Mini-reel 2011 In the garden of Monsters
Oct. 12th, 2011 10:49 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
snoozing_kittenTitle: In the Garden of Monsters
Pairing: YamaPi/Koyama
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It was a mostly ordinary life for a mostly ordinary man; he had a job he neither liked nor hated, and a string of one-night stands and a faithful cat that kept him from getting lonely. Then he’d fallen down and suddenly everything was extraordinary; trees and tea parties, helplessly drowning in a new and ruthless world, completely unable to swim on his own. In this wonderland nothing is as it seems and no one and nothing can be trusted.
Notes: Written for the mini reel round of![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-community.gif)
reel_johnny, thank you to my beta ![[livejournal.com profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/external/lj-userinfo.gif)
sanjihan
This universe is a mix of Natalia Kill's Wonderland, Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland, American McGee's Alice Return to Madness, as well as listening to the poem of the Jabberwock read by Benedict Cumberbatch which can be heard here.
Koyama didn’t mean to fall into the puddle. It was sort of an accident.
The surface was all silvery, must have been a reflection of the soft hazy sky because puddles were generally more mud than semi-precious metal. It had rained all day, one of those days where thick fat-bellied black thunderclouds spewed sheets and sheets of freezing autumn rain. Koyama watched it over the low wall of his cubicle, scowling because he had forgotten his umbrella and the storm had come on suddenly when the report called for the humidity to stretch out for a few days yet before the inevitable break. Lucky for him it had stopped by the time the hands of the clock struck time to go. Should have realized then that he was never that lucky.
Bored, and staring at the silver sky (sun hidden behind the wispy mist of the left over clouds but not completely, not sunny and not cloudy but somewhere awkwardly caught in between.) He cut through his usual park on the way home, avoiding the puddles because his shoes were just shined. That lasted until he got to the road on the other side and a van going by drenched him, bright red tie against his crisp white shirt suddenly gone all sodden and maroon, dark and shirt clinging to the long lines of his rib cage.
Koyama cursed softly to himself, ‘oh ballsacks’.
After that it didn’t matter so much if he stepped in any of the puddles; his socks were already damp and rubbing against the hard edges of his loafers in a move that created a warm sort of friction ache. Trying to keep himself positive, Koyama cut through the alley, already planning to stop at the corner store in the building next to his for a small tub of ice cream. It was turning into an ‘ice cream and television with his cat’ kind of night. Wouldn’t be exciting, but he didn’t really live an exciting sort of life.
The alley was still, like it was holding its breath, like it knew something was coming when he had no idea. There was a tension in the atmosphere, the spot between his shoulder blades tightening as if he was waiting for a hit from behind. It didn’t make any sense- he was completely alone, not even a rat or a stray to watch his passing. Koyama quickened his step a little, mentally laughing at his own paranoia, even letting the edges of it tug his cheeks into a faint smile. There wasn’t any reason, but it made him feel better anyhow.
He stepped in the puddle without looking, too preoccupied with the fact that all the small hairs on his arms and neck were standing up like something was very wrong, an electric buzz in the air. When his foot sunk through it, further than it should have because there should have been gound there, Koyama barely had the time to yelp before he was tipping and falling all the way through.
It was impossibly deep-- maybe he’d fallen into one of those sinkholes he’d seen on the news, cleverly hidden in the puddle. The water was cold and oily, pressing against his skin and rushing into his ears. Koyama wasn’t floating, no he was falling through the water, falling and falling. For long impossible moments Koyama was disoriented, legs and arms flailing, eyes shut tight against the muddy water. He had tried to hold his breath, just barely managing it as it seared the small muscles in his ribs, desperately burning for oxygen.
His lungs stung, and it was impossible. He couldn’t tell which was up and no matter how he scooped with his hand it didn’t seemed to change the feeling of freefall any. There was no hole that could be this long, it was just impossible. Lungs aching, Koyama cupped his hands in front of his face; if he could just hold on, his feet would hit the bottom, or his head, or something and he could push himself back up to the top without drowning.
Only he didn’t.
Koyama fell.
And fell.
And fell.
Until, lungs burning, he opened his mouth and with an almighty gasp-- tasted stale air.
Koyama choked on it, dragging in burning breath after burning breath as the air that felt like water flowed past his face, streaming through his hair and forming little ticklish eddies between his fingers. When the sobbing breaths slowed, Koyama opened his eyes wet and thick with tears, scared to see something rushing up at him. He hated heights, that instinctive dip in his stomach that was almost physical pain.
There was nothing but darkness outside of his eyelids. Koyama watched it rush by, trying to figure out how he even knew it was rushing by when he couldn’t focus on a damn thing in the odd not-quite light. Of course there wouldn’t be light, he was at the bottom of the longest puddle in the history of the world.
The seconds ticked by and terror shifted into something else. He was still falling to his doom, but he had time to force himself to think through the initial pants-wetting horror of ending up a bloody smear on the bottom of whatever. He thought about the past few years, how he was a nice enough guy and people seemed to like him, just never enough. He had trouble making close friends and found himself aching and isolated at a table full of friends. Once or twice he had thought about it because everyone did, all problems and solutions put to an end by a single swan dive, a perfect 10.0. He wouldn’t ever do it, could never do it. He hated heights, and wanted an open casket, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t acknowledge it. It was a sad sort of epitaph to leave.
Who would take care of Nyanta? He was going to starve to death alone in the apartment, crying and crying that way he does when he wants food, like he’s dying. All of Koyama’s projects at work left half done, colleagues whom might cover for him for the first few days, and after that his job would be delegated to someone else and it would be like he was never there at all.
Still Koyama fell.
D
O
W
N.
The air got thinner, breath coming faster, like he was hiking up and not falling to the center of the earth. His heart hammered, beating too fast to try and keep the oxygen flowing, but he was getting too hot and then too cold, sweaty. Koyama passed out before he could tip his head back and see the ground rushing up at him. Probably better that way.
He hit the ground, millions of tiny mushrooms breaking his fall and letting up a mushroom cloud of fine spores that was visible hanging in the air –a million itty bitty children- in the achingly clear daylight.
--
Koyama moaned as someone pressed something thick and blunt against his ribs. The pressure eased off, but then came back sharper and harder. Insistent in the way only pain could be.
“Ow.” Koyama hissed, rolling to avoid the bruising force to his ribs. He had been lying on his side, and movement caused a new little puff of spores, dancing and spinning above his vision in tiny swirls and sweeps. “What was that for?”
“Just checking if you were alive.” Came the rumbling reply. “It was hard to tell when you were playing like dead.”
“I feel like dead.” Koyama moaned, opening his eyes against the startling brightness of the sky, only to close them quickly, brilliant blue seared onto the back of his retinas. That just hurt. Everything hurt, an all-encompassing all-over throb of hurt. “Where am I?”
“In a grove of mushrooms.” Came the bored reply. Well that at least explained the smell, decay with a faint hint of wet death. A distinctly fungal smell.
Koyama opened his eyes, unable to force himself to open then further then a small sliver, against the light to find that he had crashed through a clear spot in the tree cover, or maybe he’d made that spot. Hazy memories of falling, the cool, sudden immersion in the puddle a more distinct instance. Maybe he was dead. Toe to his ribs again and Koyama rolled away from it, slowly pushing himself up to his knees. If he was dead at least they could stop poking him. Rest in peace and all that.
The man watching him had thick, round cheeks, rosy like that of a small child, seamlessly melting into the twitching nose. It looked almost human, but when he looked away from it he could see the twitches out of the corner of his eye. The grey whiskers seemed to sprout from his skin like particularly unruly sideburns, quivering as he watched Koyama pull himself slowly to his feet. The only outward tell that he was interested in more than lodging his steel-toe in Koyama’s internal organs.
The long velvety-looking skin of his ears were pierced with all sorts of rings and hoops, and something that looked like a bolt and a screw. He blinked, the light glinting dully off the whole mess. There were rabbit ears on that man’s head. They swivelled, training on him and quivering scattering the light patterns until it was doing a crazy dance, his eyes kept getting drawn away from his face to watch them.
“But where am I?”
His voice was all rough, throat sticky and sore with mushroom spores. Koyama pulled himself to his feet to find that he was a bit taller than the other man, eyes to ears as it were. He wore a yellow pin-stripe waistcoat with a storm grey jacket over it. All of the metal bangles on his wrists jangled when he moved, rocking back on his boots to stare Koyama through. The patch of skin between the top of his laced boots and his baggy shorts was hairy, and almost as distracting as the ears and the neon yellow boots.
