AUTHOR'S NOTE: So, this is actually something I wrote for my DE English class. The writing assignment was to invite three people to a dinner party (so, in this case: a tea party) and explain what we would talk about, why we invited them, etc., etc. They could be fictional, nonfictional, alive, dead, it didn't really matter. Also, this assignment was for a writing contest at a local college and the coordinator hadn't been very clear on the rules. I was actually really proud of this story (I admit, I thought myself rather creative at time), so I was absolutely DEVASTATED when my teacher informed the class the contest coordinator told her that essay should be more than, or less than, a 100 words over 500. So this is the story before I had to crap (yes, crap, not crop) it down to around 600 words.

Also, I was reading other Alice stories and I saw that the Mad Hatter was calling Alice "Buttercup" and I thought it was really cute, so I used that in here. Oh, and DISCLAIMER: I don't own any of the characters, except Megan (who, as you will find out, is the narrator of this story), even though I wish I did. Especially the Cheshire Cat. PLEASE REVIEW.

Hope You Like It,

she fuels the fire

I scurried around the table, straightening a fork here, smoothing the tablecloth there, trying to make sure that everything was absolutely perfect for the three guests that would soon be arriving to my tea party. Honestly, I don't particularly like tea parties, but one of my guests did, and if they were taking time out of their day to visit me, I wasn't going to complain about whether it was a tea party, un-birthday party, or anything remotely related to the aforementioned festivities.

Satisfied with the way everything now looked, I plopped down into one of numerous chairs I'd set around the table, and pulled out my notebook. What sort of homework did I have from class today? Sifting through the papers as I was, I failed to notice the newcomer to my tea party.

"Buttercup, I hope you don't mind if we brought some more teapots," the Mad Hatter said as an introduction. "Your table looks so naked without the proper toppings."

I glanced up from the my notebook and took a tart from its tray, ignoring the fact that the Mad Hatter wasn't the only newcomer. I'd really only invited him, but anywhere he went, the March Hare went as well. "Brought some jam, too, I see."

"Of course," the Hatter scoffed, slapping some of said jam onto a slice of bread as he sat himself down a few seats away. Once finished with the task, he said to me (or, at least, I thought he was talking to me, but you couldn't really tell, what with the way he was gazing lovingly into his teacup), "You should have some of this jam, too, Buttercup. The Dormouse makes the most excellent jam this side of the chessboard."

"You told me I make the most excellent jam this side of the chessboard," the March Hare exclaimed jealously, his whiskers drooping in dismay. Sniffing haughtily in the midst of his emotional agony, the crazed rabbit snatched a teacup from its place in front of him and poured some of the steaming hot liquid into his teacup.

"No, no, Mr. March," the Hatter soothed, biting into his butter-and-jam smeared bread. "You make the most excellent jam on the other side of the chessboard."

"Okay, look, you guys," I said, sitting up straighter with an apologetic look plastered onto my face. "I know I invited you for tea and all, but I just realized I have this really important English assignment that I really need to get done."

"What is the assignment?" My second invited guest inquired upon his arrival while spearing a tart with one claw and bringing it do his mouth. The minute the sweet was enclosed within his purple jaws, however, the elusive Cheshire Cat vanished before I could answer the question.

"You know, that is extremely disconcerting," I complained, angrily sipping from my teacup. "Where am I supposed to direct my question if I have no idea where you are--"

"Why, Megan, you silly girl, I'm right here," the Cheshire Cat grinned, reappearing in the

seat on my left. I pretended that his sudden appearance hadn't scared me. After munching happily on his tart for a moment he repeated his question.

"I need to write this story for English class," I began, leaning back in my chair and heaving a deep, melancholy sigh. "But I have no idea what I should write about. I'm having brainstorming issues."

"Oh, my goodness, that is unfortunate," The Mad Hatter interjected, shaking his head in sympathy. "I do have trouble with those pesky brainstorms. Tell me, my dear, is your brain given to flooding like mine? Or does yours just have a lot of lightning and thunder with no real action?"

"Do you care what you write about for this assignment?" The Cat asked, popping off one foreleg and using it to extend his reach, so he could grab a blueberry tart that was sitting on the other side of the table.

I shrugged. "Not really. It's just an English assignment."

