Till a Century

The Fool doth think he is wise, but the wise man knows himself to be a fool.

Two Birds

Percival: Five

Corvo: One

Atlas & Amity: New born

The gasp is small, but considered significant in the beginning stages of life. One enters the world crying then leaves the world dying. A curious outlook. Subtle, exotic, and the notion seems daunting to an entity that had every right to die, but with no business in the matter. Perhaps he died before and just couldn't remember ever closing his eye or eyes for good. He always did wonder if he had the proper use of both of his eyes in his before-life. Before he took on the role as The Joker. Perhaps he's always been The Joker. History did not matter. Not Now. Nonetheless, he'd return every time. Hypothetically speaking – he couldn't die, and it didn't matter how many times someone placed a bullet in his chest, or lodged a casing in his skull. That's what made him the most feared man in Wonderland. When you assume you could kill monsters – you couldn't kill nightmares like him. Nightmares after all, are much more horrifying than death. Nightmares were infrequent, but promised. And Death was a onetime deal.

White looks to his counterpart, and Black returns the stare. While their personas told different tales, their eyes told the same story: melancholy with a hint of sadism. Their matching, single orb, wine eyes glared at each other from one end of the room to the other.

White Joker was the first to break tension, his grip on his infant son tightening, causing Corvo to shoot his ocean gaze up at his father, questioningly. "You've done well, dear Alice. Though, I wouldn't expect anything less from you." His warden shoes clicked together, standing close to Alice's cot and leaning down to peck her forehead. "I could only imagine how tired you are –"

The Ringmaster was lightly peeved over the arrangements that his two newest daughters were born within the birth of the Prison Realm. The man might be the Devil in disguise, but he could never fathom the audacity that his children would be brought into – this dimension. To think, his bloody counterpart smuggled his way into talking his dear Outsider down here.

Alice gave into a tired chuckle, though, the mirth was rather clear within her eyes. Blinking with innocence and smiling even with faint exhaustion. "I am. But I'm sure I'll be fine after a nap. Something to last me nine time shifts would be perfect." She finally huffed, and fell back into her pillows that supported her back pain.

"Now you're just being lazy," The Warden cringed, holding Percival to his side while she held on to the sleeve of his uniform. If it wasn't for his words, or his bleeding frown, Alice would have mistaken him for someone admirable with the way he held his curly-headed daughter securely to him. "Someone has to make dinner."

"And why not you?" Alice countered, sighing pleasantly against the weight of both of her newborns into separate arms.

"Because Daddy can't cook –"Percival whispered, a sly smile taking a peculiar form.

"We honestly do not expect you to get out of bed, Alice. Ignore Joker." White added, waving off his counterpart's side comment. "Just sleep."

"Fine, fine, brat. You do deserve sleep." Black Joker leaned in to kiss the hollow of her cheek.

White

"Momma and Papa said I shouldn't talk to strangers. I don't know you – so you're a stranger." Percival tries her best to round the gentleman that cuts her off on the crossroads that led from her father's personal tent to The Big Top. Wine eyes widen, darting to scenery before she is pulled to look into the face of the eyeless gentleman with a cheap grin. There was nothing charming in the way the man curved his lips, but he tried so hard to appeal to Percival's comfort. Truly tried to make her understand his standpoint and whatever fabled tale he entrusted her with.

"I'm no stranger," said the faceless with a muffled chuckle, and adjusted his attire with the flat of his hand, "I'm a friend to your mother's. She told me to fetch you for lunch. Now come along –"

"– But I've had lunch hours ago. That is a lie and people are not supposed to lie. That shows bad character. Well, that's what my Papa said." The child quizzically tilts her head at the stranger, "Now may I go? I wanted to tell my Papa I saw more kittens under one of the animal carts near his tent." Again, Percival tries to move around the lanky figure, cut off by the vision of clad pants leg. This leaves the child to frown, hard. She's simply adapted to her father's bold nature and her mother's brash anger, and it completely spurs her when this man denies her passage. "Excuse me, sir." Her tiny voice rises, but the man is not threatened by the child's stature. Comically, he found the situation humorous.

"Now, now. Didn't you listen? Your mother asked me, personally, to retrieve you. You wouldn't want to be in trouble, now. Would you? I'm not known to be a liar. It's completely rude to call someone a liar." Her father taught her not to lie? Now – that was laughable. The man oozed in all sorts of lies. Hell, even his smile formed upon the very basis of lies and fibs.

