Natalia Kills - Wonderland Part 2
Sound came back first, muffled and disjointed, too far away. Koyama groaned; his chest hurt and his mouth tasted thick and chemical. Smell was next, thick and sweet with rot, and it made him gag. Someone splashed his face with water, soaking him in a moment of shock that at least stalled the heaving clench of his stomach. He sputtered, blinking away water from his eyes and gasping.
“You’re awake.” His captor said, voice like soot. He was wearing full SWAT armour, face-plate drawn down giving him the advantage of anonymity. “Good, the Queen will see you.”
Koyama was tied to a stiff, high-backed wooden chair. Ankles bound to the feet and wrists and forearms tied up almost too-tight to the armrest. He couldn’t move, could barely breathe through the ropes compressing his chest.
“Follow me.”
Koyama would have scoffed at him if he hadn’t been quite sure that it would make everything hurt more. But he was lurching sideways, fingers trying to grip the arm rests desperately because the chair was taking a lurching step. It swayed side to side in an uneven gait that made Koyama feel vaguely sick, his feet moving with the two front legs on their own accord. He was in a garden, with rusty petals all around, thick with the sticky-sweet smell of rancid meat.
Koyama gagged, tasting bile on the back of his throat, but his guard seemed to either not to notice or not to care. Maybe he would have been better off if the trees kept him.
The garden path gave way to cobblestone, and the wooden legs of the chair clacked against them as they moved at a brisk pace that rocked him from side to side in his prison of rope. On the other side of the hedges, with shingles reaching for the sky, was a huge Victorian manor. It might have once been beautiful, but it was in disrepair, large portions of the roof were exposed, and windows boarded up like a gap-tooth smile. It looked like something out of a children’s horror book, Dracula waiting in the eaves for him to lose his way.
Koyama lost sight of it as the chair turned, bringing him through an arch-way coated in ivy that moved sluggishly, twisting in random patterns around itself. It was a little outdoor throne room, a massive flare-backed chair in blood red velvet, standing so high there was a small flight of stairs to get up the front. Koyama didn’t even notice the rest of court milling about, all senses fixed on the Queen lounging on the throne.
It was a man; well it looked like a man, square chin, wide shoulders, and the shadow of a beard growing in. The make-up was gaudy bordering on clown-ish, bright blue eyeshadow smeared across his eyelids reminiscent of 70’s glam, massive black eyelashes like spiders on her face. His face. His generous mouth was smeared in glittery red vaudeville lipstick a delicate heart shape drawn in the rouge, the red of his cheeks was deep against his tan.
“Your majesty.” His guard bowed so deep he was almost kissing his own knees.
“This is the one we found in the Borough Grove?”
“Ma’am.” He said smartly, standing without raising his head.
“You, rebel, tell me.” He waved her hand, long red lace fingerless gloves moving with the muscle underneath. “What were you plotting in the woods?”
“N-nothing.” Koyama answered, voice faint. The Queen looked on, unimpressed. “It was just a tea party.”
“A likely story; do I look like a fool to you?” A little. The corset rode low, exposing the tops of his tawny nipples, the skirt was longer, flowing around her legs. “Now tell me, what did that Mad Hatter tell you? I know it was him, I just know it. He’s always been so envious.” He spat the word Hatter like it was curse.
“Nothing your majesty,” the words tasted like ashes, but Koyama’s not stupid no matter what his co-workers thought of him some times. “He told me nothing.” Which wasn’t all that far from the truth.
“LIES.” He shrieked, voice shrill. “Lies.” Softer, deadly. She stood up and he must have been well over six feet tall without the glittery gold platform heels she was sporting. Something in Koyama curled up petrified, the small part of him that was comfortable at home spending nights trolling bars for easy marks and eating take-away with his cat.
“I don’t know anything. I’m not even from around here.”
That was the absolute worst thing to say, the Queen went all pale, then he turned red, flushing with blood and looking livid. “You. You. You’re like Alice.”
That small part of him cracked and smashed like so many teacups at the name.
”OFF WITH HIS HEAD!”
Koyama struggled with his bonds as his guard said smartly, “Ma’am.”
The chair ride went by in a blur of thorny vines twisting around hedges; he wasn’t paying enough attention, breath coming too fast for the tightness in his chest- the lack of oxygen and panic was making large red spots dance before his eyes. It all went too much for him to keep track of, skipping and stopping in starts. This couldn’t be happening, it just couldn’t be.
