EDIT: I apologize to everyone who's getting this twice. It seems that shortly after I uploaded, ~somehow~ the story was deleted and/or compromised. This is my attempt to upload once more. Double apologies to Niphuria, who had already left a kind review. Niphuria, I'll be messaging you shortly. ;)
Hello Everyone!
Long time, no chatter from me on the Alice in Wonderland front, I know. While I wish I could say that I'm bringing you a new story...well, I am, but yet I'm not. You see, I have a folder of AiW short stories, ideas and fragments that, for one reason or another, never were finished and/or were never published. I've finally decided to post the majority of those here...but instead of spamming you all with one-shots I'll be posting them as a single 'story'. Hence the ever-so-clever and original name of this, "Lost Stories". ;) Each chapter that is released will likely be an unrelated to the previous one bit or bob. From glancing through my folder, I have everything from classic Alice/Hatter to Fiona/Hamish to (GASP) gen fic, rated G to M. This will all be very casual...when I dig a bit out of the recesses of my hard drive and polish it enough so that I'm not completely embarrassed to be publishing it, I will.
This first Lost Story is an untitled fill for a challenge on LJ that I never, well, officially filled. The original prompt credit goes to chrismata1979 who wanted "drunk Tarrant", preferably with an Alice/Hatter vibe (if I'm remembering it completely correctly, which I'll be the first to admit doesn't happen very often). Back when this was first written it was looked over and beta-ed by ladybastet92 and manniness. Despite their supreme assistance, I could never strike upon what felt like a true 'ending' to this story to me; that is why it ends on what feels to me like an abrupt note.
Warnings! Oh, I should probably include those. For this Lost Story, warnings for drunkness (Tarrant), abuse of an accent (Tarrant, again), gratuitous use of various song lyrics as speech in the text (from Framing Hanley and Godsmack, but I *believe* they make sense in the context of the story. At least, they made sense at the time I wrote it. *shrugs*), naughty language referring to sexual acts (Tarrant, once more), and a truly cringe worthy tea analogy (related to the aforementioned sexual acts). So yes, this first one will be rated T to M, as no sex actually occurs, but Tarrant has a potty mouth. K? Okay. Enough of my babbling self-indulgence. Onward!
The glass smashed against the wall, spraying broken shards and malted liquor. The Hatter laughed, but not in the manner of a man who was happy.
"I'll waste Time when'ver I like!" Baring his teeth, he growled, "One sip is hardly wasteful, besides! Two sips are double of one, but much less than half of what would be needful to be wastin'!"
"If I say it tis a waste, then it is, ye Mad Hatter!" the barman growled back, throwing down his towel and walking towards the other end of the split, polished log that served as his counter. "You'll be getti n' no more whiskey from me, and make no mistake!"
Tarrant simply burped and fell over the side of the counter in response, laughing more as he felt another bubble of air come up the back of his throat. A set of slim, steady arms wound around his waist, and he turned in the circle of that grasp to see Alice, her brown eyes bright and clear and in a number much greater than he was used to, truth be told, but he was not the sort of man to complain about their being more of an Alice than there was in the past.
"You've got me right where you want me." he drawled, hands creeping up her sides only to be swatted away. A frown marred the sweetness of her brow, and he went to lick it smooth, but was prevented from doing so by Alice quickly releasing him and stepping out of the circle of his arms. It was perhaps, he thought with a sigh, more accurate to say she had him right where he wanted her to have him.
"This is a side of you I've never seen." she said, watching him with that concerned tilt of her head she got whenever he did something particularly worrisome or amusing. Drinking he may have been, but Tarrant was not so far gone that he believed he was humorous to her. He'd made it a point to study Alice Expressions and Behaviors-why, if he could convince the Calligrapher, (and why that man was being so stubborn in his refusal the Hatter did not know) he would be in possession of a Doctorate in Alice-ishness and her Expressions! What could be better than he having tangible, physical evidence of his determination to spend his entire life devoted to the Study of Alice?
Besides Alice herself, of course.
"You're not the girl you used to be..." he burred, hands clumsily brushing away the hair from her face. At least that was the intended action; instead his reaching caused them both to tumble to the ground. Once there, the Hatter was not very inclined to have them get back up. Alice was atop of him, her back pressed against his, and that felt so good! He held Alice's hips against his own, grunting as she struggled for her feet before finally relenting and allowing her to scramble upwards. A grin curled the corners of his mouth at her flushed face and indignant breaths. "You're very much much-ier than before. I quite like it."
"You, sir, are completely drunk!" she fumed.
"It is a possibility." he conceded, which was rather gracious of him, if he did say so himself. Hightopps simply didn't get something so common as drunk, but he didn't want Alice to begin thinking things were impossible once again-where would they be then? With her less Muchy, and that wouldn't do, for wasn't he just complimenting her on her over-abundance of Muchness?
His hat slid down over his eyes, and only a glimmer of a grin and the shocks of orange hair on either side were visible underneath the brim. "D'ye want to hear of some other possibilities I've been considering, lad? They've quite distracted me from things that begin with the letter M, but I do feel that they are considerable enough to warrant such…" he paused, burping again, and Alice grimaced. "To warrant such…consideration!" Tarrant finished, a bit proudly.
He leaned towards her at the same moment Alice went to move away from him. The goal had been to lick her lips, but he missed, and his tongue broadly swiped her chin instead. "That is enough, Hatter!"
