A/N: We all have read at some point so popular "Girl falls into ME" story. It is compelling to imagine the OC is actually you, or to symphatize with her or him. But many of the stories end up with a Mary Sue as a main character and sweet romance. I read them, oh yes, some are written brilliantly. And some I love to no end.
However, with my story, I would like to change the stereotype. I want to write something more realistic, more potent, more back to earth. It is up to you, to judge, if I have done a good job or not.
So let's start.
21.05.2015: Grammar editing for chapter I done by my friend Kremik. A big thank you for him as he keeps me always on my tiptoes, when it comes to plot creating and grammar.
About Alice
ARC I
Chapter I
- I -
The white plastic chair in a sterile white agency, with turquoise complements to give the environment a fresh and productive feeling, with an immaculate secretary sitting behind the desk, gave her chills. The woman, as so many before her, had long ruby nails and a false smile plastered upon her face, looking especially busy while typing away on her standard Lenovo, doubtlessly chatting on Facebook.
Why was she here, waiting for yet another interview? She felt really lost…
The typewriting stopped, emphasizing the silence in the room.
"You can go in," the secretary said and her mascara-burdened eyelashes fluttered like butterfly wings, her fingers restless on the keyboard. Obviously, she only waited for her to enter next door to resume her activity. And now she was sitting in another white plastic chair, opposite another well dressed middle management lackey.
"Welcome, Miss Hare." The obligatory handshake and her soft spoken reply on her slightly smiling lips; the whirlwind of well-worn questions with "Why have you applied for this position, Miss Hare?" starting and she knew all her answers, with the experience of a seasoned veteran.
"You wrote in your CV that you like reading? Is that right?" The mood softened, lost the edge of strict professionalism and the interview elapsed to its second half.
"Yes. I prefer mystery novels and literature of the 19th and 20th century." As expected, the man could only come up with Arthur Conan Doyle's Sherlock Holmes, and turned the conversation towards movie adaptations of his stories.
She didn't care anymore as she politely smiled and nodded as the manager chattered on, evidently pleased with the topic. Having finally exhausted the subject, the interview was at its end. Back in his managerial role, he amiably informed her that they would get in touch. Another handshake and she was back in the white and turquoise room, looking at another candidate sitting on the white plastic chair and the secretary once again typing away on her computer.
She exited the lobby, then the building and walked into the blinding sun...
-II-
The man, standing only few steps away from her, looked as someone who had run away from a shooting of a medieval movie. Her laughter was however short-lived as she realized something was definitely amiss; she stood no longer on the asphalt sidewalk, nor the building she exited was behind her back anymore. The the noon sun was brighter, prickling her eyes as she looked upon the bright blue skies and too green vegetation. No civilization in sight, except her in her uptight clothing.
Eventually, she was just staring with her mouth wide open.
The man stood still, unphased it seemed, and frankly she would have forgotten him, save he moved. He appeared as frightening as any genuine woodsman from the 15th century would. With a hand on the hilt of his sword, clad in worn leather tunic and dirtied boots, the stranger seemed tense as a feral cat, ready to leap.
Her first impulse was to run. However, logical reasoning persuaded her not to - albeit, he looked extremely unpleasant. It might to be due to the unwashed hair that hung in greasy strands around his face, or the dirt and sweat that streaked his brows, she couldn't tell and yet she took the last few steps forward, closing the distance between them. Feeling like a moth drawn to the flame, she tried to inspect him more closely. His mien was harsh as his brown intelligent eyes scrutinized her. Absentmindedly, she smoothed her carefully plaited hair. The stranger narrowed his eyes, seemingly irritated by her action, and loosened his grip on the sword's hilt. Yet, he didn't seem to be baffled or in any way moved by their circumstances or surroundings.
They just stood there, perusing each other. She felt extremely uncomfortable under his gaze in her white blouse and black knee length dress. The tension was almost palpable in the air. Now she was really at a loss, smiling ruefully, standing only a few feet away from him.
