This is a practice fic. Chapters 1-4 are completely K-T rated, chapter 5 is not. I haven't written in a while and thought I'd try out a small fanfic I comped entirely in one night so I could test my rusty skills out. Please be generous with constructive criticism and I am deeply sorry for any mistakes I make. All errors are mine, the story and characters are not. Please, enjoy.
Chapter 1.
Let it never once be said, in any kingdom, country, plane or universe, that Alice Kingsleigh was a graceful faller.
After tearing her way out of the party at some acquaintance's house, Alice had dug the ornate pins from her hair, ripped away the stupid puffed sleeves from her dress, and ripped out the lacy ribbons from her hair. Then, once on the other side of the lush gardens of some Socitey member or another, Alice had tumbled down a rather steep hill. And while she was tumbling, apparently whatever deity was watching the skies tonight had seen fit to make it rain.
She had landed in a heap, after receiving several cuts and bruises, her whale bone dress hoop as opened to the air as a pretty spring tulip.
She had collected herself and trudged on, cold and wet. Her gown, stupid frivolous thing, felt as if it weighed as much as a ship. Gooseflesh crept along her legs and arms, bare of stockings and gloves. For a fleeting moment, Alice wished she had acquiesced to her mother's request of proper under garments, then tossed that thought far into the night.
Five years, she had been gone, sailing around the world, much to her mother's horror. At four and twenty, Alice was the worst kind of spinster, having spent her youth in wild, gay abandon. In her mother's opinion anyway. Never mind the fact that her travels and trading had brought her mother back into the lifestyle to which she was accustomed, then kept her there while Alice gallivanted about the globe.
Alice had been back for a month, dreading the day Mrs. Kinsleigh would lure her back into Society. Like a civilized woman, you know. She'd tirelessly worked with maids and tailors to design a face, gown, and gloves that would cover the healthy gold of her skin, the slide of muscle in her arms and the callouses on her dainty fingers.
Half a decade aboard a ship would certainly do that to a person, Alice mused as she trudged through the bushes.
Society would never accept her now. Not when she had socked a young lord who had gotten too fresh right in his perfect snub nose. The worst part was, she didn't even know his name. Not that it mattered, really. She'd seethed the entire night, fuming at the pompous gits who'd filled her dance card. None of them knew what she liked to read, to eat, what tea she drank or what dances she preferred. None of them cared to find out. All they say was a wealthy spinster who was away most of the year.
Not a man could be found who could measure up to him.
"I would be a terrible wife," she said to herself. "I cannot cook, I cannot mend... I am by no means proper or un-opinionated." Her gown hit a patch of thorns and she yanked at it carelessly until she could move on unhindered.
She thought briefly about crying, but rejected that notion immediately. She had not cried for years, not since that dreadful month on board The Chessur when she had come down with a dreadful island fever. In her cabin, she'd allowed herself a good wallow in self pity. She'd cried for Underland, for Chessur, for the White Queen, for the Hatter. Oh, how she'd cried for the Hatter.
For five long years, Alice had contemplated the entirety of the alphabet. But no matter how hard she tried, Alice could not drag her focus away from the wonderful things she could list from Underland. For all the wonders she'd seen, all the people she'd met, all the spices she'd tasted and the silks she'd run between her fingers, none of it was a rich and lovely as Underland. Her world seemed so pale and lackluster in comparison.
It had taken Alice two years to begin searching for Underland again. Sometimes her dreams had been so vivid, she'd thought herself home again, only to wake and choke bad her sadness and ray for sleep again. She was satisfied she'd examined every rabbit and fox hole in China, fondled every rabbit -white or not, just in case, you know- inspected every hollow log, and even once attempted to dig her own hole.
Then she'd thought maybe she would find it if she wasn't looking, and had tried that for a long while. But of course, it hadn't worked, for Alice was always looking for Underland.
And tonight, of all dreadful nights, she needed it most. Her mother had turned her face from her in embarrassment. Every childhood friend had blanched, and only the captain of her ship had looked her in the eyes after she had cuckolded that dreadful dandy. Alice had detested the look of pity in his eyes, imagined or not.
And now she ached. She ached to be held and shushed and crooned to. She ached to be reprimanded, or to be told what her focus should be. The feeling of purposelessness was consuming, frightening.
"Oh, Alice," she sighed.
She ached for a friend. For bright green eyes and a gap-toothed grin. For years, she'd lain awake at night and dreamed of him. Of all the things she should have, could have, would have said, of had, of been.
He might have liked that rhyme, even if it was a bit lopsided.
Alice had never been in love, and she acknowledged that she was inexperienced in that. But, she thought, if she could describe love or yearning, it would be what she felt for Underland, for the Hatter.
The ground crumbled beneath her feet.
Alice looked down at her muddy white boots, and into the dark, seemingly bottomless hole just beneath her toes. She hadn't noticed, but somewhere she seemed to have cut her leg open rather deeply. Dark red liquid leaked from her dress onto the damp leaves.
Her chest burned and Alice could barely breathe. This was a way to Underland. To home. She knew it like she knew trade routes and spice prices. But there was another knowing, one that cramped her belly and made her hands even colder.
If she left, she would not come back. There was no jabberwocky to slay this time. And even if she found another way into this dreary world, she couldn't withstand the thought of never coming back to Underland.
Would she do it? Would she give up all her hard work, the laboriously owned work, the life and career she'd made for herself, all to live out her days in some wonky dream?
