wanderamaranth | Possible Side Effects Ch.2

Aiw Fic. WiP.

Summary: Jabberwocky blood is valuable, but has a short shelf life. Then there are the possible side effects...

Disclaimer: Don't own, don't sue.

There were no regrets. She wasn't thrilled that she needed to leave Underland, but to say that she regretted the necessity would be untrue. Underland, while a beautiful place, was not where she was born to. She had a mother and sister to look after--what would become of them with someone like Lowell as their protector? Oh, there was so much to do at home! Even her father's business was now moving apace; it was enough to nearly fill up every space in her mind!

But nearly is not completely. There were days when, after being either brutally or subtly (or both) dismissed by those around her that should have looked on her as a peer, days when she returned to her quarters and would cry, and cry. She'd say to herself, "Where is the girl that slew the Jabberwocky, that tamed the brutal Bandersnatch?" Most days, that would be enough to pull her out of self-pity; but some days, she'd continue on with, "The girl is gone, and a weeping woman is in her place! Oh, if the Hatter could see me now, he'd say my muchness was completely gone, I know he would! I can't have that now, can I?"

Then she'd say sternly to herself, "Tears never solved anything, old girl. It's time to pull yourself up by your boots and continue on!" and that would put paid to that.

Unfortunately, Alice was not having one of those such days, either. She was having a brand new type of day, one that she would rather have gone on not knowing one could have.

That day, she felt something very close to regret at not staying with her friends in Underland--and it could all be placed firmly on the shoulders of some fop that referred to himself as Theobald Chester Masinson. (The Third, he kept insisting, although Alice honestly did not know why any one person would name their child such a dreadful name, let alone have that name passed down for three generations!)

Well, this Theobald had told her, in the bluntest, harshest language possible, that not only was she a poor businessperson, she was also a plain-featured old maid, and finally, worst of all, most horrible of all: that she was painfully unimaginative.

So shocked at such an accusation (as she had never been told she was unimaginative before), Alice was temporarily rendered speechless. This Theobald character took her silence as confirmation of his assessment of her. "Just so." he had smirked, then turned on his heel and walked away! By the time Alice had regained her voice, he was a clear twenty yards away; to chase after him to prove him wrong would be ridiculous. Besides which, the damage had already been done. She believed she could hear the other business owners and possible investors around her making disapproving noises and shaking their heads gravely.

Alice wasn't sure what she had done to warrant the man's determined ire, but by the time the party was drawing to a close, the quiet murmurs were becoming more pronounced declarations. Everywhere she turned she seemed to see his smirking face, just before he leaned in to whisper in another affluent gentleman's ear. After he would move on, the potential investors in that group would say to each other, "We can't invest in someone like that! This undertaking will take someone of determination and imagination, like the late Kingsley. I had heard his daughter was quite like him, but I guess we see tonight that it isn't so! We shouldn't invest in this!"

And they hadn't. Not a single gentleman put forth a farthing for the new outpost in Jakarta, and it was unlikely any would in the future, once word of this disastrous day reached their ears. Oh, what was Alice to do? She simply had to find a means of diffusing Theobald's hurtful propaganda. Would her father's business be ruined due to her not being as sharp tongued as she should?

Inconceivable!

"Oh, if only I could speak to them once again!" she moaned. "I know that I have at least some imagination; I have to! But a bit of inspiration from my friends would not be amiss right now!"

Meanwhile…

Tarrant sat in his dilapidated living room, staring at the glass tube resting on his mantle. When he had told the Queen and King of Hearts, years ago, during Alice's first visit to Underland, that he was a poor man, he had not been exhibiting false modesty--he really was poor. Haberdashery, while a joy to him and his calling in life, was not a lucrative business. His eyes briefly strayed from the vial to the threadbare sofa opposite himself, to the peeling walls, then to the rug on the floor with holes in it, and finally back to the vial once again.

"And where would you have her establish our happy home, Tarrant?" he murmured to himself. "To think a well-bred lady such as herself could ever be happy with such a lot in life is madness indeed. You have well and truly begun to earn your title." Here he snorted a little bit. "Mad Hatter! She had the right of it, to leave, she did."

Even to himself, he mused, it sounded as though he were attempting to talk himself out of an already formed decision. He looked down at his hands, and the myriad cuts, scrapes, and burns that adorned his fingers. "Madness indeed…" he whispered. For several moments he was lost, as he stared at his hands, lost amongst his list of things that being with the letter "M". He was just deciding to add "masochistic" to it, when his best mate Thackery popped his head into the room.

"Hatta! It's time for tea!" he bellowed, and Tarrant snapped to attention. Pulling out his pocket watch, he held it aloft and said, jovially, "I suppose it is! Shall we go, then, Thack?"

The March Hare's eyes strayed up to the mantle. He pursed his lips thoughtfully. It had been four days already, not counting the feasting days, which numbered two (and of which the Hatter had been conspicuously absent from)--four days where Tarrant had just sat and stared at that horrid bit of glass, only stepping away for a quick spot of tea and to use the necessary room.

"Time is no longer pouting!" he warbled, and the Hatter turned to give him a sharp look, all traces of jovality gone, along with his green eye color.

"Which is why we presently need to be going to tea, aye? Else we'd already be at tea, and wouldna be leaving to said such activity." He sighed, and the green flooded back into his irises. "Yes, Thackery, I'm well aware of time." he asserted, sounding suddenly tired, and older.

With one last glance at the mantel, he got up and went with his friend, where Chess, Mallymkun, and their tea things awaited.

Likewise, Meanwhile…

"Would you…just…hold…still!" An extremely frustrated male shouted.

"Hold still indeed!" A childlike voice lisped back. "You are not the one with a dirk pointed between their legs, held by an individual who tried to kill you in the very recent past!"

"Your Majesty…" Stayne, for it was indeed he, the Knave, whom had first spoken, replied, in tones of beyond-tested patience, "I could simply kill you instead. Now stop wiggling and let me cut off those skirts!"

"Oh!" The Red Queen replied, voice taking on an entirely different, coquettish quality. "After my skirts, are you?"

With a rip and a tear, the offending fabric was gone, and soon Iracebeth stood in nothing but her plain white undershirt, bloomers, and a very bright pair of red stockings.

"That should help. Now hop on my back!" the Knave hissed. He himself was now only clad in breeches and a loose fitting, lace up shirt. The leather armaments he usually adorned himself with sat in a pile with what remained of the Queen of Heart's battle ensemble, shredded to bits.

The Queen eagerly clamored up, and Stayne had to hunch over a bit to balance their center of gravity, which was precariously off due to her enormous head.

"Let's get out of here." he growled. "We have a coup to attend to." And so they began their long trek in search of the first door leading to Snud.

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