Suspicion as an Artform

-From the author of "Lying as an Artform". No one gained my trust easily. Not even the man I love. In fact, he's still the only person, save my mother who ever deserved my trust. Because he was the only one who saw my heart, and never broke it. Non-mushy, follows Alice from start to finish.-


Author's Note: May I just say, it's almost physically painful to write this one with such slander toward Hatter's good name. But please know, it's in everyone's best interest. And when the time is right this will get slightly mushy :) Expect a good amount of detail on how beautiful Hatter is..... later. Right now it just wouldn't make sense though would it? So enjoy the almost cynical view of our Hatter from the eyes of his love. :)


Alice

Mistrust


I had always been able to hide my emotions from the world. I suppose this made me the ultimate actress. My longing for internal privacy started just over ten years ago. March 23rd exactly. The day when the only male influence in my life disappeared. I was hurt, torn apart in fact, but... I never let Mom see me cry. I have often thought that if only I had opened up at the time and actually gotten over his disappearance, I would've let Jack into my life and changed the course of my personal history forever.

I loved Jack, but I didn't trust him completely. I couldn't, we had only just met. When he offered the ring I closed up and wouldn't let him come near me again. But, giving me further reason to not trust him, he slipped the ring in my pocket. After getting over the initial indignance of the man I'd just kicked out getting his hand that close to my arse, I chased after him, falling through the looking glass.

* **** *

My ice cold dress hung on me uncomfortably and my clingy wet tights were murder. I wasn't in the most friendly of moods when I found myself at the mercy of a disgusting long-haired man and his cohort in the bright white, grassy office space.

"Would you like a cup of tea?" An annoyingly nasal voice asked casually from it's hiding place behind a white swivel chair. I wouldn't accept a smile from this strange place, much less a drink.

"No, thank you. Who are you?"

"A friend, I hope." The man turned around to face me. The hint of some sort of a mustache decorated his face, his tangled mass of dark hair stuck up in all directions underneath an ancient looking hat. He wore a red silk shirt with a cheap-looking pattern, a tan leather jacket that matched his hat, and strange purple pants. He had the look of a sleazy conman, the only thing that kept me from ditching right then was his eyes. They seemed rather innocent...

"See?" The dirty sewer-man unwrapped the reeking bandana that he had tightened around my unwilling arm, revealing the grotesque plant-like tattoo.

"How'd you break out of the scarab?" Scarab? I hadn't thought of the flying machine as a scarab, but it did bear some resemblance to a beetle.

"What the beetle thing?"

"Uh." He confirmed rudely.

"Well I used my hairpin and-"

"Fell." The disrespecting man interrupted me.

"Huh. As you can see I'm drenched." He turned around and affirmed what I had said. "Look, this place… where-what is it?" I must've been drugged. I thought. It was the only reasonable explanation. But I realized how aware I was of my surroundings, how very cold my damp clothes felt and the reek cascading off of the walking sewer next to me, this had to be reality.

"Oh, Wonderland." He remarked, acting as if I should already know. And I saw it again, the brilliant innocence that was usually hidden under eyeliner and a teasing front.

"That's a story... in a kid's book." I thought back to Lewis Carroll's classic. Alice in Wonderland. The only reason I really enjoyed that book when I was little was because my father told me it was written about me. When I was old enough to know that it was just a coincidence that the book's heroine had my name I looked at the book differently. It's odd characters and non-existent plot did not particularly appealed to my tastes any longer.

"Does this look like a kid's story to you?" Was the man's simple answer.

"No…" It was more comparable to a nightmare I'd had long ago.

"It's changed a lot since then." Since when?

"Oh, so you're saying that it was real?" Possibly insane, this guy's card was marked.

"You oysters don't know how to find us so-excuse me-" I tried to back away but he grabbed my arm, using a magnifying glass to get a better view of the ferny marking. "you tell yourselves we don't exist and quite frankly… we'd like to keep it that way."

"Why am I an oyster? Wh-this?" I gestured to the green mark that apparently classified me as an "oyster" in his mind.

"That's no' gonna come off. Sorry!" I did not appreciate this guy's humor. "Only people from your world turn green when they're by the light. It's the suit's way of branding their catch and they call you oysters because of the shinny little pearls that you all carry inside." At least he was explaining something.

"What do you mean, pearls?"

"She's Alice," The distasteful man stopped him from answering "Tell him who you are!"

"Really?" he circled me like I was a piece of meat, I remained stony, not letting out the slightest hint of emotion. The cleaner man wrapped a reluctant arm around the dirty one. "Ratty here, thinks you're Alice. Of legend."

"Who?" This was all some strange coincidence... there are no legends connected with my name.

"The last-um" He, to my relief, released 'Ratty'. "the last time a girl called Alice came here, from your world, she brought down a whole house of cards. Oh yeah." He got so close I could smell his breath, it was not unpleasant, almost sweet from all the tea he consumed, but I still didn't want it near me. I held a strong gaze ahead of me. "Made quite an impression. Although it was 150 years ago-it can't be the same girl, oysters don't even live that long."

"I still want a good price." Price? He was supposed to be helping me.

"Hey, wait a minute! I am not for sale." The tea-drinker held up a hand to stop me, then made a gesture towards Ratty that made me doubt his status as "cohort". He stalked off to a shelf that held illuminated bottles of some sort of colored water.

