mischevy
by mistsplash
Sometimes, when it's a bit warm outside and he's in a sentimental, touchy-feely mood, he'll wonder what they call him. It's a rather inane pastime; of course he already knows what they call him: deceiving—naughty—arrogant—annoying. He also knows that there are many more words to add to that list, but alas, he's much too caught up in his own affairs to go hunting down words that don't really mean anything anyway.
For none of these words do him justice. They're so plain and boring, and they don't quite fit. He's not deceiving; he just manages to bend words to his will, using them to gently push his customers whichever way he wishes. He's not naughty, unless having simple fun is considered naughty nowadays—oh, how the times have changed.
He's not exactly arrogant, either. He only chooses to be, and others submit to this plainly performed act. No one ever does something worthy of his humbleness, so why should he pretend otherwise?
Exactly.
Now, is he really annoying? That's quite insulting, he thinks, and rather rude. He's not annoying; he only sees things in a different light. It's as simple as that.
Then, what is he? Everyone else has a word. The Hatter is purely mad; the White Queen is honestly good. The Red Queen is revengeful.
He's not used to not knowing things, so he finds himself a word.
Mischevy.
That will work; he's sure of it. Mischievous is much too pretentious for him, but it's the best so far. A little bit of tweaking, and voila, he has his word. It's a real word; he just knows it, because he's real, is he not?
The Cheshire Cat parades around, proud and cunning as ever, wearing his word like a crown, and no one dares correct him.
Author's Notes:
I really have no idea where this came from. But still - reviews are love. :)
