Maxwell: Bleah. I was going to update CMC again but that whole chapter will be Lamb teaching Travis the system (the menus, how the cards work, whatnots as such) so I’m in no particular hurry to get that up. Plus Suppi and I have been discussing this story a lot lately (I blame the R.P.) so now that I have ideas fresh in my head, I’m gonna make them happen.

Spiffy Info:

Warnings: Mentions of drugs, alcohol, and violence.

Music: Still take you Home by Arctic Monkeys

Quote: “Dreams are for fairytales, welcome to reality.”

About this chapter: This is going to be about Hatters past and tell how he got to Wonderland, so we shall read of his death and rebirth (w00t). This will give insight to the game and I hope you figure it out. See if you can piece it all together as I post the histories of some of our main characters.

Please keep in mind: I have never used any of the drugs mentioned (to your knowledge at least) and I’m not 100 sure my facts are straight so please take into account I’m working off what I seen while researching. If you find a mistake please send an e-mail regarding the correct fact and I will fix it.

Vincent is the English translation of Vincenzo; some may refer to him as such so please keep this in mind when reading. His name is also a bit of an oxymoron. It’s meaning is “destined to win” while in the Christian sense, I believe it said, to win over sin. He wins at gambling which is a sin. See? Oxymoron-ish.

Kieran is Gaelic for ‘little dark one’. It is pronounced -KEER in-. I didn’t get much more info on him but I thought it best to straighten out his name…and it IS a boys name.

Just for the record: This is FICTIONAL. If it really happened, do you think, I, would have access to such information? Hell no. No one would even think of giving me a glance. So no, this isn’t real. If you are offended by what is to happen…please go. I hate being told not to write what I don’t know… And the characters/settings/plot/etc. are mine. Amazing isn’t it?

Malice in Wonderland

-Chapter Five-

-He Paints his World in Black and White-

1943, Brooklyn: Typical scene you might say, people wandering the streets as they window shop, do their jobs, or simply stroll. These are the rich, the easy-have-its, those with wealth and power. But behind every one of these scum lie another less fortunate-those who live in the slums. Those who only find it easy as they taste the nut-like flavor of the burning poppy seed, or maybe insert a needle into their skin and infect themselves with foreign juices, getting off on their high and the effects that reside soon after.

These are the real people. These are the ones who spend their days and nights wandering the streets begging for money to buy food (at least that is what they claim) and find shelter. They are the poor, the bums, and the homeless; and even known as the wasted. Among this group is an even lower group. They’re the misfits, the outcasts, the sinners, the deviants. Those who chose to live this way. They beat the rich and poor, men and woman alike, for money and treasures selling them off to buy a drink or drug to last them though the night.

And among these rebels are the gangs. Among these gangs are those who form a partnership of killing and thieving. There are many that reside in the streets of New York but only one that draws any significant attention. Known through out the streets as the “Pipers” they are an opium trading group with a reputation like no other. Killing and raping even in the middle of the day. The leader of the group came from an Old Italian family that was notorious for the legacy he carried on. His name was Vincent. At nineteen years of age he didn’t look anything like his family with black hair that rested mid-shoulder and his black eyes. He was pale for an Italian many would say, fish-belly white. He didn’t dress like his father did when he was living, nor did he live in the mansion he grew up in. No, he was rebellious. He took his business with him, to the streets. They were now his home, his calling, his business. He loved his job.

At least he did until the day of July sixteenth; that was the one time (the only time) he found himself with his back to the wall. He was lounging restively that hot day; business was slow due to the weather and would remain so through out the next few months. He wiped the sweat from his forehead and wiped his moist hand on his shirt. He rolled his eyes to the watch he held in his hand. 12:06 it read. Afternoon.

“Vincent, its too hot…can’t we go downtown? At least the boozer will be cool.” Kieran, a spunky little Irish immigrant, his best friend and partner in crime (quite literally) said. “Or maybe pick up one of those brassers, they’ve got chilled places to be and it’ll be a favor for both of us.” He looked out the broken window staring down at the street walkers who had make-up running down their faces from sweat. “Hell, they might be willing to lower their prices even.”

Vincent looked over from the rim of his hat, a top hat to be precise. “I’m not picking up some filthy child-bearer just go I can cool off.” He wiped away more sweat distastefully. “Let’s just go to the bar…at least they serve drinks.”

Kieran raised his fist into the air, excitedly jumping. “That’s more like it! Now quit fostering and let’s get to the boozer!”

