chatter
  • across the chessboard
  • welcome
    welcome to across the chessboard! we're an alice in wonderland based site with an original plot and slight modern dystopian twist and canon characters from alice's adventures in wonderland and through the looking glass and what alice found there, both by lewis carroll. for a longer summary, please visit our information center here. if you have any questions, feel free to give an admin a shout in the cbox (it's to your left- just click the chatter button and it should pop open). again, welcome, and we hope you join us!

    it is currently summer 2015 in london.
    it is currently summer-ish in wonderland.

  • stats & info
    Wonderland wasn't always this way. There was a time when it mirrored medieval England, albeit with a few magical elements: a few quirks and eccentricities that made it truly unique. While all feared the Queen's mercurial temper and the fine blade of her Guillotine, all was well, until a little girl named Alice Liddell disturbed the status quo and sparked a revolution. The kingdom began to fall into decay as the taint of the modern world invaded. History is beginning to repeat itself and no one is happy. As the Queen of Hearts tangles in a battle of wits and riddles with the Cheshire Cat, the rest are starting to wonder ... is it true that the White Rabbit is bringing humans to Wonderland when they themselves are banned from going to London?

    myrmidones of the queen — 12/∞ 
    myrmidones of the cat — 08/∞ 
    unaffiliated — 09/∞ 
  • featured
    asya
    member
    fintan
    character
    judas
    male
    aria
    female
    jacqueline & maixent
    pairing
    empty gold
    thread

Profile
Personal Photo

No Photo

Options
Custom Title
achilles halden doesn't have a custom title currently.
Personal Info
Location: No Information
Born: 13 September 1992
Website: No Information
Interests
No Information
Other Information
ALIAS: Taylor
AGE: 29
KNOWN FOR: Red Knight
QUOTE/LYRICS: You saw my pain washed out in the rain, broken glass, saw the blood run from my veins but you saw no fault, no cracks in my heart and you knelt beside my hope torn apart. But the ghosts that we knew will flicker from view we'll live a long life so give me hope in the darkness that I will see the light
PLOT PAGE: http://chessboard.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=103
APPLICATION: http://chessboard.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=106
IMAGE: http://i.imgur.com/LSSy92e.png
GIF: http://i.imgur.com/zJbT3rw.gif
COLOR: c00000
Statistics
Joined: 8-March 15
Status: (Offline)
Last Seen: Oct 3 2015, 06:48 PM
Local Time: Apr 21 2018, 07:48 PM
113 posts (0.1 per day)
( 3.07% of total forum posts )
Contact Information
AIM No Information
Yahoo No Information
GTalk No Information
MSN No Information
SKYPE No Information
Unread Message Message: Click here
Unread Message Email: Private
Signature
View Signature

achilles halden

Red

Topics
Posts
Comments
Friends
My Content
Sep 1 2015, 02:00 AM
[dohtml]<center><b>The Affair</b><p><p>
<div class="ptem1"><div class="ptem2"><div class="ptem5">

I'm not exactly sure what to say here. <p>

I guess I should start with the sudden affair I've been dragged into. I shouldn't say dragged. I stepped in of my own volition - though I didn't exactly have a way to say no, either. Not to my Queen. Yet here I am, in this fucked up situation and I don't know what to do. <p>

Her Majesty--Jacqueline has never shown the slightest interest in me. To be frank, I don't think that's changed. I don't have some deluded belief she might want me. I don't fantasize her begging me to be king. Shudders. I wouldn't even want it if it were true. I never want to be king, I don't want Jacqueline's heart. That sounds ungrateful, I don't intend it to be. But I'm <i>so</i> confused. Why me? What does she want of me? It's not just about sex, though I don't know what else it might be. Fuck, I hate this. I hate being put into positions I don't understand. <p>

The Mad Queen never put me in this position. She wouldn't consider it. Watching me fuck around didn't amuse her. It didn't further her plans. Who I slept with meant nothing, and admittedly I liked that. She knew she had me however she needed me, and she left it at that. While I might be decent in the sack - not that I would know, I'm pretty biased - that's not how my loyalty was intended to be used. I didn't offer up my life to become the Queen's fuck boy. <p>

It's difficult to complain. Maybe what gets to me most is <i>knowing</i> she's using me. Passion between the sheets or not, I know it isn't me she's thinking of. It's not me she wants. If she did, this whole situation might change completely. I could refuse a pursuit of interest. But a Queen looking for revenge or attention or a big dramatic scene? I don't know what to do. I haven't even told Lance. I don't know why I would, or why I'd even bring him up. It doesn't matter. I haven't told anyone, that's what I meant. But people will find out eventually. <p>

Will they question my loyalty? Will they question my ability to perform as her knight? What will they say about me and the Mad Queen? This is all so fucked up. I don't know if I would have refused, even if I'd thought of the consequences at the time. I don't know if she would have let me. Don't get me wrong, I don't consider her the type to order me to her bed if I said no. I don't think less of her for this. But I think there's something more I should be doing. Something she's trying to tel me with all of this. <p>

