ARE YOU MAD TOO

where could your head be? if you don't have your head, you cannot smile at me...

[chvshre]

Interlude II

DATE/TIME: 09/12 AM 5:05 LOCATION: Houndstitch Church

He is among the many who watch as faith burns this hour before dawn, yet another callous outsider indifferent to the brilliance of the flame and the aftermath it might bring forth, here for one thing and one thing alone: a good show. What other reason can there be for waking so early? To bear witness to disaster? No. To enjoy the dramatics of an unfolding downfall that will ask nothing of the present spectators except their rapt attention.

How many more skeletons will be added to the mausoleum under the city by day’s end—the one with an unknowable family name carved into cracking marble, impossibly old and clumsy in how syllables sit on the tongue—where the roots of a forest long since made skeletal are reaching through the ceiling and walls. Not enough, that much he knows for certain even without counting empty coffins. 

it will never be enough to fill the void left behind from being left behind. how quickly they all abandoned what once was for the promise of a newer, shinier tomorrow.

tell me, do the dead still ache?

Sirens wail, distant still but closing in steady, the final layer to a symphony-in-composition, and he takes his cue to melt back into the shadows, a feat made laughably easy by the demons dancing on hallowed hollowed grounds. There’s someone he needs to see.

DATE/TIME: 09/12 AM 6:11 LOCATION: White Rabbit

Funny how disapproving the Hare is of his Rabbit’s attachment to a Cat, yet here he is, running towards the same pitfall without a second thought. And all for what? He watches Ashley rush out the door, grin angled somewhere between bemusement and disappointment as the barely-risen sun paints the man a lost boy again.

“Suppose he’ll have to learn the hard way like everyone else.”

The jar’s abandoned contents bubble once in agreement.

DATE/TIME: 09/13 AM 1:00 LOCATION: Houndstitch Church

There is something to be said for the conveniences of technology, digital archives a wealth of information stored out of sight, out of mind, until such time comes that demands they spill their guts. If you asked the twins, this is the only reliable source of intel worth considering in this modern era where word-of-mouth and printed pages are becoming a relic of past days.

Which is exactly why he does not ask them for help when he returns to the scene of the crime. For all their cleverness with words in the world of data, the pair are hardly more helpful than the carcass of a fly when it comes to physically getting their hands dirty. A pity really, but no matter, he has other uses for them.

The filing cabinets are monstrous beasts of iron nearly as tall as him, dented and blackened by their recent ordeal through fire, but still perfectly intact and happy to yield their secrets to anyone who knows what they are looking for. Fortunately, he does. Names and pictures fly past in quick succession under the practiced shuffling of long fingers, records of births and adoptions and unfortunate accidents best not mentioned all piled into neat, orderly stacks.

His face threatens to split with the force of his smile at what he finds—or rather, what he doesn’t—and the implications this confirmation carry. Winter comes and children go, such is the nature of the world, and who would think to look for the ones that fall through the cracks of a system designed to be faulty? Twenty missing faces without names to match are hardly headline-worthy news anymore in this city, far from being the first of their kind, but that only makes things easier for him.

The papers disappear with him.

DATE/TIME: 09/13 AM 1:45 LOCATION: Under

[ FROM: CAT ] Make a deal with me. [ FROM: DEE ] We’re listening.

[ FROM: CAT ] I need you to look into the complete history of someone, going as far back as you can. Leave nothing out, no matter how trivial or nonsensical you might think it to be. In exchange, I’ll give you the church’s orphan records, and I’ll tell you everything I know about ASCENSION. [ FROM: DUM ] Interesting. And whose dirty laundry are we digging through for you?

[ FROM: CAT ] Mine. [ FROM: DEE ] Deal. We’ll let you know when we’re ready for you.

[chvshre]

gryphon-gus​:

“I figured you didn’t like dogs,” Gus replied, dryly. If Mina wanted to hunt down Kanta, there was nothing anyone could do about it. But knowing how the Red Queen operated, she would send someone else to do the dirty work ( that much even they both knew ). 

“A rhetorical question, Kanta.” He took another sip of his coffee, finding himself in no rush ( for once ). Although the beauty of interrogations lasted in patience, the private investigator found that most people were willing to talk if you gave them ample amount of time and space. Gave them enough silence that they started filling it up with words — with confessions. 

