An Ordinary Oddball
Wilma watched poor Alice become distraught over her cat sealing her groceries.
So she did the logical thing and hugged Alice.
"Don't cry," she said firmly. "I've been scuffy myself. And I don't really mind your cat either—the ways of cats are unknowable and mysterious. Maybe he wanted us to meet."
She let go and took Alice's hand.
"You can come to my house, which is also a Library, and have some food and tea. It's good for calming the mind and helps you think. And mybe we can see if we can find an answer to your predicament in those old tomes, yes?"
She gently began to lead Alice to the Library.
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
Easton City – Marketplace
“Oh, you needn't say about crying. I won't cry. Crying's no use over such a silly thing. I'll be quite alright, thank you,” she excused a little stuffily, though clearly out of embarrassment more than anything. “And you're spot on regarding cats. I sometimes get the feeling he's plotting against me,” she muttered with a glance towards the offending feline – who had taken the chance while she was looking away to quickly disappear and reappear on her shoulder; his grin widening with an accompanying purr as if in confirmation to this. Alice seemed unaware of this.
“You are two times too kind. Thank you. I could so do with taking my mind off of everything. And books! When was the last time I'd read one? I was just about to, but...”
She trailed off, her eyes momentarily glazing over, before she cleared her throat and continued.
“Oh never mind all that. I've lumped enough of my worries onto you for now. May I ask your name?” she suddenly realised as she followed after the girl.
bork
An Ordinary Oddball
"I'm Wilma Printer, and it's a pleasure to meet you! No need to thank me, I'm just doing my duty as a human being," said Wilma. She lead Alice around the block and there stood the grand Library.
"Oh. It's moved itself closer," Wilma observed. "Thank you," she said, patting a large column. The Library seemed to rumble at this.
And then Wilma went to open the large double doors—which opened by themselves after she pushed a few times.
"Someone definitely feels the need to impress," Wilma said drily after surveying the insides.
It would look like a familiar place to Alice, if she had been to any libraries before, except grander, with multiple fireplaces, plush armchairs, fur rugs, and towering bookshelves that reached the ceiling. Ladders with wheels attached the the bases made it possible to get to higher shelves. Sunlight streamed in through the windows, and the walls were covered with paintings that seemed to move on their own. It was also noticable that the inside was much, much bigger than the outside.
"I must apologize for the display of ostentatiousness," Wilma apologized. "I hope you're not offended. The Library likes to do this. Sit down, sit down, make yourself at home."
And Wilma pushed over a cart with pastries and tea (that was not there before) to a table and gestured for Alice to sit down. The groceries were deposited in an inexplicably out of place kitchen area, and Wilma sat down herself.
"...To answer your question earlier, Easton is a place where everything strange ends up at least once. But I was born here, and I don't know if it made me strange too. Eat first, and then we'll try to find books to explain all this. You must be very hungry."
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
The Library
Alice seemed rather shocked. So much so that it was all she could do to nod dumbly and sit down as asked, lips slightly parted as she looked around the inside of the now-extravagant Library in stunned silence.
The Cat merely glanced around; and snorted, hopping up onto the table and looking to Alice expectantly. Sure enough, she slowly began to break out of her daze as she accepted the tea.
“Well. I have to say I was not expecting that. I've seen an impressive library; but never before have I seen a library trying to impress.”
She took a long sip of her tea, grimacing a little as it scalded her.
“And strange is interesting. Interesting is compelling. Compelling leads to questions, and questions... hopefully lead to answers, I presume. Strange isn't strange after all, in that regard – and I assure you that ‘good’ is not strange. So if strange is not strange, and good is not strange, you're not strange, and therefore good!”
She didn't notice her previously brown and plain dress complete its shift into that of an aqua blue as she spoke – the process similar to that of ink spilling across it and staining it into a more vibrant colour. The Cat by his nature did, however – and straightened up in stance as if in preparation.
“And madness is much the same way... oh... oh dear. I'm... I'm dreaming, surely. That must be it. This is all part of Wonderland, isn't it? I'm so sorry that it took me this long to catch on...” she apologised to Wilma, a final look of understanding upon her face.
“And about time too, Alice...” purred the cat suddenly in a smooth baritone, prompting Alice to jump in her seat and slightly spill her tea.
“Oh! Cheshire! Of all the times to pipe up right when I'm not expecting it...!”
The Cat sent a lingering, cautionary gaze towards Wilma, before flicking his eyes back to his mistress and leaning forward a little.
“I wasn't sure if you were ready. You seemed quite invested in it – I almost pitied you, actually... which is why I regretted thinking of telling you so early and spoiling your delusion.”
Alice frowned, delicately picking up a napkin to wipe at her teacup whilst pursing her lips in suspicion.
“But you don't pity me at all, do you?”
Cheshire only grinned.
“Which is why I said almost.”
Alice promptly slammed her cup into its dish with a disgruntled cross of the arms and an accompanying huff. The Cat rumbled in amusement, before locking gazes with Wilma once more while Alice was distracted in her little tantrum – his low voice seeming to buzz from the back of her very skull.
“You're walking on eggshells, girl. Wonderland is in ruins from neglect, and I dared not encourage her to fall into it in its state. Fantasy and reality have always been difficult things for dear Alice to tell apart – and the new rules of this world allow for greater illustration of that. Quite truthfully, more than has ever been in all history. You – be on your guard.”
He turned away just as Alice calmed enough to return to her tea, now sipping at it with a more calm curiosity than before. Apart from her clothing changes, she seemed... different somehow. More relaxed, more open-minded. Less of the anxious, lost girl she seemed to be before – she now seemed to be in a dreamlike state of accepting wonder.
“Well, I have to say your Library is a very sweet thing by dressing up all for me. If I only knew what to refer to it as – ‘thing’ sounds so impersonal! But thank you, dear Library – I shan't forget this soon enough, ” she thanked with all her heart, standing upright to appropriately curtsy. “And your denizen is as sweet as sugar too.”