Upon their arrival they noticed another group there, the second most feared gang on the streets. They had frequent run-ins with these particular cronies. Vincent was almost surprised to see their boss there. His name was Sergio, a young man Vincent grew up with. They got along as children but by the ages of twelve they hit their rebellious stages and soon drifted apart. And once again here they were together.

“Oh, shit, sorry Vincent,” Kieran lowered his voice and spoke. “I didn’t know that they were here.” He rested his hand on Vincent’s forearm. “Come on, we can always go to one of the others spots…”

“No we’ll stay here.” Vincent said out loud. He was aware Kieran had a run in with the group a few weeks back and there was no better time for payback then the present. He walked over to the group and grabbed a beer that was set down. “I’ll take that thank you.” He said before relaxing comfortably between Sergio and one of his goons. “Mm, that hits the spot…” he licked his lips and sighed. “Oh sorry, was this yours?” he asked the bald man who stood on his right. “Here,” he reached over and poured the beer down on mans leg. “Whoops.” He said bluntly before shrugging and stepping away.

“Vincenzo, where are your manners?” Sergio spoke up brushing away a loose stand of hair. “The least you could do is apologize and put up with another round.” He was accompanied by “yeah” and “get to it” remarks from his followers. “Or have you fallen that low?”

Snickers followed the remark as Vincent stopped and looked over his shoulder. “Maybe but as long as I don’t have to be grouped in the same category as you I’m willing to take that trip.”

Sergio’s face twisted up. “You think you’re so smart do ya?” he stood and began removing his vest. “Come here and say that again, huh? Tell me how you really feel. Back yourself up, go on.”

Vincent rolled his head on his shoulders. “Eh…I already had my daily warm up so, I’d rather not waste my energy.” He looked up and narrowly dodged a punch to his face. “Yeah, think I’ll go back to bed now.” He side-stepped, avoiding another punch. “But that breeze feels really nice, you should-”

“GUARDS!” Kieran shouted suddenly.

As Vincent went to turn his head to respond, Sergio’s fist connected with his lower jaw. He heard a loud crack before pain shot up the right side of his face. He stumbled back as the coppery taste of blood filled his mouth. He narrowed his black eyes to the smirking man. Spitting to Sergio’s feet Vincent turned. “Let’s get out of here.” He told his companion and headed for the door. Just as the two reached the arch of the opening three cops ran in. “Damn.” He whispered.

“Alright you guys,” the Chief shouted. “No funny moves, ya hear me? One wrong step and I’ll cap ya!” He waved his pistol as if to prove his point.

The two gangs stood with their hands partly raised. Kieran began to tremble on the spot. He’d had a few run-ins with the police lately and not on good accounts. Vincent kept his eye on his friend as if trying to send him a telepathic message saying it’d be alright. Something else caught his attention though, a flash of silver. He recognized what it was right away and grabbed Kieran’s hand, dragging him to the floor.

The sound of gun shots filled the room as Sergio’s men opened fire. Two of the cops were quickly taken out the last made an attempt to retrieve his own gun and earned a bullet to the forehead. His body dropped to the floor as chunks of his brain and skull splattered against the door and blood oozed from the open wound.

“Oh god!” someone shouted. “He’s got a gun! He’s got a gun! Do something there’s a gun!”

The shout caused an outburst like no other. People were frantically running out of the bar, screaming and shoving. During the commotion Sergio looked down at Vincent and grinned. His words were drowned out in the noise but his lips said it all, ‘we’ll end this here’. Cocking the hammer he aimed the gun at Vincent who was staring up into the barrel.

“Let’s go!” Vincent shouted as he pulled Kieran up. Poor kid, only fourteen and already stuck in situations like this. Vincent would protect him, his brother as he liked to call him, he’d get the kid out of here. “Run Kieran! Get up!” His hand never left the youths’ as he dragged him out of the bullet-ridden bar. “Shit!” he gasped as a set of cops blew their whistles and came after the duo. “Come on!”

Even when they were out of breath and cramping in the sides, they ran on. It took at least twenty minutes before they finally shook the cops off. They were now hiding in the lowest part of town, down by the harbor behind rot-scented dumpsters. Out of breath and in pain the two were now at ease.

“T-that was close huh?” Vincent asked with a slight smile on his lips as he looked over at the Irish boy. He reached over and ruffled the fiery hair before kissing the youth’s forehead. “There were a few moments when I thought we were done for.” He rested his head back. “How about you Kieran?”

The boy didn’t answer.

“Kieran?”

“I got shot…” he whispered into Vincent’s side.

