Margaret is absolutely glowing as she takes in their surroundings, while her husband does his best to stare at the ground and the ground alone, as though it will ground him, doubting this logic the entire time. He is standing sentry beside the door, holding it open as Margaret had instructed ("Don't want it to get lazy and just close on us, however then will mother get through?" for she is certain her mother will follow them, no matter how she had protested before Lowell had fallen) and doing his best to just not think, and be done with it ('tisn't working, confound it all).
"I wonder," Margaret says wistfully. "If we should eat the cake now or wait until later. From what I can remember, Alice spent most of her time in Wonderland tiny, and that is normal, I think. Or is it that it is normal around the animals, which are already rather small, and she got bigger again when she'd found people... oh, it's been so long since I heard her stories, I'm so fuzzy on the details that might be important now."
"Importance is only imported on such things that deserve import, whether such things are important or imported or appropriated, so I highly doubt anything of importance is important."
Lowell jumps, then curses under his breath. He still isn't used to that disembodied voice, no matter how many times the cat joins the conversation without actually joining them physically.
As though reading his thoughts, Chess' head smokes to life, blocking his gaze with its upside-down grin, and floats uncomfortably close to Lowell's face (the feline is ever so large, while the man himself is ever so small at the moment; he's never been so terribly afraid to be gobbled up). "You humans... you do so groom your fur in such appetizingly bizarre manners. It's hideously unattractive."
Oh, is he beginning to hate the beast.
But the need to retort is saved by the telltale sounds of Helen finally arriving (and Lowell is very glad to be blocking his wife's view of the event, as Helen is much too old for this sort of thing, and the whole falling-landing-falling-landing debacle looks dreadfully painful for the matron, even if she stands and dusts herself off with as much dignity as is expected of her). Margaret rushes up beside her husband to call out.
"Mother! Over here."
It takes Helen several seconds, glancing about the room in confusion, before she finally looks down and spots her daughter and son-in-law. Lowell holds his breath, but is pleased when bug eyes are the only sign that Helen finds any of this out of the ordinary as she speaks to her inches-tall child. "Margaret. I hope your trip down is much more pleasant than mine."
"Lowell protected me," she replies easily, giving his arm a squeeze (does the air always smell like roses down here? It seems much sunnier than it had a moment ago). "Here, you'll need to drink this to fit through the door."
She pushes the large vial through to her mother, who picks up the tiny thing and eyes it warily. Sighing, she drinks, Lowell turns away to give them some privacy (privacy he had not given his own wife while she had jimmied her dress about her and he had make-shift tailored his own clothing, but that is another matter entirely), and then the door is allowed to swing shut (with a disgruntled "thank you, sir") once the three companions and their smoky feline guide are through.
"Shouldn't we knock?" Alice comments lightly as Stayne throws the large double doors to the Castle Crims open and lets them collide with the walls without a care, shaking the whole entrance whole with a loud BANG!
Stayne rolls his good eye. "Abandoned."
"Doesn't mean we ought to be rude." Alice shoots back.
"Rude to who?" Stayne replies. "The people who aren't here? Or the murderer who used to live here? Because I can see why you'd be worried about what they'd think."
"Are we going to have to listen to you two flirt the entire time we're here?" Hamish snaps (for he is cold, wet, annoyed, ashamed, jealous, tired, confused, having a crisis, and unable to contain himself any longer).
Alice and Stayne both shut their mouths rather quickly, Stayne looking to Alice in that way he does that Hamish can't stand because he knows he's looked at her like that before, still does, and the Hatter practically has no other expression when Alice is anywhere around or is even so much as mentioned.
Speaking of the Hatter, he appears to be mumbling to himself. "I'm contemplating things that begin with the letter S. Suffocation. Strangulation."
Backing away as nonchalantly as possible, Hamish speeds up after Stayne, who has resumed leading the way with his quick pace and long strides that rather leave everyone else jogging after him.
"Guest bedrooms are this way," he informs them without looking back. "I assume no one will want to sleep in the Queen's room, no matter how many comforts it offers."
"And you, Knave?" Hatter finally speaks up, though his voice is still low and rather menacing to Hamish's ears. "Will you be takin' yer old room?"
Staybe does glance back at that. "I'd rather not, if it's all the same to you."
Alice opens her mouth, watching the exchange closely, but then frowns and shoots Hamish a sad little look that he clearly interprets to mean she is doing her best to suppress her curiosity, fearful of giving her amnesia away. What does she know of this subject? What doesn't she? She can't ask. Can't even venture a comment lest she let herself slip.
