Hello, my fine readers and knaves! Welcome to my first venture into fanfiction for Batman: Arkham Asylum, and its sequel, Batman: Arkham City. Reviews are greatly appreciated, but, please, no flames! I will readily douse them. Now, for some more boring matters of business…
Rating: T (for violence and disturbing scenarios)
Disclaimer: I OWN NOTHING…except for the "Alice" in this chapter. I made her up. All characters and rights for Arkham City are property of DC Comics, Bob Kane, Rocksteady, and anybody else I've failed to mention involved in the game's making. Alice's Adventures in Wonderland and Through the Looking-Glass belong to the late Lewis Carroll. If anything is wrong with this disclaimer, please, inform me, and I shall remedy the situation!
Summary: All he wants is his Alice… This is the Mad Hatter's point of view of Batman: Arkham City; also covers some events that take place before the game, including the Hatter's POV of the patient interviews.
Prologue: They Told Me You Had Been To Her…
Tick, tock, tick, tock, tick, tock…
A man smiles, pocketing his silver watch.
It's six o'clock.
It's ALWAYS six o'clock.
It's time for tea.
He looks up from his seat to the woman before him. Her eyes are of the brightest, most enchanting blue, even if they are red and blurry with tears. Her hair is long and golden blonde…such a pretty, yellow color of hair. She is wearing a blue gingham dress, but nothing else. Her mouth is taped shut, and her makeup is running.
In short, to the man, she is a beauty.
No…she's even more.
She is Alice.
He grins broadly, oblivious to his captive's terror. He rises from his chair, walking toward her, hands folded casually behind his back.
He is not especially tall, nor especially weighty…actually, he is a bit shorter than what is normal, and his weight is so scant it borders on the verge of gaunt. His hands bear fingerless white gloves, and about him is draped a trenchcoat so full of patches and stitches that it seems to hold every shade of green imaginable, from a dark pine color to a pale jade. About his bare neck is a black bow tie, and, in place of a vest, he wears a white A-shirt. His trousers match his trenchcoat, and are about half a size too large. Upon his feet are dark green rubber boots.
His red hair is unkempt and dirty, the bangs falling into his face, covering his left eye from sight. The other eye is as blue as his Alice's eyes, and, were it not for her position, the lady would find that eye to be gentle, calm, and carefree. But, undulating like a serpent's spine, just beneath this fun and fancy free light, is a slice of unadultered insanity, standing out like a single slab of raw, fetid meat in the well-kept butcher shop they are in, where everything else is clean.
Well…except for the walls. They're covered in blood. And it isn't the blood of the pigs or cattle.
Upon this man's head is a tall, oversized, fantastic top hat, a dark green color with a black leather hatband, in which is stuck a card reading, in cursive writing, "In This Style, 10/6."
The madman's name is Jervis Tetch, alias the Mad Hatter.
And he's ready for his tea.
"Are you comfortable, Alice, dear?" he asks, softly. His voice, a high, reedy, English tenor accent, would seem comical in any other circumstance.
In her position, the woman can do nothing but blink, teary-eyed, at the Hatter. He has removed the mind controlling headband he used to lure her to his lair, but has not told her what he wants, and why she is with him now.
He frowns, confused.
"Alice?" he asks. "Are you all right? You seem so sad…why is my Alice sad?"
The woman blinks again.
"Do you want some tea?" asks the Mad Hatter. At this point, he can think of nothing else to cheer his Alice up.
The woman shakes her head. Fast.
The Hatter's smile returns.
"Oh, but you'll like my tea, Alice!" he chirps. "You always did before! Of course," he then says, putting a finger to his chin in thought, "It could be difficult for you to take your tea with that gray stuff over your mouth…here, I'll take it off for you!"
With the speed of a striking cobra, the Hatter's nimble fingers tear away the duct tape, and the woman lets out a short cry of pain as the tape removes the tiniest of hairs from her upper lip.
Jervis' eyes go wide; he didn't mean to hurt his Alice!
"Oh, Alice! I'm sorry…I didn't want to…oh, please forgive me! Won't you forgive me, Alice, dearest?"
The woman gulps, and takes a deep breath.
Hatter takes this as a pardon.
"Oh, hurray!" he cries, clapping his hands like a child. "Alice forgives me! Here, I'll fetch you some tea!"
The Hatter leaps across the table, sending his own crockery scattering onto the floor. He shrugs, deciding that he'll pick it up later. He takes a teacup and pours a hot, steaming, light-brown drink into it from a silver pot. Holding this cup in both hands, he blows away some of the steam, and, smiling giddily, brings it to the woman, and places it before her.
But she can't drink it…he has her hands tied to the back of the chair.
"There!" he says, not realizing this error. "Now Alice can have her tea!"
