Molly stared at the picture of the ancient label coming into fruition before his eyes. His ragged breathing came out hoarse as he tried to quell the adrenaline and anxiety of the past few moments. Looking intently as the picture of The Hanged Man took shape on the bottle, his breathing slowed and he concentrated on the label now fully formed. The man in the picture seemed to shift, every so slightly and Molly held the bottle up to the light, the contents unknowable in this dimly lit cellar. It seemed even darker now, and Molly looked to where the void had been.
“Nothing. Huh. Well, that was a mean trick indeed, ya bottle bastard…” Molly said as his breathing returned to normal, and with it, his wits as well. He shook his head and smiled at the soft and familiar impromptu song his horns made. “For a minute there, I really thought I was in trouble,” he said to the bottle, staring at it deeply as he sheathed one sword and then the other, switching hands to keep a close grip on his prize.
You should reward yourself with a drink, Molly. You’ve earned it. Came a voice from somewhere. It was a soft voice, soothing, in a way that made even the worst ideas seem completely warranted and worth a try.
Molly licked his lips. He was mighty thirsty. Maybe just one sip, just to test the vintage? Was not surviving a nightmarish death worth a little party?
“Who said that?”
Mooolllyyy, Molly, Molly, Mollymauuuk Teaaleaf. Drink, baby boy, it's fiiiineeee. The danger has passed. You can… Trust me. The voice came again and Molly could almost feel two cold hands on his shoulders, even colder than the atmosphere of the cellar. They were gentle, caressing, like a zombie lover’s would be before they went in for a pound of your flesh.
Molly looked around and surveyed the emptiness. Completely alone. The place where he felt the hands, his hunters blood almost boiled beneath the skin in reaction. By the Arbiters, he was extremely parched though. Maybe just one nip before he brought it up to share. One deep swig and then he would share it with Nalaia, maybe even Jester would partake for once, for he could almost guarantee this would be of the highest caliber. It might even be a downright sin, NOT to drink it.
Molly slapped his head in frustration. Twice today he heard voices, and it was starting to annoy him.
“Stop. it. I might like a bit o’ a good time now an’ again, but I am not daft enough ta be drinking from this bottle without someone taking a look at it first. Now, Who. Is. Talking? Answer me, or I might be figuring to have enough of this conversation…” He spoke out loud to the empty cellar again. Just him alone with the bottle. The heavy, heavy bottle. He could almost feel the burn of the wine in his belly as he enjoyed the ecstasy of the near instant relief it would bring against the itch happening in the back of his brain.
But Molly, dear dear Mollyyy, you were so…EAGER to talk to me before. The voice cooed, but Molly’s short life as a reader of people helped him pick out the very well covered malice hidden under the sweet symphony of the stranger. He looked down at the vintage in his hand. The picture of The Hanged Man was fully formed, upside down in the sliver of moonlight…but, was the man swinging ever so slightly as if he was in a breeze? Molly peered closer, bringing the bottle right up to his face, staring at the face of the man on the label. The edges of the yellowed picture began to form a border, and more and more it became like a standard tarot card. The once sliver of moon became bright for a moment on it, as if a cloud had been obfuscating the crescent in the original design. The face of the man on the tarot label was almost visible, but enough of his lower face to see the mouth of him move.
Wanna hang? It asked. Then all at once, Molly’s vision became tunneled, and old brick and stone and mortar that had kept the cellar dry and in use for years and years fell away. They were Replaced with the borders of a card, intricate and beautifully designed.
He was standing in front of a large tree, half of it out of view, as though the border sliced off the entirety of the universe that existed outside its edges. A massive branch struck out from the trunk of the ancient and gnarled oak, and a short rope was wound around the ankles of a figure, who hung upside down and slowly swung like a small pendulum.
Molly could hear the small creak of the branch, and feel a chill from a breeze everytime he swung just a little.
