Kings and Queens of the Mirror 1a/?
anonymous
May 22 2011, 03:41:25 UTC
Hello~ I’m not any of the previous anons, but I’ll take a crack at this… Warnings, you say? Umm… Lots of Lewis Carroll quotes. I hope this is to your liking, OP!Anon! This is sorta a prologue...
And here I wish I could tell you half the things Alice used to say, beginning with her favourite phrase “Let’s pretend.” She had had quite a long argument with her sister only the day before- all because Alice had begun with “Let’s pretend we’re kings and queens”; and her sister, who liked being very exact, had argued that they couldn’t, because there were only two of them, and Alice had been reduced at last to say “Well, you can be one of them, then, and I’ll be all the rest.” Lewis Carroll, “Through the Looking Glass”
Rain spattered the window panes of the ancient pickup truck as Arthur stared out the window as an unchangingly gray landscape flew past. Alfred sat next to him, driving and humming along with a peppy tune on the radio- some arbitrary pop song, indistinguishable from any other of the same genre. Of course, the man did not look like Alfred- he was older, had broader shoulders, and seemed to be of Italian descent, but it was Alfred. All the people here were- Arthur had learned that quite early, when a smartly dressed New York businesswoman had described in detail a specific incident of Arthur’s food nearly killing Alfred’s brother, Matthew. That sort of thing would happen often- these bits and pieces of a soul would forget their façade and become something of a bold, young American.
Arthur had, in essence, lived in his lover’s mind for a good four years now, though it was likely less in reality. Time apparently passed quicker here, or so the musty old books of ancient spells had said. Arthur knew he would stay as long as it took to find Alfred, however strange that was. The younger man seemed to be hiding- from what, only he knew. Arthur would hear that the American had been through from one of the fake people, or see a glimpse of him on the side of a picture on the front page of one of the counterfeit papers. Once, the man’s face had stared mockingly out from the side of a milk carton, and another time rustled on a torn ‘wanted’ sign blowing down the dusty streets of a settlement caught somewhere between a Western ghost town and a bustling city.
“This is as far as I go,” the driver said, pulling to a halt near a driveway, which led to a small suburban home. Arthur hadn’t realized that they had pulled off the highway- in actuality, they may not have. In all likelihood, they had just come to be here, without any rhyme or reason.
“That’s alright,” Arthur said, “I don’t need to be anywhere, really. Thanks again, Alfred.”
The Italian driver grinned, and for a second the Englishman could have sworn that his eyes were a lively blue, and not a deep brown. “It’s no problem, Iggy. I can always stand to help a brother out, okay? Good luck out there.”
Kings and Queens of the Mirror 1b/?
anonymous
May 22 2011, 03:42:50 UTC
Arthur nodded, and shut the door. The man drove off, leaving Arthur on the sidewalk. It was well-paved and clean, though wet. Turning around, the man tried to memorize the place- a small, neatly painted blue house, surrounded by overgrown, weedy grass, which was bordered by neatly trimmed hedges. It was late spring here, and an occasional clump of flowers trembled in the rain. To the right of the blue house was a large, stately building. It was built in a Roman style, with columns and arches and an inscription proudly carved above the entrance: “I’ll put you through into Looking-glass House. How would you like that ?” To the left was a squat, blocky building surrounded by barren ground, muddy with the rain. A bent fallout shelter sign could be seen leaning against one wall, just below a set of corresponding holes and rust stains. Arthur didn’t think to look at the buildings beyond. Even if he had, they likely wouldn’t really be there; only apparently solid, they only filled in the space, drawing no attention.
Sighing, the Englishman climbed the steep concrete stairs leading to the path which led to the porch which led to the door which led to the house. He reached under the welcome mat, drew out a skeleton key, and unlocked the modern door. He pocketed the key. The door opened to reveal a rather salty looking, out-of-date pub- definitely seaside, as it was populated mostly by sailors- some looking like fishers, others like harpooners, others like men in American Naval uniforms from various periods. There were outliers, of course: a young bespectacled man in grunge, a woman dressed like a colonial schoolteacher, a stately lady dressed as if she had just returned from a funeral.
