BONE BURROWS

date: october 23rd. location: alley behind city hall. open to all

he has not been sleeping. of course, after such an event, it would be strange for the mayor, of all people, to have restful nights. but contrary to popular belief he is not mourning the children who have passed, disappeared, murdered (though the last part remains his own personal speculation.) rather, he is still looking down at the list in his hands, away from suspicious shadows and prying eyes, names crossed off, checked and re-checked. 

nothing has changed, though, and the mystery remains - he had counted far too many bodies at the burned-down remains but there are not enough names registered for it to make sense. he has never expected any more or less from this godforsaken city but it makes his stomach churn knowing that there is something bigger, much darker than him at play. 

he is staring at the paper and barely paying attention to his surroundings when he hears footsteps coming to him, and by the name he notices the steps are far too close, and he quickly shoves the paper back into his pocket. 

“you’ll give a man a heart attack sneaking up on him like that,” rafael states, unimpressed. “what do you want?” 

“i don’t want your heart though. at least not now. perhaps later. ‘m not quite hungry yet.” he cocks his head, oblivious to the other’s jump at his appearance. he supposes he could take it as a greeting of some sorts. rafael was always strange like that. 

( footsteps quick, quiet. things living in the snow have learned how to make steps light, footprints in around the city running in circles that lead you Nowhere again. ) 

perhaps it is too late for him to be wandering out again, but the rabbits had told him that they wanted a walk, and who was he to deny them of the october chill? the animal burrowed in his arms twitches her nose and theo pets her fur absentmindedly, delighted to have found a friend during his stroll. how silly of him to not have invited the man to come with him in the first place. 

“please don’t,” in response to getting punched every morning. “i might just die,” he’s close enough to count each pale eyelash of theo’s, close enough for him to almost feel the heat of the bruise through the pads of his fingers. he drops his hand, tugging idly at the hem of the other’s shirt, and nudging his face closer to the drink with a slight wince.

“maybe the bruises will make her think i’ve grown,” he points out—whenever he says her, he means his master, his queen, his damnation, his savior—knocking his head against the cup, even as theo attempts to slip the straw into his mouth. 

that’s a mistake. 

slushee drips down the corner of his mouth, tracing bright neon across the slope of his adam’s apple, the nape of his neck, and disappearing underneath the collar of his shirt. it’s getting everywhere, the shaking of theo’s hands not helping the matter, and k just stands there, mildly bewildered. 

… oh. “i’m sorry,” slender fingers press themselves to the coolness he feels at the line of his jaw, swiping at the icy liquid before the flicker of a tongue licks it from his digit. he shivers, feeling sticky. 

“… what flavor did you say it was, again?” it tastes like what neon would taste like. 

they are always too close, perhaps. to edges, to each other, flecks of streetlamps reflecting in eyes, hot breath on skin. forgotten things know no boundaries and soft things need to be touched to exist. 

“nonsense. Wonderland won’t let you die - at least not like that. how silly.” 

then a blink - the shaking of his fingers matches with the turn of k’s lips and red spills all over him. 

how pretty, theo can’t help but to think. the colour looks too good dripping off skin, boy shivering like rabbit-things in the snow. it is a look too familiar to him. 

his ears perk up at the apology, confused. “for what?” there’s a ghost of laughter already pulling at his lips, something about the red, the big-eyed blinking. it is mirrored, reflective; impossible not to be fond despite the mess. 

if anything, it is all the more endearing. is this what the jabberwockey felt when she first met him? 

eyes follow how k’s fingers trail over his own jawline, unblinking. he follows suit, wiping off chunks of slushie off k’s collarbone, sticky sugar reddening his lips. 

the sun sets, crimson red-bleeding across the sky. wordsmiths would describe it with words of fire or blood; boy thinks it’s too repetitive. he thinks he might have seen the sunset twice in a day, or at least the bloodspills of it. 

“sorry ‘m late. didja see the news?” the bells chime loudly at his entrance, rabbits scampering at the noise before recognizing the boy, cautiously hopping closer, noses twitching. theo picks up a choice two, cradles them in his arms and sits atop the counter ashley was working on, stray limbs dangerously close to knocking whatever brew the other was working on as he crosses his legs. 

he blinks at the apology, sliding to the ground—swear the skies shuddered when the chill touched against his blooming bruise, swear his mouth twitched into some semblance of a grimace at the condensation that dripped across the bridge of his nose. k is peering up at the other boy, and when he does smile,

it’s a slow thing that tips at the corner of his mouth, lopsidedly, laughter almost edging its way into golden-amber irises. “dunno’,” offering a shrug. he’s colliding, harder, against the edge of the cup with a slight wince. “don’t really care,” slender fingers arching upwards and curling into theo’s sleeve, again, easing back into the jut of knee against spine. 

a pause. “no ‘pologies needed,” a sigh that unfurls from underneath his tongue as if a bloodied thing, all wound and war. in the moment of exhalation, his shoulders relax, again, and he’s shifting, “’sides,” he murmurs, peering up through thick lashes at the other boy, “it kinda’ woke me up.” the sting is quickly fading, thrumming underneath his skin with a low hum. he moves away from the cup. too cold.

