First chapter!
Title: Spade, Diamond, Club, and Heart
Author: Darth Spork
Pairing: John/Paul and George/Ringo, eventually
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Disturbing/macabre imagery, language, sexual situations, alternate universe
Chapter: One/?
Summary: Richard is the King of Hearts in the land of dreams, Wonderland - a land of death, blood, and horror, which he controls absolutely… or so he’s told. Will he be able to save himself and the previous Kings, Spade, Diamond, and Club, from an eternity in hell?
Disclaimer: I own neither The Beatles, who belong to themselves, nor the inspiration for the idea, which belongs to… Yamaha, I think, I couldn’t find too much detail on it. If you know, tell me.
A/N: I cannot put into words how thrilled I am by all of the comments I got on my prologue. So, here you are, chapter one! I’m glad people seem to like this, yes I am. Be prepared for more Lewis Carroll references. (And I know that this is very… out of season. Here, a story of blood and death. Merry Christmas.)
- - -
He heard running water immediately to his left. He felt cool air around him and sunlight above him. But more than that, he felt a pain on the back of his right hand.
Wincing, Richard opened his eyes slowly. He found himself staring at a leaf canopy overhead, golden light coming down from between the branches of huge oak trees. The ground he was laying on was soft with moss and grass, and to his right side was a small babbling brook.
“Where am I…?” he muttered as he forced himself to sit up. He felt dizzy and his mind was clouded, making it hard to think or remember much of anything. The throbbing on his hand was gradually getting worse; wincing, he looked down to figure out what it was.
His eyes widened with horror as he saw the yellow heart tattooed on the back of his hand.
Memories began flooding back to him: Spade being dragged into the shadows, Diamond shooting himself in the head, Club twitching and foaming before finally becoming still… Richard began to panic, attempting to rub and scratch the thing off to no avail. He was clothed in yellow and white, much in the fashion of the other three, and found himself to be completely unarmed.
Standing, he looked around wildly, but saw nothing threatening in the trees around him. He could see deep into the forest; nothing but that golden light and the occasional butterfly or the sound of a bird alighting from one branch to another. Nothing to fear.
After a moment, he sat down by the brook again and began attempting to calm his breathing, reasoning to himself. He was dreaming; he simply had to be. That was the only thing that made any sense. So, if he was dreaming, it was… well, the earlier scenes had definitely qualified as a nightmare, but… he would wake up. He knew he would. So he would… go with it, for now? Yes, that was what he would do.
So the question really was what he should do. He took another look around, feeling considerably calmer after realizing that it was simply a dream he would wake up from eventually, and tried to get his bearings. The voice had… called him Heart.
But that wasn’t his name. His name was… it was…
A frown began marring his features as he concentrated. He knew he had a name. He was positive that he did. So why couldn’t he remember it? It was on the tip of his tongue, but the harder he concentrated, the harder his mind enforced the word ‘Heart’. He knew that wasn’t right.
His musings were interrupted as he began to take notice of other sounds in the forest. He could hear animal’s movements, but in the distance he heard a sound that was a strange cross between a bellow and a whistle. He also heard something keening in a different direction and began to feel slightly more nervous about being unarmed, despite the fact that it was a dream.
Getting to his feet again, he decided to go in a third direction to get away from both sounds. He stepped over the brook, as it was not very wide, and began to walk slowly, gaining confidence as he did so. This wasn’t so bad. The forest was beautiful, at least, and while it wasn’t the ideal place for a dream, it could have been exceedingly worse.
He walked along for a while, beginning to feel content, and the nightmare slowly slipped from his mind as he wandered almost aimlessly. He saw a small woodland creature here or there, but nothing really of note until he came upon a clearing, something silver glinting in the light. Frowning, Richard came closer until he was at the edge and could identify the object.
It was a sword - a silver longsword with a gold and red hilt, the tip stuck in the ground.
Memories of the nightmare began flooding back as Richard froze, staring at the object. He had only seen it briefly and from a distance, but he had no doubts that the sword in the clearing was Spade’s.
Before he could even begin to wonder why it was there, he heard a sound approaching from somewhere around his left. The closer it got, the clearer it was - a drawn-out scream of terror without a single pause for breath, just steadily getting louder. Unable to run, Richard turned his head and saw a shadow that was growing as though it was moving closer. The scream was coming from that shadow, which was simply a large, shapeless mass.