Ah, The Peacock. The wondrous oracle of innate divinity! Come one, come all, and see MollyMauk Tealeaf, alive for one night only! The man chortled. His face was still almost in the complete darkness of the night, but Molly could feel the sneer. He looked at his hands, and the bottle was there, but different. In the small light of the moon, it looked majestic. As red as his eyes, and boasted the most beautifully crafted design, long necked and wide at the bottom. The promise of delight seemed to radiate from it as Molly starred, frozen.
“Well, I would offer you some, but ya see, I just don’t know how I’d be goin’ about accomplishing pouring into your muzzle without spilling the whole thing…” Molly reflexively said, having to rip his glare away from the treasure he held. He was so very tired, and thirsty. Just a sip, then off to eat, maybe find something in the kitchens to pair this with. They would know just the thing, especially after he could describe the type of it, the feel of it, the taste of it on his tongue, the notes that promised complexity he could never afford. This was his chance to taste greatness.
No, no,My dear son. My sweet and beautiful devil, I am fine. You, though. You look so thiiiirsty. Drink. I can wait, I’m not bothered. You enjoyyyy, enjoy what you WON! The man replied, with his cocked, with expectant eagerness. Molly could feel the hunger of the eyes on him, even if he couldn't see them.
“I’m not sure. It does seem like a good wine, but…. I’ve always been partial to the cheaper stuff. A man can’t go about just switching a palette like that can he?” Molly asked, speaking almost on instinct. Whatever he could do to keep the thirst from reaching its claws into his willpower. He noticed his hand was on the cork, and shuddered.
Driiink, it will end your troubles. To go through life like you have. Poor Mollymauuuk. But wait, that's not right is it? Mollymauk Tealeaf. MT. EMPTY! That’s right. I was wrong in my introduction beforeee. Come one, come all, and see the great SOULLESS man. Hmmmm, betterrrr. The voice was mocking now, taking a different tactic and the feeling of a loss he couldn't remember entered his chest. He instinctively reached for a flask, but instead brought the bottle to his fanged teeth.
Oh, that’s good. Isn’t it? A whole life was lived in that body you inhabit, you know. A life with a father and a mother. A soul that knew her warmth and comfort. A life with friends, and laughter, and love that you just can’t understand. It’s not YOURRR fault, Empty. It’s not. Just a sip, and all that will faaaadde away. Poof. That’s right….DRIIIINK. You can fade away, back into the nothing you were before. You’re an invader, a devil in a devil’s body. It would be the right thing to do. To drink, and I can promise you, I will put the soul that belongs in there back. You can stay too, you watch how a real human, with a real soul feels, and loves, and doesn’t have to always be searching, searching, searchiiiing for a purpose The voice was changing between sweet venom and outright hatred.
Molly could feel it in his blood, he heard it in his pointed and decorated ears. His fang had punctured the cork, and was pulling.
In the recessing of his mind, a different voice broke through everything: The desire to down the contents in his hand, the desire to forget it all, the pull of the bliss of nothingness he had spawned from.
Wow, Molly. This guy, like, really knows how to get you to stop talking. Molly, Molly, oh my gosh, he, like, totally got you to put a cork in it ,Said the voice of his best friend, Jester Lavorre. He could even hear her coy laugh break through everything. He thought of the family he had made at the carnival, and the laughter and hope and love he had tried to bring to everyone he encountered. His shows, his tarot tent, and even the marks he sometimes conned with readings; he still gave them hope and kindness.
The thirst abated as Molly pulled the cork free and the hanged man chuckled malevolent.
“Yannow, Iwuh juh thunkin…” Molly said, then spit out the cork. A putrid smell hit his nostrils, and he winced. “This man, the one who was here in this body, this just… absolute work o’ art o’ body. Well…he had his chance, didn't he?” Molly asked and for the first time in what seemed like hours, he grinned. Big, fangy, and brilliant. His thirst gone, his blood burning in a warning to get the devil out of here, he poured out the contents of the bottle.
“Yuck,” Molly said to the cellar again, not knowing when he had come back. Then, without a care in the world for what he looked like, he got the absolute fuck out of the basement.
