tampered | Log; Ongoing

Log; Ongoing

When; Sept. 23, after midnight
Rating; R (mature themes)
Characters; Mad Hatter (

proudbutterfly), John Constantine (

silkcutremix), The Corinthian (

bitingnightmare)
Summary; TBA
Log;

According to Mad Hatter, the circus music would lead them to its lair. Preparing for what they'd find was out of the question, having never been to the Mad Hatter's abode before, but The Corinthian had descended a few times. This wasn't a place of conventional beauty, far from it, but the bone path appealed to him, the vacant sockets, little teeth... Right, he toed what appeared to be a femur with his boot then tapped the ash from his cigarette, one of several Mild Sevens. At some point the apartment's nicotine supply had been replenished with each man's preferred brand, unless The City had no real demand for Silk Cuts. The Corinthian took a drag then lowered his sunglasses so the smoke could escape from his eyes.

"I don't know where we're going, but it said to follow the music," he said to John coolly. The weather below was far more unpredictable than the streets', sometimes it felt like the heat could melt metal, but a draft through the cracks could chill fire. Interesting place to say the least. He'd dressed for the occasion, in slim-fitting gray jeans and a plain white shirt.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

There was something to be said about the Underground, even from a weathered husk of a man such as Constantine. He was steady through the flare and neon, seemingly unaffected, a cigarette always between his lips and his confidence never fading. Always in his eyes were a gleam, a spark. A jaunt through Hell was rougher than this, but still, his gut said, the denizens typically were dead and damned. The folks here, well, he wasn't sure if they too were damned or in the process of doing so. The scent was thick and black.

Nice place, his thoughts briefly commented.

He wanted to linger and discover the forbidden things. See the extent of the badness and sin festering here, but no, Cori made an appointment or something of some sort with this Mad Hatter fellow. Gotta pick ... it up first, he figured.

"Let's get on with it," the Englishman replied, listening for the said music. He was clad in his usual trenchcoat ensemble, which meant nothing to the rapidly alternating weather.

Circus Carnivore was shaped like a kaleidoscope - shinning away the sun with a changing shade of bright colours. The audience had left the arena already and the performers had departed to sleep or wasted themselves in the pleasures of the City.

The candy and drugs stopped being sold already, but their stench lingered in the atmosphere. They were harmless by comparison of the poisons of Sheol but acted as simple ways to entice Gluttony fairly well.

The show was over for that night. Hatter always chose when the show began and when it was over. There was little audience as in most of the cursed days when people spoke their minds. But sie loved hir audience, the rotten and innocent alike, there were no lies sie held to them but the promise.

Excitement. Joy. Wonder.

Corruption.

Taxing as the previous encounter with Kurai had been, the demon agreed to take hir mind off the matter and act as guide for Alex and his curious “John” friend. How long had been that had crossed the festered streets of the underground? The Circus was the safest attraction. No needed to kill the audience, they must return and tell their friends.

Tick-Tock. The Curse is over, mused sie with a broad grin.

Wearing a purple outfit and matching, outrageous hat, Belial made hir way to the entrance, half concealed by the shadows and the heavy, Jester make-up, a trail of butterflies flapped their orange wings near the short red hair. They vanished when the two men approached the Hatter. Courteously, Belial bowed ceremoniously and took off hir had with a sly grin on hir lips.

“Welcome, welcome, Alex. And welcome you, John as well. This humble jester will be your guide for tonight.”

"Impatient?" He asked John with the faintest of smirks. Who was the one who needed Pissy McBlood or whatever the hell the magus called it again?

When the cold click and clatter of bone fragments gave way to the dimming lights and sound of the kaleidoscope circus, The Corinthian stopped mid-way. There was a smell here, of sweet sugar and snow for the nose, a little crystal for the brain. While he'd never set foot in her realm he would have likened it to Delirium. The show had already ended however, this was just the tail end of its scent. Surely John might find what he was looking for here. His teetheyes behind black lenses glanced to the purple and brief flash of orange. How cordial of it, the Mad Hatter.