-III-
Her breath came out shallow, in quick puffs, leaving her woefully short on oxygen. She was immensely thankful she had opted for her shoes without heels. With heels, fleeing would be virtually impossible and she had to keep running! She pushed herself with every last bit of willpower to quicken her flight.
When the man had moved closer, she hadn't expected anything, but when he had lunged for her, she had recoiled in fright, nearly stumbling backwards.
Even the lowest lice infested beggar in middle Ages would have recognized the danger and had enough wits about him to run at the first sight of that character. But then again, the 21st century hadn't prepared her for such situations. Now her fear rose, and with it a desperate feeling of futility. She felt him closing in on her, the pounding of his steps beating the leaf-covered ground.
She shouldn't have neglected her first instinct. How was it possible that she always failed so miserably when it came to judging people? It was getting old.
Her escape was suddenly halted as her satchel caught on the branches of a nearby tree. She turned without second thought to reach for it.
A mistake!
Her pursuer was only a foot away. She dodged to the left, circling a stout trunk. For a second out of sight, she lunged under the nearest bushes, crawling through them and emerging on the other side.
Another mistake!
The scrubs were too sparse to afford any kind of protection. Scrambling to her feet she once again ran for it.
The woodsman did not hesitate, and moved swiftly forward, grabbing her long hair and yanking it back. Her strands were in stark contrast with his skin, his darker sun-tanned complexion against the light of her curls. It fascinated him, but this distraction faded as quickly as it came. She lunged at his hands, clawing at them, struggling to release the hold.
She was no pliant woman. She furiously buried her fingernails into his skin, drawing blood. "Wench!" his growl startled her, and then he yanked backwards, his fist closing tightly on her scalp. She yelped in pain, redoubling her efforts to free herself, flinching against the pain.
Her struggles thrilled him. Breathing harder, he pulled her backwards. Alice stumbled along, at a loss for balance, still trying, hands clawing into his skin. She tried to regain footing, but his pull on her hair strengthened. At this moment she looked like a rabbit caught by its ears, he thought bemused, then, he kicked her feet from under her, making her fall forward. The only connection between them was her hair in his hand.
She fumed with exertion. It was ironic how she couldn't manage to scream or call for help. In movies, the damsel in distress always screamed at the top of her lungs - and here she was, unable to make a sound, grunting in her attempt to get the man off of her - his knee pressing in the small of her back, her hands pushing against the dirt.
She was trying to get herself on all fours, to gain some ground. But it was fruitless. She flailed helplessly around. Gasping and grunting like a yeasty horse, she still refused to give up.
His excitement flared even higher when the woman's buttocks rubbed against his thighs as her struggles redoubled. Soft hair in his hand, a squirming, definitely feminine body against his and her laboured grunts was something he hadn't experienced in a very long time. His libido stirred.
She froze beneath him as his erection thrust against her buttocks, her breath hitching. In that moment it was very easy to flip her around, catch her hands and bind them in front of her.
The frightened look she gave him made him to thrust forward against her pelvis again. His own pleased grunt mixed with her scared yelp. He smirked, indulging himself awhile with this little game, assessing her reactions with delight.
However, the goods weren't to be ruffled too much. What a shame! She would be just delicious, he knew it. Yet the prospect of money was more alluring… he caught himself a prize. The woodsman narrowed his eyes and came face to face with the little beast underneath him. He could see it right away, hair soft smelling of something fresh, skin pale and nearly flawless, eyes like a frightened deer.
Deciding the Gods have smiled upon him, he stood up, yanking the rope. "On your feet woman! Walk!"
-IV-
It was getting darker and they haven't stopped yet. Her face and hands- actually, all of her front - was covered in grassy man hadn't bothered with her when she had tripped upon a branch or a rock and fell; only pulling on the rope, expecting from her to quickly scramble to her feet and continue walking. Her wrists, raw from the continuous tugging, itched, but it was her least worry for a few hours now. She had gotten no water and no food since noon; feeling parched was the foremost thing she could really think of. Having missed the moment when the man in front of her stopped, she ran head on into his back.
His angered words were lost on her as the roar in her ears was not the exhaustion, but actually a nearby water source with its welcoming sound.
