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

[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.

[babylonjackal.livejournal.com]

"I do not know you," Akabane said. Most of those whom he knew were professional acquaintances or dead, or trying to kill him. "However, I arrived at this place through that room and was told that it what it signified. You had, at one point, come to this place through what they call a 'Sorting Room,' but then became that 'pop corn.'" He began walking, figuring that if the man wanted more, he would follow. Knowing he'd be followed because he'd only answered one of the questions.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime followed a respectful - meaning out of immediate weapon-range for either party - distance behind the tall man, waiting for the next answer. More questions wrote themselves down in his mind, a list of careful queries. Was it common to come back with no memories? What and where was this place?

In time. All answers in time. Instead of asking, he watched the man move a while. There was a certain way people moved when they specialized in specific weapons. This man, Teatime guessed, was a man enamored with knives, and very precise. The eye told him nothing, as was its way here. But he liked guessing, it was his favorite game.

[babylonjackal.livejournal.com]

Akabane didn't need to see, or hear, to know that he was being followed. He kept his pace relaxed, his hands in his pockets as he walked. He reached the end of the corridor before he spoke again. "I do not recall being here before, but I am told there are some that do." He looked over his shoulder, his hand on the brim of his hat and smiled, an expression that was calculated to bring to mind his namesake, the jackal.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime smiled back, an open, friendly smile. Or what he had been taught an open and friendly smile should look like. He liked this man already - the way he liked most deadly animals. He usually got on well with them.

Stopping, hands still clasped behind his back, he waited patiently for the man to continue.

[babylonjackal.livejournal.com]

Akabane flicked an eyebrow before continuing on. He had nothing to say and if the man would not volunteer, there was really no need for conversation. As he walked, his hands returned to his pockets. He deliberately allowed some of his own bloodlust fill the air. He wanted to know if this man who silently followed him, would be entertaining.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime considered his questionnaire options a moment, following before speaking again. "How long have you been here?"

[babylonjackal.livejournal.com]

Akabane continued walking, not turning as he answered the question. "Five months this time. I do not know how long I was here before, nor do I recall that time."

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

"And," Teatime continued, glancing at a painting he was sure had just made a face at him, "where is here?"

[babylonjackal.livejournal.com]

"Here is called Hogwarts. It is in a place called Scotland, though the rest of the country seems largely ignorant of it," Akabane supplied. He looked over his shoulder, seeing where his companion's eyes crossed. "The paintings, statuary and architecture move," he added.