Down, Down, Down

Chapter Three

Mad Hatter. Mad Hatter. Mad Hatter.

I repeated the words in my mind, practicing the syllables and trying to make sense of them. Or memorise them? Then I tilted my head slightly to the right out of habit, which is usually what I did when I was either confused or in thought – this time, of course, I was in thought.

So very odd to have such a name, that I wondered deeply about the context and history behind it. Mad Hatter… I pursed my lips a little as I thought more to myself and briefly looked back down at the white table cloth that somehow managed to cover the entirety of the long tea party table. It must have been special to create such a piece to last this long over a simple table. On the several metres worth of table there lay an assortment of various tea time china, such as differently styled and coloured cups, mugs, tea pots, china kettles, plates and cutlery. Rarely I spotted the odd crack or shattered china amongst the spectrum of the tea time mess, in a way this table's arrangement reminded me of the Hatter and this crazy dream world (which I had accustomed to calling Wonderland, off the top of my head) though everything was mismatched and peculiarly arranged, cramped or strange, I had learnt to love it in its own way. In a sense I had figured in my mind that its unusualness was lovely to me. Wonderland was very… much? Muchy…? Wonderland has...

"Muchness." Hatter muttered from the other end of the table, which was very far indeed.

I looked up at him suddenly, startled as if he had read my mind again and was speaking directly to me. Instead, I found him staring into the sky with a slightly cocked head that rested on his fist propped up by an arm on the table, there was a faint hint of a smile. He was daydreaming yet another time and so far away from the present time that he had begun to talk to himself again. I so very much disliked when he did that – as if I was not even present. I also disliked having to sit at opposite sides of the table to him! It was like sitting across a pond to each other. Did he not know that it was incredibly rude to treat a guest this way, or particularly to avoid conversation with his guest by placing them as far as away as possible? How rude indeed! I began to drum my fingers loudly on the table top, in attempt to contain my irritation. I licked my dry lips to pass the time.

But rather, muchness was the right word. Wonderland had muchness, it was such a pleasant distortion of what the real world was like and brimming to the top with wonderful, beautiful things. Two days here had shown me that already and my, must I have an incredible imagination to conjure this one up! This world was beautiful and everything in it... the trees, the sky and the Hatt- well, everything in this world was stunning. Right now the sky was nearing the second dusk I had seen, and the clouds were slowly swirling as the sky changed from a bright baby blue to a deep pink and purple.

"Why are you called the Mad Hatter?" I finally asked, noticing the sound of the wind whispering and the crickets singing from the edge of the close forestry.

After a moment the Hatter turned his head towards me with distant, far- off eyes that were faded green, yet before long they returned in focus and usual colour. His propped up arm went down flat onto the table and his fingers traced the brim of a golden rimmed plate. His lips became a thin, flat line. Thoughtful, like I was a few minutes before.

"I surely think that they call me a Hatter because I am obligued to make hats for the Queen and anyone else who asks it off me. But usually I make hats whenever I want to. I make a lot of hats…" He answered, before lifting up his hands to reveal to me his brandished and impaired fingers. A few fingers were wrapped in coloured bandages at the tips (primary colours of blue, yellows and red), whilst others were just slight pink with the soreness of sewing needle pricks, one thumb had a green thimble stuck onto it.

"And you are mad... because?" I prodded on, standing up from my pink armchair by pushing two arms up from the table and causing some of the china to rattle with the negligible movement. Though his head remained in the same position, I noticed him follow me with his eyes as I walked unhurriedly towards him. I took the time to count my steps and observe how the china was set on the table whilst I brushed my fingers over them, and also how the tiny flowers by my feet leaned over towards my boots when I stepped over them. What a strange place indeed!

I stopped when I reached the white wooden chair to the Hatter's left hand side, he looked up at me with misty, curious eyes.

"May I take this seat?" I asked though I had already pulled out the chair from underneath the table and had already made my move downwards to sit on it when I continued, "I find it awfully weird, trying to uphold a conversation from that far away." I made myself as comfortable as possible on the solid, un-cushioned chair and resting both arms on the table, I leaned towards the figure in front of me just as I remembered the path of our conversation. I looked curious, and very eager.

"Don't they simply call me mad because I am? At first I did not think that I could possibly be mad. But considering things from the perspective of other people, I understand why they would call me such. Don't you think I am as mad as a box of frogs?" He smiled a crooked, but full hearted smile which eventually became a toothy grin when he was met with my face of confusion. After that I could resist the urge to laugh myself.