But I'm so stupid I can't begin to imagine what. How do I help my Queen if I don't know what she needs? Fucking is only going to get her so far, whatever her end game is. I'm afraid I'm more than useless when she needs me most and there's nothing I can do about it. Will I always be this waste of a person? <p>

Will I ever be worthy of my titles, of her respect and kindness? Her trust? <p>

Will I be worthy of anyone? Right now I don't think I deserve the muck clinging to Branwen's hooves after a hard run, much less her trust or Lance's friendship. And there I go again. There must be something wrong with me. Fuck. <p>



</div><center><div class="ptem4"></div><div class="ptem3">
What is common? What is normal? What is wrong with me? In the end, how will I be judged? A skull to hold the worms? A body to cradle dust? If it means becoming like these Wrinkled people with Shriveled lives I'll forfeit this shadow Game of compromise...
</div></center></div></div></center>[/dohtml]
Apr 19 2015, 04:38 PM
[dohtml]<center><div class="ptem1"><div class="ptem2"><div class="ptem5">

The palace gardens were beautiful. Their exotic grounds drew Wonderlanders from across the realm and as such were often populated by a varied number of visitors. The superficial gardens, nearer to the palace and with carefully paved walkways, bore groups of visitors and palace workers alike through well-walked routes. For those more permanent residents, the first acre or so of flora held no allure. Luckily the mad old Queen had torn down a number of homes and walls to build her garden to an extensive acres-wide circumfrence. For the adventurous type, heading deeper into the gardens made way for more exotic - and sometimes deadly - plants. The Red Knight was one such who knew the garden in its entirety, from the smallest peony to the brightest bird of paradise. <p>

It was his job to know the layout of his Queen's home and he took the task very seriously. However, today he wasn't doing grounds checks. Instead, Achilles took a faded path beyond the bougainvilleas and continued on toward a small pavilion far enough from the palace that its great bulk diminished in size along the horizon. Just beyond that lay a wide space, circular in shape and centered amongst the most beautiful of cultivated briar roses. As wonderland is a unique place - and the mad queen only concerned with the closest, white as the driven snow roses she painted red - this area had been allowed to grow in reckless abandon during the old Queen's reign. They were better tended now, but it was hard to keep back the vicious vines and thorns nearly the size of needles. <p>

It wasn't a friendly place, and rarely had visitors. Achilles was one of the few regulars to pay homage to the roses. They cropped up in glorious splendor, golden buds giving way to silver leaves or verdant mauve blooms ensconced in vines so dark they looked almost black. He loved their eccentricities, their violent beauty. It was also the perfect place to practice. He placed his pack at the pavilion and entered the enclosed space, crossing to the center-most position. With a zing and a glint of steel, Achilles drew his blade, nearly three feet in length and no wider than his palm, and dropped into a lunge. The tip drew upward, spun into a crescent, and Achilles rose with a grace he displayed in no other area of his life. He danced across the hard-packed earth, twisting and dropping nearly to the ground with every move. <p>

He'd worked every move into memory a thousand times over, then another ten thousand times more. He could win a duel with his eyes closed, listening only to the shuffling steps of his opponents and the displacement of air around him. It was his one saving grace, his one skill in this world he could be proud of. No one, not the white knight, not even the bandersnatch, could best him with a blade. Achilles fell into the steps with perfect focus, letting the world around him fade to smeared colors. The only sounds were of his own careful breathing and the creak of metal--he always practiced in full armor, to prepare for a real battle. If he'd paid even an iota of attention, he might have heard the approaching steps. But this was his haven, he felt safe here. Safe and relaxed in his guard. The worst combination to be caught at outs with, truth be told.


<p></div><center><div class="ptem4"></div><div class="ptem3">
Yeah, I get it you're an outcast always under attack always coming in last bringing up the past no one owes you anything. Another loose cannon gone
</div></center></div></div></center>[/dohtml]
Apr 10 2015, 03:29 PM
[dohtml]<center><div class="ptem1"><div class="ptem2"><div class="ptem5">