When Koyama was thinking clearly again, he was locked in a room, bland beige damask wall paper. There was a vanity with a blank mirror, the glass long gone leaving on scratches on the wood backing.
“Mirror mirror on the wall.” Koyama said glumly, pulling himself into a corner with his knees up to his chest. The guards parting words ringing in his head. ‘A last meal for the damned.’ That was him. There was still a slim chance that this was all a fucked up dream and he would wake up any moment now. The bruises ringing his wrists and the tenderness in his ribs spoke of reality. A clearly impossible reality.
“I want to go home.” Koyama pressed his cheeks to his knees. How long did they intend to wage psychological warfare on him in here?
The door jiggled, Koyama was caught between terror and relief, the handle turning and Koyama got to his feet, pressing back flat against the wall and looking for something to defend himself with. Being shot might be kinder then being beheaded. It was a bit of a toss-up and an extreme case of ‘would you rather?’ There was nothing here he could use as a weapon at all.
The man slipped into the room, the faceplate down, masking his expression. Difficult to tell if he thought this was fun or not. He was tall and broad, as generic as all the other guards. All of them looking like faceless American SWAT out of a bad action movie, but with suits on their back, a club here, and a diamond guarding his door.
“Come to give me my just desserts?”
The door clicked shut ominously, leaving him locked in here with the guard. Koyama narrowed his eyes, not even trying to imagine what kind of insanity would come next. None of it made any fucking sense and he was getting so sick of it all. He wanted to go home, he wanted to wake up already.
“I told you I would follow behind you.” YamaPi smiled at him, pulling off the helmet and Koyama knees went weak with relief.
“Thank god.” Koyama let his weight sag against the wall, he gave the other man a grateful smile, feeling the edges of his eyes going misty. Suddenly YamaPi was in his face, rough gloves against his cheek tilting his head so YamaPi could look at him all over.
“I know.” His huge eyes were so brown, all he could see as YamaPi was pressed so far into Koyama’s personal space; Koyama wasn’t breathing, confused, and conflictingly aroused. “I know you said you were not him.” He was so close now, YamaPi peering at his face, hot breath against his lips and cheeks. “But you look so much like him, especially when you look at me like that.”
He couldn’t help himself, tipping his head back a little, the tough scrape of YamaPi’s gloves on his skin was small sensation lost in the sea’s churning. He could sense the hard lines of the Kevlar all down the length of his body, the heat of YamaPi’s breath against his face and the almost physical caress of his eyes over Koyama’s face. He was looking for something.
“It drives me so crazy.” YamaPi admit, slowly tracing his thumb across his bottom lip.
“Is now such a good time for this?” As completely irrationally as he was responding (that was a lie, YamaPi was hot as hell) there was still the matter of his upcoming execution.
“I can’t do anything, there are too many guards outside right now; I’ll wait until the dinner, it would be easier to make our escape then.”
“So we’ve got time then?” If anything it would be a nice way to get his mind off things. “Do I act like him?”
“Not at all.” YamaPi smiled, and silenced him with a kiss. YamaPi kissed him tenderly, all the movement of a gentleman one would expect from a knight. Koyama hummed low in his throat, surrendering himself to the kiss. Chaste lovely press of lips, soft and indulgent. A bit unexpected after how blatantly sexual everyone else had been treating him. He couldn’t imagine Junno kissing him so tenderly, not like he was something precious, no Junno would bite at his lips, hell, Massu and Ryo would watch ears all aquiver. His attention snapped back as YamaPi’s tongue touched the seam of his lips, electric.
“Yes.” He breathed, sealing their lips together, flicking out his tongue to flirt with the tip of YamaPi’s. From there the kisses devolved, getting messier and wetter as Koyama pulled him closer, fingering the edges of his black nylon pants. “God yes.” It was wrong for so many reasons, but the physical contact felt amazing.
