Blue Skies Prompt 2, Fireworks
Title: none
Author: wanderamaranth
Prompt: #2 Fireworks
Fandom: Alice in Wonderland (2010)/Supernatural (dear God what have I done?)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers for SPN 6.21 (in the form of a character mentioned)
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Alice lectures a stranger on why you should try to talk to werewolves before shooting them. "It's just not done, going around shooting individuals higgly-piggly because you suspect they are malefic."
Author's Note: This fic is operating under the assumption that Burton's film was set in the later-Victorian era. The fic itself is set in the Edwardian era, roughly 1900-1910 or so, but is only important to the plot insofar as explaining Alice and (spoiler!) Moishe Campbell being able to meet in the same time period.
*~*~*~*~*
Fireworks exploded behind Alice's eyes as she collapsed onto the pallet with a faint giggle. It was bare of sheets, blankets, or anything else that may have made it comfortable. A piece of the straw it was comprised of tickled her back and she laughed again.
“That is, admittedly, not the reaction I expected,” said the man standing above her.
“What reaction did you expect?” Alice asked, opening her eyes. “Tell me, and I will rearrange myself accordingly.”
The man's lip tugged upward on one side, causing Alice to break out into a full grin. He had a kind face, she decided, one made infinitely better by traces of humor.
“To start, usually a lady's reaction to meeting a werewolf is to scream in terror, not to talk to the bloody thing.” Shifting closer to where Alice was sprawled, he added, “And usually, their response to being rescued from said werewolf is gratitude, not shrieking like a harpy that they had things perfectly under control.”
“I did, until you came along and things became uncivilized,” Alice retorted, biting her lip to prevent giggling again. She had the distinct impression the young man in front of her might not appreciate such a response to his irritation. Most young men, she'd discovered over the years, disliked the notion that they were being laughed at in some manner, which really was a pity.
“Un--! Uncivilized! Me?” the dark-haired man sputtered, and Alice couldn't hold back her snicker at the indignation that was clear on his face despite the shadows of the room.
“Indeed,” Alice said. “As I stated before, I did until you bungled them.”
“B-bungled?!” he choked, making Alice wonder if he was normally a stutterer, or if it was just a response to her person. She hoped it was the latter, as she would hate to think of such a handsome man afflicted with a trait displaying a lack of confidence. “You were talking to a werewolf!” His mustache quivered with this pronouncement.
“How was I to know if he was an amiable sort unless I tried a bit of conversation?” Alice countered. “That's what is generally done in polite society, you know. If you go in, gun brandished and an unfortunate moue on your face, no one is going to be pleasant, let alone someone who's instincts already run towards violence.”
“That werewolf had killed eight people and you think I should have tried talking?”
“Of course,” Alice replied. “How else would you know for certain the wolf you were hunting was actually the murderer? Mayhap he had a pernicious brother or a disagreeable cousin who was perpetuating the crimes.”
Alice greatly enjoyed the man's open-mouthed gape at that. She giggled again.
“Don't worry,” she assured him, struggling upright. She hadn't felt this off-kilter since the Wonder's first mate had convinced her to try grog, a mistake she only repeated twice. “I ascertained from our discussion-before your rude interruption-that the wolf was, indeed, the murderer. You needn’t worry about having innocent blood on your hands. Although you might want to practice a bit of caution in the future. It's just not done, going around shooting individuals higgly-piggly because you suspect they are malefic.”
The man blinked, hard, and said in a tone of low wonder, “You're mad.”
Alice nodded, regretting it when it felt as though her scalp was attempting to slide off her skull. She grinned through the pain, though, for she had been given a compliment and one was always gracious when receiving compliments. “So it's been said, and I thank you. All the best people are, you know.”
She finally managed to hoist herself upright enough to stick out her hand. “I don't believe we had an opportunity to properly introduce ourselves earlier, what with the shooting, running and snapping of canine jaws. Alice Kingsleigh,” she said.
The man, to his credit, recovered from her scolding quickly and leaned down to hold out his own hand. “Moishe. Moishe Campbell.” A silver Star of David glinted as, instead of shaking her hand like Alice expected, Moishe pulled her to her feet.
Alice, ever the master of the obvious, said, “You're Jewish,” and then immediately felt the fool.
Luckily Moishe just snorted. “And you, I'm thinking, have a concussion. Just how hard did you hit that tree when the wolf threw you into it?”
Alice waved him off. “It's likely I do have a concussion, true, but I've had worse. Believe me.”
There were many questions Moishe could have asked. Alice saw they were on the tip of his tongue. She was pleasantly surprised when he didn't ask them, instead nodding.
“I do,” he said softly. “Believe you.” Hesitating, he said, “Are you a Hunter?”
Alice could hear the Capitalization of the word with way Moishe curled it around his tongue. “I've been called many things...Hunter is not one of them, though.” She paused before saying, “That could be simply the result of conflicting vocabularies, for I think we have much in common. You refer to yourself as one, yes?”
Moishe started. “Erm-yes. I do,” he said.
Placing a hand on Moishe's forearm, Alice suggested, “We'll trade stories, then. I'll tell you the unvarnished truth of who I am and what I have been called if you do the same.” It was a gamble, but Moishe had to be at least a bit curious, like herself, if he'd been drawn to the woods to confront the werewolf. They may have had different manners of executing their plans, but their intentions had obviously been the same. “Do we have an accord?” she pressed, suddenly wanting to know everything about the man standing beside her.
She watched as he took first one deep breath, then another. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I believe we do.”