“Mushroom patch.” He answered again.
“Ah.” There was nothing but trees all around, as soon as he could tear his eyes away from the strange man in front of him. Huge trees with thick trunks and leafy green tops. Being a Tokyo boy himself he had never seen so many trees in one place aside from a few school trips.
“Are you a Jack then?” He poked him in the chest, sharp little claw-like nails pressing into his chest.
“I’m a Koyama.”
“You look like a Jack.”
Koyama watched him, shifting painfully from foot to foot, the pain was receding a little, his skin tingled all over like it had been asleep and was slowly coming awake. “What do you mean?” Koyama looked himself over, still wearing slacks and his dirty white shirt; he was still a little damp here and there, between his legs, in his shoes and under his arm pits. He didn’t look like a Jack, a Jill or even a John, he was Koyama.
“Face, body.” His paws-hands-something-in-between fluttered around. “You just look like one of the cards.”
Koyama couldn’t pull back before the other man’s claws dug into his shoulder, tearing through the cotton with a sound that was too loud in the afternoon light. He squawked, back-peddling away from claws and a furrowed face.
“Hearts.” The other man hissed, and Koyama frowned, covering his exposed shoulder. He knew what the rabbit-man was looking at, he’d been born with the strawberry birthmark, a curiously shaped blemish that had amused many lovers in the past. “The Jack of Hearts, I wonder what the Queen will have to say to you.”
“I don’t know where I am.” Koyama stressed, resisting the urge to sit back down in the already trampled mushrooms and sulk like a small child. He didn’t know where he was, how he got here, or even why there was a half-rabbit-half-man standing in front of him. It seemed like a really bad dream of some sort, too much sugar before bed, or maybe too much LSD.
“Well then. That’s okay.” The complete 180 mood swing was almost terrifying, almost as frightening as his smile. All teeth and bland cheerfulness, vaguely threatening, like a dog baring its snarl instead of a smile. “If you are an assassin, you are the most useless assassin I have ever met. You keep standing there like you have fluff for brains.”
“Assassin?” Koyama yelped.
“Or maybe the spores are burrowing into your brain; if you spend too long in a mushroom grove they’ll eat you. They don’t have mouths so it is a very messy process.” The other man made a face of distaste at the word messy, the very tip of his pink tongue flicking out, testing the air between them and retreating just as fast. His eyes were blank, curiously so. Koyama looked at the mushroom crushed under his loafer for a long moment. “How long have you been sleeping here?” He had no idea how long he had been sleeping on them, only that he’s covered in their spores like some sort of pixie dust, it was in his mouth, his ears, nose and probably his lungs by now. If there were a time to freak out, it probably passed back there when Koyama was still trying to figure out the entrance of the rabbit-man (stage left). “Well then, follow me.”
“Do you have a name?” Koyama asked, tripping over various stumps and roots as he followed the rabbit man. Maybe his name was Cinnabun, or Bigfeet, Floppy, oh, maybe Peter, Peter Rabbit.
“Massu.” He said simply. Or Massu, that worked too.
“So, Massu,” Koyama began diplomatically, “you’re a... rabbit?”
“Not a rabbit. A Hare.”
“Ah. A hare, of course.” Koyama tipped his head, because that was the polite thing to do.
“The March Hare.”
Massu didn’t seem too bothered with conversation, just led him deeper and deeper into the woods. At seemingly random trees he would take a sharp left or right, and as far as Koyama could tell they did at least one complete square if not multiple. He was also unnaturally good at navigating over the roots and random bits of fauna, and they seemed to lift under Koyama’s feet as if they objected to him being in their forest. The other disconcerting thing was Massu’s ears-- they swivelled that way and that, listening to far off things that Koyama didn’t have a hope of placing.
“The queen didn’t like the birdsong, so they have all been captured for re-tuning.” Massu said apropos nothing.
“Of course.” Koyama nodded, because that made perfect sense. It was like a little of the old Alice in Wonderland books mixed with a blind game of poker, or maybe a game of Russian Roulette because the world itself seemed to be balancing on some sort of anticipation. Or maybe that was just Koyama, unnerved by the silent forest and the March Hare.
“Need to get you properly dressed for the tea party. You can’t go looking like that. You look a fright.” Well he was quite all dirty. It was a fair enough assessment, if not a little insulting. “If you show up like that- Hatter would be oh so cross.”
Massu led him to a crystal clear pool of water; it reflected the sky like a puddle of perfect cerulean paint. Maybe if he was lucky he would fall into the sky and end up back home, soggy and wet and lying on his back in the middle of the dirty alley.
“It’s clean.” Massu said, like that was Koyama’s biggest problem at the moment.
With a startling amount of patience and a marked lack of concern over his present predicament Koyama stripped off his soiled and ripped shirt. His undershirt was a bit grubby, not pristine white anymore. The edges of his pants were all torn where they had snagged on small sharp branches as they walked. He looked like the office chic hobo.
“Go on, get clean. I’ll get proper clothes, where did you ever find anything so dull? I’ve honestly seen a burlap suit look better, only once mind you.”
Massu collected his clothes from the pile he left on the forest floor, muttering to himself the whole time. Koyama could only catch bits of pieces of it, ‘red, it will need to be red... Can’t sell these hideous things. Would never fit the trees.’ “Pants.” He said louder, snapping his fingers with annoyance.
Koyama undid the thin leather belt and stepped out of the mess of his loafers, leaving it in a pile. “What in the name of the great Quibble are those?” Massu seemed oddly affronted by his plain black socks; Koyama wiggled his toes, feeling the moss and sticks catching on the thin cotton.
“Okay, okay. They are coming off.” Koyama wiggled out of his socks and left his underwear on, Massu peered at them for a moment (plain dark blue briefs) as if he could see through them before turning on his heel with Koyama’s gathered clothes and leaving him mostly naked by the glass-like pool.
“I hope he comes back.”
Of course he trusted a strange Hare with all his possessions while lost in a weird too-silent forest. Slipping out of his underwear he left them safe and dry hanging on a branch and slipped into the water. It was cool, and smelled and tasted faintly of lemons when it got in his mouth, also deep enough that he could stand in the middle and it would be just over his chin.
It didn’t bring him home. Well, it had been a bit of a long shot.
Maybe his lunch had poisoned him. Maybe instead of splashing him the car had hit him and he was brain dead in a hospital now. He saw a movie like that once, a person living out in a dream world completely cut off from reality. Koyama thought he should probably be gibbering with panic right about now, screaming and shouting. But to do so would have been pointless, he didn’t have a choice but to suck it up like a man and do what he could.
There was a single, clear sound. A cat’s cry. Koyama paused, pulling himself out of the pool ignoring the lemony water that left his skin cool in the still air, goose-flesh breaking out across his chest and legs with a tight tingle. It sounded familiar, and completely impossible.
Nyanta was pushing 17 and Koyama had him ever since he’d been a lonely kid, his only family by this point in his life. Old for a cat, but spry; the lady who lived on the bottom floor of his apartment complex was 96- she said it was in the water and who was Koyama to argue? The forest was no place for his cat- long, slim, and sandy he looked up at Koyama whenever he walked into a room.
“Nyanta?” Koyama called, only feeling a little dumb. Weirder things had happened today after all. Hell, weirder things had happened in the last few hours.
A few cautious and very naked steps into the forest and he swore he saw something lighter flashing in the underbrush. Koyama rushed towards it.
He ran into something cool, smooth, and metal; it didn’t give at all when he barrelled into it and his momentum flung him backwards. But it did catch him, fingers curled around his upper arm with bruising force.
“Woah.” It said, holding him up easily. “Hold your—“ a delicate pause, “horses. Naked dude.”
Koyama might have been naked, but at least he wasn’t wearing a shiny silver suit of armour, the voice echoed from deep inside the helmet somewhere, coming out sounding tinny (ha.)
“Oh.” Was really all he could think of to say out loud; at least it stopped him from laughing. “Did you see a cat go by here?”
“Cats? There are no cats in this forest. Only the trees live in the forest now, they held a referendum to separate.”
“The trees?”
“Yes. Do you realize you are naked?” Its face was like talking to his own reflection, the metal shined to a high gloss. The chest plate was moulded to his muscles, pectoral and abdominal, like the Batsuit but made of pure metal.