"Evening, Mad Hatter," the Nightmare greeted it casually with a puff of smoke before gesturing between it and the magus using his cigarette, "you two've met, almost."

"Briefly," replied the Englishman, allowing his eyes to flicker here and there, to take in the sights and smells. Woulda' given any normal ol' bloke nightmares, but here, he couldn't help but feel in his element, somewhat. It made the hair on the back of his neck prickle, his nerves tingle with an electric thrill. The air's breath was laced with psychedelic delights, but still black. Constantine added, "Lovely outfit, that."

Belial straightened hir back and put the hat on with a tap of the silver cane. Sie stepped forward into the light, they were tall as sie was and with a more masculine built than the androgynous visage the demon possessed but they smelled as interesting men. Nightmare, in Alex’s case. Inclining hir head cordially, Hatter addressed Constantine first.

“Why thank you. One chose the clothes very carefully. Certain flair and stature to keep as Ringleader, see.” Sie moved the waistcoat and it changed color with the artificial light below, just like the Circus, what was violet became black. “So, gentlemen, any special interest to visit first?”

The Corinthian wasn't quite sure what to make of the humble jester. It was androgynously beautiful, smelled of neither man nor woman, though possibly female-bodied, not that he was particularly interested in finding out. He could tell Mad Hatter was not always as it appeared to be, just as the Nightmare changed from period to period. Still, he couldn't deny that the demon was easy on the eyes, and played with deception just as sweetly as its plumage shifted. Smoke trickled from all three sets of teeth as he hooked a thumb at John to take the spotlight.

"He's all yours," he offered a grin to Mad Hatter.

The Englishman briefly eyed the nightmare, then back the blue gaze went to their guide. He could somewhat sense the supernatural aura of Mad Hatter now, an tingling sensation in the depths of his consciousness that knew of the strange and unworldly, which everyone had but few honed. Constantine was practiced, the better to keep him alive in his line of work, but then again, down here, he was expecting anything. Anything.

Was this strange being female? He too found it lovely.

"How does getting us some of your finest virgin blood and piss sound? I'm sure there are some, say, choice locations for that sort of thing, eh?"

Belial lifted a brow, amused by John’s request. Tipping his jaw, sie considered it for a moment. In true, the tour was already decided but they did not know that.

“Virgin blood, Sire John?” murmured the Hatter followed by a silver laugh. “At this hour, there must be only one maiden in this place and no blood shall be drawn from her as long one has a word to say. But-” Belial placed the cane on the crook of hir arm and marched in front of them. “Follow me; there are handfuls of alternatives to that.” Huming merrily, the Hell’s Jester guided them away from the illuminated bone path, into the darker horizon that appeared deserted. “One almost forgot, be careful gentlemen. The underground is infested with monsters, they could be killed, even so. Only the path to one’s Circus is safe. The deities’ pets, if one is correct.”

Growling noises could be heard at the distance, the silhouettes of monstrous lumps of flesh that came from nightmares of a tortured man that still remained in the City. The possible peril, did not disheartened Hatter at all, who whistled as sie walked.

He didn't think they were on a mission to manually wring the blood out of a virgin, and curiously why not a male virgin as well? Not that The Corinthian was volunteering to drain one should it be a beautiful young boy with exquisite eyes. After the Mad Hatter announced their agenda he flicked his spent cigarette aside, more than certain it would just melt away into the hallucinogenic landscape rather than litter it. He gave John a cool but serious look then turned to follow their guide of hat and silver cane.

"I've met one," the nightmare mentioned off hand. John already knew this, sort of.