“You will surely make my teeth rot if you speak of any more sugar, Alice,” the Cat drolly interjected. “And with the amount of dentures in my gums, there'll be enough decaying matter to rival the books.”
“Oh do shut up.”
Edited by Enirboreh on Oct 20th 2018 at 12:49:12 PM
bork
An Ordinary Oddball
Wilma went to the back and pulled several books from the towering shelves, putting them on the table. She nodded slightly at Cheshire, not surprised at all at its ability to talk.
"I'm the one who should be apologizing for this confusion. Because you see, this is not your Wonderland, but mine. I've always loved books and drawings, and as I've lived here, I somehow made the Library this way. Easton was already strange before I got here, though. I'm the least of its oddities. And Easton may be wonderful, but it is still Easton. It belongs to itself."
"It's no fault of ours that we are both mad," Wilma said, breathing slightly shakily and opening a book to a certain page. "I just found out recently that I was mad—but we mustn't jump to conclusions, eh?"
"I think there's plenty of people like us in the world, who are able to do impossible things. Scratch that—we can do seven impossible things before breakfast, don't we already?"
Edited by JumpingFruit on Oct 20th 2018 at 5:07:20 AM
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
The Library
“Six,” Alice whispered harshly, wringing her hands together tightly and shutting her eyes. “Father always said six.”
“And he'll say it again, over and over – won't he, Alice?” Cheshire interjected calmly.
Alice let out a breath, before nodding and pulling herself together from whatever was plaguing her. “Yes. This is still Wonderland. I'll meet father again. Sorry about that.”
Cheshire seemed to relax as well at that, before beginning to slowly fade away and reform nearer to Wilma to overlook the book.
“‘Curiouser and curiouser’ – was that it, Alice?” he called out in jest, prompting her to blush.
“You're no help, cat. Now let me see. All I'm seeing right now is your backside, so push off,” she ordered, moving to shove the creature out of force only to let out an exasperated sigh as he simply vanished again before she could get a solid grip on him. Giving up, she sat down nearer Wilma as the cat had done; who should be mentioned to be currently in the process of stalking amidst the books and pulling some of them from their shelves on the upper levels of the Library, perusing them curiously.
“As I was saying before; madness isn't anything to be ashamed of. We're all quite mad, really – and you can put yourself in as many different boxes as you want. But no matter how many labels saying ‘DRINK ME’ you have on you, you're still making people shrink.”
“You're getting rather accustomed to my way of speaking, aren't you Alice? Finally seeing the fun of it all?” called Cheshire from above their heads.
“Quite. It does make one seem rather philisopical– phillosotical– oh blast it!” she exclaimed, covering her face due to sheer embarrassment as Cheshire's laughter bounced around the walls of the space.
Edited by Enirboreh on Oct 20th 2018 at 1:33:49 PM
bork
An Ordinary Oddball
Wilma thought that it would be best to distract Alice from Wonderland, since she was getting rather agitated. She opened an atlas and pointed to a world map. "Easton's right here on the east coast of the United States, U.S. for short—there's England, also known as Britain."
"Have a cake," Wilma said, sliding one on a plate across to Alice and taking one for herself. Biting down, it had cream as filling. Tasty!
"Do you have anything else you're curious about? Anything you're confused about?"
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
The Library
“Hm. As suspected. Right across the water. How strange! And I do know the names of countries. I am quite educated,” Alice said dismissively, taking a bite of the cake and waving it up to the prowling cat. “And what were you saying regarding an overabundance of sugar, Chess?”
“Har har,” came the flat response.
Shaking her head in amusement, Alice peered down once more at the map as she spoke in a tone that began to lessen in naïve enthusiasm and more of severity and formality.
“And I do. Last I recall, I was about to read Mr. Dodgson's book. He'd sent it to me that Christmas – I had begged him so to have his stories written down for me! But anyhow, after that point I can't recall much. My next memory is of waking up dirty and discarded like a damp dishcloth. Quite a humbling experience, to say the least! Yet of some concern to me – especially as to why your and my Wonderland seem to be accelerated in time.”
Cheshire halted in his prowlings, and cursed underneath his breath. Letting himself peel away on the wind, he rematerialized on Alice's shoulder, coiling his tail around her and rubbing her back reassuringly.
“Never question ‘why’ or ‘how’ – or even ‘what’, Alice. It's not so black and white. It's not about answers. It's about knowing – your perception of things. And you know that much, don't you?”
She sighed, brushing the cat away and watching him as he expertly reoriented himself so as to land on his feet. “Oh, very well. Looking-Glass Land had familiar faces too, but was also a shocking difference. Much more frightful – more so than here. I think I'll manage.”
“Purrrfect. Now do ask if you can rest; you look ready to collapse. Time is relative, as you know. No need to fret about missing anything–”
“I know, Cat. You're sounding quite fretful yourself. Don't be. Your grin's always a comfort to me,” Alice interrupted quite indignantly. Indeed, she looked a little flustered and exhausted – and by that last comment more than a little delusional. The Cheshire Cat's grin was most certainly not a source of comfort to anyone sober.
“May I ask for a bed? I'm ever so sorry to harp on at you so, but it's been an ever so tiring day.”
The Cat, meanwhile, hopped back up onto the table, looking to Wilma perhaps more expectantly than Alice herself was. He seemed eager to talk – it was probably why he had suggested his mistress to sleep in the first place.
bork
An Ordinary Oddball
"Right, bed!" Wilma said, taking Alice by the hand and leading her to a door. Now they were inexplicably in a normal house-like area. "Your room's right next to mine," Wilma pointed out. Wilma's door was varnished wood, and had a sign stating her name. The door next to it was painted blue with Alice's name in cursive.
"I hope you'll like your room," Wilma said. "But if you have a moment, I'd like to propose a theory of how you came forward in time."
