Until a Century
Blue treetops and velvet skies; are you ready to blow your mind?
Wait until You're Married
Percival: Eight
Corvo: Four
Atlas & Amity: Three
"How did you and Momma meet?" Percival lays her book down, closing the hardcover and running her fingers down the spine to assure safety within her lap. Her legs swing off the edge of the rocker-chair, back and forth, watching her father from the circus button-up Corvo's shirt and unfold her brother's new glasses that he's recently been prescribed; Corvo despised the golden, round specs, but endured it for his mother's sake.
The White Joker slips Corvo his glasses, pushing the rounded specs up the bridge of his child's nose. "We met at The Circus, of course, you know how rare it is for me to leave," replied her father, smiling faintly down at his son who cringed over the new weight on his face; he's amused by how the spectacles made his son's blue eyes larger than they already were. "Poor thing was lost." It was an offhanded comment, but Percival perked up.
"Momma was lost?" Percival grinned, "How did that go?"
There was an air of truth from White, for once. Though, the story of his and Alice's meeting could be quite morbid. Alice was lost, but he advanced that. He contributed to her brain fevers and made her the mad one in this situation, oddly, she accepted him after the trials. "It went fine. Your mother was the most beautiful woman at the circus, still is. And I just had to – talk to her." The Ringmaster cleared his throat, "And she did gift me with the most beautiful children, too. So – I assume it went okay." Corvo's glasses were sliding down his nose again, leaving The Ringmaster to push the glasses back up and correcting him.
"When did you marry Momma?"
"Marry?" The Warden intervened, cutting White off before the chance to counter his daughter with some tale, "Me and your mother never married." Black entered the room with both Amity and Atlas, holding them in separate arms. Atlas idly tapped her father's earring and Amity, who's tired from missing her nap, pressed her face against her father's shoulder, watching her sister, Percival, with much curiosity.
The Warden still gave off the vibe of something threatening – even while he held both of his adorable daughters that were nothing but troublemakers themselves.
"I do not understand. Papa?" Percival turns her gaze to White. "I thought only married people could have children." She was such a sheltered child. She understood the properties of death, but never the struggles and passions of life – she shouldn't – she was only an eight year old girl. "That's what I read in my books."
"And you should carry on with those rules." It was odd when The White Joker became nervous over conversations that shouldn't be brought up. Not for his daughter. "I wouldn't mind – marrying your mother. Just never thought about it."
"But then, how did you have us? If you're not married, then how?"
"Should I give her the stork bullshit, or tell her the truth?" Black muttered to his counterpart, and White replied with a smile that foretold: Don't you fucking dare.
"Truth?" Percival caught on.
It's happening and The White Joker was too flabbergasted to diverge his counterpart into another subject. "That's right, Runt, the truth to your existence." Corvo tugged on White's hand, trying to snap his father out of whatever fixation he had at the moment. "See, I hate a lot of people in Wonderland. They're annoying, and so I came up with the best scheme to get rid of all these – wastes. To build an unstoppable army. How? Well, I asked your dishwasher mother and she accepted the burden of raising my Spartan Army. After we shared a special kiss and performed several live burning sacrifices, I was blessed with four, annoying children that I tolerate well enough to support my demolition army. Because of this, I'm excused from marrying your mother."
"Joker – the children are smarter than –"
"Daddy! I don't want to kill anyone!" Percival cried, jumping up off her seat and running over to the foot of her father, tugging at the edge of his jacket, "I don't hate anyone."
"You're excused." Black said simply, "Besides, I already figured Atlas and Amity are the most ruthless out of the litter, or I might kill everyone in Wonderland on my accord." The Warden shrugged, "Now, quit crying and take your siblings to your dishrag mother and ask her when dinner going to be ready. I'm starving."
Percival sharply nodded, accepting both of the twins that her father offered her. Corvo stood by his older sister and followed her out with the twins in tow. The children all ran from the room.
"She's going to have trust issues one day."
"What," said Black with a crooked smirk, "And tell her I just mounted her mother for the hell of it? Na. You really dropped the ball on that one, bastard."
What a vulgar man.
White
Her arms hurt. She's over exasperated herself in a passion of pride, holding her sword in the grasp of two shaking hands rubbed raw by the position she held her stance in for so long, blocking hit after hit, countering the weight that's put into the swing.
