[ Furious, actually. Willingly arranging for one's chain's powers to be sealed isn't the same as rejecting it outright, but from Hatter's point of view, it's close enough.
Hatter rises towards the ballroom ceiling, his great black cloak unfurling all around them in a sudden, inexplicable breeze. The chandeliers rattle and drop their prisms: crystal rain shatters on the floor. The lights go out. Now the only source of illumination is the glow of Hatter's eye; and the blood-red twilight sky in the windows.
Also - there's a voice. It exists on the edge of hearing, all sibilants and percussives. ]
Don't listen to it. Don't listen, all right?
[ Break's head nods forwards, into Gilbert's left hand.
The worst thing about Mad Hatter is neither his appearance nor his purpose. The very worst thing is his voice. Generally, only Break can hear it. He sleeps restlessly and short, in part because Hatter likes to wake him up with his whispers. Right now, he is raving softly in inchoate rage.
Hatter is pure nihilism. Death leaves a body behind; destruction leaves debris. Something to remember, grieve over, or rebuild. But Hatter reduces its prey to dust, simply negating its existence. So this is what Hatter tells anyone who listens: your life is pointless, your work is useless, the experiences of your life are without meaning or purpose. It's best to simply die.
It's testament to Break's state of mind that when he first formed his contract, he had difficulty distinguishing Hatter's inner voice from his own. ]
no subject
[ No dice. ]
C-can't. He's a bit put out, you see.
[ Furious, actually. Willingly arranging for one's chain's powers to be sealed isn't the same as rejecting it outright, but from Hatter's point of view, it's close enough.
Hatter rises towards the ballroom ceiling, his great black cloak unfurling all around them in a sudden, inexplicable breeze. The chandeliers rattle and drop their prisms: crystal rain shatters on the floor. The lights go out. Now the only source of illumination is the glow of Hatter's eye; and the blood-red twilight sky in the windows.
Also - there's a voice. It exists on the edge of hearing, all sibilants and percussives. ]
Don't listen to it. Don't listen, all right?
[ Break's head nods forwards, into Gilbert's left hand.
The worst thing about Mad Hatter is neither his appearance nor his purpose. The very worst thing is his voice. Generally, only Break can hear it. He sleeps restlessly and short, in part because Hatter likes to wake him up with his whispers. Right now, he is raving softly in inchoate rage.
Hatter is pure nihilism. Death leaves a body behind; destruction leaves debris. Something to remember, grieve over, or rebuild. But Hatter reduces its prey to dust, simply negating its existence. So this is what Hatter tells anyone who listens: your life is pointless, your work is useless, the experiences of your life are without meaning or purpose. It's best to simply die.
It's testament to Break's state of mind that when he first formed his contract, he had difficulty distinguishing Hatter's inner voice from his own. ]