three alice ficlets, rated pg
one.
rained in
"And then," Hatter says, "I told him, 'mate, you probably don't want to be trying that,' which in hindsight was clearly a terrible idea, because he goes off with the whole lot of it, and I don't think I need to tell you how the story ends."
He's sitting on the countertop, cheerfully eating his cold pizza while the rain pounds down outside. The power's been out for two hours; the kitchen is lit by a few dim candles but not much else.
"Ouch," Alice says.
"Itching powder," Hatter says solemnly. "Not for amateurs."
"Apparently," Alice says. She surreptitiously peels a charred slice of banana off her pizza; he's been getting ideas ever since he tried Hawaiian, and some of his culinary experiments have been more successful than others.
He sees her. "Do you not like my pizza?"
She pops the last off it into her mouth, pushing herself away from the counter to insinuate herself between his knees.
"I love your pizza," she says around a mouthful of crust.
"Dirty girl," he says, abandoning his slice on the counter to slide his arms around her waist. "Go away with those innuendos of yours."
"All in your head, Hatter," Alice says, swallowing. His eyes, fixed on the movement of her throat, are liquid-dark in the candlelight.
"A likely story," he says. "Scarlet-woman that you are."
His hands slip lower down her back, and he bends to kiss her. "Mmph," she says, and she pulls away from his lips and raises herself on her toes to tip the battered grey newsboy off his head, saying softly in his ear, "You're not averse to moving this party elsewhere, are you?"
"Oi, girl, what have we said about manhandling the haberdashery," he says, and when her eyebrow quirks he runs a hand through his wild hair and adds, "Yeah, shutting up now."
He hops down off the counter to follow her as the rain pings off the windows.
two.
oh boy you've left me speechless
That Hatter knows how to dance is unanticipated. That he's actually good at it is a real revelation.
"I'm touched, really, I am," he says drily when she says as much, leaning in so she can hear him over the crowd and the music, his hand in the small of her back guiding her around the ballroom floor. "Your confidence in my abilities is astounding."
He is still surprising her.
When they go up to congratulate Jack and the Duchess - the Queen, now, both of them newly crowned - she is nervous. Not because of Jack, but because of his wife; she is an intimidatingly lovely woman and the perfect Queen for Jack but Alice wonders all the same if she knows that she wasn't Jack's first choice. From the reserved smile, Alice guesses so. The Duchess's carefully neutral, pleasant gaze wavers for just a minute, slipping down to Alice's arm, and as her eyebrow arches Alice's stomach plummets.
Alice tries to ignore it, lifting her chin proudly. But before she knows what she's doing, she is fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress, unthinkingly twisting it down to cover her wrist, worrying at the fabric with her fingers while she talks.
She doesn't realize she's doing it until Hatter reaches down to take her hand in his.
That night in their room, when she has abandoned her heels by the door and is brushing out her hair to go to sleep, Hatter takes the comb out of her hand, puts it down with measured and exaggerated delicacy and turns her wrist over.
She swallows. "I know," she says. "I'm being stupid about it."
"You're not," Hatter says. His breath tickles her skin. "She is. But she's a stupid cow. Don't worry about what she thinks."
He kisses the underside of her arm with languorous slowness, fingers still twined tight in hers, lips tracing their way up the curling green tattoo that irrevocably marks her as other with featherlight lips. With her free hand, Alice reaches out to cup his face, thumb brushing over his stubbled cheek, her heart too full to speak.
three.
the well-hatted woman
"Hats are a fickle thing," Alice tells Hatter. "Maybe they're just not for me."
He puts a hand over his heart, looking genuinely wounded. (His hands, incidentally, are clothed in fraying fingerless gloves: he has, Alice observes with some amusement, embraced the shabby-hipster-chic look with entirely too much enthusiasm.)
"Alice," Hatter says. "Love of my life. Dear, silly little dove. There is a hat for everyone. Several, in my case. Dozens. Scores. But that's neither here nor there. I will find you your hat, my heart."
"That wasn't a challenge," Alice says worriedly, but he has a determined look on his face:
"Challenge accepted," he says.
"Oh, God," Alice says.
He beams at her.
hat #1:
fedora. grey. belted and buckled in black.
"I look like an escapee from a gangster flick," Alice says. "Or a Justin Timberlake video."
He taps the brim of it lower. She squints at him; she can only see out of one eye.
"Very stylish," he says approvingly.
When she has to tilt her head all the way back to see the movie screen the people in the row behind them start muttering mutinously.
"Oi," Hatter says. "Quiet in back."
"Oi," one guy mocks him. "Down in front."
