Till a Century
Dandelions lost in the summer sky
Dearest Percival:
Outside the medical tent the party burned on. A riot of colors explode, confetti lingering upon the gentle gale of night-passing, along with cheers that plagued on. Acrobats would converse with aerialists, animal wrangles would bicker with ballets over the moment's event. Though, the topic would always result back to The Foreigner that bore a healthy child. Something marvelous occurred, something breathtaking, when announcement broke news and the circus roared in good tidings. There was a sense of pride if an entire plot, such as performers, would congratulate you like a family; an odd lot to be considered family.
Lights flared against high-tops, and crowds of patrons still flooded the outskirts; they'd come in droves. Even if it was a time of merriment, a job was to be worked – and that was simply Wonderland law. Though, it didn't cross judgment that today's performance was going to be the best and most ecstatic one; more importantly, just as dangerous as every other show.
"Ladies and gentlemen, welcome to the most extravagant show in Wonderland!"
There was a trick to the trade, and Alice could hear his voice over the cheers that echoed constantly, and through the thick barrier of tent. She leaned back against the mountain of pillows, peering over the sea of blankets that wrapped her form, and indulging in the tiny warmth that pressed to her bare-chest; her child. Her new daughter.
The medical tent seemed ill-equipped in the matters of childbirth, but Joker insisted that his child would be born upon his grounds, within the circus' forest; he also promised the top care for his dearest Alice and his child-to-be. And Alice would oblige to that curling grin, that ruby-eye that stared aimlessly at her. She found no fear in his vision, not in a long time, and so she agreed to whatever he had planned.
Alice has felt this feeling before, a strange, giddy, kind of sadness that lurks within the confines of her heart; staring down at the bundle of her daughter. Tucked away. Guarded against her ribcage. Listening to the ballad of voices and dawning screams of excitement that raged on within the main tent that bloomed like a flower.
Black cannot leave the Prison Realm, and White is to appease to the crowd that demands entertainment. And so, Alice lays in wait, holding on to her own happiness. Alice would flutter a smile, loving in every aspect when she stared down at the little girl; tinged porcelain-white like her father, with a tuff of red-roots that were barely poking from the child's skull, and when the child decided to open her puffy eyes – Alice was then greeted with vivid red.
While Alice finds the notion of holding her child joyous, she can't help to feel the urge of something poignant, something strumming at her heartstrings when she leans closer to her daughter's chest. She'd listen to the off-key of a drumming heart that pumps blood through those tiny veins, which supplies life and ensures emotion. The sound seemed so distant, almost foreign, and Alice almost forgot the sound of another being's heart rhythm. (Other than hers, of course). Her daughter also possessed a heart – she'd be destined an Outsider much like her own mother.
While Alice contemplated this idea, this stunning realization, she began to cry softly. Cradling her daughter closer to her bare-chest. Sorrowfully terrified for what life had to promise in Wonderland. She'd come to expect that the Jokers would ensure support for their own kind, but Alice began to ponder if that'd be enough.
Still, Alice shook the thought from her head and smiled bitterly; mostly out of joy, while the other half held vexation. Jumping to subjects other than fear of the future, Alice began to run down names for her child quietly. She'd clutch the bundle and rock back against her mountain of pillows, finding ease to her spine.
She ran stories of ship captains that lured whales upon the Atlantic and traveled the Pacific, also enduring the high tide; mermaids and priest oddly came into the equation, along with marriages that spawned from fable foreign tongues. Alice, humorously, thought of knights and princesses – along with villains that sought a means to an end. Then, it came to Alice like a blur. The name Percival. A boy's name no less, but oddly attractive to think about.
Alice remembered a story from King Arthur's travels and banter of adventure. A man named Percival stuck out from the rest; being known as one of King Arthur's legendary Knights of the Round Table.
The name Percival had to be it. It'd be something to ask the Jokers once they had the time and opportunity to come see her. She'd have to wait for White, and she'd have to be stable enough to venture to Black.
