reality_crossroads | Further Questions

Alice: Ah. Yes, I guess that makes a twisted sort of sense. How they're supposed to get at the sun is of course an entirely different matter. Particularly if sunlight is law and thus they'd be forced to obey the moment they stepped out in it. . .which is actually a rather depressing thought. I like sunlight, but I don't like the idea of it forcing something on me.

Victor: [gives her a little squeeze, his other hand pulling at his tie] Me either. . .and, ah, I don't think I would have, no. Not if -- well, Doc told us a bit of what your S-Seekers do. You may love them, but still. . .

Marty: Yeah, no offense, but I'm really glad your whatever that causes that doesn't work here. [you couldn't have gotten him within a mile of Mr. Eaten otherwise. . .he scratches his head] I'm guessing that honey just made you all the stronger or something? Made the nightmares worse?

Sometimes I miss the the daylight even now, though Judgement-light would end me. Other times I hate it, for they are cruel gods indeed—but then I hate most things by now. Hate is one of the things I cling to, without which I would truly be nothing.

Everyone fears the Seekers, and fears becoming one more so. Even that small power the Masters would deny me if they could, so I glory in it. It is what I have. No domain, no joy, not even my true Name, but I have Seekers. I have worshipers, they just have employees and their idiotic Bazaar.

I am too, young man. I can think more clearly here than I could at home, it’s really quite useful. As for the honey, any action involving the wells of the Neath relates to me somehow and prisoner’s honey is a link to dreaming in and of itself. I haven’t the slightest idea what she was thinking, combining the two. I can only conclude she was either an idiot or secretly trying to help me or both. Likely some of both.

Alice: Hatred of the Queen is what kept me going through Wonderland during some of the tougher times. It's not the best reason for existing, but if it's the only one you've got. . .

Victor: [attempting to joke] My biological father might argue that point -- he's the owner of the most successful cannery in England. I think he prefers employees to worshipers. Not that I think most people would want to worship fish.

Marty: Talk to Lovecraft about that one. [nods] Yeah, thinking clearly's always nice. . .and ah, I see. Yeah, both sounds about right.

Dee: [turning back into a girl since it's easier to talk like that] I dunno. Isn't there a saying about 'don't ascribe to malice what can be explained by idiocy' or something like that? She could have just been stupid.

Doc: Indeed -- but I don't think I could guess at the thought processes of a Neath-Dweller. The place has some similarities to Arcadia, but -- well, it's nothing like the place I was imprisoned.

Marty: Doubt they're into rock concerts down there either.

Hate and grief and not wanting to be forgotten. A potent brew, to be sure.

I can just imagine how he would react to the kind of fish found in the Neath. We call them fish, anyway—I highly doubt they are any such thing. As to worshiping fish, there’s bound to be someone. If people will worship me they’ll worship anything. The Rubbery Men worship the Flukes of Axile, but then they were created to be the Flukes’ ambassadors to mankind. So far it isn’t working very well. Flukes look more like sea urchins anyway.

Oh, plenty of them are quite sensible folks. As sensible as you can get when feral mushrooms are a common hazard and men made of clay are stealing your jobs, at any rate.

Alice: [touching her shoulder, where one of her worst burn scars lurks] Grief I understand very well. In fact, I might be able to tie it back to your questions -- I imagine the hungriest I ever was was back in the asylum. I wanted the life I'd lost back so badly. . . I simply couldn't deal with the fact that things were never going to be the same. Even after I left the asylum, I hungered for acceptance -- for love beyond my aunt and uncle. [smiles up at Victor] Fortunately for me, that's a hunger that's now been fed.

Victor: [returns the smile] I feel much the same -- I hungered for a family that would accept me just as I am, and now I've got that. [took faking his own death back in his own world, buuut. . . He raises an eyebrow at Eaten's comments] If they can't be put in cans, I don't think William Van Dort would be interested. But yes, you're right -- one can make a religion out of anything if they try hard enough, can't they? Or make their own worshipers, in the case of the Flukes.

Marty: [muttering] Wish more of the Fae would make people to fawn over them and leave the rest of us alone. . .

Alice: [nods, then back to Mr. Eaten] This really does sound like my Wonderland. I could probably go there and make a decent living killing monsters -- Jackbombs handle vicious mushrooms very well, in my experience.