Wilma took out a piece of paper and drew a line on it with a pencil.
"This is time. It's a line you can only go forward on. If you broke a cup, there would be no way to rewind time and repair it."
She marked two points on the line.
"This is your time, and this is my time. Now, somehow, this happened—"
Wilma stuck the pencil through the two points.
"Something happened that opened a gate in time to transport you here...That's certainly something to think about. Um...don't let me keep you from settling in. If you need anything, ask the Library or me. Feel free to explore the city after you've had a rest," Wilma explained.
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
The Library
“I'll sleep on it,” Alice decided, before performing one last curtsy. “Thank you so much for your hospitality, Miss Wilma.”
With that, she closed the door. Once again, she did not notice her clothes warping into the shape of a nightdress as she slipped beneath the covers.
I wonder how I'm sleeping if this is Wonderland, was her last thought before unconsciousness claimed her.
Back in the Library's main lobby, the Cat was waiting expectantly for Wilma, a now severe look on its face (though the grin remained as unchanged as one would expect with the exception of a slight downturn at the edges of the creature's lips).
As she approached, it sat up and began to pace, addressing Wilma even as it padded around from shelf to shelf.
“Now we can freely speak, I can inform you as to what's truly going on here. Your portal theory was plausible, but simply not the case as it turns out. As for how I knew this... well, I have exceptional ears.”
He twitched them for emphasis, before carrying on.
“The point of the matter is this: at some point, Alice's delusions began to cross over into reality. Slowly, and without her knowledge. They crept into her perception of the world like a plague – yet the world perceived her the same. On your ‘flow of time’ – and indeed any historical records – Alice Pleasance Liddell lived, married, and died. Same as many others like her. But the Alice here now never knew this life. So caught up was she in Wonderland even when she thought it to be reality did she convince herself to be ever-remaining – unchangeable, and unable to age.”
The Cat paused to pull a book off one of the shelves with its claws. A copy of Alice's Adventures in Wonderland – by Lewis Carroll. He stared down at it, before flicking it open and scanning through its pages, keeping on in talking to Wilma in a little more of a distracted yet still serious tone.
“I manifested from her cat, Dinah. She thought she was the same cat from her Wonderland in that bleary state you have between sleep and awareness in the middle of the night. This certainly didn't help with her delusions, and this barrier between the ‘external’ Alice and the ‘internal’ Alice was ever-widening. I feared she would even split apart – and I didn't know, nor want to know what would happen if two instances of her were to coexist. So I – as her better half – stopped one of them.”
The Cat turned to Wilma now – the pages of the book left open to the scene in which he himself appeared in. His feline eyes bore into hers, and his grin became more than uncanny and now truly terrifying as his voice dropped nigh an octave into a low growl.
“Wonderland is destroyed. Alice's mind is in ruins. If she becomes mad – no, madder than mad – she may not know whether to destroy Wonderland; or everything.”
After a period of silence to let the severity of the situation sink in, The Cat began to slowly fade away – his skin evaporating in patches as the rest of everything making up him began to follow suit in a deliberate, grotesque manner.
“I will tend to Alice now. The bottom line is that she runs on no logic but her own. Do care for her, child. Madness... is like a writhing force in and of itself...”
A spark of light seemed to enter his eye as he said this, and his grin returned full force as if he was sharing some sort of inside joke.
“Goodbye.”
The Cat vanished.
Edited by Enirboreh on Oct 20th 2018 at 3:34:17 PM
bork
An Ordinary Oddball
A Meeting of Mad Minds
"The dangers are greater than I realized," Wilma said. "If I become like this...If she gets worse...Thank you. I'll keep that in mind," she said gratefully to Cheshire.
And she went off to one corner of the Library or another to study the Anti-Creator. Surely it and its minons had some weaknesses...?
Forging
HISSSSSSS!
Jumping Bean's Heavenly Blade hissed as it was quenched into the divine medicine water from the magic gourd.
Ignatius wiped his brow. Still a long way to go...
Meditation
Jumping Bean meditated on a rocky outcrop of Mt. Etna, focusing her mind on refining her body and magic.
Breathing deeply, she sank to deeper levels of unconsciousness and went through forms in her mind.
Strike. Strike. Block. Step. Strike.
Thought
The Lurker, well, lurked in some dark corner and appeared to be neither sleeping nor awake. It was plotting further against the Anti-Creator.
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
The Library
“Hm. Wonderland's looking rather drab this time around. I wonder what's happened to it?”
Indeed, the previously-paradisical place was now twisted and warped; chunks of its surfaces splintering and peeling away like dried paint and disintegrating in the atmosphere. Clocks, books, trinkets and knickknacks floated about, while a faint scent of smoke filled the orange-tinted sky.
“How odd. Has the Duchess let her stove on too long? That burning is quite dizzying...”
“Á̵̡̧̭̜͔̜͙̬̌̃̀̃͆̍͢L̜͉̹̮̲̝͊̌̽͛͊͠͞I̴̡̛̫̠͕͂͋͒͌̓͟͜͟͝C͉̹͙̬̲͔̻̟̥̒̿̔̅͞͡ͅẸ̝̥͙͖̖̼̯͇̠̅͛̆̋͊!̶̢̢̭̭̘͍̦̗̀̽̄͂̚͟͠͞”
“Very dizzying... indeed... Hatter, is that you?”
At least, her brain told her it was Hatter. The charred, malformed conglomeration stumbling and gurgling about nearby spoke otherwise. Viscous, black liquid dribbled out of its orifices like rivers of pollution—its scent that of century eggs and burning oil.
“Hatter... you look quite sick... whatever's the matter?”
The somehow still-living thing stumbled towards her, four of its nineteen arms outstretched and grasping.