Vincent nearly jumped up but became aware that the boy was using him for support. “Here, lay down and I’ll-I’ll get it out.” He started to pull away but the other cried out in ear-shrieking pain. “Okay, okay!” Vincent kept in place. “H-how are we supposed to take care of it then?” he asked brushing red locks from the others’ smooth, pale, forehead.

Kieran smiled. “We don’t.”

Vincent shook his head. “Don’t start talking like that Kieran,” he looked around hopelessly. “You’re starting to sound like one of those dramatic actors we saw on stage.” He watched as the boy cringed while attempting a laugh. The pale form seemed to turn a yellowish color as the blood pooled in a puddle of filth. “Let’s get you out of here all this garbage isn’t gonna-”

“Don’t.” Kieran rasped. His chest heaved with every breath. “Just stay…I don’t want to be alone.”

Alone? What would happen to Vincent once Kieran was gone? He’d be alone. It would be just him and the corpse of his right-hand gurrier; as he fondly called the boy, which would be frightening and lonely as well. He rolled up his sleeves and grabbed the side the boy hadn’t been shot on and being he didn’t know where it had entered he didn’t want to grab anywhere else.

“Come on; tell me where it’s at so I can get the bullet out.” Vincent replied in a stern voice. “You’re just making it harder on yourself you damn bowsie!” He’d picked up a lot of the slang the boy shouted around but didn’t realize how odd it sounded coming from his mouth as Kieran tried to laugh. “Shut up.” He retorted. “Now get up so I can get you out of here.” Reaching out he earned a slap to the hand.

“Hump off!” Kieran told him. “I said not to worry about it.” His eyes were becoming moist. “I just don’t want to be alone. Please Vincent, don’t leave me.” He reached up awkwardly at his leader. “I don’t want to die…” he started to weep, his tears running out the corners of his eyes leaving dirty streaks that led back into his hairline. “I don’t want to go! I don’t want to be alone!”

Vincent bit his tongue. “You’re not Kie, I’m gonna be right here.” He pulled the boy into an awkward embrace, letting the boys head rest on his lap as he did when he’d first met Kieran seven years prior. He stroked the dirty locks soothingly and looked down the others body to see a bloody back and hole where the bullet had exited, departing between ribs it seemed.

He wouldn’t make it through the night.

“Just rest now and we’ll handle it soon.”

Kieran nodded just the slightest. “The pain’s going away,” he whispered. That made Vincent’s heart pound painfully in his chest. “It’s getting better…” he said while closing his eyes. “All….gone…”

As was Kieran.

“Good by kiddo,” Vincent whispered to the head stone. He lifted from his crouched position and ran his fingers over the rough surface. “I’ll make it better. Don’t you worry.” He turned from the fresh grave and made his way to the last two members of his band. “I’m going out. You two are permanently dismissed.”

The two young men looked at each other. The taller of the two spoke. “What do you mean Boss? Where are you going?”

“To Hell.” He muttered as he slid a cigarette between his lips. “Now go make yourselves scarce.”

Those would be the last words a living soul ever heard come from him. After leaving his two cronies he made his way to find Sergio and killed anyone who got in his way. He found the man after much blood shed, at one point his eyes were burned from ash from a fire that had been set, but it wasn’t about to stop him. Once he was in the man house he made his way up the stairs and found his last victim in bed with his lover. He gave no warning before kicking in the door and riddling the body with six bullets. Two to the bed, two in the chest, and the last two blew away his groin. There would be no legacy now. He ignored the incoherent shouts that the lover spouted. She was just a child breeder anyway and that’s all she would have done in the end. He left her there to mourn her loss and he mourned his own but that didn’t happen to be the case.

She jumped off the bed not caring that her form was still nude to him. She took a knife that she’d grabbed from who-knows-where at this point and drove it into his back. His body seemed to go into shock though he did not. He felt weightless as his body dropped to the wooden floor. He smiled as he lost the last bit of sight he had. Maybe he’d die blind with a knife in his back but it was okay. He’d done his job.

Blood filled his mouth and began trailing from between his lips. It tasted sweet today, he thought, it didn’t have its usual metallic-copper like taste he knew so well. It was so very sweet.

Like sweet revenge.

He opened his eyes aware of the warm sun washing over his body. He felt as the light breeze combed through his hair and tickled his cheeks. He opened his mouth expecting to experience loss of breath but inhaled deeply, his lungs filling with crisp air. He looked around but saw nothing but white for the first moments. He blinked a bit adjusting his eyes to the new surroundings.

“Is he okay?” a voice suddenly asked. Not one he was familiar with.