I think there is no way that anyone sane would accept me—certainly not back on the Neath. Although I suppose all cats are rather insane, so mine sort of counts? *He goes over to the unlikely well and fishes out the Cat, who promptly bites his finger and refuses to let go. Petting it is always problematic.*

It’s difficult to make a real person, sadly. Not many of the Fair Folk have the right temperament for any method but the old-fashioned sort, and where’s the fun in that? Children provoke all kinds of protective instincts that make them unsuitable as playthings.

You would have to learn a fair number of tricks, what to avoid and what looks frightening but is mostly harmless. I’d teach you, but me and mine are things to avoid at all costs. It’s strangely difficult to count the number of people who come to my church, for not all of them leave again.

Alice: From how you've described the Neath, there's a distinct lack of sanity there, so you should be fine. [giggles] You sound a bit like Cheshire there, when he and I first met. Insane or not, I do love the moggies. [looks at the Starveling Cat, clamped on Eaten's finger] Though, ah, I don't think I'll be making friends with that one soon.

Marty: The day I see a Fae with real 'protective instincts. . .' Aren't they supposed to dump their kids in the cradles of unsuspecting people and take the real babies with them?

Doc: [trying not to think of human infants starving under the care of a capricious Fae] Let's not go there. What we can confirm they do is bad enough.

Alice: [rocks on her heels] Right. . .the 'cannibalism' business kicking in there, I assume. I imagine I would have to learn a lot, but I've always been curious and willing to be taught. [smirks] Maybe if you, or someone less mentally destructive, provided a white rabbit for me to chase?

Yes, thus the Seekers. *He sighs and pulls his finger away from the cat’s mouth.* Well, it hasn’t tried to eat you or do terrible things to your soul yet. That probably means it likes you.

Perhaps that means they want someone to raise them who knows how to do so? At least that’s better than nothing. Although I wouldn’t think so well of some of them.

Leaving a roundly disliked sailor with my people is something of a tradition among the more violent captains on the zee. *He stares at her, not that anyone can tell.* There’s bound to be a way that isn’t the well, this place seems to have doors to everywhere. I really wouldn’t recommend the well.

Alice: [eyeing the cat] Good, I'm glad. I hope it won't be offended if I continue to keep out of biting and scratching range, however.

Marty: No, I'm pretty sure they either don't want the kid, or think it's a funny 'prank' to play on the humans. Or both. All about the amusement with them. [flexes his fingers] Worst stuff I ever ate were the meals at my Keeper's place. I mean, they tasted fine -- hell, some of 'em were probably major delicacies by human standards. . .but it was impossible to enjoy them after I knew the truth about the places. [winces as he rubs his guitar calluses] After my first concert.

Doc: [puts a steadying hand on Marty's back as Dee hugs his legs] We're out of there now. And neither of our Keepers seem that bothered about losing us.

Marty: Yeah, small mercies.

Alice: [grimaces] How horrible. Though I don't know what a sailor has to do to be so disliked, so. . .still. [tilts her head] True enough. And yes, I don't want to go down the well either. I like my mind in the shape it's in right now. My soul too, if that's a worry.

Victor: [pressing against her] So do I.

It’s apt to be rather annoyed that you can’t be bitten, but I’m sure it’ll get over that soon. *He attempts to pet it again. This time it attaches itself to his robe and does its level best to remove the hood with very sharp claws.*

Even the illusion of a meal should be cherished, boy. Starvation is a dreadful thing, and I should know. Even in the Neath, the ability to eat time and dreams and color is rare enough that most folk eat each other when the meat runs out.

Depends on whether the captain has learned many of my church’s lessons. Learned enough of them and a captain might leave you there for breathing too loud. But do not worry, if any of you visit I promise you will be honored guests. Just don’t eat the pork and all will be well. All will be well and all will be well and all manner of thing will be well . . .

Alice: [watching this comedy of errors] I think it's found enough to amuse itself with you, yes.

Marty: [bristles] You asked what the worst thing I ever ate was. I think damn fairy food that helps keep you stuck away from your family for two years counts. I'm not saying I would have rather starved, just -- just I wish I'd never been there to eat the shit in the first place.

