The Madness Of Cadmea, or The Lunatic Couturier
Warning for smut/borderline dubious consent.
FOUR
"If you don't know where you're going, any road will lead you there." - Cheshire Cat, Alice in Wonderland
It was days like today when Jefferson especially cursed himself for whatever it was that had made him feel the need to desert his family and his home.
He had not been in possession of the portal jumping hat for very long, and as with any new tool, it had taken getting used to. In the past year, he'd made his first, furtive travels alone, until the last evening, when a strange man had approached him in the tavern he'd been staying in.
Skeptical and wary, Jefferson had no idea where the man had gotten his information, and was refused the informant's identity when he requested it, but somehow news of his new found ability had gotten around - and this small, bewigged, nasally stranger wanted his services.
Jefferson had been surprised, especially since he hadn't even thought of turning his skill into an enterprise, but since his funds were at the point where there was a bit less than more, he considered it...and reluctantly accepted.
That was how he came to find himself lost in the woods, stranded in a place apparently called Wonderland, if the confusing speech of the monstrous blue caterpillar he'd come across earlier could be deciphered correctly, (it was quite uncertain as the creature had most definitely been under the heavy influence of something…)
It was also how he learned that his hat had rules he had been unaware of, the most intolerant of which had been that however many entered the hat and it's portals also had to be present in order to depart from them.
Upon entering the bright and too perfect world through a huge looking glass, the dodgy little man he'd been traveling with had obligingly handed over his 'fare' - and quickly took himself off down a path that led distinctly away from the fantastic castle and gravity-defying hedge-maze looming in the distance. The rotund, squirrelly fellow nearly tripped over his own dainty feet leaving as quickly as he did, and after being the recipient of a half-dozen, twitchy backward glances, Jefferson began to feel like he was missing out on something. A coldness had begun to creep up under his collar, and he'd frowned and taken three steps back to the mirror - only to be soundly blocked from entering it.
His own ridiculous expression of dumb-shock reflecting back at him had made him pause in an attempt to put two and two together, realize he had no access to his hat, and then he was baring his teeth in a hiss, and off and running after the runty little troll who'd clearly known what was going to happen when Jefferson tried to leave minus-one.
Knowing his present scowl of displeasure was thunderous, and surely a fearsome sight to behold, Jefferson now continued to push through the dark, tangled wood in search of a path, a road, or any being with two specks of common sense to rub together, and then he was going to find that tick-ridden bastard and haul his fat ass out of here and home so fast it would make his white wig spin.
So far, he had ventured across a giant hookah-smoking caterpillar, singing flowers, improbable and ridiculous insects, and an annoying, half-visible cat with a grin like a shark's and a way of speaking that made Jefferson's head hurt. There were also blood-thirsty hedgerows that proceeded to snap out and eat anything unfortunate enough to approach - which for Jefferson, had turned out to be his worn but cherished gray travelling coat. He'd barely twisted his arms out of the confining material in a breathless, dizzying dance before it was whipped off him and devoured whole, leaving him shaken and not a little in fear for his life.
Swallowing dryly, Jefferson paused by an absurdly large stand of hyper-colored mushrooms and put his hands on his hips, shaking his head in utter frustration. He could feel his hold to reality slipping, slowly but surely, and was terrified he might go mad if he had to remain in Wonderland much longer. It was practically timeless, and there was something almost insidious about the deceptively cheery place.
Running a scraped hand through his hair, he realized how thirsty he had become when he heard something nearby - a voice, perhaps.
Jefferson made a face at the thought of possibly having another run-in with one of the quirky land's certifiable inhabitants, but decided the direction the sound was coming from was as good as any to head in.
Being quiet was an impossibility in the thickness of the overgrowth he was approaching through, and he let himself curse out loud whenever he got snagged at or scratched by what he swore were semi-sentient, outright vindictive vines.
Jefferson took a deep breath when he stumbled out into a small clearing, and looked around, only to lose that breath when he looked upon the vision before him. His eyes widened, lips parting as he felt his jaw drop.
