"Dodo?" Hamish scrunches up his face, as though this will help him see better. "Like, a dodo bird dodo?"
Alice giggles, albeit a bit tiredly. "Our ship is just sunk by a dragon and we've surfaced on the shores of another world, and you're surprised at seeing a dodo bird?"
Hamish jerks his head around. "Another what? No, never mind, it's all magic and whatnot anyway, isn't it?"
He is getting ever so tired of magic, and it has only just entered into his life. Is nothing to make sense again? Talking mice. Floating cats. Dragons. Dodo birds. Other worlds...
"We should get to the castle." Stayne strides away from the group, waving them after him and in the opposite direction of the dodo bird in the distance.
"I willna set foot in tha' place fer nau'-"
As though anticipating this objection, Stayne yawns theatrically. "Dear Alice seems to be quite put out after this whole almost downing ordeal, and it would seem a good idea to take her somewhere sheltered for rest. Unless, of course, you are unconcerned with Alice's condition."
Hamish frowns. The goading is starting again, eh? That little bit of peace hadn't lasted long.
Hatter rises, growling, but Alice catches hold of his coat. He pauses to look down at her, and morphs instantly into attentiveness when she begins to shakily stand. She smiles at him, pats his hand, and turns away in that tiny moment before the glow of adoration changes his pale face into the embodiment of joy, missing it completely (this is beginning to be a pattern with Alice and her men, Hamish notices-and then becomes irrationally upset at the thought of the phrase "Alice's Men," for it is entirely lewd in his mind and he does not like it).
"Is it alright?" Alice asks Stayne, tilting her head as she peers at the looming structure not far from their gathering spot. "To just walk up to a castle and ask for a sit?"
He doesn't look at her. "The castle's empty. Abandoned."
"Then why doesn't Hatta like it?"
The question sounds innocent enough, but Hamish catches that solid note in it, and so does Stayne, apparently, as his eyes slide to her coolly. His gaze rests a bit longer than Hamish (and Tarrant, who fidgets with a scowl) think necessary.
"Because it's the castle of the woman who murdered his family and plunged Underland into civil war."
"Aye, and you helped her, ya slakush-!"
"Hatta."
Tarrant bites his lip and stops his finger mid-jab, letting it hang between himself and his rival.
Alice doesn't seem upset with either of them, however, and continues as though she isn't standing between two men who most certainly hate each other more than Hamish hates cheap tea (sacrilege, to be sure!).
"Maybe we shouldn't. I don't want to stay in a place like that."
"Neither do I." Stayne turns away from them. "But do you see anywhere else? The trip to Marmoreal will be long, and I doubt you'll want to make it in such a condition."
"I'll dry as I walk," Alice replies, but it is subdued. She watches the castle with a light of curiosity Hamish recognizes, and dreads.
Tarrant glances down at Alice, straightens himself up and looks away, then crumples as he looks down again. "I suppose... it is just a building... and you do look like you need a rest..."
Hamish pinches the bridge of his nose as Stayne's lip curled in triumph. Can no one say no to this woman? He can. He's been doing it for years (though that seems to have been very thing that drove Alice away. Maybe if he started accepting everything she said and stopped refusing her anything, he'd gain some spot in the competition for her heart again? No, no, it is too late for that. Besides, he'd never be able to behave in such a way all the time and Alice would most certainly think him mad for suddenly changing, anyway. Though being mad seems to be a good thing in Alice's book, so it couldn't hurt, surely? No, stop it, Hamish Ascot! You're a Lord! Goodness, where has his dignity gone?).
Turning his eyes anywhere but at his temptress, Hamish realizes that the dodo bird has gone. "Dodo birds aren't dangerous here, are they?"
"Certainly not," Hatter replies, back to his smiling self (Alice is standing very close). "Uilleam happens to be a good friend."
"Who?"
"What?"
"What?"
"How?"
"Wha- oh, never mind, it doesn't matter!" Hamish huffs.
Tarrant scrunches his nose. "Then why did you bring it up?"
"I-?"
Alice giggles. Rolling his one good eye, Stayne begins walking again, and immediately Alice is following after him, which sparks both Hatta and Hamish forward to catch up. Alice positions herself beside the giant man, doing her best to keep pace, Tarrant pulls up beside her, and Hamish (unable to allow himself to trot behind them like a child, for he is more dignified than that, not to mention more distinguished then the lot of them, but yet having no room to put himself beside his beloved) settles for being beside (if you can call it that; Hamish feels that below will be more appropriate. Maybe he should walk beside Tarrant instead? Oh, but it is too late now) Stayne (whom he wishes would slow down, for every one of them are quickly becoming short of breath from the quick walks to match his long strides).
"Are you really alright with this, Hatta?" Alice asks.
