Chapter 40: (Wow. 40 chapters. That's…a lot. Dang. Well, kudos to you that are still here after all that time! I hope you're still enjoying it. C:
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Umm…yeah. That's everything. Here's the update!
This chapter has been rated T+ for LANGUAGE and SUGGESTIVE IMAGERY.
And now, ON WITH THE CHAPTER)
"Son of a bitch!" Ace hissed. He crouched, extending a hand. "Damn they really did a number on him."
"Can you fix him?" Ace turned, facing his companion.
"…Well yeah. He is a construct of my imagination. But it's going to take some time, which we don't have a lot of right now." He sighed. "…It might be better to just leave."
"What?! You're the one that dragged us all the way out here, despite some very important facts – such as the fact that Mr. Savage is still after us, need I remind you – and now you want to just leave?!"
"Well the Jabberwocky's coming, and a fight against him is not something I'd willingly sign up for. And Hatter will eventually fix himself." That had the figure pausing for a minute.
"…Excuse me?"
"Yeah. He's the construct that contains the piece of my mind labeled 'logic.' The 'logic' didn't die, and so in an attempt to rebalance itself Wonderland will eventually reanimate him." Ace looked down at Hatter, brows furrowing slightly. "…All this does is get him to shut up or sit still for a while. But why would they…?" Ace trailed off, confusion on his face. His companion was staring at him in incomprehension.
"You're telling me you left the only safe place in Wonderland to come here for something that you didn't even need to fix?" She looked worried. "Ace…" Ace turned to her.
"No, no, no. We needed to come. This wasn't the only thing we had to do. You know they wouldn't have been able to deal with Queen as he is now. I had to get him out of the way for them. Now, after what we did, assuming they aren't monumentally stupid, getting through the Red Palace shouldn't be too hard, which means they'll be able to get me out faster." His companion looked confused.
"…I just don't get it. If you can leave the Sanctuary, why don't you just go and meet them? Wouldn't that be easier for everybody?" Ace sighed, looking down at his hands and flexing them.
"Well…two reasons. The first: because of Mr. Savage's little embargo, I can't really leave. But I can project my consciousness onto a specific place in Wonderland. Only half of my mind is here right now. The other half is currently in a state of…well, stasis to avoid confusion or disorientation until I can reconnect with it. It took a damn lot of practice, and I wouldn't be able to do it if Serpent hadn't told me how. The second reason…well…" Ace's eyes trailed off in the direction Thatch, Marco, and Whitebeard had gone. "…if they can't save me from this, they can't save me from Hare. And I'd rather die down here than up there, by his hand. So we'll keep watching them from a distance, and keep the Jabberwocky from tailing them. And when they start getting closer, I'll reconnect with the other half of my mind and meet them at the Sanctuary."
"Why is the Jabberwocky tailing them? We've had to drag it off twice now." Ace took a deep breath.
"Well…they're foreign. They technically don't belong here, and the Jabberwocky can tell. He's my subconscious, the guardian of my conscious mind. He sees Marco, Thatch, and Whitebeard the same way a white blood cell sees bacteria. He doesn't…think when he goes after them. He just does it because that's all he is. So we have to give him something to chase to keep him from getting to them because the Jabberwocky simply doesn't have limits, and they couldn't deal with it."
"Why do you risk so much to protect them?" Ace sighed, face a mix of confusion and pensiveness.
"…That's what I need to ask them."
After exiting Hatter's domain, it was with mild trepidation that Marco acknowledged approaching nightfall. The sun was already low enough to begin painting the sky a vague, half yellow, and he estimated they had another hour or two of daylight, tops.
Marco didn't know for sure, but he had a feeling they'd want to be at Caterpillar's before nightfall.
In the original Wonderland, Caterpillar's domain had been in a woodland of sorts, but Marco didn't see anything like that nearby. Only a distant haze, like smog or factory smoke. It hung like a greasy shroud over a patch of distant landscape, and Marco thought he could make out the shape of vague buildings through the haze.