The noises in the distance merely piqued his interest in the place. It reminded him of the deep recesses of his neighborhood, the frightening things bleeding from the cracks and crevices. This level was a little more organic, lacking the parched despair and bleached bones of the edge of Nightmare, but the sharp brittle claws dragging their tips over the back of his neck felt the same. Still, he walked on in a relaxed fashion, his blade hidden, his muscles not particularly tense. His supernatural senses were on the alert, and that was all.

If any of these fuckers should spit acid into the man's face, they'd know what it means to be wasted by The Corinthian, that is to not die, only pray for death. Why should it come to that though, if these lumps of corpse rot were technically his brethren.

Correction: Very nice place.

John did not quite remember this on the way down: The blobs were only one of an approaching zoo of horrors creeping about in the shadows, atrocities from the dark side of humanity fighting for a higher place in the food chain. Some had particularly taken interest in Constatine; he was truly mortal of the trio despite the familiar damned blood shared between him and the menagerie. Perhaps this puny man's flesh, as old and stringy as it was, might satisfy their eternal hunger, if only briefly? Tainted by they he may be, there would be more satisfaction to be had by devouring such prey than feasting on each other in their desperation for food might bring.

Like eager beasts, they lurked and followed, hoping for a meal. Another spent cigarette was thrown in their direction instead, which it was quickly consumed. It was not flesh but they were always scavengers when they were not tormentors, and took what they could eat for they were so hungry. With feral snarls, several fought.

Tiny imps, slim, spindly creatures, gave their own squeals as they too fought over the scraps of some unfortunate fellow that strayed, one of them skittering towards the group for a curious look, a ravenous glimmer in pinpoint eyes. Parts of the depths writhed, interlocking tendrils hugging into a mess of slime and spiny scale.

John kicked the curious imp back into the black and continued on, lighting up a fresh Silk Cut.

Belial stood to a safe distance from the brawl, watching with a serene expression how the pair fought for their pride (not lives, they were too interesting fellows to fear from the monsters). There were no colors in the dark (even the red of the blood or the hair. The shade of Sin itself), and the Hatter looked like a painting in cast deep variations in and subtle gradations of light and shade.

Chiaroscuro - white face and hands clothed in black.

A hiss distracted the Satan’s show. From behind hir, a corpulent, four-legged creature attempted to snatch hir slim frame. Dodging the slow attack with alacrity, Belial pulled out a dagger from hir hat, throwing it through the beast’s body with accuracy. There was more than one way to break hearts. After the slice, the knife returned to hir hand as a boomerang. Most monsters (like animals) learnt to avoid the demon, not just because of the similar nature but that they had no sins to torment or punish. For it was hir job to sully.

But like all obtuse beasts, they did not learn.

Sighing, Belial put hir hat on again and tugged it down firmly. “After that set, they will leave to search easier preys,” sie informed them, walking over John and Alex without rush.

For their pride or better objective was correct. After all the dismemberment was said and done, The Corinthian had only one thing to huff about, and that was the spots of blood that had sullied his fair white hair. Teetheyes narrowed as the red dripped to a dark green high on his cheek, searing away his skin with a hiss... but his body reclaimed the flesh just as quickly and what should have left a scar on a mortal was only smooth pale cheek once more. He looked at Mad Hatter who was farther away, then to John in a brief moment of silent accusation. The word sloppy came to mind, but he honestly did not care to argue who had wounded the creature and sent its poisonous blood flicking against his face. The nightmare huffed once then gestured for the magician's cigarette.

"I guess you figured we'd have to learn that ourselves one way or the other," he remarked to Hell's Jester casually.

Even farther ahead there seemed to be a cloud, and it wasn't the gray smoke of nicotine, fog machine, and bad ventilation. The thickness wafted over squatters, the wasted, bathing them in an acid mist and accessing their circulatory highway through the lungs or through their track marks. It permeated vessels up into the brain where it tickled the brain's fear response.

Constantine's luck and knack for coincidence had sparred him from the blood spray of the creature, a "'Strewth!" being the only response he could manage as he staggered back. The unfortunate monstrosity had collapsed and the shadows were consuming it with a fervor and frenzy seen in no sane Earthly creature, wretched blood and all. Soon it was gone.

