Disclaimer: I do not own any characters or references that appear in this story. All I own is the plot.

I've been playing with this general idea for a few months now, and I am finally satisfied with the opening chapter. Strange though it may sound, I've made it one of my resolutions for the New Year to post and complete this within the year. I have an awful track record of procrastination, so I need a little extra motivation now and then. I must credit the origins of this story to WCMI, as it is the sole reason I even became interested in this fandom in the first place. The story is meant to be entirely separate from the WCMI universe, but you may catch a few references/tributes to the comic.

Alice is twelve at the beginning of this story, so we'll all happily go with the book age (seven) for her initial visits to Wonderland, mkay? Chapters will be as long or as short as I choose, but will probably average out to be around four pages. It really just depends. Please read, enjoy, and review! I haven't worked on a long story in ages, so I want to know what works for you and what doesn't. Any constructive criticism will be welcomed with open arms.


Darkness encompassed Alice, tendrils of icy shadow sliding against her skin. An empty sea of darkness enveloped her, any and all light swallowed up by the encroaching gloom. She felt as if she were floating, buoyant against the looming sea of shadow.

Suddenly light flooded her senses, overwhelming eyes that had only just adjusted to the darkness. She felt firm ground beneath her feet once more and staggered, swaying on wobbly legs as she attempted to reorient herself. Her feet squelched as mud and water flooded into her shoes to saturate her stockings and pool between her toes, and her face contorted in disgust as the icy water seeped through the thin material of her stockings. Shuddering, she drew her foot out of the puddle and shook off the excess mud, glaring down at the offending pooled precipitation. As she did so, she noticed something peculiar: that wasn't the puddle from in front of her house…

With dawning wonder, Alice slowly raised her gaze from the puddle to her surroundings, taking in the wide, spacey clearing in which she stood. The air was chilled, heavy with thick drops of precipitation that had yet to fall, and morose grey clouds hung low in the autumn sky—it seemed England was not the only place to be experiencing dismal, rainy weather. Even the long table in the center of the clearing was damp--though, the dishes had seemingly escaped the deluge and sat unsoiled and dry on the sodden table cloth.

"Wonderland," she breathed, relaxing muscles she hadn't known were tense. "I'm in Wonderland." This was simultaneously a relief and an annoyance to Alice. On one hand, she hadn't been randomly transported to the middle of Who-Knows-Where, but she had landed in the most improbable and irritating place she had ever known.

Alice sighed and stepped towards the table—and grimaced, her foot promptly sinking into another icy pool of water. Her puddle was seemingly not alone in the open garden, its brethren scattered liberally about the grass and sitting comfortably among the homes they had carved out for themselves during earlier deluges. Thick mud carpeted the ground, its seasoning of grass and leaves creating a lovely soupy mess beneath the thin layer of rainwater.

Wryly, Alice yanked her foot out of the puddle and smoothed out her skirts, carefully searching for any errant water clinging to her clothes. Miraculously, only the hem of her cloak had sustained any substantial soaking, and she marveled at the unusual consideration taken by whatever force it was that transported her back and forth between Wonderland and her very own England.

Her first trip to the bizarre land, of course, had been through the rabbit hole; the second, through the looking glass. Following such forays,—befuddled, bemused, and completely and totally lost—Alice had sworn off of Wonderland completely, vowing that she would never again return to that uncooperative and improbable land.

Her thoughts, however, had ignored her resolutions, and she had found her mind wandering quite frequently to memories of those golden afternoons. She dreamed of playing croquet with flamingos, tea with the Hatter and Hare, and, sometimes (but only when she really needed a pick-me-up) she dreamt of taking some shears to those darned flowers. The half-memories and imaginings circulated throughout her head for years, teetering on the brink of improbable and forgettable.

They nevertheless remained, and began to slowly filter back into her head as Alice grew older and more rebellious of her prim and proper lifestyle. It had only been logical, then, that she eventually had returned to Wonderland, and not long after her twelfth birthday, Alice had found herself opening the gate in front of her house and closing the gate to the March Hare's garden.

