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hatterstan-shameblog · 3 years ago

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Ten: Chapter 1

Rating: PG-13

Relationships: None

Tags: show-typical mentions of violence and injury, manipulation, non-graphic mentions of vomiting

Summary: A mysterious young woman shows up to the Beach with the Ten of Diamonds. Will she be the high-level player the Beach has been looking for?

🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸🌸

She comes to the Beach the way all players do; blood-splattered and knees-shaking, more fear than human as men with guns and hard-lined faces look on with disdain and disinterest.

She's less dead than some, more dead than others; a lifelessness behind the eyes that speaks to things better left unspoken, the slow and unfocused movements of a ghost as she slides the card into the hands of a man with an assault rifle and an ill-mannered sneer.

A ten.

Someone has managed to get a ten.

And when Takeru is roused from his bed—not sleeping, no, but reading and sipping from a crystal-cut glass of well-aged bourbon as an Etta James album plays from a stolen turbtable in the corner—he shrugs on his robe and makes his way to the meeting room in a scream of red silk.

"She won't speak," Aguni says, solemn and stiff, the deep purple shadows beneath his eyes speaking to a string of sleepless nights and too many worries as he intercepts Takeru on his way to visit the young woman who's managed to do what scores of others could not, "not to any of us, anyways."

Takeru shrugs, shoving a hand in each of his pockets and rustling them around.

"Can't say I'm surprised. Shock's a hell of a thing," he says, face lighting up as he retrieves a fistful of cellophane-wrapped hard candies and holds them out for his friend's selection, "Doesn't help that you're one of the scariest goddamn people in this place..."

"Gotta be," Aguni replies, selecting a lime-colored candy from Takeru's palm and popping it into his mouth. He shrugs his shoulders at Takeru's disapproving eye-roll.

"Not always," he replies, selecting a grape candy for himself, "poor thing's dealing with unimaginable trauma; last thing she needs is you scowling down at her like some kind of cargo-panted nightmare—"

"But we don't know that she's traumatized," Aguni counters, "there's a chance that she's holding out for something. Maybe she wants to negotiate—"

"—For what? A higher ranking? If that were the case," Takeru pushes his own candy past his lips, holding the empty wrapper between his index and middle fingers for Aguni to take, "you'd think she'd be making some kind of demand. It takes two to tango, after all."

They reach a set of elevator doors, Takeru sneaking his hand in front of Aguni to press the call button.

"Maybe she's waiting for you," Aguni suggests, watching the illuminated numbers above the doors change as the car ascends, "Why waste time on someone like me when she could be going head to head with the guy in charge?"

"Hm. Perhaps."

There is a pleasant ding as the elevator reaches their floor, and the two men enter.

"If you're right," Takeru says, jabbing his thumb at the glowing 1 button, "then I'd better come prepared. Tell me what you know about her."

Aguni shrugs.

"Not much. One fo the cars picked her up a few miles down the road, no fuss bringing her in," Aguni shifts his weight a little from one foot to the other, "Confiscated her purse, nothing exciting there. License says her name is Mari Ito."

"How old?"

"Nineteen."

Takeru looks at the ground. He kicks at something invisible on the floor with a grimace on his face.

"Too fucking young to be in a place like this."

"And yet, here she is," Aguni says.

Silence passes between them.

"You said you found her wallet," Takeru says.

"I said I found her purse," Aguni clarifies, "didn't mention the wallet."

"But you know what was on her license. Licenses are kept in wallets. Ergo, you must have found her wallet," Takeru raises his smug eyes to Aguni's face, "So, tell me what else was in there. Money, receipts, a love note from a dashing young suitor—"

"If you're wondering if she had any other playing cards," Aguni interrupts, "She does not."

"How curious," Takeru muses, and nods when the elevator dings to mark the end of their short trip, "It would be foolish to assume that a new player could manage a ten on their first try."

Takeru exits the elevator first, and Aguni follows. A handful of Beach residents—drunk or high, maybe even both—wave sloppy-heavy hands as Takeru passes by. Like the pope or a king, he raises a gracious hand and returns the gesture, much to the peoples' delight.

"Wouldn't expect that kind of enthusiasm from your next appointment," Aguni mumbles.

"I'm getting the sense you don't much like the young Miss Ito," Takeru poses, "Is she truly that bad?"

They turn a corner, the double doors to the meeting room where their newest member waits coming into view at the end of the hall. A pair of Takeru's trusted underlings—his "Boys in Black," as he so excitedly dubbed them—guard the enterance with crossed arms and unreadable expressions.