“What do you want?” YamaPi asked, breathing against his neck, leaving a small stinging bite there. It made Koyama arch against him, rubbing shamelessly against YamaPi’s riot gear. YamaPi had managed to zero on the one move that had always driven him absolutely insane. Some people had poker tells, Koyama had the equivalent of a sexual ticklish spot, sometimes it even felt better then a hand on his dick ever could. Koyama couldn’t remember very clearly, a bathroom somewhere, doesn’t even remember the guy’s name, just that the fit was tight knees knocking into sheet-metal stall walls, and the lingering taste of pre-lubed condom on his tongue, legs around the guy’s muscular waist. The sense memory of being so full he could feel it in the back of his throat, teeth sinking into the skin of his neck (wasn’t there a rule against one-night stands and bruises?); it stood out in his memory because it was the only time in his entire life he had managed to come without touching himself. It had been a bit of a revelation about himself that he hadn’t been ready for.
The memory haunted him, in the most delicious way. He’d let another guy fuck him in the bathroom that night, still slick and stretched, chasing the feeling, blood pulsing in the fresh bruise.
YamaPi bit down, another stinging bite and Koyama would do anything for that; he growled low in his throat pushing up roughly against his firm body. It was like pushing against a wall, or the metal he always hid himself in. He’d love to fuck him right there against the wall or on the floor but that wasn’t an option. Not enough time, no lube, just not practical.
“This. I want this.”
Koyama greedily tilted his head back further, arching his neck as far as he could, pulling his body into a taut bow. One of YamaPi’s hands slid down his ribs, dragging his gloves across the silky material of his shirt and under his cape to the small of his back hauling him closer. Koyama was tall, and YamaPi fit perfectly in that spot under his chin, lowered as he was so he could press one thick thigh snug against his groin. YamaPi’s nylon fatigues were pressing the seam of his riding pants against his balls. Koyama was fully hard in several dizzying seconds after that, enough that these pants had to get out of the way.
“I want it too.” YamaPi growled and Koyama was tearing at the stab vest where it was pressing against the bruises on his chest.
Koyama bit at YamaPi’s lips harshly, mauling him with his tongue, as they both scrambled with the buckles. It was held on well, made more difficult because Koyama wouldn’t let go of their sloppy kisses long enough for either of them to look at what they were doing.
Eventually it even worked. Koyama got the last of the buckles undone and flung the heavy vest aside exposing the black button-down shirt underneath it. YamaPi was tugging at his belt, jerking his hips forward with each rough tug.
“Come on.” Koyama urged, fingering the width of his shoulders as YamaPi tugged his belt off. “Come on.” It wasn’t a whine but it was close. YamaPi huffed a laugh against his shoulder, resting his forehead there for a moment.
“You’re so demanding.” YamaPi admonished, Koyama couldn’t answer that because YamaPi managed his fly a lot easier and shoved his big hand down his pants.
“Oh.” All the air rushing out of his lungs, everything inside going tight . He pushed his own pants down those precious few centimetres, just low enough on his lean hips that they were out of the way. Then YamaPi was wrapping his too-dry, too-hot fist around his dick and Koyama jerked, pressing up into it with a small sound.
“Look at you.” YamaPi breathed, eyes all loose, like his swollen mouth. He sounded so smug. Koyama leaned forward, bit down sharply at his bottom lip, something swelling inside him at the surprised sound YamaPi made. He tugged his shirt out of his pants and got to work on the complicated snaps that held his pants in place.
Hands tangled and shoving, YamaPi was trying to kiss his back but each time Koyama would pull his tongue back into his mouth, smiling into the kiss at the annoyed sound he was making. Too cute. The last snap finally gave and he could shove the mess of YamaPi’s boxers and pants out of the way. Finally could get his hands on the length of him. Skin hot and smooth, sliding his fingers across the top, feeling it pulse and fill against his palm. The proof of a man as it were.
Koyama let his head fall back, trying to entice YamaPi back where he wanted him and it worked. He was easy to divert. His legs slotted nicely in with YamaPi’s riding high on his thigh and a roll of his hips and had the head of his dick bumping against YamaPi’s. Perfect.
YamaPi gave him a stinging bite, right high, near his ear and Koyama purred. He licked his palm, getting his hand as wet as he could with his mouth, trying not to waste even a second.
He had a hand around the both of them, fingers stretching to fit. YamaPi groaned low in his throat and Koyama could feel the vibrations all the way through his own chest, baritone shaking him and trying to bring him to his knees.
“Good?” Koyama sighed, arching up and pushing into every point of contact as he could.
“Very.”
