[The Princess POV]
The most peculiar thing occurred. I stared, flabbergasted. Not a pleasant feeling, may I add. He told me that I'm wanted. Needed. An unexpected offer such as this gave me doubts, however, I was intently listening to what he had in store.
I'm certain she was too.
The unexpected guest was not human; no human would dare approach me. Sometimes I'm unsure myself what I'd do to a victim of mine - it highly depends on what they look like. Of course, I am aware that sounds petty in a sense, yet endearing at the same time. Who knows what treatment you'll get, no? It's a gamble to tango with me alone, however, there's a third wheel in this party I am obligated to co-operate with. After all, she is the reason I am who I currently am. Before, I was little to an utter nobody. Wretched memories, those. I digress; she is a historical figure, a monarch, who blessed me with her magnificent powers. It is a little too obvious we have different motives. However, we often come to an agreement after a brief negotiation.
Such as right now.
"Think about it, Edna," She begins, her voice shrill and bloodthirsty, "We can leave this plain wasteland behind and begin our true rein of terror, within a killing paradise the Entity offers us!"
I ponder, attempting to properly grasp the situation, "What do I gain out of this, exactly? Leaving that brat we've been trying to kill behind, to face a crowd of who-knows-whats? What if there are no pretty boys! I have a Prince in mind already, and he is settled here!"
"Whine, whine, WHINE! Have you no SENSE?! We can become the most powerful beings to exist upon this fine offer, and you're sulking over some pea-brained Prince! Grow up, you insolent idiot!"
I grit my crooked, stained teeth, one of the changes I was not so pleased with. Thanks to Mary, my entire appearance changed to mirror her's - what she used to look like. Before she died. Mary was a ruthless ruler of England, worse than any other. There were, at the very least, thirty executions a week, along with her own free will to kill - a pointed staff in her possession. She preferred to murder than execute; according to her, it was much more thrilling. Her thirst was quenched through a fountain of blood, harvest from the limp veins of those victim to her murdering spree. Mainly those who were executed would have their blood turned to 'wine': her favourite beverage. It did not get her drunk, it only got her malicious, which she is to this day.
She was known as Bloody Mary.
I only refer to her a 'Mary', however.
Mary provided a red glow within the staff I held - it is where she resides. She was about to speak again, before the Entity cut her off.
"Ladies, please…" It attempted to calm us, "Edna Everleigh. Is your true intent to kill?"
Usually, I suppose, with the morons I'm forced to live with. I answer in vain, "My intent is to murder Izzy Baker, that blonde rat!"
A sway of black matter got closer, "I see. An Izzy Baker has recently joined us: blonde, pale…pretty."
Ooh, he did not. I stifled back a curse, my blood boiling as I make the brash decision, "Take me. Now."
I felt Mary radiate murderously within the golden staff, satisfied with me.
"Excellent." She cackled.
Then, darkness engulfed us whole.
The atmosphere reels me in without warning, like a freshly caught fish ready to be gloated over. It is as though I am wanted here, but I myself am not too keen. Still, I take a look around. I am interested to see what I have agreed to.
The very first thing I notice is the age of the building. Old enough to admire; this place gives me Victorian Gothic vibes - a nice touch. I already know Mary will approve. Partly dusty here and there, as though two forces are working against each other. Many shelves with countless books, being a variety of dull colours; dim shades of blues, reds, browns, indigos and blacks. Not exciting. Fascinating. Traditional colours always held the most wisdom. A sea of velvet dominated the room, covering as much as it could. Whoever the interior designer was had an attachment for red and purple velvet. Smooth wood and rusty metal, oddly complimenting one another. Despite the continuous rows of selves holding wilted books, the entire room was very isolating to stand in. I was stood dead centre, to receive the best view, and I had gotten quite enough view to manage.
I turn to the door - hard wood. Above it in a fancy golden font, 'LIBRARY'.
Makes sense.
"A quaint room, don't you agree, Edna?"
"It's alright. It's also completely irrelevant to me." I point my nose up.
"Very well, leave. I want to see more of this place."
"And I want to find the brat we came here for."
"We'll get to that soon enough!" She hisses, "Onwards, Edna."
I honestly feel like a dog in her presence. Do this, and do that. Bah! The nerve. I am well able to make my own decisions, without her breathing down my neck.
As a matter of fact…it feels as though someone is breathing down my neck. My head bends at an insulted angle, and I glance behind me to see a bleached face, unlike anything I've ever seen before. I sneer at the stranger, irritated, "Do you mind?"
I turn my entire body now, my dress twists to keep up.
This man was significantly tall, black cut outs in the mask failing to provide a look of any sort - emptiness; his whole face was hidden. I suppose he had to have a face, and flesh, but a disturbing thought otherwise was beginning to form in my head.
Not that I could care less.
Right now, I am bitter. I let him know.
"You fail to reply? What are you, mute? Cease wasting my time like this, fool!" I snap.