“are you okay?” noting the way waning light lingered within the hollows of the boy’s eyes, painting bruises gold-tinged. god-touched. he’s moving to stand, again, with a descant that hums from his throat. “yours might be bigger than mine,” gentle digits feathering across the expanse of skin—barely touching, faintly hovering over pale lashes.

k laughs, and theo follows. he needs no reason to, only knows that he likes the sound leaving his lips and he wants to be a part of the memory before it’s gone. it’s a scraping sound, think that maybe the chipped tooth has changed it, or maybe it’s just the side effects of being in Wonderland for too long  - 

“mm. i think the sun woulda woken you up, eventually. didn’t need a punch for it, though if y’do, i can give you one every mornin’.” smiles, all gums. he leans down closer to meet k’s soft-tug pulls, closer to gold flecks and warmth. 

how is he to deny the sun?

he moves the drink away from k’s face as the other stands, closes his eyes as his fingertips brush skin. reminds him of ashley’s rabbits, reminds him of some long-forgotten memory of gentleness. the ache of the bruise touched has him stepping closer. groundings. too long without it and there’ll be dirt beneath broken nails in clawings out of rabbit holes again. 

“‘m fine. had worse, i think. maybe. feels like it, ‘nyways.” he shakes his head slightly, as if remembering. “here, have a sip. or put it over your eye again - any longer ‘nd you’re gonna start lookin’ like one of the fighters at the wishbone - i wouldn’t be able to pick y’out of the crowd of ‘em fighters with all your bruises now.” 

OCTOBER 15TH, 2019. 0:00.

two (2) boys at the bar 

@rxdacteds

k gingerly brings his hand up to his eye, pupils blown wide with something that flickered dark for a snapshot of a moment, before that shuttered apathy leaves him bewildered and confused. “did i just get punched,” he asks theo, turning towards him as if in shock. and his tone is tumbling over his words, slender fingers dragging down purple-bruised skin—there, underneath the hollow of his eye. there, across the slope of his cheekbone—and alighting upon theo’s sleeve. his digits curl into the fabric—dazedly noting the texture of the way he thumbed at the cuff—in an attempt to ground himself. despite the jeers of pet that rumbles through one specific part of the crowd—breathing quickens, breathing slows, lashes hood over golden-amber eyes—he is already forgetting.  (will you ever forget the way the smoke itself attempted to smother your dreams? to asphyxiate the air and to leave you broken and crawling, whispered prayers falling short of the sky. god: read at 4:20.) “did you get your drink?” fingers slowly untangle from the other boy’s sleeve, unmarked hands dropping to his sides. maybe he’ll get punched again. 

he presses his thumb experimentally into the blotched skin; purple-black-blue, nebulous. touches are soft, curious. boys with too-big, too-bright eyes are leaning too close, spreading fingers to the border of bruises, as if to confirm ache he can feel through the careful inspection.

“i suppose so. ‘s a big one, think it might be bigger than mine. then again, i can’t tell - the store reflections made me look strange again.” either that, or his mirror-self was playing tricks on him again. his own bruised eye is too sore to tell.

“i did! ‘s cherry - want a sip? ‘s cold, might be good for your punches.” he offers the plastic cup, slush running down the edges, red-stained fingers sticky. he smiles wide, teeth showing. the chip in one of the front canines may or may not have been present at the beginning of the night.

“actually, i have a better idea - here - “ theo presses the cold cup to k’s bruised cheek, stands up to take a sip from bitten straws in the process. needs to be grounded; hands on the boy’s shoulder, leg leaning against his back, solidified in existing. it is easier to keep track of himself like this.

he hums, a tuneless thing. the streetlamps flickers to the beat, disjointed. cuts the melody off sharply, says carefully - 

The silence was deafening. The darkness consuming. She was sure that if she blinked the darkness will snuff out the light. She hugged herself as she strained her eyes down the dock. 

Suddenly saw a face with a large grin on it. It was impossibly wide with full set of teeth. Blunt. Not sharp like a monster, or was it?

A piercing scream filled the night. Mari wondered who else was in the darkness. 

It’s you, silly girl. 

She clamp her mouth shut as her hands flew to her mouth. Eyes wide in fear, she backed up a few steps. She nearly tumbled to the ground. 

“Theo!” She gasps as her dark hair falls into her face. Heart beating so fast she thought it would beat out of her chest. 

She lowered her hands a bit, her eyes still impossibly wide. “No time for games, silly rabbit.” She chided as she moved to walk past him. “I was searching….” She trailed off as she felt silly now. 

her scream has him unflinching - he’s too used to the sound, reminds him of childhoods. if anything, it is familiar. if anything, he smiles wider.

he is unblinking as he waits for her to finish, catching her breath and taking steps back. he cocks his head, unfazed still. 

