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.

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[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

He listened to all this very calmly, almost completely detached. The accusations seemed to him like those of a paranoid - a man so deranged and illogical in his reasoning that any perceived slight was elevated to the scope of a deadly sin.

Teatime adjusted his weight, moved quickly into position, and thrust at the man, calmly as you please.

It did not feel...right.

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

Teatime was fast, Nny certainly knew that, but he also had the disadvantage of needing to step very carefully to avoid slipping, and that gave Nny time to knock the spear away, grabbing for its shaft in an attempt to disarm.

It was satisfyingly cathartic to be able to attack Teatime directly, satisfying in a way his messy little 'field trips' never were.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

A lifetime of training and an excellent education gave Teatime a distinctive edge in even the worst of situations. His resume of success was long and detailed. In the end, he had been defeated only by the Inner Babysitter Death.

All of that was being compromised by a crazy man with a bat. A familiar crazy man, but familiar in the way of the street people you passed every day and pretended not to notice unless it was a holiday, and then you gave them a pence for being poor and unattractive. The man was not either of those things, was obviously insane in a way Teatime could appreciate, and a very impressive fighter.

That didn't keep him from feeling slightly resentful that he hadn't won yet. The yet part was important; he did not at all plan to lose. He pulled back on the spear, hoping to pull the man with it, set him off-balance, make a grab for that entrancing machete hanging from the man's belt.

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

He'd seen Teatime in action. Of course, that had been against defenseless civilians, the teeming throng of humanity Nny mainly thought of as walking meat when they weren't actively annoying him. So his style wasn't entirely familiar... familiar enough, though, to know he would be hard to predict.

While this move was not one Nny would have predicted, it made him grin broadly and chuckle. Closer was close-range, closer than the range of the spear, blade-range...

He stepped in further than the pull, drawing the machete.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime went down to one knee as the man stepped forward, readjusting his grip on the spear, bringing the blunt end up and the sharp end down, swinging towards the man's legs.

There was something... familiar about this. The expert way the man handled the machete. The loving and careful way it was sharpened. The laugh.

A name, like a child's scrawl on the walls of his mind, made itself known.

"Nny."

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

Nny leapt over the spear as if it were a jumprope, but it took concentration away from his ability to attack.

"Teatime," he spat, pronouncing it with flawless correctness and unmistakeable loathing. "Deceptive, lying, fucking game-playing Teatime. I haven't forgotten either!!!!"

He swung the machete again.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime dodged, taking the spear in both hands and snapping it in half. The shaft shattered nicely. It would be useless in close combat otherwise.

That this... Nny said it right, the intimate familiarity that coated his voice, it made Teatime shiver. He wanted to know this person. He wanted to remember.

"Enlighten me," he begged - insofar as he was capable of 'begging,' which was more like a polite whisper. "What games did I play with you, Nny?"

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

Teatime had been popcorn, of course, and that did play tricks with memory.

But it was Teatime. Teatime of the glowing smile and the untrustworthy words. Therefore, it had to be a ploy, an attempt to distract him.

"All your words," Nny snarled, swinging the blunt side of the machete toward the bladed half of the spear. "You spin webs and webs and I'm NOT GOING TO FALL IN AGAIN!!!!! You smile at me like that and think it will trap me again!"

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

The grease served a great purpose in that it helped quick, close-range movements become even quicker. Teatime, skidding in a half circle, bringing the broken end of the spear around to Nny's side length-wise. Whether or not the blow landed was... no. Whether or not it caused any damage was the question. Nny was strong, the impressive kind of strong. Teatime would not be able to catch him off-guard. Once again: Disadvantage.

"Which words?" He prompted, twirling the blade-end of the spear over his fingers, ready to stab if he could. He was fascinated. "How did I trap you?"

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

Despite his attempt to dodge, the blow landed with enough force to bruise, enough force to send his breath out in a hasty rush.

He didn't want to give Teatime any ammunition, of course, but it wasn't Nny's nature to be close-lipped.

"Yours," he growled. "All your talk of wanting, and you never did, just words to try and bring me in line, control me, and it is not going to happen!"

He hurtled the machete in another fierce arc toward Teatime again.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

He moved sharply, but the edge of the machete sliced a thin line along the edge of Teatime's jaw. The pain - brief, hot, barely even a flash of sensation - was exquisite. No one cut him.

"Did I want you, Nny?" He drew in a breath, his good eye widening, his other eye glinting in the low light. "Were you lying about us being... friends?"

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

It was a trick, of course it was, another way for Teatime to toy with him, manipulate him, but he couldn't keep his mouth shut, couldn't stop the string of accusations.

"I'd been trying so hard," he said with uncharacteristic quiet, machete at the ready, focus never leaving Teatime's weapon. "So hard, not to want, and you told me, told me it was all right to want, said you did want me, and then just, just played your fucking yes and no games, your 'not right now' games, and still expected me to be yours!"