Recollections of previous visits with the two characters at the tea table swam to the forefront of her mind, and she remembered how, on that initial return, she had prepared herself for the worst. Braced for a barrage of insults and bizarre half-truths, she had been shocked to find that the Hatter and Hare had proven to be cordial and polite, even offering her a steaming cup of tea (though, of course, she ended up not drinking a drop of it). Alice's initial shock at their civility had worn away after the first few moments, however, and had been replaced by a wry understanding as she realized that the pair fluctuated quite regularly from affable and good-humored to insolent and sarcastic.

In her older age, which she felt was quite old indeed, she had been able to step back and truly see the companions for what they were—great friends who loved to have fun and cared little, it had seemed to her, for anything else.

This suited Alice quite well, and the three (as well as the Dormouse) had quickly settled into a quite comfortable routine. On those days where the Hatter and his long-eared companion were feeling loquacious and jovial, Alice would sit back and enjoy civil, intelligent conversation with the man and his friend (punctuated though it was, of course, by lewd humor and puns of both the subtle and not-so-subtle variety). When it came into the tea-ridden companions' heads (and particularly the Hatter's) to be difficult, Alice took the bit between her teeth and met the eccentric hat maker head on, parrying his every insult and sarcastic remark with one of her own; she saw it as a time to sharpen her own wit, and, though she never admitted it even to herself, she enjoyed those encounters at least as much as any where he was to be considered "sociable."

The problem with the Hatter, Alice had decided, was that he was always energetic. Whether they were in a rare moment of agreement or locked in a heated debate over the most random of topics, Alice could never truly identify a moment where the Hatter was not exhibiting some manner of zeal. The man just did not stop. He flew into anything and everything at full speed, the Hare and Alice watching bemusedly from the sidelines as he attempted one nonsensical act after another. Strangely enough, now that she thought about it, the behatted man had been her companion for most of her recent adventures in Wonderland—not that Alice was complaining. On the contrary, whenever the Hatter had been present, things had become much livelierthan they normally would have been.

Now, six months subsequent to that initial return, Alice found herself in the garden once again. She shifted her weight to the other foot, sliding briefly in the mud to avoid being sucked into it, and turned towards the table, taking stock of the never-ending supply of tea cups and pots. Most unusually, nobody was seated at the table; it seemed that this time she had beaten the Hatter and Hare to the garden. Which, she thought to herself, is only logical as even I didn't know that I would be here today. She frowned at that. That couldn't be right. No, she never quite knew exactly when she would show up in Wonderland, yet the Hatter and Hare were always there waiting.

Shrugging, Alice decided to take advantage of their unusual absence. Stepping around the large puddle that had served as her door into Wonderland, Alice picked her way through the mire that constituted the Hare's garden, stepping delicately between flooded flower beds and submerged patches of grass. She scanned the table, assessing the chairs. There. A large, squashy armchair sat at the head of the table, dry despite the morning's deluge. Picking her way over to it, Alice reached out to pull it back from the table.

A hand grasped her shoulder and she jumped, biting back a gasp. Spinning around, Alice glared accusingly at the Hatter, who was diligently fighting back laughter. "That was not nice," she said, scowling mightily at him. Inwardly, she thought some very un-lady-like words. She wanted that tea.

The Hatter lost his battle and let out a loud guffaw. "And yet," he said, chortling, "it was very entertaining."

Alice raised her nose in the air and turned away from him. "Well, if that's how you treat your friends, perhaps I won't be returning anymore." They both knew it was only a diversionary tactic. Inch by inch, she made her way closer to the chair, sliding her feet ever so slowly across the ground.