When Richard almost had it in his mind to force his body to run away, the screaming shadow flew through the clearing at about the pace a man could run, bathing whatever it touched in blackness. And then it was gone, the screams fading to the right, the shadow disappearing from sight. As Richard had been at the edge of the clearing, he hadn’t been touched, but when the darkness had lifted two things were clear: the sword was gone, and the shadow had left a trail of blood on everything it had touched.
Panic filled Richard. He needed to leave. He needed to leave right that moment. “I-I want to get out of here,” he said weakly; no sooner had the words left his lips than he heard a click immediately to his right. He spun around to look; a door had appeared on the tree beside him. Without thinking, he grabbed the knob and through the door open, flinging himself inside without looking. Before the door slammed shut, he chanced a look at the clearing.
The blood was gone.
- - -
He was in a bedroom.
Turning sharply, Richard looked behind him to see a closet door; he had come through to here from the forest… through that? He opened the door, but it was just a closet. There was nothing there.
A chittering sound below him made him jump; upon turning his eyes towards it, he saw a corpse on the closet floor, mingled with some sort of insects making the strangest noises. Gagging, he slammed the door and stumbled backwards onto the dusty bed, nearly tripping over the ripped hangings that went from the rusty brass rings holding them up to the warped wooden floor.
Where was he now? The house of a murderer? Richard was too shocked and horrified to move, desperately hanging onto the repeated mantra of, “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.” But while everything in sight was ruined, it had the feel of having been very grand, once. He turned to look at a window; he could barely see pale green light coming through the grime caked onto the glass.
“Where… where am I…?” he muttered to no one.
The castle of the King. Your castle, really, when you make it in your image. It hasn’t been changed since the last King reigned.
Richard sprang to his feet, looking around wildly. That voice again. But there was, once again, no one in the room with him to be speaking. Shaking, he muttered, “Wh-who are you?”
I am your humble servant.
“Bullshit! Tell me who you are!”
Your humble servant. Nothing more.
Shaking his head wildly, Richard grabbed his hair and closed his eyes. “I want to wake up now… I want to wake up…”
No.
“If you’re my servant you can’t keep me here!!”
I can. And I will.
Breathing heavily, Richard ran for the door of the bedroom, flinging himself out into the hallway. It was no better out here. The mold on the walls was clearer, and he could see rats and mice eating away at what furniture was still there. He ran down the hall, took a left, then a right, then straight. Right, left, left, right, straight, right. He didn’t know where he was. He just wanted to get out and go home.
And then he heard voices.
There was… someone else here? Someone who could maybe help him? He didn’t dare hope, but the spark was still there. He braced himself and began sneaking in the direction of the words, praying that whoever it was that was talking would be able to help him and not… not what caused the- the thing he had seen in the closet.
He was standing outside huge double doors when the words were finally clear enough for him to hear them. The speaker had a wavering voice, deep but shaken with the quality of unnerving laughter. Richard couldn’t hear who the speaker was talking to; he assumed the other was either too far away or simply speaking too quietly.
“…and in the f… forest I… was traversing,” the voice was saying, words broken by barely-contained crazed giggles. “They… are acting very very… very very very… very strangely. Strangely. Very strangely indeed.”
A pause.
“The mome raths outgrabe. The Jubjub keens, keens loud… loud, very loudly indeed. Very… indeed. The Bandersnatch pulled down… down down… down part… of the forest. It was… the Bandersnatch. Pulled down part of the forest.”
More silence.
“…I don’t know. Don’t. Don’t know about it. The Jabberwock, I don’t know. It was gone. I found my sword, but it was gone. They all act strangely. Toves, raths, borogoves… toves on the wabe. Borogoves… not happy. At all.”
A third silence. The speaker began laughing hysterically, and Richard’s blood froze at the quality of it.
“Out of the Shadow, came out. Found the sword, so could leave. Sword… was in the clearing. I saw him. I saw. In the forest.” Another round of hysterical laughter. “Foam, Club. Foam.”
The light of the room beyond the doors shifted, as if someone moved from a light source, and a slit of pale light fell across the floor in front of Richard. He looked down at a glint on the carpet and shuddered; a trail of blood, almost exactly like the one he had seen in the forest, leading through the doors into the room.
Before he could run as he so desperately wished, he heard the click of a gun and felt cold metal pressed to the back of his head. And a voice: shaky in its quality and surprisingly gentle, though it was completely monotone.
“So Spade wasn’t lying.”
- - -
Ah, he’s in trouble. Yep.
