The Sheep is happy to see customers and familiar faces. In short order, they are down to business. Achilles sells off his winter garb for a token amount (a mere fraction of what he paid for it, though it has been through a bit). He gets a much better price for the teapot full of Apathy-cary Tea -- not so much for the poisonous tea (he warns the Sheep about it, dutifully), but for the very pretty teapot. The Sheep seems certain she can find a Cat buyer who'd love it.spoof Harrison sells off the monkey wrench, the subdued butterfly knife, and what's left of the deck of cards (though Achilles claims the Ace of Spades as a good-luck token first).
Griffin decides that it is T-time. That is, he sells off several items that begin with "T": the Trimmers, the Toy Box, the Tea, and one wadded-up and very put-upon paper Tiger. He keeps the Tintype camera, and the angel's Trumpet, and the Tin soldier. Those would be useful. Despite a suggestion that the toy horse isn't much use, Integra insists that she rather likes having a pony, and somehow she can cover quite a bit of ground riding it.
Griffin is especially ginger with the Paper Tiger, going so far as to compose a poem to quote to the wadded paper before pulling it out of his satchel.
"Tiger! Tiger! crumpled tight
"In my hands, left and right
"What a silly place to be
"If let out, will you obey me?
The Paper Tiger, it turns out, gets a surprisingly good price despite its condition. The luxurious pelt of a Paper Tiger is much sought-after by Cards of the Monarchy of Hearts, but having a subdued Paper Tiger, still alive, is positively unheard-of. The Sheep carefully hides it away, so it won't get loose and start giving everyone vicious paper cuts. In exchange, Griffin picks up a few coins that have "TUIT" stamped on them, and gets the rest of his payment in white checkers (the preferred currency of the White Chessmen).
Harrison digs through the junk, explaining to the others the significance of each artifact in Wonderland terms -- somehow it's all coming back to him, and he just KNOWS what these things can do. He snatches up a box of shells for himself -- somehow he recognizes that despite looking like an odd collection of seashells, snail shells, and nutshells, this box is heavy with the power of pun, and these "shells" will work as potent bullets for his revolver.
There's discussion about some of the other items -- there are some brass tacks that could be very useful if anyone had a mind to get down to them, and you never know when it might be beneficial to find a fork in the road. The trouble is that the asking price for these items is fairly high, and quite a few of them would only be useful once.
The newspaper reporter turned card eyes the whetting stone as Harrison describes it. He fingers the crook of his umbrella, but sadly the rather limp nature of his coin-pouch decides him against soliciting contributions to a rather pointy cause. He browses through the selection of heavy coats of various types instead.
"Dear Lady; the epitome of all that is wooly and good," Harrison begins, addressing the Sheepkeeper, "We have returned from The White Knight as well as the Rose Maze, and I daresay the lands are in much disarray. Why, Both the White Queen and the White King are missing! The Red Queen has even dared to take the lands of the White! This is unthinkable. Since you see so many people and with your shining beauty and grace; surely you have heard where the White Queen and King may be? We would much like to find them and help restore their lands."
The coats here are rather odd, if one peruses them closely. There's a particularly glossy coat. There's also a fresh coat of paint. There's one that looks suspiciously like a tongue. There's even a particularly macabre coat that seems to be made entirely of arms. Out of the corner of one's eye, or if only examining in passing, however, they seem like an entirely ordinary selection of used clothes.
Griffin helps Integra sort through her own things.. and tries not to think too hard about how he was able to get her heavy winter coat into one of her apron pockets.
"That is a very good question!" the Sheep bleats, and then she suddenly takes her knitting needles, abandoning the shawl she was working on, and hands them to Harrison. "Can you row?"
Achilles, peering bemusedly at the 'coat of arms', mutters, "This must surely be her-all-dry, these arms are clearly feminine and not a bit wet." He looks up at the conversation.
The scene rapidly changes. Was this a shop after all? And was that a Sheep? She seems different. The knitting needles are particularly large -- larger and heavier than Harrison expected.
"Oh!" Integra gasps, as she drops a green scarf she was looking at. It curls at her feet. "I say ... It looks like a lily pad now!"
"Why, you ... egad milady, these are heavy!" March says when he finds the needles have quite the weight. Or maybe he got smaller? That would be most troublesome! He does not care to be a pockethare.
The wooden floor immediately seems rather less solid than it ought to be -- at least, further away from the Sheep, or whoever she is. Harrison soon finds himself seated in a rather large and odd rowboat. It rather seems like a very large bathtub, actually. Rub-a-dub-dub, and all that.
"Well, dear me, I feel almost flush," Harrison quips as he adjusts the needles to use them as makeshift oars for his floating tub of damp-buns protection.
"Yipe!" In the distance, Achilles quickly scrambles to the top of a free-standing display of clothing as water floods the immediate area... An island counter, as it were.
The scarf does indeed become a lily-pad, and the lily-pad is indeed on water. The rocking horse begins rocking rapidly, but apparently not enough to end up on the boat. There is one upside, however: It is made out of wood. It floats. The lily-pad, however, does not, once it has a little girl standing on it.
**SPLASH**! Integra falls into the water! She flounders about, grabbing onto the rocking horse (or floating horse) as it bobs by.
"Integra!" Griffin squawks, having flown up to avoid the water. Now he heads for his niece to try and push her over to the boat.
There's quite a bit of splashing and thrashing and fuss, but at last Griffin hauls his niece into the bathtub-boat. Integra coughs and sputters, as she got a bit of river-water up her nose. The rocking-horse bobs alongside the boat, while Harrison finds that the knitting needles have become oars, and, without realizing it at first, he's now rowing.
Achilles, fortunately, managed to flip into the boat. All that water out there doesn't look friendly. Cards aren't exactly known for being great swimmers.
Once Integra is aboard, Griffin hangs one arm out to drag the rocking horse along.
"I say, something you said must have rather dampened the occasion," the reporter quips to Harrison.
The Sheep seems to have been replaced by a nice old lady in a costume that makes her look very much like a living chess piece -- a White Queen, specifically. She seems quite oblivious to the strange predicament, as if this sort of thing happens every day.
"In Wonderland life is quite the dream, eh?" March quips to his friends, soggy and dry alike as he rows towards the White Queen-looking lady.
Achilles nods dryly. "Who's your new friend? She looks quite regal."
"If you're damp," the White Queen offers, "you should exercise. A Caucus Race would do wonders."
"Dear sir, can you not see this is the White Queen? The subject of which we have been recently questing?" March quips. To the Queen he says, "It is a pleasure and an honor to be in your presence once more. We are your humble servants and pray to correct the wrongs that have been inflicted upon your Kingdom and subjects."
Since racing around in an oversized bathtub seems unlikely, Griffin wraps a wing around Integra to help dry her off.
"Oh, you are the gentleman as ever, good Messenger. It's your Anglo-Saxon manners," the White Queen says with a giggle. "Though it DOES set the White King to faint." She looks over to Griffin and his troubles. "Oh, yes, you COULD put her under the tap." She gestures to the faucet and handles. "The plumbing is rigged backwards, of course."