The Queen often expected Achilles' presence. In metaphor as well as literal proximity, the Red Knight was very much the Queen's figurative right hand. She rarely ventured from the palace in the last few years but when she did Achilles was expected to attend. He didn't mind; the Queen gave him a purpose, a place to exist outside the child monster he had been. He would do anything for her and for the royal family.
<p>
Once again Achilles leaned against the nearest wall, alert but also quite bored. Formal functions and social situations bored him beyond belief; the Queen didn't keep him around for his intelligence and everyone in the realm knew that. Her sharp laughter rang across the hall, reverberating about the crowded ballroom with enough force to sear the senses. Achilles smiled indulgently. She was mad, his Queen. Mad and murderous and owned a soul as black and shriveled as he.
<p>
It didn't matter who he'd been; it didn't matter what he'd done. The Queen saw him as he was, one like her, and accepted everything without flinch or fuss. For Achilles there was nothing more he could dream to achieve. Not even Mother Dearest could look at him without disgust. Surely Gwen would do the same if she looked upon their parents' murderer. The Queen saw his potential.
<p>
Something clattered to the ground. A gold-washed platter, if he were to guess. His attention flicked from between location of the sound and the Queen. Had she thrown it? No, not this time. Someone dropped it. The Queen, laughing and waggling her finger, called for his head. Achilles pushed off the wall and stepped forward. A couple guards surrounded the man, timidly as they were wont. No one liked the excessive killings. Achilles liked them because they allowed him to keep his job. He didn't exactly enjoy their deaths, especially innocent people such as the clumsy plate-dropper. Eyes on his Queen, Achilles inclined his head.
<p>
She and Achilles could speak silently, their minds running along parallels. She demurred, eyelashes fluttering, and he relaxed. Not yet. Tomorrow, perhaps. The man had the night to consider his death. Achilles placed himself closer to her side, standing just behind her regal chair. He doubted anyone would try something. No one threatened the mentally unstable Queen. Achilles let his features clear, blanking out his mind. He'd noticed people would flinch and keep a wide berth if he stared blankly out at the masses. Expressions were dangerous, they revealed emotion. He didn't care for those.
<p>
A whispering spilled from the sidelines, where the gathering nobility spoke behind their fingers. Achilles gave them a portion of his focus, listening in. Nothing unexpected. Terrible, to die. Angering the Queen was stupid. Denting her precious plate. The usual kowtowing fools who thought endearing themselves to the Queen would save their hides. Not how it worked, but let them try.
<p>
Then something else caught is attention. Alice. Someone said the girl's name, the one who died. The one who stirred up so much trouble and sent the Cheshire into a murder spree. No one had seen the cat in so long, they wondered if he'd died or given up. But back to Alice. He couldn't catch who spoke up. In retrospect, it could have been anyone. The Queen had been unhinged for a long time. Anyone could've used that madness against her. But someone said the girl's name.
<p>
Worse, someone insinuated that the Queen herself was responsible for the girl's death. A scrape of metal ripped through the ensuing silence as Achilles drew his blade. No one spoke ill of the Queen. No one. But he couldn't spot the culprit. And then it began; the shrieking. He'll never forget the sound, though it could have been any one of her ravings. The Queen often exploded in rage but never like this. Even Achilles couldn’t tell what she was saying. <i>Off—head—dare—stupid</i> words such as those. Expected, but not in such a mad jumble. She hadn't devolved that far. Had she?
<p>
And then the Queen collapsed, limbs twitching as though electrocuted. Achilles was the first to drop beside her, cradling her head in his lap. Madness didn't result in something like this did it? She was still screaming between gasps, words unintelligible. When white foam frothed from her mouth, spilling over scarlet lips, someone spoke. That voice cut through the cacophony of the masses, all screaming to help the Queen or kill her or to just do <i>something. </i>Achilles looked up to spot the younger sister, a formidable woman in her own right but one who held very little power in court. Achilles had seen it on a number of occasions, the brazen Queen speaking over the princess as if she wasn't there. Brushing off her insights as insignificant.
<p>
For someone like Achilles, who was verbally and physically abused up through his adolescent years, it was strange to believe he was okay with that sort of treatment. Especially among siblings. He disliked it, yes. Didn't care for the Queen's treatment of her son and sister. It was altogether too much like Mother Dearest. Sometimes Achilles believed he redeemed himself - and his mother's death - by serving her. Sometimes he admitted he did it for the sheer enjoyment of the job. And some days, the days he kept to himself and didn't utter a word, he wondered if he wasn't watching for her to crack completely open like a smashed pumpkin. Anyone could smell the Queen's madness from miles off. The whole of the realm knew she was insane. Achilles had never known her to be sane or kindly, though he'd heard tell that she'd once been benevolent and sweet-natured.
<p>
Achilles loved the Queen in a way that he'd never managed with his mother. Someone who wanted his misshapen soul. She was his motherly figure, a woman who accepted him and loved him for all his faults. Maybe it had been a bit misguided on his part to put faith in a madwoman. Never stopped him. <i>Understood all that he was.</i>
<P>
He brushed sweaty strands from the Queen's temple, wiped the foam from her chin. He heard the young girl speak; he ignored the order. The guards around the Queen and Princess looked around, eyeing each other. She spoke again. Slowly, men began to move around the Queen. They picked her up and carried her away—Achilles stood and followed, no hesitation in his steps.
<p>
