Usual disclaimer stuff, with the exception of the small line at the very end. I'm hoping the next update will be around May 7th or 8th. If not then: the next weekend; just so you know.
THANKS FOR THE REVIEWS!! KEEP 'EM COMIN'!!
Chapter 2
Alice dared not take her eyes off the stranger for fear of what might happen. He stood, supporting himself with the cane as he approached her. His legs seemed unsure of how to walk--even being so young looking as he was, which appeared to be somewhere in the thirties--but there was nothing that unusual about it. People had disabilities! But...in Wonderland? Strange though it may have seemed, it was the most logical explanation, and Alice was a logical girl. He had said his name to be Barabbas--a name that was not completely normal, yet existent, much like the man himself. But what an odd name it is...Alice couldn't help but thinking.
"You must forgive me." He said, continuing to have difficulties walking. "I am not accustomed to such an action."
"What happened to you?"
Thayer stopped. His hat lay crooked on his head. "It is...a long story that I shall not bore you with."
Uncomfortable with the way he spoke, Alice moved to the door. "I had better be going then. I had no idea that this was your room, and I would hate to disturb you, sir." It had sounded better in her head, because even a fool could see that it was intended as her housing.
"Oh no, no! This is your room, I can tell you that much."
"That is quite all right Mr. Thayer." She reached to open the door. "I will not impose on a guest the task of finding another place to spend the night."
"I am not a guest here, Alice."
She stopped dead. Not a visitor? Who then, was he? She turned back to see that he had moved closer to her, unnervingly so. With a small gasp, she backed up as far as she could, her back touching the door. Thayer looked intently at her, and for the first time, she saw that his eyes were not normal. Instead of those of a human, they were a pale shade of green--not the friendly color of the Hatter's, but a different, more ominous one--with pupils that were diamond shaped. The mark under his left eyes shone more vividly. "Who are you?" Alice was barely able to choke out. He smiled forebodingly, revealing a mouth full of pointed, ivory-white teeth. Fumbling for the doorknob behind her, her efforts were put to an end when he took both of her wrists in a vice grip, but harbored an almost playful expression on his face as he did it. Dragging her around away from the door, he released her and leaned on his cane, which he had been able to keep by his side even when fighting her attempts to break free. Alice watched him heave a sigh of obvious aggravation, tapping his foot idly on the floor.
"As I was saying..." Thayer pronounced, as if to begin a lengthy tale.
"What do you want?" She snapped back, not giving him time to go on. "Did the Red Queen send you? You are certainly dressed like one of her own!"
He rolled his eyes. "Certainly not. I have no dealings with that woman, Alice. I come from somewhere different, and I can assure you that my intentions are far more honorable than she."
"Why did you force me to stay then?"
"Alice, Alice, Alice...I only did what was necessary in order to gain your ear. Don't you like the dress I gave you?" At that juncture, Alice's agitation soared to unimaginable levels. "Yes, I see you understand. I am not an enemy to you. All I ask is that you listen to what I have to tell you...about your alleged friends." She said nothing, which prompted him on. "You were never aware, but I have been watching you a great deal since your return to Underland. You have much kindness, something that would create...shall we say, trials, in the corrupted world above. But here--here it is valued...and taken advantage of as well."
What could he mean? People were certainly not taking advantage of her were they? Of course they weren't. She was just questioning herself too much. Such a long day had done it to her mind. For all she knew, she was hallucinating. Closing her eyes, she endeavored to block out everything around her and concentrate on a happy memory in her mind, but none would come. The miserable reality had set in again, and she genuinely began to think that she was cursed. Barabbas Thayer was a creature from the land of the wicked. He couldn't be the only one; there had to be more like him. Alice shivered at the thought of a group of eerie-eyed, razor-toothed, red and black clad people, all with the same eccentric voices and purpose...whatever his purpose was. She longed for someone to talk to--one of her friends that would understand and believe her. Making up her mind to go search for the Mad Hatter the first time she had a chance to get away, she had a terrible idea. What if Wonderland was tearing apart at the seams...?
Alice needed sleep; she ached for it like nothing else.
Had no one gone through more than she?
The man before her ogled her with a look that expressed his thoughts better than any word, and he opened his mouth a long moment before speaking again. "Do I frighten you?" He drawled, a small smirk tugging at the corner of his lips. Alice was unmoving. Her arms hung limply at her sides and her continence put across her disinclination to reply. She was determined not to elicit anything else from him. "Yes..." He had grown quieter, lingering on the word. He reached out to touch her pale face with his long fingers, skeletal to the extent that Alice could see every vein in his hand. His skin was cold, just as she expected it to be, and he had chillingly sharp nails. Flinching, she took a few considerable steps backwards. "And so the question is answered..."
Thayer matched her, bringing him back as closer then he was before. "Tell me, what do you think I am? I am just dying to know." Drama laced the last part of his request.
"You are the devil." Alice countered, unyielding to the provocative nature that radiated from his every utterance. His scent was atypical, somewhat of a mixture of cloves and smoke. Tension strangled the young woman. "You do not belong in Wonderland. You do not belong here."
"Don't I?" He raised an eyebrow. "If I am the devil, why do you persist in talking to me?"
Alice was finished with this game. "Get out!" She ordered, snarling. "I will kill you if you stay!"
With a short chuckle, Thayer maneuvered around her, looking at her sickly. "You have nothing to fear from me, dear Alice. To destroy such an angel would be a sin worthy of the most horrid death a mortal's mind could conjure, I can promise you that. Moreover," he came to a stop when he reached the window, "you could not kill me even if you wanted to."