"I see you've already deduced your direction." Marco jumped and spun. He instantly went mildly defensive, setting one foot subtly apart from the other in a loose stance.
"Cheshire." He grinned at them, that wide smile the same as ever, cold blue eyes regarding them like they were particularly interesting bugs under glass. Marco noted, with mild justification, that Whitebeard and Thatch had also taken up subtle positions, ready to react as the situation called for it, ready to attack if the opportunity presented itself. Cheshire looked between the three of them, arching one brow.
"…What? Do I have something in my teeth?" Shit. He'd noticed. Oh well, it didn't matter.
"What do you want, Cheshire?" Cheshire sighed and shook his head.
"Always questions. Bad habit. I would have thought you'd grown out of it by now." The three regarded him stonily, silently. He looked between them curiously. "What? Did I murder someone's favorite aunt?"
"Tell us what you are, Cheshire." Marco demanded frostily. Cheshire's gaze shifted to him, nothing kind or happy in his smile or the chips of ice he called eyes.
"Oh! You think you can order me around? That's cute, birdie blue-breast. But you have no authority over me." Cheshire's tail was lashing in agitation. "You better watch what the fuck you say to me. I'm your only ally down here, and trust me when I say you don't want me as your enemy." His glare evaporated, abruptly shifting back to calm. "Now that that's been sorted, let's get down to busine-"
"You should answer Marco's que-"
"Here's a riddle." Cheshire's eyes had closed, and his neck twitched once. He took a deep breath, seemingly trying to calm down. "When is a croquet mallet like a billy club?" He opened his eyes, suppressed wrath in his gaze. "I don't trust your intelligence, so I'll just tell you." His voice dropped to a snarl. "The next time you cut me off." Deadly silence filled the air for a moment.
"…Hatter said things, Cheshire. Things that have made us wonder about you. Why not clear up the confusion and we can all be friends again? Easy as that. You can't blame us for not blindly trusting you." Thatch said calmly, trying to ease the tension. Cheshire's gaze drifted to him. He blinked indolently.
"You seemed willing enough to do it before." He sighed. "…it wouldn't even do any good." The three pirates looked at him in confusion.
"What does that mean?" Cheshire's eyes closed with a melodramatic sigh of disappointment.
"…Phrase it differently." He said flatly.
"I would greatly appreciate it if you would explain what you meant by your last statement, if you please." Thatch ground out between clenched teeth. Damn Cheshire could be a pain in the ass.
"Well, what I meant was that even if I told you something like, 'I am not Mr. Savage' you'd have no way of verifying it and you distrust me so much you wouldn't believe it. So it's pointless. So I'd rather not waste the air, thank you very much." Cheshire said calmly. "And don't you think you're being a little unfair? What have I ever done that has been anything but to your benefit? All you have against me are Hatter's words. Do they really speak louder than all my actions and advice?"
"Hatter can't lie." Whitebeard said guardedly. Cheshire turned near pitying eyes to him.
"How do you know that? Because he told you? What if that was a lie? Did that ever cross your minds?" He looked between them. Marco exchanged an uneasy glance with Whitebeard and Thatch. "…I can see that it didn't." His eyes went frosty. "Thanks for your deep, moving trust, friends. I'm glad I have such great allies." His voice remained snippy, offended. "Well, since my company is apparently of such little value to you, I'll keep this brief.
"As you probably deduced after meeting Hatter, Caterpillar isn't going to be as fluffy and nice as he used to be. Just as Hatter has become The Puppet, Caterpillar has become The Wyrm. Be careful. He's crafty. And he's ready for you. Don't you ever EVER get separated during your visit. Just pass through quickly." Cheshire began to disappear, skin burning away. He gave them one last, cheeky grin. "Oh, and as always, please don't die." And he was gone.
A moment of tense, brooding silence passed before Marco broke it.
"…Well…I guess we should get going. It's going to be nighttime soon, and something tells me we don't want to be out here when it gets dark." Thatch swallowed, biting his lip.
