The manor's breakfast balcony overlooks the ocean, and catches the morning sun as well. This area also serves as a basking zone, with several sculpted stones for lounging upon not far from the low serving table. The breakfast laid out includes fish and rice, soup and fried eggs along with a selection of fruits and pickled vegetables. And of course there is green tea.

Umeko is feeling just a bit sore this morning. Holding action poses for extended periods isn't exactly something she was trained for, and her muscles remind of that. What she really could use right now is one of Xander's hot-hands massages - but there's no sign of the Lapi yet. So far it is just herself, Lord Kazuhiko and the artist Hokusai, who looks like he's spent the night drinking rice wine.

Umeko rolls her shoulders. "I feel as though I spent all night holding one of Master Longtooth's gourds in my arms," she remarks as she slips out onto the balcony. "I am not built to be a model, it seems," she adds as she kneels down onto one of the thin pillows surrounding the low table.

"You are an ideal model," Kazuhiko counters. "Your form is perfect of line and curve, and your grace is like a stream of cherry blossoms in a gentle breeze."

"You are too kind. Alas my body tells me that I make a very poor statue, though. I am built for movement and sinew, not stillness," Umeko admits as she bows her head. She glances at the odd kirin when her head rises and she asks, "Would you like me to serve you this morning?" She even gestures to the table. An odd offer for her; she's rarely offered to do that for, well, anyone.

"I would be honored, Lady Tsuguri," the Kirin lord notes, smiling. "Perhaps you would be amenable to a more active form of posing?" he suggests.

"My body would be, most certainly," Umeko agrees as she sets out several small tea cups. Filling them is an art of simple and fluid movements involving both hands grasping the pot to direct it to each of the cups in turn. Once finished, she selects one of the cups, then rises. A few steps and she is kneeling before the kirin, her head bowed. The cup is then offered to him in two outstretched hands. A gesture of submissiveness; expected of kiriga ladies yes, but not something she does often.

"This somehow seems.. unsuited to your nature," Kazuhiko notes as he takes the cup.

"Perhaps, but it is a matter of respect; I am in your house," Umeko points out, "And it does no harm for me to pretend to be well behaved." The latter comes with a playful grin as she rises.

Hokusai gives a slight snort, and notes, "My dear, nobody in this House is well-behaved." Because he's a famous artist.. well, he can get away with that. Kazuhiko doesn't seem intent on correcting him or denying the claim.

"We are well behaved when it is expected," the Kirin confides to Umeko, after a moment, just so she doesn't get upset.

"Good, then I will enjoy my time here. And I hope not too well behaved, because now you have me curious," Umeko notes as she now moves to gather some small bits of fish to feed to the odd creature.

Kazuhiko seems inordinately amused by being fed fish by his guest. "Are you really sore from posing?" he finally asks.

"I am sore, yes. Uncomfortable, but not debilitating," Umeko remarks as she continues to feed her host. Her movements are ... intimate in a fashion. she is close, and occasionally she 'inadvertantly' touches the kirin; possibly an accident, possibly not. But it would e hard to prove it wasn't.

"I should remedy this," the Lord notes. "I have made some extensive study of therapeutic massage using heated rapeseed oil instead of the traditional hot stones."

"I would not complain. I must admit the chance to be massaged by such a handsome gentleman does sound pleasing," Umeko admits. "Though, it may drive my friend Xander to drink knowing it was not him, or that he missed it."

"I would not worry so much about your companion 'missing out' on anything," Kazuhiko notes with a chuckle. "It may be some time before my daughter releases him."

"You always have," the Kirin notes, then glances to the artist. "Although it would be useful to have some illustrations done at the same time."

"Well, then I am doubly honored, a good breakfast and a handsome lord to tend to me," Umeko remarks. She even reaches out and runs her fingers along the line of his jaw.

"Well then," Kazuhiko says, brushing the back of Umeko's hand with his tail-tuft, "let us away to the studio.."

Umeko catches the tuft of his tail in her fingers, then curls them around, wrapping the hair between them. "Lead on then, my Lord. I am yours for the day it seems," she says as she rises.

Artist's Studio
Well lit with skylights and windows, this room atop the manor is ideal for artwork. There is a large floor, a reclining couch, and several rolled backdrops available. Zolk canvases are stacked ready, along with a vast array of colored inks in large and small vessels.

Furniture has been moved about. There's a long chaise lounge covered in fanciful brocade off to one side, and what looks like a portable stone-tiled bathing area (on wheels no less), complete with a drain. Kazuhiko heats the oil over a coal oven while Hakusai sets up his canvas where the angle seems best.

Umeko glances towards the vessel and the warming oil. Without a word, or being asked, she begins to undress. It's rather like she's shedding skin with the ease upon which she removes her clothing. With each step bits slide form her and down to the floor. "Will this be satisfactory?" she asks of the kirin; she's looking just over her shoulder with her hips tilted just so to make her body curve from his view of her back.

Kazuhiko turns to look, and says, "Quite perfect my lady.." and then he has to slap the paper fan he was using to blow air of the coals, since it catches fire while he was distracted. "It will just be a moment more. You can kneel on the basin if you wish.."

"There are few I would kneel before; but I would kneel before you," Umeko says as she slinks, almost slithers with sinewy movement over to the basin. Soon she's slithering her body onto it, then kneeling there with her hands placed on her thighs.

Kazuhiko follows soon after, carrying the bowl of warmed, clear oil. He sets it down in the basin and then removes his own kimono. He's fairly well endowed, unless that's just how Kirin's are. It would be best not to mention it to Xander though.

Umeko may have been around others too long, for she actually says, "Your horn is impressive, my Lord." Her eyes crinkle in amusement, but she otherwise remains kneeling before him.

"I do try to impress when I can," Kazuhiko notes, and dips his hands into the oil before applying them to Umeko's shoulders. The Kirin's hands are naturally warm, but the oil's ability to actually be absorbed by skin and scale makes it excellent for transferring heat. The Lord's hands are also very strong as he works the stiff muscles.

Umeko's head tilts and soon she actually lets out a small hiss. It's a bit painful; muscles complain at being moved. But, the pain eases slowly into a dull ache. "I do hope you can forgive my behavior," she admits, "There are not many I feel ... comfortable and safe with enough to allow a rest of social expectations."

"I am actively trying to encourage your behavior," Kazuhiko claims and grins, while moving down along Umeko's back. "You do not mind that I am attempting to seduce you, do you Lady Tsuguri?"

Umeko's own tail flicks up to tickle a bit of the kirin. "I have ... submitted to you, my Lord. I believe that is my answer," she claims, smiling a bit deviously. "I am quite enjoying it."

Kazuhiko continues the massage, occasionally calling out the name of a particular motion so that Hakusai can note it down on his drawings. 'Tilling the Fields' is a particularly intimate one, given that those muscles weren't strained from holding one position for too long.

Umeko is flexible, and this is very apparent as the massage continues. Her body twists and writhes, almost like a naga, as the kirin works. "You, my Lord, as misbehaving," she actually coos at him.

"I have not yet begun to misbehave," Kazuhiko claims, just before scooping up Umeko in his arms and carrying her to lounger, causing the artist to hastily move his easel and supplies and work the shutters to direct the light better.

"Not many would dare to pick me up as you just have," Umeko notes to the Lord and even places her palm on his cheek. "I am dangerous," she claims, eyes half-lidded.