“I don’t know he looked pretty beat up a few moments ago.” A female replied. She reached out her cool hand touching Vincent’s forehead. “Are you okay?” she asked.

Child-breeder.

He slapped her hand away. “Don’t touch me,” he grunted around his still sore lips. “Get away.”

“Hey, no need to get snippy,” the first voice, a male, replied. “She was just checking on you. Here, take a hit.” He held out an odd looking object, a pipe of some-sort shaped like a Caterpillar. “Careful though. I got that for my birthday so I can’t get another one.”

Vincent groaned into his arm as he raised his head. Aware of his surroundings by this point he realized he was outside, lying on an abrasive, dirt opening. He could smell flowers all around him, hear insects buzzing and birds chirping, taste the air and salt from a nearby lake it seemed. He could still feel the sun beating on his sore back though it seemed to relax the pain. He blinked, trying to focus his eyes again because everything seemed to be without color.

“Can you see?” the child-breeder asked. Her voice was soft, like gentle waves on a beach. “Do your eyes still hurt?”

“I’m fine.” He snapped. “I can see just fine.” Despite the lack of color, a voice in the back of his head whispered. “Just tell me where I am and how I can get home.”

The two strangers looked at one another. The child-breeders’ face was concerned while the other seemed to be in a high but it was hard to tell under his hood. He only laughed, his body falling back stopping just an inch above the ground. “Did you hear that? He wants to go home!” he shook his head and laughed. “Dude, there’s no going home. After all, you’d be an old fart if you went back. You died in nineteen-forty three right? Yeah and since I died in nineteen-ninety nine… it’s past the year two thousand by now.”

“Not technically,” the girl spoke. “After all we’re in here…you know it doesn’t matter when you die, you’ll just go back to the day you died.” She looked over at Vincent and smiled. “I know it’s all confusing now but we’ll straighten things up once we get you back to that pub you brought with you.”

“What are you talking about child-breeder?” he asked still trying to adjust his eyes. He began rubbing at them brutally. “I didn’t bring anything with me.”

She didn’t respond as she grabbed him around the wrists and pulled them away. She smiled gently as she removed a white rag. “You’re making them bleed…” she whispered as she dabbed around the orbs. Her hand stroked his cheek. “It seems you lost your sight before coming here. “It seems that only your ability to see color is gone.”

He scowled at her. “Don’t touch me. And stop acting like you know!” he drew back. “I didn’t bring a pub with me, I can see just fine, and you!” he pointed at the young man who seemed to be floating around. “Stop….doing drugs!”

The hooded boy looked over. “You’re one to talk dude.” He snapped his fingers and some flat, odd mechanical piece appeared on his chest. He opened it up and began to type. “Lets see… you’re name is Vincenzo Bianchi but you preferred to be called Vincent White, the English translation of your name. You were born in nineteen-twenty four to your fathers Mistress and left home the day he died. You were only seven then? Wow. Hm…ah! Yeah, you sold Opium and other illegal narcotics and formed a street gang known as the Pipers. You earned the nickname Mad Hatter due to your actions and the top hat you wear. That was a gift from Kieran, a boy you picked up off the street and took in, and lost your life avenging.” He began to scroll. “Let’s see what else…”

“How do you know all this?” Vincent asked. “How did you get all this information in….that?” he bluntly pointed to the computer. When the boy tried to bring it closer and show him the foreign object he shot back. “Don’t bring it near me!” he shouted.

“Kemushi…” the girl spoke sharply. “Sorry about that Vincent. I didn’t know what it was at first either but it’s actually quite useful. But that’s not important right now.” She told him despite the pout Kemushi produced as he spoke to the object and kissed it. “We really need to get you to that pub though so we can clean you up and inform you of what’s happening.” She stood and brushed her skirt. “If you’ll follow us…”

Follow them? Why would he do that? No he wasn’t going to be tricked by these…these…these drug induced psychos! He was going to run like Hell and find his way back. Was there a way back though? He was sure he got stabbed in the back and died that afternoon so what was going on? He didn’t know. Right now he didn’t care. Instead he got up and ran the other way.

“Vincent!” the girl called after him. “Wait!”

“Don’t worry about him Rose,” Kemushi smiled and shoved off his hood to reveal blue curls and emerald eyes. “He’ll be fine…” He blinked when he noticed the concerned look on her face. His face hardened the slightest. He slid his hand in her own and squeezed, grabbing her attention. “Come on, we’ll wait for him at that pub…we’ll throw him a little party huh? A small welcome.”