"…What Cheshire said…do you think…maybe he's right?" Marco sighed.
"…I know the facts. Cheshire has been helpful, and as long as he continues to be so, there's no cause for hostility." But something, some instinctive part of him wasn't comfortable with Cheshire. Hadn't been since he'd first laid eyes on him. But he wouldn't say as much. After all, he was useful. For all that Marco didn't trust him as far as he could spit, he was useful. So Marco would wonder and try to puzzle it out. He knew he had the answer, he just needed to piece it together. His eyes closed briefly. What is he? Why is he helping us? …Dammit, I wish I'd gotten Hatter to just spit it out.
"We can worry more about that later. Now let's get moving. We've only got another hour or so of daylight, and I'd like to be indoors before nightfall." Whitebeard said firmly. Thatch and Marco both nodded, and the trio set out towards the distant, blurry outline of the city.
Marco blinked rapidly, trying to somehow diminish the stinging in his eyes. The smoke in the air was as dense as it was acrid, and it burned his eyes and throat. Not to mention it reduced visibility and cast the already dreary city in an even drearier smog.
The buildings, filthy brown or grey, were rectangular, industrial. Ranging in height from squat, low warehouses to soaring towers. They were ugly. Still in a serviceable state of repair, but it was clear they'd been there for a while. The cornerstones were scuffed and dull, and every wall was caked with an ashy, grey residue from the smoke. That plus the brown stone underneath lent them an unflattering color. Wide, cement-paved streets ran between the buildings, and in the distance, smokestacks rose out of a large building, probably some kind of factory. In the gutter ran a nasty, filthy sludge, the water long clogged past recognition with cigarettes, vomit, and the oily residue of the smoke. Windows, occasionally smashed, lined the buildings, but were too smeared and smudged to reflect any light from the setting, distant old egg yolk that was the sun.
The streets were dead empty.
Nobody walked, nobody opened doors, passed between buildings, anything. When Marco glanced up, he could vaguely make out humanoid silhouettes through the dirty windows. All uniform, seated at desks. So uniform, they could have been the same person. And they moved in unison too, seemingly writing some kind of document. Marco shivered and looked away.
"…So. Where, in this very pleasant town, do you imagine Caterpillar could be?" Thatch asked. Marco took a deep breath, instantly regretting it as he fought not to cough.
"Well…I don't know. This isn't exactly where I'd imagine Ace's Creativity living…" Marco said.
"He's here somewhere. We'll just have to look around." Whitebeard said. He cast a glance up at the many windows. "…I don't think asking for directions is a great idea."
"Yeah no kidding." Thatch murmured. It felt somehow wrong to disturb the silence of this place any more than absolutely necessary.
"Why don't we start over here? I'd suggest we split up to cover more ground, but something tells me that's not a great idea…" Marco said, indicating a fairly wide street that led more towards the center of the city. Thatch and Whitebeard agreed, and they set off.
Finding nothing on the main roads, the trio eventually turned to the alleyways. As unpleasant as the streets were, these were even worse. Broken bottles, vomit and other bodily fluids, and a stench like sweat and bad wine pervaded these narrow, corridor-like lanes, and they stumbled across the occasional slumped figure, generally unconscious or unresponsive, eyes dilated in some kind of drug-induced stupor, clutching syringes or pipes. When passing one such figure, he suddenly lunged out, grabbing Marco's ankle, almost making him trip.
"Do ya wanna buy sum happy? You sure do look down, Peaches." Marco stumbled back into the opposite wall, yanking his leg out of the man's grasp. Thatch and Whitebeard instinctively wanted to go offensive, but hesitated. The man didn't seem to be hostile, after all. The man's attention was still solely focused on Marco. "It's good stuff. I promise it won't hurt ya or nothing. Got it at that club, and you know they only serve the best." His eyes went wistful. "Ah…I wish I could go see another show…" He suddenly burst into a fit of giggles. "But I guess I'd need legs to do that!" He wiggled two stumps, all, Marco realized, that was left of his legs. Though whether he'd lost them in some kind of accident or they'd been amputated was unclear. Marco swallowed.