"I don't feel a particular way about her," Aguni says, "but I'm worried you might."

Takeru's face twists into a disgusted scowl.

"Mori, she's nineteen," he spits, "I have no interest in children—"

"That's not what I meant," Aguni snaps back, "I just want you to go about this carefully. There's a lot of variables with this one, and I don't want you to get caught up in a bad situation."

"I appreciate your concern," Takeru says, placing an open-palm pat on his friend's shoulder, "Really, I do. But I am perfectly capable of holding my own."

They arrive at the doors, Takeru waving the guards away with a roll of his wrist. Aguni supposes he might as well be waving him off, too, and turns to leave.

"Not so fast," Takeru says, stopping Aguni in his tracks, "You really think you can just leave me here with a potential evil genius who may or may not want to usurp me?"

Aguni rolls his eyes.

"You said you could hold your own."

"And I can. But I want you there, anyways," Takeru says. He places a hand on the door handle, "You can introduce us. Show her that we are capable of abiding by the laws of propriety."

Aguni is not given time to argue. Takeru opens the door wide and bids him enter, a flourish of his arm and a lopsided smirk earns him a good-natured scoff.

"Fine," Aguni mumbles, "but you're doing the talking."

"Don't I always?"

That gets a small, reluctant smile. Aguni passes in front of Takeru with long, trudging steps and enters the room, the man in red following closely behind.

The space is mostly empty; hollow, with high ceilings cast goldish-warm from the chandeliers hanging heavily at either end of the ceiling. A room for parties— banquets and weddings, not interrogations—empty save for a long table in the center and three sloped-shouldered occupants.

Two of them are militants. New ones, low-ranking enough that their names escape Aguni's memory; only time will tell if they survive long enough to become memorable.

The third is Ms. Ito. Well, the back of her, anyways—she's been seated at the table, facing the great line of windows overlooking the pool, a mess of pulsing technicolor lights blinking and the hum of heavy bass rattling the panes.

"Any developments?"

"None, sir."

Aguni nods solemnly. Takeru watches him cross the room, bemused at the way the man's spine straightens just a smidge in the presence of his underlings.

He takes his place between the two nameless militants and crosses his arms, staring down at the young woman in front of him with a steely gaze.

"Ms. Ito," Aguni addresses her, voice gruff and even, "There's someone here who want to—"

"There she is! The brilliant Miss Ito!"

Takeru tornadoes his way to the table, charisma punched up to a palpably enthusiastic level of joviality. He swans his way to sit opposite of the young victor, yanking a chair out and falling into it with a gracefully graceless flop.

"What a pleasure it is to meet the genius who managed to win the Ten of Diamonds," he gushes, leaning forward on his elbows to meet her eyes, "No need to be so modest, my dear. You've succeeded where so many before you have failed, you should be proud!"

Takeru studies her face.

Mari Ito is, first and foremost, painfully young. She could easily pass for fifteen or sixteen, the roundness of her face hinting at a childlike youthfulness. Dried blood trails down the side of her head, interrupted drips sneaking down jer neck and soaking spots into the pale pink of her blouse.

Lips that would stretch to a lovely pouting smile anywhere else are set in a flat line; pressing together, as if trying to keep something out, or rather, something in.

A scream or a secret. Sometimes, they're the same thing.

Small, shapely eyes glance towards him, then look away. They look without seeing, an unfocused mist hazing across dark pupils to rest somewhere past Takeru's left shoulder.

"Ah, wherever are my manners," Takeru exclaims, slapping his palms down onto the table, "My name is Danma Takeru—but my friends call me Hatter, and since everyone at the Beach is my friend, you'd do well to call me that, too."

He gets nothing in return. No response, not even a blink of recognition. Takeru turns to look at Aguni, whose blank expression offers no help.

"Can she," he half-whispers from the corner of his mouth, "can she...hear me?"

"Yes. She follows basic orders," Aguni says, "but I can't imagine she likes being talked about like she isn't here."

"And yet you're still doing it," Takeru snaps, "Tell me, did any of you brutes consider that our guest may prefer a method of non-verbal communication?"

Silence.

"No, uh," the militant on the right admits, "No, we...did not."

"Then I suppose you ought to go fetch us something to write with," Takeru suggests coldly, "if it's not too much for you, that is."