There was a shallow, trickling stream of diamond-clear water running through the clearing, and the running facets of it caught the speckled rays of sunlight coming down through the heavy canopy of trees curving high overhead. The water was a welcome sight, but his thirst was near forgotten as he gazed upon the nude woodland sprite kneeling before it and bathing. She was talking to herself in an animated whisper, but he was too stunned to acknowledge the oddity.
The female was petite, but not bony - she had skin like winter velvet and long, disheveled white hair that fell around her face and shoulders. In heavy contrast, her long eyelashes were dark, and her full lips a chewed, worried-at red.
When Jefferson gulped audibly, and tried to clear his throat, the girl looked up at him with large gray eyes set in darkened circles in her face, and blinked, her expression impassive.
"You should be wearing a hat," the vision told him matter-of-factly in a cool whisper.
Jefferson moved his lips thoughtlessly and swiped at the sweat on his forehead and the back of his neck with his limp handkerchief. He swallowed again, and arched an imperious brow at her. "You're one to talk - shouldn't you be wearing clothes?"
The sprite smirked at him. "Perhaps I wasn't expecting company. It isn't hard to find privacy this far into Tulgey Wood - usually," she said, whispering still. She stood and took a step toward him, her curvy hips swaying.
Jefferson remained frozen, experiencing what had to be the first stirrings of actual, heated want. He'd been aroused by women, yes, but he'd never felt such an instant need at the mere sight of one before - he was distressingly, embarrassingly, hard, without even his coat to disguise his reaction - but the sprite didn't seem concerned in the least.
"Such a pretty fellow you are. What is your name?" she asked him softly, lifting out a hand as she approached.
Jefferson was helpless not to take it. He stepped forward on unsteady legs and wrapped his fingers around her small, damp, warm ones.
"Jefferson," he told her on a low, breathless growl, and then grabbed her by the waist and kissed her with nothing less than reckless abandon. The gentleman in him tried to drag his lustful actions back from the edge, but the girl fit against his body like a missing piece, and the strange sense of relief he gained from the contact kept him from gaining a proper grip.
The sprite gasped at his actions and his speed, but suddenly relaxed against him, allowing him to to kiss her as he would. Her small fingers escaped his grasp, and ran up his arm to clutch at the back of his head. Her nails scratched softly at his neck, and she made a small noise of relief that drove him completely out of his mind.
Knowing that she might retreat if he allowed her a moment to think, he quickly had one clever hand on her breast, softly but insistently carressing, and the other in the downy fluff between her legs, smoothly sliding along her slick, sweet skin.
The sprite gave a quiet exclamation as she unexpectedly peaked, and Jefferson groaned in amazement and caught her by the waist even as her legs gave out beneath her. He had her on her back on the ground in a heartbeat, mouth still stretching over hers, fingers slipping gently into her heat to gloriously explore and ease his way before he himself was even fully aware of his intentions.
The sprite had both hands in his sweat-dampened hair, moaning in that hushed tone, willingly spreading her flawless white thighs on either side of his hips - she surprised him by coming apart in his hands again mere moments later, and when she reached trembling, hot little hands down to grasp his backside through his trousers, he knew he had her.
"Jefferson…"
Reaching down and undoing his trousers, he barely had himself in hand when she thrust herself up against him, begging in nonsense words in her bewitching whisper.
Jefferson was panting, tongue curling around his lower lip as he caught her hands from his disheveled hair and pulled open the neck of his shirt, settling her hot palms against his chest. They both hummed around their kisses at the contact.
"You are so beautiful, Jefferson," the girl whispered to him when he lifted his head to breathe, and discovered she was staring at him with hungry adoration.
Her expression threw him, made him begin to doubt, but then she scratched her nails gently down his chest and across his nipples, and her hands dropped to boldly encircle his sleek hardness.
Jefferson's eyes slid shut, and he dropped his head to her neck, breathing heavily. "If you do not want this, you should run now," he managed to breathe huskily into her ear, but the girl only shuddered with excitement from head to toe, and put her hands back on either side of his still-clothed hips.
"I fear I shall die from want of you. It's...it's as if I have never fully felt the loss of my heart until now."