“M̢͇̦̗̫̓̔̽̊̏̃͗̒͜a̸̩͇̝̫̼͂́́̐́̚͞͝ͅt̶̢̛͎̱̼͔̄̑̀̍͑͘͝͡͡t̶̡̼̜̥̹͓̻͍̼̰͐̒̃̈̆͋̀̕ê̷̟̼̝̙͈̔̎̑͂͝͡r̸̢̩̝̤̮̎̇͊̀̄̂̆ w̨̛̛̖̱̮̪͌͌͑́͘͞͞ͅͅí̴̞̱̬̗̖̀͌̄͞t̡̥̻̪͇̥͑̂̇͌̑̿̒̕͝͞h̯̼̱̮̳̫̒̎̔̿̃͟͠͠͝͝ ţ̵̳̰̭̱̉̀̿̍̎̏͜͜͡h̴͈̲̤̭̬͕͙̣̪̙̀̈́͒̃̂̚̕ę̹̝̻̟̀͊̐̇͟͝͠ Ȟ̛̩̙̺̥̰̦̹̆̈̔͌͜͢ͅá̸̭̰͈̗͔̫̥͆̋̓́̚͡ͅt̛̼̘̻̤͍̩̯̟͇͛̈͂̇̉̚͢ṫ̠̖̬͓̦͍̓̾͂͠ȩ̶̹̥̥͔̫͕͒̿̀̊̃̒͘͘͠ȓ̰̱̰̣͙̮̺͐̍̋̑ͅ?̧͕̙̹̦̟̲͈̤͗̈́͊̾̿̓̌ T̷̨̨̗͖̪̩̦̄͐͐̄͟͞͠h̸͇͖͕͓̱͕͈̣̳̏͛͆̚͟͞ę̤̩̼̰̯̦̿́̾́̈́͋̂͊̿ o̰̖̰͔̎̂̓͒̍͋̀̒͘͟͢n̢̢̥̰̮̬͉̪̈̊̔̽͆͋̕͘̚l̪̪̲̮̳̟̱͊̀́̊̈́ȳ̶̧̳͙̬̥̙̰̑̓̍̓̃͒͆̚͠ͅ m̪̤͉͕̞̣̄̀̿͛̄̀͞ͅa̛̘̲̱̘̙͒́̏̍̄̿t̴̡̝̹̮̼͙̾͊̽́̄̎͒̐͘̚t̴̨̥̲̣̤͎͕̗̍̎͢͞͝͞e̵̟̠̜̠̰͖̞͋̂̋̂̀̅̅̒͜ͅr̸̞̰̖̥̟̪̥͎̀͆͐͋̀͂͢͜͞ ḭ̴̝̞̮̞̋̓́͘͞ͅṣ̴̨͎̯͔̬̟͎͎́͐̾̉̐̀ ȳ̢̝͉̳̜́͊̀͆ô̷̢̢̳̜͔̑͂́̐̅̐ů̺͚̮̠̙̺̰̹̦̥͊̊̃͆̒̚͠r̡̛̗͕̞̪͌̈́͋̿͡ n̡͉͉̮͙̖̟͌̎̀̓̒̌́͐̕͘a̡̧̰̦̻̻̪͐̔̐̊̑̋͠t̷͖͚̘̺̭̳̱͚̗̓̃̌́͆͗̚̚͜͞t̷͈̪͔̤͋̄̒̔͗̿̀͟ȩ̶̹͎̰̫͈̜̝̳̫̽͌̈́̆̚r̵̨̖̣̖̫̳͎̜̐̊̉̍̒̅̍͆͡!̵̧͈̝͔̘̠̣͓͑̂́̋̉̀́͜ B̧̨͔̪̳͚̻̠͔͛̓͂̒̈́̈̚ͅy̢̳͔͉̖̿͛̓̎͋̐̈́̕͞ C̱̯̤̼̭͔͛͐̏̂͘h̷̢̙̙̯̳̲͇͐͊̐̆͢͟͡e̸̡͔͍̘̜͗̾̽̀̒̉̕͠͠s̶̖̦̪̯̺̣̟͒̐̏͗̅̐͟͝h̡̖̯̱̱̰͌͆̔̀͋͢͞i̶̙̝͙̹̠̜͒̍́̀̀́r̨̼͍͙̯̤̼̫̙̋͐̈̏̾̌̅͒͞ȩ̶̞̫̬̖̪̜̱̗̼̂̈̔́͋͊̏̏̎'̙̺̺͓̫̤̝͔̓̑̔̓̍̀̄͑̏́ś̨̻̲̼͓͓͍̀͛̏͗̎͐͢͠ ģ͕͇̥̞̬̳̟̉́́́͐͌̊͋͊̚͢͜r̷̨̡̰̻͎̦͍̬̠̦̍̍̒̅́̀͋̍̚i̢̼̲̞̜̬̩̍̒̑̃͊͋ṇ͙̝̆̐̄̽̏̋͡͠ͅͅ,͉̻̺̺̟͈̯̻͓̌̄̒́̀̈̄́͡ͅ s̷̮̗̗̺͍̻̞̫̻͆̒͗̀̃͑́̊̚͡ä̴̡̛̭̥̲̳̖͇̖͌̅̀͘͜v̛̦͙͚͔̰̼̾͐́̿͗̈́̓͐ͅe̛̠̱̲̠̞̜̮͔̽̿̑͋͜ u̪͇̳̦̰̗͓͙͌̽̽̽͋̉s̶͉̥̪͉̩̤̘͎̔̂͆̇̀͐̈́͘!͉̜̳͇̫̩̍͌̉̂̈̊̃͟͝ͅ Ǵ̗̘̰̩̞͕͋̉͂͛̈́̿̋͞i̛͕̥̖͉̎͋̅͜͞ͅv̶̡͍̱̥͉͙̱͇̿̾́͐̉̄̔̒͝ę̧̙̖̬̬̞̗̐̓́͒̔̅̍͌͞͡ ű̧͓̙͒̌̐̒̃͟͟ͅs͕̲̺̱̗̲̞̹͑̔̀̈̐͐ s̴̟̜͇̙͚͎͇͊̑̃̿̕͢͝͝ȧ̮̗̘͕̞̤͛̎́͂̔̚͝n͓̤̣͎̲͖͚̍̄͌̕͞ĉ̷͉̱͓̦̜̙̍̅̉̃̈̐̚͡t̺͔̺͎͚͐͌̒̉͋́̓̾͢͠͡ṷ̢̝̖̖̇̾̋̍̑̄͗̎̀a̷̩͎̦̙̘͊̓̓̇͜͡r̻̹͉̱̳̗̭͔̂̅̍̽̊̓y͎̫̪̰̥̭̠̲͍̾̐͆͗̄̂͂,̬͖̙̥̞̝̙̫̈́̐̔͌̇̆̆̽̂ Ḁ̡̢͍́̊̒͂̀̚͟ḷ̴̢̢̡̙͕̪̠̳̹̆̑͐̑́̈͝ǐ̧͉̟̘͙̮̗̳̭͚͐̐̂͆͊͒́c̰̙͕͍̰͖̜͛́̈̽͂͞e͉̳̣͇͖͚̿̔̏́̓̃ͅ!̧̞̲͖͕̯̼͕̙̳͌͗̉̃̆̈́͐̋͒”
“H-Hatter, please! Stop it! Get away!”