"No, sir," the militant on the left quickly says, "I mean, yes, I'll—I'll be right back, sir."

The man stumbles his way around the table and out the door, the eyes of his red-robed superior following his every movement until the door closes.

"I would apologize for their behavior," Takeru says, slipping sweetly back into an easy smile as he addresses the woman across the table, "but if I were to ask forgiveness for every little mishap at the hands of these gentlemen, we'd be here all night."

"And if I were to apologize for every stupid thing that comes flying out of your mouth," Aguni snips, "I'd never stop talking."

Hatter laughs at that—a shot of a sound, uninhibited by propriety. Miss Ito jumps just a bit in her seat, but otherwise, stays silent.

"Mori here's an old friend," Hatter explains, "hence why I haven't had him beheaded for treason just yet."

"We don't do that here," Aguni quickly clarifies for the sullen young lady.

"Of course not," Takeru says jovially, "Decapitation is such a messy way of doing things; a quick shot to the back of the head is much more efficient. But you needn't worry about all that. We only dispose of traitors, and I'm certain you won't do anything to betray us."

And, still, nothing. Hatter regards the young woman with an comically confused scowl—people usually have some kind of reaction when he mentions their little rule about traitors, but she seems entirely nonplussed.

Hatter stares at her for a while longer. No words exchanged, no movement aside from the blinking of their eyes and the breathing of their chests.

Hatter slams his fist on the table, the bony strength in his hand colliding with wood in a thundering thunk.

Mari Ito jumps. A full-body jolt, eyes blown open wide in shock as she sucks in a shaky breath. She looks at Hatter directly, every inch of her expression steeped in betrayal.

"Apologies," he says casually, although there's no way he's being entirely sincere with the delight that dances in his pupils, "It's important for me to know my best players' weaknesses. Helps me pair them off better for the games. I'll be sure to put you with someone more adept with predicting surprises."

Her brow furrows a centimeter. Her shoulders curve inwards a degree. Although Mari Ito does not meet his eye, Hatter can tell that something in her gaze has shifted.

"Unless," Hatter says carefully, "you'd rather go to the games alone. I wouldn't usually allow a player to be a free agent from the start, but I'd be willing to make an exception in your case."

The door opens—the dispatched militant has returned with a notepad and pen in hand, but Aguni stops him from approaching the table with a single sharp look.

"Why, I think it's just wonderful that you're so enthusiastic. We could have you in a game as early as tomorrow night," Hatter continues, "And every night after, if you feel so inclined."

That strikes a particular chord with Miss Ito. She bites her lip. The tremble in her shoulders escalates into a full-body shake.

Hatter smiles. Calm, cordial—and beneath that, positively tickled pink that he's getting a response. Like he's playing chess and getting her queen into check.

"Hey," Aguni says lowly, "maybe you should—"

"Do you enjoy the games, Miss Ito," Hatter asks, focus entirely on her as he ignores his friend, "Some people get so squeamish, they can't handle all the death and suffering. But not you. You find the joy in it."

Tears stream down Mari Ito's face. Sobs catch in her throat, the heave of her chest pushing them back down to spasm in her stomach.

"I think you need to back off," Aguni suggests, but he's quickly waved off by a flick of Hatter's hand.

"How many people died tonight, Miss Ito? Five? Ten? Or was it more like twenty?"

He leans in and places a hand on her shoulder—a facsimile of comfort as he bares his teeth in a too-tight grin.

"Go on, my dear, you can tell me," Hatter says, saccharine and sharp, "How many people did you kill?"

Checkmate.

Mari Ito hyperventilates. Her eyes dart to where Hatter's hand rests on her shoulder, then to the ceiling, then back to the man in front of her. Her mouth opens, lips moving as if she's about to speak...

...Only to jerk her head to the left and heave bile onto the floor.

"For fuck's sake, Takeru," Aguni groans, throwing his hands in the air as the poor girl sputters and coughs, "what did I tell you?"

Hatter's hand slowly recoils, fingers curling into a fist as he withdraws his touch. His brow furrows as he contemplates his next move.

Mari Ito has curled in on herself, shoulders hunching her even smaller as she shakes and cries. Snippets of her voice, wavering and small, rasp from her raw throat. Blood-covered hands hide her face.

"How long," Hatter asks, "has Miss Ito been in our custody?"

Nobody answers.

Hatter swivels himself in his chair so that he can look directly at Aguni and his remaining underling.

