Further Questions

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

 *A man, or at least a humanoid shape in a robe, is people-watching from a dark corner. That only holds its interest for a few minutes even here, however, so before long it comes up with a few questions.*

What do you hunger for most, and what is the most hungry you have ever been? What are the best and worst things you have eaten, be it in morals or simply taste?

Comments

[museicalmarty]

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.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

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.

[save_us_alice]

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.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

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.

[save_us_alice]

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?

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

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

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.

Oh? What is it?

[save_us_alice]

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.

PMed you :)

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

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.

w000

[save_us_alice]

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.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

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.

[save_us_alice]

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. . .

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

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.

[save_us_alice]

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.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

More people than would be normal on the Surface, certainly, but then recklessness is to be expected of immortals.

[deadgirlslikeme]

Alice: That's fair enough. If I knew I wasn't going to die permanently, I'd probably be a little reckless too.

Victor: They're hardly a "little" reckless down there. . .how are the potatoes, by the way? [he helped make them, so he's hoping they were good]

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

They are very good. Thank you for your contribution.

[deadgirlslikeme]

Victor: [smiles] I'm glad you're enjoying them. I've never actually roasted potatoes before.

Doc: [pats him on the back] See, I told you cooking's not that hard. I've been keeping myself fed for years now, after all.

Victor: I know, but when you grow up with a mother who is adamant that cooking is a "servant's job. . ."

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

Someone needs to remind your mother that the rich can become poor. She may not have servants forever. *He licks the plate clean and sets it aside.* When the poor have nothing else to eat, and all that.

Your efforts in feeding me may be futile, but they are hardly wasted. I shall not forget.

[deadgirlslikeme]

Victor: [rubs the back of his head] I would, but -- well, my biological father runs the most successful fish cannery in England in my native time period. I don't think they're likely to see poverty unless all the fish in the Atlantic suddenly went extinct. [sighs] My biological mother actually grew up poor -- you'd think she'd be more sympathetic to their plight.

Alice: [rubs his back] From what you've said, she's always had a swelled head full of her own self-importance. Some people just don't think that much of others.

Victor: Mmm. . . [offers up a smile to Mr. Eaten] We're glad to do what we can.

Doc: [small chuckle] Besides, if nothing else, we've got an interesting story to share now.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

I suppose there's no chance of a glorious revolution? Or indeed of your London falling down into the dark? Not much use, a cannery, when none of the things that swim are even fish--well, aside from the bound-sharks. Good luck eating them, though, with all the iron on them.

Not a zee-ztory or a memory of distant shores. An appalling secret, perhaps? A tale of terror? Perhaps even a searing enigma or a dread surmise . . . but whatever it is, I can't deny that it's interesting.

I have a moment of feasting to recall, so it's more than worth the time for me. It will not stand up to the hunger for long, but every once in a while I will take it out and look at it in my mind, and every time I will have hope that the hunger may someday end.

[deadgirlslikeme]

Victor: Er -- probably not? William's pretty fair to his workers, and he and Nell don't live in London -- I'm from a tiny village called Burtonsville. How he got the cannery to be so successful in the middle of nowhere I've never understood. . .but I've never had much of a head for business, admittedly. [grimaces] And, well. . .I never got along much with them, but I don't know if I'd want them to fall into the Neath. I don't think they'd adapt well, and not just because of the lack of fish.

Marty: [raises an eyebrow] I dunno. . .you're kind of creepy -- no offense -- but I don't think talking to you and watching you eat potatoes is really a "tale of terror." Though the stuff you've been telling us about parts of the Neath might count. . .

Doc: Mmm -- if we told, we'd be passing on tales of terror second-hand, in the great campfire tradition.

Alice: [nods] It's the little things that keep us going. When I was fighting through Wonderland, every so often I'd see something genuinely beautiful, or meet someone on my side instead of the Queen's, and those moments got me through some of my tougher battles. Reminded me there was something worth fighting for.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

That's only because we're not in the Neath, lad. It's been a thousand years since anything I did could reasonably be described otherwise. Since tales of terror aren't currency outside of the Neath, and it will be one if you ever visit, it does count. Assuming it's not something stronger, of course.

You really must come visit, then. *A moment of thought.* I can give you a brief description of most of the islands if you like? From question-obsessed Wither all the way to Kingeater's Castle, where fools give up their futures.

[save_us_alice]

Marty: [picturing people freaking out over a story of conversation and roast potatoes] Well, you know where you live better than I do, so I'll take your word for it. I think being around the Nexus so long has kinda broken my "weird" and "scary" meters.

Doc: Mmmm -- in a realm of this much variety, everything is mundane to someone.

Alice: [slightly amused] You're rather eager to get at least me to see the place, aren't you? Is it all the Wonderland talk, making you think I'd be a decent fit? [rocks a bit on her heels] Wither sounds interesting -- I'm used to people peppering me with questions. Particularly after so much time here. . . Don't think I'd want to visit the Castle, though -- especially not to give up my future to it. [presses up a little closer against Victor] I've made a pretty good one.

[thelightontheedgeofsleep]

Not the most terrifying ever, but hardly calming. I'm the sort of monster that other monsters fear, after all.

A reminder that this truly happened would also be nice. A friendly visitor. Perhaps even a door back and forth, so I can think clearly when needed. *He makes another pathetic attempt to pet his cat. It hisses madly and clings to his arm with its claws, which is as close to a win as he's likely to get out of it any time soon.* I like living in the Neath well enough, but gibbering about Veils and the Second City and obsidian knives is such an ineffective method of communication.

[dee_lorean81]

Marty: [thinking about it a little more] Yeah. . .yeah, I guess it WOULD be pretty freaky to hear somebody else say they met someone like you, and just had a conversation over potatoes. You'd always be waiting for the other shoe to drop.

Alice: If you're lucky, the well might serve as a way back and forth now. I mean, given what you'd implied, it would only work for you, but at least you could get back here.

Victor: [frowning around the area] But we couldn't get there. Not without -- b-bad things happening. [and no, he's not particularly interested in the details of what those bad things might be] Surely there must be a regular door. . .Doc?

Doc: I'm not sure. I don't know how many connections to the Nexus any one universe is allowed. . .

Dee: [waves a hand] Maybe I can try and track one down! I can feel everybody's different timelines, after all! I just gotta find one that matches him!