Jefferson shook his head at her nonsense, and sighed raggedly in hopeless surrender. He stroked her, twisting his fingers inside her slick heat one last time, and used his other hand to guide his cock into her. He looked down at her delicate, shadowed features through half-lidded eyes, and she twisted her head helplessly on the ethereal bed of her heavy silver hair. Though she was almost unbearably tight, she was more than ready for him, and he slid home with little difficulty, his heart thudding loudly in his ears as she locked down around him. She gave a pained whimper, tensing against him, but then surprised him by lifting her head and licking into his parted lips, sucking his tongue into her sweet little mouth.
Jefferson caught his breath at the exquisite sensation, having to pause and drop his head to the curve of her neck again to catch his breath. She was having none of it, and wrapped her slim legs around his waist with a shudder of pure want, so he groaned helplessly against her skin, sucking it between his teeth, giving sharp nips soothed by long, slow swipes of his tongue as he settled further in, and began moving slowly against her.
Jefferson had been with a women before, had gone far beyond gentle kisses and touching - but those rushed encounters had not prepared him for the cataclysm of pure, unfettered lust. Everything disappeared, all thought, all worry, all awareness except for the thrilling noises she made as he mindlessly sank deep, over and over, breath coming rough and uneven, ecstatic trickles of pure heaven flooding his cock and setting off an explosive spark at the base of his spine.
She came again when he huffed a hot, wrecked breath into the sensitive skin under her ear, driving his hips hard, and when she whimpered quietly into his own ear and then roughly licked into it and bit at it, his world exploded...
He would think back in later years, and wonder if that moment had been when he first acknowledged to himself that he was not a good man. He'd known he was selfish, had always been, but so easily losing himself to his basic urges, taking that elfin female on the soft mossy bed of the forest floor without so much as learning her name, made him realize that he might be lacking in conscience, and conscience was certainly the sign of a good man.
It was afterwards, when his brain could think clearly again, that he dumbly realized she'd been a virgin. When he finally groaned in exhausted satisfaction and lifted his muzzy head from the bruised curve of her throat and saw the blood streaking her thighs, he froze in dismay. When he further thought about the encounter, his throat became tight.
Swallowing against the lump in his throat, he closed his eyes and licked his sore lips.
No, he wasn't a good man, but even he knew he'd gone way too far, much too fast.
Jefferson lifted his lids, studying her with concerned eyes through the spiky tangles of his dark hair, and met the girl's unusually pale eyes with his own - but she was smiling tenderly at him, small white teeth biting the pink plush of her lip, her body resting under his in a languid pose that suggested nothing but utter contentment - she stretched, and that was when he saw it. Them.
There was scar at her throat, not a large one, not a thick one, but a shiny white slash about four inches long - as if someone had attempted to cut her throat. Below that, a brutish, puckered scar lay over her heart, very much resembling a gnarled oak tree with it's outreaching white veins.
Disturbed, shadows of doubt crawling on his spine, he looked away - and saw more long white scars running up the insides of her forearms where they rest on either side of his head as her hands lazily massaged his wild hair in her serenity. She acted as if she trusted him with her life, a stranger who'd appeared from nowhere and taken disgraceful advantage of her.
Just like everything else in this bizarre land, he concluded, she must be mad.
Jefferson leaned back, licking his lips and frowning nervously. He was still inside of her, still semi-erect, still wanting her with a fierceness that seemed wholly unnatural to him, but who the hell was she? Why did she look as if someone had tried to butcher her? How had she survived the wound to her chest? Or worse, why did she look as if, just perhaps, she had tried to butcher herself?
Well, at least it explained why she couldn't seem to raise her voice above a loud whisper…
"Mm...please, please, can you do it to me again?" she asked him out of nowhere, and he stiffened, eyes widening at the spike of pure lust that streaked through him at her words.
He was lowering his head to kiss her again, eyes heavy-lidded with desire when -
"Well, now, aren't you quite the black-hearted villain," came an amused voice from overhead, and blushing, Jefferson hastily reached down to extract himself and do up his trousers before he turned to look.
That gods-be-damned cat was back.
Rolling his eyes impatiently, needing to distract himself, Jefferson stood and looked around, enough of a gentleman to go marching over to the stream to retrieve what had to be the girl's clothes, and pause to dampen his handkerchief for her.