Author: wanderamaranth
Prompt: #2 Fireworks
Fandom: Alice in Wonderland (2010)/Supernatural (dear God what have I done?)
Rating: PG
Warnings: Spoilers for SPN 6.21 (in the form of a character mentioned)
Word Count: 1000
Summary: Alice lectures a stranger on why you should try to talk to werewolves before shooting them. "It's just not done, going around shooting individuals higgly-piggly because you suspect they are malefic."
Author's Note: This fic is operating under the assumption that Burton's film was set in the later-Victorian era. The fic itself is set in the Edwardian era, roughly 1900-1910 or so, but is only important to the plot insofar as explaining Alice and (spoiler!) Moishe Campbell being able to meet in the same time period.
*~*~*~*~*
Fireworks exploded behind Alice's eyes as she collapsed onto the pallet with a faint giggle. It was bare of sheets, blankets, or anything else that may have made it comfortable. A piece of the straw it was comprised of tickled her back and she laughed again.
“That is, admittedly, not the reaction I expected,” said the man standing above her.
“What reaction did you expect?” Alice asked, opening her eyes. “Tell me, and I will rearrange myself accordingly.”
The man's lip tugged upward on one side, causing Alice to break out into a full grin. He had a kind face, she decided, one made infinitely better by traces of humor.
“To start, usually a lady's reaction to meeting a werewolf is to scream in terror, not to talk to the bloody thing.” Shifting closer to where Alice was sprawled, he added, “And usually, their response to being rescued from said werewolf is gratitude, not shrieking like a harpy that they had things perfectly under control.”
“I did, until you came along and things became uncivilized,” Alice retorted, biting her lip to prevent giggling again. She had the distinct impression the young man in front of her might not appreciate such a response to his irritation. Most young men, she'd discovered over the years, disliked the notion that they were being laughed at in some manner, which really was a pity.
“Un--! Uncivilized! Me?” the dark-haired man sputtered, and Alice couldn't hold back her snicker at the indignation that was clear on his face despite the shadows of the room.
“Indeed,” Alice said. “As I stated before, I did until you bungled them.”
“B-bungled?!” he choked, making Alice wonder if he was normally a stutterer, or if it was just a response to her person. She hoped it was the latter, as she would hate to think of such a handsome man afflicted with a trait displaying a lack of confidence. “You were talking to a werewolf!” His mustache quivered with this pronouncement.
“How was I to know if he was an amiable sort unless I tried a bit of conversation?” Alice countered. “That's what is generally done in polite society, you know. If you go in, gun brandished and an unfortunate moue on your face, no one is going to be pleasant, let alone someone who's instincts already run towards violence.”
“That werewolf had killed eight people and you think I should have tried talking?”
“Of course,” Alice replied. “How else would you know for certain the wolf you were hunting was actually the murderer? Mayhap he had a pernicious brother or a disagreeable cousin who was perpetuating the crimes.”
Alice greatly enjoyed the man's open-mouthed gape at that. She giggled again.
“Don't worry,” she assured him, struggling upright. She hadn't felt this off-kilter since the Wonder's first mate had convinced her to try grog, a mistake she only repeated twice. “I ascertained from our discussion-before your rude interruption-that the wolf was, indeed, the murderer. You needn’t worry about having innocent blood on your hands. Although you might want to practice a bit of caution in the future. It's just not done, going around shooting individuals higgly-piggly because you suspect they are malefic.”
The man blinked, hard, and said in a tone of low wonder, “You're mad.”
Alice nodded, regretting it when it felt as though her scalp was attempting to slide off her skull. She grinned through the pain, though, for she had been given a compliment and one was always gracious when receiving compliments. “So it's been said, and I thank you. All the best people are, you know.”
She finally managed to hoist herself upright enough to stick out her hand. “I don't believe we had an opportunity to properly introduce ourselves earlier, what with the shooting, running and snapping of canine jaws. Alice Kingsleigh,” she said.
The man, to his credit, recovered from her scolding quickly and leaned down to hold out his own hand. “Moishe. Moishe Campbell.” A silver Star of David glinted as, instead of shaking her hand like Alice expected, Moishe pulled her to her feet.
Alice, ever the master of the obvious, said, “You're Jewish,” and then immediately felt the fool.
Luckily Moishe just snorted. “And you, I'm thinking, have a concussion. Just how hard did you hit that tree when the wolf threw you into it?”
Alice waved him off. “It's likely I do have a concussion, true, but I've had worse. Believe me.”
There were many questions Moishe could have asked. Alice saw they were on the tip of his tongue. She was pleasantly surprised when he didn't ask them, instead nodding.
“I do,” he said softly. “Believe you.” Hesitating, he said, “Are you a Hunter?”
Alice could hear the Capitalization of the word with way Moishe curled it around his tongue. “I've been called many things...Hunter is not one of them, though.” She paused before saying, “That could be simply the result of conflicting vocabularies, for I think we have much in common. You refer to yourself as one, yes?”
Moishe started. “Erm-yes. I do,” he said.
Placing a hand on Moishe's forearm, Alice suggested, “We'll trade stories, then. I'll tell you the unvarnished truth of who I am and what I have been called if you do the same.” It was a gamble, but Moishe had to be at least a bit curious, like herself, if he'd been drawn to the woods to confront the werewolf. They may have had different manners of executing their plans, but their intentions had obviously been the same. “Do we have an accord?” she pressed, suddenly wanting to know everything about the man standing beside her.
She watched as he took first one deep breath, then another. “Yes,” he said softly. “Yes, I believe we do.”