"I wouldn't know that to be true, sir," And what a well-spoken child she was, the faceless was mildly impressed, "With you being a liar and all. Because – I simply don't know you. And I'm not rude!" The child balls her fist, curls her fingers into her palm.

"It's also rude to raise your voice, child." Percival fumes, but the faceless keeps his subtle smile. There's something hinted in his grin, and the way the man smiles and shows his teeth haunts the child. When she takes a step back the man takes one forward, determined to win her favor.

Percival has never met such a thing. Something as diabolical as the use of man and their destructive purpose among a younger generation, foreigners even. Owning a young treasure would be a unique prize, peeving the notorious Joker – even more so. Foreigners were like tiny music boxes. Their heartbeats are like particular melodies, offbeat and constant. They understand the purpose of love and all their monstrosities – it wasn't fair.

This faceless had no idea what he was getting himself into. Perhaps he was too selfish to remember that even the Jokers, harlequin of The Circus Grounds, understood the properties of dreams and figments. He would find out, and perhaps he already knew this man's intention with his daughter and was simply watching the play.

"Now – come along." The Faceless finally mumbled out.

"No." Percival countered, pulling away from the shadow of the taller figure that loomed over her delicate one.

"You wouldn't want to upset your mother." The man added, reaching out with long fingers, curling digits around her lanky wrist and tugging hard to his side. Percival stumbled, bumping into his knee with a sharp hook of his tug.

"I can go see my Momma on my own. Please, let me go!" Percival yelped under constriction of the man's hand. The pressure from his grip was tight and painful, leaving the outline of thinning whelps against her porcelain skin. Percival was an easy feat for the man, dragging her off the crossroads and into the thick of Everglades. Percival was a good girl. She tried to listen to her parents when a stranger tried to sway her away, but the weight advantage was a dilemma.

Percival was going to learn that the most horrifying monsters were not the ones that laid in wait under beds, nor the ones that haunted the dark reaches of jarred doors and hollowed closets. Not all monsters were ugly. Not all monsters were disfigured. Sometimes, the most evil monsters looked like average humans with the most beautiful smiles.

"I want to go back." The man's back pressed against the bark of the tree, keeping hold of his permanent smile. "I want to go back to my Momma and Papa." Percival's voice dies when she takes hold of her environment of twisted signs that bore loud colors, and protruding limbs of trees that shot out like mazes.

"I will be your Papa now, young miss," said the Faceless with his ongoing, mocking grin. "Why keep you held up in that old circus? you could be shared with the lesser crowd."

"Shared?" Percival's eyes brim with a fresh lining of tears. She squeezes her eyes painfully together to hold back her troubles. The child had no idea what the man talked about, but it terrified her that this stranger could abduct her from her home and tell her that she was to be shared. She felt weak and it wasn't even her fault.

"Yes, shared," he clarified, "Not everyone is as fortunate as you to own a heart. I won't hurt you – I just want you near." And what a bizarre wish.

But as the man was about to lean away from his tree to push Percival deeper into the forest, a wire shot out and wrapped around the girth of the oak. The fluid sweep even manages to wrap around the faceless man's neck, strapping him down securely to the bark of the tree. Once bound, the wire tightens and ensures no hope of movement. Instinct is all that this man owned, and he desperately tries to pull away at the wire from his neck.

"Now – how selfish." Percival widens her eyes in fear and wonderment when she hears the voice from behind the great vegetation of the forest. "Going around and stealing young girls from homes? Situating and dubbing yourself a role that you have no business in, also? Now, that's a capital crime." The voice chimes happily, and the wire digs into the flesh of the faceless man's neck. "Know your place Card."

It was Percival's father, The White Joker. And he seemed all sorts of mad over the idea of a strange fellow putting his hands all over his little girl. The notion was terrifying, and Percival bit her tongue when she finally saw her father's face.

"Papa?" She called out weakly, stumbling helplessly to catch her father's side and press her face against the side of his thigh.

"I don't see why you get them all," the faceless rasped out, and Joker loosened the whip around the faceless man's throat just enough to give the man room to talk, but balanced out his even breathing. The faceless plucked at the whip, trying his best to remove the restraint but it was all out of vain. "You. Had no business in winning. You shouldn't have won. It was Wonderland's law. You want to talk about crime? Why not look in a mirror?"

"I won fair." The Harlequin hummed, "Not like some silly card, like you, could have a chance."