Not too different from Hell back at home: Things were always changing, hierarchies always swapping, demons and devils always clawing to the top of the snake pit, always trying to make their mark. Lovely reminder.

Somehow, he caught the Corinthian, but not the effect of the blood, removing his pack from the depths of his coat and offering a fag as well a light when one was taken, if there was one taken. And the air? As it got thicker, there was something about it. It was sour, like a sickening inevitability, an impending doom, and through his nerves bled a most basic fear.

"Friendly neighborhood this is." He said it more to quell the creeping, uncomfortable sensations within himself than to his companions.

“My, my,” Belial murmured, peering to glance their handiwork with a pout. They had been rather visceral to dispose of them. Sie was not in humor for cruelty, otherwise, the demon might have joined the game. “One hopes they didn’t stain your clothes. Their… blood doesn’t wash out and leaves a terrible smell,” added while comically wrinkling hir nose.

Whirling hir toes, the Mad Hatter started to walk to the right in a straight line. Each step was a step closer to a neon light of the shops of the underground. “This way, if you two are done,” announced Belial. “Don’t go to your left. They formed a pool, a lake of sorts, deep with the blood of their victims. Their remains are floating on the surface,” added grimly with a gleam in hir blue eyes. “One saw it already. Good I had an umbrella handy, it rained scarlet drops.”

He did accept one of those Silk Cut cigarettes and tucked it between his lips before tilting the end into John's lighter. With a quick pull he had another cancer stick on hand, but he wasn't trying to compete against the Englishman for the habit, hardly. The Corinthian exhaled his first drag to the side, into the mist of fear.

Had his heart been biologically real it might have done a more efficient job of giving him cold shivers from spine to fingertips. He felt it more off of John than anything else and stepped around to the Englishman's other side. He pulled his black sunglasses down to reveal those smoking teetheyes. The mouths caught sight of one man in particular, sitting up on the floor in his dirty suit, a gold tag on his breast pocket bearing the name 'J. Crane' as saliva dripped off the left side of his mouth. His eyes rolled upward--tick tick right... roll--tick tick right. The nightmare stared at this individual as they walked past, until the man's mouth widened dryly and his eyes ticked no more. The mist dissapated just as quickly.

"You were saying," asked The Corinthian as he pushed his sunglasses back up and glanced to John.

"Thanks for the warning," he mentioned to the Mad Hatter, keeping in line with its right as he puffed on his cigarette and ran his fingers through white-blonde hair to rid it of the demon fluid.

The approaching neon glow was a welcome sight. Less things wanting to sample his arse for one. And stain his coat. Liked that coat too he did; one of the few reminders left of London he had. With that, John only responded to the Corinthian in silence before turning his attention back to their guide. The fear prickle faded with the seemingly familiar figure.

Funny, that. It had been not too long since Constantine had realized he had been caught in a net of universal debris that happened to sludge into an amalgamation none too different from the mess that was back at home*. Guess he would grow accustomed to this place in no time.

"Must be a wonderful vacation spot at this time of year," remarked Constantine, pocketing the Silk Cuts and lighter. "So tell us, luv, where exactly are we going?"

((OOC: DC Universe. Go figure.))

“Where you asked to be, Sire John,” Belial replied casually, shifting hir pace in a catwalk as they entered the red district of the underground. “To La Pucelle, closest to virgin blood in this place.”

The floor of that zone became sticky and hot (sex - it felt like sex) and the atmosphere was filled with a cloud of smoke. It was not of the tobacco, but one with strong narcotics and an intoxicating perfume – aphrodisiac.

As Hatter led them to the heart of the night, the number of people was increasing, they walked aimlessly at large, looking as dead as the monsters they had faced but zombies in search of pleasure, not human flesh. The buildings glowed purple and red, all made of crystal and neon lights, their layout made little sense, as shapeless constructions built to confuse and lure - to seduce all the curious minds.

