The Misadventures of the Bad Touch Trio

One of the Dreaded Days

P.S: Bold is Gilbert, italics is Antonio

There were three hundred and sixty five days in a year, and a few were dreaded by many people. One of them was the thirtieth of May. This year, 1531. A hundred years since the inital reason of dread.

Francis Bonnefoy had that very thought plaguing his mind since his waking moment, and even now, as he skimmed the envelope in which lied a letter with dull indigo eyes, which lit up slightly upon recognition of the two handwritings that he knew as well as his own.

Setting down the bottle of wine he had been drinking, he scrambled to open the letter with shaking fingers. One handwriting was blunt, straight, immaculate, and print-like. The other was sharp, long, a tad messy, and slightly sloped to the right. 

The letter consisted of both, and read as, in French;

"Hello, Francey-pants. I know this letter reached you on time, therefore, you better not be drinking. How do you know it reached him on time for certain? Are you doubting my punctual abilites? No. There's your answer, then. Oh, Dios, fine. But really Francis, you better not be drinking. I know this year marks a hundred, but do you really want to end up how you did when it marked fifty? He passed out, right? He smacked me Francis, smacked an injured man! An injured man with the memory of a goldfish. That phrase is ridiculous, there are some goldfish that are geniuses! More so than you, I agree. If you do not stop spending time with Arthur... We are in a relationship. Worst one ever. Jealous. Anyway, Francis, we really apologise for not being able to be there for you in person on that day. Please don't drink yourself to a horrible state again. Jeanne would not have wanted that. Commemorate her memory with pride, joy, and then sorrow. All humans die, and life goes on. They each die for a reason, and at the right time, no matter what you think. Exactly. Do not look back on her with despair. If you must mourn, do so through music. You play the violin, after all. Yes, do that. We'll see you as soon as possible, promise. Oh, and Arthur says, and I quote; "Tell that bloody frog not to do anything stupid." For once, I agree with that ass. Can you believe this? He smacked me again!

Yours truly, how formal,

Antonio Carriedo and Gilbert Beilschmidt"

Francis smiled tearily after reading the letter. Even when his friends were abroad, they were doing everything in their power to help him. It was truly endearig. They even wrote in French for his comfort.

Playing the violin sounded like a good idea, but so did drinking the wine and forgetting how she smiled at him on that day, smiled before her death...