Striding back to the girl, he handed her the items before buttoning up his shirt front and crossing his arms. He turned to face the cat defiantly, hoping his full shirt sleeves would help give her a bit of privacy - not that she'd seemed to particularly care...
"What is it you want now, you contrary creature?" Jefferson asked with an impatient snap.
The cat swished its tail as its grin grew impossibly wide. "Well, you wicked human, I did come with the intention of telling you the stranger you are looking for is currently on his way to the castle of the Queen of Hearts - in chains, of course."
Jefferson cursed - if he'd had hands on his hat, he might have actually cast it down and stomped on it. His euphoria from moments earlier was quickly fading. "Damn it - who is he?"
The cat shrugged, lazily circling the branch. "No idea - but he must have done something quite illegal - he's certainly going to lose his head. If he is of import to you, you may wish to attempt a rescue soon rather than later."
Jefferson blanched. Be-headings were not good...but if the rescue failed, he would simply find another person to take the stranger's place. It would probably work...
He turned to look down at the girl who was demurely lacing up the front of a deceptively plain black gown. As she stood, the skirt fell, revealing two straps with silver D-rings running down either side of it. At the bottom of the full skirt, the straps continued, looping up and back, eventually tucked into a set of D-rings halfway up the skirt, therefore shortening the front of it to her ankles so she had more freedom of movement. His trained eye told him the construction of the garment was impeccable, and clever, and while it wasn't a style that would catch on easily, he wondered idly who had come up with it.
"I...must to go," he finally told the girl with an unsure smile.
The lovely wood sprite froze at first, curled shaking fingers tightly around his damp, pink-stained handkerchief, but then only nodded and smiled easily, her pale eyes slightly unfocused in the tumbled sea of silvery hair.
"I-it was absolutely lovely meeting you, Jefferson - perhaps next time you might come for tea?"
Jefferson felt an eyebrow edge it's way up at the ridiculousness of the entire situation, but gave her a short bow and kissed the tips of her chilled fingers before turning away to follow the cat onto a nearby pathway.
Something was telling him he was an idiot for leaving such an unusual treasure, but his guilt and sense of self-preservation were screaming at him. He'd clearly taken leave of his senses, coming here, getting lost and then violently fucking a mentally unstable innocent - what the hell had he been thinking? Perhaps he could blame it on his accidental inhalation of the sickly sweet smoke that giant blue caterpillar had blown in his face when he'd first arrived from the mirror...whatever it was, he decided that he vehemently hated Wonderland - although he could admit to feeling a slight fondness for a particular silver-haired siren.
The cat reappeared back near the clearing at dusk. It swam it's way through the muggy air over the stream, around a thick stand of trees, and beyond it to an old worn hut tucked into the hillside that had clearly seen better days, what with it's crooked door and limp thatch roof.
"Cheshire," a ragged soft voice greeted, and the cat floated right through the tiny window and onto the back of a tattered velvet couch, where rested the pale-haired girl of Jefferson's desire.
"Your suitor has departed Wonderland, Seamstress," the cat announced, yawning widely. It lowered its head onto it's paws and stared at the fire in the stone hearth contentedly.
The girl, the Mad Seamstress as she'd become known to those in Tulgey Wood, smiled regretfully and sewed a stitch of red silk thread carefully, before piercing with needle again and repeating the process. "I suppose he found what he was after, then."
The cat watched her closely, it's grin dimming a little. "I would say that wicked fellow got rather more than he was after, wouldn't you?"
The Seamstress tilted her head. "It was a lovely afternoon - even if I did miss tea."
"You know, he lost a very fine coat to the maze hedges today."
"Oh, pity that. Perhaps I shall make him a new one - no, a whole new suit! I wonder if he cares for black? He must, I sense he is a villain after all, like you said."
"A dashing rapscallion if ever there was one," Cheshire agreed.
"Dashing, indeed. I wonder if he'll ever return?" the Seamstress asked in a whisper-sweet voice. "He - he would make my heart hurt in the most wonderful way, if I had one. I wish that I did, surely I would be made perfect if I could keep him inside it."
The cat purred, wide eyes narrowing in thought. It watched the seamstress pull another length of thread out, and then followed her fingertips back to the threads origin.