Flicking open locks in one fluid motion, he raised his hand to the brim of his hat in formal valediction. "Fare thee well, Alice Kingsley...Heed your visions before it is too late."
The flame in the lamp blew out, immersing the whole room in the darkness of night. Alice slowly made her way to where the table was, feeling around for a match. Striking one assiduously, her eyes adjusted to the light painfully, and she went without delay to the opened window. There was nothing but flat, white stone walls for a good hundred feet down, with only a few overhangs jutting out here and there, but few and far between. He could never have made it down, even without his leg quandaries. On the ground, there was no sign of him, nor in the distance. Pulling back, Alice happened to take a quick look at the floor near her feet, and saw...
Tentatively, she picked up Thayer's cane, a feeling of terror running down her spine, and suddenly overcome by a severe lightheadedness subsided into blackness.
In abnormally high spirits, Tarrant Hightopp hummed a happy tune to himself while waltzing down the white hallways. His impending destination was his place of work, which also happened to be his living quarters. For no apparent intention, he was beaming like a sunflower, a spring in his step. He passed by the kitchen, greeted by the predictable shattering sounds and incomprehensible phrases from the March Hare, who had left the party soon after arriving. Rumor had it that he hadn't been allowed to stay, for fear that he would go into one of his spastic moods and frighten people away. Inquisitive as to what hour it was, he wondered where that time-keeping rabbit was when his services were needed the most. Often, the little, white mammal was outright annoying, but on the rare instances when Tarrant actually wanted to know the time...Ah well--it wasn't like his life depended on it, or did it perhaps? A thought for another time...He guessed, running a scarred hand wistfully along the wall as he went on his way. The flat stone felt smooth under his fingertips, and for reasons unknown, he supposed that a human cranium--lacking skin; the perception of anything else made him mentally cringe--would feel similar, and tittered in a way only comparable to a small bird.
How fascinating a theory though...I must know some day...
These were the everyday musings of a verified lunatic. He couldn't have asked for more.
Once in a while, someone would come along, and he would smile politely at them...or at least what he believed to be politely. The only dilemma was, that, unbeknownst to him, his and the well-to-do folks definitions of the word 'polite' were diametrically opposed. The explanation was simple, for when Tarrant grinned at a passerby, his whole face warped with it. His eyes widened, changing frequently, and the distinct contours of his cheekbones became even more pronounced. This, in combination with his already outlandish looks would perturb anyone who had not seen him before. It was something he never expected to get. Such deep acuity required more brain cells then he was willing to put forth. In most cases, he was actually a very insightful thinker, dwelling for hours at a time on a lone matter. This was back when his life had no meaning; back when all he had to do with his time was sit at the head of the tea table watching his senseless companions' sanity decompose before his eyes. He was...out there, to put it in a nice way since he wasn't one to insult himself, and the way he knew that the condition was genuine was the fact that he could identify it on his own. He didn't need people telling him that he was mad. His title well implied it already!
Out of nowhere, he tripped over something, who he soon discovered to be a 'someone'. Tarrant landed with a startled, sharp cry, nearly face down on the floor. Laughing from incentives unidentified even to him, he turned over onto his side to find himself face to face with the white rabbit. The creature, Nivens was his name, was crouched low to the ground, sniffing the Hatter's face, and then backing up once he saw that the man was alert. Half-embarrassed, Tarrant chortled for a second time through his teeth and greeted the dazed rabbit.
"Oh! Hello there! I was actually just wondering where you were seeing as my thoughts seem to tangle together so very rapidly and I need to know what time it is because that all verifies where I should be right now or later...or perhaps even tomorrow..." Nivens rose up onto his hind legs and studied his friend incredulously, while the speaker cracked a grin so large that the animal feared his face would permanently stay that way. When Tarrant saw the reaction he got, he jumped to his feet quickly, gesturing widely with his arms as he prolonged his explanation. "Am I rambling? Sorry, I'm sure that you have a lot to accomplish before the night is over. Simply tell me what hour it is and I shall hasten on my way."
Nivens withdrew his pocket watch, and opened his mouth to speak, but was interrupted before he got a word in edgewise.
"Never mind, I will be quite satisfactory without knowing. Why should it be any of my business what time of night it is? I have no where to be anyhow." He began to walk away, and threw over his shoulder. "Lovely talking with you."
The rabbit watched him go, wide-eyed and confused, before shrugging. He would never come to terms with someone that mad.
Tarrant went on until he arrived at his room, and entered without so much as a second thought. Everything was white, a color so boring that he swore that it shouldn't even have been a color! There was but one exception, in the form of his work desk, which was covered in all kinds of multihued fabrics and ribbon. He sighed contentedly; he was truly at home. Walking swiftly over to the desk, he pulled out the chair, sitting down. Leaning his head on one hand, he deliberated whether to submerge himself into a project, or to call it a night and have a crack at sleep. Then it hit him...Somewhere from the back of his mind, he came up with a little rhyme. It was out of the blue, there had been nothing to inspire it, unless...
"If not for the words of a troubled soul..." He mumbled the first sentence, searching for a quill. In a haphazard feat, he cleared the whole desk off with a swipe of his arms in both directions, sorting through the remaining scraps of cloth until he found a decent writing implement. From an organized drawer, he picked out a piece of soft green colored paper devoid of any preference. Grabbing a small bottle of ink, he dipped the end of the quill into it, leaning over the paper intently. His small line soon turned into two, than, finally an eight line string of senseless, yet outlandishly poetic cogitations.
From that rhyme came another, then another, until he had filled the top of his desk with at least a dozen papers covered with his ludicrous drabble.
He drew out the hours until dawn.