“Ģ͕̘̜͖͈̺̿̓̋̋̈́̅Ȋ̵̡̛̳͇͔͓͉̥̣̏̅̊̍̇͡V̨̡̩̪̻͕͚͉͚̔̍͗̄̈́̃̕͜͝Ḙ̴̻̝̮̟̀̓̈͒͌͢ Ų̶̹̭̱̘̻̞̮̲̈́̍̒͒͋̀̾̇̓͜S̴͖̯͔̜̻̹̰̭̻̑͌́̅͡͝͡͡ͅ S̢̡̡͎̭̤̓͒͗͒̚̕͝A̸̡̧̲͙̝̹̮̔̍̑̒̐N̸̢̨̹̮̼̥͖̩̎̈́̅́̽͞͞͡Č͙̥̮̯̣̓̏̌̒͒͝Ṫ̛̻̘̦̠͉̬̤͔́̅̑̒͢͟͝͞Ṳ̴̢͖̯̰̣̩̪͓̻̀̑͗̓͌̆Á̶̢̩̱͍̹̫͎̜̑̉͆̓̄̉̊̕͟͢͠R̢̧̲̜̱͙͖̞̀͒̊͆̉́͘Ÿ̤͇̳͍̭̹͕͙́̑̔̓́̒̍͌̅̄!̴̥͓̣̜͍̻̉̓̌͒̔̚!̵̧͎̟͕̟̼̭̳͐͑͆̒̈́͜͟”
There was a shrill scream that echoed from Alice's room—one that rocked the entire Library. Quite literally, in fact. Books tumbled, shelves overturned, and walls fractured; thorned vines as thick as tree trunks piercing through and crashing into the surfaces opposite to their originating points, rooting themselves firmly in place. Brownish-black sludge oozed forth like sap from the cracks in their aged surfaces, trickling down and pooling into grotesque, bubbling puddles that writhed indignantly to whatever dared near them.
The Cat appeared in a swirling manner, leaving trails of its own matter behind in its hurry to get to Wilma. He looked quite panicked, and his grin was straining. He also notably kept shooting nervous looks at the forming puddles in the Library.
“This is no fault of yours—this was all me. I was too late. I... I neglected her. I should have... I should have–”
He was cut off by his own startled yelp as a mass of fleshy pulp splatted down from someplace above them, blackened veins pulsating through its boneless structure as it heaved and bloated like a lungless entity trying to breathe. White patches were upon its otherwise salmon-pink colouring, and swelling slightly into points—like it was signs of something sharp trying to pierce through from within but to no avail. Much like the ooze, it smelt rank—though now with the added scents of decaying fish and stinging pepper, of all things.
“By God...”
That was all the Cheshire Cat could say. He had stiffened up, and was looking quite translucent. It looked like he was desperate to disappear yet could not bear to look away from the hideous sights originating from his mistress's mind.
“Alice... what have I done to you...?”
Edited by Enirboreh on Oct 21st 2018 at 4:36:00 PM
bork
An Ordinary Oddball
"Cheshire, Cheshire, please calm down. I think she's falling to Madness. At least, that's what the Lurker told me..." Wilma said, scooping up Cheshire and bolting for Alice's room.
The Library helpfully opened the door for her.
"Oh, Alice..." Wilma gasped. "Alice, wake up! It's a bad dream, yes, but it's one that you control! Fix things! Imagine things the way they were before! That's the only way!"
She shook Alice a bit, and was surprised that Madness was uncurling from her hands. Miraculously, it didn't hurt, and it seemed to respond to her thoughts.
Imagine things the way they were before...Yes. Wilma could influence the properties of places, and the Library was hers.
Squeezing her eyes shut, Wilma remembered. She remembered running through its twisting halls when she was younger. She remembered drawing on the walls. She remembered making it the way it was now. It was hers.
And it was her domain to control and fix and do whatever she liked—
KER-CHUNK
As the Library snapped back to normal, containing Wonderland (for now), a flying book whacked Wilma upside the head. She fell unconscious next to Alice.
The Library knew exactly what it was doing—that is, sending Wilma on a visit to Wonderland so that she could help Alice.
