The Unpopping of Jonathan Teatime

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Death had gotten it right.

This was the last thought, and in fact the first thought, in the mind of Jonathan Teatime. This was a dangerous thought. Some might say, a bad thought. It was a thought that, while being spun along the uneven lines of Teatime's mind, brought with it a feeling of justification. A feeling that wrapped itself around him like a warm blanket on a cold night near Hogswatch, a feeling much like...

Like being bathed head to toe in butter. This gave Teatime pause. He was aware logically that justification was usually not a tangible feeling, or at least, it shouldn't be. It was that slightly prickly feeling one got on the inside - not quite warm or cold or any such temperature - after doing a job that you were told not to do but did anyway, and did well. And he was quite sure that justification did not come accompanied by the smell of snacks.

He looked about himself.

In this room, he stood. He was surrounded by kernels of popcorn, far too large to be eaten by any person he knew, except for perhaps Banjo, who Teatime was quite sure would eat anything if told to. They were also not in any way appetizing, in the way a person was unappetizing, even after you got the taste of blood in your mouth on several messy occasions. He'd never liked it, that taste. It was too much like money, and money was something he'd rather invest than eat.

Anyway, there was popcorn, and not much else. There was a vague sense of familiarity or, as some foreigners liked to call it, Deja-vu,  but nothing solid. He recalled a man not dissimilar to himself with a great many knives, moving staircases, and a talking hat, but that was about it.

He decided that butter was not a fashion statement lending well to the life - or, perhaps, afterlife - of an Assassin, and that the discovery of a bath would be to his immense benefit. He turned and left the room, out into a hallway that was also very vaguely familiar, and pondered a direction.

The direction, he decided after a moment's deliberation, was not important. In a place like this, there was bound to be some kind of bath or water closet on every floor of large, rangy magical castles. And it was magical, he knew. More magical than the Unseen University at any rate, much closer to the Tooth Fairy's castle in its... innate magicalness. The moving paintings, the staircases that bent all the laws of science, and other things. If this was the afterlife, it was a very strange one indeed, but Teatime couldn't complain. He was here, wherever here was, and once removed of butter, his life - afterlife - would get on quite nicely. All the cogs would be in place, so to speak.

As he walked in a way that suggested the casualness of a person who did not exactly know how to be casual, he decided now would be a good time to whistle a jaunty tune. Teatime liked whistling. He liked the clear sound it made when done right, and that it would summon up attention in ways that a shout or a lump to the head wouldn't. He liked the sound of his own whistling, because it was logical and done well.  Anyone who was near enough to hear it would probably be quite unnerved by it, because logical whistling had an unfortunate tendency to sound altogether inhuman, like the sounds coming from a wind-up toy that made a noise somewhat resembling words but was not quite.

When Jonathan Teatime whistled, the sound did not have any feeling, like it was missing the subtle, indescribable notes that made it music and not just sound. Like it had been trained very well to look and sound and act like whistling, but failed in that it... wasn't.

So he walked, whistled, and waited.

Comments

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Maia hates whistling.

So it's a pity someone's doing it right where she's walking. Do they not know she's in a bad mood? Do they not sense the approach of a demon and fall silent? Jesus, she remembers when she used to have a bit of authority. Fucking plans not working. Fucking superiors who want to kill you.

'Shut the fuck up,' she snarls at the jaunty warbler as she rounds a corner and faces him. 'You're just embarrassing yourself. You're not even very good.'

Yeah, Maia, the kid's not gonna take kindly to that--just pronounce his surname properly, okay?

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

The note Teatime had been on died slowly, dropping it's pitch the way some people's voices sounded when they dropped through windows. Such a way he associated things, so charming.

He looked at her, the glassy, black left eye reflecting her face, the right with it's pin-dot pupil widening only slightly, giving Maia an innocent, boyish look. He almost wasted precious thoughts on where his knives were, before reminding himself that there was no need for such things in the afterlife. That was unfortunate. He would like to see if a woman whistling through a hole in her larynx would sound better than what he had put such hard work into.

He supposed he'd have to exercise more politeness, being dead. He'd studied politeness enough to know he was better at it than whistling.
"Ah, that is a shame," he said. "I have practiced so hard to make it sound... right. But thank you ever so much, I do so love to be corrected, Miss...?"

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

Creepy fucking eyes, too. But he looks kind of dumb, like a dope. If Maia knew what he was planning, she wouldn't look mollified. She'd be pissed off. They never learn it doesn't work, pinning a demon with steel.

'Maia,' Maia says, and folds her arms. And he's choosing his words, isn't he? That's unusual. There's something about him that shouldn't be there. Or, no, he's hiding something.

