A Crossroads Between Realities

It's been a very long time since so many people were eager to meet me. A very long time indeed. *A bony, taloned hand reaches for the plate.* I am Mr. Eaten, at least for now. Do introduce yourselves, if you please?

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[the plate contains the requested potatoes, along with some cutlery if Mr. Eaten chooses to use it]

[the green-eyed woman takes the lead] Hello Mr. Eaten, I'm Alice Brown. [taking the tall pale man's hand] This is my husband, Victor.

[Victor, shyly] H-hello. I'm Doc's son.

[the shorter man] I'm Marty McFly, Doc's sort-of adopted nephew.

[and the little girl] And I'm Dee Brown! [tilts her head] You've got a lot of time on you.

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*Mr. Eaten eats, despite the fact that this should be impossible for a skeleton to do so. Where the food goes, who can say?

*He holds out a bone hand with long talons.* This is slightly overwhelming, I must admit. The closest I get to having a lot of people around me is the Chapel of Lights, and even then I'm not in the chapel itself.

Edited Date: 2018-03-28 02:48 am (UTC)

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[nobody has any theories to advance, although there is some interested watching from Dee -- reminds of her when she eats, then turns back into the DeLorean. Nobody's quite sure where the food goes then either (although Doc's theorized her stomach probably corresponds to the fuel tank)]

Victor: [looking a bit embarrassed, as is his wont] I'm sorry -- w-we're not crowding you, are we?

Marty: I'm pretty sure he just means he isn't used to having a lot of people around.

Alice: Spending your days down a well dreaming of revenge against the compatriots who betrayed you and driving most everyone who comes near mad isn't really conducive to company, no. [does he mean to shake hands? She'll risk it; she's already gone mad, so. . .]

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*He seems pleased and a bit startled that someone is willing to shake his hand.* Certainly not such company, no. There are the ones who want a cause, and see revenge on my behalf as a decent one. There are those who grieve for what was done. There are those who are trying to become me, or to be possessed by me. Those who see me somehow as inspiration.

Even of them, few are mad enough to come down to where I am and speak to me in person. It is so very kind of you to be here.

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deadgirlslikeme

Marty: [tilts his head] Who the heck -- you didn't want to become you.

Alice: Thinking logically is not the realm of the mad. Take it from someone who was in an asylum for ten years. . .and who once went after her wrists with a spoon thinking it was what her parents would have wanted.

Victor: [wraps his arm around her] Mmm. . .well, after Doc told us about you, it -- well, it seems right to come and say hello. We were all newcomers here once. . .and it's not like we aren't all odd in our own ways. [looking Eaten up and down] Perhaps not to y-your level, but. . .

Dee: [nods] I'm actually a car.

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It appears that enough dreams of what happened to me can make people think they're me too. That and it acts as a sort of testimonial on what was done, which may yet be of help in my reckoning. *He raises an eyebrow at Alice's comment.* I believe that Bedlam is now a fine hotel in Fallen London, although madmen still get in free. The manager is the King of the First City, whose lost love is Polythreme.

Very few people are normal, paradox though that may be. I can hardly deny, however, that I outdo any human I've ever heard tell of on that score.

Cars are not known to me. Are they of the Surface, the future or both? I would imagine both, for my Seekers are far and wide in the Neath and I have some small knowledge of the future--Irem is like that, you know. But I forget myself! I've already asked enough questions.

Edited Date: 2018-03-28 06:42 am (UTC)

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dee_lorean81

Marty: [fidgeting] . . .That's -- pretty disturbing.

Doc: There's little in the Neath that isn't, at least from what I've heard. It's a very -- curious place.

Alice: I can believe that. [raises an eyebrow back at Eaten] A hotel? I don't think I'd want to stay there, even if it was free. Though it doesn't really matter in my case -- I was incarcerated in Rutledge Asylum, not Bethlehem Hospital.

Victor: [small smile] That's true. I've started to wonder just who it is who decides what's normal. I guess in my home village it was Pastor Galswells. . .which might explain why it was often such a joyless place.

Dee: [grinning] I wouldn't know normal if it bit me in the butt. [to Eaten] Nah, it's okay! This is the questiony part of the Nexus -- you're supposed to ask! And yeah, both -- here, let me show you! [she runs a few feet away, and then --

Welp, Mr. Eaten isn't likely to recognize it, but there's a shiny silver DeLorean sitting where she was standing. It flaps its doors and honks its horn]

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Curious is putting it rather mildly, but yes. Things are unlikely to get better, either, for the Liberation of Night is advancing always and a reckoning will not be postponed indefinitely. Not even close to indefinitely, for the cities fall apace.

I wonder if you would prefer a Smiling Priest. But no, he’s more apt to make your old one look good indeed . . .

How strange. A sort of automatic conveyance, I presume. And now for my other questions, I suppose?

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clockwork_doc

Doc: [turning a bit pink as his elbows steam] I thought "terrifying" might be a bit insulting.

Alice: I think he knows just how dangerous the place he haunts is, Doc. [tilts head] The Liberation of Night?

Victor: Er -- well, it would certainly be different. I'm not sure Galswells has ever smiled.

Marty: Yeah, but do you want one where you don't know what he's smiling about. . . [nodding as Dee honks again] Yeah, basically.

Doc: Think "motorized carriage" and you'll have the basic gist of it. [thoughtful] What you were asking before might take a bit of pondering. . .but I think I can safely say I've always hungered most for knowledge. [glances back at the dissipating steam] Not always to good result.

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In a world where sunlight is law, what do you suppose anarchists immediately try to do? If your first guess was ‘blow up the sun,’ good job; you can think like a true Neath-dweller.

The Smiling Priest runs the Chapel of Lights. My chapel, where those who cause trouble are given to me. *He cannot entirely force the pleasure from his deeply shrill voice.* I am hunger. I am the voice in their dreams. They may be mad, but they are mine and I love them. I have naught else left to love and they have no one else to be loved by. All the same, I don’t think you would have enjoyed growing up in my worship—even if you lived.

I eat dreams and colors and sacrifices. When a particularly foolish Dauntless Temperance Campaigner decided that pouring prisoner’s honey down wells was a plan with no flaw nor any possibility of error, I ate that too. She really was quite foolish . . .

Edited Date: 2018-03-29 05:50 am (UTC)

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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.

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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?

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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.

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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.

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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 . . .

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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.

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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 Date: 2018-04-02 04:00 am (UTC)

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