"You got them all. You get to listen to them. Their hearts." The man choked, he stuttered and coughed. Percival was absolutely mortified. She backed away from her father that painted a new outlook. His hand on the handle of his whip tightened and he wrapped his hand several times around the wire to deepen the hold on the man's neck. The White Joker was clearly finished with listening and just wanted the man dead.

The man died unnaturally, a haze of a blue tint plagued his skin over the lack of oxygen that flooded his lungs. The Joker's hand freed once the faceless slumped to the forest floor. Joker practiced his smile once he turned around to face his daughter, bending from the waist he tried to greet her, wishing away her fright. But the child pushed away. She screamed at the top of her lungs.

Joker's fingers recoiled and disdain was a bitter color for him. "Come along, Percy. Papa – meant nothing by that. The man deserved to die. People die, love." With every step he adds, she distances herself until she stumbles back. When she feels cornered by her own father, she begins to cry.

She continues to cry when she feels arms wrap around her body, and he draws her in like a web. "Shh. Please don't cry," he tries to comfort her bleeding voice, running his long fingers through the strands of her long hair, "Papa would never hurt you. You know that."

Sometimes – monsters were the people who you loved the most. That was the first time Percival has ever seen her father kill another, and the first one she remembered.

Black

Wandering blindly through the Prison Realm is prohibited. Percival always did question the reasoning behind such a rule. But her father would send her on her way and told her to go play with her toys while he filed something away in the back office.

There was a room that was hidden away in the back of the prison. She's seen it about a thousand times, and she's only dreamt about it in half that time. Percival's tempted, and she bargains with herself if she should open the door or not. But then she feels an off-feeling every time her fingers wrapped around the brass knob, and turns. Every time she pulls away, she'll stare, waiting patiently for her father to pass and take her on her way for their routine walks down the amble halls of gutted prison cells.

Today was going to be different.

"Corvo, you're so heavy." Percival rasped out, holding her younger brother securely to her side. His feet were almost touching the concrete floors from underneath them as she guided them both down the dimly-lit halls.

Percival sat her brother down on the floor for the moment when they came into view with the familiar sight of the door. Corvo would babble his baby verse, and Percival would jimmy the door open, turning the knob and using her shoulder to apply pressure against the wooden frame. Once the door gave in, Percival quickly gathered her younger brother in her arms again and stepped behind the door, kicking the side of the door to close it behind her.

Veering down barely lit halls, entering a display of white light, Percival and Corvo are greeted by the constant sounds of clocks ticking in odd times. Bewildered, Percival entered deeper into the room. She's amazed by the beauty of crystal-like clocks that hung to floral accented walls. The clocks were see-through, a fine translucent texture of glass showed the insides of working clocks; the cogs and springs were golden, and not a single clock bore the same time sequence. The room held different mirrors, cornering the children in different angles; each frame held a different expression of the children – except for Corvo whose face was surprisingly calm.

There was a sense of awe that flooded Percival, but morbid curiosity blinded her when she carefully sat her little brother on the hard floors again, leaving him to crawl to the adjacent end of the room and run his tiny hands against the surface of a rounded mirror.

Something as pretty as this didn't belong in the back of an old prison. The very mention of this room dumbfounded Percival, and she internally questioned why her father kept this amazing secret. Percival could feel a swell of fondness for this room deep in her chest, and she skipped over to see the perched clocks that bent in different angles and ticked their droning melodies.

There was one clock, however, that did not join in on the music of ticks. Three o'clock stained one face of the crystal coo-coo-clock, but Percival was too small to correct the time in a timeless state. She glanced around the small room of crystal and mirrors, watching her brother run his hands over the flawless texture of mirror, then averted her gaze to a coffee table that would be deemed reasonable height to correct the clock.

Treading over to the sturdy table, she wiped her hand over the surface, collecting dust. She'd cringed, but is intrigued by the perfectly standing vials of crystals, topped with hearts, stand erect upon the dusty surface. Five vials stood proud, each container has collected a certain amount of liquid. One vial is filled to the brim and capped off, while the rest had yet been filled.

Carefully, and with much skill, Percival moved the delicate vials off the table and set them in a perfect row upon the floor. She then shifted, grabbing the coffee table by the legs and scooting the furniture in front of the clock with the preserved time.

While Percival was busy with shifting the table, Corvo was much more fascinated by the image over the looking-glass. Stubby, delicate digits thumbed over the glossy surface. Revealing a rather happy infant on the other end. Corvo squinted his blue eyes, staring at the image of himself that showed the opposite of emotion. When his hand ran over the image of his face, a hand shot out, and yanked the child through the glass. Devouring his tiny figure, and enwrapping him like water. The image distorted, but smoothed out. Percival didn't even hear her brother yelp. It was like he wasn't even in the room at all.