"Oh, of course! Please pardon me, Your Majesty," Achilles says, sweeping a low bow, or at least as much as he can do so while holding onto an edge of the boat to make sure he doesn't waft overboard.
"You want to dry off.. under the tap?" Griffin whispers to Integra.
The river banks glide by, and it looks as if that's the town of Riverside in the distance. The sun shines down brightly from above.
Achilles nods wisely. "Of course. In reverse, it keeps the water out of the tub."
Integra gives a dubious look to the tap. "Is that really how it works? I'll be terribly upset if it means we all sink."
The rocking-horse seems to bob in agreement. Or maybe it just bobs.
"I think we can trust the Queen," Griffin notes. "We can try it on your rocking horse first of course.."
"Fear not, if your spirits are further dampened, we'll tell our dryest jokes," assures Achilles.
"Oh! Poor rocking horse!" Integra exclaims. "Oh, do please fish him on out of the water. It's not only wet, but the river is very smelly! I'd be sad if he caught cold!"
The gryphon tries to haul the toy into the tub.
"Ah Griffin, ever horsing around," March quips.
It is, after all, only a child's rocking toy, and not a full-sized horse -- and despite whatever mechanical wonders one would assume the White Knight to install in it, it seems to float or handle just as well as if it were made purely out of wood. The only trouble Griffin has is in keeping balanced properly as the bathtub bobs and wobbles a bit unsteadily with the shifting -- but in short order the rocking-horse joins the rest.
"There's a dear!" the White Queen says. "Just under the tap like so. Just don't pull the plug in the drain. THAT is plumbed backwards as well!"
Griffin takes the horse to front of the tub-boat and (carefully avoiding the drain plug) turns on the tap. Or unturns it off.
There is a loud sucking noise, and the rocking-horse's yarn mane gets shunted up into the faucet. Griffin can feel the moisture being sucked right out of his mouth. "Oh! That should be quite enough, I think," the White Queen says drily. With a turn of the handle, the action stops. The rocking-horse is quite satisfactorily dry as a wooden horse should be.
Integra's eyebrow quivers at this spectacle. In the meantime, she is leaving nothing to chance, and wrings the water out of her apron over the side of the bathtub. My, but it holds an AWFUL lot of water!
Griffin makes sure the mane comes back out of the tap once it's closed.
The mane mainly remains! It looks as good as ever.
"It.. seems safe, Integra," Griffin reports. "Just.. hold your skirt down."
With some trepidation, Integra at last takes her turn under the tap.
Achilles, unable to stifle his curiousity, pesters the White Queen as people and things are being dried. "If I might be so bold, you suspect eavesdroppers and turncoats even in Riverside, don't you? How long ago did you suspect Queen Alice's hands in events to unseat the rightful rulers of the chessboard? And is there any truth to the rumor that important monarchs are even now being held in the Looking-Glass House?" True to form, he has a lead pencil and pad of paper out, prepared to take notes.
The White Queen amiably chats with the Card, while, in the background, there's a scene of screaming and shouting as it seems that Integra for a brief moment is in danger of being sucked through the plumbing entirely. Somehow, Griffin gets it shut off at just the right time, without the little girl being stuck in the works. She is very dry, and her hair is frizzed out in a most remarkable way.
"Ah yes!" the White Queen remarks, patting her own frizzy hair. "There is nothing like it for managing one's hair!"
"Maybe you have a comb in your apron pocket," the gryphon suggests helpfully.
"Hmm, I've heard of bed hair, but never of bath tub hair," says Achilles dryly.
"Now, of course, there are all manner of eaves to drop, and droppers to drop them in Riverside. It's the nature of the game! But turn coats? Oh, perhaps there's one in the pawn shop, but otherwise not a one in all Riverside. Why, turning coats is against the Rules of the Game! It's unchivalrous," the White Queen chatters. "Oh yes, and the Looking-Glass House, why it's been fortified by the Red Crown. Quite the fortress now! They say it has a way to the Real World. Of course they say that. Why, Alice Herself came through the Looking Glass there! And that's where she first met the White King and myself, you know. And, yes, I do think he's back there now. I suppose he'll be there until we start a new game."
"Come here, Ace, and I can dry out your humor some more.." Griffin taunts.
Integra manages to find a brush in her pocket, and a little mirror. She lets out a little moan at the sight of her own hair, and begins setting furiously into the tangle with the brush. So far, it seems that the hair is winning this battle.
"Should we start a new game? How do we start a new game? For that matter, how do we stop the new Queen Alice?" March inquires as he rows along.
The card nods wisely, taking notes. He glances over to Integra thoughtfully as the rabbit interjects his own (very to the point) questions.
"Defeating Alice is impossible. But of course, this is no trouble for Queens," the White Queen says. "It is a matter of our upbringing! Why, when a Queen is but a Princess, she must practice believing impossible things for at least an hour a day! It is a simple matter to believe as many as six impossible things before breakfast."
Griffin leans in to whisper to Integra, "You must believe that you can get your hair back in order."
The White Queen nods approvingly. Apparently that IS a very impossible thing to believe.
"So, say we can't defeat her. Is there a way to get her to leave us alone?" March asks.
"There are many ways to achieve the impossible," the White Queen insists. "The main challenge in Wonderland is to be very certain which impossible thing you are out to achieve. There are, after all, no end to impossible things. That is to say that it would be impossible to count them all. Unless, of course, one did, which could be very bothersome."
"Now, as for Alice, let us be clear," the White Queen says, "that this is not our Alice. No, not at all. Wonderland has a special place in its heart for little girls, but the trouble is, one doesn't stay a little girl forever. At least, not without a great deal of trouble, and in such a way that one generally is not inclined toward."
"So if we believe that it's possible for Achilles to get a date, and think specifically of a certain woman, then it might actually happen?" Griffin asks, since that's the first impossible thing to come to mind.. but it's at least a specific one.
The card reporter blinks and looks at Griffin oddly, then tries to get the discussion back on track. "If we defeated Queen Alice, that would be one way, certainly. Or we could try to get her to give up these mad ambitions and withdraw from the board... But that may be easier said than done. We'd have to set back her plans enough that it would be hopeless for her to push on. And the trouble with that is that we aren't quite sure what her plans are, save that it involves planting quite a number of little urchins from the real world."
"Oh, I never said to believe that it was possible," the White Queen says. "That's a very different thing! You need only believe an impossible thing. Now, knowing that a thing is impossible, and believing it nonetheless, that's the trick. That's why it's so important to a Queen."
"Maybe she plans to kill all the little girls in th world so she could never be replaced," March suggests.
Achilles shudders. "That would certainly be quite bloody-minded."
Griffin ponders the impossibility of that scenario. "I think she just wants to go back to being a little girl herself," he notes. "Why else try to gather all of her old playmates?"