Alice: [biting her lower lip] That -- seems a touch excessive, yes. Honored guests, though? Kind of you, but would the rest of the Neath agree?

Doc: [a bit concerned as Eaten goes on] I -- I think you're doing it again.

So it has, so it has.

Fair enough. I’m likely too similar to the Folk to really understand why it’s such a bad thing; they are beings of dream and nightmare, beauty and horror, much as I am. Eldritch means elflike, after all.

The rest of the Neath will take heed when I speak, or I’ll know why. The Drowned Man is not a being that zailors take lightly, believe you me. Only madmen and fools Seek, but only madder or more foolish men directly disobey. Take to zee and I will guide you in your dreams, as much as a thing like me can guide.

*He blinks, or at least the candle flames flicker.* Apologies, but . . . it promised, you understand? It promised that all things would be well, and it was entirely wrong.

Edited 2018-04-02 04:00 (UTC)

Marty: [cools slightly] Yeah. . .you'd probably fit right into Arcadia. [tilts head] Didn't know that -- but honestly, not surprised. Some of the Fae I saw there could have starred in a Lovecraft story.

Alice: I believe you -- I would take you seriously as well. Particularly if you started popping up in my dreams. [she'll -- kindly neglect to mention that if he HAD started popping up in her dreams, he would have had to deal with her attempting to Jabberwock Eye Staff him to second death. Nothing personal, just that -- it would have been hard for her to see him as anything but another of Wonderland's enemies]

Doc: [nods] Yes. . .I know about that. Andrew said everything would be fine too. [tightens a fist] Your Bazaar, or Veils, or whoever said that first seems to be just as good a liar.

The Folk are more comprehensible, but only just. Humans can learn their ways, but never be sure of them.

My epithet—not my Name, my Name destroys always—will bring you safe passage at the Chapel of Lights and Mutton Island. They will act friendly even without it, but with it they will not be acting. Hard to tell the difference, since they act very friendly, but it’s rather important.

The Bazaar said so long ago, when it had high hopes still. Now it mostly cries or sulks, for it knows something of how wrong it was. Not like I know, none of them know like I do, but it has an inkling. *He turns a bit more towards Alice.* I suppose you have some skill in translating ranting into good English? You are apt to need it if you visit, I have a terrible tendency for ranting and raving. So do a lot of my people, and quite a few Neathdwellers generally. Especially scholars of the Correspondence, since it tends to light them on fire. Hatters are also worse than average, even for Victorian hatters, since a lot of Neath hats bite.

Edited 2018-04-03 04:24 (UTC)

Marty: [raising an eyebrow] I -- don't really like the idea of stuff out there that's more incomprehensible than the Fae.

Alice: Oh yes, trust me, I know. Some of the staff I hated most at Rutledge were the ones who pretended to be kind, but quietly delighted in their cruel treatments. I'd rather they be genuinely friendly so I'd have less to fear from knives in the back -- both metaphorical and literal.

Doc: Ah -- it must be a joy to get along with. [that is a lot of sarcasm for so few words]

Alice: [tilting her head] I suppose -- dealing with the riddles they talk in Wonderland has made my mind rather more flexible than normal. You ever want a mental workout, try talking to the White and Red chess pieces when they're in one of their "remembering the future" moods. [sighs, rolls eyes] I don't know how well I would fare with Neath ranting, but I might be able to fake understanding, at least. [smirks] Hats that bite -- sounds up the alley of my own mad Hatter. He could flung cups of explosive tea out of the top of his.

Never visit the Iron Republic, then. Or Irem, for that matter, although it will be a lovely place.

At least the pain my Chapel brings does not last long, generally speaking. Avoid what meat they have to offer and all will be well. Tell them you think kindly of me and all manner of thing will be well.

My erstwhile comrades speak the Correspondence as a mother tongue, and are thus inured to things spontaneously lighting on fire around them. Irem hasn’t been built yet. Savior’s Rocks are full of blind spider-worshipers. Nuncio attracts postmen and lost letters like a magnet. The Avid Horizon is a shortcut to that High Wilderness where the Judgments lurk. We do not speak of the Isle of Cats or the Empire of Hands. This is only the start of how the Neath is strange.

Marty: [blink] It -- will be? [looks at Dee]

Dee: [shrug] Wouldn't be the first place I heard of where time doesn't run right. Probably not even as complicated as the Nexus. Does the future overlap with the past there?