Six months later…
White:
Touch. Texture. Never-ending. Dexterous fingers curl into fabric. Wine-red eyes widen to the sudden realization and sensation of a different texture; tiny fingertips running down fabric, tracing out shapes, and learning new boundaries.
A subtle day, a practical day, on the outskirts of the circus. Alice suggested an outing within the forest, somewhere where the trio could, perhaps, obtain a few precious moments of alone time. The dabble of playing cards within the thick of grass, or the educational value of letting Percival run her hands through the long blades of grass. Something different. A new scenery that unfolded, other than the loud colors that loomed within circus' culture; she'd learn about the abstracts of nature, or whatever Wonderland had to offer for the moment.
"It's abnormal on how tired I am." Alice murmured into the Jester's side. Eyes closed, turned on her side, and hand curled into the ringmaster's fabric with her head resting against his shoulder; she was beginning to doze, unnaturally so. Eyelids growing heavy, her face warm against the Joker's side, who'd idly stroke his spiderlike fingers down the bare of her arms then against the fabric of her dress sleeve.
"Wouldn't consider it unnatural. I'd say – acceptable." The ringmaster muttered behind his fixated grin, staring aimlessly at the thick of branches from overhead; they'd crisscross, and the leaves would rustle against the gentle wind. While one arm was preoccupied with curling Alice against him, his other rested upon the back of his daughter whose taken to slumber upon his chest; slowly, he'd brush his fingertips up and down the infants back, dipping to run his thumb fondly against the back of her skull, feeling the fine hair of red peak.
"Not acceptable." Alice corrected stubbornly, "I'm just so tired." Her eyes finally accepted temptation, nuzzling into the darken fabric of his jacket. "It wouldn't be healthy to sleep all day. But the weather is so lovely, so –"She'd yawn, sighing contently into his attire. She didn't even care to continue at that point and just bared the thought of listening to his clock that ticked purposely underneath the floor of his chest; she curled against The Ringmaster and began her own drift.
"Hm. Weak-willed. Not surprising, dear Alice." White would chuckle, and Alice would grumble incoherently; clenching tighter into his jacket. "Something to be expected. Yet again, something not to be unexpected. A person sleeps to not of their own accord, no, it'd be the body that demands -" He babbled, but cut off with Alice muttering, "Shut up. I don't want to listen to analogies." And the madman would chuckle again; low and deep.
"How rude," White added. "Hopefully, it's not something that could be inherited. The idea of Percival with your smart-mouth will make for troubling teenage years." It was always a joke. Everything he said was a joke. Nothing lining the thought of a simple, normal note. "Still –"The Ringmaster shifted from his position, slowly sitting up, cupping Percival securely against him so that she wouldn't slide from his chest. Alice would bitterly sigh, but kept curled upon the picnic blanket that sprawled underneath them.
Tiny Percival's eyes flew open, an observant baby, but not entirely keen to movement; it was questionable to her, but she'd rather indulge in sleep – much like young infants should. Her fingers curled into the scarf around White's neck, nodding off to seek slumber again. To only be raddled by the Joker's rocking motion; soothing, causing the child to yawn against White's chest. "What are you doing?" Alice inquired, effortlessly trying to sit up.
"Well," the man snickered, "We did talk about the educational value of Percival being out. You insisted, remember? Apparently, the circus is not enough." He shifted to stand, holding Percival close to his chest. "Though, you are right. It's no use being unaware in a world you are born into. Coming?"
Alice shot up, eyes wide, and she groaned lazily. "Fine." Quickly, she began to fold up the picnic blanket and White waited for her to situate herself before making the trip deeper into the forest.
They'd walk deeper within the forest without purpose. Stopping several times to observe a new backdrop or to converse about the properties of a certain plant. White would kneel with Percival, pulling down several flowers for her to touch. "Miss Percival," White freely spoke, "Look at these." The Ringmaster sat his daughter down among the ground, and the little girl would lean back against his leg as support while White fiddled and plucked at several vines and pulled from different shrubs till he retrieve a particular flower.