"As if you could ever stay away from Wonderland," he scoffed, calling her bluff. He slipped around her and planted his bottom in the seat of her chosen chair. "Better luck next time," he said encouragingly as she frowned. "Might I suggest that beautiful specimen over there?" He pointed to the chair to his immediate right. "Walnut, I believe, with a fine finish. Beautiful curvature in the back, intricate designs carved on the legs and back, and—"

Heaving a mighty sigh, Alice sat in the indicated chair. "Yes, yes," she said, cutting her companion off mid-sentence. "You're not selling it to me, you know."

The Hatter quirked an eyebrow. "And how should you know?" he asked. "That is a perfectly acceptable chair. Perhaps I am selling it."

Folding her hands primly in her lap, Alice quirked an eyebrow of her own. "Well, seeing how this garden and everything in it belong to our dear friend the March Hare, that doesn't seem far too likely." She met the Hatter's bright gaze with a confident and superior smile.

White-gloved fingers drummed irritably against the tabletop. He really did hate to lose.

"So, where is the March Hare?" Alice spared him the trouble of dredging up a new topic to mask his defeat (for they both knew that's what he would have been doing). She was genuinely curious as well, for she could not really recall a visit where she had not seen the Hare at least once.

"Oh, he had to go in to court today," the Hatter said dismissively, waving a hand in the air. "Something about assisting the Queen with a magic trick. She has it in her head to be a magician at the moment, and you and I both know there's no arguing with that." He nodded sagely.

The wind picked up, sending the sodden leaves shuffling around the clearing. Alice shuddered, wrapping her arms around her shoulders. The dress and accompanying cloak that she wore were appropriate for autumn weather, but the effects of her trip through the puddle had yet to fully wear off and she was still slightly damp around the edges.

China clattered as the Hatter leapt into action, leaning forward and snatching two tea cups from the table. "Oh, forgive me, my dear!" he exclaimed, procuring a pot of steaming tea from seemingly nowhere. "I have been remiss in my duties as host." He busied himself in pouring them both cups of the hot liquid, draining half of his even as he passed the other cup off to Alice.

Alice cradled the teacup in her hands, allowing the warmth of the tea to seep into her chilled fingers. Tentatively, she raised the cup to her lips, eyeing the Hatter carefully from above the rim. The tea sloshed against her lips and she opened her mouth—

"Clean cup!" The Hatter yelped cheerfully, ripping the cup from her grasp and shoving her into the next chair down. "Move down, move down!" He raised what had previously been Alice's tea to his lips and drained it, smacking his lips in satisfaction. His own cup lay half-full at his old place, forgotten. A smug look on his face, he situated himself in the chair (a lovely magenta-tinged dining specimen) beside her, propping his legs up on the table and flinging his arms back behind his head.

Alice rolled her eyes--an expression, she realized, that she had picked up from him. "You really are the rudest individual that I've ever met," she said.

An accomplished expression appeared on his face. "Do you really mean it?" he asked. He tilted his head, peering down at her quizzically, eyes wide and blue and excited. "Do you, Alice, really?" His expression held a hopeful look, and he twiddled his thumbs modestly, waiting for her answer.

Heaving a mighty sigh, Alice propped her right arm on its armrest and rested her head on her hand. "You, Mr. Hatter, are an imbecile."

He threw a hand over his heart. "Such harsh words from a young girl," he lamented, grinning widely at her. "What is the world coming to?"

"I'm afraid it's your fault entirely," Alice said, poking his arm accusingly with a finger from her free hand. "Without your charming influence, I would not be half so inclined to speak my mind. And don't say it," she said sternly, lifting her head up to glare at him as he opened his mouth to reply.

The Hatter set aside his snarky comment for a later date, closing his mouth with an audible click. "Very well," he sighed. "I shall refrain from further influencing you." He snagged a fresh cup of tea from the table, raising it to his lips. "Now, my dear," she said, "how has your mundane life been in the interim between this meeting and our last?"

Indignant, Alice sat up straight and glared at him. "My life is not mundane!" she protested. "If you must know, however, I've been progressing with my education."

"Oh?" The Hatter quirked an eyebrow. "What sort of lessons would you be learning?"