The White Queen looks back to Achilles, and to March, and her blissful and ignorant expression moderates itself somewhat with a touch of sadness. "Wonderland is a place for children. At least, that is what this Alice has discovered. Children became her bridge to Wonderland. When that was not enough, she sought to become a child again. That was impossible, yet she believed it -- and she could, for she, after all, had become a Queen in her journeys, and in her own mind."
"But the thing about believing in impossible things -- it is not enough to do it alone," the White Queen suggests. "Alone, and it is only a dream, is it not? But when there are several together, and they all believe the same thing, then in a way, there is some reality to it. But who would believe such things? Perhaps her friends she once knew."
"So, she's using them," Achilles speculates. "If they believe in her as the reigning Queen, then that belief is enough to ensconce her into the fabric of Wonderland. And if they serve and die for her, that's all the more power."
"It is as you say," the White Queen says, nodding. "And in the nature of their death, they still live, but in a state between one world and the other. They are her bridge to Wonderland ... and her bridge to the Real World. The more of them there are, the stronger the bond, and the stronger her power."
"Mirrors," Griffin squawks. "She's using them as mirrors to reflect her own belief."
"And it is as you say," the White Queen says, nodding to Griffin. "It is not only her attempt to mold Wonderland to her will, but the Real World as well. It is belief and memory and dream. She may not affect the physical world, but if everyone believes it is, then what difference does it make?"
"That still doesn't tell us how to stop her," March points out. "Other than we need to remove all her focal points, or as you say, mirrors."
Achilles conjectures, looking over to Harrison, then Griffin and Integra. "She needs to be defeated publicly, and when no one believes in her anymore, her power will vanish. That's normally impossible, but a Queen can do it six times over before breakfast."
"There are many ways," the White Queen says. "You must choose your path and see it through. The power this Alice holds over this power is one of Belief. Part of it is that she is named Alice, and we all owe our reality to Alice. Part of it is that she has taken upon herself the appearance of a Little Girl again, and surrounded herself with friends from the Books of Alice."
"So we're back to making Integra a queen," March remarks.
"Our Little Girl is a real Little Girl, and there's no way any belief can change that," Griffin notes. "If we can remind Alice of being an adult.. maybe that will break the spell she has over herself?"
"There is power in Purpose, and there is power in Symbol," the White Queen adds. "There is power in Similarity. Maybe you need another Queen who is a Little Girl, who can be more Alice than she is. Or maybe you need those who would be her Friends to disavow her, and to make it clear to all that she is NOT Alice. Or maybe you can pry away all those things that underpin her claim to being Alice. You are the ones who knew her. You are the ones best able to find a way."
"Certainly raising up a new Little Girl to be Queen and defeat the Spinster Queen would be the most poetic way, but... Forgive me for asking, Your Majesty, but have you retired from the field completely, or is there some way you can help us?" asks Achilles.
"Would you like to be a Queen after all, Integra?" Griffin asks his frizzy-haired niece. "You'd have to be very brave and want to save this world though."
The White Queen shakes her head sadly. "I have no place here," she says. "It was your journey that brought me back. You have been retracing the path of Alice, mindful that at this point, you should meet a Sheep, and you should meet a Queen. That gave me a place to be -- but only for a time. Until a new game begins, I have no place on the board anymore."
"So, to save Wonderland, we do have to start a new game," March concludes from that. "And to do that, we have to dethrone Alice."
Achilles looks saddened. "And Wonderland is a worser place for it, Your Majesty. But-- as I understand it, to be Queen, Integra would need to secure some sort of title, a patent of nobility? Again, please forgive my lack of understanding of Chessman ways."
The Queen nods. "There may only be one King of the Red and one King of the White, and there is only one who is THE White Queen, and one who is THE Red Queen, but there are still many Queens of both colors -- and perhaps others as well. The matter of achieving Queenship is a peculiar thing, for the game has ended. You are on a path that could lead to a way, but there are many qualifications one could meet. It might be a long way before you meet them."
The card reporter asks a few more questions delicately, inquiring into how one becomes a noble in Chessman terms. "Is it perhaps, marrying into the right family? Or if she performs some great deed, like rescuing the White King from his prison, he might reward her with a title?"
"Oh yes, there is precedent for being awarded a title of nobility for a great deed done," the White Queen says. "It is rare, but not unheard-of. Sadly, it's not impossible, or I would believe it right now."
March rubs at an ear. "I don't really know how to proceed here," he admits to the others, "Outside of trying to Save the White King, or get Integra to be a Queen." The hare then shrugs a bit.
Achilles smiles. "That's all right, I think if we play our cards right..." He looks over to Harrison. "If I read this right, we have several options before us. We can go after each of Queen Alice's court, and try to get them to either renounce Queen Alice, or defeat them 'for real', freeing them from this mortal coil. Or we can try to stop her operations, which is probably going to wind up being the same thing, seeing as she likely has her court protecting them. And the more we whittle at her forces and distract her from the Looking-Glass House, the better our chances of gathering up a small, yet powerful enough force that we can rescue the White King and promote Integra to Queen, where she can confront Queen Alice and..." He takes a breath. "With our dauntless help of course, defeat her and end this game."
"Then that leaves us ultimately with the path of defeating our old friends she has already claimed," March summerizes.
The White Queen nods. "Queen Alice's strongest supporter right now would be the Hatter, sad to say. It is said that he required rather some persuading. But then, he isn't really himself anymore. The trouble would be in finding him. That could be rather tricky."
"Or persuading them to renounce her," Achilles emphasizes. "Some of them may not be fully behind her little campaign of genocide and self-aggrandization."
"We're only got the Hatter left, I think," Griffin notes, and pulls out the group portrait once more to check.
"Or perhaps not as tricky as one might think," March points out, "After all I was once part of his entourage, so surely the Hatter will ultimately try to seek me out."
In the portrait, the shadow of the Hatter has replaced Griffin's familiar friend. It's painful to look at him. (Just to be clear, painful in a figurative sense. It doesn't actually do any physical harm to the Griffin.)
The White Queen looks at March, and her eyes look a bit unfocused. For a moment, she looks confused. She almost looks sheepish.
"Forgive me, White Queen. I am distracting you with my musings," March says hastily when it seems like the White Queen is 'fading'.
It looks as if the bathtub is approaching what was previously the far shore -- not that any particular effort has been made to steer it in that direction.
"I fear our chance to talk to the White queen is rapidly coming to an end. As sailors tend to say: Land ho, and all that rot," March quips.
"Thank you for your time, Your Majesty," Achilles hurriedly says. "Will you be all right from here? It wouldn't be any trouble to row you back."
"Oh, it will be no trouble at all," the White Queen promises. "In fact, I firmly believe that it will get much bee-tter. Beeee-tter. Baaaaa--"
The scene shifts again. It's ... the shop, again? But something seems different, somehow.
The river fades away, the lily-pad is a scarf again (wouldn't that have been left far behind?), and the White Queen gives way to the Sheep Shopkeeper. The oars are needles again, and the Sheep takes them back, returning to working on her shawl.