Something shrill catches the trio's attention. A tiny voice that peeks interest among the bed of flowers that White stumbled upon within the deep forest. At first, Alice was confused over the commotion until White began to laugh. The voices are annoying and even Percival begins to become upset over the sound; her face cringes, and tears begin to flow over the scare. "Damn, singing flowers." White mutters, his hazed crimson eye flickering over the bed of multi-assorted flowers. Alice leans over his shoulder, and the Ringmaster uses his other hand to stroke the side of his daughter's face to comfort her; wiping away the stray tears that stained her white face. "It's only noise, Percival." He'd go on, "No need to cry over rude weeds."
"And what an ugly weed you are." The violet from the bunch of greenery talks back. And when the voice shot back, the rest of the flowers began to scream their shrill scream; there was no form of art in their musical voices at the moment – only annoyance. Percival was getting ready to start crying again; their sharp voices caused pain to her sensitive hearing.
"Be quiet." White rasped, keeping true to that hollow-point grin, "I'll pick you all if you all don't shut up." And silence plagued the garden within the deep forest. Percival finally settled, finally observing the swaying garden that uttered whispers among each other.
"That was rude." Alice noted drolly.
"And flowers calling me an ugly weed is not? Dear Alice, are you favoring shrubbery over me? If that's the case – I feel you need to get your priorities straight." White humorously deflected.
There'd be another scream, something to snap Alice and White out of their bickering. "Stop!" The roses from the bunch hollered, and screamed with their tiny voices and muffled petals. Percival was leaning over the bed, stubby fingertips already making work to pluck at the crimson detail and pulling the petals.
"White! Stop her!" Alice pleaded, trying to lean over The Ringmaster's hunched over frame. "She's going to kill all the flowers!"
"Now – why in the Heavens would I stop her? I find it justly so." The man loomed over his daughter to protect her from Alice's hands. "You did say that you wanted Percival to experience nature. And this is Wonderland's nature. Settle now, and tell me you've never plucked flowers from their beds." He straightened his shoulders so Alice wouldn't crawl over him.
While the parents wrestled over dominance and the ethic of childrearing, Percival was having her time-of-day pulling the rude flowers from their roots.
Black:
"She won't stop crying!" Black walked to one end of the office, then paced back to the adjacent end. "Damn it." The Warden bickered, and he continued his pacing back and forth. Cradling his daughter close to his chest, feeling the white undershirt of his uniform dampen in one spot on his chest over the crying his daughter supplied him with. She's been crying for an hour. An hour of Hell that's been promised to the most feared man in Wonderland.
"You're holding her wrong." Alice moved over, trying to stand her ground in front of the man who kept moving about The Foreigner. "She needs support." Alice tried to pry his hands, fingers tangling with fingers; informing the proper routine.
"I know how to hold my daughter, woman. She just won't stop crying!" Black jerked away from Alice, sharply turning to the opposite end. His shoes clicked against the hard floors, his diameter hard to understand. "And whatever your telling hasn't worked either. She's just crying to hear her own voice at this point!" There was a bounce to his step, possibly trying to rock her calmly with every harsh step.
The little girl sobbed, her wine, curious eyes squinting painfully together. Her mouth hung open like a gaping cave. Her hands fisted into the Warden's uniform, holding on to her father for dear life; she pressed her face against his chest, almost heaving to whatever pain has stricken her. "Well. Something had to bother her? When I left she was fine, but when I got back she was crying. What happened?!" Alice had to use her vocal strength so she could be heard over her daughter's bumbling cries.
The Warden sighed angrily, turning back to his lover. "She fell!" The man spat out, "She fell, damn it! I was working over several papers at my desk, trying to fuckin' organize. And I guess when she was playing – or whatever, she tried to stand, but fell. I've done my best in trying and console her. But you see where this has gotten me?"
Alice glowered up at the man, biting out, "Will you hold your tongue around Percival?! She is starting to pick up words! And I don't need her repeating whatever you say!" The man lowered his single, baleful eye at the woman before him; his frown almost permanent against the structure of his handsome face.
There was a stare down. A long and hateful one till Black backed down, "Sorry." He murmured, "I just –"He huffed, "Can't get her to stop crying. It's been nonstop for the past hour."