The man stretched his muscles. The river before them was the Mitheithel - silvery water set into rocky banks. It was refreshing to hear something else than the whistling and whining sound of rushing wind through the Arnor plains. It reminded him of someone beating a dog - not a pleasant sound at all.
They had crossed quite a distance from the forest's border. Fortunately, he recognized this river, on these banks their party had camped on several occasions when transporting goods to their base of operations.
He gazed at the woman behind him, too exhausted to try anything, scratching his stubble - in these lands no one would care.
The mountains ahead were the Ettenmoors – they were closer to the mountain range than he had expected. They would have to turn southward, down towards the lower watercourse of river Bruinen. There, under the protection of oak trees and willows, his fellow comrades gathered goods, preparing for the voyage to the south. This year's first delivery will pay off.
His attention once again turned to the woman. She was too exhausted, that was obvious, but still she had fought like a wildcat. The small wounds on his knuckles reminded him of it - such a nuisance. With a harlot like this one, complications were never too far away. It wouldn't be a waste of time to bind her properly for the night.
He led them down to the stream and she carefully picked her way, not prone to fall head down to the rushing water, only then realizing how thirsty she was. Her eyes turned to the man who was already kneeling and drinking the cold liquid. She didn't hesitate and followed his example, leaning against the bank, drinking hastily, in great gulps. It felt definitely good to ease her thirst and soothe her aching wrists. She left them in the running water and nearly tumbled into it herself, as his voice sounded from above her.
"We will stay here through the night."
This was the woodsman's first real sentence during their long march. Growling silently she pushed herself at least into a sitting position, panting like a wild animal; she wasn't sure, if she wasn't becoming one. It cost her nearly all the strength she had left to scramble back upwards the steep river bank to their encampment..
She ground her teeth together. Frightened and tired, yes, she had never been so frightened and tired in her whole life, but be damned her dignity she would be left here bound like a beast for slaughter. But facts were simple, she was sitting on the ground, her hands rubbed raw by a cord, filthy and hungry; it was nearly as bizarre as sitting on a white plastic chair in the too sterile environment of the hiring agency. This situation was just absurd, she couldn't emphasize it more. These two worlds were so far away of each other, with no common ground; yet they were somehow familiar. Pondering their vast differences would be unreasonable of course, but the fact she felt in both situations uncomfortable and ripped out of reality didn't help either.
So what was her conclusion anyway? Examining how it all happened was still beyond her. Not that she didn't understand the mechanics of abduction, really no, but she had never thought this could happen to her. And she wouldn't go for the obvious reason she hadn't been on the main street the moment she had stepped out of the hiring agency residence. Her head was still trying to comprehend these circumstances and the only thing, that was swirling in her mind, was Charles Lutwidge Dodgson's Alice's Adventures in Wonderland. She would have laughed at the irony, if she had strength left for such actions.
Instead she had to turn her mind to something present and earthy that could be assessed in the immediate moment, to give the picture substance. The woodsman was dangerous - there was no denying that. Anything reckless would cost her dearly. His last show of strength was still bright in her memory, tingling with alarming clarity through her body. The question was if she dare for the bolder move or she will stay docile.
There was also the question of their whereabouts - the fact that she had no idea where she was, was to some extent frightening, she had to admit as much. If she wanted to get out of this situation, she had to confront the man. Maybe with a little bit of luck, she would discover where she was and what this was all about. What would happen to her afterwards was a different story entirely. Her head supplied very colourful images of her future existence; none of it pleasant, that she knew for sure.
In her sitting position she silently, demurely, observed the man who now sat opposite to her, fidgeting with what looked like a stone and long hunting knife, getting a fire started.
She took a deeper breath and he expectantly looked at her. It was apparent that the woman was gathering resolve. Most of the captives tried to run, beg, or even offer themselves in exchange of their freedom, but that she would like to indulge in a conversation wasn't exactly a common practice - it irked him even before she opened that mouth of hers.
"Excuse me." and he bristled even more on hearing that voice, calm, collected, with that foreign accent prominent in her every word.