"I suppose if we are going to weaken Alice any before trying to rescue a King then we need to locate Madden," Griffin notes. The shift back to the shop isn't too unnerving at this point, so he just has to deruffle his feathers a bit.
Outside the shop, the street chatter is much quieter. In fact, it sounds more like rustling leaves and bird-song.
The reporter looks around the shop thoughtfully, trying to figure out why something's nagging at the back of his mind as being different. The sound of leaves and bird-song calls his attention to the door.
"Oh dear, I think we're in a forest. Hopefully not one in which the Jabberwock lives," Harrison frets and wrings on his own ears.
"Before we go, I was thinking, perhaps we should pick up that foghorn," suggests the reporter to the griffin and hare. "It might be handy to bring in a little of that old London pea soup whenever we wish. We'd have to each chip in a bit of the asking price, though."
Griffin looks to Ace. "Check outside, and I'll get the horn," he notes.
Achilles catches a glimpse of autumn-leafed trees outside, though it's still bright and sunny and very summery. The red leaves hint that this is still within the Chessboard Fields, yet not in Riverside anymore.
Achilles passes a white checker to Griffin to help with the asking price, before heading toward the door to scout the neighborhood.
"Oh, the fog horn!" the Sheep Shopkeeper repeats. "That will be 5 Guineas, please!"
Smiling to the Sheepkeeper (beakily, of course), Griffin also asks, "I don't suppose you'd take a frying pan in trade for a serving platter as well?"
"Hmm," the Sheep Shopkeeper ponders, while leaning forward and adjusting her spectacles with a hoof. "That and half a pound will get you a serving platter, I think."
"Very well," Griffin agrees. "Could you throw in a leather cord as well though?"
"How about a nice pretty ribbon?" the Sheep offers.
"Oh, I like that blue one," Integra says, examining the ribbons.
Griffin twitches a bit at that, but nods. "As long as it is sturdy, milady," he notes.
Meanwhile, Achilles gets a look around. The other store fronts are nowhere to be seen. Rather, there is a cobblestone street running in front of the shop, but it quickly dies away into a dirt road cutting through the forest. At a glance, that would appear to be north. To the south, the cobblestone street drops down the banks, leading toward a ferry dock -- and the river. Somehow, that bathtub trek actually took them all across the river to another shop? Or else the shop simply switched shores.
"It's silk! Quite sturdy," the Sheep offers. At a glance, it does seem rather sturdy. As for why it would be had for such a good price, it's a bit sun-faded.
Surveying the landscape, Achilles peers across the river at the dock and frowns thoughtfully. "Well, that's one way to get out of town quietly," he mutters to himself. He goes back in to let the others know.
"So, we're out of town. But where?" March inquires. He now goes to the door to peer out.
After exchanging cooking gear for serving gear, Griffin uses the ribbon to affix the Foghorn to his bandolier for convenience.
"Here you go Integra," the gryphon says, handing the tray to his niece. "It'll make a good shield for you."
"Looks like we're on the north side of the river," Achilles observes. "I've been thinking... Didn't you say something about March Manor a bit ago? My memories of yea-long-ago are a bit muddled but didn't you and the Hatter use to hang around there quite a bit, with your tea parties?"
"Of course we did. And the Dormouse," March calls back. "Seems a long time ago now though."
"Oh!" Integra says, admiring the embossed floral patterns on the shiny tray. She then catches a glimpse of her hair (still frizzy despite her attempts to BELIEVE it could be fixed earlier) and pouts a bit. Nonetheless, she seems to like the prize.
"The bread might have been day-old, but the butter..." The reporter salivates a bit. "It really was the very best."
"Finding the Hatter before he finds us.. if he's even looking for us.. would be useful," Griffin notes.
"What are you on about, Ace?" Griffin asks. "Surely you mean hay. Or ham. In a sandwich. Horseradish?"
Birds chirp outside. What a bright and sunny day! It's quite the opposite of last time.
March scratches at his ears again, looking confused. "Something is bothering me. I don't know what. Haigha. Hatta. Something there, but," the hare complains. "Maybe we should see where we are and it will come to me."
"Headcheese?" the gryphon mutters.
The card grimaces at Griffin, "Are you horsing around, to want hay in a sandwich?" He shakes his head. "Anyway, I'm thinking, from what the White Queen said, the Mad Hatter might be persuadable to turn against Queen Alice. Now, the March Manor is all the way over in the Monarchy of Hearts... But we do know someone who'd be willing to guide us through some underground tunnels there. Remember Twinkle?"
"The little bat we met back just after we rescued Miss Lucky? Yes," March answers.
"Oh! Oh! I remember!" Integra volunteers. "But you don't say it like that. It's ..." She strains. "TVVVINKLE."
"Tvvvinkle Tvvinkle the Little Bat," Griffin recalls. "He tried to eat the fireflies, didn't he? What about him?"
Achilles laughs. "Oh, that's quite right, young miss." He nods to her, then continues, "So what I'm thinking is that we make for Settled, to the northwest, look him up, then head over to the Monarchy of Hearts. Once there, we should be able to find March Manor... Even if he's not there, we might find some clues, or things of Haigha's."
"The Hatter's house, at least," Griffin agrees. "We'll.. probably need some tea.."
"Seems better than standing around like a bunch of sheep," March quips. The hare then has to quickly bow to the sheepkeeper and apologize, "No offense intended."
"Oh, none taken, young man!" the Sheep says, rocking in her chair.
Achilles salutes. "Good afternoon then, Sheepkeeper!"
"Do come by again sometime!" the Sheep calls after the Card.
"We'll have to pass through the wall, which may be guarded," Griffin notes. "Best be careful. Maybe you should leave your hair as it is, Integra, in case we need to disguise you as a dandelion girl."
"Count on it, blessed being of the wooly visage," March quips and heads out of the shop!
Integra sulks at being compared to a dandelion, but doesn't say anything of it, just tagging along after her uncle. The rocking horse obligingly rocks along.
It is a beautiful, summer day, with rays of sunlight peeking down through gaps in the rose-red leaves of boughs arching over the raised path from either side. Gentle breezes stir the leaves now and again, and birds chirrup and flutter about, while the occasional squirrel hops across and chatters at the interlopers. The path has ruts in it from wagons going down the middle of the way, but so far none roll by as the travelers stroll along.
"But she would certainly make a dandy lion-ess. Why, if she had a number of tawny young males after her, she could be queen of her own pride!" teases Achilles as they hike up the trail.
After a while, however, the bird-song falls quiet, and there's nary a squirrel to be seen. An odd smell wafts in the breeze, smelling something vaguely like sulfur. Or, something very rotten.
"Quite. Why there is ... what a horrible smell," March complains as he quickly covers his nose. "Really, Griffin, control yourself."
"Smells like rotten eggs," Griffin notes, fanning the air with his wings.