The two metals screeched, causing Percival to bite her tongue out of habit; she's knocked to the ground, scattering to retrieve her sword that clattered with the blunt force from the opposing sword. A disarray of her red hair obscures her vision, sweat causing the strands of her hair to stick to her forehead.
When she struggles to retrieve her sword, her path is cut off by a sword cutting thin between her and her target. The opponent's sword protrudes from the crust of the earth. The drawl back causes Percival to inhale, choking on her own anxiety and bitter defeat. She's flabbergasted, too embarrassed to look up into the single eye of the victor that showed no scorn for her downfall.
"You've done well today, Percy." Her father's voice chimes pleasantly, kneeling down to her slumped over figure that still stretched out for her sword. He reaches out for her face, pulling several strands of hair from obstructing her vision. "You're getting better every day. I can tell." He smiles, tenfold, moving over to pull his protruding sword from the ground and sliding it back down his hilt with a faint click and the scraping of metal to leather. The sword would morph back to a whip at a later time; he was much too curious in what his daughter intended next.
"I don't think so," muttered Percival, shamefully reaching over and curling her fingers around the handle of her sword, dragging it closer to her body when she stood back up, finding her ground from underneath her. She's using the sword as a crutch, her body ran ragged from the blocking; always trying to get a swing in, but it was more out of vain. Her father doesn't sugarcoat his movements, he teaches her that the world around her wants to kill her, and its not going to play favorites – even if his child was much kinder than he. And even if she owned a heart in which no one besides her mother and her siblings, the faceless would still find a reason to prey upon her.
"I believe so. Love," White walks closer to his daughter, removing the sword from her hands, damning her almost wry and tempting her enough to throw her arms around her father for a means of supporting her trembling body. "Now come on. Time to get washed up before your mother loses her mind trying to find us."
Out of all his children, Percival resembled him the closest. Her eyes a dazzling crimson, always open and watching; curious to every makeup that made up their world. Her hair red and curly, coming off in a waterfall that draped from her shoulders and extended midway down her back. Though, she was naïve, not fully aware about the world that she was born in, she was sharp.
Truthfully, she didn't belong here at all. He wouldn't let her to know that, though. He was going to force her to adapt to Wonderland's ways. And it is not uncommon that a child of Wonderland, of her age, would know how to handle a caliber or a blade.
Percival is small, but she wasn't delicate. White figured that his daughter should learn to hold her own and not rely on someone else to protect her.
"Alright," Percival grumbled, "But, Papa?"
"Yes, Percy?"
"Can you please carry me back to the tent? I don't think I'm going to make it." Percival sheepishly smiled, holding her arms up to her father.
The Ringmaster grinned hard, amused by her nature. "I don't see why not." With one arm he held her sword by the handle, with his other he picked up his daughter, having her latch on to him.
He wouldn't mind that his daughter only relied on him.
Black
Corvo has come down with the cold, a very bad case in fact. The type of flu that had him waking during odd hours of the night cycle and crawling into his parent's bed, begging for some way to subside his tremor and his muscle cramps that had him, most of the time, curled up in a ball and tangled in his bedding for a sense of warmth. The boy was much too young to understand that his body came down with something serious, very serious for his age, and didn't understand why he was restricted to bed rest while his siblings went out to play with their mother.
Nausea swept over the boy, leaving The Warden to change out Corvo's bedding again because his son couldn't understand the concept of running to the bathroom or leaning over a trashcan to rid the bile that slithered up and burned his throat. He was only a child – the action was to be anticipated.
"I have too much work to be bothered with this," The Warden muttered to himself, not meaning anything by it. He was merely agitated because his counterpart ran off before he could assert some type of help, and mildly annoyed that Alice couldn't help him – but she had other duties like housework to entertain, and watching the two youngest. The Warden cursed to himself, feeling the wavering of a headache brimming to the surface; he knew this headache was going to last all day with Corvo's crying to be held.
Corvo's bleeding voice pitched, pressing his face to his father's leg, hoping for attention. He gripped tightly on to Black's pants leg, tugging hard; there's a sense of insecurity that floods Corvo's voice. He's usually a quiet child and Black wasn't entirely use to the boy's outbursts. He blamed the sickness that riddled the child's personality.