He continues to stand there, only breathing heavily. The mask would result in such strained breathing, but it is unsettling regardless. I am not frightened, however I will certainly keep my distance from the freak. As I am set to storm off, Mary glows, "Pitiful. A hidden identity. To scared to show your face to the world, mortal?"
She is teasing him.
"Pathetic."
I sense his arm budge. It began to move, all the while becoming more visible. There is a large knife in his bulging hand; a washed-out maroon colour stained it - obviously blood. The sharp end lit up as the chandler light was reflected by it.
"How cute."
My eyes rolled. I gave the man another stare; he returned it. His arm was stiff now. His knife was merely for show, at the moment - tipping upwards. Despite the protection of his face, I had to admit he had an impressive build. Not that I would tell him that. Why would I let him know what he most likely knew well? He is a killer like myself. We knew what we were made of. What we were capable of. My thin lips curved into a wide smile, "You will have to excuse my attorney; she believes she is beyond compare."
He does not move a muscle. I sense his grip on the knife tighten as I hear the faintest clenching sound between our silence. Dry friction. He also seemed dry. Unwilling to speak at the cost of his individual standards, which would hardly be popular among others; not saying a word keeps one from properly expressing themselves - like it mattered. Perhaps he felt this way: talking held no real purpose.
Only humans speak. In comparison, animals have a very limited vocabulary which only they understand - within their natural families. Like us, only much less complicated. Us humans attempt to understand them. Why? Pfft, I don't know. That's a ridiculous question anyway. Why would you want to understand an animal? What do they know that we did not? We know too much. We want to know far too much.
"Hmm, you really don't speak…"
I am proven correct as he refuses to respond.
"...or may you be a man of very few words?"
My bribe did not affect him. No response whatsoever. Although this would normally infuriate me, a bizarre feeling came over me; I craved to know what he was holding back. My desire was to manipulate him, and get a word out of his covered mouth. To hear his voice and keep it as my own. Yes, I was developing an fatal interest toward this man I just met. Fatal for myself or him? That is yet to be answered; I want something between us.
"Edna…what are you getting at? Resist your temptations and leave, I was merely mocking this stooge."
Stooge. She was the only stooge I could see. A staff. Unlike myself, she had no body - she was a spirit, long dead, bringing my weapon to life - an irritating life at that. To my utmost misfortune, however, she could easily posses me at any given time, if I failed to obey her. Disgusting, I know. I suppose she does let me argue with her…usually. I cannot say I have not yet been possessed by her, as I have. She ultimately had the final word, and I had to accept that. Had. If I got my own way I would be twice the tyrant she used to be.
"Tssk." I scoff, giving the intriguing stranger a final glance before facing the exit. I could not tell whether he was following me, but I hoped he was. Against Mary's command, I looked back to see him catching up to me, at a very set pace.
I stop.
He stops.
"...well? Aren't you going to open the door for me?"
I meant it. However, I asked.
The man took a few more similar steps to the door, looking me in the eye as he slowly pulled it open, not missing a beat. This was rather creepy. I like that about him. He was now a mannequin once again, so I walked out the door, in turn waiting for his response.
He stepped out, slamming the door abruptly.
I caught myself before I could jump, "Hmph, angry are we?"
That action was most certainly passive aggressive.
Of course he kept silent, and began to walk down the corridor without warning. He ignored me. I squinted my eyes as the distance between us grew, and stubbornly stomped up behind him to keep up. My heels cushioned by the carpet - a shame. I wanted to sound strict. He would just have to tolerate me, whether he liked it or not.
Besides, I hadn't clue where I was going.
[The Clown POV]
For the fifth time I admire my self-made finger chain. Each finger had a certain beauty to them; the shape and size held significance. None copied the other. Sure, they were all fingers, but they weren't the same story. Each had something different, like every survivor being different. The fingers mattered most. I am entitled to them. I want them.
Again, I give them another inspection. I like the variety. I chose well.
Suppose they were hand picked.
"HA HA HA HA!"
The laughter quickly flipped into a coughing fit - spluttering and wheezing. Yeah, I can't get that under control. Why bother? A laugh like mine is as unique as my finger collection. I have to live up to what I'm known for.
…heh, Trapper is looking at me.
I rattle my prised possession proudly, giving my best grin.
He's turning away.
Good. I'm a better killer than he'll ever be. Can't have him sizing me up, can I?
It won't be long now until I can cut off more fingers for my collection. To taste the blood drip out of it like melted chocolate - only red. I occupy myself by swirling around my pink potion, my gaze swirling with it. Reminds me of cotton candy they sold back at the circus I used to work for. Spinning around the cone, attaching to it like tape, to be handed over to a grubby little child. It would get their fingers all sticky, which would only make them lick it off, glazing them with saliva. That would leave a murky-sweet scent, which was what I was exposed to round the back of the circus tent. Smelt both bad and good, so I guess it was okay. Didn't bother me. I liked it. I felt saliva of my own build up in my mouth, which was initially dry. My shrivelled tongue absorbed the gland's nectar, like a sponge. I licked my lips, getting a taste of varnish. As a clown, I wear make-up.