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
Down The Rabbit Hole
At the very least even in its decrepit state did Wonderland stick to tradition. Wilma would find herself falling down, down, and still down for the longest time in what at first was a very narrow space with the odd shelves of bottles or two haphazardly stuffed into the earthen walls, but one that became drastically expanded and hideously warped into what felt and looked like the interior of a furnace—with what appeared to be repulsive caricatures of skeletons, dolls, shop mannequins, and other sources of uncanniness that seemed to be deliberately placed to deter unwanted visitors. It culminated into an overlapping mass of fleshy tendrils and hands coated in that disgusting ooze that was blocking the tunnel off; which proceeded to clumsily attempt to grasp at Wilma to prevent her progress down further. However, her momentum was evidently too great, as she ended up tearing right through them and sending some of the appendages free-falling along with her.
Quiet whispering assaulted the ears, many feminine, some masculine. One sounded like Cheshire's smooth baritone, and another was undoubtedly Wilma's own voice.
Thank goodness, but there was suddenly a light below her, and Wilma would find herself ungracefully impacting onto a bed of long-dead flowers. The space was dark, barring the light from the tunnel above—yet that was soon changed as a colossal eyeball rolled forward from the shadows and peered down at her.
It blinked—impossibly so, as the eyelids seemed to fold into existence from the surrounding blackness only to immediately vanish—before retreating back as an ornate doorway etched itself into existence and opened up a sliver with an audible creak. The viscous sludge promptly slumped out from the crack like it had been pressed up against the door's surface the whole time, leading to the possibility that the next room was flooded or otherwise full of the stuff. A pleasant thought, really.
Cheshire, meanwhile, had vanished. Either before, during, or after Wilma's fall. No matter—the cat had a reputation of showing up when unwanted.
Edited by Enirboreh on Oct 21st 2018 at 9:50:33 AM
bork
An Ordinary Oddball
Wilma landed hard on the bed of dead flowers, letting out a forceful "OOF!" Everything here was strange and twisted...something bad was going on.
She looked around, and wondered if Wonderland had some connection to the Dreamscape if she had to be knocked out to access it. If so, she might be able to manipulate it—but that was doubtful. In the Dreamscape, it had been a shared dream, but this, this was Alice's dream.
"Cheshire? Cheshire? Are you there? Can you hear me?" Wilma asked cautiously. Ignoring the voices, she went to open the forboding door covered with ooze. Wilma didn't like the ooze, henceforth referring to it as "Corruption" in her mind.
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
Wonderland
Upon opening the door, Wilma would find herself standing on what appeared to be a mirrored surface that seemed to converge into a point directly in front of her. A starry void was beyond it, and spatters of red were on the floor.
Or at least, that's what it seemed to be at first. Upon looking to the left and right, however, Wilma would simply realised she was staring upwards—the door she had gone through evidently having been positioned horizontally relative to this location. She was actually standing on the side of something.
Upon looking around further, she would realise what exactly this something was, for it had many duplicates lying about in a densely packed manner. It was almost like a forest, in a way.
A forest of massive, bloodstained knives.
Meat cleavers, daggers, razors—practically every blade one could think of was amongst this twisted interpretation of nature. There were... things hopping about in the distance and among the sharp ‘trees’—unidentifiable yet somehow painful to the bone to even catch a glimpse of. Rivers and lakes of ooze pooled in select glades within the vast woods—though the only semblance of wood to be found was in the burnt handles of the treelike knives stuck in the ground.
Actually, this observation would cause the realisation that everything looked burnt. Charred husks of what might have been critters lay upon the ground, and some of the colossal knives looked a little warped and bloated from heat damage. And on another note, the night sky was all wrong—the constellations nonconventional and instead showing gruesome, unspeakable imagery should one concentrate hard enough.
There was a wisp of sorts that rapidly weaved between the glimmering ‘trees’ and congealed next to Wilma—whether or not had she walked down to the still-simmering floor yet—forming into the Cat. Though he didn't look too well. His body was even mangier now to the point of being skeletal, and his fur was in patches as if it had been burnt away. His serrated teeth—disturbing enough on their own—had been ripped out in favour of a set of uncannily humanlike dentures; speckled with dried blood.
“Oh. You made it here alive. Good, so far. Excuse my appearance—I landed in what was once a delightful fishing lake and what is now a pool of that disgusting sludge. Thankfully I managed to scramble out before it could warp me beyond recognition, but as you can clearly see,” he gestured to his form using his paw, “the damage has already been dealt. I fear some aspects and internal issues are reawakening. Sloppiness, on my part. For when I said I stopped one version of Alice earlier...”
He halted, looking rather ill. He had just spotted something behind Wilma—skewered on an iridescent, spiralling parody of a tree branch that looked more like a shaving from a mirror coiled up like a spring. Viscous liquid dripped from its agape mouth and eyes, and its spine was bent at a solid right angle. Backwards.
It was a human corpse. Charred into a scaled shell—its face melted to the point of being unrecognizable.
“...I may have meant I only wiped away what was unclean,” The Cat weakly finished.
Edited by Enirboreh on Oct 21st 2018 at 11:36:38 AM
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An Ordinary Oddball
"Ye gods," Wilma whispered hoarsely. These were horrific sights indeed, akin to that of the Dream Eaters, and Wilma thought she wouldn't have to deal with such things anymore.
But instead, she was treated to the lovely sight of a charred and impaled corpse. Just lovely.
She took a deep breath. "Onward ho," Wilma murmured shakily, taking off her newspaper hat for a bit and having a moment of silence for the corpse.
Soon, she turned around and continued forward. She had to save Alice. The stakes were high, but when were they ever not?
Some Corruption dripped onto Wilma's shoulder and it stung. Wilma jumped two feet in the air and tried to endure the pain. She needed to continue. There was still hope.
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
Wonderland
The Cheshire Cat floated alongside Wilma as she trudged through the forsaken forest, his body half deformed into a wispy, ethereal state. Upon her sudden, muted sound of suffering, he slightly turned—only to huff in both pity at her pain and repulse at the sight of the substance.
