Possible Side Effects, Ch. 4

[wanderamaranth]

Possible Side Effects, Chapter 4: Trouble Brewing

Aiw WiP.


***

Alice and her sister Margaret walked side by side down a narrow, though busy, cobbled street on their way to their family's usual seamstress. It had been decided between Mrs. Kingsley and her eldest that both girls were in dire need of new clothes; travel suits for Alice, and summer dresses for Margaret. Alice had told them both that the idea of purchasing traveling clothes for herself was ridiculous, due to the likelihood that she would be traveling for business (let alone pleasure) in the near future had become slim-to-none after her failed attempts to gather funds for a second outpost in Jakarta. However, Margaret was a woman whom had seen an opportunity to go shopping, and she would not be denied.

Busying herself at first with counting their steps from the chaise to the walkway, then with how many street vendors called out to themselves while they walked (42 and 11, respectively), Alice soon became aware of that almost-indescribable, niggling feeling of being watched that one gets occasionally. She turned her head, looking this way and that; but she could see no one whom was obviously watching them.

They passed the final alleyway before the seamstress' shop, and Alice peered down it as well, but still saw nothing. As her sister stepped past the stoop and into the shop's darkened interior, Alice gave one last long search. Nothing. "It's just my imagination, is all." she said aloud, causing a few passers-by to give her odd looks. "Well, what little of it I have." she added, a touch of sarcasm tinting her voice. Giving up, she sighed and followed Margaret into the shop, pushing thoughts of strange feelings to the back of her mind as she prepared to deal with the dervish that was Margaret in the midst of a shopping fit.

A low chuckle rumbled out from the alley the two had just passed, and a tall man stepped out of the shadows. Theobald smoothed down his mustache and grinned to himself. "Soon, but not just yet, delightful creature." he murmured. "Very soon."

***

"Queen Mirana! Your Majesty!"

The White Court stopped its gliding procession through the candied-cherry tree grove, as the Queen paused before a very out of breath, disheveled Dormouse.

"Yes, Mallymkun?"

"It's the Hatter, your Majesty! He's drunken the Jabberwocky blood!"

An even-wider smile bloomed across her face. "I knew he would, given a bit of Time to consider. Has he returned, then, with our Champion?" She paused, seeing Mallymkun's level of frenetic behavior, seemingly for the first time. It was more out of sorts than just a general tizzy she would get into over the Hatter's return with the Alice. (Because this would cause a tizzy indeed for the poor thing; she both did and did not want Alice to be around what she considered her Hatter; she did not, for the very reason that she considered him hers. She did, because she knew that it would make him most especially happy, and despite herself, Mallymkun quite liked the girl as well.) "And…?"

The mouse resisted the urge to roll her eyes. "He just drank the Jabberwocky blood!"

"He…but it's been…" Mirana placed one of her pale hands over her face, and slowly shook her head back and forth. "Of course he did." Lowering her hand just enough to show her worried eyes, she asked, "Where is he?" This was quite muffled by her hand still being in front of her mouth, but luckily the Dormouse understood her just fine.

"The Mill House!"

The White Queen turned to her Court. "You will, of course, excuse me. I have something that needs to be addressed." Almost as one, every member of her court said, "Yes, your Majesty." bowed, and then turned away, save for two pages, one of whom already had a horse tacked and ready for her to climb upon; the other, having the steps she would need to easily sit upon the horse. "Come up, friend." she encouraged the Dormouse, "We must make all due haste." The small rodent clamored to the top of the horse's head, and they made towards the gate leading to Witzend. When that gate opened, however, a sight awaited them that neither could have been prepared for.

Iracebeth stood on the last step leading up to Marmoreal. Her face and body were dirty; she was wearing only bloomers and a very tattered undershirt. Exhaustion made her sway under the weight of her regrettably giant head. What was most shocking, out of all of these things that comprised her appearance, was the arm that had once been chained to Ilosovic Stayne was no longer whole. Instead, it ended in a ragged and slightly putrefied looking stump just past her elbow.

"Miri…" she mewled, and her sister could not deny her. Mirana was off the horse (without the aid of her steps, even!) and in front of her in a moment. She'd always believed her sister was just ill from a growth in her head--and now she had the perfect chance! Iracebeth was here of her own accord, humbled, dirty, and bleeding. Now Mirana could heal her!

"Oh, Racie!" she cried, gathering her sister into her arms. Tears formed at the corners of her eyes as emotion threatened to overwhelm her.

"Your Majesty!" the Dormouse piped in.

"Oh! Oh, of course!" The White Queen stepped back from the shorter woman, holding her gently by the shoulders. She called over her shoulder, "Guard!" not noticing her sister's ugly flinch when she did so. "Please see that Iracebeth gets a guest room and immediate healer care." She hugged her again, suddenly, and said, "I am so pleased you came to me, you don't even know, Racie! But I must go for now! I will return very shortly, I assure you!"

"Thank you, sister, for taking me in so." she croaked, in a voice that sounded as though it had gone long without use. "I'm so tired."

"Guard!" Mirana called. "Take care of my sister. I must ride!" She climbed the steps her pawn-page provided her. Leaning down one last time to her returned prodigal, she said, "I will be back soon, dear sister. Rest now, and we will talk later."