"Then why does it matter so much?"

"Well, I guess it doesn't--but, I mean--I just wanted to--I don't know--I guess it's--you

know what I mean?" I stammered, effectively confusing myself.

"Cheshire Cat got your tongue, Buttercup?" the Hatter asked in a tone of understanding, moving down a seat and patting me lightly on the hand. He then took the "In the Style 10/9" card from its perch on his hat and swiftly sliced his pocket watch in half. "Here have a bit more time to think the assignment."

"Thanks, but I don't think my teacher will accept half a pocket watch in exchange for more time to work on the essay." I sighed again, my eyes following the slow tick--tick--tick of the seconds hand on the watch.

"Just rub some butter in the gears," the Hatter responded, picking up a butter knife and handing it to. "If you that, your half will grow a whole other half just new, a bit like Bill's tail after Alice kicked him out of the chimney."

"You're getting it all wrong!" the Hare snapped, snatching the butter knife of the Hatter's fingers. "You're supposed to rub the Dormouse's jam in the gears; otherwise the gears will grow in all slippery and make the time go quite faster than it should."

The March Hare appeared to be turning rather moody. Mating season must be right around the corner. A soft breath escaped through my lips in surrender; this was going absolutely nowhere. I turned to face the Cheshire Cat (or, rather, the Cat's grin, for he'd chosen to make yet another disappearing act at that very moment) and said, "I do hope you're not planning on leaving without at least one cup of tea."

"Oh!" the Hatter squealed, reaching underneath his hat and pulling out a steaming cup of tea. He held the cup across the table to the Cat and, when the Cat didn't immediately grab for it, explained, "I made it specially for your un-birthday, and I almost forgot to give it to you."

Peering at the gift with suspicious eyes, the Cat took the proffered item and, with one delicately raised pinky claw, delicately sipped from the teacup. Wrinkling his nose, not quite in distaste, he commented, "Why, I do believe this tastes rather more different than usual."

Immediately following this statement, three staccato booms erupted from the cup and completely enveloped the Cheshire Cat in a thick, gray cloud that somehow managed to cover both its' victim and the victim's surrounding area. Approximately one minute the later, the offending cloud dissipated, revealing someone (something?) that was most definitely not the Cheshire Cat.

"How positively curious," what used to be the Cheshire Cat said in revelation, touching newly formed fingers to his face, feeling the absence of fur there... and then grinned. When I saw that grin, I knew exactly who it was that was sitting next to me at the table. The Cheshire Cat has an unmistakable grin that's rather unlike anyone else I've ever seen. "I've never been a human before."

Violet-striped eyes flickering to mine, and then to a tray of uneaten strawberry tarts, the Cat attempted to once again disassemble his limbs to better reach the desired treats. He yanked on his shoulder once, twice, and, after a moment, said rather calmly, "Well, now. What a bother this is. The Queen could actually behead me in this state."

"At least you can't be behooved." the Mad Hatter interjected with a laugh. "That's only for horses."

I've noticed that any Wonderland inhabitant I ever meet generally likes puns. The Mad Hatter, in particular, absolutely adores them. Sometimes I wonder what the world would be like if the Hatter got his wish and everyone would be forced to speak in puns. I imagine it would be very confusing. "Horses can't be behooved."

"Then Cats can't be beheaded."

"Anything can be beheaded."

"Then why can't a horse be behooved? They have hooves, don't they?"

"That's like saying birds could be be-beaked. It just doesn't make any sense."

"How do you really know what sense is? What do we all think sense is? How do we know who has sense or who doesn't?" The Cheshire Cat mused rhetorically. He does that a lot: asking rhetorical questions that actually make you think. "What if what we think is 'sense' is actually 'nonsense', and what we think is 'nonsense', is actually 'sense'?"

"Well, what makes you think that what makes sense actually doesn't?" I replied anyway, even though I knew it was a rhetorical question. I hadn't even started on my essay yet and what were we talking about? Nonsense, that's what we were talking about.

"What makes you think that what doesn't make sense actually does?"

I hate having conversations with the Cheshire Cat; he's an expert at talking around things. What's the point of talking about what 'sense' really is? Who really knows? Who really cares?

But wait... what an excellent thing to write about.

Megan, you're a genius.