A card twitching its nose in the air is a curious sight: the picture moves, but the paper doesn't actually change directions. Achilles tries to figure if it's carrion or carry-out.
Up ahead, it looks like there is an obstruction blocking the road. There are hints of ruins amid the trees, and it looks as if someone has torn down bricks from them and rather messily built a wall going right across the road. Mortar pokes out here and there, and many cracks are visible, with errant bricks lying about. It looks as if this structure has been knocked down and rebuilt a few times.
Sitting atop the wall is a large ovaloid shape, mostly white, but decorated in cloth and ... A FACE! It has a humanoid face on it! It is the very image of Humpty Dumpty but ... after he's fallen a few times, and someone did a rather nasty job of patching him back together again. (Perhaps all the King's Men gave up, and left it to the Horses.)
"Did Humpty Dumpty fall off the wall and die?" March complains, his hand still over his nose to block the smell. He eyes the zombie-looking eggman."
"Maybe he's heard to guard against.. poaching?" Griffin suggests.
The reporter appears to be about to push ahead and shout something at the egg, his eyes glittering in that slightly crazed the people must know way.
"It's very provoking--" comes a grating, burbling, unhealthy voice from the Egg, "--to be accused of being dead!" He makes a hacking noise, and wipes at his mouth with jerky movements of his ill-positioned right arm. The joint doesn't seem lined up quite right.
"I'm going to pretend I didn't hear that," March says. The hare does draw out the sword of Thorns now, because something about this doesn't sit right with him. It certainly doesn't smell right.
"Excuse me!" Achilles calls, moving up and calling out to the egg. "Inquiring minds want to know! Did you fall off, or were you pushed?!"
"And there goes our yellow journalist, trying to get to the yolk of the matter," Griffin mutters. "Do you suppose it's safe to cut across the grass?" he asks March.
"Pushed? PUSHED?" Humpty gurgles, growing in volume. "Why, the very IDEA of it ... why ... it makes me SICK!" He makes a hacking noise, and it seems for a moment as if he's on the verge of demonstrating.
The mere odor of Humpty's breath is stomach-turning. There's something very rotten here, indeed.
"I don't think anything is safe here," March says, on the verge of following after Ace. Granted, the smell is doing a lovely job of making him think twice about it.
Integra clings very close to her uncle. She averts her gaze, as she can't bear to even LOOK at the nursery-rhyme-gone-horribly-wrong.
"So, you fell off, then? Were you demonstrating your dexterity for a lovely young chick?" insinuates Achilles. "Or was it an ordinary workday accident, just a demonstration of the need for increased safety measures across all public works?"
The reporter thoughtfully moves to the side to try and keep Humpty's attention off of the rest. It won't be a pretty sight if the egg can projectile-vomit.
Not taking chances, Griffin unslings and loads his rifle before venturing closer. "Stay close, Integra," he tells his niece, who is already doing that. "I have no idea what to egg-spect from this person."
"SLANDER!" Humpty roars, exhaling a visibly foul plume of noxious vapor. A few flies escape his mouth, but when he breathes back in, they are sucked in once more. "Reports of my misfortune are greatly eggs-agerated!"
"I could just shoot him and put him out of his misery," March whispers to Griffin.
"So you're denying that you fell, but how do you explain... THE CRACKS?!" demands Achilles, jabbing at last to the heart of the matter.
"He looks like he's already been cracked a few times," Griffin replies. "Are you thinking of using one your new shells?"
"IMPUDENCE! I spit on your insinuation!" the Egg cries. And then ... he does.
"Ace has once again eggsasperated his subject it appears," Griffin notes, and raises his rifle. "If this doesn't work, get one of your omelet-making shells ready March."
Thinking swiftly, the card deploys his umbrella! As he does so, newly forged shiny struts spring out, increasing the area it covers.
"I'm not wasting a good shell on it. It can have an ordinary one," March says.
With the trained hands of a veteran, Griffin drops to one knee, takes a bead on the huge Egg, and fires what should be a lethal shot. That egg shell is hard, but not hard enough to withstand the bullet. On the back side, pieces of shell splinter away, with a spray of rotten ichor, and a buzz of escaping flies. Cracks form on his face, and the Egg looks momentarily ... dizzy. "Heh heh heh. Nice try, Gryphon! But this Egg is hard-boiled!"
"Run back to the forest edge, Integra," Griffin tells his niece while ejecting the spent shell. "You don't need to see or smell this.."
Integra obeys, though perhaps she expects that the others will be doing likewise. She dashes back down the path, fortunately looking well AWAY from this horrible scene.
"I think you've mistaken embalming salts for table salt," points out Achilles as he prepares to try and dodge a deluge of sulfurous egg-bile. "Clearly your preparation has gone awry!"
"Maybe you could knock the wall out from under him?" Griffin suggests to Harrison.
"Argh!" yelps Achilles as the horrific stream of bile washes toward him. The umbrella spares him from part but not all of the wash. "Sticks and stones may break my bones," he argues. "But disgusting stuff like this will take forever to wash out! Think of the poor laundress, sir!"
The foul yellow-tinged ichor seeps into the ground, obviously the heart of the stench that was wafting down the trail. Flies buzz around it, and around poor Achilles.
The reporter, disgusted, shakes off the ichor and steps away from the puddle on the ground. "If you're trying to convince me that you haven't cracked, you're going about it the wrong way, sir," he snaps. "Try being a man of reason instead of upchucking all over when someone says something a little disagreeable."
Still, the yellowed paper and the way Achilles limps a little suggests he didn't escape the encounter entirely unscathed.
"The wrong way? Why, when I spit something, it means nothing more nor less than what I intend!" the Humpty-thing insists. One of its eyes has popped loose, and Humpty belatedly fishes around in its dribble, locating the eye, then affixing it roughly back in place, though it is pointing off in the wrong direction.
"Integra isn't the only one about to have a Bad Hare Day," March says, sounding almost mad at the assault on his friend. There's a clicking of a watch being wound by the hare, activating the White Rabbit's former watch. Time slows down for March ... and he moves towards the disagreeable Egg in a blur. His hind leg strikes out, targeting the crumbling wall below the Egg. "Time to have a great fall," quips the hare.
The reporter makes for the rubble at the base of the wall, perhaps seeking concealment in them. As he sees the rabbit charge forward though, he cries out, "Careful, Harrison! You don't want to get covered in a mess of biblical proportions!"
It's a little scary when a bunny lands a kick hard enough on the wall to hear it! It's even more scary that aside from some dust rising up from the impact, this pathetic excuse of a wall doesn't come crumbling down! But ... March can hear his watch tick, and everything is just a matter of time.
"Ha! Ho!" starts Humpty. "Your pathetic excuse makes me SI-- Oh!" A block shifts loose. Humpty wobbles. He weebles. He pinwheels his arms. "Whoa! Call the King's Men! Call his HORSES!" He falls backward, behind the wall!
The acid-singed reporter looks rather worried. What if Humpty were to drop onto-- and then he stares disbelieving as the egg topples over.