She nodded and smiled. “You’re right Kemushi. Let’s make him feel a little more welcome. We’ll show him our home.”

Hatter ran on but the field didn’t seem to end. ‘What’s going on?’ Those words raced through his mind. ‘Why can’t I get home?’ He didn’t even mind the fact he could no longer see the colors of the objects around him he just wanted to see something, something he knew, something familiar.

“That pub…” he gasped out as he ran. “That damn pub where we were three days ago!” the image of the building was still fresh in his mind. He imagined the blocked building, its red bricks faded with age. He recalled it being Kieran’s favorite hang out since no one cared what your age was as long as you were buying. “I want to be there…I want to be back there!” He squeezed his eyes shut as he ran. “Take me back!”

He shouted the words as he ran. He stepped down and felt the familiar gravel-like road beneath his feet. He opened his eyes in confusion. Wasn’t he on dirt a moment ago? Looking down he recognized the black rubble beneath him. Looking up he saw it; even in black and white he’d recognize that damn building he hated so much. He could almost cry and say I love you to it but refrained from doing so. He couldn’t. His legs became like jell-o beneath him and he lowered himself to the ground.

“No way…,” he said as he began to crawl over. “They said…they said I couldn’t go back. They said…” He drew himself to his feet again and ran oddly up to it. He pressed his hands to the door. “It still feels the same!” he felt his heart flip. If this was back to normal, did that mean it was all a dream, all those deaths? Did that mean… “Kieran!” he shouted as he burst through the door.

“Welcome!” two voices exclaimed. He looked up to see the faces of the two he’d just met moments ago. “Jeez, I didn’t think you’d ever find this place, after three hours and all…” Kemushi laughed. “Come on, get in here and have a drink!”

Vincent blinked. “W-what?” his heart sunk. “You mean…I’m not…” he looked around, his chest aching. “I thought I was home.”

“You are,” Rose spoke. “This is home Vincent.” She held a box in her delicate hands. Stepping forward she handed it to him. “Here,” she smiled. “I hope you like it.”

He looked down at the oddly shaped box and lifted the lid off it. He wasn’t sure what compelled him to do so, considering the pain he was feeling. He blinked into it and his eyes widened. “No way…”

“It was hard to get a hold of considering you weren’t wearing it when you died but…” she explained.

He removed his black top hat from the box which he let fall to the floor. It was still in perfect shape as he’d never let anything happen to the damn thing. Well then again it could have been a fake. There was no way she’d be able to get a hold of HIS hat. He turned it in his hands and found what he was looking for. An Ace of Spades fitted in the small silk band. Removing the card he kept his eyes on her, glaring with every move.

“We’ll see if it’s the real thing,” he told her cautiously but she smiled still.

He turned the card over in his hand and froze. He didn’t even know he was crying until the salty drop lingered on his lips. He licked it away. “To Vincent from Kieran….thanks so much for bringing me in Boss…” his bottom lip began to tremble. “I’m forever in your det.” He laughed. “Little bastard couldn’t spell debt or say it correctly to save his life…”

Rose smiled, her own eyes feeling moist. She quickly wiped the coming tears away. “So do you believe what we have to say now?” she asked with a little laugh.

“I guess,” he whispered admiring the object in his hands.

“Good then lets have a drink and celebrate already!” Kemushi broke in.

“Yeah,” Hatter said as he placed the hat on his head.

Rose beamed at him while handing him a drink. “I hope you’ll come to live up to your name Sir Hatter.” She bowed her head to him.

“Sir Hatter huh?” he asked sipping the cold ale. “I could get used to this place…”

-He Paints his World in Black and White-

Maxwell: Okay, that ending kind of sucked….a lot. I know! But I wasn’t sure how to wrap it up. I figured once he realized she was telling him the truth it’d be best to stop it there. Don’t get all butt-hurt and confused. That was just to show how he got there. I’ll be doing the same for Chess at a later date. That’s all this was. Next chapter will be a bit of questioning and the Chess and his performance scene. Gods I swear I wrapped this up just so I could do THAT. W00t! But yes…hopefully you all will just enjoy and not bitch!

Oh yeah…about the Wonderland. I’m aware Kemushi comes from a more modern time and Hatter came in the 1940’s. To get that cleared up…in the Wonderland it doesn’t matter when you died. It pretty much gathers people from all over the world from any year and puts them together in harmony! Okay, maybe not harmony but….in other words, the Wonderland is like its own world so there are people from the beginning of time to the end. I decided to clear at least that much up so it would make more sense and I don’t want complaints. I’ll try to give a better explanation in the next chapter….but yeah.