Alice stood there stunned by his apology, holding her breath then slowly letting it out; she tensed but eased into the current situation. "It's okay. Let's just – hmmm. The fall definably scared her." The Warden slowly nodded to Alice's words, running his hand tenderly up and down his daughter's back, calming her shaking with every raddled and dragged out cry. "Maybe she's crying for a different reason now. Have you tried feeding her?"
"She wouldn't take the bottle." Black informed.
"Have you changed her?" Alice inquired, running down the list in her head.
"Nothing to be changed. She's clean." He quickly answered; slowly growing irritated by the crying again.
Then it came to Alice, and she gasped over the realization. "Singing." Alice finally stammered out, her hands clapping together, "You haven't tried singing to her yet? That always does the trick for her."
"I don't sing." Black argued. "Why don't you?" He pulled his daughter from his chest, trying to place the infant into his lover's hands. Surprisingly, Alice backed up with a sly smirk painted over her features. "What are you doing –"
"-Go ahead, sing to her."
"Huh?" His face froze, a pregnant pause. "What are you doing?! Take her!"
"No, no." Alice paced out of the room slowly, "I seemed to remember promising White with helping set up the circus' market stalls. So –"Alice sprinted out of the office and down the amble halls of the prison, disappearing down the halls.
"You're a liar! I know lies!" Black yelled out, causing the child in his arms to shutter and resume to her crying. "Ugh." He closed the door to his office, holding his daughter closer to his form and rocking her back again. "I just think you're doin' this on purpose now." He paced back to his office chair, slumping back against the leather interior.
"Come on, stop crying. I know you've gotta be tired." The man reasoned, and the note almost sounded like pleading. The Warden's warm hand pressed against the baby's back, leaning her forward so that she'd rest against his chest; her crying did not cease.
The idea of singing did come to mind, but he abolished the thought and instead leaned forward to rummage through one of his desk drawers. His fingers dove into the space, pulling back papers till he found whatever he wished to find. Caked in dust, and long forgotten, Black pulled out a tiny music box; tinged in gold with tiny details that's been rubbed away with age. "I don't sing." He spoke to his daughter, "So – just listen to this." He sighed heavily, cranking the machinery.
When he held the box to her face, she didn't notice it. Once the piece started playing, her whaling cries died down and was replaced with childlike wonder; almost captivated. Her downpour eyes lightened, her ruby-eyes shimmered in curiosity to the haunting lullaby. Finally, Black would chuckle under the sudden change – something so simple resulted to an end of a headache. "Like that? Eh? Good." He leaned back into his chair, still holding the music box up to the child's face.
Alice returned with White after several hours of delay. They'd muse over the silence that lingered within the office on the end of the prison, but eventually would laugh over the display of opening the door. Within the far right of the office laid a sleeping Warden, with his sleeping daughter that rested against his chest.
Bed (Shorts)
"It's your turn to get her." Black whispered harshly over Alice's sleeping form, addressing his frustrations to his counterpart who'd idly pulled Alice into his grasp.
"Not I, Joker. If I recall – I was the one who went to the baby last time." The Ringmaster muttered tiredly into Alice's hair, taking in the aroma of smothered roses.
Alice finally awoke to the bickering, pushing Black and White away from her. "If no one is going to get Percival then, I will." Sluggishly, she wormed her away out of the covers and tumbled off the bed. Alice disappeared from the room, to only return several minutes later with her daughter in her arms. The baby finally eased under the touch and Alice slumped over the edge of the bed.
The men finally returned to her side, leaning over her lap to capture a view of Percival who'd settle and fell into her own slumber again. Black ran his hand slowly up and down Alice's back, while White leaned down to his daughter to brush against the side of her face.
A/N: If you're not familiar with Alice's Looking Glass, the first thing Alice sees is the flowers. Rude flowers that call her an ugly weed – so I had the flowers call White an ugly weed.
Sorry for taking so long to update. Christmas, and setting up college courses. The works. Also! Don't worry about my "The Painted Woman" fic. I'm still working on it!
I'm still making corrections. So I'll be updating this fic several times.