“that would be me, marisol. and what are y’lookin’ for so late in the evening? nothing good ever good comes out ‘f midnight huntin’. funny. i never took you for the type.” 

he moves closer to her, careful. slow. 

“there’s always time for games in Wonderland. it’s its favourite past-time, don’t y’know?” 

he steps into the light and the shadows warping the features of his face disappears, makes him a round-cheeked, bright-eyed thing once more. 

at the price that drops from theo’s lips like dripping diamonds is the same as grasping water-logged dirt, pax lets out a startled scoff, before closing their mouth to actually consider it. they look down for a moment, tilting their head, before giving the rabbit a half-nod.

“ a sign hiding a secret, perhaps. maybe the casino is willing to spend a weekend’s worth, maybe some one else is willing to spend that weight in blood. “

their fingers twitch in the silence, so betraying limbs are jammed into pockets and roots spread from feet to the ground in protest to the way that theo looks like he’s floating. he sits on the bed and it’s only due to the tension already present that they don’t flinch.

wonderland has swallowed all of them, multiple times, multiple people, multiple dreams multiple heads multiple deaths. there’s no point counting fingers and toes when skin is replaced with scars and tongues are replaced with knives.

“ congratulations. try to keep it that way “

who knows? maybe one day he’ll piss off the red queen and they’ll come along to take the rest of it. that would be sad.

theo lies down, ghost next to invisible corpse, next to shadows of men with nail scissors lodged in chests and they take a half-step forward before stilling, barely hears him over the sound of their heart-beat that they feel they shouldn’t have.

“ sure “ this city is the queens, everything is personal.

they narrows their eyes as he opens his, clenches their fist in their pocket even as the sky comes down to settle on their shoulders. “ i’ll keep it in mind “ would you rather someone you know be your executioner? or to die in ignorance? does it matter, in the end? 

“ no, and i don’t really plan to any time soon “ the only tea they drink from the shop is the prescribed one, drunk an hour before bed, and even that, they barely trust. “ have you? “

perhaps he’s onto something, or perhaps the rabbit-boy is weaving red-string nooses for himself again - he can never quite tell, what with how stray thoughts run without warning from his mind to his mouth. 

“will we bid on our secrets then, paxie? when we all die, it seems only fittin’ that we all have a price on our little heads for what we do and don’t know. mister here will have quite the maulin’ with the queens fightin’ over what he might know, mm? funny if he had an empty head like me, wouldn’t it be?” 

he laughs a little at their stiffness, eyes flicker bright and corners of lips twitching. ghost-thing is always moving, reminder of being. he drifts from beds and back to their sides again, looking for hands to hold or shoulders to rest chins. “mm. ‘nd why would i wanna be whole? could do with a new heart, maybe, ‘nd once Wonderland’s done with eatin’ my old one i’ll exchange it for a new thing. might work better, hm.” words are said next to ears before disappearing again, grinning.  

boy elects to sit on windowsills, pausing. becomes too still. folds his limbs gently, swathes of oversized fabric rustling. 

“the mind is a fickle place to keep things. ‘ve been told to keep things in your hands ‘nstead; have your eyes on it so it doesn’t run away. words tend to do that, and promises are even worse. notoriously quick runners.” teeth when he says this, canines crooked but not menacing, yet. “can i hold y’to it? you can have first dibs on my head, dear paxie. i think i like you enough for it.” 

theo scrunches his nose up in thought, forehead crinkling as he considers the other’s question. 

“That won’t always work. There are ones that are liable to crawl down your throat before you get the chance.” After all, not everything he puts into his teas are well and truly dead when they hit the water. Being boiled alive certainly doesn’t sound like the most pleasant way to go, or so he would imagine, but that is hardly his concern.

Fear is a delicious flavor added to any brew.

“I doubt Time is interested in our shells—” he pauses to rub the brown spot from Theo’s nose, only succeeding in smudging the dirt further. Silly rabbit; he’s going to need a bath before anything when they get home. “—or ‘please’s and ‘thank you’s. Now enough about that. Remember, don’t leave this spot without me.”

As expected, most of what he gets are ‘he said she said’s, and fringe gossip dyed with the hysteric thrill of those who were not actually present as witness. Still, there are some half-truths hidden in the rumors spreading.

1. No one knows for sure who the arm in the box belongs [ belonged ] to, but there is a distinct group of individuals who wear the same long red nails and gold watch that the disembodied limb sported;

2. It was a clean cut through and through—no ragged edges, no bloody pulp, no loose ends to wrap—there’s not many, even amongst the known killers of Wonderland, who can pull off such a beautiful finish;

3. A body was found in the Silver Veil Hotel, only two and half hours after the discovery at the docks; some say coincidence, but given how both arenas had been staged, most are arguing conspiracy. Either way, the tentative equilibrium they’ve achieved these past few years seems to have finally started to break.

Cries of his name snap his attention away from the huddled conversations and back to a point over his shoulder. Theo draws curious looks as he comes charging forward, some turning to disgust when they realize what the squirming mass in his rabbit’s hands is.

