• (Wide-eyed, grinning, in the darkened room, sipping cactus brandee from a Chader spoon...)
    Cheshire sat at his desk; the lights dimmed so low the bulbs merely glowed like overgrown fireflies. Streams of light trickled into his office through the useless slatted blinds. Candelabra had been lit and placed on the top of a long, oak table; it hardly illuminated the mess that literally crawled across the room from time to time.
    (...coming in the morning and the afternoon, forgetting...)
    Cheshire stared down at the chess board, feigning deep concentration on his next move. The longer he waited, the more agitated his opponent got. The dark lighting contorted the man's features, shadowing one side of his face and showing off a lovely and heavily scarred eye on his very bright right. Cheshire grinned wickedly, moving his black chess piece across the board as a tear of sweat rolled down from the other man's temple.
    (So tired, waiting for the intercom...)
    "You're insane, man!" The man stood, slamming his hands on the desk. He looked at Cheshire angrily, hoping the thin, lanky man would just quit the crap and hand over the loot. When Cheshire said nothing and just smiled, the man stared him down, still hoping for the "Oh-please-spare-me-oh-grateful-and-very-large-man" routine. Still nothing. He stared more, concentrating on Cheshires features, this time, in a sad attempt to make it look more plausible. Shaggy, white hair, big, bright green eyes and a smile so crazy, it’d make an asylum patient jealous. Even still, he got nothing out of the smaller man.
    (Hello, my dearest father, it's your favorite son, there's some things that I'm regretting...)
    "Your turn," Cheshire said, gesturing to the board with his begloved hands. The man sat down angrily, the chair squeaking under his overbearing weight. His hand moved to the nearest white chess piece, throwing across the room. He stood once again, far more angry this time. The light illuminated the dark creases in his disgruntled face.
    Before the man could even open his mouth, Cheshire stood, looking down upon the man. Though he was smaller in mass to the man across from him, Cheshire still towered over him. A smile painted itself upon his pale and nearly-perfect face.
    "Wrong move." Cheshire said, a dark edge in his voice.
    (I am destroyer, I am lover.)
    The scarred man was quickly thrown across the room, going through the door. He moaned and mumbled, getting up and brushing off the splinters from his pants. Blood covered parts of his hands and face, making his features look like a sinister something. He quickly regained his composure, and made a beeline to Cheshire, who just stood there smiling, trying not to burst into laughter.
    "YOU'RE A MADMAN!" The scarred man yelled.
    Cheshire was quickly pushed against the wall. He still smiled.
    "Oh, but haven't you heard? We're ALL mad here." Cheshire grinned even wider, knowing this man's last vision of earth.