"That is what makes you so attractive," the Kirin claims, and lays Umeko down on the cushion.. before he starts to rearrange her a bit. "This is called, The Swan in Repose," he explains, taking up a position of his own.

"The swan?" Umeko teases, "But I do not lay eggs." She actually does allow herself to be posed about; it is harmless enough after all and the Lord has been kind. He has a rather exotic charm at that.

"But you will spread your wings," Kazuhiko promises.. and then begins making love to the Kiriga in the odd position, which constrains certain movements while enhancing others. Hakusai's brush goes to work.

Umeko gasps! "Lord Kazuhiko," she cries out in shock; even if her body was ... ready for such. However, she doesn't actually try to stop the older man; instead her body responds with its own movements, restricted as they may be.

Kazuhiko knows how to pace himself.. and also keeps a close watch on Umeko's responses. Just when the Kiriga might be about to peak.. he changes to a different pose, effectively resetting and building back up again. The Dragon's Flame, Balance of Forces, Harmony of the Serpent - each one has a fanciful name and a surprisingly different effect.

"You are a very frustrating man," Umeko hisses in the kirin's ear when she is in one of the few positions that actually puts her head close to his. "An lucky that I am ... permitting this," she adds.

"Do you wish to take the lead?" Kazuhiko purrs. "Or am I keeping you curious?" Since there's a lot of bouncing for this one, it makes for a stuttering effect when it comes to talking.

"On Jadai the women are to allow the men to lead in all things. I am allowing this; it is ... curiously enjoyable right now," Umeko claims in a hissing stutter. "I will do whatever you command of me."

And so the Kirin leads.. on and on. It's hard to keep track of the changes and odd positions, some of which simply would not be possible with a Kiriga's flexibility (although Kazuhiko manages to come close, but it must be hard on his back). Finally, Hakusai announces, "I am out of canvas. And parchment. And gold ink."

"And does that mean we are done?" Umeko asks from the disturbing, back-twisting, pose that she is now in.

"Hmmm, it means.. we can relax," Kazuhiko claims, and pulls Umeko up to face him while straddling his lap. "And now is where I hand you my leash. It is up to you if I will find my release or not."

"I could show you some things my friend has taught me," Umeko suggests, smiling a bit deviously.

"The.. bunny?" Kazuhiko asks, one long eyebrow raised. "Or perhaps you have other friends?"

"Just some things he explained that he liked. It is amusing how he twitched when he asked," Umeko explains. She rises up and off the Kirin. "You can call this the forked tongue torment," she explains as she bows before the kirin. A slightly forked tongue, with a double stud in it ... can be quite surprising when used in flexible ways on certain things. It's also probably all the sharp teeth that excites Xander; he has the monster fetish after all.

The Kirin.. well, squirms. "Ahh.. I see what you meant about those studs now.." he gasps, trying very hard not to move (well, Umeko does have sharp teeth after all).

It's now Umeko's turn to focus on his reactions, making sure that he now reaches the edge of the peak, only to be denied it, over and over. She even uses her teeth sometimes! But only to lightly scratch, never puncture.

The Kirin is clearly gritting his teeth now, and digging his claws into the side of the couch. Umeko can feel the body-heat rolling off of him now as well, and his scales seem to be quivering. "Ah, I do hope I have not offended you in any way, Lady Tsuguri.." he hisses through clenched teeth.

A moment later Umeko is looking in his eyes. "Not at all, my Lord," she tells him, "In fact, you have inspired me to take a risk." Her body lowers and the kirin find himself back inside the young kiriga. "I am going to risk that we may be ... compatible," she tells him in a husky voice, right before she kisses him. Her body rolls and her tail entwines about him. It's apparent she isn't going to back off when he closes on his peak this time.

With the immediate danger of tearing against fangs gone, Kazuhiko responds.. vigorously! Enough so that he has to hold on to Umeko's legs to avoid launching her! "It may be a day for miracles, indeed!" he gasps.

Umeko chuffles and hisses; rather an odd sound. It's the time they both finally share some relief from the tensions of the day. "You are a horrible, corrupting, influence," she tells him when her breathing returns to some semblance of normalcy.

Taking in deep, gulping breaths, Lord Kazuhiko says, "From such a strong woman, I take that as a compliment. And perhaps a request for more corruption?"

"Well, simply spending more quality time together," the Kirin notes. "In the bath, and in my bed.. and perhaps some nice spots in the garden as well, if the weather is amenable.."

"That ... could be arranged," Umeko agrees. "And it seems that you too share the same interests as my lapi friend. You squirmed a lot."

"It was new," Kazuhiko explains. "That is rare and precious. It is usually I who introduces such novelty. Clearly I must journey beyond our shores and experience the world as you have."

"Then perhaps you should experience it completely. Next time I don't have to stop when you get excited," Umeko offers, "But that is for later. I accept the request to be your lady for the day, Lord Kazuhiko."

The big male rumbles happily, then gets a look of concern. "I suppose we should rescue your companion at some point as well. Does he heal quickly?" he asks.

"He is quite durable and enjoys being scared," Umeko assures the older man. "What is your daughter doing with him?"

"Pages ten through eighty I suspect," the Lord notes. "Those seemed to be the ones that got her interest.."

"If you wish to see him twitch, I should do some of those pages with your daughter and have him watch," Umeko remarks a bit evilly.

"That.. hmm," Kazuhiko says, and then looks thoughtful. "I will have to research such further. It had not occurred to me to use these as a form of.. torture.."

"Nor I, but when I kissed another kiriga it seemed to excite him," Umeko notes and shrugs a bit. "Now, shall we withdraw for a bit more ... corruption?"

"Of course, anything my lady desires," Kazuhiko says magnanimously. "As long as it includes a relaxing bath."

"I shall even bathe you," Umeko offers as she rises, then extends her hand to him. "It is relaxing to ... give you control, I must admit."

Kazuhuki sits up with a slight groan. It looks like he'll be the one with sore muscles come morning. "I am most grateful, Umeko," he says. "I may have to bathe you with my tongue, however, as it is the least sprained so far."

"Do not worry, my Lord, we will sprain that too," Umeko teases, pats his hand, then off they go into the exotic home of an eve more exotic Lord.

Griffin eyes the mirror warily. "If not for the bad luck, I'd break that thing just to be safe," he mutters.

It looks as if someone might have tried that already. The mirror is cracked, with hairline fractures spreading out from about face-level, radiating toward the frames, as if it had been punched, but the silver backing and frame so far hold the glass pieces in place.

The newspaper reporter adjusts his rather out-of-place deerstalker hat consciously, then peers around at the room. Clearly, their hosts are around here somewhere, but they've a choice of the private quarters and the top floor... Or the back door. Which should they investigate first? He listens for their breathing... Assuming they still breath.

"Perhaps we should just pull a Guy Fawks, find a few barrels of gunpowder, and blow the building up," March suggests helpfully. "I daresay I don't wish to go hunting for Madden ... it is more likely he will be hare hunting."

The keen gaze of the reporter takes in the details of the room. There's a fine layer of dust in most places, suggesting it hasn't been properly tended to for some days. However, there are scrape marks on the floor near the desk, and the still-burning oil lamps suggest that someone MUST have been here recently (unless of course, these are some sort of magical Wonderland lamps that just keep conveniently providing light until someone objects to the illogic of it all).

"Seems a bit on the arson-y side to me, I thought we were supposed to be the heroes of the story, not the villains," opines Achilles.