The door opens and I'm jerked out of my little trance.
Great.
Who else but Myers to be standing pointlessly at the doorway? Like he had to do a head count before stepping in the damn room.
Before I looked away, I caught sight of an unfamiliar face trailing behind him. She looked irritated. Pouting a little. Then, she looked surprised. She had caught sight of the entire room, cogs turning in her head I bet, trying to figure out what the hell she was staring at. She glanced over everyone, her eyebrows arched in confusion, then her eyes found me. Personally, I found her attractive. Looked like every clown's dream girl. Make-up, check, expressive hair, check, defined proportions, check that twice. Her chin was an acute angle, shaping the stretched checks that were smothered with scarlet blush - a nice touch. I wanted to touch. Her skin peachy pink, like a soft strawberry milkshake. Tasty. That deluded eye sharpened, a crimson red - her other eye was covered up by hair that looked like it belong to a judge - a similar shade of crimson.
She knew I was staring, since she stomped right up to me as though I threw a paper air plane in class.
"Is there a problem? Your gawking at me like a hawk, red nose." She said that last part through her teeth.
They were as unhygienic as mine - another score.
"Well they didn't call me Jeffrey Hawk for nothing, red head."
I wheezed at my own words. I'm hilarious. It's all too evident.
Seems curly locks over here didn't catch on to the joke since her face soured up in distaste. Just then, I saw her staff glow up and thought she was about to fry my face off. Turns out it was a voice of another woman speaking.
"What kind of jest do you call this? Does your master possess no sense of humour?"
What the hell? There's two of them? Or is this her thoughts being read out?
"Master? Who are you talking about? The Entity?"
"No, fool. Your ruler. King or Queen?"
Oh, so this isn't a dress-for-show. They were actually dragged in from another time-line. Or, maybe they're faking it. Wouldn't surprise me.
"I ain't got one. I run my own show, lady." I respond triumphantly.
There was a brief moment of silence. The woman herself appeared uninterested, looking elsewhere, with the staff pointed in my direction, it's light intensity shifting back and forth like a scanning machine.
Was this a joke? Not a very laughable one.
"What do you call yourself, exactly?" She questioned.
We all refer to each other with our pen names, so that's what she'd be getting.
"The name's Clown." I grin widely.
"Clown? You insult yourself? Fool…"
What the hell is she talking about? I mean look at me - I am a clown! I ain't cutting any corners here.
"Says the talking staff. Look, see the make-up? I'm a performer. Well, was a performer. That was before I got my own show on the road. The peek of my career, heh heh." I expected her to leave it there, but, to my surprise, she replied.
"...go on."
I grunted in confusion. No one here gave a damn about each other, and here this pointed staff, not even the lady, wanted me to continue.
I was drunk, anyway. I tend to run my mouth when I'm intoxicated.
"I was my own boss. I could have all the fun I wanted! There was no rules to bend 'cause there were no rules! So anyone who decided to drop in for a visit got a personal experience - the best seat in the house!"
"What are you implying?" She asked.
I was implying a lot of things, really. My main motivation were the fingers, but hey, I got experimental sometimes. Never hurt me to try!
I raise my chain.
"This answer your question?"
Now the woman herself turned back, raising an alarmed eyebrow, then frowned blankly to express her indifferent view, "You collect fingers?"
"Yes!" I beam.
The staff tittered delightfully, "How despicable, Clown. I'm beginning to like you."
The woman rolled her eyes, "Don't feel encouraged. She doesn't mean that."
"Yes I do. Why don't you leave me here Edna? Go and attend to your own business."
She did as her told and let go of the slender handle, moving away from us immediately.
We waited until she was out of sight.
"Insufferable. I cannot believe I am forced to live through her."
Huh? This just keeps getting more complicated, don't it?
"What's that suppose to mean?"
A red aura surrounded the staff; suppose it was the only thing keeping her upright.
"I am a cursed spirit - unable to leave the earth. I was trapped in a book before the girl you just witnessed opened it, freeing me. I was desperate, I suppose, so I possessed her with hope her spite for others would be compatible with my instinct to murder. Not terrible so far, but I require her to inherit my craving for blood. The will to kill anyone, you understand?"
Two in one? Original.
I shrugged, "I hear ya."
"Her appearance once belonged to me."
Oh really?
"You don't say? What were you, royalty?"
"The rightful Queen of England, if you will."
What do you know? Royal blood. Though, it sounded like she was more interested in everyone else's blood. I ain't complaining.
"Fancy that. I hear executions were a form of entertainment with you royals. Good taste, heh heh."
"Indeed…"
For a second she stopped. I raised a brow, and she spoke again.
"You must know about the conditions here, correct? Tell me everything I need to know."
I could hear that venom creep up her throat. Was she staff or serpant? She sounded dangerous. What a woman.
"Everything?" I repeat playfully.
"Yes." She purred, "Everything."