“It crossed my mind.” Koyama answered faintly, shaking himself out of the tin-man’s grip.
Feeling his cheeks burn Koyama spun on his feet, heading back towards the pond, the sticks hurt his feet, could feet sharp edges digging and tearing through his skin, he hadn’t noticed it before. How on earth would Nyanta get here anyways? That was crazy. Completely bonkers.
Koyama reached the edge of the pond, the sunlight flashing on the surface and ruining the illusion. He slipped in, feeling a little more comfortable having something between him and the stranger. His tin-man walked to the edge, it was impossible to tell what he was looking at without his face. He lifted a hand and tapped his helmet twice. If he fell in the water he might rust. Arthritis for tin people.
The face panel slid back revealing a young tanned face. He gave Koyama a blank smile.
“And who, are you, to take a bath in the last forest?”
“My name is Koyama, is bathing here wrong?”
“No, but the trees are getting an eyeful.” He smiled a little more quickly this time, like the expression was warming up to his face. He had full lips, a nice even face; you might even call it pretty in the right light.
“Oh.” Koyama looked at the trees that surrounded the small pond, and they seemed not to be looking back so he refrained from commenting further. The tin-man sat down, and somehow he moved in the suit without making it look heavy or clang together and that seemed completely unnatural.
“I’m YamaPi.” He said after a pause where the space between them was beginning to seem kind of awkward. Normally Koyama was a little more forward, and it wasn’t like YamaPi didn’t just get an eyeful of his penis-- he didn’t have a lot left to hide. “Knight of her ex-majesty.”
“Her ex-majesty?” Koyama missed the pained expression that crossed his face, cupping some of the water between his hands to let it run through his hair. There was dirt all the way down to his scalp.
“The White Queen.”
Very Alice in Wonderland.
Koyama shook his head, letting droplets spray around him, rippling the water with his movements. He squinted through the water clinging to his eyelashes, trying to remember the storyline for Alice in Wonderland, something about a Red Queen and a smiling cat. He couldn’t remember. When he looked up again YamaPi was shirtless, oddly tanned with broad thick shoulders and a six-pack. Koyama blinked, throat gone a little dry. The metal plates were lying on the ground, but he was very much flesh and bone underneath, Koyama couldn’t see how they came off; the edges looked like they had simply split. Cracked like an egg, spilling out a man, if this was a dream Koyama didn’t even want to know what it said about the state of his mind.
“You look, so familiar.” YamaPi said, and as he stood the legs of his armour split as well leaving the bottom half still sitting there, the top coming off like the crust of crème-brûlée. Koyama didn’t look away-- it was only fair after all. Well-hung even soft, Koyama touched his tongue to the back of his teeth and quickly looked back up.
“Sorry, what was that?” Koyama smiled, mouth tart with lemon.
“Have we met before?” YamaPi slid into the pool with a little sigh that tugged at something low in Koyama’s belly. He looked at YamaPi again; he was Koyama’s type certainly, but his face didn’t ring any bells, even any of the serial one-night stands Koyama liked to play cat and mouse with. He was most certainly generically pretty and just familiar-normal enough to put him at ease, but not recognizable.
“Don’t think so. I’d remember a metal-man.”
“Ah, probably.” He ducked his head a little, licking at the water that caught on his lips, and Koyama watched the movement like a hawk. It was almost like YamaPi was doing it on purpose. “You just look like a Jack I knew.”
“I’ve been getting that a lot today.” Koyama fingered the birth mark.
“I have to admit, you are much prettier then he was anyways.”
Koyama laughed, well at least there was that. “You never answered me,” YamaPi continued, “what is a man like you doing in a puddle like this?” As far as pick up lines went, at least it was lemony fresh.
“I got a little turned around, couldn’t tell up from down,” YamaPi just nodded like this was an common everyday occurrence, “and got into a bit of a tiff with some mushrooms.”
“They can be pretty vicious this time of year, and they don’t take too kindly to strangers.”
“I got some decent clothes.” Massu came back with an arm full of clothes. “Oh, YamaPi, were you on your way to the party?”
“You know I wouldn’t miss it, the cake is divine.”
Koyama missed how on earth YamaPi got back into the suit of armour because he was too busy flapping his underwear madly, (‘You might want to get the caterpillars out of your pants, they are sort of lecherous, and I wouldn’t put it past one to do something untoward.’ Massu said while Koyama paled, trying to imagine what something untoward would entail from a caterpillar.)
The tights were skin-tight, beige, almost riding pants tight around his ankles zipped into knee high black boots. It took a little getting used to, the material too stiff to make his first few steps graceful by any means. The shirt was more of a tunic made of some impossibly soft material that slipped through his fingers like so much water. The most ridiculous part was a red cape, it fell to his waist with a floppy hood that could be pulled over his head to hide his face in shadows if he needed. It was brilliant scarlet like flowers, like lipstick, like fire engines.
But it didn’t snag on the branches, protected him from the trees.
“Are we almost there?” Koyama asked. Massu’s ears were twitching faster now, swivelling from side to side like he was excited even as his face remained blank. At Koyama’s question they shivered, quivering in a way that set all the piercings jingling like chimes.
“Just a little more.” Massu answered voice low and predatory. Koyama watched him, wondering if it had been such a good idea to place his trust in this one. He’d seemed so benign, helpful even. “The trees are getting excited. Can you feel them?”
Massu was looking at him, huge eyes luminous in the half light, shining with madness, his nose twitched a little, before the whole thing twisted into a blank smile. “They miss the birds, but they seem to like you, you’re lucky.”
Something moved in the corner of his eye, and Koyama caught it this time, movement in the underbrush. The trees were all reaching for him slowly, roots rising up. At least it explain why he kept tripping, he wasn’t unusually clumsy (no more so then usual) the trees were moving.
“Let’s keep going before they decide to keep you.”
YamaPi pushed the small of his back, strong smooth metal fingers shoving him forwards. He stumbled onwards, following as Massu moved ahead gracefully; the trees seemed to shift out of his way. Koyama kept tripping on roots, even if he knew they were coming they were too hard to avoid.
“The cake is worth it.” YamaPi said loudly, and with complete conviction. Koyama was too busy stumbling to keep watching for the flash of tan he had seen, it was probably just the trees fucking with him anyways.
When they did arrive at the clearing it was ass-over-end for Koyama; one last ditch attempt at a low running branch to wrap around his leg sent him sprawling on the green grass, pulling his cloak around himself as he landed hard. Massu stepped over him easily.
“I’m back.” Massu called. YamaPi helped him to his feet, blank faced like talking to a roll of aluminum.
“Welcome. pet.” There was a long table, painted in bright purple with an endless white lace tablecloth that spilled into the tiled floor that existed only under the table. Paper lanterns hung in haphazard patterns, a bunch trailing along the ground like whoever put them up couldn’t be bothered to finish with it. Assorted chairs, high-chairs, rickety wooden chairs, space-age leather stools, and at the head of the table a massive wing-back chair in ridiculous peacock paisley. It was the man sitting across it, not in it, across it, back against one armrest and endless legs dangling over the other. “You’re just in time.” He flicked closed the giant pocket watch and leapt up to his feet.
He was wearing a ridiculous three piece suit with a dark red tie. The edges were all ratty, frayed and torn with time. Platinum blond hair, pale like death to contrast the deep dark of his suit, single-handed he flicked a massive top hat off the edge of the table and it tumbled end over to land on his head.
“I stopped to pick up some guests.”
“Oh, guests. Delightful.” He trotted over to them, smile so wide it had to hurt, exposing all his white straight teeth. Like a shark. “YamaPi, lovely as always.” Junno nodded at him, and YamaPi had gone still, a metal statue of a man, and turned dark eyes on Koyama. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” He said meeting like it was a dirty word. “You look like a Jack I once had the pleasure of having -- tea with.”
“Not him.” Koyama sighed.
“Pity. But so much more interesting.” The man in the hat took his hand and pressed his soft lips against the top of his hand. Massu was watching them, small frown tugging at his ridiculously round cheeks. Koyama jumped, tugging his hand back but the other man’s grip on his fingers was too tight and he could only jerk his hand helplessly as a warm wet tongue flicked out tracing across his knuckles.