Maybe it's not Alice; maybe it's Hatter's beaver topper that's causing the annoyance.
"Yours is very nice," Alice says comfortingly after they're kicked out of the theater. "We oysters just aren't ready for that kind of avant-garde fashion."
He puts his top hat back on his head defiantly.
hat #2:
wool cap. purple. snug.
"Practical," Alice concedes. "Cozy. Nice colour. Murder on my hair, though." When she pulls it off to demonstrate, her hair is both staticky and utterly flat.
He brushes the snowflakes off the crown of her head and takes the hat from her hands. "I like you in purple," he says.
"I know you do," she says. He thrust the hat into his pocket, and she kisses his cheek.
hat #7:
beret. felt. two euro at a street stall four blocks over from notre dame.
"Do you have an oddly-shaped skull?" he asks. "Honestly. Because I thought everyone could pull off a beret."
"Do I really look that bad?" Alice asks.
"No," he says unconvincingly. "Not at all."
She pulls the plate of crepes closer, hunching her shoulders.
hat #21:
leghorn. green straw. ribboned in white, with a cluster of red cherries at the ear.
"Seriously?" Alice says. She pokes one of the cherries. "Seriously. You're not even trying any more."
Hatter slumps against the wall. "I am!" he says. "There's a finite combination of styles, you know."
"Then you'll get there eventually," she says.
"I'm a failure," he says.
"You haven't failed," Alice says, gathering up her keys and purse. "It's just a tougher quest than you thought. What's the fun in an easy challenge, right?"
"I should run away and join Charlie in the woods," he says. "My reputation as hatter and Hatter is ruined."
She snatches away his tweed flat-cap and fits it over her own head. "There," she says. "The perfect hat. You won!"
"You're just trying to make me feel better," he says, eyeing her suspiciously.
"Not at all," she says. "Come on. We're late for lunch."
Hatter follows behind her as she locks up the apartment. "I feel oddly naked," he says. "Can I have mine back now?" There is a plaintive note in his voice.
"I'm holding it hostage," Alice says. She fluffs up his dark hair, making it stand upright and startled before she starts down the stairs.
"Hey," he says. She turns; he is standing above her, still on the landing. He catches her by the scarf and tugs until she climbs back up to meet him. He kisses her, and then steals his hat back.
"Mine," he says.
rained in
"And then," Hatter says, "I told him, 'mate, you probably don't want to be trying that,' which in hindsight was clearly a terrible idea, because he goes off with the whole lot of it, and I don't think I need to tell you how the story ends."
He's sitting on the countertop, cheerfully eating his cold pizza while the rain pounds down outside. The power's been out for two hours; the kitchen is lit by a few dim candles but not much else.
"Ouch," Alice says.
"Itching powder," Hatter says solemnly. "Not for amateurs."
"Apparently," Alice says. She surreptitiously peels a charred slice of banana off her pizza; he's been getting ideas ever since he tried Hawaiian, and some of his culinary experiments have been more successful than others.
He sees her. "Do you not like my pizza?"
She pops the last off it into her mouth, pushing herself away from the counter to insinuate herself between his knees.
"I love your pizza," she says around a mouthful of crust.
"Dirty girl," he says, abandoning his slice on the counter to slide his arms around her waist. "Go away with those innuendos of yours."
"All in your head, Hatter," Alice says, swallowing. His eyes, fixed on the movement of her throat, are liquid-dark in the candlelight.
"A likely story," he says. "Scarlet-woman that you are."
His hands slip lower down her back, and he bends to kiss her. "Mmph," she says, and she pulls away from his lips and raises herself on her toes to tip the battered grey newsboy off his head, saying softly in his ear, "You're not averse to moving this party elsewhere, are you?"
"Oi, girl, what have we said about manhandling the haberdashery," he says, and when her eyebrow quirks he runs a hand through his wild hair and adds, "Yeah, shutting up now."
He hops down off the counter to follow her as the rain pings off the windows.
two.
oh boy you've left me speechless
That Hatter knows how to dance is unanticipated. That he's actually good at it is a real revelation.
"I'm touched, really, I am," he says drily when she says as much, leaning in so she can hear him over the crowd and the music, his hand in the small of her back guiding her around the ballroom floor. "Your confidence in my abilities is astounding."
He is still surprising her.
When they go up to congratulate Jack and the Duchess - the Queen, now, both of them newly crowned - she is nervous. Not because of Jack, but because of his wife; she is an intimidatingly lovely woman and the perfect Queen for Jack but Alice wonders all the same if she knows that she wasn't Jack's first choice. From the reserved smile, Alice guesses so. The Duchess's carefully neutral, pleasant gaze wavers for just a minute, slipping down to Alice's arm, and as her eyebrow arches Alice's stomach plummets.