"…Where is this club?" The man's dilated, shiny eyes refocused on him. They'd wandered to a spot on the wall just next to him.
"It's below, Peaches. Below." He said it in total seriousness, in total earnestness, staring into Marco's eyes intensely. Marco shivered. He didn't like seeing those hazel-grey eyes, Ace's eyes, looking like that. Drug addled, unfocused, slowly beginning to go blind from whatever chemical this poor sod was subjecting himself to.
"…Th-Thanks." Marco said, beginning to head towards Thatch and Whitebeard.
"Hey, Peaches, you gonna buy or not?"
"No…No, thank you." The man grinned at him.
"That's alright. I still like ya anyway." Marco smiled back hesitantly before turning away.
It was only when they found the staircase that Marco understood what the drugged man had meant by 'below.'
In front of them was a greasy, stained stone staircase leading down towards the sewers of the city. However, next to the pipe into which all the refuse and sludge this city had to offer was flowing was a door. Above it on a stained red sign with chipped yellow letters read the name of the establishment.
The 'Wyrm Hole'.
Of course, Marco reflected drily, Caterpillar would be in a seedy, drug-dealing bar. He exchanged a glance with Thatch and Whitebeard who both looked equally put off by the appearance of the place. But they stepped in regardless. The sooner they met Caterpillar, the sooner they could leave.
A low piano riff wandered dimly through the clouded air, accompanied by the scent of alcohol and tobacco smoke which mostly covered the ever-present stench of the smog outside.
"Alice is dead…
I want you to know
that you've fallen through a hole in the sky."
The female vocalist's voice surprised him, soft like velvet, with all the rich, sensual undertones of jazz. As they stepped more fully into the place, Marco was forced to rethink his previous deduction, averting his eyes from the stage, the singer, blushing. Of course, he amended, Caterpillar would be in a seedy, drug-dealing racy lounge. His eyes flicked up to the stage for an instant, verifying what he'd seen, before instantly finding the floor again. Jesus. What is this doing in the mind of a 10-year-old?
The Estrella had gotten some modifications since Ace had drawn it in that notebook on Shanks' ship.
"The strangers welcome you
as you lose your sanity they touch your soul."
She looked a helluva lot more human, for one thing. The skin was no longer grey-white, but pale, pale peach. The same silver, looping, beaded necklace served as the only covering on her chest, and it barely covered the necessities. Whenever she moved, in fact, a little bit too much to be considered innocent was revealed. Her skirt, still the same satiny, nearly sheer, pale pale grey, was slashed, the opening in the fabric running all the way up one creamy thigh. It rode low on her hips, letting her slim yet curvaceous figure speak for itself in bare skin.
"Let them into your mind
let them into, let me in you…"
She danced as she sang, looping, twisting, arching, graceful and lewd, the silver beads flashing in the dim light, revealing her chest with each little dip. Her skirt twirled with her, flowing about her legs like smoke.
"I want you to know that the smoke bellows out the depths of the pipe.
Caress you,
it makes you
believe anything, all the truths all the lies." Her eyes flashed out to meet those of her clients as she danced, adding some degree of intimacy.
"Let them into your mind
let them into, let me in you.
Let them into your mind
let them into, let me in you.
Magic potions, grinning fur
It's all a blur, it's all a blur
Magic poisons, royal tea
Run screaming, run screaming to me
I want you to know…Alice is dead
I want you to know…Alice is dead
Let them into your mind
Let them into, let me in you." The song concluded, the piano fading off in a final chord. Her eyes were focused just behind Marco and he turned, finding Thatch staring, enthralled. Marco clenched his jaw, reaching up and smacking Thatch in the head. He stumbled.
"Ow! What was that for?!" He exclaimed.