Slimy, slipping across the webbing between his fingers and Koyama was repulsed, it was gross- it really was. Really, Koyama’s stomach twisted hard, the brim of his ridiculous hat was hiding his face. The band around the velvety black material of his top hat was the exact shade of his tie, deep deep red colour. Koyama managed to get his hand back just as YamaPi was moving towards him.
“Pleasure is all mine.” He purred, “My name is Junno, welcome to my tea party.”
“Koyama,” he answered, trying to decide if it was polite to rub his hand on his pants to chase away the feeling of his strong tongue dragging between his fingers. Revulsion bordering on lust and something awkward and caught tight in between.
“Charmed. Massu, Ryo’s under the table, fetch him would you?”
YamaPi took his hand, like some sort of princess and Koyama tried not giggle, letting YamaPi lead him to a computer chair in a hideous shade of burnt orange. Koyama perched on the edge. He barely contained a sound when a hand grabbed his knee; he shoved back, tipping the chair over into the soft grass. The man crawled out from under the table, over Koyama to hop to his feet on the other side.
He yawned so wide his jaw clicked, dark eyes slit against the light and his pale face.
“Sorry.” He grumbled. Tousled dark hair, and a tight long-sleeved shirt that showed off how wiry thin he was. His ears were large, rounded, and covered in grey fur. Mousy. “You were in my way.”
The mouse left him on the ground as he crawled up onto a high stool, tucking his legs around it so he was sitting higher than everyone else. Koyama picked himself up off the ground again. His elbows and shoulders ached with being knocked over so often-- some of his sharper edges had to be bruising. Koyama righted his chair, adjusted his hood.
YamaPi was sitting across from him, the faceplate slid back to reveal his own face under. Massu was sitting astride Junno’s lap, Junno sitting normally, Massu was almost side ways to fit into the chair with him. His ears bounced off the side of Junno’s hat when either of them moved.
“Let the party begin.” Junno said, throwing the arm that wasn’t wrapped around him wide.
Teapots littered the long table like so many tombstones, spoons sticking out of the cups of sugar like the offerings of flowers. Junno clapped, an emperor on his throne. and the tops lifted off the plates revealing small, squat little cakes with delicate little sugar-spun figurines on top.
“To die for.” YamaPi said with a small pleased smile. Koyama met his eyes across the table, watching the way he lifted the tiny fork in metal fingers to his mouth. His mouth was surprisingly delicate, feminine around the full bottom lip and in the soft pink edges. Koyama licked his own lips.
“So, you’re like Alice then.” Koyama looked up, the mouse was sipping from a china-teacup daintily. The tinkling sound of glass breaking, he looked to the other end of the table where Junno had tossed a cup and watched it shatter against the table. No one else seemed to notice at all, least of all Massu who was busy scooping up large amounts of icing with his fingers and licking them clean like he was the lead in a bad porno.
“What?”
“Your accent is all wrong.” His massive ears twitched. “You sound like Alice did when she first landed here.” Another cup smashed at the name and Koyama flicked his eyes over to Junno, but he was drinking his tea, looking calm and placid- Koyama didn’t believe it for a moment. “I take it you are not from this neck of the woods.”
“No, I just sort of fell in.” Koyama agreed, taking a small bite of the cake. It was all soft and sugary, buttery icing and moist cake. In short delicious. “This cake is delicious.”
“I make them.” The mouse said,
“Ryo, the Master-Baker.” Massu called out, mouth full of his own fingers. Koyama looked away quickly--that was just obscene. It made his stomach twist, but YamaPi was watching them completely unashamed. Ryo grinned at him, rather wolfishly, for a mouse.
“I’ll show you proper Master-Baking.” Ryo snapped back, taking another little sip of his tea, pursing his thin lips.
“Tell me about Alice.” Koyama asked, listening to the sound of a whole teapot hitting the table, tea spilling out and staining the cloth. Still no one else seemed to think this was odd, so Koyama was determined to power through.
“She dropped in one day,” Ryo stabbed at his cake viciously. Alice, the name sounded so familiar, childhood memories of a book he never liked and probably never finished. “Really scrambled things up here, and then she just left, left us at the tender mercy of the Queen. Oh the beheadings, the glorious beheadings, like bowling with skulls.” His smile was all sharp edges; it looked painful. Koyama swallowed hard. “All the white roses in the ex-queen’s garden stained such a riveting, rapturous, red.”
“She left?” Koyama prodded, feeling something flare in his chest. These sort of stories always had a happy ending. He would find his way home.
“The Queen, she was worse than ever. Ah--” Koyama looked up sharply, Junno had smashed another cup and there was a thin line of blood spilling down Massu’s cheek, a piece of glass must have cut him.
“No one can stop her.” YamaPi said quietly, Ryo was too busy walking across the top of the table towards the other two, and Koyama assumed that meant conversation over.
“I’m not her, nor am I a Jack of any kind.”
YamaPi looked impossibly sad at that. “I know.”
Eager to change the subject in case any more of the china flew his way; Koyama cleared his throat and nodded at the other three, Ryo was sitting on the edge of the table spilled tea soaking into his linen sleep-pants, legs splayed so that Junno and Massu in their chair were between them. There had to be shards of glass everywhere. “Do all their parties end that way?”
“Recently.” YamaPi nodded, watching without shame as Ryo leaned over, the sharp ridges of his shoulders and the bumps of his vertebrae visible through the thin clingy material of his shirt. “They used to care about more than sex and scones. But it has been so long, even the Cheshire Cat left, no one has seen hide nor hair of him for a long time, which isn’t all that odd, but usually you can hear him.”
Koyama watched, he could just see Massu’s ears sticking out of the tangle, quivering. Sex and scones-- Red Rose tea was such a suggestive colour.
Before he could get any more information-- there was a huge part of him that wanted to needle at YamaPi’s obvious hurt over this Jack character but he couldn’t bring himself to do it-- everything went to hell. The roar that echoed through the sky was like a concussive blast; it rattled all the china, the surface of his tea jumping as if it too was terrified. The fork fell from his suddenly numb fingers.
Ryo jumped off the table, stumbling over his own feet and oversized pants.
“Jabberwok.” He said, eyes huge and showing too much white. Ryo was tugging hard on Massu’s hand, forcing him out of the chair and hard against him as he stumbled trying to go from lounging to standing. “Run.”
Junno was out of the chair, shoving it back with enough force to knock it over, svelte body twisting in the air as he leapt off of it, moving like some jungle creature, the massive chair rattled as he pushed off the arm landing on his feet in the grass. Long legs caught him up to the other too quickly, halfway across the clearing before Koyama was even out of his chair.
“Go.” YamaPi said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll follow.”
Koyama didn’t need to be told twice; chasing after the three forms quickly disappearing into the forest. Junno’s hair was a flash of platinum next to the pale shape of Ryo’s smaller body darting sometimes in front and sometimes behind. Koyama’s heart hammered, was trying hard to keep up with them, but the trees were arching towards him, bows bowing towards his head as he ducked to avoid them. It was slowing him down too much.
“Don’t leave.” Koyama thought wildly, hardly aware he said the words out loud.
The last traces of Massu’s neon, Junno’s top hat and Ryo’s rumpled tea-stained PJs vanished between the trees. Another cry tore through the air making the leaves shake and shiver. He pushed his way past another low hanging branch, breath coming in quick gasps and blood pounding through his brain. He couldn’t recall which way the spring was, or even the grove where he woke up. He just wanted to go home. If Alice had left, then so could he.
Koyama just needed to find out how.
He ran straight into a thick branch with a jarring bang, the momentum tossing him back into the arms of more branches. Disoriented, Koyama tried to shake away the fuzziness, panic making his responses that much sharper.
There was the sound of leaves being ripped through, something huge crashing through the forest. Koyama jerked but was held in place by firm, and completely unyielding tree limbs. When he struggled they pulled tighter around him, crushing his joints too tight, forcing the breath from him, hard wood digging in from all sides.
He hung limp in the multi-armed grasp of the trees, breathing shallow and shivering. He could barely breathe, they were squishing his chest and it hurt. Panic making him want to breathe hard and only getting worse as he couldn’t drag in heaving lungfuls of air.
Black dots danced in front of his eyes and he was so hot, over-heating rapidly, sweat breaking out across his hair line, the small of his back, armpits. He didn’t have too long to think about it, head swimming-- he couldn’t hold on.
“Someone cut these trees down, I want him contained.” The words were all static, like they had come a long way down a spotty connection.