"One sec, I'm trying to fix your bed. Tch, damn it boy, don't rub at your glasses – you'll scratch them." Corvo didn't care. His father's voice only caused him to grip harder to the fabric of his father's uniformed trousers.
Black ignored him for only the moment, smoothing out the covers that he placed over the bed. Once the bed is made, the Warden leaned down to hoist his child against him, both of them sinking on to the bedding; Black cradled his son, adjusting his comfortably.
A shiver of pain radiated down Corvo's body, breaking him into a cold sweat that had the child breathing hard. He couldn't decipher if he was hot or cold over his body's imbalanced nature. Still, Corvo berried himself closer to his father's chest, clutching his clothing out of fear that his father would leave him at his worst.
Corvo's voice faded after seconds ticked to minutes, nudging his aching body closer to his father's, hoping to obtain a sense of body heat. He wiped his eyes against Black's jacket, reminding his father to remove and fold his glasses for a later time.
The Warden merely sat still, holding the boy close to him. He let Corvo do whatever he wanted, and he had a feeling he would be staying all night in the child's room, trying to bring down his son's fever.
Alice
"Atlas, sit down! Amity, no – Ugh!"
Atlas obeyed her mother in the worse way possible; instead of slowly sinking into the bath's warming waters, Atlas thrashed and splashed into her bath, throwing water over the side of the tub. The action soaked Alice to the bone, drenching her hair that she pulled up for this very reason. Amity followed suit, giggling when she saw what her older twin accomplished.
Alice grounded her teeth, heeding her anger that bubbled to the surface; she always tended to rely on her rash behavior when something peeved her, but she had to remember that these demons were her daughters and were only but three years of age.
Atlas is moving her pink rubber ducky over the warm waters of her bath, skimming the waters steadily once Alice got her and her younger sister to settle down and to prepare for washing.
Amity grumbles and whines when her mother leans her head back to wash her hair; blonde hair becoming darker under the weight of the water, cascading and sloshing at her shoulders when Alice used a cup to dunk her hair instead of submerging her daughter. Alice begins to lather her hands with the shampoo, spreading the scent and scrubbing Amity's hair; she leaned off the side of the tub for a better reach.
Atlas becomes bored while waiting for her turn, idly looking to her mother's side and watching her sister's frown become rather visible against her thin lips, she begins to formulate a plan to get a rise out of her mother. It was a simple procedure, squeezing the sides of her rubber ducky and filling it full of water, she points the duck's mouth in her mother's direction, falsely whimpering, "Momma."
Alice looks up, arms tired from reaching out for so long and knees bent uncomfortably on hard tile. She sighs, not entirely following up on what Atlas wishes but gasps when she gets a mouth full of soapy water that drips down her chin.
The twins' shrill laugh floods the bathroom, swaying to each other when their mother finally loses her grip. Alice tries in vain to keep dry, but that never seemed to happen when it was her turn for bath duty.
Alice sometimes wonders why she had so many children. Then, sourly, she remembered that she loved them all – even if they were hell to raise.
Bed
"What? No. That's ridicules. Why would you ask me something like that?" The Black Joker crosses his arms, towering over his older daughter that did nothing but smile up at him, sweetly; she crossed her arms behind her back, swaying slowly back and forth in her nightgown.
"C'mon, daddy. Fig will be good, I promise!"
"Do you want to give your dishrag mother a heart attack when she wakes you up for the morning? Someone has to cook me breakfast and if your mother keels over – I'm blaming you, Runt." Black rose his brow over the request that Percival would take one of the lions out of their cages to come snuggle with her at night; he always assumed it was weird enough that she named one of her favorite lions: Fig.
"Mother won't even find out!" Percival stated her case rather poorly, gaining a bemused grin from White that passed the two on his way to the bedroom.
"Oh yes," White added in his input, "because a five hundred pound cat will go unnoticed by your mother. Yes – you've worked an amazing argument, Percy."
It was a cold day in Hell when both Jokers agreed with each other, and Percival did not appreciate the exchange.
"Ugh!" Percival stomped down the halls. She didn't have the energy to put up with both of her fathers in the same room; she always did wonder how her mother has done it for so long.
A/N: I'll work on my mistakes later.