Arthur looked behind him. It was still raining, but the air had a salty bite to it, and the ocean was visible. The columned building and the fallout shelter were gone, replaced respectively by a travel agency and a tavern appropriate to a nineteenth century whaling town, except for the crisp, just posted fallout shelter sign on its side. Resigned to this, Arthur turned and walked inside the bar, inhaling the mixture of heavy tobacco smoke, lily of the valley, and some sort of burning incense. The first’s origin was obvious, but the other two less so.
Walking up to a desk looking suspiciously like something out of a Holiday Inn, Arthur rung a bell to rouse a sleeping clerk. She looked up, and stood, shedding the Native American-esque blanket from her shoulders, leaving her scarred and emaciated body without any cover but a set of lacy black lingerie.
“Is there a room here that I could stay in for the night?” Arthur asked as soon as the woman was awake.
“Sure- one upstairs, but’cha gotta pay me,” she replied.
“I don’t have anything, miss.”
“Maybe a hamburger? Or some pizza- I’d take that. Really, I’d take anything right now. I’m hungry. I can’t get any food, though. I should, though. Christ, but I can’t leave my post, not at this time,” the woman rambled, putting her head back down on the desk. She drew her blanket back over her, and started fiddling with the silver service bell in her long, large-jointed fingers.
Kings and Queens of the Mirror 1c/?
anonymous
May 22 2011, 03:43:45 UTC
Arthur walked up the stairs, opened the door to the room she had indicated, then closed it and locked it with the front door key. It was a small room, with a small bed in the corner. The windows were covered with heavy black curtains, and the panes painted over. The walls were painted erratically, depicting something akin to a psychedelic trip. In one corner, a series of barely legible words were painted. Arthur could make them out, however, as he had seen them plenty of times in Alfred’s mind already.
“How would you like to live in Looking-glass House, Kitty? I wonder if they’d give you milk in there? Perhaps Looking-glass milk isn’t good to drink- but oh, Kitty! now we come to the passage. You can just see a little peep of the passage in Looking-glass House, if you leave the door of our drawing-room wide open: and it’s very like our passage as far as you can see, only you know it may be quite different beyond. Oh, Kitty, how nice it would be if we could only get through into Looking-glass House!”
Arthur grimaced, and turned from the wall. As he began to dig through the drawers in search of some clothes that suited him, he wondered at it all. He was in a room, in some form of a house or tavern or whatever it may when he next went out the door, in the mind of his comatose lover. He had no idea where Alfred may be, or what he was doing. The two men were trapped in Looking-Glass House.
And here I wish I could tell you half the things Alice used to say, beginning with her favourite phrase “Let’s pretend.” She had had quite a long argument with her sister only the day before- all because Alice had begun with “Let’s pretend we’re kings and queens”; and her sister, who liked being very exact, had argued that they couldn’t, because there were only two of them, and Alice had been reduced at last to say “Well, you can be one of them, then, and I’ll be all the rest.”
Lewis Carroll, “Through the Looking Glass”
Rain spattered the window panes of the ancient pickup truck as Arthur stared out the window as an unchangingly gray landscape flew past. Alfred sat next to him, driving and humming along with a peppy tune on the radio- some arbitrary pop song, indistinguishable from any other of the same genre. Of course, the man did not look like Alfred- he was older, had broader shoulders, and seemed to be of Italian descent, but it was Alfred. All the people here were- Arthur had learned that quite early, when a smartly dressed New York businesswoman had described in detail a specific incident of Arthur’s food nearly killing Alfred’s brother, Matthew. That sort of thing would happen often- these bits and pieces of a soul would forget their façade and become something of a bold, young American.