Drifting a bit closer to the mirror, Griffin tries to see if there is any blood or hair in the impact fracture, given the height of it. "Think Madden slammed his head into the mirror?" he asks the others. "And if so.. face first or back of the head?"

The reporter eyes the smudges on the floor near the desk. Hmm. That would seem to suggest they didn't go out the back door, at any rate, eliminating the alley from consideration. But what if there's a secret passage built into the desk? He glances around warily. "He might have been flinging heavy objects around," Achilles ventures in response to Griffin.

There's a quiet creaking of wood underfoot. But, no, wait -- that creaking of wood wasn't from someone's footsteps. It sounded like ... a fluttering of wings and a giggle? It sounds like it came from the boxes over in the corner! Very muffled, but still a real sound.

Griffin turns to stare at the writing desk. "How is a writing desk like a raven?" he asks.

Immediately, the shadows shift, and wood creaks. This is a different sound from that shuffling in the boxes in the corner entirely. The shadows around the writing desk change unnaturally, and somehow, SOMEHOW the writing desk looks very much like a raven. A giant, wooden writing-desk-raven with inky quills.

"They've both got inky quills," answers Achilles. His glance is drawn toward the crates. Hmm. Gigglesome sprites...

"CAW," creaks the writing-desk-that-is-like-a-raven, with a scraping of a drawer.

The card whirls about in surprise! "Griffin! Get Integra back and cover us!" he yelps as he brings his sword to bear. (no actual ursine is involved, he feels a need to remind his inner voice, only the urging to protect the innocent and helpless)

Fortunately, despite the punnery of the animation of the desk, nothing in the room brings a bear to sword to counteract the Card.

Integra shrieks at the huge black bird-furniture thing! She'll never quite look at desks the same way again! How much trouble her mother will have getting her to do her studies from now on! And what a nonsensical explanation this shall be!

"Wah-hah!" declares march as he pulls out the old ratty scarecrow hat they salvaged from the White Knight's place. With a flourish, he slips it on his head. "Now my pretty little desk," he cackles at it, "Unless ye want to be backed into a blackberry pie, I suggest that you quiet yer caws and let us continue on our just cause!" Why he decided to do it in a silly, witchy, accent ... who knows.

The display looks more silly than intimidating ... unless, apparently, you happen to be a writing-desk-raven-thing. It suddenly bristles its blotters and quills and scrape-scrapes as it tries to push itself back against the wall, its drawers clattering in a panic. "CAW!"

Griffin moves to put himself between Integra and the creature - and also pays close attention to how it reacts to March.

"I say, I think you've rather dispirited the thing," Achilles says, his hand reaching out to draw Integra back to the corner.

Suddenly, the writing-desk-that-is-like-a-raven bursts into action, spreading its ... uh ... wings? Oh, whatever. The wooden monstrosity of uncertain proportions leapsfliespanics across the work-table, crashing through the rear door, and leaving a raven-like-a-writing-desk-shaped hole punched through.

"I wonder if that thing could take dictation," Griffin muses. "A sort of.. Secretary Bird.."

Integra quickly regains her wits, as the furniture seems to be more scared of her than the other way around. Perhaps there is hope for her continued education after all.

Achilles motions Integra toward the corner. "A moot point now, but I suspect we're not out of the woods yet." He nods toward the crates. "Perhaps Madden has assistants."

Outside, the sounds of panicked caws continue, along with the crashing of boxes and bins. Alas, the two oil lamps were apparently the EYES of the writing-desk-like-a-raven. It is now very, very dark in here.

There is, however, a surprising source of faint illumination: Integra's blue ribbon -- the one she got from the Kitten -- glows slightly, though it's largely obscured by her pink fairy princess hat. It is a very Nice ribbon, after all.

As the room falls into darkness, the reporter reaches into a pocket of his coat and draws forth... A matchbox. He strikes a match quickly against the side of the box.

The match flares up rather brightly. Once again, by Wonderland rules, matches are surprisingly effective sources of illumination, and last a bit longer than you might suppose, so long as nobody does any huffing or puffing.

"Or perhaps he is hiding in those crates and giggling," Griffin suggests, trying to look towards the opposite corner of the room while the various forms of available illumination sort themselves out.

If indeed there is anyone hiding in the crates ("Tee hee!") he doesn't seem to be making much effort to extract himself, or to take advantage of the darkness to mount a timely attack. But then perhaps he's assuming everyone else is deaf, and is just waiting for someone to blunder into range.

Achilles says quietly, "I heard wings, and the crates don't look all that large... I don't suspect crows, since they're not often of the gigglesome kind, but you might wish to keep your hat handy nevertheless, Harrison." He fetches out a candle, lights it with the match, and sets it into the lantern he's been carrying. The lantern will be less susceptible to... sudden drafts, such as might waft from the hole the raven-desk made.

The reporter hands the lantern to Integra. "Be sure and have your serving tray out for a shield," he suggests. "Harrison, watch my back, I'm going to poke at the crates and see what jumps out."

"Perhaps Madden liked to practice the art of Oragami and those crates are full of paper cranes," March suggests. Boy the hare looks pleased with his hat effectiveness.

"Somehow, if it came from Madden's hands, it could only be the Origimal Sin," mutters Achilles.

"Or one of those ghastly pheasant-winged hats," Griffin notes, readying his rifle.

"And of course I have your back," March adds, "It's far better to look at than your front."

As Achilles prowls the room, he once again takes in the details in investigatory fashion. Slight disturbances in the dust, signs of shifting of the boxes, and the occasional squeaking "Tee hee!" suggest that ... THAT box right there might be the culprit. It's too small to contain Madden, however.

The small crate appears to be held shut only by several other hat boxes and miscellaneous junk stacked on top of it.

The reporter-shaped card grins fiercely, one eye glinting. The way his deerstalker hat is tilted shadows his other eye. He reaches out and taps the crate with the point of his umbrella. "Sir or madam, I have a very sharp umbrella and a sudden urge to enact the magical trick in which one stabs a box in which the magician is hiding, and yet the magician somehow escapes unscathed. If you would prefer not to be the subject of this little play, I would suggest that you climb out of the box with no weapons drawn and your hands in the air," he says with quiet menace.

The box goes silent for a moment ... then bursts out with a rapid-fire squeakity-squeak-squeak noise that for a moment sounds like a panicked small creature, but then sounds suspiciously like hysterical laughter. Or both?

It sounds as if a squeaky voice with a strange accent is TRYING to reply, but keeps breaking into hysterical laughter before completing even a single syllable. Finally, the voice begins humming -- one can practically imagine the person biting his lip in a fierce attempt at stifling the giggles and only barely succeeding -- what sounds like a very familiar nursery tune.

Achilles frowns. "Well then, let's see what's inside the box, shall ve?" He braces for a sudden leap of whatever crazed creature might be living inside, using his umbrella to clear the hat boxes that are holding the crate closed.

The hat boxes aren't much trouble for someone as sturdily-built as Achilles to move, but understandably might be a challenge for someone small enough to fit in such a small box. After a little bit of work, the box is free. There shouldn't be anything holding that crate shut now -- it's certainly not NAILED shut on the lid, anyway.

Still, only giggling comes out of the box, broken occasionally by failed attempts to keep humming.

Comes a squeak from the box, "I tink not!" And then more giggling. Something sounds familiar about that accent.