The sun went out and it was black.
Next
Pairing: YamaPi/Koyama
Rating: NC-17
Summary: It was a mostly ordinary life for a mostly ordinary man; he had a job he neither liked nor hated, and a string of one-night stands and a faithful cat that kept him from getting lonely. Then he’d fallen down and suddenly everything was extraordinary; trees and tea parties, helplessly drowning in a new and ruthless world, completely unable to swim on his own. In this wonderland nothing is as it seems and no one and nothing can be trusted.
Notes: Written for the mini reel round of
reel_johnny, thank you to my beta sanjihan This universe is a mix of Natalia Kill's Wonderland, Tim Burton's Alice in Wonderland, American McGee's Alice Return to Madness, as well as listening to the poem of the Jabberwock read by Benedict Cumberbatch which can be heard here.
Koyama didn’t mean to fall into the puddle. It was sort of an accident.
The surface was all silvery, must have been a reflection of the soft hazy sky because puddles were generally more mud than semi-precious metal. It had rained all day, one of those days where thick fat-bellied black thunderclouds spewed sheets and sheets of freezing autumn rain. Koyama watched it over the low wall of his cubicle, scowling because he had forgotten his umbrella and the storm had come on suddenly when the report called for the humidity to stretch out for a few days yet before the inevitable break. Lucky for him it had stopped by the time the hands of the clock struck time to go. Should have realized then that he was never that lucky.
Bored, and staring at the silver sky (sun hidden behind the wispy mist of the left over clouds but not completely, not sunny and not cloudy but somewhere awkwardly caught in between.) He cut through his usual park on the way home, avoiding the puddles because his shoes were just shined. That lasted until he got to the road on the other side and a van going by drenched him, bright red tie against his crisp white shirt suddenly gone all sodden and maroon, dark and shirt clinging to the long lines of his rib cage.
Koyama cursed softly to himself, ‘oh ballsacks’.
After that it didn’t matter so much if he stepped in any of the puddles; his socks were already damp and rubbing against the hard edges of his loafers in a move that created a warm sort of friction ache. Trying to keep himself positive, Koyama cut through the alley, already planning to stop at the corner store in the building next to his for a small tub of ice cream. It was turning into an ‘ice cream and television with his cat’ kind of night. Wouldn’t be exciting, but he didn’t really live an exciting sort of life.
The alley was still, like it was holding its breath, like it knew something was coming when he had no idea. There was a tension in the atmosphere, the spot between his shoulder blades tightening as if he was waiting for a hit from behind. It didn’t make any sense- he was completely alone, not even a rat or a stray to watch his passing. Koyama quickened his step a little, mentally laughing at his own paranoia, even letting the edges of it tug his cheeks into a faint smile. There wasn’t any reason, but it made him feel better anyhow.
He stepped in the puddle without looking, too preoccupied with the fact that all the small hairs on his arms and neck were standing up like something was very wrong, an electric buzz in the air. When his foot sunk through it, further than it should have because there should have been gound there, Koyama barely had the time to yelp before he was tipping and falling all the way through.
It was impossibly deep-- maybe he’d fallen into one of those sinkholes he’d seen on the news, cleverly hidden in the puddle. The water was cold and oily, pressing against his skin and rushing into his ears. Koyama wasn’t floating, no he was falling through the water, falling and falling. For long impossible moments Koyama was disoriented, legs and arms flailing, eyes shut tight against the muddy water. He had tried to hold his breath, just barely managing it as it seared the small muscles in his ribs, desperately burning for oxygen.
His lungs stung, and it was impossible. He couldn’t tell which was up and no matter how he scooped with his hand it didn’t seemed to change the feeling of freefall any. There was no hole that could be this long, it was just impossible. Lungs aching, Koyama cupped his hands in front of his face; if he could just hold on, his feet would hit the bottom, or his head, or something and he could push himself back up to the top without drowning.
Only he didn’t.
Koyama fell.
And fell.
And fell.
Until, lungs burning, he opened his mouth and with an almighty gasp-- tasted stale air.
Koyama choked on it, dragging in burning breath after burning breath as the air that felt like water flowed past his face, streaming through his hair and forming little ticklish eddies between his fingers. When the sobbing breaths slowed, Koyama opened his eyes wet and thick with tears, scared to see something rushing up at him. He hated heights, that instinctive dip in his stomach that was almost physical pain.
There was nothing but darkness outside of his eyelids. Koyama watched it rush by, trying to figure out how he even knew it was rushing by when he couldn’t focus on a damn thing in the odd not-quite light. Of course there wouldn’t be light, he was at the bottom of the longest puddle in the history of the world.
The seconds ticked by and terror shifted into something else. He was still falling to his doom, but he had time to force himself to think through the initial pants-wetting horror of ending up a bloody smear on the bottom of whatever. He thought about the past few years, how he was a nice enough guy and people seemed to like him, just never enough. He had trouble making close friends and found himself aching and isolated at a table full of friends. Once or twice he had thought about it because everyone did, all problems and solutions put to an end by a single swan dive, a perfect 10.0. He wouldn’t ever do it, could never do it. He hated heights, and wanted an open casket, but that didn’t mean he couldn’t acknowledge it. It was a sad sort of epitaph to leave.
Who would take care of Nyanta? He was going to starve to death alone in the apartment, crying and crying that way he does when he wants food, like he’s dying. All of Koyama’s projects at work left half done, colleagues whom might cover for him for the first few days, and after that his job would be delegated to someone else and it would be like he was never there at all.
Still Koyama fell.
D
O
W
N.
The air got thinner, breath coming faster, like he was hiking up and not falling to the center of the earth. His heart hammered, beating too fast to try and keep the oxygen flowing, but he was getting too hot and then too cold, sweaty. Koyama passed out before he could tip his head back and see the ground rushing up at him. Probably better that way.
He hit the ground, millions of tiny mushrooms breaking his fall and letting up a mushroom cloud of fine spores that was visible hanging in the air –a million itty bitty children- in the achingly clear daylight.
--
Koyama moaned as someone pressed something thick and blunt against his ribs. The pressure eased off, but then came back sharper and harder. Insistent in the way only pain could be.
“Ow.” Koyama hissed, rolling to avoid the bruising force to his ribs. He had been lying on his side, and movement caused a new little puff of spores, dancing and spinning above his vision in tiny swirls and sweeps. “What was that for?”
“Just checking if you were alive.” Came the rumbling reply. “It was hard to tell when you were playing like dead.”
“I feel like dead.” Koyama moaned, opening his eyes against the startling brightness of the sky, only to close them quickly, brilliant blue seared onto the back of his retinas. That just hurt. Everything hurt, an all-encompassing all-over throb of hurt. “Where am I?”
“In a grove of mushrooms.” Came the bored reply. Well that at least explained the smell, decay with a faint hint of wet death. A distinctly fungal smell.
Koyama opened his eyes, unable to force himself to open then further then a small sliver, against the light to find that he had crashed through a clear spot in the tree cover, or maybe he’d made that spot. Hazy memories of falling, the cool, sudden immersion in the puddle a more distinct instance. Maybe he was dead. Toe to his ribs again and Koyama rolled away from it, slowly pushing himself up to his knees. If he was dead at least they could stop poking him. Rest in peace and all that.
The man watching him had thick, round cheeks, rosy like that of a small child, seamlessly melting into the twitching nose. It looked almost human, but when he looked away from it he could see the twitches out of the corner of his eye. The grey whiskers seemed to sprout from his skin like particularly unruly sideburns, quivering as he watched Koyama pull himself slowly to his feet. The only outward tell that he was interested in more than lodging his steel-toe in Koyama’s internal organs.
The long velvety-looking skin of his ears were pierced with all sorts of rings and hoops, and something that looked like a bolt and a screw. He blinked, the light glinting dully off the whole mess. There were rabbit ears on that man’s head. They swivelled, training on him and quivering scattering the light patterns until it was doing a crazy dance, his eyes kept getting drawn away from his face to watch them.
“But where am I?”
His voice was all rough, throat sticky and sore with mushroom spores. Koyama pulled himself to his feet to find that he was a bit taller than the other man, eyes to ears as it were. He wore a yellow pin-stripe waistcoat with a storm grey jacket over it. All of the metal bangles on his wrists jangled when he moved, rocking back on his boots to stare Koyama through. The patch of skin between the top of his laced boots and his baggy shorts was hairy, and almost as distracting as the ears and the neon yellow boots.