I giggled at the horrible use of a phrase as his grin became larger still, and though it was a lovely smile to make my heart beat irrevocably fast, I did not think he understood why I was laughing properly. I muffled my laugh with a hand over my mouth and let the last few racks of my shoulders die down before I was able to speak politely. I tried to clear my throat.

"You are as mad as a Hatter," I said before I smiled at him, "And I think my madness can equally match yours."

He did not respond to that, although instead he smirked for a brief moment and broke our eye contact to examine his fingers as he flexed them on the table. My smile subsided a little too wondering what I had said, because as far as I knew I had said nothing offensive or divisive. My eyebrows furrowed a little as I contemplated and I looked down at my makeshift outfit even as the silence between the both of us characters ensued another elongated time.

I pouted my lips again as I went into thought. The Hatter seemed not the type to give clear answers or answers at all! Yesterday I had asked him who he really was to me (since he was so convinced that we had been past acquaintances). Nevertheless he threw the question aside uncaringly; with a mere "I am just silly old galoot mad Hatter, so nothing at all!" To which I threw a huff and pout for his difficulty, I remember stomping my feet on the cold tile floor, though it was ineffective, and crossed my arms. Why was he being so introverted! Couldn't he just tell the truth? Maybe after all he wasn't like the rest of this lovely world, he was unnerving and infuriating, though he had a beautiful face, it was quickly forgotten when he would open his mouth.

Unexpectedly my chest squeezed and held me to bite my words back. I stopped thinking and looked up at him wearily to see if he had creepily heard my mind screaming again. If he had read my thoughts? Thankfully his face gave nothing away and I sighed with relief.

My eyes were drawn down instinctively to the front pocket of his red jacket, once empty now had a frilly handkerchief in it. When did that get there, surely it was not the day before? This handkerchief had the material of fine, baby blue cloth which appeared almost like a ruffled mess of chiffon. It was tucked very untidily into this front pocket and as I looked up at his face and back down again, before I pointed a neat finger at it; causing his eyes to dart upwards once again in a startle.

"What is that?" I asked, rudely enough to interfere into another's personal life – even if I was the one who created them. Wasn't this my dream after all? But wasn't this lasting much too long? I curled back my finger into my hand and drew away slowly, suddenly conscious of my manners.

The Hatter looked down and eyed the chiffon bundle before stoking it lightly with the back of his pointer finger, "This was something that used to belong to somebody I felt very close to." He at last met my eager eyes with his two warm green ones, with now the glorious specks of golden sparkles. This particular vert, reminded me of looking up the tree leaves as the sun shone down behind them, making the leaves look transparent and bright – this comforted me and made me feel home. His smile was genuine this time, with no traces of ironic smirks or weak attempts that I tried to return this.

"Who was she?" I had assumed it was girl, purely because of the fact that it would be unusual for a gentleman to own a piece of material of that feminine style. Unless, they liked that sort of thing... Though I felt guilty for asking, he did not particularly give the vibe that I was obtrusive or verging on a topic that as uncomfortable to him. Nervously, my fingers played with the hem of my new dress.

"Don't worry you guessed correctly," He reassured me, doing that unexplainable reading my mind sort of thing again, "And she was a very idiosyncratic… unusual kind of girl. A little bonny… beautiful. She captured my heart the second time we met, rather than the first. I loved her…" By the time he had finished his incoherent dialogue, the last part of it was barely audible as his whisper had become so quiet it would be difficult for him to hear it himself. He paused, "I still do..."

My heart leapt when his eyes moved instantly to meet with mine again and I was unsure how to react. Oh my, he was in love! With a girl who left him a ridiculously tiny dress? How small was she? And most of all why did I care? I smiled as sweetly as I could manage at him, and his wide eyes bore into mine unblinkingly – winning the stare war. If there was any. Though he didn't stop looking, and for a moment of not moving at all his eyes seemed to try to memorise everything on my face, they took it all in. Funnily enough, I thought his hand twitched a little beside mine, that I was so sure we would touch again - but I pushed the thought quickly away before it could make me blush wildly. Luckily, I only had a slight flush.

However, he still looked so sad, even if he was speaking about a love. His love! I wondered, (my mind wanders again!) about where she was and who she was, what she was doing away from the man who loved her?

"Do you wish you could see her now?" I asked inquisitively, trying to access the mind of a person fallen madly in love – since I had never experienced that sort of thing at all. What did it fee like? Love was something that rarely existed in the real world. In the world where my mother brought me endless suitors whom of which I all refused. No, I had never experienced falling in love... My heart gave a sharp twinge as if I was lying and I resisted the action of grabbing my left chest to relieve it. The Hatter just looked at me, his brow inclined as if I had asked a preposterous question or that it had an obvious answer. I did not know.