“This dreadful ooze has infected Wonderland like a disease. I saw geysers of that unholy liquid spring up on my way here all throughout the forest. I suspect Alice has indeed dredged up buried memories—for the stuff simply reeks of death and night terrors,” he mused. “As for the subject of her nightmares, well...”
He trailed off as they passed through a particular glade engulfed in a dense fog—the silhouette of a partially collapsed husk of a house visible at the edges of the impenetrable cloud. Ash coated the already blackened earth, creating a mixture of greys and blacks quite not resembling what one might expect from a place supposedly called ‘Wonderland.’
“...by presence of the evidence, I'm sure you can get an inkling as to what happened. Let's just say that Alice was never the type to leave of her own volition...”
The faint sound of despaired, yet simultaneously acceptant sobbing could be heard from the upper windows—along with a soft crackling. From the smoke and the orange backlight the house had, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out the situation. But there was a figure shambling about outdoors—limbs flailing about like a scarecrow. Lumpy things were strewn on the floor around him, and a glimmering object was clutched in his hand—but most alarming of all was that his presence smelt the strongest of death and flame excluding only the house.
Edited by Enirboreh on Oct 21st 2018 at 12:56:56 PM
bork
An Ordinary Oddball
"So that's what she remembers...?" Wilma asked. "That's one hell of a memory..."
"We need to find the real Alice and get her to calm down. Fiddling with her memories will only confuse things even more. But I really wonder who's the guy outside...I think he must've started it, judging from the evilness he seems to emanate..." Wilma mused as she truged onwards.
Narrowly avoiding falling into pools of Corruption as they opened suddenly in front of her, Wilma managed to make it to the end of the forest of blades.
"Hold on, Alice," Wilma said, trying to comfort herself as well as Alice (if she could hear her. "Be brave. Help is on the way."
"I just hope we're not too late..."
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
Wonderland
“...Quite...” The Cat muttered in somewhat nervous reply, eyes never leaving the stumbling figure as they crept towards the dilapidated, perpetually burning building. As they were nearing it, the lumps surrounding the crazed individual became more apparent—obviously human-sized and shaped, and with pools of the blackened ooze extruding out of their battered and slashed forms. On top of everything else gruesome with them, they were charred like the corpse they had seen earlier.
The slasher, too, was burnt—though not to such a great extent as to be unrecognizable. A perpetually shocked expression was on his face, and he was near enough to them for the smell of his alcohol-infused breath to assault their noses. He did not notice them, yet still swung in his drunken state. He looked relatively young—too young to be excused as senile.
Cheshire's grin became a hateful grimace, and he looked away, floating instead towards the door of the burning house. Alice's tearful state was dwindling into mere hiccuping, but she still sounded hysterical.
“Let me remove that wound,” The Cat muttered after a long pause, and appeared levitating next to Wilma's wounded shoulder—gently placing his paws upon it. After a moment, a searing sensation occurred; though not unbearable, it was still uncomfortable. Nevertheless, the wound began to evaporate away into ethereal wisps, trailing off in the air and eventually intermixing with the smoke.
“Children are very impressionable when they are around Alice's age at this time. Very much a ‘make or break’ set of circumstances. And when you have someone with abnormally high imagination like she, fantasies can become much more a vice than the event itself.”
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An Ordinary Oddball
Wilma gasped a little as Cheshire healed her shoulder, and said "Thank you," quietly.
Opening the door, Wilma was greeted with an inferno. Coughing, she tapped her newspaper hat—letting her Madness infuse into it—and walked in. The flames licked at her, but did not otherwise burn her thanks to her hat.
However, there were other influences in the house. A beam swung down at her, and Wilma only managed to duck down to avoid being fatally hit in the head.
The house creaked and groaned as if it were alive. They had to get out as soon as possible. Wilma ran upstairs, dodging fireballs, until at last she reached the door to the room where the crying was loudest.
Wilma put a hand to the door. It wasn't warm. Good.
"Alice, it's a friend! I'm going to open the door now!" Wilma warned as she tried the doorknob. It turned perfectly fine.
Wilma stepped into the room...
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
Wonderland
The room was eerily quiet and dark, only lit by moonlight from an indiscernible source. The only sounds apart from the background roaring of fire was the sounds of glass crunching underfoot intermingled with splashing—and when one looked down the source became very quickly apparent.
Dozens upon dozens of oil lamps were scattered about the room, all smashed and spilling out oil. Familiar oil. Black, putrid, corrupting oil—yet it seemed to be too shallow to cause damage to Wilma's feet. The Cat, upon seeing this, became distressed, and hopped down to the floor—scampering to the only other occupant of the room.
Hunched over, dress burnt and skin considerably singed, was Alice—gazing distantly toward the far wall and remaining completely unmoving even as Cheshire pawed at her. The window behind her had been flung wide open—evidently for use as an escape—but by Alice's positioning it looked as if she hadn't had the courage to jump.
“Clumsy... useless... all by my hand...” came a whisper on the wind. Perhaps audibly from Alice herself, perhaps not. She was murmuring in the faintest of breaths, but they were nonsense words.
“All... a-all by my hand...”
Yes, Alice's right hand was stained in what smelled like kerosene, and it was embedded with a few glass shards.
A sudden shock can be a disastrous thing. A bump in the night, or the sound of an intruder. An inability to sleep, and a drowsy grip on a paraffin lamp. A recipe for disaster.
All—quite literally—by her hand.
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An Ordinary Oddball
Wilma stood in shock as she realized what was happening. What Cheshire told her...what was going on right in front of her eyes...Guilt could be a dangerous, dangerous thing indeed.
Wilma approached slowly, unsure of what to do. She could either grab Alice and dive out of the window, completing the events of the memory and possibly delaying its return, or...
What could she do?
Do you wish to help?
Wait. What? What was that voice? Wilma discovered that her Madness was curled around her body, tracing odd florid designs in the air. One tendril dipped down as if to "look" her in the eye.