"Jesus Christ Thatch, that's part of your little brother up there!" Marco snapped. The piano had started again, this time faster, with less jazz. Another song was starting.
"Cut it out you two. Let's get going, we need to find Caterpillar."
"You are the pain in my throat
when you are near me I choke
everything round me screaming
Stop, don't do this!
You are the word in my heart
Every time I try to start
Everything round me screaming
Stop or lose it!
I try to run but I don't
I try to hide on my own
I really do try to die but I'm scared.
To ruin your life and mine
Hit two birds in one straight line
I really do try to die somewhere…" Whitebeard led the way through the bar, Marco resisting the urge to grab Thatch by his ear and drag him. It was dark and smoky, but it was clear Caterpillar wasn't in the room. To the left of the stage, though, was a doorway leading off to places unknown. It seemed a good place to start, and they headed towards it.
"You have your hands tipped with blades
when you hold me I'm afraid
of being cut but then I guess I'd be free.
If you weren't human I'd tense
'cause then all this would make sense
I'd know what everything was telling me.
I try to win but I lose
There's no real end I can choose
To be let free without suicide!
So now I'm just gonna do
What I can try to get through
It's now the start of a life long ride.
You are the cramp in my side
You jab at me like a knife
Everything round me screaming
Stop don't do it!
My mind's made up with a choice
For once I'm using my voice
Everything round me praising
Please keep with it!
I try to win but I lose
There's no real end I can choose
To be let free without suicide.
So now I'm just gonna do
What I can try to get through
It's now the start of a life long ride." The door was locked. And Marco doubted anyone would be handing over a key any time soon. Thatch found an eloquent solution, though, swiping some toothpicks from a nearby table. They weren't preferable lockpicks, not at all, but damn if Thatch wasn't a prodigy at opening locks after all the practice he'd had.
"I try to run but I don't
I try to hide on my own
I really do try to die but I'm scared…
To ruin your life and mine
Hit two birds in one straight line
I really do try to die somewhere." Marco cast a wary glance over his shoulder, making sure nobody was paying attention to the fact that they were breaking into the back area. His eyebrows furrowed. …I wonder what part of Ace she represents. He pondered silently. Click. The lock was open, and Marco turned back to face the others.
The door opened into an equally badly lit corridor. Little niches Marco assumed led off to other doors pocked the walls every twenty feet or so. As they passed the first, Marco glanced down it. Instead of a door, it led to a pipe. A legitimate pipe. Like, iron pipe. Large enough to walk in, with its diameter being the same height as the ceiling. Come to think of it, the walls and floors of this hallway were different than those in the lounge. Solid stone, like it had been carved into the bedrock of the city. 'Below.' The druggie's word echoed in his head. 'It's below'. He walked a bit slower than the others, falling to the back of the group. He looked down each branching pipe, looking for some indication as to whether they were following the right path or should be following one of these others that split off from the mai-
A hand clapped over his face, pressing a piece of fabric over his nose and mouth. He took a shocked gasp, and instantly his vision tunneled, going dark. Dammit! Chloroform? He tried to struggle, but it was already too late, he was gone. He felt arms close around him, keeping him from falling, keeping his unconscious form from making any sound that would alert his companions to his current peril.
His vision went dark, and he collapsed.
Thatch, further ahead of Marco, neither saw nor heard the conflict. He and Whitebeard kept walking, ignorant, oblivious as Marco was drag-carried away, down one of the side passages. It was a few side-niches later that Thatch paused, joking smirk on his face. "You've been quiet for a while now, Marco. You alright back there?" He turned and froze.
Marco was gone.
Just…gone.
"Holy shit! Marco?! Where are you?! This isn't funny!" Thatch looked about desperately but saw no trace of him. Whitebeard had turned too, and by now he was equally panicked.
"Marco! If you can hear us, please respond!" He called, voice booming into the echoing depths.
Nothing.
"I'll check some of the side passages we passed, okay?" Thatch said urgently. Whitebeard blinked at him and nodded ascent and instantly Thatch was off, sprinting down the corridor, looking left and right.