Percival finally pushed the table in front of the clock, and climbed up. Her index guided the hands of the clock around and around to conquer some empathy of life into the timed machinery. But she found that she couldn't move the hands of the clock, and that the hands are stuck permanently upon an odd hour of three.

"Runt?" Percival shrieked, quickly snapping around on the table. Her vision flooded with the sight of her father, arms crossed and looking mildly amused by his daughter's expression. His shoe clipped the edge of the table and he leaned in close to his daughter.

"Daddy!" Percival gasped, arms quickly wrapping around his waist, hoping to worm her way out of whatever trouble that she's insured. Punishment never happened, instead, Black Joker thumped loving through the red strands of her hair.

"Runt," Black Joker hummed, "Didn't I tell you not to enter this room?" There was nothing bitter in his tone, it sounded oddly submissive today.

"I know. And you did! But –"

"–But?"

"But I was so curious, uh, sir!"

"Curiosity killed the cat," said Black drolly, hoisting his daughter up into his arms. The Black Joker was a complete contrast to the white room around him; decked in black uniform and the red lure of his hair that framed his features. The notion that her father could own a room like this was clearly baffling. "Now, runt, where is your brother?"

Percival looked around the room, high atop her perch and resting on her father's hip. "Uhhh? He was just here."

"Clearly." He shifts his gaze to the mirror, sighing impatiently when he walked over to the rounded glass. His fingers ran mindlessly across the surface, and Percival gasped when she looked into the mirror that plagued her with an opposing vision. Her father's reversed image looked so cheerful. So – unlike him.

Percival held her breath when her father's hand began to sink into the mirror, digging deep into whatever open-mouthed world that swallowed his arm. It took him a moment, searching around in complete darkness and feeling around, but Corvo soon came from behind the mirror.

"Ah, and Runt?" Black hoisted his son on his other hip.

"Yes, Daddy?"

"Twenty minute timeout for disobeying."

"Ugh!"

There was more to this room than what their father was saying.

Bed

Percival refused to talk to White for three days. Clearly, the distance was a pain and White tried his best to catch his daughter's interest, but she kept muttering about seeing monsters or whatever childlike illusion that horrified her. Percival even refused to sleep in her parent's bed for a while. Alice was skeptical about what happened. Black knew, but didn't say anything.

"Papa." Percival would finally come along, stumbling to White's side of the bed and placing her tiny hand against the hollow of her father's face, thumbing questioningly over his black eye patch, hoping that he'd stir in his sleep. "Papa –"Percival whispered, trying her best to climb over the side of the bed.

White's breathing slackened once he caught the tiny silhouette of his daughter in the thick of darkness. "I-I can't sleep." Percival whines, and he could hear a tone of disdain tug at her vocal cords.

White leaned off on the side of the bed, cradling his daughter and pulling her close to his chest. Percival adjusted against her father, pressing her forehead against his and sighing with exasperation.

He promised that nothing would hurt her. Even the most haunting man in Wonderland cradled a doubt of fear.

-x-

A/N: Sorry it took me so long to update. I sorta, well I did, go through a breakup (how fun) I broke up with him - so eh. (Been with the guy for three years) ANYWAYS!

Atlas: (Roman) Means navigator. Mythology states that Atlas held up the world on his back. Atlas is the older twin to Amity, and she'll be shown as the stronger sister from her twin. Always taking care of Amity.

Amity: (Latin) means friendship and kindness. Amity is more understanding to get into trouble, opposed from her sister. But they're both equally troubling.

Also - I just think that Black Joker doesn't really call his kids by their names, but instead gives them nicknames that they don't really care about.

Hints:

1. Keep in mind about the room that Corvo and Percival visited.

2. Three o'clock is symbolism to Alice in Wonderland - more associated with afternoon teatime. In the original: The mad hatter killed time at a singing party and was punished to be forever in teatime, hence, three o'clock. Three o'clock will be an important factor later on.

3. The five glass vials with one full and the rest that barely have water.

4. The mirror that devours things and people. It also shows the opposite of emotion.

5. The faceless that mentioned a game that involves The Outsiders, but they are unaware of the game. It's against the rules to tell them.

6. Hearts (Of course)

7. Corvo's eye color compared to the rest of his sisters'. (There is a reason behind this, but that will be discussed at a later time.)

8. The Terminology of the Jokers being know as monsters.