"Not on the grass." he called without even turning around to see Ratty move. His over-awareness bothered me, I had the feeling that he was picking up on things I didn't wan him to know. "Here we are!" he chose a pink bottle and skirted around the desk, acting like he was a show-man in a commercial. "Pink nectar. Filled with the thrill of human excitement. 50 oysters were drained of every last drop of hullabaloo so that you, Ratty, could taste what it feels like to win just once. Warning! Don't take it on an empty stomach and only one tiny drop at a time or the experience might burst your shriveled up little heart. Got it?" Drained? What was he talking about? He was dangerous, I could tell from the start.

"Got it." The sewer-man reached greedily for the pink liquid.

"Good. Go." Ratty hurried off, clutching to the bottle like it was a million dollars. The other man sniffed the hand that had come in contact with Ratty.

"He really smells…"

"Oysters were drained? What do you mean drained?" I tried not to sound too interested, but I think it came across more as fear and he directly and bluntly changed the subject.

"Ratty tells me you're looking for someone." I didn't want this guy's help, but I knew I probably needed it.

"His name is Jack Chase. He was taken by a man with a white rabbit on his lapel." The man sat down to his tea, not allowing me to see his reactions.

"I see. Hm." He was deciding how much to tell me. I had a hunch that he knew exactly where Jack was. "The White Rabbit is an organization controlled by the suits. They travel back and forth, through the looking glass and… banish people from your world to ours."

"Why?" He talked about the suits as if he didn't support what they were doing. I held on to the hope that I had judged him wrong and he might have a bit of a heart.

"To use. In the cassino."

"Use?" he certainly had no trouble with bluntness.

"Did I say 'use'? I-slip of the tongue, they're fine. You know, they keep 'em… alive and… moderately happy." It didn't matter if he was happy, just as long as he was alive. If I could only find out where this casino was, I would ditch this guy and leave him to enjoy his tea and bottled Excitement.

"How do I get to this casino?" I doubted he would answer me straight. He seemed to like to avoid important questions.

"That's the thing! You don't. Way too dangerous." Like I thought, no straight answers. I didn't care if it was dangerous, I could slip in. I was going to ask him again, but he continued. "But, I know some people who know some… well other people, if you know what I mean. It's one of the privileges of running a tea shop." He had progressively gotten closer to me, ending by popping the "p" in my face. I flinched, unwillingly. His smiled for a second, stopping when he realized I wasn't smiling. "Lighten up." I'm searching for my kidnapped ex-boyfriend, I thought, I have nothing to be light about! He stalked away and threw open a set of glass doors in a wardrobe that held tightly packed coats.

"Tada!" He smiled over his shoulder as he presented the coats, he picked out a heavy looking dark purple number. "You should wear this." I wasn't sure what he meant by giving me a coat, if he thought I was staying with him he was truly mad. "It'll cover the glow… and stop you from catching a cold." It sounded as if he actually cared, it was kind of him to offer, but I knew he would want something in return.

"I have a little money. But I understand you don't use that here."

"Pieces of paper? Pointless." Alright then, I was essentially broke for as long as I stayed here. Nothing comes for free, so I needed to get Jack and leave as soon as I could.

"Then why would you help me?"

"Do I need a reason to help a pretty girl in a very wet dress?" I turned around to see if he was for real. Was he honestly just checking me out? Well, in that case it'd be a shame to put on the jacket and risk covering up the eye-candy. "Oh I see… you don't trust me. Fine!" he tossed the coat onto a nearby couch "I am genuinely hurt. You know why they call me Hatter?" Hatter, oh lord... he was mad, I thought. I didn't see what his nickname had to do with my trusting him though. If anything it made me trust him less.

"Because you wear a hat?" It was slightly obvious, but I had a feeling I was about to be told I was incorrect.

" No…" It looked like he was actually considering my answer. "because I'm always there when they 'pass the hat', so to speak. Philanthropy, generosity, I mean you can call it what you will it's who I am! And right now, looking at you there there's nothing I want more than to help you find…"

"Jack." I offered.

"Jack! And return you back to your charming world of children's stories." it didn't make sense that he would want to help me "just because". And his charming little comment about my clinging dress was not helping his lie.

"I don't believe you." I wouldn't give him an inch. He was mad, after all.

"I know what you're thinking. If I'm the frying pan than that out there-" He pointed "is the fire. I'll be square with you. I know people who like to help your kind. And if every once in awhile I scratch their back…" He waited for me to answer again.

"They'll scratch yours." I was starting to wonder if this wasn't some psychology trick- getting me to finish his sentences would make me start to trust him. It made sense, but then again... 'Wonderlanders' weren't sensible.

"Precisely. Lot 'a scratching!" Fine. I'd put on the coat.... but the minute he started feeling me up I would bolt. This was not a particularly ideal situation.

"Do try to keep up." He opened the wall, there was a well-hidden door there that I hadn't noticed. He must taking me to these "people", I figured. At the very least I'd be able to learn my way around Wonderland... but there was always the possibility that the "people" would help. I resigned myself to that possibility and followed him outside.


Author's note: It is nice, getting to use more prose and eloquent speech. I figured Hatter wouldn't be thinking in prose and similes and metaphors as most human females often do. So, although I will miss Hatter's head dreadfully, at least I can now add some good old-fashioned romanticism. I do hope you will enjoy this as much as "Lying as an Artform". :D After Alice I'm thinking "Insanity as an Artform" Charlies POV! Lol, wouldn't that be a trip?