Arthur had, in essence, lived in his lover’s mind for a good four years now, though it was likely less in reality. Time apparently passed quicker here, or so the musty old books of ancient spells had said. Arthur knew he would stay as long as it took to find Alfred, however strange that was. The younger man seemed to be hiding- from what, only he knew. Arthur would hear that the American had been through from one of the fake people, or see a glimpse of him on the side of a picture on the front page of one of the counterfeit papers. Once, the man’s face had stared mockingly out from the side of a milk carton, and another time rustled on a torn ‘wanted’ sign blowing down the dusty streets of a settlement caught somewhere between a Western ghost town and a bustling city.
“This is as far as I go,” the driver said, pulling to a halt near a driveway, which led to a small suburban home. Arthur hadn’t realized that they had pulled off the highway- in actuality, they may not have. In all likelihood, they had just come to be here, without any rhyme or reason.
“That’s alright,” Arthur said, “I don’t need to be anywhere, really. Thanks again, Alfred.”
The Italian driver grinned, and for a second the Englishman could have sworn that his eyes were a lively blue, and not a deep brown. “It’s no problem, Iggy. I can always stand to help a brother out, okay? Good luck out there.”
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Sighing, the Englishman climbed the steep concrete stairs leading to the path which led to the porch which led to the door which led to the house. He reached under the welcome mat, drew out a skeleton key, and unlocked the modern door. He pocketed the key. The door opened to reveal a rather salty looking, out-of-date pub- definitely seaside, as it was populated mostly by sailors- some looking like fishers, others like harpooners, others like men in American Naval uniforms from various periods. There were outliers, of course: a young bespectacled man in grunge, a woman dressed like a colonial schoolteacher, a stately lady dressed as if she had just returned from a funeral.
Arthur looked behind him. It was still raining, but the air had a salty bite to it, and the ocean was visible. The columned building and the fallout shelter were gone, replaced respectively by a travel agency and a tavern appropriate to a nineteenth century whaling town, except for the crisp, just posted fallout shelter sign on its side. Resigned to this, Arthur turned and walked inside the bar, inhaling the mixture of heavy tobacco smoke, lily of the valley, and some sort of burning incense. The first’s origin was obvious, but the other two less so.
Walking up to a desk looking suspiciously like something out of a Holiday Inn, Arthur rung a bell to rouse a sleeping clerk. She looked up, and stood, shedding the Native American-esque blanket from her shoulders, leaving her scarred and emaciated body without any cover but a set of lacy black lingerie.
“Is there a room here that I could stay in for the night?” Arthur asked as soon as the woman was awake.
“Sure- one upstairs, but’cha gotta pay me,” she replied.
“I don’t have anything, miss.”
“Maybe a hamburger? Or some pizza- I’d take that. Really, I’d take anything right now. I’m hungry. I can’t get any food, though. I should, though. Christ, but I can’t leave my post, not at this time,” the woman rambled, putting her head back down on the desk. She drew her blanket back over her, and started fiddling with the silver service bell in her long, large-jointed fingers.
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“How would you like to live in Looking-glass House, Kitty? I wonder if they’d give you milk in there? Perhaps Looking-glass milk isn’t good to drink- but oh, Kitty! now we come to the passage. You can just see a little peep of the passage in Looking-glass House, if you leave the door of our drawing-room wide open: and it’s very like our passage as far as you can see, only you know it may be quite different beyond. Oh, Kitty, how nice it would be if we could only get through into Looking-glass House!”
Arthur grimaced, and turned from the wall. As he began to dig through the drawers in search of some clothes that suited him, he wondered at it all. He was in a room, in some form of a house or tavern or whatever it may when he next went out the door, in the mind of his comatose lover. He had no idea where Alfred may be, or what he was doing. The two men were trapped in Looking-Glass House.
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That's an interesting start, hell! O__O Got me excited already! So looking forward to the next update!!
Thank you A!A for writing this!
~OP!
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I especially liked the little details of how all the people are Alfred, really, but not. It was chilling. *shudders*
<3 Can't wait for the update!
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