After-Life

Chapter 3. Kristoph Grayson

"I need a drink, you coming?"
Mabel blinked as her eyes adjusted to the sights and sounds surrounding her. She was in a stadium, and evidentially one of the first few attendees too. She was resting against the barrier in front of the stage and while there were a few members of crew and staff milling around, she and her friend were some of the only ones present who seemed to be there for the show, only. There was a slight prickling sensation around her neck and, lifting her hand cautiously to readjust the irritating item, she tugged gently at a lanyard that indicated she was a VIP for the event. Mabel smiled to herself, she'd never been a VIP for anything before, in her past life.

Mabel tilted her head back and admired the expanse of the room she was in. She couldn't help but feel a surreal sense of belonging, although, for the life of her, she couldn't place why. Everything seemed brand new yet dated too. It was like she was stuck in a surreal sense of déjà vu, where she knew none of this had ever happened before and yet it had – in another time, in another life. As she tried to come to terms with this new sensation, she felt a sharp jab to her side.

"Earth to Mab? I need a drink, you coming?"
Mabel turned around a little sluggishly and stared, her eyes boggling. The woman standing next to her was her old school friend, Angel. Her full name was Angelica Rose Brown, however she abhorred it. It was the main reason they'd gotten along so well, having a shared loathing of their full names. In her last life, Mabel had lost all contact with Angel, yet in this life, they were still thick as thieves, apparently.
"You, okay?" Angel asked, suddenly concerned.
"Sorry, must have phased out," Mabel shrugged, playing off the momentary lapse of concentration. She grinned and hated herself for how false the gesture felt. It was difficult for her to not feel more aware that the physical form of herself was simply playing host to her spirit.
'The question is,' Mabel thought to herself; 'am I a skilled puppeteer or more of a parasite?'
It was a valid question too! Any time Mabel thought of a movement to make, her host would follow the thought process and move around, albeit with a moment's hesitation. Even her voice sounded different! It was as though there was a delay in terms of what she wanted to say, how the words formed; and in turn how they reverberated back to her. In the grand scheme of things, it was barely perceptible, however, Mabel was more self-aware of her physical body now than she had ever been in her previous life.

Angel raised a questioning brow before shrugging off her friend's odd little turn. Angel was dressed up to the nines! The show was going to be somewhat gothic, judging by the artwork and backdrop setup; not to mention Angel's beautifully embroidered corset, which accentuated her flawless curves. Her bottoms were skintight, torn, and frayed black jeans. She'd dyed streaks of electric blue in her jet-black hair, which accentuated her piercing sky-blue eyes. Mabel had always quietly envied the effortless beauty of her friend.

Curiously, Mabel tried to make out what she, herself, had opted to wear and looked down to see wide, bell-bottom jeans with a studded belt wrapped around her waist. Mabel was mortified to spot splotches of dried paint and dust scattered around her knees. She was wearing an old t-shirt that had seen better days, the sleeves had tiny holes in them, and she wondered if her host's wardrobe might have an infestation of moths. Why was she wearing this? It was like she hadn't bothered to try, at all!

Mabel was so preoccupied with criticizing her outfit that she had completely forgotten Angel's question. She jumped as her friend cleared her throat.
"So, about that drink?" Angel enquired, "If we get to the bar now, we might be able to get a round in and return to our spot without having to rugby tackle anyone."
It was a somewhat fair assumption. Mabel had realised that Angel was also sporting the same VIP lanyard around her neck; so, they'd obviously been granted early access to the venue, to beat the crowds. Nodding dumbly, Mabel followed Angel to the bar, where a small group had already gathered. They were mostly men, all giants in comparison to them both, which wasn't hard. Mabel being five foot and a half, Angel maybe an inch or so taller; in their eyes, most of the populace who entered the six-foot range, automatically became almighty giants in comparison.