The Princess continued to speak; it sounded almost rehearsed, this monologue. He committed it to memory even as he dodged curious onlookers to keep tabs on the Queen. Two hundred years from then he'd still be able to repeat Princes Jacqueline's speech verbatim. The speech in which she claimed her sister had finally succumbed to madness and had to be taken away for good. He listened until the doors clicked shut behind him and the only sound left was the gasping wheeze of the Queen. They didn't stop in the private royal physician's healing wing. They skipped right past the Queen's bed chambers. Instead, Achilles followed them right to the looking glass and out through the other side.
<p>
Taken care of indeed. Jacqueline meant bedlam. No more than ten kilometers from the portal. That's how close the previous Queen was to her people. Locked away in a clean, padded room. Bound hand and foot to the bed. Achilles was there; he had been the one to check her in. It happened in a daze, the whole night. Doctors asking him questions; the guards looking at him, refusing to answer themselves. He gave them a false name to protect her, pulling a guard aside to gather and submit paperwork for the human world in her new name, to use human means to do it. No one would know where the Queen was; when they left the asylum, he slaughtered all but the guard who fetched her new information.
<p>
He died the very next day.
<p>
She was unconscious. His Queen was unconscious and strapped to a white bed, and he'd done nothing to save her. What could he have done? Absolutely nothing. The knowledge sunk into his stomach like a stone, sharp and insistent.
<p>
The doctors requested he leave; he made it damn clear with a single look that he wasn't going anywhere. Why the strange clothes? A costume party, he said. He vaguely remembered the rabbit telling people when he first arrived that humans wore strange clothes. Why was he covered in blood? Not real, it was fake of course. It wasn't, they didn't need to know.
<p>
Achilles stayed by her side for hours, until the drugs worked through her system and she fell into a deep sleep. He stayed beside her, succumbing to slumber in short bouts when he could no longer keep his eyes open. He stayed until she opened her eyes. It took three days; he didn't eat, barely slept. He only left to take care of her guards personally. The doctors were concerned but assumed he was her husband; he'd told them so. What other reason would they allow him near her? Yes, the paperwork would reflect that, he'd make sure.
<p>
She did awaken late into the third night, though it was hard to tell the time in her windowless bed chamber. She gripped his arm tight, squeezing until he felt his bones might snap. Her lips, cracked and bleeding, parted. He leaned in; her voice was so faint, her hands shaking. She spoke his name. His true name, not 'Red Knight', not the false name Achilles. Xander. He shivered.
<p>
Achilles spoke her name in response, quietly. No one referred to the Queen by her name; it was forbidden, too personal. But she was locked up now. Not a Queen anymore, if Jacqueline had her way. He held her hands, kept them warm between his fingers. Tears filled her eyes, red-rimmed and clear. So clear, he almost couldn't meet her gaze. She wasn't herself, he could tell. Madness wasn't simply a disease; it was a tangible thing, and could be seen on every inch of the Queen's—former Queen's countenance. Not now. Her lucid gaze haunted him.
<P>
Tears clung to her delicate lashes and she looked as fragile and broken as a rose clipped and dropped to the ground, stomped upon and crushed into the earth; alive, but dying. The former Queen wasn't dying but she was fading, and fast.
<p>
<i>"I love her,"</i> she'd whispered. Her fingers clasped tight. <i>"Sweet Jaq, and she has no idea. Jealous. I was jealous—"</i> She coughed and Achilles dabbed her lips, wiped them clean. They were red-tinged once more but not from lipstick.<i> "Take care of her. And Jack. Oh, Jack. My poor boy…"</i> She faded slowly, eyes glazing over. Her limbs no longer trembled. The doctor had entered the room. When? Achilles couldn't recall. He'd depressed some sort of button and put the former Queen to sleep. Achilles should have killed him; but then he couldn't come back and visit her. Couldn't protect her. Well. He'd done as much as he could already, making sure no one but he and the new Queen knew where she was kept—and even then, he never divulged the actual hospital. He'd heard the rumors later on.
<p>
That Jaq had intended her sister's decline.
<p>
Achilles didn't know what to believe in that respect. But the former Queen, his patron, his purpose, had given him an order. He would follow her orders unto his dying day. He returned home not long after that to find the realm much changed. People were happy. They accepted Jacqueline with ease, holding a party. Glad. It seared his blood, to see people turn from the former Queen so. But he understood; she was mad, violent. He had wanted the same thing from Mother Dearest long ago. But he never celebrated her demise.
<p>
The Red Knight offered himself once more to Wonderland's Queen, on one knee as is proper. He swore to protect her eternally. Jack…well, Achilles needed no prompting. Achilles loved the young boy with so much of his wicked heart. Jack was so much like him, abused and afraid, taught to fear instead of love. Achilles had been the one to clean him up and take care of him after any of the former Queen's punishments. Achilles had always been there for him, even if he'd been unwanted. And who wouldn't be properly terrified of the Bloody Knight? Achilles accepted his place as silent guardian.
<p>
In this new world, under a new regime, he would carve his place into Wonderland. He'd find a reason to live through the protection of the royal family, such as it was. And yes, he visited the mad former Queen often in London until the portals closed. It was his only regret, when the portals had been sealed, that he could no longer keep her company. She had been moved twice over the years; he hoped the doctors hadn't dissected her for the past fifteen years, though maybe her features aged just a smidge after being in London so long. He swore to himself he'd either find a way back into London or find a way to convince the White Rabbit to do it for him—though he loathed to trust the rabbit with something so secret.
<P>
Fintan was a terror in his own right, working on his own agenda. If Achilles could manage it himself, wonderful. If not? Well, let's just hope the way opens soon. Otherwise, trouble may come to Wonderland whether she wants it or not.
<p>
<P></div><center><div class="ptem4"></div><div class="ptem3">