"Because I would be very interested to know why this poor young woman," he says, "has been left without receiving any kind of medical attention despite having a rather noticeable head injury?"

"Protocol states—"

"And her hands," Hatter continues, incredulous as he points to the shivering woman behind him, "What good would it do to let her sit—for what I am assuming was at least an hour—covered in blood? Unsanitary. Unnecessary. And completely unacceptable!"

While the other militants have the presence of mind to appear ashamed, Aguni is not so affected. He gives Hatter a hard stare.

"You're the one who kept pressing—"

"I'm the one prioritizing Miss Ito over whatever hare-brained rules you people have in place!"

Hatter stands. With one final glare in Aguni's direction, he tosses his attention towards the miserable young person at the other side of the table.

Mari Ito does not look up; not when she hears footsteps approaching, not when she feels more than sees someone standing in front of her, not when the someone in front of her grips the arms of her chair and spins her a quarter-turn to the left.

Only when a pair of hands grasp around her wrists does she let her hands be pulled from in front of her eyes.

The man she sees kneeling before her is not the man who had been interrogating her from across the table. Where sharpness gleamed in the dark of his eyes, warmth now simmers. The smile that had threatened now soothes.

"Here," Hatter says gently. Between his thumb and his forefinger is a pink cellophane-wrapped piece of candy, not unlike the one he had given Aguni earlier.

"It'll help get that awful taste out of your mouth," he says, unwrapping the little treat with deft fingers and placing it safely into her palm, "Besides, it's strawberry. That's the best one."

Although she does not return the wink, she does accept the candy. Carefully—albeit awkwardly, as she picks it up between her clean thumb and ring fingers—she presses it between her lips. It doesn't stop the tears from cascading down her cheeks, but it does seem to quiet her a bit.

"Good," Hatter says. He pats her on the knee. "Do you think you can walk, darling?"

Mari Ito's lips quiver. Her knuckles grip the arms of her chair tightly. She inhales through her nose a long, shaky breath.

She nods.

"Then you and I shall be leaving," he says with delight, jumping up from his place on the floor.

"The hell you are," Aguni snaps, "We're not done with—"

"We are done," Hatter retorts, "but I am not. Since no one else is capable of basic compassion, I shall simply have to take up the mantle."

He slips his hand behind Mari Ito's shoulder and urges her to rise. She does, and stands on unsteady, blood-stained legs that shake at the knees. Even if she hadn't been bent in on herself as she is now, she would still be small—perhaps only a hair taller than Hatter's shoulder, and that's with the heel of her boots to help.

"Come, dear," Hatter says as he hovers a hand between her shoulderblades, "We'll get you cleaned up and feeling better in no time at all."

Mari Ito sniffs pitifully, and nods again. Hatter turns and points at the militant closest to the door. The man clutched the paper and pen he had earlier fetched nervously.

"You," he commands, "are going to get our guest something to wear for the night. Something comfortable and appropriate for sleeping. I won't hesitate to have you demoted if you bring me something she doesn't like."

"And you," he says, turning his attention to the nervous-looking man standing next to Aguni, "are going to take care of that."

He nods towards the mess on the floor. The man gulps, but quickly nods and departs before he can be given more unpleasant tasks to complete.

"And you—"

"I don't want any part in this," Aguni warns, crossing his arms in front of his chest, "It's your idea, and I expect you to accept whatever consequences that may come with it."

"I was going to ask you to get a sedative from An," Hatter says, "but, I suppose I could just give her something from my personal stash..."

"Fine," Aguni interrupts, very irritated in tone, "just...dammit, try not to traumatized her further, okay?"

Hatter flashes him a winning smile.

"Of course not," he insists, "We're going to get that head wound looked at, have a little chat over a cup of tea—it'll be a swell time, won't it, Miss Ito?"

Predictably, Mari Ito does not respond. Not that it matters, as Hatter is already ushering her towards the door.

"We will, don't you worry," Hatter reassures her, a friendly pat on the back making her jolt just a bit. He ignores it and continues to guide her towards the door.

"Gentlemen," he calls over his shoulder, "I'd say it was a pleasure, but...well, at any rate, you have your orders."

And, with a grand gesture of his arm, he opens the door and leads Miss Mari Ito into the hall.

#alice in borderland #alice in borderland netflix #imawa no kuni no arisu #writings and such #aguni morizono #imawa no kuni no alice #danma takeru #alice in borderland fanfic #get ready for that HURT/COMFORT BABY #next chapter is gonna go full throttle with it

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