Achilles reaches out with the tip of his umbrella and gingerly tries to lift the lid of the crate. "Tvinkle? What are you doing in there?" he asks. "Weren't you going back to Settled, last we saw you?"

The bat seemed to be about to try to answer Achilles, but at Griffin's "joke," the creature falls into hysterics again.

March lightly swats Griffin. "Mind your manners, do not insult the bat," he chides.

The little bat appears to be rather trussed up in the box, jammed in there with a tea tray service, and a tea pot that is somehow still piping hot (probably a Wonderland enchantment, not that the bat has actually been brewing tea in the box).

The bat's eyes go wide, and he begins nodding his head fiercely, guffawing the whole time. "Tat's it, exactly!" he manages to stammer out.

The reporter lowers the point of his umbrella. Well. With the bat all trussed up like that, it's probably a good thing he didn't make with the stabby-stabby. He reaches in to lift the bat out, careful to grasp Tvinkle on the non-potentially-bitey-clawy side.

"A hat box is not an appropriate belfry," Griffin notes, shaking his head. "How long have you been trussed up in there?"

The bat is small, and even lighter than one might suppose from his size. (One might suppose that's all the better for him to FLY, but then, again, this is Wonderland, so it's a wonder when physics has any role in anything.) For his part, the bat doesn't even make any attempt at attack, other than just giggling fiercely and kicking his little claw-feet back and forth as he's carried out -- as they're the only things he has any hope of moving, it seems. It looks as if there are the remains of a gag, but he's managed to chew through it with his tiny sharp pointy teeth.

"In ... in ..." the bat stammers. And then his face lightens up again, and he spits out, as if it's all a great joke, "INFINITY!"

"I have to assume this is all a terribly bad joke made by Madden; proclaiming to the world that he has bats in his belfry," March remarks a bit dryly.

Achilles deposits Tvinkle on the table. "That's a very long time indeed," he comments, taking the umbrella back from under his arm. "Would you do the honor of unbinding him?" he asks of Harrison.

"I'm going to fetch the tea set," Achilles adds as he returns to the crate. "Perhaps Griffin can tell us more about Madden's special blend."

Griffin blinks. "Hjckrrh," he squawks thoughtfully. "Not infinity.. but infini-TEA perhaps?"

In short order, the bat is freed. The creature happily exclaims, "LIBERTY!" -- and then promptly rolls over on his back, kicking his stubby little claw-feet into the air in a fit of giggles.

"Hey, careful. You need to talm down. Quit being so, er, flighty," March tells the hysterical bat. He even tries to get ahold of those kicking feet to still the bat.

"Whatever you do, don't drink this," Achilles says to Griffin as he sets the tea service on the table for convenient examination.

"You know what we need right now? Some of thouse sour lemons we found ... wow, it seems like ages ago," the hare notes.

The card points out, "Tvinkle is at least small and easy to move about. If you were to take up gigglesome flitting about, I have no idea how we'd restrain you." He pauses. "Well... perhaps Tvinkle just needs a bit of cake to go with the tea he's had."

The bat's eyes roll back in his head with the fits of laughter from March's joke.

Integra, not really understanding any of this at all, just covers her mouth while she giggles at the sight of the jovial little bat on the work table.

"Twinkle, you must be starving," Griffin notes, and brings forth an herb cake. "Eat this." He then carefully nudges the miniature tea set aside after getting a sniff of it. "Joviali-Tea," he notes. "I don't have any other tea handy to counter it though, so the cake will have to do."

"Ah, I was wondering if it was Levi-Tea," says Achilles. "But he wasn't evidencing the most obvious telltale of the stuff: floating in midair."

The bat starts to cough and choke on the cake, the smile immediately going away. For a moment, it looks like there may be a worse problem to be had ... but then the bat spits and sputters and takes a deep breath. "Oh ... never haff I been so happy ... to not be happy!" He quirks an eyebrow. "Tat does make sense, does it not?"

"It would make you laugh yourself to death, I think," Griffin notes. "So in this case, happy at being less happy is.. a happy outcome."

"In this place? It makes perfect sense. Glad yo have you back in the realm of the grouch. How long were you really in there? How did you get in there?" March asks.

Achilles observes, "There is nothing quite so horrific as an unhappy clown. Did you arrive in response to one of the Mad Hatter's invitations?"

Integra gasps, as it suddenly hits her that maybe she wasn't supposed to be laughing at the laughing bat after all. She blushes furiously.

The bat takes another deep breath. "Do NOT drink te tea!" he warns, just in case that point wasn't already abundantly clear. "Te Hatter, he is mad. He has a Tea Party, and it is mad. He has all the most powerful teas in Wonderland. He vanted to haff me do a rendition of Tvinkle Tvinkle Little Bat -- you know the song? -- but he vanted me to dress up for te party. It is not just a tea party. It is a HAT party. Heads only. But how can I be a flying tea tray if I haff not vings? So he vas going to truss me up somehow and cut off my head and stick my vings to my head, but he couldn't figure it out how. Or someting."

"That is quite insane," March has to admit. "And to think I once called him friend."

"He may have gone to find more needle and thread then," Griffin notes. "Do you remember if the mirror was already cracked when you were.. jovialified?"

"Te Hatter, he is not wholly himself. He talks and screams to himself. After he stuck me in te box, he tried to kill himself, it sounded like," the bat continues. "But ... it did not take. He has gone troo te mirror wit te Dormouse. Tey are making tea for the Queen. And it is only THE QUEEN now. Te oter Heads of State ... are now only heads of state." He makes a slicing gesture across his own throat with one wing-claw, and grimaces as he does so.

The reporter frowns, looking about. "It's not as if he should have had any shortage of..." He gasps. "Are they here?"

"I wonder if we only need to destroy Madden's hat to bring him back around," Griffin notes, and goes to look into the cracked mirror again to see if the candlelight reveals anything more than just a reflection.

The bat shakes his head. "All te heads of state are at te tea party," he says, shrugging helplessly. "It is a party wit all sorts of tea."

"If he's not here... Did he assume that the hats in the front would be enough to finish us off? Or... Where is the tea party then?" asks Achilles.

Through the mirror, Griffin can see something hazy. As he squints and peers, it's as if there's a double image faintly visible. Yes ... he can make out what looks like it could be a "tea party" on the other side, with various people seated around it. But it's all very hazy, and something doesn't look quite right. And how DOES one get through a mirror? A broken one, even?

"There is still time to just blow the building up," March suggests. "Safer than facing a madman."

Achilles shakes his head. "If they're not even here, we'd only have cost Madden a house."

"Troo the mirror," the bat says. "It is vhere te Hatter took te Dormouse. But beware. Te Hatter said he brewed a special tea that only te Queen may have. Infallibili Tea. Most any tea can be had at te tea party, but not tat. And not Invulnerabili Tea, or Invincibili Tea."

"Now," the bat warns, "te Queen's eyes are everyvhere. If you plot and you vhisper, she hears. If you have some brilliant idea to beat te Queen ... please, oh please do not tell anyvone until you surprise her!"

Sotto voce, Achilles whispers to Griffin, "Let's hope the Hatter made a mistake and served her unfallable-tea, which would simply prevent her from tripping and losing her head."

"We can't follow through the mirror," Griffin notes back. "But.. do you recognize any of what can be glimpsed?"