“Here we are, gentlemen,” Hatter said, stopping hir tracks at the end of the Avenue, on the shadow of a violet building that smelled like blood and ale. Reaching out, sie opened the gates and motioned John and Alex to enter. “Follow the music through the darkness.” Then sie shut the doors and joined the pair to the brief walk across the dark corridor, guided by the melody and voices of the minstrels.

Ah, sie had missed those songs of lost, tainted innocence.

Sire John, what an interesting title for the man. The Corinthian had an urge to call the jester 'Maddie' himself, appropriate for its dementia... or mania, what have you, but it could just as easily take offense to the term, denying any mental incapacities. And was that the smell of--

Pheromones, biological and otherwise, laced the air in this place. The underground had a way of revealing its levels in the most literal manner. The people here were not awake, neither were they asleep, and it made him wonder briefly if the mortals, the wakened humans in this place, were comatose in their home world. He studied John behind his black glasses... No, that day felt real by all means. Perhaps the constant ticking had turned out these lost souls, anchored to self-awareness by the most basic of pleasures now.

Cautiously the nightmare entered La Pucelle, both suspicious and curious of what secret lusts it harbored. He glanced to Mad Hatter and nodded, "like sirens."

The dark corridor opened up to a large room lined with plush velvet red walls, like the inner thighs of a youth. Sheer curtains cordoned off the alcoves that housed the decor; scenes of oral stimulation between girls, boys, and any combination of both. This wasn't even the highlight of the evening's entertainment, so purred the MC, literally an abyssinian woman of sandy fur and slit amber eyes. She prowled across the low stage jutting out from the back of the room, directly opposite the entrance, and leaned over to offer a customer a generous view of her breasts, further enhanced by the tight black medieval gown.

"I'm sure it is like you to want more, mrrrr," her sultry voice rumbled, "for what good is statuary." She pointed her claws to the left of the room, at the long stretch of stone bar. The tenders chipped away their own ice for drinks, from a pillar of it on each end of the stone counter. The north end held a girl and the south end a boy, both chained by the wrists, their naked bodies showing harden flesh from the frost. And to think, there was 'live' entertainment on the program, and audience involvement upstairs.

The Corinthian noticed the shivering boy first, his pale skin and the hollow beneath his ribs conjuring a fragment of memory. It was the winter of 1067 at Carcassonne, when his hair was long and fell like waves of snow over his shoulders. His shadow stretched across a beautiful young boy freezing to death in the field.

Êtes-vous un ange...?

Non, mais... Je peux vous donner des ailes.

"Good evening, Lord and Mistress," said a man guarding the entrance.

The memory drifted from the nightmare's grasp. He turned to who he assumed was the bouncer at La Pucelle. A big burly sort of man, wearing metal bracers and greaves and a leather executioner's hood. He seemed to recognize the Mad Hatter and acknowledged the men with it as its guests. He gestured for the trio to enter, bidding them a most pleasurable evening.

Closest to virgin's blood? He would have to see, but hell, most pleasurable sounded about right. At first glance, this felt like the last place, dripping in lust and sins of the flesh, one would find a virgin but then again, some of the customers prefered'em that way. After all, John morbidly mused to himself, stepping into the blend, there were many tastes to cater to. Better for... business.

John's addictive heart trembled with a yearning to indulge. Was it the smells or the suggestive sights, an enticing odor mingling with the tender red? A memory from earlier that week surfaced; it had been so long before that since he had a good fuck, or any kind of fuck for that matter. Too many things, too many griefs were consuming him then, but they had scarred over now. Eyes flashing and soul black, he felt little rush to return to the flat (considering the path to get here anyway).