“No, this will have to do,” he says, pulling out the tin with the first cockroach. “Are you ready to go?”

the problem with him, doctors always said, was that he always had difficulties processing the word doesn’t - don’t, can’t, shouldn’t - variation upon variation they’ve tried on the boy, and still be bounds forwards anyways. 

god knows when ashley says that it won’t work - that the boy shouldn’t - well, he’s prone to trying regardless. 

“well, i can try ‘nyways! there’s a chance that maybe - well, maybe it’ll crawl and maybe it won’t. maybe i’ll take my chances with it in my mouth - “ a small huff, sigh leaving lips. “ - maybe i’ll do that with Time, too, if they don’t want my pretty shells. y’can’t say i didn’t try to play nice first.” 

he pouts, crosses his eyes as he tries to follow ashley’s fingers rubbing the dirt from noses. teeth are already snapping at the other playfully, missing by only millimeters. 

“yessir, won’t leave this spot right here. well, unless somethin’ better comes along, so you better be leavin’ for somethin’ good!” 

when he wanders back to ashley, he hardly registers the eyes staring, the way people part as he dashes to the familiar figure, wide smile too fixated on his friend to see much else. besides, he has to be careful with the cockroaches - what if they fell and he accidentally ran over them? no, that won’t do - ashley likes his ingredients still crawling, so theo is careful in his dash, only elbowing three people along the way. 

“i got like - like maybe fifteen or twenty or somethin’ of the sort! they kept on movin’ so ‘m not sure if i accidentally counted a few of ‘em twice, but i think i probably got a good number of ‘em - ooh, can we keep one? just as a pet in a jar? or maybe two, in case it gets lonely? oh - oh! did y’hear anything about the arm? didja find it?” 

he’s rambling, talking too fast as the roaches fall out of his hands, sliding into the tin ashley produces. as soon as the last one as fallen in with a final plop, he’s grabbing ashley’s hand again, eagerly swinging. 

Her head cocks to the side, a picture of confusion painted on her face. “ Who says so? Hurting’s good for some things. In fact, hurting’s good for a lot of things. ” A corner of her lips tilt up at this.

After all, jobs certainly were a lot less interesting if things didn’t hurt. Sometimes people paid extra for hurt, and she certainly was not one to turn some shinies down. It wasn’t always cash she was after, as long as the value of the payment sufficed. Of course, if anyone tried to pay with stolen goods, well, she might just decide to take the most valuable Thing they had, even if it was of no good to her. Cheaters should always pay the price. 

“ There’s no should or would in hurting, Bunny. Things just do, some of a time. ” And for a moment there’s a flash, a reminder of a doted-on youngest, but just as quickly it is gone with a roll of the eyes.

“ Ol’ Killjoy’s never happy ‘bout anything, really. When was the last time he really laughed? ” But then, when has anyone around these parts really laughed? A pure, uncorrupted sort of laughter, almost impossible to find around here. “ ‘Sides, I didn’t break anythin’, I never do. A maybe dented tin is much preferable to a headless rabbit, dont’cha think? ”

A scoff escapes her lips, lower lip jutting out a little, looking for all the world like a petulant child. “ I have no queen, ” she huffs, a frown as she considers and evaluates “ Don’t know ‘bout your head, might be too much fluff to be worth much, ”  — knock, knock on the head for good measure  — “ but your hands could be. They’re so soft. ” 

( Compare with her own, no matter how much she does take care of herself, there are always minor calluses, and spare her some vanity, for Ruby is still a girl, however much of the shadows she belongs to, and perhaps it is time to put down the bows and swords and guns for a little while, switch to a more classic poison, or perhaps just pushes off ledges and maybe some rope at times for now. )

“ Mhmm, we’ll do that then. One day you’ll see just how superior Thursdays are, and we can follow the paper raven then. ” Crosses her legs on the floor, allowing more rabbits to gather as she watches him prepare a taste of Tomorrow.

Whole countenance immediately brightens up at the question, the eagerness almost radiating off her. “ There’s been lotsa excitement ‘round the lairs lately, people seem ready for some fun, and I’m ready to lend a helping hand. Wanna go down some rabbit holes? ”

he’s not sure if he understands the girl, really, doesn’t quite get the hurting and the love for it; doesn’t get why Wonderland seems to like it so much when it seeps out of the body and into the street like this, like this - 

( does it hurt? )

( of course it does. it should, but he’s not sure. not sure what it is when it does, not sure what the definition of it is; if he knows what it is to hurt, or if all he knows is the false-alarm ring of what he thinks it should be. ) 

“what good is hurting?” it only ever hurt when he was Bad, rabbit-thing unsure of what upside-down ruby lived in to consider otherwise. “doesn’t it only ever hurt for a reason or somethin’ like that? they only ever said it hurt because y’deserve it - “ 

( the walls are laughing again, echoing. there’s the click-clack of low heels down the hallways coming for him, telling him to stay in bed before they make him. where’s the blankets? he can’t stop shivering - ) 

“he laughs sometimes. with me. i think so, maybe. i think i know what his laugh sounds like - “ he frowns now, eyes already somewhere away from ruby, someplace or some other time. 

he startles at ruby’s sudden touch, jumping before wide eyes find hers again - properly - blinking too many times before focusing on her. smiles take longer to stretch, seconds or minutes. 