So it is, instead, Hamish who asks (with a great amount of forced curiosity), "You lived here, then?"
Stayne doesn't answer, but Hatta does. "Aye, being the Red Queen's favorite little toy."
"Can I just get the whole story here?" Hamish insists, glancing between the two men. "I've gathered the two of you are on opposite sides in some war here that resulted in the... loss of Mr. Hightopp's family but his Queen winning? And now Mr. Stayne's... what? Reformed?"
Both men snort.
"Once a murderer-"
"I'm surviving." Stayne cuts Tarrant off, though he doesn't sound too concerned about his comment.
"Seems like more than that," Alice says quietly. "After all, you dove into the ocean to save me, and staying with me has gotten you attacked by a Jabberwocky and in a shipwreck. Doesn't seem like my company is very conducive to surviving."
Hamish groans loudly, and doesn't care that it makes every one of them stare at him because at least then Stayne and Alice aren't staring longingly at each other and making him want to both cry and vomit simultaneously. The young lord will gag himself before he'll be the cause of those two having another moment (Tarrant, old boy, he thinks fiercely, do step up your game again, I think the dramatic sea rescue is starting to wear off).
"Aren't you supposed to be in exile?" Hatta offers suddenly, looking rather confused.
Stayne smiles. "Oh, you remembered."
Smirking, he turns a corner and begins leading them up a spiral stone staircase.
But the Hatter is persistent, despite being the last in their little lineup and Stayne being the head, meaning he has to yell over them up to his rival, his voice bouncing around irritably in the small (but elegantly carpeted) space. "You were chained to the Big Head for life, you were. How did you manage to escape that? And where-"
Hatter trailes off, pausing on his step. Hamish stops as well, watching his perplexed face morph this way and that in an array of fear, confusion, and revulsion.
"Hatta?" Alice calls, obviously stationary behind Hamish.
"If you're here, and you're free," Tarrant raises his gaze up to the hallway at the top of the stairs where Stayne stands waiting. "Where's the Red Queen?"
The flowers, despite having been told off several times, are still grumbling at them as they pass. Exceedingly tall (for Chess has been entirely unhelpful on the subject as to whether they should resume their regular statures or not for this leg of the journey, and even though Lowell insists they'd be faster with their longer gaits, Margaret is terrified of stepping on the rude plant life, despite how deplorable and insulting they are being), the petalled ladies loom over them judgingly, shooting comments to their cat-leader as though human beings do not possess the ability to hear.
"Really, Chessur, what business have ya bringing such things down to Underland?"
"They most certainly aren't Alice."
"Certainly not."
"Ain't got no business being down here if they ain't bein' Alice."
"My dear ladies," Chess purrs, continuing forward as he floats upside, and turns completely around to speak to them. "Alice, being rather subjective on the point of being Alice herself at times, gathers herself from others, so are not the others that contribute to the being of Alice also Alices of a sort? For though Alice was not Alice, she was still most certainly Alice, and has become Alice again, so I must escort these pieces of Alice to the thing herself so as to keep Alice Alice for the time we will be needing her, you see?"
"Oh, yes."
"Yes, of course."
"You always were such a thinker, Chess."
"Such a smart one, he is. Though this lot-"
And thus, despite their seemingly agreeable moment, they resume their banter as to Lowell, Margaret, and Helen's unworthiness and (to Lowell's great insult) their ugliness, to which Helen ignores and Margaret tries to pretend it doesn't bother ("they are just like this in Alice's stories") and fails to keep her hurt feelings off her face.
She had been unabashedly excited about how beautiful their surroundings were when they'd set out, darting about, spinning in happy little circles, admiring all the giant mushrooms (fungus! She is impressed by fungus!) and rocking-horseflies (nonsense, all of it, nonsense). The flowers seem to about drain the pep out of her. Thankfully, they are leaving those wretches behind.
Soon enough, they reach a fork in the road.
"A choice, dear humans." Chess perches himself atop the sign. "East through Quest to the White Queen's castle, or South through the Tulgey woods and a bit of Snud."
"Well, which is faster?" Lowell asks.
Chess grins wider. "That depends entirely on how fast you go and where you wish to end up, now, doesn't it?"
"We obviously want to end up at the castle." Helen reminds the pussy. "Which way will you recommend to get there in the most speedy and safe manner?"
The cat's head twists slowly till he is staring at them on his side. "Quest is faster, I suppose, but I much prefer to take the woods."
Margaret turns her head curiously, almost mimicking Chess. "Why?"
"Why indeed?" The cat replies vaguely, fading from existence completely, leaving them to make the decision for themselves.