The Travesty of Hearts

Prologue

Tourmaline and Chess stood at the base of the stage among a throng of sooty, sweaty flesh. The executions were held in the mining sector, as the dust, ashes, and coal grit soaked up the blood.
Tourmaline raked her dark, tangled hair back from her eyes and dragged her hand across her forehead. When she looked at her it was coated in ash and slick with sweat. She couldn't wait to get the aces out of here, but time wasn't working as his best. This execution didn't seem to be getting anywhere. She glanced over at Chess, who was grinning his sharp-toothed grin at nobody in particular.
Every part of Chess was sharp and angular precise and measured. His nose was aquiline, his has was sharp enough to cut bread, his eyes angled upward like paralellograms. His lips were pulled back to reveal sharpened, primal teeth. He claimed he filed them because of some tribal custom from the First People. His teeth meshed together perfectly, creating a cartoon-monster grin.
The only incongruous part of him was his voice. Chess's words had full, round vowels, smooth consonants and a deep bass sound.
Tourmaline tore her gaze from the cat-like boy when she heard a familiar voice shout out. An extravagantly enormous top hat towered above the crowd. Tourmaline instantly recognized the voice.
Well, really the hat.
Maverick Hatta shouldered his way through the mass of people, a petite blonde in tow.
Upon reaching Tourmaline and Chess, Maverick greeted them, "Hey Chessie, hey Mal." Maverick's words were terribly slurred. "I caught a rabbit."
The little -no, tiny- blond giggled and looked up at Maverick. Her long, thick hair was twisted into buns, one on either side of her head.
"I'm Blanc," she chirped at the Mal and Chess. She had wide, shy turquoise eyes with grey flecks embedded in them. The hand that wasn't entwined with Maverick's twitched restlessly at her side.
"An intoxicated hunt, aye?" Chess said, an undercurrent of mirth in his low, rumbling voice.
"It matters not who slays the beast; the one to present the head to the king receives the honor," Maverick said in return. A sickly, humid breeze carried the scent of whiskey to Toumaline's nostrils.
"What about the execution, brother?" Maverick asked, clearly tamping down the excitement in his voice.
"You always were a strange one." Chess and Maverick bore no resemblance to each other as brothers. Maverick had longish, wavy hair compared to Chess's close shaven afro. Maverick's extravagance to Chess's careful plainness and suavity. Maverick's unchecked madness to Chess's reserved wisdom. To add to this, whenever Tourmaline asked Chess about it, he simply replied, "Curiouser and curiouser," with an air of humor.
Chess, at this precise moment, bent his tall, lean frame quite in half to peer into Blanc's eyes.
"Curiouser and curiouser," he said softly.
Tourmaline wasn't going to ask what he meant; the first reason was because she knew she wasn't going to get answers. The second?
The execution had begun.