A/N: This is slightly connected to my other Alice in Wonderland (novel) fanfiction, Journey Under the Lilac Clouds; it takes place in the same sort of universe. This will also be a multi-chaptered fanfiction; I'm not sure how many chapters just yet.
Disclaimer: I do not own Alice in Wonderland or any of its characters. All that I own is the arrangement of words upon this page.
He was of the particular mind that one ought not to choose a profession. Instead, the profession must choose one.
She, on the other hand, was of the particular mind that either one chooses a profession or falls into the line of family business.
He did not believe in the concept of family business. Should one not do what is best for them? Or, as she believed, should one do what is best for the pedigree of the ages-old family?
She could scarcely even consider his insistence that one must not choose their profession. He believed that when the time is right, and cards are down, that one's profession will gladly choose them. This concept made little sense to her and her Victorian sensibilities.
It made perfect sense to him, as did everything in his wonderfully mad world. Sure, in her world, queens wore violet instead of red and rabbits never held pocket watches, and he accepted that. He just also happened to accept the idea that his world was so much more exciting than hers. Her entertainment lay in the mundane practice of cross-stitching and attending excessively formal parties. His entertainment, however, lay in the fantastic practice of hat-making and chasing disappearing felines across the vast lands of Wonderland.
Being a milliner was the supreme delight of his life. To hold a hat in his hands was his utmost joy. He loved the feel of fine velvet across his fingertips, and the delightful cutting of silk ribbons to fit around the hat as a puggaree. He loved to fashion a hat from the jigsaw pieces of delicate fabric, to create something perfect out of imperfect pieces.
Now, he was not much of a philosopher, and he made no claims to be one. However, he did trust in one theory, one extravagant yet believable metaphor: a hat was like a person's life.
A person's life, like a hat, must have all of its necessary parts to survive. A hat must have a crown, a brim, and a ribbon around the circumference. A person's life must have friendship, love, and happiness to tie it all together. Both are held with glue; a hat, literally, but a person's life with the glue made of other lives, interconnecting and meeting.
However, different fabrics may be used to produce different hats, just as different conditions bring about different people's lives. Velvet is a delicate material, and must be used carefully. Different conditions can bring about a delicate life and a delicate person.
Different formations of hats, like different formations of lives, can be affected directly by the maker. A milliner can form any material, if he is good enough, into any style of hat. A person can make anything of his life, if he is courageous and firm of mind enough.
But enough of thinking. He is tired, his bones are aching. He is not old, yet he complains. Interestingly enough, he finds that one complains out loud only when they are young or when they are old. When one is of their middle years, one keeps his complaints close to himself. Impressions are all the rage, after all, and they do matter quite a bit. Luckily, his age was not able to be determined, due to his disinterest in the matter. Ageless was better than old, young, or middle-aged, in his book. And his book was very full.
He is tired, his bones are aching. He stands from his bench, and sets the unfinished hat down upon the table. A sewing machine sits to his right, and many bolts of ribbon sit to his left. Behind him, a vast array of fabrics rests upon a bookshelf. This is his millinery room, this is his true home. He feels as though his heart is here, and didn't she tell him once that home is where the heart is?
He straightens his hat upon his head just the way he likes it – slightly titled to the side. He replaces his gloves upon his hands with a grimace. His hands, worn and calloused, carry the stains of many colors of ink. Colors of ink, days of lives.
He walks from the room, locking the door behind himself. He does not want anyone to steal his ideas, to creep in to his home. Burglars and thieves do not sit well in his book.
He makes his way down the stairs, careful to avoid the last one, for it creaks loudly and disturbs his thoughts. Too late for protecting his thoughts, though, for a certain interruptance makes herself known.
"Sir, I was just wondering –"the girl in the blue dress starts, barreling at top speed straight into him. He smiles down at her, kind eyes green and yet blazing. He draws her into a tight embrace, then lets her go.
"Wondering in Wonderland, how wonderful!" he exclaims. "And where have you been, dear? I looked all over and all under for you, but you were naught to be found!" He shook his head at her, disapproval written all over his face.
"I thought I told you, sir," she said, straightening her white apron across her blue frock dress. She placed her hands at her sides, looking up at him. "I was just looking for something to eat. I was just gone for a minute."
"Didn't seem that way, my dear. Seemed a lot longer than a minute. Maybe five minutes! Every second counts, didn't you know?" he said, smile growing broader and madder with every passing word.
"Every second counts in what?" she asked, curious expression upon her face.
"Life, dear, life, for it is glorious and passes quickly," he stated. "Come on, I want to go down to the river." He abruptly grabbed her hand in his silk lavender gloved one, and practically dragged her out the front door.
"But, sir, where are we going in such a rush?" she exclaimed, running quickly behind him. It always ended up this way, she soon learned: he dashing ahead, and she following behind.
"The river, the river, we're going to the river!" he said in a sing-song tone.
"Why, sir?"
"My hands, my dear, my hands," he said. "I must go to the river." And with that, he pulled her faster and faster until they reached the river.
To be continued…