“Mushroom patch.” He answered again.
“Ah.” There was nothing but trees all around, as soon as he could tear his eyes away from the strange man in front of him. Huge trees with thick trunks and leafy green tops. Being a Tokyo boy himself he had never seen so many trees in one place aside from a few school trips.
“Are you a Jack then?” He poked him in the chest, sharp little claw-like nails pressing into his chest.
“I’m a Koyama.”
“You look like a Jack.”
Koyama watched him, shifting painfully from foot to foot, the pain was receding a little, his skin tingled all over like it had been asleep and was slowly coming awake. “What do you mean?” Koyama looked himself over, still wearing slacks and his dirty white shirt; he was still a little damp here and there, between his legs, in his shoes and under his arm pits. He didn’t look like a Jack, a Jill or even a John, he was Koyama.
“Face, body.” His paws-hands-something-in-between fluttered around. “You just look like one of the cards.”
Koyama couldn’t pull back before the other man’s claws dug into his shoulder, tearing through the cotton with a sound that was too loud in the afternoon light. He squawked, back-peddling away from claws and a furrowed face.
“Hearts.” The other man hissed, and Koyama frowned, covering his exposed shoulder. He knew what the rabbit-man was looking at, he’d been born with the strawberry birthmark, a curiously shaped blemish that had amused many lovers in the past. “The Jack of Hearts, I wonder what the Queen will have to say to you.”
“I don’t know where I am.” Koyama stressed, resisting the urge to sit back down in the already trampled mushrooms and sulk like a small child. He didn’t know where he was, how he got here, or even why there was a half-rabbit-half-man standing in front of him. It seemed like a really bad dream of some sort, too much sugar before bed, or maybe too much LSD.
“Well then. That’s okay.” The complete 180 mood swing was almost terrifying, almost as frightening as his smile. All teeth and bland cheerfulness, vaguely threatening, like a dog baring its snarl instead of a smile. “If you are an assassin, you are the most useless assassin I have ever met. You keep standing there like you have fluff for brains.”
“Assassin?” Koyama yelped.
“Or maybe the spores are burrowing into your brain; if you spend too long in a mushroom grove they’ll eat you. They don’t have mouths so it is a very messy process.” The other man made a face of distaste at the word messy, the very tip of his pink tongue flicking out, testing the air between them and retreating just as fast. His eyes were blank, curiously so. Koyama looked at the mushroom crushed under his loafer for a long moment. “How long have you been sleeping here?” He had no idea how long he had been sleeping on them, only that he’s covered in their spores like some sort of pixie dust, it was in his mouth, his ears, nose and probably his lungs by now. If there were a time to freak out, it probably passed back there when Koyama was still trying to figure out the entrance of the rabbit-man (stage left). “Well then, follow me.”
“Do you have a name?” Koyama asked, tripping over various stumps and roots as he followed the rabbit man. Maybe his name was Cinnabun, or Bigfeet, Floppy, oh, maybe Peter, Peter Rabbit.
“Massu.” He said simply. Or Massu, that worked too.
“So, Massu,” Koyama began diplomatically, “you’re a... rabbit?”
“Not a rabbit. A Hare.”
“Ah. A hare, of course.” Koyama tipped his head, because that was the polite thing to do.
“The March Hare.”
Massu didn’t seem too bothered with conversation, just led him deeper and deeper into the woods. At seemingly random trees he would take a sharp left or right, and as far as Koyama could tell they did at least one complete square if not multiple. He was also unnaturally good at navigating over the roots and random bits of fauna, and they seemed to lift under Koyama’s feet as if they objected to him being in their forest. The other disconcerting thing was Massu’s ears-- they swivelled that way and that, listening to far off things that Koyama didn’t have a hope of placing.
“The queen didn’t like the birdsong, so they have all been captured for re-tuning.” Massu said apropos nothing.
“Of course.” Koyama nodded, because that made perfect sense. It was like a little of the old Alice in Wonderland books mixed with a blind game of poker, or maybe a game of Russian Roulette because the world itself seemed to be balancing on some sort of anticipation. Or maybe that was just Koyama, unnerved by the silent forest and the March Hare.
“Need to get you properly dressed for the tea party. You can’t go looking like that. You look a fright.” Well he was quite all dirty. It was a fair enough assessment, if not a little insulting. “If you show up like that- Hatter would be oh so cross.”
Massu led him to a crystal clear pool of water; it reflected the sky like a puddle of perfect cerulean paint. Maybe if he was lucky he would fall into the sky and end up back home, soggy and wet and lying on his back in the middle of the dirty alley.
“It’s clean.” Massu said, like that was Koyama’s biggest problem at the moment.
With a startling amount of patience and a marked lack of concern over his present predicament Koyama stripped off his soiled and ripped shirt. His undershirt was a bit grubby, not pristine white anymore. The edges of his pants were all torn where they had snagged on small sharp branches as they walked. He looked like the office chic hobo.
“Go on, get clean. I’ll get proper clothes, where did you ever find anything so dull? I’ve honestly seen a burlap suit look better, only once mind you.”
Massu collected his clothes from the pile he left on the forest floor, muttering to himself the whole time. Koyama could only catch bits of pieces of it, ‘red, it will need to be red... Can’t sell these hideous things. Would never fit the trees.’ “Pants.” He said louder, snapping his fingers with annoyance.
Koyama undid the thin leather belt and stepped out of the mess of his loafers, leaving it in a pile. “What in the name of the great Quibble are those?” Massu seemed oddly affronted by his plain black socks; Koyama wiggled his toes, feeling the moss and sticks catching on the thin cotton.
“Okay, okay. They are coming off.” Koyama wiggled out of his socks and left his underwear on, Massu peered at them for a moment (plain dark blue briefs) as if he could see through them before turning on his heel with Koyama’s gathered clothes and leaving him mostly naked by the glass-like pool.
“I hope he comes back.”
Of course he trusted a strange Hare with all his possessions while lost in a weird too-silent forest. Slipping out of his underwear he left them safe and dry hanging on a branch and slipped into the water. It was cool, and smelled and tasted faintly of lemons when it got in his mouth, also deep enough that he could stand in the middle and it would be just over his chin.
It didn’t bring him home. Well, it had been a bit of a long shot.
Maybe his lunch had poisoned him. Maybe instead of splashing him the car had hit him and he was brain dead in a hospital now. He saw a movie like that once, a person living out in a dream world completely cut off from reality. Koyama thought he should probably be gibbering with panic right about now, screaming and shouting. But to do so would have been pointless, he didn’t have a choice but to suck it up like a man and do what he could.
There was a single, clear sound. A cat’s cry. Koyama paused, pulling himself out of the pool ignoring the lemony water that left his skin cool in the still air, goose-flesh breaking out across his chest and legs with a tight tingle. It sounded familiar, and completely impossible.
Nyanta was pushing 17 and Koyama had him ever since he’d been a lonely kid, his only family by this point in his life. Old for a cat, but spry; the lady who lived on the bottom floor of his apartment complex was 96- she said it was in the water and who was Koyama to argue? The forest was no place for his cat- long, slim, and sandy he looked up at Koyama whenever he walked into a room.
“Nyanta?” Koyama called, only feeling a little dumb. Weirder things had happened today after all. Hell, weirder things had happened in the last few hours.
A few cautious and very naked steps into the forest and he swore he saw something lighter flashing in the underbrush. Koyama rushed towards it.
He ran into something cool, smooth, and metal; it didn’t give at all when he barrelled into it and his momentum flung him backwards. But it did catch him, fingers curled around his upper arm with bruising force.
“Woah.” It said, holding him up easily. “Hold your—“ a delicate pause, “horses. Naked dude.”
Koyama might have been naked, but at least he wasn’t wearing a shiny silver suit of armour, the voice echoed from deep inside the helmet somewhere, coming out sounding tinny (ha.)
“Oh.” Was really all he could think of to say out loud; at least it stopped him from laughing. “Did you see a cat go by here?”
“Cats? There are no cats in this forest. Only the trees live in the forest now, they held a referendum to separate.”
“The trees?”
“Yes. Do you realize you are naked?” Its face was like talking to his own reflection, the metal shined to a high gloss. The chest plate was moulded to his muscles, pectoral and abdominal, like the Batsuit but made of pure metal.
“It crossed my mind.” Koyama answered faintly, shaking himself out of the tin-man’s grip.