"I see her everywhere. Even now." He smirked knowingly and when his gaze became almost uncomfortable I turned to look around into the forestry behind me to search for any other signs of human life forces, but saw none. As I had expected, when I turned back around the Hatter had concentrated his eyes elsewhere. My self consciousness was relieved. But as he stared away, I thought maybe he was imagining her now too?

That surely would drive a person mad! You wish for their presence always and maybe believe they will be there when I fact they are not. To think of somebody constantly, would drive one insane!

I looked for attempts of comforting words, just as easily as he has found some for me the night before, however; I had never been particularly good at finding the right soothing words unless I thought about for a long time. Consoling words were not the sort I could find quickly. I spat out the first excuse and reason I thought of in the back of my mind, though I said it shyly.

"I'm sure she loves you back." I mumbled to myself, unsure of the effect it would have or the response it would receive.

"If a person loved you, would they forget who you were? Even after seeing them face to face…"

"Surely there must be a reason!"

"Would a person truly be in love with someone if they had no idea who the other was? Would you forget the person you were in love with?" Though his voice barely escalated in volume, the emotion behind it became more and more intense. His voice never gave way once though, it was strong and did not bretay him like mine often did. I was shamed into a response.

"I guess not…" I said, biting my lip afterwards as my mind made me instantly regret my words. My chest ached so painfully afterwards, that I had to get away. This time I did not resist my hand to clutch the pain in my chest that I creased the part of my dress that I held there, with the other hand I dug my nails into my palm to distract the pain elsewhere without much luck.

I stood up hastily to avoid the Hatter from noticing what was happening. I abruptly pushed back the chair, and still holding onto my chest as it began to beat in unnatural lunges, I managed to take a few steps hurriedly away before I heard the other black armchair creak noisily as weight was lifted off of it. Unsure of where I had to go, I just knew I didn't want him to see me like this – seeing me weak.

My body and heart froze as I heard the muffled footsteps of his familiar boots on the rustling grass. But they stopped a few centimetres short of me and I felt an air of warmth directed at the back of my head. I was too afraid to turn around.

I stifled a short gasp as I felt gentle hands tug at the ribbon at the back of my dress, pulling me a little towards him, yet not far enough to bump into his lean chest. Thankfully. Then I remained as still as I could, thinking of a statue and after a few seconds of twisted fabric and tying knots I recognised, I was released.

I twisted halfway around after stepping about another metres distance away from my cohort and observed that the ribbon on the lower back of my dress had been tied neatly into a bow. Thus also tightening my dress to hug my body and giving the normal looking dress a little bit more justice. The dress was given to me by Hatter the night before, after the dreaded nightmare. After the sweat and the tears, he tried to make me feel better. He allowed me to peel the filthy, mud crusted dress off me, bathe and change into a new dress he took from his cloth workspace – all the while whilst having his back to me and his hands pressed over his eyes. Right now, I vaguely remembered shoving the dress on in nothing but the pitch black room and nothing but the moon for light, when Hatter took my other dress to be washed – I also could not do up the back ribbon properly by myself and gave up, forgetting about it. We never spoke about what happened the night before - it was never relevant anyway.

The dress as the same faded light blue, with a white ruffled tier of lace and chiffon at the bottom of the dress, which ended at my knees, and which I wore with my old boots (no stockings). The sleves were average and ended with stripey blue and black cuffs and pink buttons. The ribbon which was wrapped around my waist was equally striped blue and black… and was now done up.

Suddenly, just as quickly as I had escaped the tempting grasp of the Hatter's arm reach and turned back around to walk away, had he returned to grab hold of the end of the ribbon so that I couldn't move any further and stopped. Even if I tried to get away, his hold was too strong for me to move an inch, and I surrendered at the expense not ruining the bow. He stroked the fabric with his thumb, and though scaring me a little, we must have been a sight to see right then. His love might be jealous, for he was standing so close he could probably smell my hair and did not let go of the back of my dress. I felt at... home.

"Alice, Alice… Alice. You are rather forgetful." I heard the smile in his voice. Was he talking about the dress?

I certainly needed to wake up soon; otherwise I might never want to leave. I had a brief, horrible though of stealing a girl's love, but I rapidly erased it. I thought about his name again to block out everything else. I counted the syllables and moved around the words in my head. I turned them into pictures and moving images in my head. But I only imagined him smiling and tugging the back of my dress.

Mad Hatter. Mad Hatter. Hatter.

A/N: I know this might come across as a random, pointless chapter. In fact it probably is, I was just writing down the little bits of cuteness that was messing up my mind. It is really long too, isn't it?
What do you think? Enjoy!

-fallen11angel