Do you wish to help? Wilma's Madness asked again. It will cost you.
Wilma wanted to help.
You will fall to Madness much faster. You will be hurt more every time you try to overextend yourself. Such is the fate of an Inspired. Such is the price for playing saint. The Lurker knows it well. Are you absolutely sure?
Wilma still wanted to help.
Very well. Tread wisely in the future...
And Wilma's Madness surged forward to encircle Alice, dancing strangely in the air. All of Wilma, all of her thoughts on heroism, that which was sacred in her mind, beseeched Alice to forgive herself. No one else had the right to.
Wilma felt the storm of Alice's emotions crashing down upon herself, and it seemed as if she had been plunged headfirst into Corruption. She held her breath.
This must be part of the price. I will pay it. I will pay it. I will pay it—I will pay it—I will pay it—IwillpayitIwillpayitIwillpayit
Some of Alice's mental burden was taken by Wilma, who never really had gone through any major traumas and thereby could shoulder some of it.
The flames around the house seemed to lessen and splutter, and ultimately extinguish.
Wilma wiped blood from her nose and eyes, and sagged in her stance. There was so much...
Playing saint...Well, there's no going back, is there?
A question still remained: Was this enough to have helped Alice?
I wear the skin of the Elder Things, having come unto my own.
AKA Nixer
Wonderland
There was a pause—a dead silence enveloping not only the house but the entire realm—before a single daisy rose up between Alice's limp fingers.
A rose followed, then a tulip, and so on. Something resembling beauty was returning to the realm, as the house slowly crumbled away from beneath their feet. The corpses outside were engulfed by a hill that swelled up like a balloon—accompanying stones lurching forth out of the earth to be shaded by a freshly-sprouted tree.
The knife forest shuddered, each blade quivering with an audible sound of metal wobbling, before they started to shoot into the ground with an accompanying zip—vast sequoias taking their place. The remains of the lamps liquefied away into the ground, their leaking Corruption following suit. And the crazed man halted—frozen in time yet still ever-present. A part of darkness unable to be fully removed, lingering in her memory—like the gravestones upon the new hill where the Liddell house used to be.
Alice lay prone on the ground, her dress slowly morphing to that of her blue one. Only it was a little paler, a little darker and more desaturated in shade. And her face still showed that of a troubled mind, but not one on the verge of shattering. The memories were still with her—but no longer haunting her. Wilma's martyrdom had given Alice a chance to move on.
The sky cleared, and the sun spun into view. Clouds billowed into place as if by a hidden machine over the horizon, and the dead critters peeled back onto their feet and to life again. The ash cleared, and the glade became reminiscent of what its name should suggest—a gorgeous clearing in the middle of the forest, with a little hill set aside for the stones.
An atmosphere of pleasure was upon them now, though laced with maturation. The clouds had dark patches, and even in its renewed state Alice's skin still had burn scars. Nightmares were sure to return from time to time, and guilt was to resurface—but never would recollection of that forsaken night bring relentless destruction upon Alice's mind again.
As Wonderland renewed itself to something resembling what it used to be, Alice seemed to... age. Only a little. Perhaps but a year or two in pure apparency. But as her transcendental dreamworld began to fade away in favour of her room at the Library (in very discreet, subtle manner), Alice's internal development was echoed in her physical form.
As she wriggled a little underneath the bedding, now looking to be somewhat comfortable, Cheshire appeared—back in his initial state if not a little muted in colour himself and better proportioned. His humanlike grin was still present over his serrated one, but it was genuine this time, with not an ounce of caution or tired drollness detectable in it.
“...Wonderland thanks you.”
It was only three words, but his inflection alone spoke novels-worth. All he had worked for on his mistress's behalf had finally been resolved, and Alice could finally take the necessary steps on the road to recovery.
He knew he was right to steal those groceries.
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Easton City – Marketplace
“Oh! Thank goodness, I thought he'd do something like that – the cheeky thing!” Alice said with a slight twinge of surprise in her voice as she scolded the cat once more. The grinning creature seemed to look at her strangely – like it was saying ‘then why send me out in the first place?’ – before evidently shrugging it off and looking back ahead.
“Do many people find themselves in this ‘Easton’, then?” she hummed questioningly – half asking the girl and half musing to herself – before remembering her manners and performing a brief curtsy for her.
“Oh, I'm sorry. I nearly forgot to introduce myself. Do excuse me. My name is Alice Liddell. And I suppose I am from someplace else, and I suppose somewhen is also an equal possibility as well, I suppose.”
Did she just say ‘suppose’ thrice in the same sentence? Cheshire thought to himself, only to hiss in surprise as he was suddenly scooped up by his mistress and cradled like a baby. The teasing glint in her eyes as she looked down at him didn't soften the blow to his ego, and he began writhing indignantly in her grip so as to spare further embarrassment.note
“And this... little beast–! Oh, do stop struggling! Ugh!” she grunted as she managed to get the cat stilled, the creature still grinning despite the nigh-murderous look in its eye. “Ahem. Is the Cheshire Cat. See? You can get down now. That wasn't so bad, now was it?” she huffed to the beast, who eagerly leapt back down and edged a couple of inches away from her in case she decided to maul him again. Alice tutted to herself, before drawing in a breath and straightening her apron and dress out.
“I do say I've had quite the upsetting journey so far. I've barely been able to feed us both, and washing is–! Oh, dear, I must look such a mess to you!” she exclaimed in a distraught tone of voice. “What with everything... and now that damnable cat having stolen from you...!”
Said cat looked to her, and narrowed its eyes. Her aura was darkening, and her dress was slightly shifting in colour in her panic. If not dealt with soon, Wonderland might emerge – which wouldn't be a good experience for her at this time, that much was certain.
He shifted his pointed gaze towards the girl with the paper hat. Perhaps she'd be of... some use more than an information broker. If Wonderland was in this poor of a state, it might be time to get some external help.
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