He dug the toes of his boots into the floor as best he could, leaning his shoulders back against the wall for leverage and balance so he could wrap his other hand around them too. It was still too dry, but that too was good, just enough to keep him here and now, kept it from being too much.
He couldn’t afford to wallow in sex and slick kisses like that, not right now, but he wanted, oh how he wanted. A roll of his hips made them slide together and push into the hollow of his palm. YamaPi’s breathing hitched, a stuttering huff of air against the skin he left wet with his tongue and Koyama shivered. He was leaving a row of stinging bites, not hard enough to bruise, but bright along his nervous system like fire crackers.
When he got low on his neck, that tender spot where his neck flowed into his shoulder, a small vulnerable bit of muscle there. Like he knew exactly what Koyama wanted he bit down, just as Koyama pushed up and he came without warning, like a suckerpunch to the stomach.
He jerked his head back, cracking it against the wall at the sudden unfolding of heat in his stomach. It was tearing through him up from his toes and fingers and he was groaning unconsciously, pushing wildly into the tunnel of his own fist and making a right mess of his shirt.
Koyama was still gasping, staring blankly at the wall while his head rang perfectly clear for an endless moment, wiped clean.
YamaPi was breathing against his neck, swearing low and hard as he rut against Koyama’s body, pressing him into the plaster. Koyama could only breathe shallowly and ride out the aftershocks, the way his fingers seemed to belong to someone else and his knees were jello. That was perfect, usually so.
“Fuck. You, that. Yes.” YamaPi groaned, licking the imprint of his teeth and Koyama shivered hard, fingers tightening around YamaPi dick, sticky with Koyama’s come. Koyama couldn’t put up any resistance, couldn’t grasp more than letting YamaPi pound him into the wall, rutting against him and breathing fast. “Almost.”
“Go ahead.” Koyama shuddered hard, and YamaPi snarled.
“There.”
YamaPi came, trying to press his face right into Koyama’s shoulder, their fingers tangled around each other and getting all messy-slick.
Koyama watched the roof as YamaPi came down. The wallpaper was peeling a little, missing in a huge chuck there. It looked almost like a rabbit formed by the exposed pale drywall underneath.
“I should go.” YamaPi said into the warm curve of his neck, breath humid and overly warm. Koyama had new bruises on his butt from being banged into the wall, and there was a faint burn in his thighs from the awkward position.
Koyama smiled faintly and licked at his bottom lip, it tingled still from the rush of blood, bruised from their kisses. YamaPi pulled away, tucking himself into his pants, there was nothing to wipe his hands on so he licked at the mess that covered just the very edge of his palm. Not bad, slightly herbal, like the tea. Weird., very weird, but Koyama had been expecting something weirder, strawberry parfait maybe.
“You.” YamaPi said softly, cupping his cheek and letting his thumb drag over his cheek up to the corner of his eye.
“Me.” Koyama agreed.
YamaPi kissed him, soft, lingering and Koyama luxuriated in the feel of his soft lips, and the wet glide of his tongue. He trailed off into a series of smaller kisses.
“I’ll be back for you.” YamaPi whispered, kissing his forehead again. “When they serve dinner.”
“Okay.” Koyama smiled tightly. He wasn’t even a little okay with that. He wanted out of here now, he wanted to run and not look back. “That’s okay.”
YamaPi was redoing the snaps on his stab vest, fingers moving over the fastenings a lot quicker then when they were trying to undo them. Snicker, snack. Soon enough YamaPi was all done up, picking his helmet up off the ground and brushing some dust from it. Koyama wiggled back into his pants, getting everything all right again. He wasn’t going to face his death with his willy out.
“See you in a bit.”
“If I had a dollar for every time someone told me that.” Koyama told the closing door.
When the guards came back Koyama was in his corner, glaring daggers at them, two, he couldn’t tell if either of them was YamaPi. He lashed out when they reached for him. He wasn’t going easily. No, they would need to drag him. Drag they did, down the corridors while he dug in his heels and their gloves pressed hot bruises into his biceps.
“No, put me down.” Koyama shrieked, voice crackling over the words. “I’m not going to go.”
They shook him roughly, knocking him between them and used the moment of disorientation to drag him around a corner to a wide set of double doors. Koyama pressed his foot against the door and kicked back as hard as he could; they all stumbled backwards with the force of it but it wasn’t enough to free him.
