HORRAER

The older man give the younger the stink eye. “This isn’t what I normally get out of it,” he moves to the couch to sit down. He takes another deep breath to help clear his lungs, “and I get…bored.” He hated to admit it, but a part of him still enjoys the business. He likes to say he’s retired, but in actuality he’s more selective of jobs he takes and how many he takes. Only ones that really interest him now. 

“Can’t spend the rest of my days in my workshop, would bore myself to death no matter how much I enjoy it.” He’s quiet for a moment and rubs his face, “I really need to find something else.” 

“No shit.” Jai mutters, leaning against the wall. He’s watching him more carefully then his posture relays. Gotta make sure the old man doesn’t kneel over on his watch (Aidens most likely hardier then he is, but let him have his protective moment)

     A slight shake of his head in response to the man’s apology, but he pauses as Jervis trails off. There a sadness in the other he’s never noticed before. One hidden behind ribbons, ruffles, and rhymes. But deep down, Jervis was just as broken as every other Gothamite. Whether its the city itself is poisonous, or merely a location to which venomous spirits are drawn, they were all sick.      And Victor? He was sicker than most. This he knew from a young age. And yet, for some reason, he can’t help but worry about this stranger. “Much..?” Victor asks softly.

“Much.” He nods, the word is more grounded then the last, an echo of Victor rather then a mere link in a chain of repetition. The Hatter’s eyes rise to meet his, connecting in commonality with something that is, by necessity, often written over in his Wonderland. “My thoughts are often... editorialized, cut down for size. Why leave the pain behind?”  He laughs, softly, self deprecatingly, and waves his hands in graceful, explanatory arcs. “I don’t believe I quite remember the making of the marks. It didn’t happen at tea-time, and it’s always time for tea.“

He’s treading close to lucidity, now, and that’s something he does his very best to avoid at all costs. But Jervis lingers in the moment, without a single metaphor left to express himself, and takes note of Victor’s tone. It strikes him unusual,  has he ever heard it before? He is, among other things (a booker, a baker...) a collector of oddity, and this, he decides, is an oddity he’d rather like to hear again.

There really was no place like home. Nightvale was fine, his work there necessary, but he had to say he was glad to be back in good old Desert Bluffs! At least here people knew how to decorate, and he didn’t have to work with that old outdated, dry recording equipment. And to return with such a success to report, and the towns Voice in tow, well, he was practically giddy with delight (several levels above the usual levels of delight recommended for work)

While it hadn’t been his decision to sedate Cecil, he had to admit, it had made things much easier, and besides, the radio host could be a bit of a mood-killer at times~

Still, some part of him sympathized, even as it tried to push away the thought of how similar Cecil now seemed to himself, back when Stex shifted from minor worry to looming threat, when it bulldozed his own resistance and... and made him so much happier. Right. Yes. Remember, compassion has no place in a corporate workplace, and neither does anything that could, possibly, be interpreted as a twinge of guilt! He had a job to do! It’s only fitting for one radio professional to look after another, and he knew from experience that those drugs were rather strong!

Kevin greeted Cecil with his usual beaming smile, shaking a spare bit of gore free from his hair (he simply had to freshen his studio up a bit, and, well, you could understand him going just a bit overboard, he had been homesick!)

“Cecil, you’re awake! How wonderful. No, no, they just sent me in to check on you, make sure you were doing well~  The sedation can make you quite woozy, so be careful!“

     “Get off,” Hissed Scarecrow as the other invaded his space, jerking his shoulder free from the Hatter’s grip.      “He’s not dead.” Snappish reply was quick to follow, as he observed the collapsed body from a safe distance. The Bat was as good of an actor as any of the foolish celebrities on television; having fallen victim to a number of his tricks in the past, the reaper would not find it surprising if the shadowed figure disappeared within the blink of an eye ( or was upon the duo with handcuffs ).      “Either way, we can’t afford to stay here. Come on, Tetch.”

“Can a man of nightmares not perchance to dream...?” he huffed, mood drawn down somewhat by the Scarecrow’s reaction. A glance back at the prone body.  “Ordinarily I’d abhor an attempt to life the veil, but I do think we would be amiss not to dispell the darkness in which the jabborwock sits...”