Author: Darth Spork
Pairing: John/Paul and George/Ringo, eventually
Rating: NC-17
Warnings: Disturbing/macabre imagery, language, sexual situations, alternate universe
Chapter: One/?
Summary: Richard is the King of Hearts in the land of dreams, Wonderland - a land of death, blood, and horror, which he controls absolutely… or so he’s told. Will he be able to save himself and the previous Kings, Spade, Diamond, and Club, from an eternity in hell?
Disclaimer: I own neither The Beatles, who belong to themselves, nor the inspiration for the idea, which belongs to… Yamaha, I think, I couldn’t find too much detail on it. If you know, tell me.
A/N: I cannot put into words how thrilled I am by all of the comments I got on my prologue. So, here you are, chapter one! I’m glad people seem to like this, yes I am. Be prepared for more Lewis Carroll references. (And I know that this is very… out of season. Here, a story of blood and death. Merry Christmas.)
- - -
He heard running water immediately to his left. He felt cool air around him and sunlight above him. But more than that, he felt a pain on the back of his right hand.
Wincing, Richard opened his eyes slowly. He found himself staring at a leaf canopy overhead, golden light coming down from between the branches of huge oak trees. The ground he was laying on was soft with moss and grass, and to his right side was a small babbling brook.
“Where am I…?” he muttered as he forced himself to sit up. He felt dizzy and his mind was clouded, making it hard to think or remember much of anything. The throbbing on his hand was gradually getting worse; wincing, he looked down to figure out what it was.
His eyes widened with horror as he saw the yellow heart tattooed on the back of his hand.
Memories began flooding back to him: Spade being dragged into the shadows, Diamond shooting himself in the head, Club twitching and foaming before finally becoming still… Richard began to panic, attempting to rub and scratch the thing off to no avail. He was clothed in yellow and white, much in the fashion of the other three, and found himself to be completely unarmed.
Standing, he looked around wildly, but saw nothing threatening in the trees around him. He could see deep into the forest; nothing but that golden light and the occasional butterfly or the sound of a bird alighting from one branch to another. Nothing to fear.
After a moment, he sat down by the brook again and began attempting to calm his breathing, reasoning to himself. He was dreaming; he simply had to be. That was the only thing that made any sense. So, if he was dreaming, it was… well, the earlier scenes had definitely qualified as a nightmare, but… he would wake up. He knew he would. So he would… go with it, for now? Yes, that was what he would do.
So the question really was what he should do. He took another look around, feeling considerably calmer after realizing that it was simply a dream he would wake up from eventually, and tried to get his bearings. The voice had… called him Heart.
But that wasn’t his name. His name was… it was…
A frown began marring his features as he concentrated. He knew he had a name. He was positive that he did. So why couldn’t he remember it? It was on the tip of his tongue, but the harder he concentrated, the harder his mind enforced the word ‘Heart’. He knew that wasn’t right.
His musings were interrupted as he began to take notice of other sounds in the forest. He could hear animal’s movements, but in the distance he heard a sound that was a strange cross between a bellow and a whistle. He also heard something keening in a different direction and began to feel slightly more nervous about being unarmed, despite the fact that it was a dream.
Getting to his feet again, he decided to go in a third direction to get away from both sounds. He stepped over the brook, as it was not very wide, and began to walk slowly, gaining confidence as he did so. This wasn’t so bad. The forest was beautiful, at least, and while it wasn’t the ideal place for a dream, it could have been exceedingly worse.
He walked along for a while, beginning to feel content, and the nightmare slowly slipped from his mind as he wandered almost aimlessly. He saw a small woodland creature here or there, but nothing really of note until he came upon a clearing, something silver glinting in the light. Frowning, Richard came closer until he was at the edge and could identify the object.
It was a sword - a silver longsword with a gold and red hilt, the tip stuck in the ground.
Memories of the nightmare began flooding back as Richard froze, staring at the object. He had only seen it briefly and from a distance, but he had no doubts that the sword in the clearing was Spade’s.
Before he could even begin to wonder why it was there, he heard a sound approaching from somewhere around his left. The closer it got, the clearer it was - a drawn-out scream of terror without a single pause for breath, just steadily getting louder. Unable to run, Richard turned his head and saw a shadow that was growing as though it was moving closer. The scream was coming from that shadow, which was simply a large, shapeless mass.
