[ text ] No more carols to sing

[radiopalkiller]

I. ACTION

[ Well, this is Wonderland. This, specifically, is Wonderland's beach, and, more specifically its ocean, which reaches up to Philip's knees. So much for a smooth landing, huh? He lets the icy water lap at his feet for a bit, because it makes a nice change from-- uh, hours? Days? Weeks? It makes a nice change from burning in hell, period.

He wades onto semi-dry land, eventually. So this was... what? An event? Another magical accident from the corner of unsupervised Storybrooke maniacs? Or, third. Christ, third. Neither the water nor the offensively picturesque snow landscape run down his back as coldly as that thought. That he might've actually gone home.

He lets that sink in, and sink down, until it doesn't paralyse him anymore. Then he takes out his phone, and heads back into the mansion. ]

[[ PRIVATE TEXT, TO EVELYN O'CONNELL ]] Hey, can you spare a second? Because I'm a bit weirded out, and not entirely sure what just happened to me. [ He waits. Gets impatient. Types the second part right away: ] Was I gone?

II. TEXT

[ First, he wants to pretend that the last few- days? did not just happen. Second, he picked up the words "sleep deprivation" and "other Wonderland", and still doesn't get the whole picture from the network. Which, all in all, leads to third, a controlled mess in the kitchen, and the following message: ]

Apparently I just blinked and missed Christmas, so I'm stooping to bakery to make up for it.

[ A helpful visual of some crunchy chocolate toffee squares with macadamia nuts comes attached. ]

First three batches ready for pick-up in the kitchen. Fourth batch in the works, I'll trade you for some good stories about the event I missed.

Comments

[nonscriptum]

[Nate's appetite remains unfazed. He pops another square of chocolate-y goodness into his mouth and raises an eyebrow, swallowing hard.]

Great, [he manages, coughing and bracing his fist on his chest.] But no dismemberment or eye removal that I can think of. Just kinda...disorienting. Like being another person, but still...you.

Does that make any sense?

[radiopalkiller]

[ I s h. There's body snatching, when doesn't that come to mind first? Still being you, with an asshole in the pilot seat. --Actually, no, that's what he thinks of, because on some level, when isn't Clarence ready at hand? What it reminds him of is that bloody witch and her bloody fairy tale town, a ridiculous haircut, and being called Mort Howards, and not finishing that sentence.

He knows the stories though. Events that just smash out the bottom from under your feet, metaphorically, memory-wise speaking. Like the way- the way he can't say what subject he used to teach, name just outright gone, even if can still write down all the right calculations. He thinks. Probably.

...Like the way he hasn't got a mother anymore, except for the blurs where he presumes she ought to be. ]

About as much as anything this place can cook up.

[ He says it just a bit too late, and pulls a soda from the fridge, because if he was thinking about which drink to get, then it might've made more sense to pause. ]

So what was it like? [ He shakes his head. Bad question, he just said-- No, what Philip meant: ] Was it good?