Feeling his cheeks burn Koyama spun on his feet, heading back towards the pond, the sticks hurt his feet, could feet sharp edges digging and tearing through his skin, he hadn’t noticed it before. How on earth would Nyanta get here anyways? That was crazy. Completely bonkers.
Koyama reached the edge of the pond, the sunlight flashing on the surface and ruining the illusion. He slipped in, feeling a little more comfortable having something between him and the stranger. His tin-man walked to the edge, it was impossible to tell what he was looking at without his face. He lifted a hand and tapped his helmet twice. If he fell in the water he might rust. Arthritis for tin people.
The face panel slid back revealing a young tanned face. He gave Koyama a blank smile.
“And who, are you, to take a bath in the last forest?”
“My name is Koyama, is bathing here wrong?”
“No, but the trees are getting an eyeful.” He smiled a little more quickly this time, like the expression was warming up to his face. He had full lips, a nice even face; you might even call it pretty in the right light.
“Oh.” Koyama looked at the trees that surrounded the small pond, and they seemed not to be looking back so he refrained from commenting further. The tin-man sat down, and somehow he moved in the suit without making it look heavy or clang together and that seemed completely unnatural.
“I’m YamaPi.” He said after a pause where the space between them was beginning to seem kind of awkward. Normally Koyama was a little more forward, and it wasn’t like YamaPi didn’t just get an eyeful of his penis-- he didn’t have a lot left to hide. “Knight of her ex-majesty.”
“Her ex-majesty?” Koyama missed the pained expression that crossed his face, cupping some of the water between his hands to let it run through his hair. There was dirt all the way down to his scalp.
“The White Queen.”
Very Alice in Wonderland.
Koyama shook his head, letting droplets spray around him, rippling the water with his movements. He squinted through the water clinging to his eyelashes, trying to remember the storyline for Alice in Wonderland, something about a Red Queen and a smiling cat. He couldn’t remember. When he looked up again YamaPi was shirtless, oddly tanned with broad thick shoulders and a six-pack. Koyama blinked, throat gone a little dry. The metal plates were lying on the ground, but he was very much flesh and bone underneath, Koyama couldn’t see how they came off; the edges looked like they had simply split. Cracked like an egg, spilling out a man, if this was a dream Koyama didn’t even want to know what it said about the state of his mind.
“You look, so familiar.” YamaPi said, and as he stood the legs of his armour split as well leaving the bottom half still sitting there, the top coming off like the crust of crème-brûlée. Koyama didn’t look away-- it was only fair after all. Well-hung even soft, Koyama touched his tongue to the back of his teeth and quickly looked back up.
“Sorry, what was that?” Koyama smiled, mouth tart with lemon.
“Have we met before?” YamaPi slid into the pool with a little sigh that tugged at something low in Koyama’s belly. He looked at YamaPi again; he was Koyama’s type certainly, but his face didn’t ring any bells, even any of the serial one-night stands Koyama liked to play cat and mouse with. He was most certainly generically pretty and just familiar-normal enough to put him at ease, but not recognizable.
“Don’t think so. I’d remember a metal-man.”
“Ah, probably.” He ducked his head a little, licking at the water that caught on his lips, and Koyama watched the movement like a hawk. It was almost like YamaPi was doing it on purpose. “You just look like a Jack I knew.”
“I’ve been getting that a lot today.” Koyama fingered the birth mark.
“I have to admit, you are much prettier then he was anyways.”
Koyama laughed, well at least there was that. “You never answered me,” YamaPi continued, “what is a man like you doing in a puddle like this?” As far as pick up lines went, at least it was lemony fresh.
“I got a little turned around, couldn’t tell up from down,” YamaPi just nodded like this was an common everyday occurrence, “and got into a bit of a tiff with some mushrooms.”
“They can be pretty vicious this time of year, and they don’t take too kindly to strangers.”
“I got some decent clothes.” Massu came back with an arm full of clothes. “Oh, YamaPi, were you on your way to the party?”
“You know I wouldn’t miss it, the cake is divine.”
Koyama missed how on earth YamaPi got back into the suit of armour because he was too busy flapping his underwear madly, (‘You might want to get the caterpillars out of your pants, they are sort of lecherous, and I wouldn’t put it past one to do something untoward.’ Massu said while Koyama paled, trying to imagine what something untoward would entail from a caterpillar.)
The tights were skin-tight, beige, almost riding pants tight around his ankles zipped into knee high black boots. It took a little getting used to, the material too stiff to make his first few steps graceful by any means. The shirt was more of a tunic made of some impossibly soft material that slipped through his fingers like so much water. The most ridiculous part was a red cape, it fell to his waist with a floppy hood that could be pulled over his head to hide his face in shadows if he needed. It was brilliant scarlet like flowers, like lipstick, like fire engines.
But it didn’t snag on the branches, protected him from the trees.
“Are we almost there?” Koyama asked. Massu’s ears were twitching faster now, swivelling from side to side like he was excited even as his face remained blank. At Koyama’s question they shivered, quivering in a way that set all the piercings jingling like chimes.
“Just a little more.” Massu answered voice low and predatory. Koyama watched him, wondering if it had been such a good idea to place his trust in this one. He’d seemed so benign, helpful even. “The trees are getting excited. Can you feel them?”
Massu was looking at him, huge eyes luminous in the half light, shining with madness, his nose twitched a little, before the whole thing twisted into a blank smile. “They miss the birds, but they seem to like you, you’re lucky.”
Something moved in the corner of his eye, and Koyama caught it this time, movement in the underbrush. The trees were all reaching for him slowly, roots rising up. At least it explain why he kept tripping, he wasn’t unusually clumsy (no more so then usual) the trees were moving.
“Let’s keep going before they decide to keep you.”
YamaPi pushed the small of his back, strong smooth metal fingers shoving him forwards. He stumbled onwards, following as Massu moved ahead gracefully; the trees seemed to shift out of his way. Koyama kept tripping on roots, even if he knew they were coming they were too hard to avoid.
“The cake is worth it.” YamaPi said loudly, and with complete conviction. Koyama was too busy stumbling to keep watching for the flash of tan he had seen, it was probably just the trees fucking with him anyways.
When they did arrive at the clearing it was ass-over-end for Koyama; one last ditch attempt at a low running branch to wrap around his leg sent him sprawling on the green grass, pulling his cloak around himself as he landed hard. Massu stepped over him easily.
“I’m back.” Massu called. YamaPi helped him to his feet, blank faced like talking to a roll of aluminum.
“Welcome. pet.” There was a long table, painted in bright purple with an endless white lace tablecloth that spilled into the tiled floor that existed only under the table. Paper lanterns hung in haphazard patterns, a bunch trailing along the ground like whoever put them up couldn’t be bothered to finish with it. Assorted chairs, high-chairs, rickety wooden chairs, space-age leather stools, and at the head of the table a massive wing-back chair in ridiculous peacock paisley. It was the man sitting across it, not in it, across it, back against one armrest and endless legs dangling over the other. “You’re just in time.” He flicked closed the giant pocket watch and leapt up to his feet.
He was wearing a ridiculous three piece suit with a dark red tie. The edges were all ratty, frayed and torn with time. Platinum blond hair, pale like death to contrast the deep dark of his suit, single-handed he flicked a massive top hat off the edge of the table and it tumbled end over to land on his head.
“I stopped to pick up some guests.”
“Oh, guests. Delightful.” He trotted over to them, smile so wide it had to hurt, exposing all his white straight teeth. Like a shark. “YamaPi, lovely as always.” Junno nodded at him, and YamaPi had gone still, a metal statue of a man, and turned dark eyes on Koyama. “I don’t think we’ve had the pleasure of meeting.” He said meeting like it was a dirty word. “You look like a Jack I once had the pleasure of having -- tea with.”
“Not him.” Koyama sighed.
“Pity. But so much more interesting.” The man in the hat took his hand and pressed his soft lips against the top of his hand. Massu was watching them, small frown tugging at his ridiculously round cheeks. Koyama jumped, tugging his hand back but the other man’s grip on his fingers was too tight and he could only jerk his hand helplessly as a warm wet tongue flicked out tracing across his knuckles.
Slimy, slipping across the webbing between his fingers and Koyama was repulsed, it was gross- it really was. Really, Koyama’s stomach twisted hard, the brim of his ridiculous hat was hiding his face. The band around the velvety black material of his top hat was the exact shade of his tie, deep deep red colour. Koyama managed to get his hand back just as YamaPi was moving towards him.