Of course, Kanta wasn’t one of those people. 

“You need an alibi, otherwise the police will pick up on your scent.” 

He doesn’t deign to respond to what he assumes is the investigator’s attempt at humor, so dry the desert that locks Wonderland in looks like an oasis in comparison. Especially not when Gus comes to him with such amusing notions in his head, groundless anxieties laid out in a spread as though fact across the table between them.

And this time, he does laugh.

“Do you really think your so-called police is capable of catching me? Or anyone for that matter? If any of you up in Over had the abilities to corner me, you would have done so already, regardless of motive. But alas, here I am, and there you are, and this isn’t a status quo that’s going to change because of a few more deaths in the city. Try again.”

[chvshre]

gryphon-gus​:

“You should know by now that I’m not bored or paranoid,” Gus replied, taking a seat across from the rumored suspect himself. Kanta was many things, but he tended to be a conversationalist ( more so than the others, that is ). “14% is nothing.”

Gus takes a sip of his coffee, enjoying the small moment before he had to continue fetching for answers. The bitterness of the drink sat on his tongue, yet the spike of caffeine immediately helped the rest of his body. “But it might be enough for the Red Queen to hunt you down.”

Numbers and business were a marriage in the making ( a rocky one at that ). “People have been their pointing fingers at you. But you already know that, don’t you?”

Aren’t you? He doesn’t say it out loud, but the angle his head falls to speaks volumes about how little he believes that claim.

“’Might be’. Even you do not know her whims, but that’s not surprising. I do look forward to seeing her try her best to ‘hunt me down’ as you say, should make for an entertaining diversion until the next disaster hits, and you all go back to being dogs chasing their own tails.”

Fingers have been pointing though, that much is correct, and rumors are spreading through Under. All fine by him—his job isn’t to quell the circulation of information, false or otherwise. They both know that. The grin this time is mocking and more than a little cutting.

“Is that a question, Augustus?”

[chvshre]

Gus wandered into the White Rabbit Tea Shop, looking for the rumored suspect — Kanta. Before approaching the figure, however, the private investigator ordered himself a black coffee. "I wasn't able to identify my grandmother's body in the morgue," Gus soon admitted, trading his own intel as payment for this conversation. "She was too decomposed. But I hear you've managed to make a body disappear yourself. The investor. The rumors. The clean up. How much of it is true?"

The crescent-moon curve of his grin takes on a decidedly predatory tone, razor edge warning to tread lightly here. Wouldn’t want to make a scene would we? The shop’s proprietor is notorious for being an ill-tempered thing these months.

“Have you now? Interesting the kind of talk that comes out when people are bored or paranoid. And here I thought you were smart enough to know how to play after all this time. Pity.”

Supposedly, he could be nice and give over easy this once—the payment does fall within the required parameters, but it isn’t much to cut his teeth on. Besides, it’s not in his nature not to toy with his food.

“Percentage-wise, I would say 14%, maybe 14.5% if you want to get really technical with the details, but no one cares enough for that kind of effort. Or would you prefer fractions? Don’t look at me like that, I’m only giving you what you’ve asked for. Really Gus, I’m a little disappointed you didn’t think this through more.”

[chvshre]

payment: the donation was made with best of intentions, not the worst of them / question: where do children go if they disappear into the Under?

Would it be impolite to laugh? His teeth part scant millimetres, a warning sign, but sense arrests him at the last second. There is no need, after all, for mockery when she comes with such genuine ‘intentions’. All the same, he’s looking forward to how she interprets what comes next.

“Wherever you want them to, my dear Queen.”

“Children are quite a useful species, don’t you think? They’re light on their feet, small enough to fit into the cracks of the city’s heart, and if you have a surplus on your hands, no one thinks to look twice should you put them to good use. Discreetly, of course.”

“Wonderland has many an appetite to be satisfied. You may rest assured that any unclaimed children that pass through are now safe and sound, in one way or another.”

[chvshre]

Interlude I

DATE/TIME: 08/16 AM 3:15 LOCATION: the Silver Veil | Front Lobby

Softly rotting creatures of ego-selfish impulses, each more decay-addled and worm-eaten than the next as they march past in a semblance of purpose—of belonging, like any of them has a place to be found in a city that would make forgotten martyrs of them all. Here, curiosity tilts his interest down a familiar path of wondering:

where do they find the nerve for such undertakings? do they even understand how the guillotine hands of Time count down over their heads ? what would happen if he pressed too hard on one of these ants playing at giants?

why don’t you find out.