“can’t y’sell fluff for somethin’? a headless rabbit might do some good in that case then.” he pouts, lips jutting. “Wonderland has some queens, so so do you.” 

he stumbles behind the counter, looks at his hands and tries for the tea. he doesn’t quite remember all the little bits and bobs that ashley puts into the water, isn’t sure what the exact temperature is - ashley made it look so easy, really made it look like he didn’t need to pay much attention - but he supposes it’s close enough. 

the teacup wobbles precariously as he brings it over to ruby. 

“my hands are too stiff to be much good. can barely brew a tuesday the way ashley can, stupid things.” another frown. 

@rxdacteds 

|The Docks | Evening

Marisol wasn’t sure why she bothered to ignore her curiosity. It was the bane of her existence and also why she got disowned in the first place. She really should stop listening to herself. 

The docks was quiet and eerily shadowed in the dark. The light posts that light up the pier was all the lighting it provided. She wasn’t sure why she decided to look for the arms but here she was, silly Mari. 

She kept to the shadows and was holding her breath the whole time. Shocking she had not passed out yet. She could hear her mother chiding her for holding her breath, she use to do it to get attention or to get out of doing something. 

She let out her breath in a whoosh as she inched closer to the light. Her eyes darting around like a scared rabbit as she made sure no one was around. She eased a foot onto the dock and then scurried back into the dark when it creaked. 

Be brave Mari! 

In a rush, she leaped into the light under the old light post and squeezed her eyes shut. There was no shouting or roaring to signal her demise. She eased her eyes open a bit and looked around cautiously. 

She let out a sigh as she relaxed. 

perhaps it’s early, or perhaps late - Time has not been kind to them on this strange night, and sky battles for sunrise and pitch blackness. 

there’s a flicker of movement around the lamp post not too far from him, the familiar wave of long black hair swaying a dead giveaway - there’s only so many lurking the shadows who are unused to the darkness that comes with it. 

( and you? he’s not sure where he falls, has known white for too long, is a thing more accustomed to the snow. he toys with the shadows more than he hides in them, finds that they’re usually nice enough to play back. ) 

theo watches as the girl darts closer to the dock, footsteps quiet behind her before he ducks back into the dark, finds corners to fold himself into until she comes closer - 

- swings out from alleyways, grabbing lamp posts and sways too close to faces, wide grins stretching faces. 

gossip, secrets, shadows, half-truths, unknowns. why did anyone find any of it fun?

they didn’t let the frustration touch them, but the touch of a smile slipped away, serious like a murder scene deserves. “ sure, more expensive, what do you think these secrets are going for? “

they cross their arms as theo stands up again, watches with sharp eyes as he plays with the air. what twist of reality was he seeing?

“ wonderland swallows everything, and everyone is full of secrets. “

simple truths, but someone they ring false in this air. perhaps wonderland doesn’t devour, but plays with its food.

then their eyes meet and pax blinks lazily back, already solid on their feet, no tensing needed when you’re always taut like a spring.

their eyes do narrow a touch at the accusation, even though everyone knew what they were, what they truly did, it wasn’t something for being spoken aloud. 

“ what clean up? the hotel staff has already taken care of that. and why would the queen be looking here?  “ plenty of pressing matters, but still, somehow, words come out twisted no matter vain attempts.

the laugh is sort of chilling, but mostly sort of sad, like every broken jagged piece each person was. snap not crumble, attempt to survive.

“ why would i kill you now? “ vague curiosity, gentle reproach, threat and ice. they shrug loosely at the price, there would be people and something, but “ death is a very final price. very few people need to owe that. “ once they’re dead, you can’t keep extracting the pennies, and even those add up. 

“ hemlock tea is made from hemlock tree needles, which is a different plant to the hemlock shrub. but it takes 2 to 3 days to die from a small amount of poisonous hemlock, while it takes less for foxglove, it can also be used as a medicine to treat heart problems. “

matter of fact, they shrugged once they finished speaking.

“hm.” he considers the question, cocks his head and thinks about it for minutes too long, tapping fingers on chins. “’d say on the market... probably half ‘f what’s in velvet holdings ‘nd maybe what the casino earns on christmas. either that or just for a few handfuls of sand from the docks. ‘s hard to say. sometimes a dead body’s a secret ‘nd other times jus’ a sign, not much more. which d’ya think he is?” 

theo merely hums, sways around the room only to sit on the bed, feet swinging, hums something too disjoint to be comfortable in the silence. 

“maybe wonderland’s a slow digester. i don’t think they’ve swallowed me up whole quite yet, or at least not all of me.”