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

"I've never been very good at games," Teatime replied, wondering with growing excitement just exactly what he'd done. It must have been magnificent. Oh, he wished he could remember. "Were you mine? Or did you just... want to be?"

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

That produced another snarl, and Nny's voice raised in volume as he spoke. "Inescapeably yours, you said, all your words while you shut me out, played your little control games when all I wanted..."

That was too much. He pulled the machete back for a sweeping blow, leaving himself reclessly open.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

"All you wanted?" Teatime prompted, ready for attack though making no move to do so. Inescapably. That's what Nny had said. Oh, what a feeling, to be so caught up in another person. To prompt such... emotion.

"You have what you want right in front of you," he breathed, his smile widening. Little snatches of memory were curling up from the base of his brain. Glorious memories. "Don't you want... it any more?"

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

It was a trap, of course, an attempt of Teatime's to bring him to heel, to yank him back into obedience with meaningless pleasantries full of empty promise.

"More of your lies," he growled, swinging the machete with no effort to actually aim. "Do you think you can fool me so easily?"

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime dodged easily, using the arc of the swing to bring the encounter back to his advantage. He dropped the broken shaft of the spear and with that hand grabbed Nny's wrist. The other hand, still armed with the sharp half of the spear, flashed up and stopped, the spear's tip pressed just below Nny's adam's apple.

"But Nny," he said, his voice imploring, teasing, the littlest bit hopeful, "I do so want to be your friend now."

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

A spearhead at his throat was at least attention, something other than bland dismissal, and he didn't shy away from the contact, the point against his skin almost welcome in its decisiveness. He tugged his wrist, not really sure if he wanted to break Teatime's grasp.

"You're lying again."

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

"Am I?" He he tightened his grip and moved closer, just the tiniest bit, putting a little more pressure on the blade. "I don't even remember if I was lying before. Am I really lying now?"

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

With the fearlessness of someone who didn't mind dying (even if he knew he couldn't), Nny pressed against the spearpoint enough to send a rivulet of blood to dampen the neckline of his shirt.

"Always. You always lie! You made me want and pushed me away and then smiled. I won't believe you now!"

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

The fearlessness, the complete lack of any flair or grandeur, the honesty in the way Nny moved was like an open invitation. 'Here I am, have me for I am yours!'

But, the same honesty in Nny's voice meant the opposite was true.

"No?" Teatime knew how to sound sad. He'd been taught what emotions were supposed to sound like and how he was supposed to act around other people. He knew how to sound - for the most part - as if he was feeling something he had almost no capability of feeling. But, this time, he actually felt what he was saying. Disappointment. Sadness. the anger of having something ultimately enjoyable dangled in front of you and then snatched away before you could reach out to take it. It hurt. Not like a poker-through-the-chest or falling-from-one-reality-to-another-one hurt, but a more... subtle hurt. An undefinable ache.

His brow furrowed and he looked at Nny. "You're sure?"

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

"I know you're lying," Nny said quietly, with an air of defeat. This was too cruelly close to what he'd wanted... how long ago, now? It seemed like forever. The reminder had torn open barely-contained emotions, a tangle of rage and desire and black, choking betrayal. He reached out with his free hand, unsure if he meant to stroke Teatime's cheek or claw at it. "So many lies."

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Teatime had been warned against things like 'fixation' and 'obsession.' He'd been very careful to follow the guild's instructions on such things. At least, when he was being watched, which was often. Perhaps they were concerned he might start collecting people the way Lord Downey had collected butterflies. That was foolish. Collecting people was messy. Collecting - owning - a person, now that was different.

He would have gladly taken claws or caresses at that very moment, because he knew, the way he knew that Nny knew, that meant solidifying something between them. A touch like that was better than words. It was a contract. It was vindication.

He smiled, and tilted his face against Nny's hand. Mine, he thought smugly. And I didn't even know I had him.

[waste-lock.livejournal.com]

Expression twisted with powerfully conflicted emotions, Nny skimmed his hand across Teatime's cheek, jagged thumbnail leaving a slight scratch, and grasped the Assassin's curly hair tightly in his long, bony fingers.

"I can't trust you," Nny wailed, shaking Teatime's head roughly.

[corkscrewmind.livejournal.com]

Laughing gleefully, Teatime surged upwards, catching one leg behind Nny's balance foot, using the focus and his speed to send Nny backwards, sprawled on the ground. The spear point he tossed away, startling two of the creatures - Devinisian Devils, his mind supplied out of nowhere - into a yipping frenzy. His now free hand he closed over Nny's throat, feeling the slickness of blood and the heat of a pulse that -for once - wasn't quickened by utter terror. Their trajectory ended with Teatime half-straddled on Nny's chest, one knee pinning him down, the opposite foot scrabbling a moment for purchase among the greasy flagstones. He leaned close, his smile bright, elated, genuine. The hand still clutching his hair made his scalp hurt like fury, and it felt wonderful.

"No one in the world is trustworthy, Nny." His voice was soft, wistful. "But the door is open." He certainly wasn't shutting Nny out now. No, not at all.