Alice tries to ignore it, lifting her chin proudly. But before she knows what she's doing, she is fidgeting with the sleeve of her dress, unthinkingly twisting it down to cover her wrist, worrying at the fabric with her fingers while she talks.
She doesn't realize she's doing it until Hatter reaches down to take her hand in his.
That night in their room, when she has abandoned her heels by the door and is brushing out her hair to go to sleep, Hatter takes the comb out of her hand, puts it down with measured and exaggerated delicacy and turns her wrist over.
She swallows. "I know," she says. "I'm being stupid about it."
"You're not," Hatter says. His breath tickles her skin. "She is. But she's a stupid cow. Don't worry about what she thinks."
He kisses the underside of her arm with languorous slowness, fingers still twined tight in hers, lips tracing their way up the curling green tattoo that irrevocably marks her as other with featherlight lips. With her free hand, Alice reaches out to cup his face, thumb brushing over his stubbled cheek, her heart too full to speak.
three.
the well-hatted woman
"Hats are a fickle thing," Alice tells Hatter. "Maybe they're just not for me."
He puts a hand over his heart, looking genuinely wounded. (His hands, incidentally, are clothed in fraying fingerless gloves: he has, Alice observes with some amusement, embraced the shabby-hipster-chic look with entirely too much enthusiasm.)
"Alice," Hatter says. "Love of my life. Dear, silly little dove. There is a hat for everyone. Several, in my case. Dozens. Scores. But that's neither here nor there. I will find you your hat, my heart."
"That wasn't a challenge," Alice says worriedly, but he has a determined look on his face:
"Challenge accepted," he says.
"Oh, God," Alice says.
He beams at her.
hat #1:
fedora. grey. belted and buckled in black.
"I look like an escapee from a gangster flick," Alice says. "Or a Justin Timberlake video."
He taps the brim of it lower. She squints at him; she can only see out of one eye.
"Very stylish," he says approvingly.
When she has to tilt her head all the way back to see the movie screen the people in the row behind them start muttering mutinously.
"Oi," Hatter says. "Quiet in back."
"Oi," one guy mocks him. "Down in front."
Maybe it's not Alice; maybe it's Hatter's beaver topper that's causing the annoyance.
"Yours is very nice," Alice says comfortingly after they're kicked out of the theater. "We oysters just aren't ready for that kind of avant-garde fashion."
He puts his top hat back on his head defiantly.
hat #2:
wool cap. purple. snug.
"Practical," Alice concedes. "Cozy. Nice colour. Murder on my hair, though." When she pulls it off to demonstrate, her hair is both staticky and utterly flat.
He brushes the snowflakes off the crown of her head and takes the hat from her hands. "I like you in purple," he says.
"I know you do," she says. He thrust the hat into his pocket, and she kisses his cheek.
hat #7:
beret. felt. two euro at a street stall four blocks over from notre dame.
"Do you have an oddly-shaped skull?" he asks. "Honestly. Because I thought everyone could pull off a beret."
"Do I really look that bad?" Alice asks.
"No," he says unconvincingly. "Not at all."
She pulls the plate of crepes closer, hunching her shoulders.
hat #21:
leghorn. green straw. ribboned in white, with a cluster of red cherries at the ear.
"Seriously?" Alice says. She pokes one of the cherries. "Seriously. You're not even trying any more."
Hatter slumps against the wall. "I am!" he says. "There's a finite combination of styles, you know."
"Then you'll get there eventually," she says.
"I'm a failure," he says.
"You haven't failed," Alice says, gathering up her keys and purse. "It's just a tougher quest than you thought. What's the fun in an easy challenge, right?"
"I should run away and join Charlie in the woods," he says. "My reputation as hatter and Hatter is ruined."
She snatches away his tweed flat-cap and fits it over her own head. "There," she says. "The perfect hat. You won!"
"You're just trying to make me feel better," he says, eyeing her suspiciously.
"Not at all," she says. "Come on. We're late for lunch."
Hatter follows behind her as she locks up the apartment. "I feel oddly naked," he says. "Can I have mine back now?" There is a plaintive note in his voice.
"I'm holding it hostage," Alice says. She fluffs up his dark hair, making it stand upright and startled before she starts down the stairs.
"Hey," he says. She turns; he is standing above her, still on the landing. He catches her by the scarf and tugs until she climbs back up to meet him. He kisses her, and then steals his hat back.
"Mine," he says.