Hamish can't see them through Stayne's large frame, but he can almost hear the Hatter's smile (he'd be smiling, too, if Alice was the least bit concerned that he was going to be alright, wandering around this God-forsaken place with a couple of crazies and dragons flying about and having just lived through a shipwreck-oh, Hamish needs a drink. Tea. Very strong tea. And a foot rub. And to not have met Tarrant, ever).
"Oh, I'm fine, really! But you've had a terrible ordeal, dreadful really, and it is most indeedly important that we get you into something dry to wear, and maybe find you something to eat, and let you have some time to recover and whatever else you might need."
"You're awfully sweet to me, Tarrant. Thank you."
Sweet on you, more's the like, Hamish snorts.
"Oh, it's nothing at all."
"Nothing at all, indeed." Stayne pipes in. "In your head, at least."
And it starts again. Hamish sighs.
Lowell bounces off a bed, smacks into a piano, is slapped by vines, hit by rocks, has a grandfather clock bellow in his ears, and heaven knows what else! And the nightmare has yet to stop. In fact, it is only getting worse. He is falling, falling, falling falling falling and it is terrifying and horrifying and scary and petrifying and frightening and all those other words for the adrenaline that is pumping through him at an alarming rate and making him unable to think or move or do anything but yell and flail and-
Is that the ground? Oh Lord, he is going to hit! After such a fall, he is going to hit the ground and be flattened! He is going to die!
He keeps struggling, keeps flinging himself about, stretching, reaching, grabbing, and-finally!-he catches hold of a rather long curtain hanging from a rod dug into the earthen wall and slides his way down it, slowing to a jerking halt. His hands burn from the friction, but he has stopped.
Dangling helplessly what is probably hundreds of feet above the ground, he has stopped.
And he continues to dangle there (really, there isn't much else he can do; there are no other objects near enough to grab hold of or climb to or even jump to).
And dangle there (which is much harder than it sounds. He is having trouble holding on. His arms ache, and his body feels like it is getting heavier).
And then Margaret drops past him.
"Margaret!"
Lowell dives for his falling wife, grabs hold of her ankle (he can see up her dress-but now is not the time!), and propels himself forward to wrap her up in his arms. He has to protect her. There is nothing to be done about falling, but he can cushion her impact, maybe she'll be okay-
Lowell, wife in hand, slams into the floor. And doesn't die.
"Lowell, dear," Margaret mumbles into his chest. "You might want to be ready to fall again."
Still rather shocked at being alive (and, it would seem, completely unharmed except for a headache and maybe a heart attack), it is almost three moments before he really hears what she'd said, and by then it is too late.
Lowell is suddenly struck with the awareness that they are upside down. And then they fell from the ceiling and hit the floor (again?).
"Darling, are you alright?"
He wants to yell (more than yell, really, for fear and frustration and pain are making him quite unreasonable), but, again, he isn't dead, and his wife is looking at him with those doe eyes, and he is a man, and will not complain about something like this-
"Are you hurt anywhere? Do you need me to take a look, or maybe a massage will help?"
Well, maybe a bit of complaining (they are alone, after all, and a massage sounds wonderful- oh, again man! Not the time!).
"What the blazes just happened!?"
His wife perks up instantly, clapping her hands cutely in front of her mouth. "We fell down a rabbit hole! We're in Wonderland!"
"We're where? And how did we land on the ceiling and fall again!? That's not possible!"
But Margaret has stood up and is no longer listening. She flits about the round room, shaking every door handle (for there are many, many doors) giddily, and then swoops back to the center of the room to a round glass table.
"Oh, Lowell, look! It's just like in Alice's stories! Oh, here's the key and the drink to make you small!"
"It does wha- now wait a moment, Margaret, don't touch anything!"
Lowell scrambles to his feet and charges at her, but she has already taken a sip from the strange bottle and is now shrinking.
Shrinking. His Margaret. Smaller than a doll.
Tiny and full of giggles, Margaret dashes towards the only door now her size, dragging the key behind her. "Lowell, you'll have to drink some, too, to fit through the door! And there's a box of cake under the table, grab some for us, will you? Once we're on the other side, it'll make us big again!"
Small? Big? Drink? Cake? Door? TINY MARGARET! SHRUNKEN WIFE!
Lowell can't breathe. Doesn't move.
Margaret's door clicks open. "Lowell? Honey, are you coming? You have to drink that drink, dear."
Swaying slightly, Lowell picks up the bottle and, without giving himself time to question it (because if his wife is to be such a tiny thing, he will need to be tiny, as well, or he'll never have her again, and that is unacceptable, because as lovely as she is, he could not live a celibate man with a tiny wife for company), drinks it. It is vile, and he coughs several times, gagging on the taste, but his stomach twists with a more pressing matter as his body shoots towards the ground.
"There you go!" Margaret cheers. "Now bring the cake and let's go!"
Dazed, disoriented, still scared witless, and feeling rather ill, now-tiny-Lowell turns, finds said box, removes a chunk of cake, and follows his wife through the tiny door into another world.