Sometimes I feel more dead than alive I can do it this time so empty inside like I'm losing my mind like trash cast aside Sometimes I feel suffocated by the lies

</div></center></div></div></center>[/dohtml]
Mar 9 2015, 08:47 PM
[dohtml]<center>

<div class="tabs">

<div class="tab">
<input type="radio" id="tab-1" name="tab-group-1" checked>
<label for="tab-1">I</label>
<div class="content">

<table><td><div class="atem12">

Achilles has a little sister! They were born only nine years apart so wonderland-wise, she's nearly his age. Gwen was a sweet, innocent child when Achilles left - check his history <a href="http://chessboard.jcink.net/index.php?showtopic=106">here</a>. She could go in many directions, but these are the two most prevalent ideas. <p>

First, Gwen was raised by an uncle or an aunt, and they spat hatred toward Achilles for killing their parents. Gwen believes them wholeheartedly and absolutely loathes her brother. Then, come to find out he's the red knight, the Queen's Bloody Sword! Gwen, all grown up now, decides to track him down and take revenge, or try to destroy what's left of his humanity. She could even show up with a plot to get him executed for crimes he didn't commit--when there are already plenty he <i>has</i> committed. Whatever her reasons for returning, she doesn't expect the man she finds. Achilles loves almost nothing in this world; Gwen is the light with which he once affixed his entire life. He tainted himself and he can't bear to see her without breaking down or, worse, running away from his own shame. Take that as you please!<P>

Second idea: instead of believing her aunt and uncle she remembers the night their parents died. She remembers being attacked and what Achilles did to protect her. She idolizes and loves him, and when he becomes infamous she can't believe her ears. She's so excited she ignores the whole 'bloody sword' murderer rumors and instead hunts him down to reunite. Unfortunately, Achilles isn't the romanticized big brother she always imagined, the hero of her childhood. He's truly a murderer, and she has a difficult time accepting that. Achilles tries time and again to prove her wrong--because shame overpowers his need to have Gwen in his life. He doesn't believe he deserves her. Either he does prove to her that he's a monster and she's horrified, or she refuses to see the truth. Even so, she sees something else: his suffering. And she wants to bring back his humanity, come hell or high water. <p>

If you absolutely hate her play by I understand, I'm willing to compromise and discuss someone else. For the most part, though, I really think she's perfect as is.

</div></td>
<td><div class="atem13" style="background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/vwyuBmX.gif); margin-right: 5px;"></div></td></table>

<div class="atem2">Guinevere Hansen(or Halden) — twenty-eight — face claim: Caroline Trentini — wonderlander — sibling</div>

</div>
</div>

<div class="tab">
<input type="radio" id="tab-2" name="tab-group-1">
<label for="tab-2" style="padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px;">II</label>
<div class="content">

<table><td><div class="atem13" style="background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/wKA4Q3Q.png); margin-left: 5px;"></div></td>

<td><div class="atem12">
If you've read Achilles' app - or read Gwen's want ad - you know his and Gwen's father aren't the man they grew up with. His real father, Titus Alexander, was a man his mother loved and couldn't keep. He got a few women pregnant or into a steamy relationship before marrying his first love. That woman, whose name is up to you, gave birth to _____ Alexander, Achilles' and Gwen's half sister. No one knows whether or not Gwen shares the same father as Achilles - though it's assumed because she shares Titus' hair and _____'s features - but they are all technically related to each other. <p>

There aren't any plans set in stone for the half sister. Whether she is a vindictive, hateful woman who despised the children her father spawned out of wedlock or she's a benevolent woman trying to reconnect with siblings she didn't know she had - or even better, a vindictive bitch under the guise of a benevolent sister - it's completely up to you. I would absolutely love discussing a few ideas with anyone who fancies taking her! <p>

As with Gwen, her play by is negotiable if you absolutely hate her. But again, I would like her to resemble Gwen a little bit - at least in having the blonde hair they both share, though her eyes aren't to be green like Gwen and Achilles(who got their eye color from their mother). Please snatch her up? I would love you eternally!

</div></td></table>

<div class="atem2"> first middle Alexander — twenty-nine — face claim:Teresa Palmer — Wonderlander — Sister</div>

</div>
</div>


<div class="tab">
<input type="radio" id="tab-3" name="tab-group-1">
<label for="tab-3" style="padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px;">III</label>
<div class="content">

<table><td><div class="atem12">

Placeholder for the moment

</div></td>
<td><div class="atem13" style="background-image: url(http://placehold.it/265x295); margin-right: 5px;"></div></td></table>

<div class="atem2">name — age in letters — canon/occupation — membergroup — defining trait</div>
</div>
</div>

<div class="tab">
<input type="radio" id="tab-4" name="tab-group-1">
<label for="tab-4" style="padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px;">IV</label>
<div class="content">

<table><td><div class="atem13" style="background-image: url(http://placehold.it/265x295); margin-left: 5px;"></div></td>

<td><div class="atem12">

Also a placeholder.