Fabric rustled as Alice fiddled with the pleating in her skirt. "History," she recited, "literature, deportment, art, French—"

"French?" he exclaimed, cutting her off mid-sentence and grinning widely at her. "Why didn't you say so in the first place?"

Alice was expecting just such a question. "I have in the past," she retorted, drumming her fingers on the table, "but you always begin spouting inappropriate euphemisms and vocabulary that I have yet to learn so I have learned to refrain from mentioning the language while in your presence." She nodded emphatically to punctuate her point.

The Hatter eyed her innocently. "Moi? Je n'ai jamais dire ces choses."

Alice rolled her eyes. "Sure you haven't." she said. "My ears have only been graced by countless French expletives and innuendos over the past few months. But, obviously, I couldn't have heard such language from you." She practically oozed sarcasm.

"Ah, but that's your fault for being able to understand them."

Alice's mouth opened and closed a few times as her brain furiously attempted to churn out a response. With none forthcoming, she settled for a petulant scowl.

Leaning forward, the Hatter poured himself yet another cup of tea and smiled indulgently at Alice. "You see?" he said smugly. "Yet more proof that I am superior to you. Silence speaks volumes, Alice. Always remember that."

It seemed to Alice that arguing with the man would prove fruitless, so she did the only thing she knew would distract him: she changed the subject. "So," she began, eyeing their soggy surroundings, "it seems you've been having some wet weather lately."

Any connoisseur of conversation (or lack thereof, depending) knows that talking about the weather is the oldest trick in the book, so naturally the Hatter saw straight through Alice's tactics. Nevertheless, he humored her valiant attempt at masking her defeat. "We have indeed!" he replied, sweeping a few loose strands of white hair out of his face. "In fact, today is the first relatively dry day that we have had in nearly a week."

A water-laden brown leaf chose that moment to detach itself from one of the overhanging trees, following the pull of gravity and landing on Alice's upturned face with a soggy smack. Grimacing, she plucked it off, holding it between her thumb and forefinger and eyeing it distastefully. "I can believe that," she said, flicking the leaf to the side.

The Hatter nodded, not even trying to conceal his grin. "Indeed."

They sat in companionable silence for a while, Alice nibbling on some warm crumpets while her companion worked his way through yet another pot of tea procured—if she were correct in her observations—from the sleeve of his coat.

"You know," the Hatter said casually, initiating the next step of conversation, "I don't believe we've ever really talked about how you get here."

Alice looked up from where she had been gazing absently into the distance, shocked that her companion would pick such a commonplace topic of conversation. As her mind caught up to her, however, she quickly revised that thought; nothing about Wonderland was ever humdrum or boring.

"Well," she began, thinking about it, "I don't really know myself. I've never come the same way twice, you see." She sat for a minute in silence. "I suppose," she said finally, "that it has something to do with my thoughts. I've only ever really come to Wonderland when I've wanted to, or when I've been longing to get away from England for a bit."

Intrigued, the Hatter leaned closer to Alice. "Is that so?" he asked. "I've always wondered, you see, for you always seem to appear at the most opportune occasions. Either the Hare or myself will be pining for company, or commenting on our excess of teatime commodities, and then there you go popping out of puddles and falling out of trees, solving all of our problems at once. And," he added, almost as an afterthought, "you have turned into a very clever little thing, Alice."

"How bizarre," Alice murmured.

"Bizarre?" The Hatter exclaimed. "Hardly, my dear girl! Is it really so strange that your company should be appreciated?"

"Well, actually, yes," Alice said, biting her lip to keep from laughing at the affronted expression on the Hatter's face. "Not that, though" she corrected solemnly. "What you said before—about my coming to Wonderland always being at convenient intervals."

"Of course that's what you were talking about." He waved a hand flippantly in her direction, pushing his hat back with the other. "And it's far from bizarre. Wonderland always knows best."

Alice was dubious. "Wonderland knows best?" she repeated dubiously.