"Her spy?" the bat squeaks. "Te Queen does not need me for a spy! I am a scout, not a scoundrel!" He looks offended, but then droops. "But now she is everyvhere." He looks up. "I know only tat te Hatter, he must obey her. He is her slave. But tere is someting in him. Someting tat fights. But she knows tis too. If ve even vhisper anyting, she might hear it."

"We would have to be seriously cracked up to try to go through that mirror," agrees Achilles. He peers at it, trying to identify the place. "Does this place look familiar to you, Harrison? You were the one who used to hobnob with the King after all."

"Er, uhm," March says quite intelligently. HE goes over to the mirror to get a closer look as well.

To March, it looks as if the place beyond the broken mirror is just as fragmented as the mirror itself. Sections of checkerboard flooring float without support over a great void, and tea trays and cups drift about of their own accord. It's definitely NOT March Manor, nor is it the Hatter's House. This is another "in-between" place.

"It is ... " March starts to say, then has to pause. His head tilts this way and that. "It isn't any place I know; it's a place between other places, if that makes any sense? In-between."

"I wonder if it only appears fragmented because of the mirror..." wonders Achilles. Then he shakes his head. "Perhaps its fragmentation is important to the spell. We might wind up in a perfectly ordinary place if we fixed the mirror somehow."

"The mirrors do seem to connect to in-between worlds," Griffin agrees. "This one just seems to be on the other side of in-between. Instead of being between Wonderland and London, it's between Wonderland and.. someplace else. Or the concept of some other place.."

"Maybe it is in-between Wonderland and Hell," March suggests, "After all, this Alice is dead."

The Gryphon turns from the mirror, and goes back to where the tiny tea service rests. "Maybe we should brew some tea of our own.." he muses thoughtfully.

"We should probably tidy up a few loose ends first, before we try to get there," suggests the card. To Harrison, Achilles asks, "Did you send word to the Dark Horse to take up caretaking for your home, to prevent more dust bunnies from emerging?"

"And this isn't like a regular door. It is ... it's perspective. Maybe all that is required is to believe you are on the other side, and to focus and imagine in here," March says, tapping his head, "That you are to make it so. "Or ... like, if we could imagine going into one tea chest means we come out of another in the mirror.""

"Wark!" Griffin squawks, and starts to sort through this available foodstuffs and ingredients. "I think.. maybe.." he mutters, clacking the tip of his beak.

The reporter considers. "Well... Let's bar the mirror so they can't get back this way quickly, then check out the rest of the house. There may be something we can use here. Perhaps..." He decides not to speak of what he hopes they might find.

The bat squeaks, "Tere vas someting about te Hatter. He needed te Dormouse to get troo. Neiter he nor te Dormouse could get troo alone. Tey vere vorking togeter."

Griffin produces the old photo of the long ago tea-party, to see what's become of the Dormouse.

"Sure. We may as well inspect the good Hatter's knickers," March agrees. The bat's comment gives him pause. "Did the Hatter throw the Dormouse through, then the mouse yank the hatter through?" he has to ask.

It looks like there could be various ways to obscure the mirror. It is on a swivel stand, so that it can be adjusted for the height of the viewer, and could theoretically be flipped around on its axis -- or one could simply turn the stand around and face the wall. Otherwise, there are drop-cloths and boxes aplenty that could be used to form a more physical barrier for the mirror.

"I need to find the kitchen," Griffin notes. "I may be able to use the Joviali-tea to brew some Obscura-tea, to hopefully conceal us from the Queen's vision."

"Knicknacks, rather," Achilles corrects. "Simple clothes would probably not have the effect we need." He goes to turn the mirror about.

The bat looks apologetic to March. "I do not know. Tere was lots of yelling, and I vas in te box. Te Dormouse kept snoring, and getting slapped avake, and at te time, it just seemed so FUNNY."

Achilles nudges Harrison, once he's done turning the mirror about. "Ignore the mirror for now, let's loot!"

"You're turning into quite the pirate, old hat. It must be the eyepatch," March has to remark to Achilies.

The door to the Hatter's private area proves to be unlocked after all, as Achilles pokes around. He finds a simple, multi-purpose room that has a bed on one side, a cast iron stove, a sink basin and small cutting-board and prep table, some cupboards, a wardrobe in another corner, a shelf of linens and such, and another door that's ajar, showing the way into a private water closet and bath.

Achilles grins. "I thought it made me look rather dashing. Over here, I think we've found a very, very modest kitchen, Griffin! Shine the light this way, would you, Integra?"

Integra obligingly brings the lantern into the room, carefully peeking around the doorjamb and illuminating every corner in turn as she goes, frequently revisiting as if afraid some monster could have materialized in the shadows during its brief interlude in darkness. This being Wonderland, perhaps her fears are not unjustified ... but fortunately nothing jumps out. Nothing just YET. Not even dust bunnies under the bed.

Tvinkle flutters along, apparently eager NOT to be left alone in the now-darker workroom with all of those hat-models and a writing-desk-like-a-raven-sized hole in the back door leading into the fog-shrouded alleyway.

The reporter looks around first to see if there might be spare candles or lamps. "He couldn't have used the raven desk for lighting," he mutters. "Far too much trouble to fit the thing in here when he wanted light at night."

"Well.. there should be water at least," Griffin notes as he pokes his head inside the room. "I can fill the kettle here.."

"If you're tired you can hang onto my ears," March offers the fluttering bat. "Surely this place has gas laid in it. Maybe we just haven't found the lighting sconces."

There is a candlestand on the night table, and another lamp hanging on a hook over the stove. There's a low glow coming from the stove just now, and it could presumably be fired back to life with a little tinder from the box just to one side.

The card makes use of what's left of the match to light the candle and the lamp, then tosses the flaming end of the match into the stove. He offers the candlestand to Harrison before taking the lamp for himself.

"Ah, why think you muchly old chap. I feel brighter already," March says with a bucktoothed grin. "Enlightened, even."

It looks as if this area of the building was once just a storage area built onto the back of the shop, as something of an after-thought. The plumbing for the private water closet would represent some significant expense, and presumably whatever is upstairs would be better-equipped (for his renters, anyway). Still, it is a shop in a nastier part of Whitechapel (or was, anyway, before being magically duplicated or transported to Wonderland), so it's a bit behind the times.

Achilles grins wryly. "Just don't jump over it, your name's not Jack." Equipped with a better light source now, he checks under the Hatter's bed and in or behind the mattress as the most obvious place to store private things.

Griffin goes about searching for tea-making ingredients, if this is where Madden brewed them - unless he took it all with him through the mirror. He does take a moment to use one of the long matches to reignite the stove though.

Under the bed, there is, perhaps not surprisingly, a large hat box. Scattered here and there are measuring tapes and spare pairs of scissors, scraps of sample fabric, and such. On the dresser, there are several elaborate-looking hat pins -- not the sort of thing that the Hatter would use for himself, presumably, but perhaps some samples he was thinking of putting in the front of the store. Some reading glasses lie on the night table, next to a book -- Alice's Adventures in Wonderland, oh surprise of surprises.

The little quarter with the cupboards, sink, stove and such still has the basics for brewing tea. In fact, it's sparsely equipped for much of anything else. It's very doubtful that Madden did his own cooking, after all.

"Are your whiskers tingling at any of this?" asks Achilles of Harrison as he points to the pins, then the glasses and book. "I don't recall Madden well enough to say if the hat pins might have had any... special connection to him."

