"Right this way, please." Chess drawls lazily, floating several yards ahead of the only tentatively following group. "We won't make it at all in a timely fashion if you all aren't more enthusiastic."
If enthusiasm is required to get wherever they are going, Lowell thinks haltingly, then they will never get there, and he isn't sure whether or not that is a bad thing, for he still isn't certain where, exactly, it is they are supposed to be going. But when an ethereal flying cat sweet-talks you out the front door, you do as you're told. And thus Lowell finds himself with an arm around each of the two women, guiding them protectively (or, more likely, mock-protectively, because there isn't much he could do defensive-wise with his arms wrapped around two women should they be assaulted somehow, and really, he'd done it more to make himself feel better than the other way around (for it does make him feel ever-so more solid and grounded to be holding onto his wife; Helen, not so much, but that is beside the point-he is an English gentleman, after all)) across the lawn of the Ascot's estate.
The carriage ride over had been stuffy, to say the least (the floating pussy had pranced right into the waiting cab without being seen by the driver, and had taken up an entire seat because no one wanted to sit beside the thing. "You all are ever so boring, did you know? I think I'll pop out for a breeze." And then he was gone until the carriage stopped. The driver had seemed confused when Lowell had asked where they were. "Didn't you give me this address, sir? And what happened to your accent?").
The cat did not lead them to the front door. Instead, he floats lazily (doing little circles and disappearing at times, only to reappear again just a bit farther ahead) around the side of the house and further off into the gardens, past the hedge maze, and out into the more untamed wilds of the farthest Ascot acres.
And still, Lowell does not know why they are following. It is illogical, senseless, to be following this impossible pussy on only the grounds that he knows Alice, and is claiming to be protecting them (normally, Lowell's argument would have started with "protecting them from what?" and went from there, but he feels the fabric of his scarf around his neck and swallows hard. Maybe they do need protecting. Can this cat protect them? Protect his Margaret? What if that woman in the mirror comes back, and reaches out her spindly fingers towards Margaret's neck instead...?). Lowell keeps following.
"Ah. Here we are."
The cat stops. Still several yards away, the group of humans stops, as well. No one wants to approach.
Chess lands (with much poise and a bit of primping-the kind that cats do, claws to the earth, pulling for no apparent reason, as though to soften their little patch of dirt like one would fluff a pillow) neatly beside a large, slightly tilted, gnarled tree stump, where he proceeds to stick up his tail and wave them over.
"Come, come now, humans. Our journey is not over, oh no."
The three approach slowly, with caution, and the cat heaves a sigh.
"Fine, be slothful if it pleases you. I shall see you on the other side, whenever you deem it time to grace Underland with your presence. Don't wander off, dears."
And with that, the pussy gives a little hop and disappears into the ground.
"Where in the blazes did it-?" Releasing Margaret and Helen, Lowell steps forward, peering around the tree to find a large hole where the cat had jumped in. Stooping down to inspect, he finds it looks dark, and it looks deep, and Lowell does not like at all the look of it.
"A rabbit hole?" Margaret half whispers, half gasps, and Lowell turns to find her gazing over his shoulder with wonder, Helen not far behind, colored with almost disbelief.
Lowell shakes his head. "It's much too large to be a rabbit-"
"No, Lowell," Margaret lays her hands on his shoulder, a smile spreading across her face. "Not a normal rabbit hole. Like in Alice's stories. The cat, too-the Cheshire cat! Good heavens, Lowell, I think it's all true. Everything Alice ever told me... Oh, I wouldn't have believed it except..."
She trails off and brings her hand up to her husband's neck, and Lowell lifts his chin reflexively to his wife's touch. Her fingers slide down his jaw sweetly and touched the tops of the bruises that can be seen just under the rim of his scarf.
"Lowell," she meets his eyes seriously, and Lowell knows that whatever is coming, he will not like it, but he will not deny her. "I think we're going to Wonderland."
"This is going to be dreadful on our clothing." Helen tuts, standing aside as regally as she always does. She glances back towards the house. "I do wonder if Lord and Lady Ascot realize what they have on their premises, and why no one else has had the misfortune to discover it besides Alice."
"Maybe you have to have a certain amount of imagination to find it." Margaret suggests, to which Lowell scoffs. "What? Magic is real, and we wouldn't have believed that. So why not?"
"There's no point in speculating." Taking a deep breath, Helen picks up a bit of her dress in each hand and marches to the edge of the rabbit hole.
"Mother, no!" Margaret cries, standing and grasping Helen by the arm. "It could be dangerous."
"The cat did it." Is her reply.
"Tis a magical cat!"
This is absolutely ridiculous.
"Ladies, please-" Lowell goes to rise, slips on a bit of loose dirt, and topples backward into the hole.