"Yup."

Alice slid her chair back from the table and stood up, sliding in the slick sheen of mud that still coated the ground. Their conversation was waning, and she had just remembered that a most delightful little novel was sitting on her bedside table waiting to be read. "Hopefully, then, Wonderland will know that it is time for me to be getting home."

The Hatter rose as well. "Must you leave?" he asked petulantly. "I'll be all alone again."

Alice scoffed. "I'll be back soon," she said. "All good things must eventually come to an end, and besides, I've been spending nearly as much time here as I have at home. I can almost assure you that I shall return soon."

The Hatter could not argue with this logic, and sensing a sort of defeat, he peered quizzically up at the sky in search of a distraction. "I do believe it is going to rain again," he remarked.

The sky had grown dark throughout the course of their conversation, the pliant grey clouds molding together to form an impressive, ominous dark thing that hovered above them. Leaves fell from the nearby trees, stirred by a wind that was strong enough to move them even in their bloated states.

Shivering, Alice drew her cloak tighter around herself. "I believe you are right," she said. She took a few hesitant steps away from the table, scanning the ground for her particular puddle. Soon after her renewed voyages to Wonderland, Alice had discovered that the easiest way to depart was simply to leave the same way that she had arrived. To do it any other way was to have her departure method and time lost in the world of the unknown, as she had learned upon her initial return; unsure of how to return home, Alice had sat at tea with the mad duo for an impressive amount of time, and etiquette and propriety had slowly dissolved until Alice and her newfound companions had found themselves playing a rousing game of Seek-and-go-Hide. It was only when Alice was seconds away from winning, of course, that she had flung open the gate and reappeared in her own world.

Every trip since, she had made a point of remembering her point of entry so that she could leave when she so chose.

"Aaaaalice!" The Hatter skidded up to her then, using his large shoes as a sort of ski. "Look what I can do!" He took a running start and then froze, his momentum sending him flying across the top of the mud and water. "Would you care to join me?" he asked breathlessly. "It's very fun!"

"I think not!" Alice's sense of impropriety, overshadowed as it was by years of etiquette and proper behavior, could only extend so far. "You really are mad," she said, hiding a grin as he hydroplaned past her. "For some reason, though, I keep coming back... Now, help me find this puddle." She scanned the ground intently.

Stopping his antics and flicking the mud from his spats with a mildly disgusted look, the Hatter strode over to his young companion. "Very well," he said sighing. "Leave me alone once more. I understand."

Alice waved away his attempt at drudging up sympathy. "I'm glad," she said, giving him a saccharine smile. "I'll be back before you know it." Her feet sped up as she spotted her quarry. "Thank you very much for the tea, even though I didn't get any." If there was any sarcasm in her tone, it was hidden beneath good breeding and manners that had been driven into her since birth.

"You're very welcome," he replied, amused at her politeness. "Come back soon so that you can not have any tea once more."

Alice nodded. "I shall." She stood poised on the edge of the puddle, eying it intently. With a small wave in the Hatter's direction, she hopped into the murky water. The resulting splash was far larger than it should have been, for Alice was light and the puddle was far from deep.

The water took much longer to return to the ground than it should have. The notable lack of a splash drew the Hatter's attention, and he whipped his head around to stare confusedly at the falling drops of water. They shimmered and then dulled, camofluaged among the muted grey of the sky. He frowned in consternation--that had never happened before--and then blinked decidedly hard.

Standing there, drenched to the core and looking this way and that, was Alice.


I'm very excited about this for a number of reasons, and I'm curious to see what others think the idea of the story. If you feel so inclined, please review! I'd love some opinions and critiques (or compliments. Compliments are always nice).

I have no idea exactly how long I will make this, and I don't have a specific ending planned out yet, but I do have the entire second chapter written, as well as outlines for a few more. This concept of organization is going to kill me, but I'll try my best to stay on top of everything and not lag behind in updating.

Reviews are lovely!