The sewing needle is still sticking out of the door frame as Hamish helps Alice and her escort into the sitting room. He makes a note to pick it out later and hide it, but for now it only serves to confirm his fear, one even greater than thinking he is seeing things: there had actually been a ghostly cat and a mouse in a dress carrying on a conversation on the couch only minutes earlier. Oh no, Hamish Ascot is not delusional, he is just wrong about everything he has ever been taught about the way the world is supposed to be. The fabric of his universe is unraveling, and he doesn't even have time to examine it, for there is something far more important going on here than his world falling apart: Alice is home, and home weeks ahead of schedule, dripping wet from head to two and apparently in the care of a giant of a man.
Needless to say, Hamish hasn't fetched the others from the attic just yet. Seeing Alice in this state is liable to send them all in a tizzy, and the Hatter over an edge or two in his already fragile mind. No, it is best to know what happened beforehand so he can prepare.
Or, at least that's how he justifies it to himself later. Really, he just can't think of anything else but Alice at that moment.
Of course, Alice is just Alice the whole time, which is a comfort to Hamish as he shuffles about in a semi-contained panic. She pays him barely any mind as she has her servants bring her bags in and fetch her a towel.
"I'm going to my room to clean up, I'll be down in a minute. Stayne, stay here and behave yourself." Ignoring Hamish completely, Alice gives her tall companion a stern look, to which he smiles and bows, which is all proper in itself, but Hamish is sure he detects some sort of mockery in it. But Alice ignores that as well and leaves them.
After all these weeks of waiting and waiting for her to return, this is definitely not what Hamish had been expecting for Alice's homecoming, and this is all he can think as he sits in the sitting room, trying not to stare at the strange giant who is sat in the great armchair by the fireplace (which he cocks a brow at, because this man is also dripping wet and now soaking Charles' chair, but he is a guest and it is the closest seat to the fire; what is he supposed to do, make him stand?).
Hamish thinks he should be polite and strike up a conversation of the manly sort, as is all right and proper (as things ought, eventually, get back to being. He is worried he is getting used to being out of sorts, and that just doesn't sit well with the young Lord) and expected of him as the only educated male of familiarity with the place and thus he feels he is a sort of stand-in host for the ladies of the home. So, he begins: "Stayne, was it, then? It's a pleasure, sir. I am Hamish Ascot—"
The man, apparent friend of Alice's (Hamish does wish 'friends' of Alice's would stop just showing up, and he seriously hopes this man doesn't express the same interest in Alice as her other, equally strange friend had), barges right into Hamish's introduction with a lazy drawl. "Ilosovic Stayne."
His face twitching only slightly in annoyance (it is barely conscious, only a reflex, really, for Hamish is quite used to interruptions by now, what with having the Hatter around all day) he nods and continues, unbothered by the strangeness of the man's name any more than he is by Tarrant Hightopp's. "Ah, Ilosovic Stayne, then. I am Hamish Ascot-"
"I gathered that the first time you said it." Stayne breaks in again, looking annoyed.
Unsure how to respond to that, for Hamish is sure he should be insulted but is having a problem searching the emotion out and fears greatly that he is becoming so accustomed to a lack of propriety that it isn't actually bothering him anymore (which is a very bad sign), Hamish only stands and straightens his vest and assumes a properly jilted face just for the sake of doing it. Ilosovic Stayne reclines further into his cushioned chair and props one leg up over the other, flinging water droplets about the carpet, as comfortable as could be. His eyes wander from Hamish for a moment, locking on something over his shoulder.
"Is it a custom in this backwards world to stick needles out of door frames?"
Hamish feels his eyes bulge almost out of his head, and makes for the pin with a bit less composure than he should allow himself. He pulls it out of the wood and stares at it, suddenly very aware that there had been a cat and mouse talking in here not but a few minutes ago. Where had they gotten to? Are they just flitting about the Kingsleigh estate, free and intelligent and possibly shedding? With rabies?
His panic is cut short as Alice comes sweeping into the room in a dry, prim, and blue (ever Alice's color) dress as plain as her mother would allow in something that isn't meant for business. Her hair, still wet, hasn't been made up properly but merely halfheartedly pulled back so that it is out of her face but still falling in waves around her shoulders. She is also barefoot and stockingless, which Hamish is sure he and the other man notice at exactly the same time.