Nothing.
Thatch felt real fear creeping into his chest. He stopped, panting, next to a wall. He punched it in frustration and tension. Damn it! This…this is really bad. Fucking Cat warned us! Why weren't we more attentive?! Thatch grit his teeth, clenching his jaw till it ached. He felt bleak dread curling in his stomach. Please…please just let him be okay. He opened his eyes slowly, turning back towards Whitebeard and beginning to walk back.
Once he drew near enough to be clearly heard, he spoke, despair and worry clear in his voice. "I couldn't find him, Oyaji. I…what should we-" Thatch's cut off as a sudden sensation came over him.
Weightlessness.
His eyes widened. He was falling. He was falling. His desperate, surprised eyes connected with Whitebeard's and not an instant later Whitebeard was before him and he reached out instinctively, feeling some part of him jump for joy when he managed to catch Whitebeard's arms with his own. He didn't care about the jerk against his arms as his body weight slammed against the sockets. He hung, suspended, in the hole, Whitebeard's grip on his forearms all that kept him from plunging into the blackness below. It had been a trap door, one that had snapped open as he walked across it. He didn't know, couldn't see, what lay below, but he didn't want to find out.
He looked up at Whitebeard, breathless but beyond relieved. A grin pulled its way onto his face, one that Whitebeard returned with equal relief clear in his expression.
And then something started pulling on Thatch's legs.
His eyes widened and the smile fell away, replaced by a look of horror. Whitebeard lurched under the sudden pressure, but remained steadfast in his position, not letting Thatch go. Thatch clung desperately to Whitebeard's arms, feeling the force on his legs increasing. His hands were starting to slip…
With one violent, sudden tug, Thatch found himself falling again, away from Whitebeard, out of reach, beyond saving.
The last thing Whitebeard saw of Thatch was his shocked, terrified face, eyes widened, mouth parted in a silent cry. And it broke his heart. He stared after Thatch into the darkness for heavens knows how long, the sight of him falling, frightened, burned into his eyes. He'd failed Marco too. Now they were both gone, God knows where, and he, their father, had failed to protect them.
The trap door swung shut, barring him from following after Thatch.
Whitebeard felt a new emotion swelling in his chest, one that many of his enemies had learned to fear.
Rage.
Undiluted fury.
Whitebeard stood, spun, and crossed the rest of the corridor, finding a door at the end. Caterpillar, you better be ready.
Because when I find you, I am going to kill you for this.
He threw open the door, uncaring of what may or may not lay on the other side.
It was an entirely circular room. Empty, save for four things.
A table with some strange kind of chessboard on the surface.
An empty chair, its back towards Whitebeard.
Another chair, this one occupied, its back to the door on the opposite side of the room.
And the life-size doll currently occupying it.
It sat limply in the chair, limbs flopped randomly. There was one big difference between it and your average doll, though.
It had no face.
There was an oval-ish outline around where the face should have been, but only blackness filled it. A hole. One that stretched back into the skull and seemingly far, far beyond. Whitebeard stepped fully into the room and instantly the door slammed behind him. He heard its lock click shut.
"So." The voice seemed to come from the doll, or more specifically from the hole in its head.
"Do you want to play a game?"
(A/N: So? What did you think? I hope you liked it. C: Oh, the two songs used in it are Alice is Dead and Suicide by Hania Lee. They can be found on youtube. I do not own them, all credit for lyrics and music goes to the artist.
Hey you! Yes YOU! You fan of horror, right there! Want to take a trip into the world of the bizarre? Go on youtube and look up John Bergeron's Singing Androids. That stuff, I tell you, is NIGHTMARE FUEL. I can't believe someone somewhere in the world has that horrible thing in their HOUSE. I honestly freaked myself out watching those videos. That kind of stuff just really gets to me, so…yeah.
Well, as always PLEASE review. You would REALLY make me happy! Please? ~Mountain97)