Doc: [thoughtful] Sounds like it. . .

Alice: Small comfort, though it's better than no comfort at all. I'll keep that in mind if I do ever find my way there. And to avoid the Correspondence -- fire and I aren't particular friends. [she pouts slightly] What's wrong with the Isle of Cats? Unless you don't speak of it here either.

Victor: [nodding at the Starveling Cat] It could be they're all like that one. Nuncio sounds like the nicest place to visit -- postmen and lost letters don't seem particularly dangerous. [biting his lip] Though I shouldn't assume, should I?

Irem has not been built yet. People visit it anyway, for it is the main trading post for the dreaming realm of Parabola.

No, there was only ever one Starveling Kitty. The cats are not Starveling Cats there, but if they were it could only improve the place. They make red honey there, which is too unpleasant even to be illegal. Red honey is made of human minds and tortures the donor when eaten.

Lost letters written in the Correspondence can do damage, but otherwise the only problem is that the currency is dead rats on strings. Apparently one of my Seekers spent his whole fortune sending dead rats to people, and they got used to the that.

Edited 2018-04-05 05:25 (UTC)

Doc: Ah -- I guess a place that exists more as an idea than an actual location would be good for trading with places in dreams. . .

Marty: [shakes his head] Makes my head spin.

Alice: [winces] Oh, I see. No, I don't think those are the kinds of cats I'd want to make friends with. Honestly, red honey sounds like something they'd make in the kitchens of Rutledge, or at least my Wonderland's twisted mirror of such. I don't know what they did with the dead bodies of patients, after all.

Victor: [shivers] I don't want to think about it. [blinks] I -- okay. . . I suppose that's not the worst thing that could have happened there. Certainly not pleasant, but -- not the worst.

Dangerous pleasures are their specialty. Red honey is the worst, I believe, but they are great importers of smuggled sunlight as well. As if a moment in the light is worth the risk of death . . .

Dead? No, red honey is made from living people. No minds to be had otherwise. That's part of why it's so terrible that it's not even illegal.

Just a good thing that it wasn't parcels with cats in them. Londoners seem awfully fond of sending each other cat boxes. *A rather nasty chuckle.* Every once in a while one of them unwraps this cat, and it serves them right.

Doc: They wouldn't be smuggling it if there wasn't a market for it. Some people like the risk, I'm sure, and others. . .well, others probably just miss sunlight that much.

Victor: Yes, I mean -- I don't think I could live in a place with no sunlight at all. Even if it had other benefits.

Alice: I'm not sure I could either. . . [pales as Mr. Eaten explains red honey further] Oh. I see. Right, no visiting the Isle of Cats. I was nearly trepanned once, and that is as far as I'd like to come to anyone doing anything to my living brain.

Marty: [shudders, along with everyone else] Think that goes for all of us, Alice. . . And they send each other live cats through the mail? The heck?

Alice: [frowns] That seems unnecessarily cruel. Though, admittedly, not a lot about the Neath and Fallen London seems kind.

They must miss it an awful lot. Nothing else could explain the Dawn Machine, for example.

I think the cats consider it to be fun, if rather inconvenient. I just wonder how the Hell they get my cat to do it, and what angered them enough to send it to anyone.

Doc: A machine that mimics the coming of a new day, I assume? Or at least emits a lot of sunlight at once. . . Probably a more effective bomb than any traditional explosive in a world where death only matters if you're in the light.

Alice: [looks at the Starveling Cat, then shrugs] Perhaps yours bullies other cats into leaving their boxes so it can go seeking fresh victims. Cats do as they please, and if it pleases it to be mailed so it can have a new face to claw off. . .

It’s an artificial star that wants everyone to obey it, willingly or not. Bit of a bad plan, that.

That does rather sound like it, yes.

Doc: [frowning] . . .Very bad plan.

Marty: [also frowning] Really stupid plan. I can understand wanting to see the sun again, but hell.

Alice: [nods] I'm starting to think the whole Neath is self-destructive in general. Your Seekers just take it to new and interesting extremes.

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The backstory for the idea of Nuncio is actually hilarious, I’ll have to tell you some time

Oh? What is it?

PMed you :)

w000

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