"Someone call the privy cleaners. No gentleman should be forced to endure your stench," March counters with glee as he watches the Egg go backwards!
There's a loud crack, a SPLAT, and a gout of foul spray -- all on the other side of the wall, thank goodness -- and then a cloud of flies rises up from the other side and buzzes away, up through the branches. The smell is nauseating.
The card looks relieved. "Nice... delayed action on that kick. Something you picked up from those Oriental friends of yours?" he asks of Harrison a bit woozily.
March shakes out his rather large foot and snaps his watch closed. "That's right; evil-doers everywhere, fear the fatal fleet feet of Haigha," he cackles.
"I was hoping to collapse the wall," the hare then admits, "But ... I'll take him tipping off from the impact instead."
Griffin is running towards Achilles now, fishing out a flask of chicken soup, and calling out, "Integra! Cover your nose and assist me, Ace is hurt!"
At the call from her uncle, Integra rushes back to help Achilles, but first she fishes a few clothespins out of her apron pockets, and offers them around.
"Good God man, this is the second worst you've ever smelt," the Gryphon notes to the Card.
"Don't be ridiculous, I'm fiddle as a fit... Lerfectly arr pight," protests Achilles as he flops over onto one of the boulder-sized masonry chunks at the side of the wall.
"Spoilt mayonnaise," Griffin mutters. "Yet another plague brought about by the French.."
"We may have to boil all of Ace's clothing as soon as possible," March quips, "I don't want to have to smell that for the rest of our time here."
Integra digs out some cleaning oils from her apron and sets about cleaning the spoiled mess off of the Card. The smell is likely to linger, but after a bit of ginger work (mustn't ruin the paper!) it seems that Achilles is going to pull through after all.
Achilles, about to retort to March, is muffled as Integra ambushes him with bandages and tape! He settles for weakly nodding.
"He can't take a bath," Griffin laments. "It's perfume or nothing I'm afraid. I doubt it will affect his ability to be charming however."
"Sure he can, he just has to dry off thoroughly afterward," March points out.
After a quick survey of the area, it's evident that the wall is not particularly long, nor is it particularly sturdy. It can be bypassed with a little trek around the edges, or a climb over the top, or a traipse through the prickly underbrush flanking it on each side. Or, judging from Harrison's performance, he might just be able to kick it down with a little more work.
"We'll have to watch for a washtub with one of those fancy drying ringers. Or else some very sturdy clothespins and line.." Griffin replies to March.
"He will have to endure such, because we are not traveling with someone that smells like a monkey's armpit," March quips as he eyes the wall, then flexes his toes. "I feel like kicking a hole," he admits.
"A little hydrogen peroxide should clear up the staining and smells," advises Ace. "I may be a little white thereafter, but nothing a little time in the sun won't fix."
"It's not as bad as the time with the camel, the cabbage and the irate woman with a bedpan at least," Griffin points out, trying to cheer up the Card.
March, feeling particularly rabbity .. starts kicking at the wall, hard.
Achilles struggles upward to his feet and bows his thanks to Integra. "Top-up job you did, miss. I feel good as new!"
The wall is no match, already weakened by the previous assault. Bricks tumble down, crunching what was left of Humpty's shell on the other side.
"Ewwwgh," Integra winces. "I cab dill spell it!"
"That's enough of being stonewalled by this place," March says smugly, satisfied that the wall comes crashing down after a few more well-placed kicks. "I'm starting to like being a hare."
"Hammerfoot Haigha, Wallbuster and Upsetter of Fence-Sitters," Griffin proclaims. And then avoids the new hole to go around the wall, avoiding as much goo as possible.
Integra rushes to keep up with her uncle, still holding fiercely onto her nose the whole way.
"Whistle for your horsey, dear," Griffin notes to the girl.
And not to pass up the possibility; with the wall in a pile, March looks for anything useful that can be reclaimed from it. After all, it looks liek it was put together with whatever was available.
Once he's had a chance to try and clean off the worst of the stains through gentle washing and drying out, the reporter looks around the wall curiously. "If Humpty Dumpty id a zombie, someone likely made dim dat vay," Achilles muses, a clothespin printed over his nose.
On the other side, a trumpet blares. It looks like there are people marching along the road, and some more on horseback, all dressed in red livery.
"Ud oh, time to go," Achilles says, making for the rubble to the side for concealment.
Near the hastily-built wall, March finds a small leather bag that are full of ... well, they look like walnuts, except that the shells have a brick pattern. Why, they're ... WALL-nuts! And they all look a little bit cracked, as if someone has forgotten and put them in a back pocket, and then sat on them. Also, Humpty's cravat looks to be intact. Plus ... it might be possible to grab a souvenir of part of his shell. That's pretty hard stuff; something might be made out of it. Or at the very least, it would make it very hard to put him back together again.
"Unless I miss my guess, the King's men and horses are here to raise Humpty Dumpty from the dead again," mutters Achilles to Griffin from the underbrush to the side.
Deciding to be a bit of an imp, March does grab a bit of shell, the cravat ... and the bag of wall-nuts. You never know, it could be worth something! Plus he can get Ace carry the shell fragment and cravat, he already stinks... "Right, well, thank you for such a cracking time," the hare quips to the squished egg, and even doffs his hat. "But it is time for us to be on our way. Ta!"
"Shall we sneak off then?" Griffin asks, holding the Fog Horn.
"Sneak off," March agrees.
"It was a dark and foggy afternoon when Humtpy Dumpty went boom," quips Achilles as he follows the others.
The Wall-Nuts begin to rattle in Harrison's possession. It occurs to him that they are Magical Foodstuffs, and there was that odd rule of Alice's that you can't have too many of those at once. It might be a good idea to offload them and FAST ... or make some room.
"Here, hold this," March says after munching down a treacle. Ace soon finds himself holding three other treacle. The hare then quickly pushes off some of the nuts to Griffin. Because, well, the bird is nuts.
The reporter stows the treacle with the rest of his. "Wall-nuts, hmm? That may explain where this wall came from in the first place."
Griffin pockets three of the nuts, and asks, "Shall we attempt to conjure some cover?" as he lifts the Fog Horn.
"There is enough foul air today, lets just slink through the woods," Harrison says.
Taking advantage of the trees for cover, the reporter sneaks off quietly to the side. "I think we can save the fog horn for a special occasion," he suggests. "My, that's a rather large number of soldiers coming down that road. ... is that all the King's men?"
"Without the King, I imagine they are Alice's men now," Griffin notes, peaking from behind a tree trunk.
"And ah... Thanks for taking down that egg," says Achilles to Harrison. "I thought I was a sure goner if he managed to get another direct hit on me."
Fortunately, our heroes are able to skirt by while all the King's Horses and all the King's Men attempt to do whatever it is they can with Humpty. In the stories, however, it was the White King's forces, and these look most certainly Red. But then, that wouldn't be the first thing to have changed around here. (And one presumes that wouldn't leave any kingdom unprotected. All of the King's MEN might be there, but surely there are other creatures to fill the gaps.)