Achilles's search fails to reveal any monsters lurking in the corners or dead bodies (or heads) stuffed away. (The hat box certainly isn't heavy enough for any nasty surprises.) The room feels fairly sedate compared to the rest of the shop. It doesn't seem like there are any hidden horrors ready to spring out. (Yet. Always YET, of course, when one is in Wonderland.)

"I'm on pins and needles to go look," March quips. It's his turn to head over and examine the pins up close with his candle. "I can't imagine if they were important that he would have left them behind," he points out.

The Gryphon begins collecting the tea-making supplies, sniffing everything for any special properties he might be able to detect.

The card pauses. "I wonder what sort of hat he kept for himself?" He eyes the hat box, then reaches in carefully to pull it out. "There's important, and then there's important. What could have driven him to talk of suicide where Tvinkle would hear? Such a thing he would not have wanted to bring before the Queen."

The pins are basically just long, thin metal rods, not terribly sharp on the tip (though you COULD poke someone's eye out with them if so inclined), with elaborate decorations on the reverse ends -- varying greatly in terms of fragility and levels of detail. One is crafted to look like a silver wire butterfly, so that if shoved through a lady's bonnet to affix it to her hair bun (to protect against being blown off by a draft), it would look as if a magical butterfly had alit upon her headwear. Another is a cluster of glass baubles, looking vaguely like a cluster of grapes, but minus the purple. Yet another is a floral design, like that of a rose, of copper inset with sections of red enamel. And there are various other designs besides.

"Nothing really stands out about these pins. I think he was just experimenting with new designs to sell," March admits after the examination. "Still, they may be worth something if we sell them ourselves."

"Or they might be useful as weapons if you get any smaller than you are now," Achilles teases. He offers Harrison the hat box to examine next.

"The hat box, however ... that makes my whiskers tingle. I don't know why, but it seems magical," March adds.

Achilles says, "Well, let's open it and have a look then!" He keeps his umbrella close to hand. "The box itself, or whatever's in it?"

Out of the hat pops an oversized top hat -- large enough that it couldn't POSSIBLY have fit in that box, yet it's in pristine condition. It has a flared top, garish band, and a card stuck into the hat band, all ready to go. It very much looks like the sort of hat you'd expect the Hatter to wear. Why would he leave it behind? Perhaps it's a SPARE.

Setting the kettle on the stove, Griffin begins to sort through the various non-magical tea leaves and his own supply of gourmancy ingredients, including the collected tiny kettle of Joviali-tea. "Let's see what I can brew up, shall we?" he chortles, and goes to work.

A quick investigation reveals that there is no head hiding inside of it. Nor another bat or dormouse, thank goodness.

"Okay .. uhm, that is weird," March admits. He carefully extracts that hat and sets it aside. His attention goes right back to the box. He peers at it, then closes it. "Moment," he says; the hare has starting to look a bit pensive.

"You know, it looks just like the sort of hat a magician would use," ponders Achilles. He eyes Harrison speculatively, then the hat. Then back to Harrison.

Despite working away at the tea, Griffin turns about at that moment and watches closely as March experiments with the hat box, eyeing the strange hat that came out of it. The hare pokes around in the hat box, but it is apparently quite empty, despite whatever he was expecting.

"Be careful, that could be one of those rabbit-pulling magician's hats you know," the Gryphon warns.

March twitches in frustration. "I know there is something about this box," he complains, then closes the box and thrusts it towards Griffin. "Here, you open it."

Achilles suggests, "Let me take a look at this hat." He reaches out for the thing, intent on examining the card attached to it, and looking for hairs in the brim.

Obligingly, Griffin shakes the box next to his ear to see if there's any rattling. "What do you think is in the box?" he asks March.

"Odd... This hat has never been worn," says Achilles. "There's not even a trace of dust on the thing!"

The reporter turns the card over, looking at the backside to see if there's any writing. The front side says simply 'In This Style 10/6'. "It's priced to be displayed... So why is it boxed away?" he wonders further.

"I have no idea. You're holding the box now, not me," March counters the Griffin's overt atempt to dodge responsibility.

Griffin shakes it again. He saw that it was empty when March was examining it though. All the same, he decides to lift the cover just enough for a peek.

"It appears to be a perfectly normal hatbox," Griffin concludes.. and then frowns. "My, that is unusual though, isn't it? Do you think it could be real? From our world, that is?"

Achilles suggests, "The hat inside is rather... too large to fit in the box. What if its magic is to store whatever you put inside the box? Perhaps making sure whatever is stored is in perfect condition as well."

Integra, confused by the proceedings, just focuses on tending to the stove. It's a nice warm place to be, after all, given the fog and the chill seeping in from outside since that piece of furniture went bursting through earlier.

The bird's feathers puff out. "Is that a crack on the size of my beak?" Griffin demands. Instead, he goes to the bed and tries to stuff the pillow into the box.

"It might be easier to test with your old hat," Achilles suggests. "If you put it in, close the box, open it again, and it comes out good as new..."

Try as Griffin might, that pillow is just NOT going into that hat box. Not any more than partially, anyway.

"You have to admit you have an overly large beak. Bigger than it should be," March points out.

"Perhaps it only stores hats," observes Achilles as the Griffin appears to be making no progress with the pillow.

Integra opens her mouth as if she were just about to reflexively defend her uncle, but then she closes her mouth again, and turns to Griffin with a contemplative expression. How DOES one measure the proper size of a gryphon's beak, perhaps?

"Hrrrr, maybe it only works for hats then," Griffin suggests, removing the pillow. He seems to toy with the notion of throwing it at the hare.. but returns it to the bed. He then removes his own beaten up scarecrow hat from a pocket and puts it inside the box, closing the lid on it.

The box suddenly tumbles from Griffin's hands, and the lid falls to the floor. The hat clatters out. How clumsy!

"Well, you have nicer hats.. hmmm.." Griffin looks at the hats worn by the others. "The box jumped out of my grip," he claims. "So.. it must be enchanted somehow.."

After glaring at the box for a moment, Griffin retrieves the old hat and puts it back into a pocket, then picks up the box again. With a determined look, he reaches inside of it and tries to grab.. well, he tries to grab.

Scraping noises ensue. At least the gryphon doesn't punch a hole out the other side of the hat box (which looked like the most likely outcome, given the force involved). One thing is for certain, though: It's one STURDY hat box.

The card shakes his head. "It's certainly magical in at least one respect..." He eyes Harrison and the top hat again.

"The box has something in it, I'm sure," the Gryphon squawks. "There's no room for another hat in it. It is frustrating," he notes, and sets the box on the bed and glares at it. "It is keeping me from brewing any tea though. Perhaps there is a head inside, that the top hat is meant to sit on. Maybe it contains Madden's sanity! If we catch him, I suggest knocking his current hat into the box, and putting the fresh one atop his head."

The reporter sighs melodramatically. "Well, then! Let's see if we can at least fit this hat back in." He nods sagaciously at the Gryphon. "His sanity is clearly used as little as this hat has been."

"One of you can try putting that hat on, and then seeing if you can find something in the box," Griffin finally suggests.

Achilles eyes the hat warily. But... He is curious. He doffs his deerstalker hat and seems about to put this plan into effect.

March slaps his head. "Oh, right! Maybe we're not supposed to look at the box when we're opening it," he remarks.

The card tucks his umbrella under one arm, sets the lantern down on the basin near the bed, and with a theatrical flourish, shows the hat around to the others to show that he's got nothing inside it, and nothing up his sleeves. He then proceeds to the bed and dons the hat (carefully) and waits a second to make sure no ... suddenly insane thoughts pop into his head.