But another memory bubbling up from the deepening swamp of his life stopped him: That girl. He had been forgiven, but the guilt would always be there. Constantine could look at the boy, but not the girl, never her face. He could not cater to his demons here knowing she was there, even with the other fetishes and sicknesses, even with the slime and festering of the underbelly. The blue eyes were empty and her too blond hair hung in scraggly strands, all of her dulled to gray.

The shock prevented him cracking from another off remark characteristic of him.

Belial approached the burly man –or rather woman- with a broad smile. Sie kissed the rings of her right hand as greetings. Always pleasing and indulging, the demon was. “Good evening, Christine,” replied the Jester, “You look beautiful! I brought you a present.” With a quick motion, Hatter took out a lollipop from hir sleeve. It was rounded and smelled to the sweetest dessert in existence. It tasted to chocolate, candy and crème. It had the perfect flavour that one always craved and never could have enough of it.

“I was trying to-” Her eyes shifted, hands itched to grab the sweet but refrained to do so yet. Just yet.

A little delay to fall into sin.

“It’s just one little treat. It would not mean anything in the end.” Belial’s voice was as sweet as the candy. It couldn’t be denied or could be given up. It was addicting.

She gave up.

Christine accepted the lollipop and started to devour it immediately, uncaring about manners and the job she was supposed to perform. Belial felt a shiver in delight for triumphing against the will. Poor Christine, she would never lose weight with the demon around.

Done with the bouncer, Mad Hatter whirled to beckon John and Alex to follow her. Both were fixated with the pair of dancers, drifting in their memories and obscure secrets. “Mmm, do you want those two? They are twins, it seems. Twins only have eyes for each others, the world be damned,” sie murmured with a knowing voice. The matters of two halves of one being were no affairs for the rest to pry in. Reaching out, sie touched their forearms in order to pull them into the VIP area and back to the present. As soon they passed, the lightening improved with torches. The ground and walls were similar to the murky dungeons of the medieval castles. “Forget about them.”

Imagine that, the burly beast, something not quite man and only somewhat woman, putty in the demon's hands over a simple stick of candy. Either the people here were truly mindless victims or Mad Hatter was just that good. The Corinthian cleared his throat softly, seeing that John was also fixated on something, and he knew it wasn't the boy or the girl, it was a memory. Guilt. Perhaps it was a bad idea to come to this place after all; they wanted to shut the damn TV off, not face old ghosts and memories. Then again, self-discovery always led to wider knowledge hm? He tore his teetheyes away from the boy, away from the reflection he knew too well.

"No I don't, Maddie," he answered the jester simply, as he followed it to the supposed VIP area. The nightmare didn't care for the boy, he cared not for twins, didn't want to desire them. He preferred seasoned men to doe-eyed juveniles these days, having reformed, the urge erased (or merely subsided).

He tossed his cigarette aside when they passed through the iron-curtained doorway. How quickly he'd finished it from the outside to here. The VIP room seemed colder, like ice water trickling against the barren rocks of the dungeon walls. Even the patrons here were more silent, more respectable, more... serious about their game. The cat woman had returned, ducking under another set of curtains to the VIP main stage. It may as well have been two separate worlds. She purred and yowled, encouraging their next performer to climb the stone stage.

Servers came to guide the trio to the best seat in the house, reserved for one such Lord and Mistress like the Mad Hatter and its guests. A figure with narrow hips and barely budding breasts bowed to the demon, its smiling mask concealed its face but not the smooth lump at its throat. A woman with dark auburn hair bared her slave bracelets to the magus, her skin was light and smelled as fresh as a breeze rolling off an Irish field. A young boy below the age of consent for many countries would not meet the nightmare's gaze, yet he could see the boy had precious gray eyes, like luna silver. Someone was toying with them and he had a feeling that someone was their most important guide. He wouldn't be so rude as to call Belial out on its game, but he wasn't about to lie down and take the insult either. The Corinthian raised his chin and took his seat at their table as if he belonged there, equal to demon and maybe even more.