“Pleasure is all mine.” He purred, “My name is Junno, welcome to my tea party.”
“Koyama,” he answered, trying to decide if it was polite to rub his hand on his pants to chase away the feeling of his strong tongue dragging between his fingers. Revulsion bordering on lust and something awkward and caught tight in between.
“Charmed. Massu, Ryo’s under the table, fetch him would you?”
YamaPi took his hand, like some sort of princess and Koyama tried not giggle, letting YamaPi lead him to a computer chair in a hideous shade of burnt orange. Koyama perched on the edge. He barely contained a sound when a hand grabbed his knee; he shoved back, tipping the chair over into the soft grass. The man crawled out from under the table, over Koyama to hop to his feet on the other side.
He yawned so wide his jaw clicked, dark eyes slit against the light and his pale face.
“Sorry.” He grumbled. Tousled dark hair, and a tight long-sleeved shirt that showed off how wiry thin he was. His ears were large, rounded, and covered in grey fur. Mousy. “You were in my way.”
The mouse left him on the ground as he crawled up onto a high stool, tucking his legs around it so he was sitting higher than everyone else. Koyama picked himself up off the ground again. His elbows and shoulders ached with being knocked over so often-- some of his sharper edges had to be bruising. Koyama righted his chair, adjusted his hood.
YamaPi was sitting across from him, the faceplate slid back to reveal his own face under. Massu was sitting astride Junno’s lap, Junno sitting normally, Massu was almost side ways to fit into the chair with him. His ears bounced off the side of Junno’s hat when either of them moved.
“Let the party begin.” Junno said, throwing the arm that wasn’t wrapped around him wide.
Teapots littered the long table like so many tombstones, spoons sticking out of the cups of sugar like the offerings of flowers. Junno clapped, an emperor on his throne. and the tops lifted off the plates revealing small, squat little cakes with delicate little sugar-spun figurines on top.
“To die for.” YamaPi said with a small pleased smile. Koyama met his eyes across the table, watching the way he lifted the tiny fork in metal fingers to his mouth. His mouth was surprisingly delicate, feminine around the full bottom lip and in the soft pink edges. Koyama licked his own lips.
“So, you’re like Alice then.” Koyama looked up, the mouse was sipping from a china-teacup daintily. The tinkling sound of glass breaking, he looked to the other end of the table where Junno had tossed a cup and watched it shatter against the table. No one else seemed to notice at all, least of all Massu who was busy scooping up large amounts of icing with his fingers and licking them clean like he was the lead in a bad porno.
“What?”
“Your accent is all wrong.” His massive ears twitched. “You sound like Alice did when she first landed here.” Another cup smashed at the name and Koyama flicked his eyes over to Junno, but he was drinking his tea, looking calm and placid- Koyama didn’t believe it for a moment. “I take it you are not from this neck of the woods.”
“No, I just sort of fell in.” Koyama agreed, taking a small bite of the cake. It was all soft and sugary, buttery icing and moist cake. In short delicious. “This cake is delicious.”
“I make them.” The mouse said,
“Ryo, the Master-Baker.” Massu called out, mouth full of his own fingers. Koyama looked away quickly--that was just obscene. It made his stomach twist, but YamaPi was watching them completely unashamed. Ryo grinned at him, rather wolfishly, for a mouse.
“I’ll show you proper Master-Baking.” Ryo snapped back, taking another little sip of his tea, pursing his thin lips.
“Tell me about Alice.” Koyama asked, listening to the sound of a whole teapot hitting the table, tea spilling out and staining the cloth. Still no one else seemed to think this was odd, so Koyama was determined to power through.
“She dropped in one day,” Ryo stabbed at his cake viciously. Alice, the name sounded so familiar, childhood memories of a book he never liked and probably never finished. “Really scrambled things up here, and then she just left, left us at the tender mercy of the Queen. Oh the beheadings, the glorious beheadings, like bowling with skulls.” His smile was all sharp edges; it looked painful. Koyama swallowed hard. “All the white roses in the ex-queen’s garden stained such a riveting, rapturous, red.”
“She left?” Koyama prodded, feeling something flare in his chest. These sort of stories always had a happy ending. He would find his way home.
“The Queen, she was worse than ever. Ah--” Koyama looked up sharply, Junno had smashed another cup and there was a thin line of blood spilling down Massu’s cheek, a piece of glass must have cut him.
“No one can stop her.” YamaPi said quietly, Ryo was too busy walking across the top of the table towards the other two, and Koyama assumed that meant conversation over.
“I’m not her, nor am I a Jack of any kind.”
YamaPi looked impossibly sad at that. “I know.”
Eager to change the subject in case any more of the china flew his way; Koyama cleared his throat and nodded at the other three, Ryo was sitting on the edge of the table spilled tea soaking into his linen sleep-pants, legs splayed so that Junno and Massu in their chair were between them. There had to be shards of glass everywhere. “Do all their parties end that way?”
“Recently.” YamaPi nodded, watching without shame as Ryo leaned over, the sharp ridges of his shoulders and the bumps of his vertebrae visible through the thin clingy material of his shirt. “They used to care about more than sex and scones. But it has been so long, even the Cheshire Cat left, no one has seen hide nor hair of him for a long time, which isn’t all that odd, but usually you can hear him.”
Koyama watched, he could just see Massu’s ears sticking out of the tangle, quivering. Sex and scones-- Red Rose tea was such a suggestive colour.
Before he could get any more information-- there was a huge part of him that wanted to needle at YamaPi’s obvious hurt over this Jack character but he couldn’t bring himself to do it-- everything went to hell. The roar that echoed through the sky was like a concussive blast; it rattled all the china, the surface of his tea jumping as if it too was terrified. The fork fell from his suddenly numb fingers.
Ryo jumped off the table, stumbling over his own feet and oversized pants.
“Jabberwok.” He said, eyes huge and showing too much white. Ryo was tugging hard on Massu’s hand, forcing him out of the chair and hard against him as he stumbled trying to go from lounging to standing. “Run.”
Junno was out of the chair, shoving it back with enough force to knock it over, svelte body twisting in the air as he leapt off of it, moving like some jungle creature, the massive chair rattled as he pushed off the arm landing on his feet in the grass. Long legs caught him up to the other too quickly, halfway across the clearing before Koyama was even out of his chair.
“Go.” YamaPi said, pushing himself to his feet. “I’ll follow.”
Koyama didn’t need to be told twice; chasing after the three forms quickly disappearing into the forest. Junno’s hair was a flash of platinum next to the pale shape of Ryo’s smaller body darting sometimes in front and sometimes behind. Koyama’s heart hammered, was trying hard to keep up with them, but the trees were arching towards him, bows bowing towards his head as he ducked to avoid them. It was slowing him down too much.
“Don’t leave.” Koyama thought wildly, hardly aware he said the words out loud.
The last traces of Massu’s neon, Junno’s top hat and Ryo’s rumpled tea-stained PJs vanished between the trees. Another cry tore through the air making the leaves shake and shiver. He pushed his way past another low hanging branch, breath coming in quick gasps and blood pounding through his brain. He couldn’t recall which way the spring was, or even the grove where he woke up. He just wanted to go home. If Alice had left, then so could he.
Koyama just needed to find out how.
He ran straight into a thick branch with a jarring bang, the momentum tossing him back into the arms of more branches. Disoriented, Koyama tried to shake away the fuzziness, panic making his responses that much sharper.
There was the sound of leaves being ripped through, something huge crashing through the forest. Koyama jerked but was held in place by firm, and completely unyielding tree limbs. When he struggled they pulled tighter around him, crushing his joints too tight, forcing the breath from him, hard wood digging in from all sides.
He hung limp in the multi-armed grasp of the trees, breathing shallow and shivering. He could barely breathe, they were squishing his chest and it hurt. Panic making him want to breathe hard and only getting worse as he couldn’t drag in heaving lungfuls of air.
Black dots danced in front of his eyes and he was so hot, over-heating rapidly, sweat breaking out across his hair line, the small of his back, armpits. He didn’t have too long to think about it, head swimming-- he couldn’t hold on.
“Someone cut these trees down, I want him contained.” The words were all static, like they had come a long way down a spotty connection.
The sun went out and it was black.
Next