"Not look at box while opening it," Griffin repeats, looking at March. "Because.. it is shy?"

"No, no, like magicians do. You can't look directly at a magic trick," March tries to explain. "If we stare at it, nothing happens."

Tvinkle seems to have had a lot taken out of him. He snoozes quietly (save for whispery little squeaky snores now and again when things get quiet) in the corner.

"Now behold as I close this magical hatbox," pronounces Achilles, now wearing the top hat with a showman's air. "Who knows what wondrous treasure will emanate from the box when I open it?!" In an aside to Harrison, he whispers, "Thump your feet please, for a drumroll."

"Magic trick," Griffin mutters after March's explanation. "Maybe if we put something in the box, it could be pulled out through the hat?"

The room turns awkwardly quiet for a moment (save for a momentary squeaky snore from Tvinkle). It looks like it's all up to Achilles!

The reporter pulls the lid off of the box, aiming it away from himself and the others, toward the wall. "Behold!" he cries out.

Silence! Nothing happens. Or nobody notices anything happening. Did anything happen?

The wall stays where it is. Integra finally looks up and notices her uncle staring at her. She blushes. "Am I wasting too much kindling, Uncle?" she asks.

"... Where's my magical wonderment?" asks Achilles, looking at the others. He jiggles the hatbox a little, then reaches in cautiously, still not turning it to look inside. "Maybe it's stuck."

"No, we want it nice and hot, and don't need to use it again after this," Griffin explains. "Achilles? Did you get eaten by your hat or anything?" he asks without looking back towards the Card.

"Aha! BEHOLD!" proclaims the card, as he flourishes... Another top hat! But this one is of an entirely different kind than the one he had been wearing, perfectly straight from top to bottom, and somehow gleaming with such perfect satin that it manages to be brilliantly black, with a white band.

Integra mouths an "Oh!" and then begins applauding, though she doesn't seem to have caught on just what the occasion is.

After looking at the new hat.. Griffin looks confused. "If Madden could pull new hats from a box, then why would he bother to make any by hand? These box-hats.. they have no enchantments or personalities?"

"Yes, BEHOLD! The Magical Hat Box of INFINITE Hats!" proclaims Achilles as he holds the hatbox aloft, waving the tophat he so recently fetched from its depths. "Whatever hat you might wish, simply imagine it, open the box without looking, and reach inside and lo, it will be there!" He pauses, then tries it on.

"Also.. what happened to the first top hat?" Griffin asks. "The one you were just wearing?"

Somehow the card fails to notice that he had been previously wearing a hat. He takes it all in stride, it's just part of the act!

"What first hat?" asks Achilles with perfect poise. He waves a hand over the hatbox with a flourish, calling attention to the box and away from his head. "This is the true treasure of amazingness! You get not only an infinite variety of hats, but the hats themselves are imbued with wonderful powers! Here... Try this on, Harrison, I think you will find it quite interesting." He doffs the top hat and offers it.

"It is interesting, but I'm not sure very useful," the hare adds. "It just means you can always be fashionable."

And that's where things get strange. March "puts on" the hat, but it just flops over. Apparently, it is nothing more than a very well-painted paper cut-out -- or a trompe l'oeil effect, as the French might put it.

Achilles pauses. "How odd. Perhaps it's only intended to be worn by the person who called it forth?"

"Looks like it. Good, no more rabbit and magician jokes," March remarks with a grin.

"An infinite variety of hat in the singular, perhaps," Griffin says, eyeing Achilles. "But when you replace it, you do not recall the previous incarnation.."

"Well, then. I think we've found something worth taking with us," Achilles observes, retrieving the hat and nodding to the box. "If we have time, we can prepare ourselves for any situation that might arise."

"Speaking of," Griffin says, "I'm going to brew some special Tea. I hope for something that hides us from the Queen's notice, like ObscuriTEA, but I can't be certain that would be the effect. Do any of you have other suggestions?"

"The box could be very useful providing it isn't too heavy to carry around. I wonder ... could we pull a crown of ineffectualness form it that we could put on the queen?" March suggests to the others.

Achilles considers. "Well, we should check the boxes... We could have seed-crate-tea," he offers.

"Securi-TEA.. but that is a bit ambiguous," Griffin notes. "Sobrie-TEA won't be of much use, and I'm not sure Reali-TEA would even work."

"We might have a bit of trouble getting her to wear something of our devising," the reporter murmurs to March. "But perhaps we could stretch things and get the hat box to provide us one or several bandit masks... They're well known for hiding identi-teas."

"Ah, but we can throw it at her! Why, just imagine her in a dunce cap," March says with a cackle.

There's a boom and a crash of thunder outside. The weather seems to have shifted drastically. Last they checked, it was just a meager fog. Perhaps the storm cellar could only trap a storm for so long? Or there are just more where that one came from?

Griffin hmms, looking at his ingredients. "False IdentiTEA.. could be good or bad, depending on who's identity we get. Not much use if it just makes us seam to be one of the others within our own group.."

The stove, meanwhile, has brought the water to a boil. Now it's just a matter of figuring out what leaves and herbs and other mysterious things to add to it.

"I don't think we can hang around much longer, if this is another half-world area," Griffin notes. "If nobody objects, I'm going for ObscuriTEA."

"If we could snag some of the fog outside, and some reeds from the pond we could have mist-tea-reeds," suggests Achilles.

"That's to say, obscurity's the fate of all our works, but not the Queen's!" exclaims Achilles as he puts the magician's top hat back on. "Long live the Queen, may the sun never set upon the Empire!" He nods toward the kettle and encourages Griffin stealthily to continue his work.

Griffin's hackles rise (literally), and he pauses. "No no," he whispers a bit loudly. "HumiliTEA is what we need," he claims, and starts mixing up a brew - of ObscuriTEA.

Finding some cups, while the tea steeps, Griffin says, "Once we all drink this, we'll be able to accept our fates gracefully." His tone of voice is a bit narrative though, rather than natural.

"Humili-TEA! Perfect, my head was beginning to feel a bit too large for my hat," exclaims the card. He glances over at Tvinkle, then the walls meaningfully.

Thumps hit the ceiling and the streets outside. From the loud clatter, it sounds like it's literally coming down in buckets.

Out in the streets, there's a clamor, and shouts. "All right, men!" barks a rusty-sounding voice. "Got a FIRE to put out. Form up a BUCKET BRIGADE!"

Passing out cups, Griffin raises his in toast. "To Queen Alice," he says, wondering which world those voices are coming from.

The card gulps his cup of 'Humili-TEA' quickly! "Goodness gracious, I hope the fire isn't anywhere close by," he says. "The poor neighbors!"

Integra blows on her cup a few times (it's still hot, after all), and then downs the cup.

To each of the drinkers, they have a strange feeling of being utterly alone in the room, and of being forgotten by the world. It takes a force of will to remember that -- oh yes! There are others here as well. The bat is very noticeable by comparison.

Integra takes some of the tea (it takes a moment for her to FIND it again), and holds a cup up to the rocking-nightmare, pouring some into its "mouth." Oddly enough, even though it's a magical thing and not a creature, per se, having a wooden mouth seems to be good enough to take up the power of the tea. It becomes less noticeable as well, and just sort of blends into the background.