( he’s not too certain still; counts toes and fingers every morning to make sure they’re all there, tries to account for all heartbeat-stomach-churns just to make sure they’re still there - )  

he lounges on the bed now, too easily for a thing next to the dead. “i dunno - the queens are particular, no? ‘m sure it has to do with ‘em some way or ‘nother - they always take everything so personally, don’t y’think?” 

they laugh and theo thinks it sounds quite pretty. like broken glass falling, maybe. 

“who knows? maybe one day someone’s g’na have a craving for roasted rabbit ‘nd that’ll be the end of that for me. age doesn’t do well here, ‘nd i don’t think i’m to stick ‘round for much long. i could hardly mind if it was you doin’ the honours, really.” 

he says it, perhaps a touch too wide-eyed, too earnest. 

Watches as rabbits scamper free, shrugging at the accompanying hostile look, something she has long been used to in her line of work. “ Does it really hurt? Didja just want it to hurt? ” Brows raised in a challenging manner, arms rest on countertop. “ If it does, good, because I certainly had the intention for it to. ”

Ruby mimics him, picking up one of the rabbits who had come over in curiosity, buries her face in it, eyes glinting over the top of it’s head. “ Waterboy’s gonna be angry if you play with ‘em like that. ” Quite protective over them, he was.

“ Why do you assume it’s a head? Why not a finger or an eye or a heart? ” 

People were so boring in their requests sometimes, and perhaps others not specific enough. That one time a client hadn’t been too happy when she presented them with the target’s pinky, but they had asked for her to extract a promise after all. It wasn’t as if she was some thug for hire to go around intimidating people, what else did they expect?

“ Tea sounds good, the perfect thing to pair with the show I wanna go an’ watch. Tuesdays don’t though … maybe this will change my mind. Thursdays are better. ” 

Pushes herself up to a countertop now, legs crossed and the rabbit released back to her lap. Her eyes roam the store, taking in the minute changes that have happened since she last was here as she waits for Theo to dig up Ashley’s new concoction. A occupational hazard, she presumes, though the habit had started way before that.

“why would i want something to hurt? silly ruby. hurtin’s no good. ‘sides, i haven’t done anything wrong, ‘s not like i should get hurt for jus’ mindin’ my own business before you came in ‘nd started throwing things around - ashley’s not gonna be happy ‘bout that, y’know.” he pouts, lips curved downwards as he pets the rabbit in his lap carefully. “silly ruby. the monday’s been treating you strange all over again.” 

a few more haphazard pets to the rabbit before he speaks again, unblinking at the girl before him. “hasn’t a queen of ours got a penchant for necks? ‘ve been told ‘ve got quite the pretty head, y’know - could sell more than y’think, maybe. finger’s not worth much, maybe. could do better.” he trails off, eyebrows knitted in thought. 

( eyes, teeth, left limbs and skin of necks - he figures if he was to accrue it, perhaps he’d be worth a little bit here and there; enough to pay off rent for a month or two. after that, he’s not sure how much skinned rabbits go for on the market - he reminds himself to ask a certain cat afterwards, maybe see if ashley’s missing any molars that he would be more than happy to supply - ) 

“tuesdays and thursdays all start with a ‘t’ so ‘s all the same, anyways. we’ll just add more of that yellow spice to give it the ‘r’ taste, if you’d so like.” he bustles from behind the counter, glass clinking as he shuffles around the shop. 

“Yes, but there is a process to tea Theo, we’ve been through this,” he sighs, allowing familiar fingers to worm into the pocket of his palm and find an anchoring point there. His skin warms by a fraction of a degree above freezing from the contact. “You cannot simply put any raw ingredient into your mouth and expect it not to hurt you. It has to be properly prepared first.”

They pick their way down the beach, weaving around the last of the stragglers and dock workers. He has to periodically pull Theo away from the inhospitable corners his rabbit seems determined to wander into—an internal compass perpetually guiding him in the wrong direction, trying to go That Way down a This Way path.

“We were simply late by a half-step, but you know how Time is. Fickle as ever…”

He’s never been the close-type—skin on skin on bare bones has a way of making his stomach twist. It’s positively queasy, letting someone else’s body heat get so close as to leave a faded impression upon your nerve endings. But this is Theodore, all soft white fur and big wet eyes, and he’s always let the boy get away with far too much for his own good. So he doesn’t pull away when the weight against his side starts to burn a little through his coat.

“Hmm, not bad,” the words are no more than a breath as he leans in close to examine the squirming specimen. Thin brown body, beady black eyes, long antennae waving as it trashed what legs it still possessed in a futile bid for freedom. Not ideal, certainly; hardly a mouthful. “A bit on the smaller side, but it looks healthy enough.”

He lets go of the hand using him for centering long enough to produce another tin from a different pocket. This one has little holes drilled into the lid.

“Why don’t you see if the rest of its family is here, as you say, and capture them, while I have a word with the loitering gossips. Don’t wander off too far now, we need to be back by 7 and there’s still the market to visit.”

words float in an out of ears, makes small talk and sits in his mind for a while before departing as he waves goodbye. the words ashley reminds him are familiar in the way a passing face is - he recalls the echo of it, but such words never stay long with him. 