“Stop it.” One of them hissed, grabbing his hair and pushing him face first up against the door. Koyama growled and kicked, and something hard was pressed against the back of his neck, a baton. “You will eat your supper.”
He banged Koyama’s head off the door once with an awful hollow sound and dragged him, stunned, over to one of the high-backed gothic dining chairs. Where Koyama was dumped and his guards retreated to the ring of men standing at attention around the long dining table. Only this one wasn’t filled with tea pots and cakes; there were a lot of cupcakes, elaborate piles of cupcakes on silver layered platters. Not a drop of tea in sight.
Koyama pressed his palm to the throbbing in his head.
The other guests were all silent, white rabbit masks drawn down over their eyes. Koyama stared blankly at the empty eye sockets of his own mask sitting on the table next to a cracked china plate. He chose to ignore both. Nothing else moved. The faint ringing in his ears faded and he looked around at the other guests more closely, a mix of men and women all tight lipped and empty-eyed.
Somewhere deep in the house a bell, well more like a gong, went off. The in high-vaulted dining room it was impossible to pin-point even the direction the sound came from. The effect was like a switch being flipped, suddenly all the people in masks were lunging at their food, shovelling it in their mouths with fingers curled like claws. The girl next to him knocked over a cake stand and it clattered to the table top loudly, spilling cupcakes with deep pink icing all over. She didn’t even notice, squishing her cupcake between her fingers until the moist middle was spilling out and smearing her large gaudy rings in confectionary viscera.
Koyama looked away, disgusted by the mess everyone was making as they lewdly licked icing off their arms. It made his stomach roll.
“This is your last meal, eat up.” One of the guards told him, even blank tones.
“I’d rather not.”
“Fine. As soon as you’re done eating it’s to the gallows for you,”
Koyama closed his eyes, but the sound was everywhere, soft growls and the wet slurping sound of people eating out of cupped palms. It was filthy.
Commotion through the doors across from him got his attention.
“Catch him. He’s a fake!” Something slammed into the wall and it rattled a little plaster from the ceiling. Koyama’s heart stopped beating, for several long moments there was nothing. Nothing but the animals around him stuffing their faces because that was all that was between them and the butcher’s block.
Three shots rang out, too loud, echoing. Koyama stopped breathing entirely panic paralyzing him.
“No.” He shook his head. “No.” If YamaPi was caught then there would be nothing. Nothing but the axe for him, the sharp edge cutting through bone and nervous tissue. No projects, no late night trips because he forgot to buy cat food. No more over-due movie rentals. Just no more.
“No.” He wasn’t going to. Koyama shoved out of his seat and stood up on the table, kicking one cake stand so the contents fell all over the floor. The guards were all rushing towards him, but he was moving towards the commotion, through that door. Their hands were reaching for him, everyone manicures smeared with saliva and pastry and the gloved hands of the suits, and Koyama was kicking, boots splattered mid-way up his calf in cup-cake gore. It was slippery, and he fell off the table onto one of the rabbit women. She was screaming, screeching in a wordless way and it was chaos all around them. Everyone was moving, the guests out and the guards in, and Koyama’s head ached where he’d hit it.
He tried to get off her without stepping on her but she was hitting him, nails forming claws and going for his eyes. He swatted her hands away from his face and rolled to the side, boots were landing like comets, heavy utilitarian tread looking for fingers and toes.
Koyama wiggled, curling his hands around his head, heels clattered too close to him, the stiletto hitting the ground like spike just to the left of his hand.
“Fuck.” He swore quietly but with complete conviction. Before he could get to his feet on his own he was being hauled upright by some more completely faceless guards. Koyama fought them, unable to get any leverage with his struggles. The floor was slick with blood from hits to the face and unforgiving telescoping batons and icing.
Koyama was dragged from the chaos literally kicking and screaming, red cape marking his progress like the laser scope on a rifle. He passed YamaPi being dragged the opposite way, he looked unconscious, stinking of the metallic reek of fresh blood. He hoped the Kevlar kept it non-fatal. Not that it mattered; nothing kept you from a beheading. Or a stiletto heel to the head.
If Koyama had half a mind he would have wished him luck, as it was he shouted and twisted and was dragged through the halls. The gong had started up from somewhere deep inside the manor again, each crash making the very air vibrate with the massive sounds. This time it set of a series of shrieks, inhuman sounds of glee, and a stampede of feet.