"I'll send for him if I want him," said the white-blonde in a cool tone of dismissal for the boy with the luna eyes.

The performer had finally answered the feline's call, ascending the stage in nothing more than a chain mail tunic, right hand equipped with a cat-o-nine whip. The young man was pale, lithe, flexible, perhaps past the ripe age of eighteen, but the chastity was in his jade green eyes. He'd pledged his body to God in a monastery and that's how he would remain. Soft brown hair cut short, razored almost to his skull, he danced for God, offered the pleasures and pain of his perfect body to it, destroyed it. The minstrels strummed in tune with the shift of his heel as the dancer brought the sharp ends of the whip onto his own back. Once to the downbeat, crack again, painting welts, drawing vermilion from his skin, and not once did he miss a step.

Constantine had settled down with himself and at the table, only to be thrown into the talons of another memory, this particular one having driven him to the streets to live and crawl in the shit for several months. His lip briefly curled in his discomfort with the lush scent and the creased photo he kept hidden in his coat seemed to grow hot against his side.

"Luv, I'll have you and your lovely curls later," he growled. "Be off with you."

With that, he tried to study the current act. Something told him that what he was looking for was not too far away. Very close, as a matter of fact. He had a knack for coincidence if he did not recognize the stiff glimmer in the boy's eyes after years of mingling about with a spectrum of shit. Perverted celibacy or not...

"I might be interested in that one over there," added the Englishman, his grin revealing stained teeth.

Belial could sense their uneasiness and discomfort. They did not need to speak or even looked at hir direction to be mindful of their body language – the way their jaw tensed and their hands itched in frustration. Surely, they would blame hir when sie was nothing but as guest of the pub as much as they.

Hatter ran only the Circus, not the entire underground. As tempting it was to take over and dismiss those deities whose curses were too harmless, too forgettable, really amateurs; the Satan was in vacations from reigning.

“Maddie?” Belial inquired, looking at Alex while sie allowed hir server drew a chair for hir to sit down. “It’s cute, I like it~ ♥” Sie grinned (teeth as immaculate white as the face paint) and focused hir eyes on the disguised person, as sexually ambiguous as hirself. Casually, sie ran a finger on the mask, smearing the obsidian surface with white make-up. Belial drew a heart and a star with hir digits but did not bother to try anything amorous with the servant, who had remained obediently still during it. Boring.

“Mmm, they are seeking for blood, virgin blood. Serve us, dear one,” ordered Hatter, waving a dismissing hand and side glancing at John. “The performer at the stage? If you want one, they will come to you. Those are the terms of service in this place.”

"Maddie," he repeated the name for Mad Hatter's amusement, smirking himself. How lovely of it to not come after his neck with tooth and claw for daring to name it. Such a name held no power, but it could just as easily be interpreted as lack of respect. In truth, the nightmare felt like he was in a Carollian nonsense poem by calling it Mad Hatter, another name was in need. 'Maddie' was it.

He noticed John's discomfort as well, the woman with slave bracelets conjuring a name even he could hear amidst the heavy breathing of the crowd and the cracking whip of the flagellator: Kit. This was not his business, so The Corinthian appeared as if he'd heard nothing at all, no memory, no photograph of love lost in the Englishman's pocket. His attention was on the dancer, unfazed by the destruction of flesh, the quick thunder after each swing. The boy was a virgin all right, though now he'd spoiled what could have been a perfect body. It bore no scars, evidence that this was his first performance, and yet he was deft and practiced with the whip.

The Corinthian glanced to Constantine briefly. Were they going for the bad cop... bad cop routine?

"I wouldn't mind a sample myself," he said with a push up of his glasses, then he looked to the immaculate jester. "So you're saying we have to work for it," ever presumptuous, but its words triggered a thought. They had to desire it, so badly they could will it to rise from a stain.