“do we now? why not? can’t i just leave it on my tongue gently enough - if anything, i can always jus’ bite back?””

he grips ashley’s hands tighter, finds a grounding in the other’s cold palms. tries to find a pulse in between fingertips and finds that it matters little, so long as the other follows him, kitestring ghost trailing behind. 

“maybe if we find enough seashells Time will trade us for the minutes back again - how much is it worth, anyways? surely we could afford a minute or two - maybe if we ask nicely - “ there are those eyes, too big for faces, always just a touch to hollow-hallowed. 

he makes a noncomittal sound at ashley’s suggestion, already bending to the ground to find said family of cockroaches, poking fingers into dirt and leaning too close, brown-smudged noses when he looks up again. 

( Time is a fickle thing. he’s heard ashley say it too many times and isn’t quite sure of what it means, but figures if ashley says it enough times then it must be right. ) 

it could be hours or minutes by the time he has a small handful of wriggling cockroaches in cupped hands, carefully making his way to the other as legs frantically try to crawl out of skin-prisons.

there’s a reason why some hearts are so impossible to capture - the game’s rigged, it’s always been rigged, but fools never listen or pay attention. they blame it all on luck, or gods, or whatever the hell their little deprived hearts wish to worship. but what does luck know of remy and her casino? luck has never been welcomed into the heart’s palace with open arms, it quivers at the thought of remy and her little games. 

but it’s fun to watch her little clients,  it’s fun to see the glimmer in their eyes - the way they cling to hope is admiring. but it’s even more fun when they lose, more fun for remy at least, as she gets to enjoy in the whole spectacle from above; she’s always watching, laughing and controlling the game. 

still, some are more desperate than others, but remy can’t really blame them for being so naive. there are all sorts of addictions in the world. some pick slot machines and games at poker tables, others pick red, blue and pink pills. it’s all the same in the end, addicts always end up craving more. and more. and more. so the sweet query that fills up her ears is not an unusual one at all. 

“ while i certainly appreciate your enthusiasm and the fact that you’re here in my casino, i’m afraid that i can’t give you anything for free.  not even a dollar or two, my sweetie. do you think i would own this casino if i had given a dollar or two to every beggar ? especially to the ones who had thought that batting their eyelashes would help them get what they want, ” she chuckles, but her cheeks remain frozen, as if they were carved out of marble - it’s a sign. despite her laugh, she’s not amused. 

“ not even a pretty please works on me. words, i believe, are useless in most situations. they’re so fleeting, easy to forget, here now, gone the very next second. but actions on the other hand - ”  she stops, leaving the rest of her sentence hanging in the air. if he’s smart enough, he’ll figure it out without her help. 

he’s already pouting as she speaks, childish as he slumps in his seat. fingers itch for the switch of the machines, knows it won’t be satisfied until he can find a coin or two for just one more try - all he needs is just one more chance and he’s certain - 

“i’m not a beggar i’m just - well, ‘m just askin’. you could spare just one or two - it wouldn’t hurt ‘nd it’s not like you givin’ me a dollar would bring your pretty casino here to the ground, right? just a dollar... “ 

he fidgets with the hem of shirt as he speaks, picking at fingernails and chewing at lips. he can feel the itch, always that feeling of something under skin - its teeth finds a way to his veins, begs to be pressed up to flesh. 

(listen closely now, won’t you? you can hear the murmurs of it whispering, telling you to take bladepoints to skin to dig me out, telling you to take it to the porcelain beauty in front of you to sell her pretty eyes for a quick buck, for a quick drink) 

(don’t you want to? don’t you need to?) 

(swallow me whole like the pills you used to count before you fell asleep. rabbit-boys blink too quick, close lips too tight, as if afraid of responding. as if afraid of something crawling past mouths in the process) 

“i - miss, just a quick dollar? i swear i could pay y’back two if i win? or however much you want - “ why do voices sound strangled? are lips moving? “what - what d’you want for it? i can do whatever you want me to do - just say the word.”

he punches the code in to stop the alarms quickly enough - after all, he’s rather used to this pattern of theirs now. though he can’t say that he’s learned to enjoy these impromptu visits, he’s gotten used to them, a rather unpleasant surprise.

“i didn’t buy them. you know how i feel about such frail things.” he replies, allowing himself to glance over at the flowers for a moment. a gift, from a local flower shop - foolish of them to think they could get on his good graces with something so fleeting.

he continues his way down the stairs, and steps into the kitchen, snatching the cereal box away from theodore to look at the label. “a little early for breakfast,” he mutters, pushing the box back into the boy’s hands. 

“if you haven’t heard, there’s been a murder. but of course you haven’t heard.” rafael sighs, “what sounds better to you, theodore - deepest condolences or deepest sympathy? i have to admit, i’m not particularly fond of either.” 

he blinks up at the man, twirls the flower around the waves of hair that falls in front of his eyes, petals falling onto the floor in front of them. 