</div></td></table>

<div class="atem2">name — age in letters — canon/occupation — membergroup — defining trait</div>

</div>
</div>

</div>

</center>[/dohtml]
Mar 8 2015, 12:36 AM
[dohtml]<center>

<div class="tabs">

<div class="tab">
<input type="radio" id="tab-1" name="tab-group-1" checked>
<label for="tab-1">I</label>
<div class="content">

<div class="atem1" style="background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/7MgPLLI.png)"><div style="padding: 150px;"></div><div class="atem1a">Achilles Thanos Halden</div></div>

<div class="atem2">"The boundaries which divide Life from Death are at best shadowy and vague. Who shall say where the one ends and where the other begins?"
</div>

</div>
</div>

<div class="tab">
<input type="radio" id="tab-2" name="tab-group-1">
<label for="tab-2" style="padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px;">II</label>
<div class="content"><table><td>
<div class="atem13" style="background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/zDRpnQs.png); margin-left: 5px;"></div></td><td>
<div class="atem12">

Achilles has nothing against London. He liked the human world well enough though he didn't bother spending much time there. He enjoyed the way clothes were a bit more freeing than his usual chain mail--though he still wears the mail when he finds the effort to put it on. He couldn't care less about whether or not the portals closed or if they ever open again. It's the Queen's choice, and has absolutely nothing to do with him. He loves the Royal City; so many things to do, people to kill. But at the same time leather jeans are easily accessed and everyone's got those fantastic boots the human children took a liking to during the eighties.

</div></td></table>
<div class="atem2">violent — loyal — vindictive — control freak — outrageous</div>
</div>
</div>

<div class="tab">
<input type="radio" id="tab-3" name="tab-group-1">
<label for="tab-3" style="padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px;">III</label>
<div class="content"><table><td>
<div class="atem12" style="text-align: justify;">
<span class="atem15"><u>Name:</u></span><br>Achilles Thanos Halden<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Nickname(s):</u></span><br>Achy, Chilly, the Executioner<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Birthday:</u></span><br>27 October<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Age:</u></span><br>29<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Hometown:</u></span><br>Wonderland<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Canon/Occupation:</u></span><br>Red Knight<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Membergroup:</u></span><br>Red <p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Face Claim:</u></span><br>Jackson Rathbone<p>

</div></td><td>
<div class="atem13" style="background-image: url(http://i.imgur.com/d2T8FLQ.png); margin-left: -8px;"></div></td></table>
<div class="atem2">Achilles used no other name but Red Knight until the portals opened; his new name means "pain" and "death"</div>
</div>
</div>

<div class="tab">
<input type="radio" id="tab-4" name="tab-group-1">
<label for="tab-4" style="padding-left: 10px; padding-right: 10px;">IV</label>
<div class="content">
<div class="atem6"><P>
Achilles wasn't born with the name. In fact, he was born Xander no-middle-name Hansen. His family wasn't exactly of the upper crust. His father owned a butchery in some Podunk backwater town far beyond the Tulgey wood. Out in the sticks and dirt of a town so small it had no name, at least not to Xander’s recollection, he grew up as most normal kids go. Eat lipid porridge, work in Father’s shop, mop up the blood in the back room when the stench grew too strong. His father, Malcolm, wasn't particularly interesting as Wonderlanders go. Some snub-nosed, red faced older gentleman who couldn't be bothered to glance at his oldest child more than once a week. <p>

Mother dearest, however, now she was a face to recall. Pudgy cheeks that somehow worked on her narrow features, curly brown hair, and a stately figure almost equal to her husband’s in height. She could sweet-talk most of the villagers into that extra pound, and maybe little special something on the side. Malcolm didn't much care—marriage at the time had been a convenience. Maybe no one would have heard of a young, big-eared boy named Xander if the family came off at face value. <p>

They rarely do. <p>
- - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - - -<p>
<i>”I remember,” Achilles tastes the words on his tongue. Remember. What did he remember? </i>”I remember so many things.<p>

“I remember the first time Mother Dearest hugged me. Strange to think how long ago that was, and how time dragged like a heavy satchel in the mud. Much too much. She pulled me into her arms when I was nine while I was scrubbing the stone counter Father kept the best meats on display. She had been in mid-rant when the Tailor walked through the door, little copper bell ringing with a cheery taunt. The woman paused, her frumpy figure a shadow across the bare floor. Mother’s head popped up, lips parted, and she wrapped both arms around my ribcage. Her head touched my shoulder and I wondered, <i>why?</i> Why is this woman touching me, why won’t she get her fetid, sour breath off my neck? But she squeezed me tight and simpered at the Tailor until the frumpy woman smiled indulgently and waddled further into the room. With a gentle pat to my cheek she promptly forgot about us.<p>