When Richard almost had it in his mind to force his body to run away, the screaming shadow flew through the clearing at about the pace a man could run, bathing whatever it touched in blackness. And then it was gone, the screams fading to the right, the shadow disappearing from sight. As Richard had been at the edge of the clearing, he hadn’t been touched, but when the darkness had lifted two things were clear: the sword was gone, and the shadow had left a trail of blood on everything it had touched.
Panic filled Richard. He needed to leave. He needed to leave right that moment. “I-I want to get out of here,” he said weakly; no sooner had the words left his lips than he heard a click immediately to his right. He spun around to look; a door had appeared on the tree beside him. Without thinking, he grabbed the knob and through the door open, flinging himself inside without looking. Before the door slammed shut, he chanced a look at the clearing.
The blood was gone.
- - -
He was in a bedroom.
Turning sharply, Richard looked behind him to see a closet door; he had come through to here from the forest… through that? He opened the door, but it was just a closet. There was nothing there.
A chittering sound below him made him jump; upon turning his eyes towards it, he saw a corpse on the closet floor, mingled with some sort of insects making the strangest noises. Gagging, he slammed the door and stumbled backwards onto the dusty bed, nearly tripping over the ripped hangings that went from the rusty brass rings holding them up to the warped wooden floor.
Where was he now? The house of a murderer? Richard was too shocked and horrified to move, desperately hanging onto the repeated mantra of, “It’s just a dream, it’s just a dream.” But while everything in sight was ruined, it had the feel of having been very grand, once. He turned to look at a window; he could barely see pale green light coming through the grime caked onto the glass.
“Where… where am I…?” he muttered to no one.
The castle of the King. Your castle, really, when you make it in your image. It hasn’t been changed since the last King reigned.
Richard sprang to his feet, looking around wildly. That voice again. But there was, once again, no one in the room with him to be speaking. Shaking, he muttered, “Wh-who are you?”
I am your humble servant.
“Bullshit! Tell me who you are!”
Your humble servant. Nothing more.
Shaking his head wildly, Richard grabbed his hair and closed his eyes. “I want to wake up now… I want to wake up…”
No.
“If you’re my servant you can’t keep me here!!”
I can. And I will.
Breathing heavily, Richard ran for the door of the bedroom, flinging himself out into the hallway. It was no better out here. The mold on the walls was clearer, and he could see rats and mice eating away at what furniture was still there. He ran down the hall, took a left, then a right, then straight. Right, left, left, right, straight, right. He didn’t know where he was. He just wanted to get out and go home.
And then he heard voices.
There was… someone else here? Someone who could maybe help him? He didn’t dare hope, but the spark was still there. He braced himself and began sneaking in the direction of the words, praying that whoever it was that was talking would be able to help him and not… not what caused the- the thing he had seen in the closet.
He was standing outside huge double doors when the words were finally clear enough for him to hear them. The speaker had a wavering voice, deep but shaken with the quality of unnerving laughter. Richard couldn’t hear who the speaker was talking to; he assumed the other was either too far away or simply speaking too quietly.
“…and in the f… forest I… was traversing,” the voice was saying, words broken by barely-contained crazed giggles. “They… are acting very very… very very very… very strangely. Strangely. Very strangely indeed.”
A pause.
“The mome raths outgrabe. The Jubjub keens, keens loud… loud, very loudly indeed. Very… indeed. The Bandersnatch pulled down… down down… down part… of the forest. It was… the Bandersnatch. Pulled down part of the forest.”
More silence.
“…I don’t know. Don’t. Don’t know about it. The Jabberwock, I don’t know. It was gone. I found my sword, but it was gone. They all act strangely. Toves, raths, borogoves… toves on the wabe. Borogoves… not happy. At all.”
A third silence. The speaker began laughing hysterically, and Richard’s blood froze at the quality of it.
“Out of the Shadow, came out. Found the sword, so could leave. Sword… was in the clearing. I saw him. I saw. In the forest.” Another round of hysterical laughter. “Foam, Club. Foam.”
The light of the room beyond the doors shifted, as if someone moved from a light source, and a slit of pale light fell across the floor in front of Richard. He looked down at a glint on the carpet and shuddered; a trail of blood, almost exactly like the one he had seen in the forest, leading through the doors into the room.
Before he could run as he so desperately wished, he heard the click of a gun and felt cold metal pressed to the back of his head. And a voice: shaky in its quality and surprisingly gentle, though it was completely monotone.
“So Spade wasn’t lying.”
- - -
Ah, he’s in trouble. Yep.