entranceway | + The Larom of the Story +

[ The Duchess head rolls into the frame, most tragically without grace. Her face comes to rest on the floor. She sighs heavily. ]

'Tis rather inconvenient like this. Turn me around, dear, so I can see them all.

[ The Duchess' piglet runs to her with a squeal, and nudges her head, so it turns to face her beloved audience. ]

Now! Do you see what I-- face, goodness, no, what vile punnery. [ She clears her throat. ] Do you see what I struggle with, my dear friends? Do you see it all? I must say it quite forcefully, you understand, for I- I cannot see enough otherwise, not like this! [ Another sigh, even heavier and more dramatic than the first. ] It slips, it turns, it falls, it will not stay with me, no matter what I do!

[ Her piglet nuzzles her hair consolingly, then begins chewing on it, undoubtedly to provide comfort. ]

Thank you, my love. Now, where was I? Ah! Your own medicine is worth twice the sweetness in the bush, that is what they say! Here is my plan, now make sure you listen well, or you get it wrong, and then I would need to pair you all up, for only two even wrongs set my head back on right, and we've no time for such things, no time at all, do we?

[ The Duchess clears her throat. ]

As mighty as the sharpest blade, as stout as the hardest shield, a spool of thread woven from hearts of gold. It must exist, and I must have it! She'll do worse to my head if I search, but you'll help, won't you? I will let you see, and you will be my eyes! All good things come tomorrow - then I'll let you see, and you'll be my eyes, and when it's all done you'll use your own mouths to tell my personal ears all you know, won't you?

[ Her piglet nudges the screen. It turns, and shows the Duchess' body, standing in front of a mirror, painting it silver. Somewhat without coordination it paints the walls and itself as well, but as long as it does not miss the glass entirely, the Duchess' head seems satisfied enough with its efforts. ]

See, now, we're nearly done, and when we're all done you'll see for me. Good luck, my darlings, the best of luck to us all!

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

No, no, no.

[ Without warning the Duchess violently tosses her own head upwards to the ceiling, and catches it again in front of her chest: Hair askew, hanging backwards. She blinks at him out of upside-down eyes. ]

It goes the other way. Now that the thing is good and gone, everything is good and you can stay. 'Tis quite nice to stay now, and I am an excellent host, if I do say so myself.

[ The piglet squeaks under her dress, and sticks its snout out from under the frills. The Duchess frown-upside-downs, and sets her head right again, smiling. ]

And my dear duke says so as well, you see, we all agree on it now. An excellent hostess knows her guests, else how will she provide for them properly? [ Her face darkens, as does the cadence of her voice. ] Else how will she provide for them improperly, if they displease her?

[ Gone, in the blink of an eye, a broad smile in place of it. ]

Dwarves, you are correct! And not dwarves any longer, as well. Poor things. They'd be no proper company at a party, if they remembered. Suppose they're still not, even if they don't. [ The Duchess tries to scratch her head without letting go of it at the same time. It's a precarious endeavour. ] The lawn chairs don't hold them, you see.

Uh-- Whoa, look, no need for improper treatment.

_{[Everything's fine, everything's fine. Except for... the Duchess' nasty case of decapitation and all, but she seems in frighteningly good health despite it. What to address first, the fact there's a woman tossing her own talking head around, or her head's, quite frankly, unsettling mood swings? There are almost too many choices.

He's sorely tempted to butt in with no need to lose your head about it but he has to be strong now. Must resist the urge.]}

Dwarves are no fun at parties, sure, I can see where you're coming from. But what good does a memory about dwarves or this spool of thread do you? What's so special about us that you think we need to stay?

[ She would sound sweeter and more serene, if her hair was not so askew, if she had her head on her shoulders rather than in her hands, but she tries, honeyed and light. ]

I care for you a great deal. You are so much like my head, do you see? I could kick you far away, where I can never have you back, but why would I want that? Why would anyone want to separate what ought to be together?

[ Moments of earnest urgency are rare in the Duchess' company, but one passes by just then: ]

Help me become whole again.

_{[Setting aside the fact she'd claimed to have rifled through his memories, comparing him to her severed head is an awful metaphor. And... creepy, to boot. What ought to be together? What does that even mean?

But caution seems prudent here. Arguing with irrational people who think they're being rational never goes well.]}

You think this spool of thread can... stitch you back together again? All right. And the "she" who has it--is that the Queen of Hearts everyone talks about? Let's say we do track it down and we do tell you. Will you tell us the real reason why we've been brought to Wonderland?

_{[Do these entities... beings... whatever they are understand honor among thieves?]}

Better than all the king's horses, and all the king's men, this spool of thread can stitch me back together again. [ She clicks her tongue. ] Which is hardly a fair comparison, most horses I know can barely even thread a needle.

[ The Duchess weaves her fingers through her hair, to set it a little righter. She sets her head a little more evenly, too, like a crown held elegantly in front of her chest. ]

Yes. Yes. Also, yes. Those are your answers. Now bring me mine.

That's surprising. The lizards around here don't seem to have a problem with hammers.

_{[Perhaps more surprising than finding out the obvious news that horses make terrible seamstresses is that she's willing to speak about Wonderland if her terms are met.

Naturally, if there's one thing he absolutely can't do it's take any one of the Wonderland natives at their word, but if there's a chance to profit from this...? It's worth considering her riddle, which looks to be pretty clear on the surface. If it can be called a riddle. It's more like a demand: go on a scavenger hunt for this special thread, aid her in making herself whole again.]}

I would if I had answers to share. _{[Instead it's all questions, and who's fault is that?]} What do painted mirrors have to do with this indestructible thread of yours?

Of course they wouldn't. Old Bill went to Oxford. They don't let horses into Oxford. Not when they never think of the proper dress code.

[ She waves her hand as dismissively as she can without compromising the stability of her head. A valuable thing was said. Not this. ]

You'll see when the paint sets. Give it time. All will be clearer by the light of day. You'll have your answers then. And I trust you'll share them.

[ Briefly she contemplates to grant him another answer. The decision falls against it. She tips her head to make it nod, and the feed cuts off as swiftly as her head once was. ]

_{[Uhhh, what's Oxford, exactly? Should he ask? At what point does he void his last ounce of control over this conversation and become a masochist trying to keep up with her thought process?

With a single tip of her head that looks awkward to do (and even more awkward to watch), she makes the decision for him.]}

Uh, wait, but I--

_{[... Too late. Sigh. He needs a moment to rub his temples after that.]}

+ The Larom of the Story +

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