Act One: In Which Alfons Find A Curious Bar And Accepts A Shady Deal From A Shadier Dealer

SCENE ONE

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Alfons Heiderich was in Hell.

Or at least something approximating Hell. If this was Hell, then Hell kind of looked like a particularly seedy red light district, and really, it could be much worse. Maybe this was the fun Hell?

Whatever and wherever this place was, Alfons was there. And he required alcohol. Lots of it.

Judging from the many shady bars and nightclubs that lined the filthy streets, there appeared to be no shortage of alcohol in Hell. Alfons sat up, stretched, and decided to scope out the nearby possibilities from 'his' alley – 'his' only in that it was where he'd woken up ten minutes earlier to realize that he was dead (and also that some asshole had stolen his shoes.)

On his side of the street, down the ways a bit: Sunny's Sunful House of Sin, probably not; Dog's Tavern hosted a gaggle of attractive military boys lingering around the front doors, but it looked exclusive; and so on and so forth. The other side of the street appeared much the same: Lava's Lounge, Devil's Nest, The Geoduck, etcetera. Wait, hold it - that last one sported a large neon outline of an incredibly phallic clam, so with a shrug, Alfons sat up and started walking toward The Geoduck. Beggars can't be choosers, and neon pink phallic clams? Hard to go wrong there.

It was nighttime and the streetlamps were lit and flickering with just enough light for Alfons to see and avoid any broken glass on the ground; the cobblestones were cool and smooth on his bare feet. There were no automobiles coming or going, for the moment, and he crossed with ease.

Upon reaching the curb he was greeted by a woman who possessed more breasts than clothes. "Hey there, Mister," she said in a voice like pure sex. Heterosexual sex, in which Alfons was not interested in the slightest. He flushed and averted his gaze – let women gad about wearing whatever indecencies they pleased, but he was a gentleman (and uninterested, but never mind that) and he wasn't about to ogle her like some sleazeball!

She giggled, a deep, throaty sound. She looked and sounded old enough to be Alfons's mother. "Shy, are you? That's all right, I'll start. My name's Sally. How about yours?" She spoke in English, and amidst his panicked thoughts Alfons made an equally panicked mental note to respond in the same. (Was this the English Hell? Did the English have something against particularly seedy red light districts and phallic neon clams? Or maybe this was the American Hell?)

She was moving awfully close, and he didn't know what else to do, and he was in Hell anyway, couldn't hurt – "m'notintogirls," he mumbled very quickly. It was the first time he'd ever admitted it out loud – of course it would be to ward off a (female) prostitute and not something fun like reassure a cute guy making a move on him. Also that cute guy was Edward. But of course. That's just how his life went, or afterlife, as the case may be.

Her entire demeanor changed: she dropped the suggestive pose, settled into an easy slouch. Her smile morphed from predatory to relaxed, and she drawled, "Well, kid, you coulda told me that in the first place."

Were it possible to spontaneously or not-so-spontaneously combust from shame, that was what Alfons would be doing. "Sorry," he squeaked. 'Squeaked' was a very accurate description.

"Whatever, can't be helped," she replied, nonchalant. Alfons relaxed a fraction. That sort of thing seemed to be more okay here – though, this WAS the Red Light District, English Hell or not...

"It's a shame though, you're awful cute. What's your name, kid?" She scrounged up a smoke and a lighter from somewhere – the hell, was there even room for pockets in her excuse for clothes? – lit up and took a deep drag. Alfons was about to protest weakly, worried for his lungs, when he remembered that he was dead and no longer needed them. Huh. The smoke didn't seem to bother him at all. That was nice, at least. Not much good could be said of the present situation, but that was nice.

Remembering the question, "Alfons," he mumbled, staring at his feet as opposed to her imposing chest, and ugh, he'd only walked a short distance since his arrival and his toes were already filthy with the God-knew-what on the streets. He really needed shoes. Did they have shoes in Hell? Did they have shoes other than Sally's dangerously high leather heels? He could learn to walk in those if he really had to, but he'd rather not.

"So, you new here?"

"Yeah," he said, sheepish. She offered him a drag but he shook his head to decline, mostly on account of the girl spit. "Just woke up ten minutes ago."

"The hell your shoes go?"

He shrugged.

"Where is 'here,' exactly?" he asked. He dared to look up, and kept his gaze trained firmly on her face. He would not allow the cleavage to win, for if it succeeded in drawing his attention it would surely devour him whole, grow teeth and tear his face off or something. (Alfons's strict Catholic upbringing may have had some unfortunate side-effects. This was one of them.)

She shrugged in return. "The city is New Central, and you're in the worst part of it. The rest of it? No one really knows. Some kinda afterlife. No one tells us anything." Sally exhaled a thick fog of smoke into Alfons's face. "Bit of a ripoff, really."

"...What."

She rolled her eyes. "What do you mean, 'what?' What were you expecting? Pearly gates? Heavenly choirs rejoicing? Or are you a seventy-two virgins kinda guy? Nubile male virgins, but still."

"I," Alfons started, stumbling over his words and the not unwelcome thought of seventy-two nubile male virgins (who all looked suspiciously like Edward) "I, I don't know what I was expecting, but not," he gestured expansively at the debauchery around them, "Not this."

"'S not all like this," she said. "Like I said, this is the worst part of the city. Shit luck you have, landing here first. Nah. There are nice places, and there are places like...well. Like this. You wind up here, start up again where you left off, fuck around until you die again - "

"Die again?" Alfons interrupted with another squeak.

"Only thing that kills you here is old age, but yeah, die again. And after that, fuck knows where you go. Maybe a real Heaven or Hell, maybe nothing, maybe another place like this. Maybe something else entirely." She smiled mockingly, yellow smoke escaping through the crooked cracks in her yellow teeth, and finished, "It's afterlives all the way down, sir."

He stared. "That...doesn't make any sense."

"Kid, I don't make the rules."

Awkward silence, as Alfons digested the complete destruction of any earthly ideals of an afterlife, and Sally inhaled another lungful of tar and nicotine to replace the former. Unexpected, this.

"...Is there a place to sit down?" Alfons said weakly, and then fell over. Too late.

She laughed at him, but not cruelly. "It's a lot to take in," she said, and offered him a hand up from his stunned slump on the sidewalk. He grabbed on, careful of her red-taloned fingernails, and she hauled him to his wobbling feet. He almost tipped over again, but she caught him with one arm wrapped around his waist. "Easy, now."

"I need a drink," he announced. "I really, really need one."

She snubbed out her cigarette on his shirtsleeve and smiled sympathetically. "I'll take you to my boss's place. There are special discounts for newlydeads, I'll hook you up."

"...It's not that Sunful place, is it?"

Sally scoffed, offended. "Them? They're amateurs. Devil's Nest is where the real fun is."

Alfons fell over. Yes, this was definitely Hell.

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A/N: THIS IS THE REAL ENDING TO THE MOVIE. THEY CUT IT OUT BECAUSE OF TIME CONSTRAINTS BUT IT'S CANON I SWEAR

IT CAME TO ME IN A DREAM

(Not actually related to Alice in Wonderland at all. Coming up next chapter, whenever the hell that gets posted: manga end spoilers, two homunculi, and lots of homoerotic text. Huzzah!)