Some winding through the red woods later, the group finally finds the resolve to take their chances on the road once more. There are no more hastily-constructed walls to obstruct the way, and there's no indication that they'll be overtaken by horses or men, royal or otherwise.
Griffin has been amusing himself at Ace's expense. "How about: Reporter Finds Rotten Egg's Story Too Hard To Swallow?" he suggests to the Card.
Along the way, they come to a widened area in the road, where a small park has been set up by the wayside, along with a covered shrine. A memorial marks the location of a great battle between the White and Red Knights -- with statues depicting them, each holding spiked clubs in their crossed arms awkwardly like Punch puppets in a very stylized fashion, and looking as if they might fall off at any moment. This must have been from a day before the White Knight's "improvements" to his steed, since the horses look to be both of the four-legged and entirely normal kind.
"My credulity only goes so far," agrees Achilles long-sufferingly.
"Your jokes stink, just like Ace," March quips.
"War Reporter Shell-Shocked By.." Griffin starts, but stops at the sight of the memorial. "That looks incredibly awkward."
Near the statues of the knights, there is a representation of a little girl hiding behind a stylized tree. There's no mistaking it as representing anything other than Alice -- THE Alice of story. It is hard to compare her to the Alice that the heroes knew, in their days as human children, from so many years ago. Surely she can't have looked just like the Alice of the books. That wouldn't have made SENSE. But it seems their memories are a little foggy, and they find themselves picturing the two as the same person in their presumably faulty recollections.
"Bah, it couldn't have been her. This Queen Alice is just messing with our memories again," March mutters. He suddenly wishes he had a fake mustache to stick on the Alice statue to make sure it doesn't match memory...
"I think Alice's memory-warping effect is.. effecting me," Griffin notes, and pulls out the group portrait again.
The card pauses to consider the shrine. "You know, it would have been the White King's men that'd have come for him before. The Red King... I'm thinking they resurrected him to be a zombie guard. They'll probably sweep back up this way, looking for whomever toppled him." He frowns at the image of Alice. If what the White Knight nee White Rabbit told them was true... The person they remember might not even have existed, or only be similar in the haziest ways.
*** Embarrassed GM retcon!
Atop that hill, there is a grand wall of red, of absurdly tall proportions, in sharp contrast to the white fields it stands upon. There is a great tower in the rough shape of a gigantic chess piece -- a pawn -- at the base of which is a grand gateway and an imposing portcullis. If it had not been for the thick leafy red foliage overhead, the wall should have been easily seen at a distance. Perhaps it had even been seen before, but just mistaken for another field of red woods on the horizon.
"That's going to be a harder wall to crack than the last one," quips Achilles to Harrison. "Do you have big enough feet for the job?"
The white field at the base of the great wall is rather hilly, and there are buildings dotting the area about the wall, including what looks like an entire town that has sprung up outside the gates.
"If the troops came through that gate.. they're awfully quick to respond," Griffin notes. "Over the bridge to see what can be learned in the village, or follow the river so we can pass through a wooded gate instead?"
"I recognize one of those hills, I think," March admits as he looks at the scene laid out before them. He shakes his head, then suggests, "We try the village."
*** GM Retcon: How embarrassing! The knight encounter did not occur here. Instead, the shrine is just a wayside shrine with a memorial of Alice. No Knights included. Oops! Note to GW: Please edit it.
Considering the situation, Achilles says, "Let's move through the village quickly. If they raise Humpty Dumpty, he might be able to identify his assailants."
"Though... Did I see right that you snagged part of his shell?" asks Achilles of Harrison.
"I did, in fact," March agrees and pats one of the lumps in his travel bag.
"Clever," Griffin notes. "Those boys'll have egg on their face when they can't put him back together again."
"It is either the top of his head, or his bottom," March adds, "Hard to tell since they were both round and stinky."
Achilles grins. "Let's hope you got his crown. Then when they ask him, he'll have to tell them 'I can't remember off the top of my head'." He nods toward the wall. "All right, when they ask what we're doing here, just tell them we're going to visit a friend in Settled."
As the group approaches the bridge, the sun noticeably dives in the sky, and some of the stars -- impatient things -- begin popping up to dot the sky.
"Night falls, crash," quips March.
Griffin comes up short at the sudden nightfall.. and seems momentarily tempted to step back a few paces to see if it the sun comes back up.
Feeling a bit weaker, Achilles suggests, "Should we make camp for a bit and have some dinner and treacle tarts for dessert? Or push on for the village?"
Integra, on cue, yawns loudly. "The days here are so peculiar! How long have we been walking?"
"Can we get a room in town? You need a bath and I want to find a warre .... er, bed," March suggests.
Window by window, lights appear in the cottage windows. Atop a hill, there is a curious house with two chimneys, and a couple of room lights pop on, giving the suggestion of eyes watching the road.
"A fire out here would be noticed," Griffin says. "We don't want the King's Men coming upon us.. I say we head for town." He checks to make sure Integra isn't about to fall asleep.
"Onward it is! Getting a little sore from riding your rocking horse?" asks Achilles of Integra. "We should try some blankets for a saddle."
"Hey, I think that is my home," March says, pointing towards the be-chimney'ed home. "But who light the lamps?"
"Lamprechuans perhaps," Griffin suggests.
"I thought you lived out in the Monarchy," wonders Achilles. He veers that way, curious.
"Well, it had two chimneys, is all, like my head," March points out, wiggling his ears in emphasis.
A poem seems to come to mind unbidden to each of the travelers. "I love my love with an H," said Alice once long ago, "because he is Happy. I hate him with an H, because he is hideous. I fed him with ham-sandwiches and hay. His name is Haigha, and he lives on the hill."
Achilles points out, "It looks rather as if it's watching the road... And the similarity might not be an accident. Things do move around."
"Should we check it out?" March asks.
"We'd better watch for a Hatter House too then," Griffin warns. "And ham. Definitely watch for ham sandwiches.."
There are other houses. But which one might house a hatter? None advertise the haberdashery trade in some obvious way that can be made out in the dark, this far out from the town proper. The house on the hill is distinctly separate from the town proper. It looks like it's one way or the other, or one then the other.
Achilles nods... The only problem with that is that it's impossible to see a card nod in the dark. "My reporter's intuition is saying there may be a story here," he adds as his footsteps go off the road toward the house.
"And if the Sheepkeeper's Shop can be on both sides of the river, then why shouldn't March Manor be on both sides of the mountains?" Griffin offers.
"Lets go there first, then," March says and now also heads towards the bi-chimney'ed house.
Griffin follows, keeping an eye on Integra in case she needs to be carried.
Integra seems to be doing well enough, as she's taken to riding the rocking horse along the way. (It's hard to tell, but it seems to enjoy the attention.) She still yawns again, though, and rubs her eyes.