Stayne is floating (why is he doing that? He hadn't been earlier, had he?). The water is clear, serene, and the surface ripples above his head with glints of sunlight in the waves (he should really move towards that, shouldn't he?). His hair drifts about his head, his arms reach out, but his body sinks deeper (it seems ever such a tiresome effort to move). Bits of wood and rips of fabric come dancing into his view in the gentle ebb of the water (those had come from the boat, hadn't they? Alice had been on that boat).
Alice!
Jerking forward, Stayne propels himself towards the surface and breaks with a gasp, coughing up a fountain of seawater into the spray. His body, ever too big in every way, is heavy and hard to keep afloat, but he does his best as he bobs and splashes in a circle, taking in the scene.
They are in the Crimson Sea. The familiar shoreline of Crims and towering silhouette of the Red Queen's Fortress looms in the distance (but not too distant a distance. He can swim that far, but first!) and more chunks of wooden trade ship bob across the water. Two tufts of blazing hair stand out against the blue, and he ignores them. It is only the gold that matters-
There!
She is head down, not moving, and much too far away for his liking. He begins to swim desperately towards her.
"Alice!"
She swivels in the current.
"Alice!"
Splashing alerts him that someone else has heard his cries, but Alice is still silent, a carpet of curls limp in the water.
"Stayne, is that you yelling, ya cur?"
"Good heavens, where's the ship?"
"Shut up, both of you!" Stayne snaps, still trying to maneuver his overly large frame against the waves. "Someone get to Alice!"
"Alice? Where-"
Realizing he is getting nowhere, Stayne stops and assesses where the two gingers are in comparison to Alice. "Tarrant! To your right!"
Immediately, the haberdasher is flying through the water. And Stayne watches from where he is as Hatta reaches her, grabs her, inspects her.
"Alice! Alice!" Propping her skillfully upon his own appendages, Tarrant holds Alice to himself and uses his arms, wrapped tightly around her, to pump water from her. Like Stayne had minutes before, Alice begins to spit and cough and, drenched, leans into the hatter to hold her afloat.
Tarrant tenderly wipes the hair from her face, holding her close, pillars of support for each other as Alice clings to her savior and Tarrant clings to his, repeating her name softly, over and over, hope making each word a song.
"Alice... Alice... Alice..."
Stayne's relief at her being alive is momentary. Then it is gone, and in its place is a hole. A chasm.
That could have been him; Stayne. Had been, once before, in London. Somehow, he doesn't think his rescue of her had looked nearly so... tender. (In fact, he is fairly sure he'd grabbed her rather roughly and thrown her onto the dock, and while she hadn't been able to swim in her dress, she hadn't swallowed too much water, and coughed in up all on her own, no assistance needed. She'd looked just as beautiful then, indignant at her plight, at having to be rescued, but grateful and kind-and with no question of why, no lingering resentment or hatred towards him, what he'd done, how she used to look at him. And all the questions that had spurred in him.)
Stayne looks away. Instead, he glares up at the sky, afar at the land, into nothing.
He is back in Underland. Things are moving too quickly. If he wants to live through this, he is going to have to be bolder. He doesn't like his prospects.
"We need to get to shore," he drawls, starting off without waiting for the others.
He glances up at Castle Crims, disdainful, but he knows it will be empty, and they will need time to gather themselves before making the long trek to Marmoreal (which is, of course, where the Hatter will insist upon taking Alice once they are recovered). With resentment, Stayne swims further to the right, directing himself towards the castle.
They reach shore in about as much time as can be expected, and Hatter helps Alice down onto the beach before settling there himself. Hamish, in a huff and with absolutely no grace, tries to bend over and catch his breath only to lose his balance and fall sideways into the sand. Stayne does his best to ignore all three of them, doing a check of their surroundings to make sure they have no unwanted company.
"What happened? Where are we?"
Hamish has picked himself back up and is now standing beside Stayne, something he does not like at all (but when he thinks to make a snide comment about it, he realizes the young man is staring straight ahead at nothing, just as Stayne is; which is to say, they are both staring determinedly away from where Alice is curled up beside the Hatter, and Stayne refrains from mentioning it). "We were attacked by a Jabberwocky. Obviously, we're in Underland."
"A what? Underland?" Hamish goes something with his nose that resembles a grimace. "Isn't that the country you and Mr. Hightopp are from? How did we-"
"Yes, yes," Stayne waves him off, preferring to mutter to himself over babying the Overlander. "But there shouldn't be any more Jabberwocks... unless..."
Oh, no. This is moving much, much faster than he had anticipated. Then they had anticipated. If she has control of a Jabberwocky, then that means she is asserting her royal authority. They will need to contend her rule soon, or else-
"Is that a... blue... bird?"
Stayne turns to follow Hamish's line of sight, and groans. "Blasted dodo..."
Too fast. All of it. Just... too fast.