Beyblade Burst Adventures

The Morbid Little Tea Party

In which Fubuki is invited to a tea party he can't refuse, and a macabre little chat he can't escape. (I wrote this in second person point of view for a change of pace, so when I say you I am not referring to the reader, I'm referring to Fubuki.)

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"Alice, dear! You haven't touched your tea once- is something wrong?"

You lift your gaze from the cup to the one who served it to you, the Mad Hatter. At least, that's how you see him, with his crazy theatrics and macabre taste in tea, but he had actually introduced himself as Hyde the Hatter.

Now he's staring at you intently, the one eye of his you can see unblinking and bright with mania. His sharp, white teeth bared in a grin that nearly splits his face in half. And of course, he's now asking you the scariest question he can ask- why aren't you drinking his tea...

Your gaze falls back to the cup, your stomach turning violently as to stare at the white teacup, its rim dirtied with smears and drips from where Hyde had over-filled it before. You stare at the hot, dark-red liquid filling the cup. It ripples with every bump against the dark, oaken table that's splintering at the edges, and the overwhelming stench the liquid gives off makes you want to puke.

But you don't want to tell Hyde that! You have no idea what this Mad Hatter is capable of, and if he's willing to make tea from the blood of only the gods know what, then who's to say he won't make you the next pot?

Swallowing nervously, you look back to Hyde, who watches you with all the intensity of a hawk- a hungry wolf ready to strike. If you say the wrong thing, you'll be his next meal. The meat lining the quaint, triangle sandwiches laying over a tiered tray. Or perhaps you'll be the red jam spread in all the beautiful, deceptive tarts.
Or maybe you'll be enslaved for some unknown reason, like the dormmouse sitting on the table, grooming its disgusting green hide with grubby black paws. Its face is so dirty it had blackened, too.

It even has a small, red chain around its little leg, binding it to the teapot weighed down by bloody tea. Or is it tea-y blood? You weren't sure.

You take a soft breath, mustering your courage and thinking up a lie as quickly as you can. When you find one, you let out your breath in a whisper, "I'm just waiting for my tea to cool so I don't burn my throat..."

He grins even more at you. He knows the truth, but he seems pleased that you refrained from sharing it. "Oooooh, I see! Ah, and yes, you haven't even added sugar or cream as you pleased!"

"H-Huh?"

"I told you when I poured your cup," Hyde begins, gesturing to a grubby, huge and white dish filled with pearly sugar and a single silver teaspoon. Beside it is a similar, dirtied dish with a small spout and a little lid, meant for holding the cream. "That you could add sugar and cream to your tea as you pleased. Unless, of course, you're going to take it straight? That would be quite the feat, even I can't do such a thing!"