"Could you possibly tell me where we are?"
He didn't bother to answer, it was beyond him why she asked about their whereabouts. She should beg, cry, sob and plead, and not engage in conversation.
"Could you tell me where we are?"
His shoulders squared. He wasn't sure what drove this woman to push him, but any other would have known when to shut up.
"It would be very helpful if you would answer to me. This one-sided conversation is tiring."
Maybe she should have seen it as a warning, but instead it made her bolder, more reckless. She didn't know what possessed her to rattle like this. It was audacious, definitely so, but she was unable to stop herself. Maybe it was from the fear of him or from the elation of finally resting, she couldn't tell, but she was seriously pushing her luck and she liked it.
"Could you cut the rope?" she blurted out. A stupid question yes but her wrists hurt.
He nearly choked. Was this woman mad? It really caught him off guard. "Do you really think I will do it?"
She considered it for a while. "No." the disappointment in her voice mingled with the evening air. But it didn't discourage her – much. She got him talking.
"Who are you? Where are we going and what do you plan with me?" she talked hastily. "My family is not involved in politics or with any celebrity. You wouldn't gain any publicity from kidnapping me. Really it would be better to...", she stopped.
The realization hit her like a lightning. They were in the middle of the nowhere. If he wanted publicity, he would arrange it otherwise, not dragging her the whole day without food through the plains of... where?
"I can pay you. How much do you want?" She wheezed. No way in hell will this happen to her - abducted by a greasy haired weirdo.
The scoundrel passed over her with his cold gaze. She was getting more and more irritating. He was considering the best way to silence her, but when she stopped talking and her eyes nearly bulged out of her head, she looked so frightened he had to laugh.
He laughed even harder as she asked the stupid question about price. She would never as much money or goods as the Corsairs could provide for her.
He abruptly stopped laughing and his dark piercing eyes looked at her.
"Now shut up."
"But tell me the price." she didn't want to give up.
"I said SHUT UP."
"I can pay. We can..." She at last resolved to beg, her doe like eyes frantically scanning his face, searching for a sign of kindness.
Suddenly she lay on her back with the man atop her, his dagger against her pale throat. He deliberately pressed it into her, nicking her skin. Red blood coated the blade; the steel, now ruddy, gleamed in the setting sun. It excited him even more when the woman beneath him started to struggle. Her pupils dilated, bound hands trying to press against his chest. She was gasping for breath, his weight preventing her from inhaling properly.
"Now hear me carefully," he leaned closer; his breath searing against her face. Goosebumps immediately rose on her exposed neck. It made him smile. "You will behave and speak only when asked. Do you understand?"
She managed only to nod.
"You will obey my every order! When I say run, you will run; when I say shut up, you WILL shut up!" his words were punctuated by his squeezing hand on her throat. Her throat felt already bruised.
"And when you don't..." a pungent silence interrupted only by her frantic attempts to draw breath "there are many ways to force you to cooperate. Have I made myself clear?"
With her lids now tightly shut against tears that leaked from the corners of her eyes she nodded once again.
"GOOD!" He released her from his grip.
It was almost like an afterthought when his hand flew and backhanded her for good measure. He smirked. This would teach her some compliance – in the long run, she would benefit from this trait. That is, if she was quick to learn.
- V -
"... move."
She moaned. After all that was he going to force her to walk again? Wasn't all his show of superior force and strength enough of reminder of who was in charge? Would he drag her through the plains in the middle of the night to prove his point?
Someone collided with her, swearing.
That captured her attention. That and the fact she felt warm as in hot day in a city.
Her eyes flew open.
The main street at summer noon was buzzing with life. She stood with her back to the entrance of the hiring agency profoundly confused. A man with piercing eyes and a scowl on his face, obviously in a foul mood was standing face to face with her barking on her something about being irritatingly bothersome as she wasn't paying attention where she was standing and what she was doing.
She had to look confused as he bristled even more and stormed away angrily.
Alice Hare watched him go, then bend to collect her scattered CVs. Her gaze still somewhat glassy.