A few of the other patrons scattered about the bar snickered, but quickly turned back to their drinks when the young Champion fixed them with a gimlet stare. In the brief moment that had taken, the Hatter had formed a new plan of attack, and he leaned fully against her. Ducking under the curtain of her hair, he set a wide open-mouthed kiss on the pulse jumping in her neck. He slurped at her skin, and Alice gasped, not just from shock at his behavior, but also from knowing that his actions were going to leave a mark.
"Yer skin tastes wonderful, Alice. Makes a man wonder what yer Tea will taste like."
The patrons openly guffawed at that, and Alice pushed the Hatter away from her, both palms flat against his chest. "Was tha hatter, Alice? Have I no given you enough time to steep?"
"My tea? Steep?" Alice shoved him again, and he fell against a stool. Tarrant giggled, his face flushed with mirth.
"Aye." Closing one eye and speaking in the grave manner of a man delivering knowledge of the utmost importance, the Hatter said, "The kind o' Tea that can only be sipped from the most special of sources, laddie. No porcelain cup nor decorated pot hold the brew o' which I speak. Tis a dangerous one to sup at, to be sure-" Here several of the patrons made disbelieving noises, and Tarrant turned to them, a grin last seen on Cheshire putting his teeth on display as he said in an aside, "If ye've ever properly appreciated the Tea o' which I speak, ye'd know what I mean."
His attention went back to Alice, and he picked himself up off of the stool, imagining himself to be stalking seductively before her. To Alice's view, though, he stumbled and weaved most embarrassingly, and she feared that at any moment he would fall and land flat on his face-or worse, on top of her!
"Tha kind o' Tea…" he said, "is not easy to drink, ye see. In fact, some would liken tryin' to drink that kind o' tea properly to be nigh impossible…but as ye know, I dinna much care for impossibilities. Ye know how ye can tell if ye're making a proper job of it, boy-os?" the Hatter called over his shoulder, and got a few inquiring grunts and catcalls in return, before focusing his green gaze once again on Alice. "Tis like being in a battle-arms beating about yer head, leavin' ye bruised and battered…legs wrapped around ye, squeezing ye tight as a vice…" he finally reached the blonde once more, and one of his hands landed, quite purposefully, Alice was sure, squarely on her right breast. "But the taste of that sweet Tea, the one only to be found in that most special of her places, is worth any sort of difficulty a man might face."
Leaning down, Tarrant whispered in her ear, "Would ye like to go to battle wit me, Champion? We can brew a fine batch together, you and I, I am most certain. I'll spread ye out amongst the finest linens and stir'n with jam…and I'll be sure to let ye win."
It was completely ridiculous-the man could barely stand upright, smelt like the bottom of a chamber pot, and looked as though he'd been run through a knothole backwards-but Alice still felt a small tendril of heat pool low in her belly at his words, at his actions. If she hadn't accepted long ago that she was slightly mad, she would have been quite concerned for her mental well-being.
"I thought we were taking of-" she flushed, as she realized she had misspoken, and hastily corrected herself, steadfastly ignoring the Hatter's triumphant smirk, "talking of Tea, Hatter." She wished that her face was not so red, nor her body enflamed at the man's drunken suggestions. He would not speak to her this way were he sober! Oh, she just knew this was going to make things awkward between them on the morrow!
"Can we no speak of Tea and Battle both?" he breathed, nuzzling her ear. "Tw're one and the same, af' er all."
"Not in my bar!" a loud voice boomed behind them, making both Alice and the Hatter jump. "I called ye down from the Castle to assist me, girl, not so ye could kettle-hoosey wit the dratted man in me bar like a couple o' pyes under the Pole!" He came around the halved tree he called a counter, making shooing motions with his hands.
"I'm so sorry, sir!" Alice babbled, surprised she even had it in her to gibber nervously. Usually when she was faced with an uncomfortable situation, she became silent and grave. Not this time, it seemed. The laughter of the other customers of the taproom did nothing to ease her, either. "It is really not what it seems! The Hatter and I have never-that is, we wouldn't…no drinking of Tea is going to occur! None whatsoever, sir!"
"It's none o' my business what ye do wit him once ye're clear of here!" the plump man bellowed, clearly flustered. "Just get ye gone!"
Grasping his hand, Alice tugged Tarrant out of the taproom, the sounds of boisterous mirth following them out into the night. They stood outside the door for several moments; Alice was reliving her current humiliation, and the Hatter was just concentrating on staying upright.
"I suppose you're proud of yourself." she said, irritation thick in her voice. When he just blinked stupidly at her, Alice sighed and slung one of his arms over her shoulder. There was no likely way that he'd be able to walk completely under his own power back to Marmoreal.
"What were you even doing out here?" the young woman asked, not really expecting an answer. "Bit out of the way for a drink, isn't it, when you could just ask Thackery for a bit from the cellars?"
Voice perfectly serious, the Hatter turned his head so he was nose to nose with Alice. "I love you." he said, but not in the manner of a man pleased with the declaration. No, this was said as one who is going off to war, and knows he will never see his beloved again. A sort of dirge, the final acceptance that there will be no ending save one full of pain. Alice's eyes went wide, but she didn't pull away (as she was still holding him upright, for one, and to pull away while doing so would be terribly unconscionable of her!) and the Hatter's seriously desperate eyes softened a bit, the way one's do when they're gazing at a fine painting or hearing a perfect melody. There was a bit of lust, true, but the majority of that type of gaze is a sort of quiet wonder, of disbelief that you have ever been so lucky as to gaze upon what you are currently beholding.
"That's not an answer, Hatter." Alice finally said, blinking.
"Oh, tis an answer, laddie. Jus' no one you're wanting to hear."