A pause. Strange. Now where had that come from?

Thoughts are slippery things, too often wont to devolve as they please and refuse instruction or direction. It wouldn’t be the first occasion that one managed to slip through his fingers before he can close around it, but even given the proclivity for mischief that his mind has, he cannot account for this outlier’s appearance.

An intrusion then.

are you sure? remember: you were only ever as sane as me.

How interesting. Or should he say, disconcerting? Here is a voice he had not expected to hear echoing in the ruins of what nests in his skull again, risen from an early grave unmarked. But alas, there is a method and proper Time for such matters to be handled, and tonight, he is already otherwise engaged.

The front doors slide shut again on soundless gears behind his retreating shadow.

DATE/TIME: 08/16 AM 3:21 LOCATION: the Midas Glory | Front Lobby

Strange and stranger how the night unfolds, entropy at this Blue Hour before the veil falls back in place. Strangest still how this charade of an ending has an audience of not one, but two.

The tide of bodies, bejeweled in glittering gold  and human folly, has finally ebbed, leaving behind nothing in their wake but a vague impression that something almost living may have passed through this empty space. From this vantage point beyond the marbled counter, he watches as another watches the gently swaying private performance soon to be made public spectacle, and finds himself...disturbed.

It has been longer than he cares to remember since he last encountered this feeling, an unpleasant reminder of its existence and a foreboding warning of what is yet to come. As though to confirm this worrying train of thought, the performance across the street draws to a close at last.

DATE/TIME: 08/16 PM 7:55 LOCATION: Under

[ FROM: DEE ] did you do it? [ FROM: CAT ] no. [ FROM: DUM ] if you say so. 

DATE/TIME: 09/09 AM 3:15 LOCATION: the Silver Veil | Room 44

Painful almost, how quiet the air rests here, innocuous in the freshly polished shine of hardwood floors and immaculately replaced furniture lines—as though such a thin veneer of normalcy could disguise the cold smell of death that graced these four walls only weeks ago. Most importantly, the bathroom mirror sits vacant, devoid of the purported visage that haunted those unlucky enough to arrive first to the scene.

Meticulous, whoever had been tasked with the clean up. Like so many others,  he will have to venture elsewhere for answers tonight.

[chvshre]

tell me about yourself

Curious little creature, coming down here to demand such a thing of him with tongue blank and hands empty.

“What will you give me if I do?"

[chvshre]

PAYMENT: i did not intentionally set the fire—but i can't say that they didn't deserve it. | QUESTION: who would benefit the most from the door to Under being cemented shut?

Interesting phrasing that: intentionally, unintentionally. In the end, ‘intent’ matters little, doesn’t it? Especially when it comes to whether or not the intent is deserved.

“Logic would dictate someone from Over, no? Someone who doesn’t want Wonderland to sink any deeper than it already has, who would like to keep all the pretty little souls walking our streets on the streets rather than in the belly of the beast.

One of your Queens perhaps, who doesn’t like her competition’s preferred source of revenue being so close to the heart of the city. Of course, you know who I’m referring to don’t you, darling boy.

None of that is here or there though, and you’d be quite misled if I let you believe this all to be the only truth. Oh, but you didn’t ask for that, did you?"

[chvshre]

you single?

A thin eyebrow arches high in amusement. What an odd thing to ask.

“That depends, do try to be more specific with this kind of question.”

[chvshre]

PAYMENT: i did not kill my mother alone | QUESTION: do the teeth held in the severed limb belong to a neutral party, or did any of them belong to someone who aligns with a queen?

It was only a matter of time before someone came along wanting answers for recent events—answers he may or may not be so disposed to provide. The rabbit has offered sufficient payment for at least a partial truth. His mouth parts still impossibly wider, teeth bared in some private joke.

“Yes, and yes. A truly messy mixture that pot is, and in the end, none of the Queens are blameless. One was theft, two were payment, one was a gift, and the last a debt owed. Count them carefully, dear rabbit. You may yet trace them back to their sources.”