'You're greasy,' she adds, settling her hard gaze on him, trying to weasel out what's bothering her about him. Is he on her side? Is he employed by them? Despite everything, Maia refuses to give up on Hell. It totally needs her.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

"Yes, I am." This he said in the tone only slightly removed from an adult speaking to a very stupid child. He smiled a half smile, tilting his head as he did. That is what some people did when they were attempting a wry look. Or perhaps sheepish. Those things were hard to remember.

"My name," he said, still with that same tone, "is Mr. Teatime."

[hellminxmel.livejournal.com]

How many syllables? Maia rolls her eyes, and raises her chin up. 'Great. You know where you are, right? The guys upstairs--' here she jerks her head up--'They don't take kindly to shrill noises.'

That's solved the problem, or should do, unless Tee-ah-tim-whatever has that disrespect for authority that everyone else seems to have around here--which really pisses her off, by the by.

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

Nny did skulking well.

It was his main pastime now, prowling the halls with Tasmanian Devinesian Devils trotting at his heels howling and yipping in their... distinctive... way. Everyone was the same, it was all the same, and...

Whisting. How the hell could whistling sound familiar? But this did, it fueled his constant anger without him understanding why, brought up oddly personal feelings of rage and betrayal that...

...that became clear once Teatime came within view. And there was only one reaction to that, of course. He grabbed the Beater's bat (relic of his tenure on the Ravenclaw Quidditch team) and, with a wordless, frustrated scream, flung himself at Teatime, hoping to knock that curly head in. Before he could see him smile.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime could now count on one hand and one finger the times he had been caught off-guard. He hadn't missed the strange yapping animals, or the strikingly familiar man at the end of the hallway, or the scream of rage.He just hadn't expected the fellow to be so damned fast.

The bat whizzed by his head with scant centimeters to spare, catching and pulling his hair just enough to sting, like a vicious hairbrush. He crouched, almost reaching for knives that weren't there, instead changing the trajectory of his arms to somersault away, the grease on his shoes making him skid to a halt next to a suit of armor.

"I know you," he said coldly, looking at the man with both eyes. Yes, he knew this person well. Looking at him with The Eye was like looking into a kaleidoscope of memories he wasn't sure he wanted. But being attacked like this, so personally... it was exciting.

He righted himself, putting a hand on the spear -not just for decoration, he thought, noting the sharp edge of the blade - and lifting his chin to smile ever so slightly. "Are we friends?"

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

There were so many people who could have walked out of the popcorn room. Squee, Devi, Gogo, Dib, hell, eveen Beyond, but it was him, him, and the unfairness of it was enormously predictable and so very, very, infuriating.

But it was obscurely satisfying to see Teatime as literally slippery as he was metaphorically slippery, even if it would make this more of a challenge.

"Friends? Friends, you treacherous, manipulative, self-centered waste of skin!!!! You think we're FRIENDS now, after all that weaselly evil shit you pulled, after all those goddamn mindgames???"

He swung the bat again, as the devils howled in angry chorus to his words.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime's almost-smile left him, and he almost-scowled. He had too much to concentrate on without bothering with extreme expressions.

He wrenched the spear from the armor's grip, knocking back the blow from the man, though he had trouble gaining purchase on both the weapon and the floor. He slipped away quickly, out of reach of the bat and those nasty, loud creatures. It would be so good to silence them.

He had been with the accusations up until the 'waste of skin' part. The other words he could accept, but that...
"I didn't think so," he said calmly, drawing up into an offensive stance. "None of my friends have ever been quite so rude to me."

[babylonjackal.livejournal.com]

It had taken a while for the pain to subside after Akabane's encounter with Jasper. Though, as a result, he'd found his blades were freed of whatever enchantment had kept them encased. He would have to find Jasper and thank him properly.

For now, though, Jackal was wandering the halls, seeing what things of interest this place could turn up.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

The saying is, "A Professional knows." Teatime's interpretation of that was very literal, and in this case, very accurate. A Professional knows when he has met another Professional, and this man - black-clad, moving like ink over the stone floor - was a Professional. Teatime's kind of professional.

He inclined his head in respectful greeting as they came to meet.

[babylonjackal.livejournal.com]

Akabane reached up and touched his hat. "It seems you've just returned here. Is there any assistance I can offer?" he asked. Professional courtesy ruled, at least until they were enemies and he had nothing better to do for the moment.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

"Directions, please, to the nearest wash-house." A small second, and something registered. "You are the second to imply a... return. Do you know me from somewhere? I have been here before?" Perhaps that time when he'd been experimenting with combustibles. Lord Downey had mentioned something about a 'near-death' experience.

[ringo-raver.livejournal.com]

"What kind of name is Jonathan Teatime?"

Predictably enough, Ryuk pronounced it just how it looks.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

"Te-ah-tim-eh," Teatime corrected automatically, before wondering two things. the first, just what was asking him. The second, how it knew. His wondering kept going back to the what, though. He waited.