Mad Hatter, Maddie, it did not matter to the magus. Right now, he felt he might as well have fallen down, down into the rabbit hole. But, hell, he was always the one for pushing the envelope with strange beings. Funny he did not come up with the alternate moniker first (even if this "Mad Hatter" were not its true name; made sense, names had power) but it wasn't often bitter, seemingly placed memories were thrown into his face, just to see him react.

A sour, sour taste in his mouth. He fell for it.

Still, the twisted attempt at replicating the forever lovely Miss Ireland winked at him, licking those plump, succulent lips of hers moist. Beckoning. Begging. A nostalgic tremor shuddered through his nerves, sank his gut. He couldn't stand it.

"Christ, luv, you heard me! I'm busy! Git!"

A moment of mercy: She complied. Efforlessly like the ghosts of the past in his head, "Kit" whisped away with a giggle on graceful feet. She would be waiting for him, and they both knew it.

At least that was taken care of.

Rubbing a temple, Constantine glanced over at the nightmare, then perhaps at "Maddie," but finally his eyes fell on the performer. "Work for it, huh? Are the whips provided?"

Belial was the Mad Hatter of hir own Wonderland, the one made of the Red Queen that coldly stared down hir and uttered derisive words of spite when anything at all. But this wasn’t it; Sheol was also beyond hir reach and made the Hatter both, grateful and irritated.

It was a different rabbit hole where sie did not make the rules.

Reclining on the cushion seat, Belial closed hir heavy lashes, unimpressed by the show that as usual did not meet hir standards. Giving a light shrug, sie cracked one of her eyes open and looked at John, ignoring Alex’s presumptions voice.

“Precisely. They explained to self when came the first time. That they will supply what your heart really craves for,” elaborated ‘Maddie’ while setting hir hat and cane aside. “Those serves that came earlier, were directly taken of your yearnings, even those your souls firmly denied. Pain, pleasure, all has the same coin. Mine has no shape, because one’s heart isn’t… stable, one yearns something that doesn’t exist most likely.”

Ugly thing, vile trickery they pulled to make the customers faced those desires even the most bold deny that existed within their selves, in their spirits consumed by sin and corruption.

Belial loved that.

The music changed into another melody, the boy was replaced by a pair of black-haired twins, one of each gender. The girl clothed in silver and her brother bejeweled in gold. Their smiles were broken and their green eyes lost and hazy, as empty like their hearts.

“Your chance, gentlemen. If you do want him and the whips, make it happen.”

A thought came to mind: that tawny-eyed slinky bitch and bastard Desire. How he wanted to screw it sometimes, or kill it, depending on his... its mood. The place reeked of it, now that he was reminded of the predator, yet it was not here. He was connected to Dream of the Endless but knew the feeling of his brothers' and sisters' presence. They were a hard bunch to miss.

"Then why were you served in the first place," he asked the Mad Hatter with a smirk, tipping his glasses down just enough to flash a sliver of white eyeteeth.

Regardless of its answer he turned his attention back to the stage. Oh done so soon? He noticed the arrival of identical twins, opposite gendered at that. The fascination people had with such a genetic rarity... It aroused little for the nightmare who could do without the female half of the single being anyway. Considering that set of twins, The Twins of The City it seemed, he knew better than to even fathom dealing with the two on stage, likely to get him killed or slated for a deathcurse. Instead he looked to Belial, considering its words, then leaned closer to John. He whispered warmly for the Englishman's ear only.

"We can take him."

Suggestive as it may sound, The Corinthian had no intention of forcing the boy into submission, even if the boy wanted his ends filled. The visuals the wording might conjure though... perhaps enough to draw the young one to them. Even now the dancer's silver gaze spied two shocks of white and a tousled mess of blonde as he walked away from the stage, trailing blood at his feet. His steps were slow, elegant and graceful despite the welts and rips that marred his flesh. A stage assistant had taken his whip for him and patrons eagerly picked up the links falling from his chain mail as souvenirs.

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