The woman shakes her head, biting her lip and closing her eyes. Hatter's eyes grow sad and dark. He cocks his head to one side.
"Alice?" he begins, his voice the whine of a wounded puppy. "Alice, what is the matter? Don't you want your tea, Alice?"
The woman looks up at him, frightened and confused.
"I-I'm not Alice," she whispers.
Hatter stares, shocked.
"Oh, but, you are an Alice, Alice! You are, you are, you are! You're in an Alice's dress, and you have such nice, yellow hair, like a proper Alice should…"
He brings forth a hand, and runs his fingers through said hair. The "Alice" shivers at his touch, but he doesn't notice, or, at least, pretends not to.
"…And your eyes are an Alice's eyes, so, therefore, you must be Alice! 'ThAt'S lOgIc!'"
The eerie, up-down melody the Hatter's voice takes in these last two words quite unnerves the so-called "Alice." She shudders violently, trying to break her bonds on her wrists and ankles. Jervis backs up, surprised, raising an eyebrow.
"Alice?"
The woman stares up at him, a twinge of frustration evident on her frightened face.
"My name isn't Alice!" she cries, desperately. "It's Ophelia! Ophelia Jones!"
Hatter crosses his arms over his chest, scowling.
"Now, Alice, don't be rude!" he scolds. "'ReMeMbEr WhO yOu ArE!'"
"But I'm not Alice! I'm not!"
Hatter's eyes have now lost their joy. Only madness remains.
"You're making me angry, Alice," he says, sharply. "Please, don't make me angry. I don't like it when I'm angry, and I don't think you'll like an angry me, either."
The woman gulps, and shakes her head, muttering under her breath, "No…no…"
Hatter sighs, his eyes becoming soft as blankets; he doesn't like this. Really, he doesn't. Why is his Alice so scared? What's making his Alice cry? Why can't Alice say she's Alice?
More importantly…
"Alice, why haven't you taken your tea? Do you want more?"
The woman looks up, eyes even more bleary in appearance.
"I haven't had any yet, so I can't take more…"
Jervis smiles.
That's a bit more like it…
"'YoU mEaN yOu CaN't TaKe LeSs…iT's VeRy EaSy To TaKe MoRe ThAn NoThInG!'"
The up-down melody makes the young woman cringe.
"P-p-please," she stutters. "I'm not your Alice…why don't you l-leave me alone?"
The smile vanishes quicker than the Cheshire Cat. Hatter groans.
"Oh, Alice, not now…please, stop, I don't like this game!"
"I-it's not a game! I'm not Alice! I'm not!"
As the woman says this, she leans forward, tugging her restraints.
Hatter's eyes narrow. He looks the woman over closely. Her eyes are blue, yes…but they aren't that pure. More of an aquamarine, sort of greenish, hue. And her hair isn't really blonde! It's dyed!
He growls.
"No, you aren't Alice…not Alice at all…"
Quick as a flash, the Hatter reaches somewhere into his coat and whips out a long, sharp machete. The woman's blue-green eyes focus on its razor edge, terror rising rapidly.
"You're more like a Duchess! I HATE THE DUCHESS! OfF wItH yOuR hEaD!"
Before the deed can be carried out, a loud crash of shattering glass from the skylight above the pair echoes in the Hatter's ears. The Mad Hatter turns fast, machete still drawn, and gasps.
The Jabberwock, pointed ears, flaming eyes, great, black wings, and all, looms before him.
"Good evening, Hatter," It growls. "Am I late for tea?"
"Pest!" the Hatter bellows, forgetting the "Duchess" in the chair. "Why can't you just leave me in peace?"
Without another word or thought, the Hatter lunges at his manxome foe, machete slicing the air in front of him like bread-and-butter. The Jabberwock moves aside, and a black-gloved fist collides with the Hatter's cheek. He grunts, putting a hand to his hat brim, and brings the blade down again. A strong, firm hand grabs the Hatter's arm, wrenching the machete from the maniac's grasp.
With uncanny quickness, the Mad Hatter leaps back, dodging a kick from his foe, and somersaults to his Alice – he's forgotten she's only a Duchess – taking a protective stance before her.
"Don't move, Alice!" he snarls. "I'll protect us!"
His hand is very close to the woman's cheek. Taking the initiative, she bites his little finger.
With a shriek of pain, Tetch swings his arm around, smacking the Alice across her face. She yelps with pain.
"Alice!" he screams at her, angered beyond belief. "Why did you bite me, Alice?"
He never says another word. Something hard and leather-clad slams into the back of his skull, and he crumples to the ground. He feels his beloved hat roll onto the floor from the top of his head.
His vision grows fuzzy…he sees the Jabberwock untying his Alice's wrists…he hears his Alice – HIS ALICE – thanking the frumnious creature for its aid…
"Alice…precious…"
He knows nothing else.