Alice in Wonderland: Peace of Advice
Title: “Peace of Advice”
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: post-movie
Summary: After Alice is gone, the Hatter does a rather uncharacteristic thing: he begins to wait. [The Hatter and the White Queen; very mild implications of the Hatter/Alice]
Disclaimer: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland/Through the Looking-Glass belong to Lewis Carroll. Alice in Wonderland belongs to Tim Burton, etc.
A/N: I wouldn’t dream of writing craziness like Carroll, but here’s a little something. That movie is damn inspiring. XD
PEACE OF ADVICE
“I’ve gone mad!” the Hatter declared.
“There’s a shock. Do you want to talk about it?”
The White Queen moved fluidly between the cells of her chessboard-like courtyard, stark white at the backdrop of the foaming pink trees. Her hands were raised and her fingers fluttered, just barely, like sleepy, yet tremulous insects caught in the breeze.
“I’m in trouble with Time again,” the Hatter said. “There is either too much of him, or not enough. Which is the case, I haven’t decided yet.” He gave a curt laugh.
The Queen cast a semi-attentive glance at him. In her solemn beauty, she looked so spiritual that he took an instinctive step back for fear that she might overspiritualize him too.
“I found an extra teacup on the table. What is it doing there? I don’t know. Just sitting, I suppose.”
The Queen cocked her head. “Have you not so much kitchenware out there that you have long since lost count?”
He smiled frenetically. “Precisely! When I found the extra cup, I counted them all! It is definitely quite superfluous. Don’t you ever grow tired?”
The last question concerned the Queen’s posture. She lowered her hands just a little bit; her elbows drifted closer to her waste.
“Dog-tired,” she said, a hint of steel in her voice. Then her dark eyes grew wider, and her face lit up with a beauteous smile. “But it is exactly what I expect of myself.”
The Hatter in turn didn’t expect anything. Expectations were time-bound, and Time was still rather cross with him. There was no other explanation of the fact that after so much stagnancy he had finally begun feeling the flow of Time - yet there was nothing to it. The Hatter was still stuck waiting; but nothing happened.
Perhaps she was not coming back.
The Queen jerked up her chin.
“If you cannot stand still,” she said in her sharpest reasonable voice, “you should move.”
“How-?”
“I wouldn’t know how you moved.” She shrugged abruptly, her hands flying up, dark crimson fingernails drawing bleared lines of colour in the crisp air. “I move however I like. The point is, if you begin walking, it will eventually take you somewhere. Perhaps even out of something.”
The Hatter blinked his eyes several times and drew out a gentle, “Mmhm…”
“But if you go,” the Queen added quietly, “you will sooner or later need to come back. There is no leaving without coming back.”
He turned on his heels and began walking away. She continued half-dancing in slow motion across the courtyard, trees whispering gently around her. He thought he heard her murmur “Good luck” in his wake, but it might have been his hyperactive imagination.
He wondered to himself if up there, in her world, he would learn why a raven was like a writing-desk.
March 5, 2010
Author: Shaitanah
Rating: G
Timeline: post-movie
Summary: After Alice is gone, the Hatter does a rather uncharacteristic thing: he begins to wait. [The Hatter and the White Queen; very mild implications of the Hatter/Alice]
Disclaimer: Alice’s Adventures in Wonderland/Through the Looking-Glass belong to Lewis Carroll. Alice in Wonderland belongs to Tim Burton, etc.
A/N: I wouldn’t dream of writing craziness like Carroll, but here’s a little something. That movie is damn inspiring. XD
PEACE OF ADVICE
“I’ve gone mad!” the Hatter declared.
“There’s a shock. Do you want to talk about it?”
The White Queen moved fluidly between the cells of her chessboard-like courtyard, stark white at the backdrop of the foaming pink trees. Her hands were raised and her fingers fluttered, just barely, like sleepy, yet tremulous insects caught in the breeze.
“I’m in trouble with Time again,” the Hatter said. “There is either too much of him, or not enough. Which is the case, I haven’t decided yet.” He gave a curt laugh.
The Queen cast a semi-attentive glance at him. In her solemn beauty, she looked so spiritual that he took an instinctive step back for fear that she might overspiritualize him too.
“I found an extra teacup on the table. What is it doing there? I don’t know. Just sitting, I suppose.”
The Queen cocked her head. “Have you not so much kitchenware out there that you have long since lost count?”
He smiled frenetically. “Precisely! When I found the extra cup, I counted them all! It is definitely quite superfluous. Don’t you ever grow tired?”
The last question concerned the Queen’s posture. She lowered her hands just a little bit; her elbows drifted closer to her waste.
“Dog-tired,” she said, a hint of steel in her voice. Then her dark eyes grew wider, and her face lit up with a beauteous smile. “But it is exactly what I expect of myself.”
The Hatter in turn didn’t expect anything. Expectations were time-bound, and Time was still rather cross with him. There was no other explanation of the fact that after so much stagnancy he had finally begun feeling the flow of Time - yet there was nothing to it. The Hatter was still stuck waiting; but nothing happened.
Perhaps she was not coming back.
The Queen jerked up her chin.
“If you cannot stand still,” she said in her sharpest reasonable voice, “you should move.”
“How-?”
“I wouldn’t know how you moved.” She shrugged abruptly, her hands flying up, dark crimson fingernails drawing bleared lines of colour in the crisp air. “I move however I like. The point is, if you begin walking, it will eventually take you somewhere. Perhaps even out of something.”
The Hatter blinked his eyes several times and drew out a gentle, “Mmhm…”
“But if you go,” the Queen added quietly, “you will sooner or later need to come back. There is no leaving without coming back.”
He turned on his heels and began walking away. She continued half-dancing in slow motion across the courtyard, trees whispering gently around her. He thought he heard her murmur “Good luck” in his wake, but it might have been his hyperactive imagination.
He wondered to himself if up there, in her world, he would learn why a raven was like a writing-desk.
March 5, 2010