[ringo-raver.livejournal.com]

Ryuk laughed. "Now you're just being silly." He pats Teatime on the head; clearly, he thought Teatime was just trying to make his name more 'fancy'. "It's Teatime, don't try to make it all fancy sounding."

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime endured the head patting for long enough for the Pirannah-faced thing to finish its sentence, and then snatched at its wrist to remove the offending hand from his hair.

"I assure you... sir,... it is Teatime. That is how the name was given to me, how it is pronounced, and how I pronounce it. Everyone gets it wrong."

[steff-is-a-girl.livejournal.com]

The whistling had attracted Steff's attention. It didn't sound like any whistling she'd ever heard, but, rather, like what would happen if Two tried whistling.

This was probably why she went for a less acerbic greeting than she might otherwise have.

"Hey!" she called. "If you're looking for the showers--which you totally need--they're the other way."

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime stopped in mid-song, some Hogswatch wassail he only vaguely remembered, and looked at the speaker with a thankful sort-of smile.

"How very kind of you," he said brightly. "A particular hall, or is there a sign?"

[steff-is-a-girl.livejournal.com]

"There's a sign on the door," Steff allowed. "But it can get confusing, what with the halls constantly shifting." And because this was Steff, she leered at him. "I could take you there, if you like, and let you do naughty things to me as payment." Steff was sometimes not the brightest bulb on the Christmas tree...as evidenced by, well, that.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

At 'naughty things' Teatime's glass eye glinted just a little bit, and the brow over his 'good' eye lifted.

"What constitutes as 'naughty things' here, may I ask?" Because, really, children held little interest to him, and this one had the air of the dim street urchins who made their diseased way through life loitering on the corners of Morpork, soliciting older men for 'business.' He had no use for children like that. No telling what kind of diseases they carried.

_{((OOC No offense meant. Personally, I think Steff is the Bee's Knees. ♥ ))}

[arrogantmage.livejournal.com]

Inhuman noises? Count Lezard in. He had gone about looking for the remnants of his death worm, and located precious little thereof; the pleasantly eerie sound was a good excuse to divert his attention for a time.

Since he did not know the immediate source of the sound, he could not merely teleport to it. He had to walk toward it, like any ordinary quester on a dungeon crawl. But because he didn't want to walk in deathworm guts (a pratfall would be most embarrassing, should anyone be near), he decided to levitate instead.

Imagine his surprise when the whistling turned out to come from a human, and not some unholy beast or chthonic configuration of architecture! Lezard was rather disappointed, truth be told. But because he'd floated all the way to find this person, he might as well say hello.

"Greetings," he said, bowing in his customary fashion. And still levitating. With his cloak fluttering in a nonexistent wind just like it does on his status screen. "I am Lezard Valeth. Are you a newcomer to Hogwarts?" For he'd not seen the man before, and he did tend to get around.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Levitating people did not usually happen to Teatime. The only time he'd seen someone 'levitate' was when he was offering a helpful hand around a throat, and said levitation was usually punctuated by an intimate discussion with a wall or a several-story drop.

This kind of levitating person was far more interesting. He returned the bow, careful not to slip in the butter grease as he stopped. "I am Mr. Teatime," he introduced himself, pronouncing carefully, though he fully expected the gentleman floating in front of him to mispronounce it anyway. "I have been told I am a return student."

[arrogantmage.livejournal.com]

Lezard had given up on butter as a sign of the newly unpopcorned. Hogwarts' denizens had peculiar habits, and could not be relied upon to follow a predictable pattern. Some might cast scourgify upon themselves immediately after unpopping. Some seemed to undergo an odd fluctuation of buttered and unbuttered state. Moreover, Lezard would not be surprised if there were among the student body at least one or two butter fetishists.

"Perhaps I ought to welcome you back, then, Mr. Teatime," he said, pronouncing the name just as the man had pronounced it himself. (Not having shinigami eyes -- alas! He would so like to have unlocked the secret of Beyond's unusual eyes, when Beyond was still among the unpopcorned -- Lezard could not see the spelling of the name, and had no reason not to follow the pronunciation as given. For all he knew, it really could be spelt Teyahtimah.)

Having no desire to slip in butter any more than in deathworm guts, he remained levitating. "You wouldn't happen to have seen a death worm anywhere about, I suppose. Uncommonly large, bristled, throwing off electrical shocks?"

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Perhaps this Lezard was one of those 'superiors' Maia had mentioned? Or just a very young and eccentric wizard. Whatever he was, he made Teatime's glass eye hurt if he looked too long. But he couldn't be all that bad. He got the name right, after all.

"I haven't seen any death worms recently," he said, with more than a little regret coloring his tone. Such a creature sounded capital interesting. "Are they common here?"