More people flooded out of the room moving with them and hands were grabbing him all over, tugging hard on his cape and his shirt. Someone grabbed at his hair and Koyama’s cry turned into a choked sort of gasp.
He was disoriented and lost track of where they were bringing him, twisting away from the faceless people reaching for him.
Everything came back with a rush. Sunlight hitting his face hard and Koyama gasped. The Queen was standing there, her long train pooled around muscular legs, eager bloodlust making his dark eyes look manic. He was shoved down a few stairs at a time, legs turned to putty at the sight of a giant man waiting at the foot of the stairs for him. He wore all white, a hood pulled over his face completely masking his face, barely even noticed it, attention completely focused on the glinting axe.
His mind froze, skipping over and over on the cheery glint of sunlight on metal. He couldn’t tell you how many people where there anymore. Voices and words all reduced to nothing but noise, his entire mind focused on that man and the axe.
It felt like a skip, one moment he blinked only once and he was kneeling and there was some sort of fur under his cheek. It was soft where the ground was hard and his cheeks were drenched, the fur sticking to his face with salty tears. Each breath was a hiccupping gasp that tore at his insides.
He wanted to keep his eyes open, to face death like a man. But he couldn’t. The world swam alarmingly through his watery eyes, and for one odd moment it was like he was looking at something familiar, something dear to him it made his heart twist painfully. Someone was laughing, the sound not coming through clearly, like a turkey screaming. He was sorry he never got to -
T H W A C K
When Koyama was young he was so lonely. He knew that something was wrong with him, that he was different in some subtle but important way. It wasn’t that he cried easily, some boys just did. He was good at baseball and he was friendly. He should have been popular and happy. You didn’t need a Mom to be happy. He just that there was something wrong and it bugged him kept him from ever being content.
When he was teenaged, that ill-fitting feeling on top of puberty was too much. He was drowning in people and their trivial problems. He wanted to fly away, to go somewhere else. It was obvious he didn’t belong there. That he was wearing someone else’s ill-fitting shoes. Then he had found Nyanta, a kitten in an alleyway, pitiful cries just loud enough to get his attention over the patter of rain.
From that day forwards it was the two of them against the world-- things got easier. Like having someone there, even just a cat that liked to sleep and eat more then it liked to cuddle with him was a comfort. Koyama was able to grow into himself. Even though he knew if he was mouse sized Nyanta wouldn’t hesitate to eat him, it didn’t matter because having Nyanta there taught him to love.
It all made such dizzying sense, so much that it took his breath away.
Staring up at the bloody stump of his own neck, the world tilted at an impossible angle. His own heart was splashing blood across his face in what felt like buckets. Someone was still laughing and Koyama joined them.
He laughed and laughed and laughed. Until his body vanished leaving only a smile until that too vanished.
“The Cheshire Cat! Off with his head, again!.” The Queen hollered.
Koyama giggled. They couldn’t catch him, no one could catch him. He was the beloved child of the shadows, created by the blank spaces and the darkness you never notice when you blink. The Queen was raging, shrieking and screaming and people were scattering like so many dead leaves in the wind. It was fall.
The chopping block was still slick and red with blood. Koyama watched it for a moment, forcing his mind to recall what it had meant to be Koyama. To force himself into a mind and body too small for him. He’d been forced to fracture himself, split his mind into two bodies, and it had hurt but it saved him. Stopped him from reverting to his real form when he stepped back into Wonderland; he was kind of insulted no one recognized him. It should have been his grand homecoming, and he’d almost been gang-banged by the trees, it was all so below him.
It wasn’t that he was really gone, he didn’t just grow invisible. Cats were known to be creatures that lived on the edge, one paw delicately between the planes of existence, watching things no one else could see. He simply chose to lift his paws off the other side, ceasing to exist there when he chose to do so.
Everyone was in an epic tizzy rushing about and Koyama wound between them all easily. Moving towards the manor. His tail flicked around, the only visual tell of his irritation with the chaos. The Queen was throwing a fit stamping her feet and screaming at all the suits stumbling over themselves. He could kill her, it wouldn’t be hard, a knife under the ribs until he felt the give of the strong muscles of the heart. No one could stop him. He was a god among mice.
Alas, a cat owed no loyalty to anyone but himself.