“Mother Dearest never forgets. The moment the Tailor was gone Mother took an innocuous short broom off the far wall, walked over, and slapped me so hard I had a bruise across my shoulder for a week. But that was fine. It matched my Technicolor stomach and the vicious burn across my calf from when I fell asleep on the floor in the living room instead of tucked away in the back room. <p>

“I preferred the physical abuse to the verbal, personally. I’d rather wear a motley of bruises rather than hear those words out of her mouth again. <i><b>I tried desperately to get rid of you, vermin child. Look at you! Just like that ugly father of yours</b></i>--Father wasn't the man she spoke of.<b> <i>I tried drowning you, starving you, you little bastard. Why wouldn't you just die?</b></i> And she had. I’m not sure why I survived. Maybe Father kept me alive in the end out of guilt. Or maybe I was too tenacious to die. Whatever the reason, she didn't deserve the satisfaction. <p>

“If it had been simply that, I could have survived it until I was old enough to escape. I might have even managed a more commonplace life—in so much as a Wonderlander could have. I had no special powers. I was no great beast like the Jabberwocky. I had nothing to my name; a peasant. A child. Worthless, damned. That was fine. I didn't need greatness. I just wanted to survive. But Mother Dearest didn't do anything by halves. See, the first time she hugged me it wasn't simply the gesture that had the Tailor smiling. It was the rotund features of my mother’s abdomen—the small child within. <p>

“I can't begin to describe how happy I was. A child? A sweet, tiny little life? I didn't fully understand what it meant until I saw her swaddled up and cooing, golden wisps peeking out of the blanket. She had these bright pink cheeks and big blue eyes—they shifted to green, like mine. She was beautiful, perfect. Little Guinevere. I loved her more than I had ever loved anything. Even when she was a baby I doted on her—and so did everyone else. Mother had a soft fondness for the child. It must have been the curls, lighter than mine, and the rosy cheeks. My cheeks never looked like that. But I could see it sometimes. When she looked at my sister’s eyes something darkened in her own. <p>

“But that’s too early to say. <p>

“I was fifteen years old, gawky but short for my age. I never really grew into a decent height. Father was 6’2”. But then, he wasn't mine was he? Anyway. Fifteen and thin as a whisper, no real muscle mass but for the natural genetics of being a bastard—I’m sorry. Male. Mother still had me by a few inches and her soft, lady curves had retained themselves. Whatever her reason, I wasn't certain at the time. Father was not a handsome bloke—and he was much older than her. I was working the shop while Father divvied up a fresh batch of meat to sell that weekend. It was near winter, now that I think of it. A customer was just leaving and Gwen, around six I think, was playing in the middle of the floor, rolling one of my old rocking horse-flies across the dirt. The toy skittered a little farther than she anticipated, I could see it in her face. <p>

“And then suddenly mother was there, crushing it under her boot. She knew I’d given the toy to Gwen; it must have irked her. <i><b>'By the bells, foolish child. Why are you making a nuisance of yourself?'</I></b> Or something equally as pointless. It wasn't my sister she was mad at, though I only put it together later on. The woman who had just left was the daughter of one of the villagers, a willowy thing. Her father had honey blond hair and big green eyes, just like she had. I thought she was pretty as you please back then—but there wasn't much to look at in the backwater town. <p>

“I didn't know Mother Dearest liked to flaunt her…particular skills…around town. I didn't know Father was sterile. But Mother took one look at the girl walking out the door and then her narrowed eyes fell on Gwen. With a sharp kick she sent Gwen into the wall four feet behind her. Gwen hit with a crack—“<i> Achilles’ fists clench, red spilling from his palm. A sharp intake of breath, flared nostrils. He cracks his neck, both sides, then begins again. </i>”I don’t know what Mother called her. Something hateful. I don’t even remember taking a step. But suddenly I was beside her as Mother’s foot reared back for another kick. Gwen looked up at me, eyes watering, lower lip quivering. Her doleful green eyes looked so confused—<i>why</I> they were asking me. <i>Why me?</i> <p>

“I don’t remember hitting Mother Dearest the first time. But I remember the second because my knuckles burned and Mother had reeled backward, away from Gwen. And then Mother lost her footing. Someone screamed – I think it was Gwen – but by then I didn't care. I started hitting her and I kept going, one knee in Mother’s stomach, one hand framing her godforsaken brown curls—the ones I inherited. Mother gurgled on red foam but I didn't stop. Mother stopped breathing but I kept hitting harder, harder, until the blood on her face didn't belong solely to her. Her windpipe was crushed, her face battered and swollen. And her sightless eyes looked up at me. For once, for once in my entire worthless existence, there wasn't malice in her gaze. There was nothing. <p>