“they pretty, still. you could do with some colour ‘round here, hm. the frail part ‘s what makes it beautiful, y’know? easier to break.” he rubs the fallen petals in between his fingers, watches the colour seep into skin before holding it out to rafael like an offering. “see?”

still, he pulls himself to his feet and follows rafael around the house, stopping at the kitchen to pour himself a bowl of cereal, humming as he does. he barely catches the last few words over the crunch of the cornflakes, looking at rafael with wide eyes as he tries to fill in the gaps of the half-heard sentence. 

“hm? murder? is it the arm by the beach - oh! do you happen to know where it is? i wanted t’see it but the police said no.” he frowns, sits himself on the countertop and lets feet swing. “awfully rude, don’t y’think? i was just curious.” 

he considers the man’s question carefully, moment of silence passing between them before he turns back with a wide grin. “deepest grievances, how ‘bout that? you don’t seem to be fond of much, raf. what do you like, ‘xactly?” 

frantic energy a buzzing released while they keep their’s tucked under their skin. 

they’d say they were envious, of the freedom of the impulse of the lack of control, but they’re not. they’re not allowed to be.

the roundabout, the elusive, the wordplays, all natural elements that wonderland seems to breed into every person, an inability to just speak the truth. not that they weren’t prey to the same problem, but it was layers of subtlety rather than nonsense amplifying chaos.

they don’t normally have to speak like this, don’t normally speak to people, try to avoid it, in all honesty. but when they do (when it’s theo), they sort of know what to do.

“ secrets keep things fun? a better game is gossip, don’t you think? “

they tried to relax, tried to let a touch of teasing enter their voice, their stance, their face. 

a game was the worst thing, normally left for their queen to play, and they would be a knight to cut down obstacles, a blunt weapon in the shadows for maximum impact. games, power, displays and secrets, the less they had to think about any of it, the better.

the smile feels like the shadows, cold and crazed and inviting. 

they shrug, answer “ whatever they owe “. in a place of lies, the truth often was the scariest, though again, like everything, light dances kaleidoscopic and twists the brightest sunbeams until they don’t resemble themselves. the truth, only ever sort of.

“ hemlock. socrates had to drink it with his own hand when he was executed “

he pauses, blinks before responding. “gossip? that ruins the fun of secrets, no? what a dirty thing - no, secrets are much for fun to play with, no? there’s a much higher asking price, if you ask me.” 

slow smiles. he unfurls his legs, walks to the spot marked in red, bodies hanging just hours ago. he reaches out as if he could still see him there, ghost-things asking to play. 

“what were his secrets, y’think, paxie? he must’ve known s’thing if someone’s hangin’ ‘im like that - they always do. Wonderland doesn’t like swallowing empty things.” 

theo stops in his tracks, turns his head sharply over to pax, eyes lighting up and corners of lips lifting. 

“don’t tell me - your dearest Queen? has she got y’lookin’, or are you on clean-up today?” 

he laughs a little to himself, eyes never closing. 

“and if they’ve got nothing on ‘em to pay back what they owe? what do you take from them then? ‘m sure if y’killed me now, you wouldn’t find a penny on me - s’what then? my clothes? limbs? bet you could sell my head for s’thing pretty.”

(doctors used to tell him such, coo over what a pretty head of his he has to prod and comb and twist off necks, snap-snapping. he and the hanged man are perhaps not too different) 

DATE & TIME: September 18th, 11.37am LOCATION: The White Rabbit STATUS: Closed for @rxdacteds

Two little murders and the city seems to treat it as a big deal. As if people don’t get offed all the time, it’s not as if this is a rare occurrence. She should know, Ruby’s probably responsible for more than half of them. It’s not to say that jobs outside have never been taken, but having offers right in your own backyard is pretty convenient. Besides Wonderland is where she truly feels the most comfortable.

Isn’t thinking of any particular reason to visit the teahouse, but steps take her there anyway. Perhaps the recent going ons would have Ashley inspired with a new experiment, and the cute fluffs that are always around in the shop are an added bonus.

( So soft and white and sometimes you look at your own hands and marvel that they have somehow stayed as that, despite all you have done over the years. )

It is those same hands that reach for the nearest object to throw at the first figure she sees in the shop, looking for all the world like he is about to make one of those rabbits disappear.

“ No, bad Bambi! No eating rabbits! ” 

the metal tin hits him square in the head, and the boy’s jolt and the resounding crash of metal to skull has the rabbit in his hands leaping away, several others around him scattering at the commotion. 

“ow! that hurt - “ he’s rubbing his forehead, eyes already beginning to tear up as he turns to look at the newcomer at the store. bottom lips start to tremble and he bites down too hard to keep them from quivering too much, big eyes looking at the girl glaring at him. 

“what was that for? we were just playing.” voices take on a childish whine as he reaches out for another rabbit huffily, the animals quick to return back to his familiar hold. he cradles the closest one in his arms, mouth brushing over soft heads. 

(sink teeth in, lick the crevices of skull-holes - a common echo in his mind by now. he looks at the girl and wonders the same, hollowed eyes and wondering what they taste like)