Even when as far from social standards as possible, Alice looks stunning. And to Hamish's relief, the stranger seems miffed by her appearance, not impressed.
"My dear Alice-" Stayne begins in a bored voice as Hamish quickly tries to stash the sewing needle in his small pocket. "You'd look absolutely delectable if only you weren't so terribly small."
Far, far from appropriate (and not entirely sensical, but is anyone lately, Hamish wonders with a small sigh), the comment has Hamish jerking his head around to once again bulge his eyes in shock at this tall man. He thinks his bottom lip is probably engulfing his top, his face is so set with disapproval.
Alice, being Alice, doesn't seem to care that his comment is entirely inappropriate and reacts with her usual unusual poise. "I can't say I'm disappointed at my loss of your approval. I see you've made yourself at home in my father's chair."
That brings about a smile (not a pleasant expression at all, really, for it makes the endings of the scar poking out from under his eyepatch stand out in startling relief, marring what are already less than desirable features on a pallid face with his wet, shoulder-length black hair plastered to his skin), and he laces his fingers together in his lap. "It's not really up to my standards, but it seems to be the best you have to offer me, so I won't complain too much."
"Is that so?"
Hamish had been about to jump from his chair to Alice's defense, despite his being sure Alice can very well defend herself, but they've both been beaten to it by someone neither had expected. Whirling around, Alice finds her mother standing behind her, looking elegant and stern, like a fierce goddess or a mighty queen, and Alice steps out of the way of her mother's line of sight so that sparks almost fly as the stranger and Helen's eyes meet. Margaret is behind her, an insulted princess, both hurt and indignant, ready to take her mother's mantle should she need to. But the Kingsleigh matron needs no assistance.
"Well, I'm sorry the accommodations don't suit you, sir. But they suit myself just fine, and seeing as I am the one who lives here with such items, I don't see why your opinion should make any difference to me. If you don't deem it worthy of you, leave, and have a good day sir. I don't believe we will be worse off without you."
If ever Helen Kingsleigh has given anyone alive so cold a stare, Hamish has never seen nor heard of it, and certainly he would have, for gossip would have eaten this up alive, for with her grayed hair and noble indignation, she is truly to face of an elderly queen, cloaked in white.
And then her knights come from either side of her and her eldest daughter, rounding into the room with faces dead set.
"I think she just told you to leave, stranger." Lowell's voice is firm, leaving no room for argument.
But it is nothing compared to the Hatter's.
Back is the Scottish brogue and the fierce light in Tarrant Hightopp's eyes, and he seems more wild than Hamish has ever seen him in this moment. "Ain' no one, eva, allowed ta talk ta Alice like tha', ya hear me, vermin?"
Hamish feels himself back a bit closer to the wall, trying to be small and insignificant. He feels no shame in it, for any sane man would have cowered under the glares that have gathered into the Kingsleigh sitting room. But none of Alice's friends seem sane to Hamish, and this new man is no exception.
Stayne's smile spreads even further, and he slowly rises from his chair, like a cobra preparing to strike. "Tarrant. How nice to see you."
Both men reach for their sides at the same moment, as if for swords, only to realize neither is equipped with the thought of weapons. They stare at each other fiercely for another moment, sizing each other up, seemingly debating on whether to just duke it out by hand when—
"Alice!" As though he's been snapped awake from a trance, Tarrant's head shoots up and his expression brightens with a sudden light and hope Hamish only ever thought he saw in the religious sort. He whirls around just as Margaret, who'd been the one to shout, comes forward and throws her arms around her younger sister. "Oh, Alice, I didn't even see you there! You're home!"
"Yes, Margaret, I'm home." Alice half chokes out, smiling into her sister's embrace. Her eyes are still flitting between the Hatter and the giant, and as she pulls away from Margaret, she steps in just a way to place herself defensively before Stayne.
Helen's face softens a bit, taking in her daughter's apparent good health with a mother's relief. "Welcome home, dear."
Beside her, Lowell nods. Alice nods right back.
"Your hair's all wet." Margaret knit-picks in her sisterly fashion, dabbing at the tresses. Alice looks like she is about to reply, but the answer comes without her.
"She was thrown from her ship."
All eyes turn to Stayne, who steps up behind Alice, towering over her small form. "I had to jump in and swim to her rescue, fish her right out of the jaws of the ocean." He motions dramatically with both hands, making a show of his explanation, grinning still wider all the while. "You can all thank me properly now."