YamaPi was slumped in a corner, one hand pressed to the sticky gunshot wound in his shoulder. It was leaking blood sluggishly, but it wasn’t fatal. The cat could still smell the trace of his own semen under the sharp taste of YamaPi’s blood and the cloying over-powering scent of sugar.
He lapped at the blood, twisting himself around YamaPi and bringing his smile out, letting YamaPi taste the hint of his own blood on his tongue. It was like licking piles of pennies.
“I can lead you, but you’re going to need to get out of here yourself.” He purred, and YamaPi’s eyes opened, hazy and trying to lock on him without being able to see him.
“Who are you?” He croaked, groaning as he pushed himself forwards, looking too small, a knight should always have his armour.
He thought about it. Who was he? He could still feel Koyama stirring in his mind, thoughts and emotions so human, but easy to ignore. Pulling himself into YamaPi’s reality he thought about his shape, not really putting any effort into it, letting both faces come forward, superimposed on each other. He had no idea what YamaPi saw, but he huffed out a tired laugh.
“You.”
“Me.” Koyama agreed. “Now get up.”
“Let’s go.” YamaPi pulled himself to his feet, staggering after Koyama as he faded in and out of reality thoughtlessly, tail flicking about with irritation.
A long time ago, time moved differently in all the different realities, he’d been sunning himself on a large rock by a little crop of Tum Tum trees, just enough shade for him to roll over into when he got tired of the sun. A Jack was stumbling down the path leaning heavily on the tip of his sword as if it were a cane. His sharp suit was wrinkled and dirty, he stank of blood and fear. The Cat rolled onto his side to watch his progress through narrowed eyes.
“Hello,” The Cat purred, and the Jack gave a small gasp weakly lifting his sword, the tip dipped and swayed jerking as he tried to keep it raised.
There was a war going on wasn’t there? How annoying- it always upset the trees. From time to time he saw the JubJub bird soaring in the skies, hunting for small unsuspecting creatures. When he got bored he would play with it, pretending not to see it until the last moment. Its screams of fury and frustration were amusing to say the least.
“Who are you?” The Cat asked him, and he let his sword fall, it wouldn’t do him any good anyways. Men did so like to use their metal as a crutch, swords and shields and all manners of pretty baubles. He preferred the company of the Hatter, he was quite mad after all.
“The Jack of Hearts. Well, I was.”
“Death is coming for you.” The Cat informed him calmly, he could smell it in the air. Too much blood for him to survive it.
“I know. I just.” He fell to his knees with a pained sound. The Cat was interested; he rolled lazily to his feet and leapt off his rock landing above him, peering down into his gore-streaked face.
“You want something.” It wasn’t a question.
“I wanted to see someone, before.” His words failed him and he spent long moments looking like he was going to be sick all over himself. The Cat watched him closely; his heart beat was fast and shallow blood pressure dropping too fast for his body to cope, he was going into shock.
“Give me your form.” A plan was forming. He was so bored after all. It would be something new to do. He missed Alice dearly. “I want it.”
“A bargain. I know how you work Cheshire Cat.”
The Cat smiled razor sharp teeth and sharper amusement underneath it all. He liked this one, it was a pity the ground and the grass would get him.
“Your terms?”
“There is a Knight in the White Queen’s army, YamaPi, protect him. The Red Queen has an ambush ready, on the Checker Plains.”
“Is that all?”
“Yes.”
“Agreed.” The Cat purred, pleased. It was short work to rip open his throat, he was dying anyways, he just made it happen a little faster, muzzle streaked with the blood he was lapping up. Felt the Jack seep into him, a new form ready to be used. He would go, he would find Alice, he did miss her so. He would bring her back here where she belonged.
YamaPi never would find out why he was the only one who survived the massacre of his set. The Cheshire Cat had no loyalty to anyone but himself, still a promise was a promise. How they made it out of the Red Queen’s Manor would also always baffle YamaPi, but the whim of gods was not to be questioned.
Now, YamaPi was lying propped against a thick tree, his armour standing sentry to the small clearing. The Cheshire Cat was sitting on his chest purring like a bag of marbles caught in a hoover and lapping at the wound on his shoulder.
“You sound happy.” YamaPi said, smiling lazily at him, wincing when Koyama licked roughly across the clean little bullet hole.
“Alice is coming.” It rumbled. “The Frabjous Day is upon us.”