"If he does, he's mad," the cat commented at last, rolling onto its back. "But then, we're all mad here, are we not?"
The Seamstress sighed, the sound ragged from her damaged vocal chords. "I felt different around him - peaceful - if I've ever known peace. His lips were exquisite - they made me quite forget myself...and those eyes, the heat in them...I almost caught myself wanting to scratch them out and put them in my pocket!"
"That would have been very rude," the cat said lightly, it's tail twitching.
"Indeed," the Seamstress agreed, and plunged the needle a bit too fiercely. "Ow!"
The cat sighed. "Perhaps you should put on a light - the darkness gathers outside."
"In a moment - I'm almost done." The Seamstress took a deep breath, and made the final run with the thread before biting it off and tying it handily. She put down the bloody needle and sat back to look at her finished work. "Well? What do you think?"
Cheshire looked down at the carnage of the Seamstresses left forearm - the madwoman had stitched a pretty enclosure around and over the long scar there - much like the laced-front of her gown. The top was wider than the bottom, and the expensive white thread was looped and tied into a pretty bow at the top - well, what showed of the white thread after it had passed through a layer of her flesh and blood and became stained red.
"Lovely, your work has no parallel," the cat commented wisely, instead of trying to point out to her that the reason she did these things was clearly an attempt to put herself back together - but the child was too broken to even try to understand.
"Will you do the other? Perhaps the one at your throat as well?" It hoped she would not, she would probably pierce something and make her bleed to death, but the cat was perverse and couldn't help the sly suggestion...
The Seamstress bit her lip. "I don't know. I like the look of it, but it tends to make me leak so easily, and you know I abhor mess. Just this for now - though next time I may use rings and ribbons instead. Metal pierced flesh will heal much better around the edges than thread, I think. Oh, well - you learn, day by day!"
The cat watched, bemused, as the girl leapt off the couch with tiny streams of blood slinging down her wrist, and swept her long hair aside to tend to the fire.
When the girl had arrived in Wonderland, she'd been utterly lost and alone. After three days of watching the poor, unhinged thing stumble about helplessly, screaming her mad words to the sky, even Cheshire had grown a heart and appeared to offer the girl assistance. It had brought the girl and her mysterious baggage to this little known place, this abandoned hut full of nothing but dust and the detritus of a long past life.
Over the short time she'd been there, the girl had good days and bad. Though she was clearly out of her mind - her hair had gone rapidly from chocolate to silver in those first terrifying, lunacy-filled weeks, especially after the night she'd found her keen little scissors and opened a hole in her throat - she was kind, and held a considerable talent. Her stitchwork was so fine as to nearly be invisible. In fact, the cat knew it was only a matter of time before the Queen caught wind of the mysterious Mad Seamstress living in Tulgey Wood and demanded her services.
The cat feared a little for its new found friend - it wasn't easy to find a human who was willing to put up with it's rude antics and still serve it hot tea and delicate, homemade petite fours.
If the queen became jealous of the Seamstress - and she would - she would have her locked up within the castle forever, hoarding her talents all to herself.
Cheshire watched the fierce little human heat water for tea in an ancient copper pot, and carefully pull out a prepared dough from a bowl for scones, and resolved to watch over her, though if there was a threat, it wasn't Cheshire they would have to worry about - all it would take was one bad day, and the Seamstress would make even Wonderland nightmares seem tame. The Queen was so fond of her little faux be-headings - well, if the Seamstress got hold of anyone with her over-sized shears, and strength brought on by sheer heartlessness and insanity, there would be no easy way of putting their head back upon their necks...
A/N: So many thank you's for the comments and favs so far! If you all noticed, despite her lack of memory and literal heart, Cadmea still manages to adore Jefferson in her own mad way - and Jefferson, now that he's "free" of what he thought of as the burden of Cadmea, is subconsciously responding to the violence of his own feelings for her, even though he has no idea who she really is. If that's not true love, I don't know what is. Also, the Cheshire Cat is asexual in this fic - I don't know why, it just seemed to fit. Maybe just because it always seemed more like a figment to me than a real, flesh and blood cat. I hope you all enjoyed this chapter - continue directly on for the next, and please let me know what you think! Again, so grateful for the feedback.