“Gwen keened in the background, a high-pitched shrill, the one little girls are born with. I’d never heard it from her before except when she had to take a bath or go to bed. And even then, never like this. She screeched so loud it hurt my ears and then I realized that's all I could hear. I rushed over to her, arms tucked around her little body. I think her arm was broken but I was too young and stupid to realize. I cradled her on my lap and she scrambled closer. Poor child, she didn't know what I’d just done. She just kept crying, whimpering my name between sobs. <i>Xan-Xan</i>.”<i> Achilles pauses. Shoulders, once tight, sink. He swallows, an audible gesture.</i> <p>

“The sounds brought unwanted attention. A few people wandering nearby paused to look toward our butchery but no one approached. An opened door creaked from the back area and I all but fell over to see who it was. Father, cheeks reddened and eyes angry. His hands were shaking. I’d never seen them do that before and I’d seen him kill a baby pig for a festival without so much as a twitch. He stalked over to us and he was shouting. Either Gwen’s screaming had dulled my hearing or I just couldn't understand what he was saying. I didn't know what he yelled until he slammed his fist into me. I would have taken it—I always took the brunt of punishment. I deserved it. <p>

“But his actions sent Gwen to the ground and that son of a bitch stepped on her arm. If it hadn't been broken before that point, it certainly was now. I remember shaking—and thinking, ah. That’s why Father’s shaking. It’s rage. I pushed Gwen to the side and leaned up onto my knees to catch the second blow on my forearm, and lucky for Gwen. He struck with the cleaver this time. Blood stained the steel blade. Pig, chicken, who knew what was crusted on that thing. But I was now, too. I didn't feel anything. I rose to my feet and shoved him. I was weaker and smaller than him by nearly a foot. I was a child. But he was old, and he was slow as an ox. He lashed out and we grappled until somehow I had the cleaver. I don’t remember when or how. <p>

“I do remember watching the blade sink into the side of his neck. He looked astonished, one hand reaching out toward me. His other clutched at his throat. I didn't know people had so much red inside them. I’d helped Father plenty of times in the back room, watched plenty of poor animals bled out in the pits. I’d never watched blood pump from a person’s throat. It was horrible. And yet it was so satisfying, watching him drop to the ground. He lay a few feet from Mother Dearest, and her own sticky insides muddled the dirt with his.”<p>

<i>Achilles shakes his head. His fists fall open but the red continues to drip in rivulets down his fingers. A small smile grows in the corner of his mouth and he looks up for the first time since he spoke Guinevere’s name. Unwashed hair hangs lank across his forehead. He shrugs, eyes fluttering closed for a split second. </i>”I ran. I took off as if they’d set the hounds on me. As well I should. I was a murderer, a demon child. Mother Dearest always knew me best.” <i>Someone’s breath hitches, quickly silenced. Achilles’ eyes flicked up, narrowing. </i><p>

“Do you doubt that? Of course she did, why do you think she tried drowning me as a child? She may have been the first to see it but it didn't do her a damn lick of good. Now, are you going to stop quivering like a caged rabbit or am I going to have to take matters into my own hands?” <i>Something drops to the ground. A scuffle ensues as someone retrieves it, shaking. </i> “Better.” <i>Achilles smiles but it isn't pleasant. </i> “You asked me how I managed to become the right hand of the former Queen, a strange and violent man appearing seemingly out of nowhere, correct?” <i>Pause.</i> “This is your answer. No, she didn't take me in after the massacre. That happened many years later, when I was a young man. I lived as a brigand for a while. I couldn't get a respectable job, not some monster like me. But I sure could kill.<p>

“I’d stumbled unknowingly onto the Queen in her carriage, her retinue in full swing. I figured, ‘Perfect. Easy score’. It wasn't. I saw gold filigree and took my chances. When half of her guard lay bleeding or dead the Queen stepped out from her carriage. She kept her eyes on me as I massacred the rest of them. When I reached toward the man guiding the carriage, his trousers soaked with something a bit more pungent than sweat, she called out. <i>’You,’</i> she smiled. It was like mine.”<i> Achilles smiles again. </i> “You see it, don’t you? The similarities?<p>

“<i>’Work for me,’</i> she said. <i>’I like your style.’</i> She snapped her fingers and I was hooked.”<i> His smile softens for a split second. </I> “You could say I loved her. Not in the simple sense. Not in the amorous, let’s fuck like bunnies sort of way. She was like me. She had something inside her, something rotten. Her soul festered, and I could smell it. She could smell mine too, putrid and black, shriveled like a raisin. And she smiled. I smiled. We were one, and I became hers. It’s as simple as that, don’t you think?”
<p>


<p></div>
<div class="atem2">Taylor — Twenty-two — Arizona — Pm — Pierre</div>
</div>
</div>

</div>

</center>[/dohtml]
Last Visitors


Oct 4 2015, 12:12 AM




Jul 26 2015, 10:41 AM




Jun 28 2015, 04:16 AM



Comments
No comments posted.
Add Comment


Latest Shouts In The Shoutbox -- View The Shoutbox · Rules Collapse  


skinned exclusively for across the chessboard by asya