over her. How could she have missed that? That person was right in front of her!
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Valentina croaked and felt her voice give out on her. A stinging pain ripped through her throat. A fuck, she thought. "Just nod lightly or shake your head, that'll be better for ya!", the man suggested and a hint of a smile appeared under his beard. That man reminded her of a legend. The flying dutchman. Gray, long hair and beard with silvery strands. Cold, dark eyes. A captain's hat similar to Jack Sparrow's. All that was missing now was a hooked hand and a wooden peg. Somehow she doubted that she'd find those. Yet this man had a kind expression and she nodded without moving too much.
"Gotta get ya down, you hear? It'll hurt, but it's warm there!", to which she nodded and flinched when a set of hands grabbed her cold limbs. Someone threw her over the shoulder. One picture stayed with her through the bumpy haul downstairs. It was a ship that she was on. Someone had fished her from the cold, from the ocean and saved her life. Unfortunately the ship's interior wasn't meant for carrying someone. Many grunts and curses slowed the couple down significantly, until she arrived safe and sound on a soft mattress. Soft might be an overstatement, unless compared to the metal deck of a boat.
Her gaze wandered through the small space, barely enough to hold a thin cot with a low ceiling, above which she assumed to be another cot or storage space. Above the door, a round pressure door with a manual wheel in the centre that reminded her of old submarines, shone a dim, reddish lamp. It flickered slightly, similar to a candle in a breeze. Moments later that man with the beard entered. How he held himself on this tin can was a testament to the time he probably had spent on the water. In her teens she had been sailing with relatives on the Mediterranean Sea and it had been horrible. The constant movement of the craft, the unpredictable, at least to her, shifts in gravity. Uncle Remi never looked out of place once and it had left a feeling of envy in her that never left, not to this day. Now fate had thrown a second chance into her face, she finally could get better.
The bearded man and the other, tall, stubby beard, hooked nose, wide and warm jacket, exchanged glances and whispers. A screech later, the hat sat down next to her and the other man left. He had pulled a stool from under the cot. A rough, large hand clasped hers. "Gonna wrap you up in a blanket, lady. First you need to get out of that wet dress. So you can warm up. You understand?", the man's voice had been soft and commanding. Probably the captain, if her people-reading-skill didn't betray her. Valentina nodded slowly and tried to move. Agony found her yet again and tears shot into her eyes, which was a new feature since this hadn't happened earlier. "Alright, lady. Hate me later, yet if I don't do it, you might die faster", he told her.
The woman gritted her teeth and groaned under tears as the man pulled her dress over her head by rolling the body left and right and back again. Her body was tiny compared to the size of those hands. All she had left were socks, one shoe, panties and bra. The realisation came when the blanket already covered her. Wearing transparent, lace underwear, made for warm summers, wasn't quite the boon when being undressed in an emergency. When her blush coloured her cheeks, the old man smirked and leaned back slightly. Unfortunately now, another thought came into her mind. It sparked fear, and not just a light one either. This place, where the fuck was this? Who was this man, who had seen her naked now? What would happen to her now? With the last question, a myriad of pictures shot into her head. All came from movies and TV shows, flavoured with history lessons back in school. Women were once used or sold or both. Wherever this place was, being naked on a boat of men in the middle of nowhere could be the main plot in a horror movie, and she was the damsel in distress that would get raped and killed in the first act.
All of her emotions must've been clearly visible on her face as the man studied her. When his voice rumbled through the room, for the first time she noticed how calm it was. "I'm called Whitebeard and I saved ya from the Black Depths. We don't mean you any harm, me swears on the old gods and the new!", he paused to offer some time to process, "Seems you've fallen from the Upperside through Glint's Gate and landed down here. You was lucky we heard ya scream, y'know. You're our first Uppersider. Some say you folks bring luck. Guess others say that you bring bad fortune or that ya'll are Manjet's pawns. Who cares, I say. And welcome to the Golden Lily!". Whitebeard patted the wall behind him and threw a kind, caring glance across the walls as if he was introducing his child.
Valentina rolled her eyes and tried to process. Her voice still wasn't able to produce anything but a very beastlike croak. Her mind tried to connect the dots in the meantime. So somehow she was in a new world, place, somewhere she had never heard of. The captain used words foreign to her, too. Come to think of it, why was he talking Italian? Except that he was not, he spoke English, a language she had forced herself to learn, since Italian and German were quite useless across the world. Also Whitebeard was quite a cliche name. Did someone give it to him? And again, where the flying fuck had she fallen into? Did Alessia and Greta know? What about her parents? Her job? The amount of people left behind in Italy were numerous and most likely 'falling from Upperside' wasn't a mass occurrence and therefore she must be alone here. Tears welled into her eyes and her head turned away.
"Guessing there's a lot to mull over. Nothing I can help ya with, m'afraid. I'll return with warm water and light food later. Try to rest", and with that, Captain Whitebeard left her. A creak and a clang, then she was alone. Alone with her thoughts, her pain, the faint clicking hum of what she was sure now was an engine and the words from an old mariner. While her body didn't react to her demands to curl up in a fetus position, she cried anyway. It would take time to get through five stages of grief, but a girl gotta start somewhere. At least her fear had been pushed into a small, tiny corner in the back of her mind. She was sure it would resurface, once her loss had been dulled. Right now it was granma all over again. Except this time, instead of granma, it was literally everybody.