"You are too kind." the former Red Queen said. Mirana smiled brilliantly, and turned away as sharply as she could, and still maintain a sense of grace. She did not see the triumphant smirk cross Iracebeth's lips. "Too kind indeed." she said, as a Bishop took her arm and began leading her into the castle.

***

A cloud of dust rose from where Alice's body hit the checked ground. He stepped forward--he had to do something! That fell creature had just hit her so hard she rattled inside the armor; but not being a slayer of monsters, nor yet encased in enchanted armor, (that would tell him where, and how to strike…how useful!) the Hatter struck the beast in (what was to him) the most obvious spot: what was right in front of him. A grin stretched across his face as the Jabberwock turned towards him. This was good! This was helping Herself most expediently!

Well, he was helping until the Knave attacked him. How dare that piece of repugnant refuse in the general form of man-sized flesh stop him from assisting her? She was battling a creature that had made the fully grown piss themselves in terror, and this Knave was going to keep him from his girl? A wave of infuriated, protective possession rose through him. No! he thought. He'd kill him first. The Badness came over him in a wave; one moment, he was aware as he ever was; the next, he knew nothing but the crash of steel and the whirl of a dance much more deadly than Futterwacken ever was. (Well, there was that one time in Witzend, but no one liked to talk of that anymore.) That, and her name, over and over, rushing through his brain. Alice. Her name is Alice, whispered across his mind, lending a consistency to his strikes few knew the mad man could obtain beforehand.

He fought, and cheated, and scrabbled in the dust, until the Knave was lying on his back, beaten from the pure force of his determined fury. This beast was causing him to not help his Alice, and if (when, the Badness seethed) she came to harm, he'd not be able to help her. For even a small bruise upon her fair skin Stayne deserved death. Alice! His mind screamed, as he lifted the sword two-handed and held it, ready to plunge it through the cavity where, if the Knave had a heart, it would be, when he heard her voice, calling him, as though from a long way off.

Looking up, the Hatter's eyes cleared to green. There was no battlefield before him; no soldiers, no Queens--not even the Tweedles. Just a thick, pervading mist--and Alice, herself.

"Hatter!" she cried again, as he lowered his arms to stare at his empty hands. (After all, swords don't just disappear into nothingness, and he was wondering what his hands could have possibly done with such a large piece of metal in so short an amount of time.) Alice's arms flew about him as he was still considering his hands, her face buried against his neck. She was pressed so close to him that when she spoke again, her lips brushed against his skin. It made him shudder, in a way most definitely not related to revulsion in the least little bit.

"So you are not the real Alice, then." he sighed, hugging her nonetheless. She pulled back slightly and stared at him, her golden curls shining brighter than any sun, hurt etched across her face. "Why would I not be myself? Hatter, you are the one that always said I was myself, just with more or less muchness than usual!"

"Because you're touching me." he whispered, and at that she pulled away completely, a question in her eyes. Always questions in her eyes, a query on her lips-she truly was one of Curiosity's children. It was one of the things he most lo-

"Oh, but you seem so real." he said, stopping himself from completing the thought. It would do no good to think such things, in front of either a real or not-real Alice. The thoughts frightened him; he didn't know what she'd do, if faced with them. The thought was left uncompleted, but the emotions behind it were still there, as he reached a thumb up to brush it across her lips.

"I've touched you before." Alice asserted, voice fuller of breath than usual. "In the Red Queen's dress studio--don't you remember? I thought I was the one that was supposed to forget."

"Remember…mind…mine. Alice?" he questioned, and she reached up with both hands and grasped his, where it still caressed her face. "Yes, it's me."

Suddenly he wrenched her to himself. He had to be sure, don't you know-sure that it was really her, really the Alice and not a not-Alice, and…oh, it sounded like rationalization, (which was something he usually avoided at All Costs) even to himself. He didn't care. The need was greater than himself, it was greater than tea--it was even greater than the Badness. His lips found hers, clumsily at first, desperate of their own accord. "Greedy." he said against her mouth, chastising his lips for their errant behavior, but the word was lost in the sounds of their meeting flesh.

She responded, timidly, as if her own lips were unsure of their welcome against his own. (Silly Alice lips--hadn't his issued a very specific invitation? Oh. They hadn't. They'd just arrived. Well, he'd have to remember to next time send a card a full twenty four hours before the event, so no such modesty would be necessary. Would the March Hare have a few vellum ones he could use, perhaps?) She pulled away before he was ready for her to (would he ever be ready for such rapture to end?) and stared at him, eyes wide. Her fingers found her lips and lingered there, feeling their swollen state. She blinked once, and once more, and then she turned away and ran, as fast as she could.

Tarrant went to follow her, but she dissolved into mist as she ran, and just became another wisp of the fog that swirled around him.

"That was the Real Alice, then." he said, now quite bewildered. He knew it must be for the simple fact that she ran away. It was then, and only then, in his Alice-less state, that he stopped and looked at his surroundings, or lack thereof.

"And where would this be?"

Next Chapter

Previous Chapter