“No thank you.” Cecil’s voice was laced with disgust. He suppressed the urge to lean away from the other radio host, not wanting to show any sign of weakness. But for all his effort, he couldn’t help but shudder involuntarily at the sight of his gaping smile. “You may have fallen for their vile tricks, but I won’t be making the same mistake.” 

He pushed away from the counter, coffee abandoned. He made a mental reminder not to make the stupid mistake of getting caught in the break room alone with his double again. There was still some time before he was required back in the booth, and there was no escape, lest he wanted to leave the station or beg Station Management for refuge. He tortured his bottom lip with his teeth, feeling his tattoos crawl lines of disquietude across his skin.

“Tell Lauren and Daniel not to come barging in again, would you?” Their intrusions weren’t so much appreciated as they were detested. He balled his fists, clenching his fingers. Lauren could play at being a Voice as much as she wanted, whether they liked it or not, Strex still needed him. 

“And I’ll say what I like. Cooperating with your authoritarian corporation is the last thing on my mind.”

Kevin snagged the coffee from where it was left and took a sip, having already drained his own, and always grateful for an extra jolt of caffeine. Strex’s hours were long and late, and they only became more so as you advanced up it’s ranks. Exhausted employees were compliant employees, after all, and with enough stimulants, they would complete just as much work. They made sure of that much.

“Well, that’s not a very friendly attitude to have towards the members of your Strexcorp Family.“  His laughter is more of a reflex then an expression of mirth, like punctuation to the sentence. “And Daniel should be happy to respect your wishes, as long as they don’t go against his programing or an order from Strex, Lauren, or me! I’ll see what I can do about Lauren, but don’t you be telling her about that. It can be our secret!“ He winked theatrically and took another sip of coffee.

The lack of levity in Victor’s voice catches his attention, large brown eyes signalling concern as Jervis looks up from the card he’d been attempting a quick repair on, the sparks he had been creating dying like embers as his attention is re-directed.

A good deal deaths the Hatter left in his wake were, at least arguably, bloodless ones. An overloaded card could short out the brain, a man could be dragged under hypnosis too deep to come out, and he did have that nasty little habit of abandoning his toys... Immobile without orders, they often perished of hunger or thirst before the police could hunt them down. Still, for all his primness, he wasn't afraid of a spot of blood. It was all part of the show, after all. a spotlight, swelling music, a spray of blood corn syrup, and the curtain drops for intermission. Nothing he hasn't done before, of course...

But he can't shake the smell of iron, and wonderland has gone a flat as set dressing in the face of the gore it juxtaposes itself against. It has lead him back to his March Hare for aid, blood-stained and shivering without chill, his ax discarded, his eyes glassy with self-delusion. He offers a weak smile, a chuckle.

“You shouldn’t be afraid to! Strex-regulated amounts of personal and extensional despair can be necessary during these stressful times of change.” Kevin said, his voice imbued with plastic warmth. “Really, I’m not sure what you’re so upset about! You still have your job, after all, and isn’t that what’s most important?“

His remark was one out of concern, and not meant to maim. Though, his tone was so rarely woven with sincerity, he doesn’t completely blame the other from pulling away. Victor’s lips part to offer an apology, yet no sound spills from them. Instead, the air is quiet and thick. “The Hatter is … an architect? A conductor? A magician?” He finally offers in response.

“ Track her down ey? “ They tap their chin in thought, really pondering if they were up for a little game of cat and mouse. Oh, who were they kidding, of course they’re gonna help out Nikola! They grin, nodding, “ course i will! Sounds like a grand ol’ time “ 

“Wonderful!“ Nikola pats their head twice, without gentleness, and  twists, segment by segment, to turn her back on them. “You’re a darling~ Try not to waste time, we are on a schedule!!”

- He has chronic pain from what Strex did to him, and usually walks with a cane, which he’s decorated with stickers and some teeth charms that hang off the handle. It has extra grip on the tip so it doesn’t slip on blood or viscera that’s so often on the floor.

- His eyes were solid black under strex and still are when he records, but when they’re not, his pupils are rectangular, like a goats

- He wears gold beads in his dreadlocks and usually keeps his hair tied back. The tips defy gravity slightly and sort of float around, but its nowhere near to the degree that they used to.

- Very good at cards, but doesn’t play much.