There's the clink of cups and plates as the group approaches. Numerous lanterns and candle-holders hang precariously from the boughs of old oak trees, illuminating a walled garden, in the middle of which is a table set out with mismatched place-settings, tea pots, and seats.
"No room! No room!" cries out a hare in very Anglo-Saxon-looking garb, as he moves from one place to the next. He looks rather like Harrison, but only ... with rather dated taste in attire.
"Why, yes there is room," says an exasperated Rabbit. She looks familiar. She daintily suspends a teacup by the handle from a hook where a paw or hand should be. Could it be Miss Lucky Rabbit?
"That's just the way it was when I visited you on your little tea parties with the Mad Hatter and the Dormouse, I'd be visiting and there'd be this incredible collection of mismatched cups and plates and then you'd burst out, 'No room!'" Achilles reminisces to Harrison. He pauses. "Do you have a brother? With shockingly bad taste in fashion?"
"What is that ... smell?" the Rabbit adds, as her nose wrinkles. She then looks toward the road. "Oh! That's what the fuss is! Guests! I'm so terribly sorry!" She pushes her chair away from the table and rises.
"Hmmm, this situation could turn hare-y on us," Griffin notes. "We'll need to determine this March Hare's allegience," he whispers.
Integra hops off the rocking horse and claps her hands in delight. "Oh! OH! A tea party! A MAD tea party! And candle lights and lanterns and a garden! It's lovely!"
One of March's ears splay sideways. "Is someone imitating me?" the hare demands, "and worse, forcing themselves upon the Lady we rescued?" He adjusts his hat and looks, well, rather put out by this turn of events. Two Haigha's!
"Tch, tch!" Griffin goes to Integra, "Don't say mad just yet.."
"Here and you said there was nobody on the road!" Haigha proclaims. He looks to the guests. "Surely you passed nobody, or else nobody would have been here first!"
"I wonder... Could this be Hatta?" whispers Achilles to Harrison. "Perhaps he'll respond if you ask him in the King's name."
Miss Lucky Rabbit strides around the table, and walks up to Harrison, with a smile that makes her eyes glitter. "I knew we'd run into each other again! I was certain my luck would take a turn for the better. Your ... cousin? ... was expecting company. That is, except that he seemed confused about whether company would consist of 'Nobody' or rather 'Somebody.'"
"That is the question!" Haigha insists. "He is me, and I am he, yet we are we! Or rather we aren't, as anyone can see."
March actually marches ahead of everyone else. He looks about to say something to the other hare, then just stops when Miss Lucky addresses him. "I hope he has been treating you well," March ends up saying instead, though he is eying the other hare dubiously. "I could not stand it if he treated you will in any way; I would be honor bound to challenge him to a duel!"
"I think March has gone a bit mad after all," Griffin whispers to Integra. "Try not to pet any of them, Integra."
Miss Lucky giggles, covering her mouth. "Oh no. It just so happened that I shared with him my tale, and he felt honor-bound that if the March Hare was trying to help me, then surely he must as well. Your relationship is a bit confusing -- I can see the family resemblance, but not in demeanor."
March puffs up, the deflates. "I am glad you have not been treated poorly," he admits, then addresses his counterpart, "But as your you, Sir, why are you here? Why are you, you and not me? Er, we. Us?"
Achilles, clearly bristling at this poor imitation of his friend, looks toward March to see what his cue should be. But for the moment, it seems a good grilling and not fisticuffs are the order of the night.
Haigha rushes up to the March Hare, splaying his arms about as if he's trying to mimic the stylized pose of Anglo-Saxons from old medieval tapestries. He finally makes a bow to Harrison, proclaiming, "Welcome, welcome! What is mine is yours, and yours mine. Welcome to my humble abode, and yours! We are in many ways alike, yet oh so very different! For you see, I am Haigha, and you are the March Hare. And yet we both know that the two are the same -- but thanks to the two apart, your arrival in Wonderland does not mean that my existence need be pushed aside."
"... Don't drink the tea," whispers Achilles to Harrison and Griffin and Integra.
"We are ... will be ... reflections of each other," March claims, trying to explain. "He is ... the me that was here, that I once was. And because it was never clear that Haigha and the March Hare were the same in the great tales, both can now exist because of Queen Alice's interference. His home, here, and my home, other there," he tries to explain and pointing off into the distance, "reflect each other. And so, uh. We're cousins, sort of. Simplest way to explain it. And as cousins, we're safe here. It's my home as much as his, as my home over there is also his home," March ends with a flapping of his arms in frustration. "But you are still Miss Lucky," he adds, even pointing, though politely, to the rabbit. "My head hurts."
Achilles frowns. "So, what would happen to him if you happened to get killed in some unlucky accident?" he asks. "Would he expire too? Or would he take your place?"
"Oh," Miss Lucky says, looking a bit confused. "I remember hearing RUMORS that Haigha and the March Hare might be the same person, just as Hatta and the Hatter might be the same. But there were also rumors that they weren't. Twins, cousins, brothers -- that sort of thing. You know how rumors are."
Haigha looks horrified. "If anything were to happen to the March Hare, why I ... I ..." His ears blanch and his whiskers quiver.
"Oh no!" Miss Lucky Rabbit says. "Don't tell me you're CORSICAN Hares?"
"I think the March Hare.. and Haigha.. are a part of Wonderland, no matter what," Griffin suggests. "And the Looking Glass Lands are a reflection, of sorts, of the Kingdom of Hearts.. so this fellow may be the left-handed version of the March Hare, or such."
"So a reflection of the March Hare of Lore, which.. our March is filling in for at the moment?" the gryphon concludes, uncertainly and cocking his head back and forth to look at the two hares with each eye.
Miss Lucky Rabbit taps one hand/paw to a hook in a gesture meant to emulate a "well then!" clap. "So! Carrot cake, anyone?"
"Not exactly corsican, Milady. Right now we're mostly not the same person. Rumors, belief, and the power they wield. And thankfully I have better fashion sense," March claims as he heads to the table to join the others there. "It's hard to explain. We are who we are, and each will protect the other. And apparently those who are friends of the other. I'm pretty sure, given Miss Lucky is here as a guest." He smiles and does not sit quite yet when the suggestion for carrot cake comes. "I would be delighted; and please, allow me to serve it. It is the least I can do as both guest and host."
Still wary, Achilles moves forward. "Well, if I keel over dead from the carrot cake, I'm never speaking to you again, Harrison," he declares. "But perhaps a spot of treacle with the tea might not go amiss?"
"I duly accept that fate. And if you please ... sit over there. It is ... downwind," March requests.
"Carrot cake would be most welcome, as well as, if not too inconvenient, lodgings for the night?" Griffin asks. "Preferably rooms without mirrors. And one far away from the others for our odor-challenged friend.."
"I object! I am not odor-challenged, I am odor-enhanced," protests Achilles.
"Or better yet, a bath?" March requests hopefully. Inwardly, if he makes it through the night and retains his sanity .. why, that's just one more impossible thing to have occurred!