Achilles fills up a fresh cup and shakes Tvinkle awake to offers him some, to ensure the bat'll be less a Person of Interest to the Queen. "Here, drink this. It's safe," he assures the bat.

The bat doesn't seem to notice, but snorts awake just enough to swallow some of the tea rather than choking on it. Soon, he's fading into Obscuri-Tea as well ... but still dozes off. (Maybe it's getting close to morning.)

Griffin sets down the cup, and moves close to the others so he doesn't loose focus on them. "We have to go," he says. "Hold hands if we have to, but we can't stay here. We just have to go."

The card nods to the others and stashes the hatbox quickly. No time to investigate the rest of the house, alas!

"Let's slip out the hole in the back," suggests Achilles to the others in a hushed whisper. "Harrison, keep your Scare-Crow hat on. We'll vanish into the forest and follow the river."

Integra blinks at this suggestion, but then she gives it an experimental try. To her surprise, in he goes with a FWOOP! "I have a bat in my pocket!"

"Don't forget that you have feet," Griffin says. "Or just ride the rocking nightmare, and I can take his reins."

Strange metal soldiers begin clanking into the building, each one composed of various buckets and pails of widely different styles and sizes -- some wooden, some metal, many very rusty and all of them very wet (since, after all, the rain is coming down IN buckets -- not AS buckets). "Spread out!" one clanks, with a rattling of a metal handle instead of a mouth. "Find any fires, and SNUFF THEM OUT!"

Achilles pauses, looking out to see... Bucket soldiers in the workshop. Hmm. "We're going to need a distraction... Griffin, now's the time to use your foghorn. Once you've got the horn going, throw that pillow into the stove, and then we'll go while they're trying to put out the fire."

Taking the foghorn from where it's clipped to his bandolier, Griffin gives it a mighty blow!

***AAAAAA--HOOOOOOOO--GAAAAAAAAA!*** The noise reverberates throughout the building, rattling buckets and windows with equal ease -- and with it, the whole area is quickly filled with a fog as thick as pea soup (and smelling suspiciously of it as well).

"Oh, right!" one of the bucket-soldiers exclaims. "I thought we had that fog lot sent out. Need rain in BUCKETS, they said. But oh no! Now they've gone and done it. Fog in an unstable land like this? No telling WHERE we'll end up when we find our way out of it! Might be floating in the Endless Sea by then!"

The bucket-soldiers blunder about; it never seemed they were particularly perceptive in the first place (not having eyes, and all), but now that they have the excuse, it seems they can do little but blindly stumble into each other, sending buckets and splashes of water everywhere, followed immediately by choruses of "Sorry! Sorry. Pardon! Be a pail, and hand me back my head, would you?" and so forth.

"Yeah, definitely hold hands as we leave," Griffin mutters, grabbing hold of everyone he can. "Let's go.. no need to set a fire now.."

Between this and the obfuscating effects of the Obscuri-Tea, it seems that the adventurers are well and truly unseen by the bucket-soldiers. The main danger now seems to be in the risk of losing contact with each other.

The card latches onto Harrison and the rocking horse's tail. "Just as well, I've a mortal dread of fire," he mutters.

Crashes upstairs hint that the fog is so thick, it has even reached the upper floor of the building (and so, apparently, have the bucket-soldiers -- though they might have simply STARTED there first, seeing as they came down from the sky and all).

"They'll be on both sides but we'll find it easier to sneak away if we take the back," hisses Achilles forward to Griffin. "We might have to rattle a few buckets."

Griffin heads out towards the back door, since the front if further off and may be watched. It's just a matter of dodging the bucket brigadiers bumbling about.

The card reporter whispers to Harrison, "Guard Integra's tail, I'm going forward with Griffin." He reattaches the rabbit to the nightmare's plume, then makes his way up forward, feeling along the wood horse's side until he gets to wingfeathers.

During the careful exit to the back, Integra quite nearly rocks right into a rolling bucket, as its owner is stumbling after it, but Harrison deftly interposes himself, sweeping up the missing bucket and putting it RIGHT where the owner can find it before blundering into them. Crisis averted!

Once the group makes it to the back alley, visibility isn't the least bit better, and they have to deal with the very NEW hazard of the fact that ... the rain is still coming down in BUCKETS!

Fortunately, there's a bit of a breeze (and apparently this affects the angle of rain even when it's coming down in buckets), or else this could have been a very, very short trip. As long as they hug the wall, they're able to avoid the clatter of falling pails. Elsewhere, they can hear glass shattering now and again, as upper-story windows aren't so lucky. It's just as well they didn't try the street.

Once they're outside, the card deploys his umbrella hastily before the pouring rain gets him wet! He peers through the roiling fog, seeing shadowy bucket shapes stumbling about. Hmm. "This way," Achilles hisses to the others, leading the way to the left.

The fog gets thicker and thicker as Achilles proceeds. The sounds of falling buckets seem more distant, though it only takes a moment of consideration to wonder at how that makes any sense.

The card sneaks onward leading the others, wearing his magician's tophat to give him that extra edge in bypassing the hostile gaze of the soldiers. He tries to find somewhere out of the way where they can shelter until the storm passes.

Griffin follows along, leading the nightmare and Integra (and Harrison) after the card. "We should decide where we want to end up outside of the fog," he suggests.

"I was thinking that we should get back to the Village of Animals and make sure Harrison's house is seen to, then proceed to the Guarded Way," whispers Achilles to the others.

The reporter explains, "If the King's head has rolled, there shouldn't be such a heavy guard at the Looking-Glass House... And it seems like it might be the best place to find a way into the Tea Party."

Achilles finds the wall has ended. He has, indeed, reached a corner. The bucket-raining has died off entirely.

The card peers uncertainly through the clinging mists. "I certainly feel like we've walked far enough we could be there by now!"

A sign is dimly visible in the thick pea-soup-like fog. "Miss Trotterly's Stable for Wayward Mares." Judging from the curiously-shaped shadows of other rooftops and lit windows peering through the fog, it would seem that, sure enough, this is the humbly-named Village of Animals.

"Ah, for once following your heart has led to the right place," Griffin tells Achilles.

"Hmm, I think this is it," says Achilles in a slightly louder tone of voice. He coughs and blushes at Griffin's words. "Now, there's just one little problem... We're now laboring in Obscura-Tea, so they may not recognize who we are," he says. "Much less be willing to let loose the Dark Horse to go take care of your house, Harrison."

"Maybe if you put your bowler hat back on she'll recognize you," Griffin suggests.

A stork ambles down the street, wearing a postmaster's cap and jacket, muttering to himself about the sudden fog, and occasionally dipping his long beak into his mail pouch, then poking envelopes into mail boxes. "Nor gloom of night, indeed," the stork mutters, stumbling over a cobblestone.

"Perfect! We can leave a message in his pouch to be delivered here, which states that Miss Dark Horse's service is requested," exclaims the reporter to the others. He fetches out paper and a quill with which to write.

"You have offer the position as 'chatelaine of March Manor'," Griffin suggests. "It's more proper."

The reporter consults with the rabbit to work out the letter. Dear Miss Trotterly, he writes. As I must leave my house for some time, and do not wish it to become untidy in my absence, I would like to offer the position of 'Chatelaine of March Manor' to one of your charges, Miss Dark Horse, who comes highly recommended by a friend of mine. ... He sighs at the teasing of his friends as they engage in some sailing-over-Integra's-ears teasing on the subject.