Lady March Hare
♠ ♦ - ｆａｌｌｉｎｇ ＤＯＷＮ - ♣ ❤
This is a private role play between Kiyoui and Lady March Hare.
No posting; but feel free to read along!
Thanks for stopping by. <3
♠ ♦ - ｆａｌｌｉｎｇ ＤＯＷＮ - ♣ ❤
This is a private role play between Kiyoui and Lady March Hare.
No posting; but feel free to read along!
Thanks for stopping by. <3
Lady March Hare
- Crunch. Crunch. Crunch. Crunch.
It was strangely quiet on the banks of the Sea of Tears. In Wonderland, things were rarely, if ever, quiet. There were always the sounds of bread-and-butterflies colliding or momeraths whispering to one another, or any manner of other wild, wacky creature causing a commotion. And at this particular location more than anywhere; usually there was a perpetual Caucus Race going on, with clashing melodies and birds and people and bird-people running round and round in madness, forever trying to win a race to which there was no end. But the banks were silent today, so silent that the two men who prowled along the stony banks could hear the sorrowful whimpering of the gentle waves as they crashed to their deaths against the blue-stoned shore.
“They’ve even killed the Caucus Race.” the man who spoke was nervous, trailing several steps behind his partner and looking around warily. “I’ve never known for them to shut down the Caucus Race.”
"What did you expect?" the man ahead purred, a lopsided smile on his lips. "The King is dead, the Tarts have been stolen, and the Queen is furious. Would you feel like drawing attention to yourself with a Race, Mock?"
“O-Of course not!” the Mock Turtle, a very reluctant member of the Red Hood, said in a squeak. His real name was Hamilton James, but that wasn’t a name that meant anything. ‘Mock Turtle’, however, suited him very well, and that was what his companion and boss called him.
Chuckling, said boss took a few quick steps forward to the water’s edge, scanning the admittedly beautiful landscape. His strong, handsome features were half masked by the hood of a blood red cape that cloaked most of his body save for the heavy black boots done up with leather ties on his feet. The rest of his clothes were black and utilitarian; there was clearly no effort to blend in when it came to his wardrobe. He carried no weapon with him... he didn't need one. His eyes, a bright, eerie blue, scanned slowly along the coastline, clearly not pleased despite his generally jovial tone. The man’s name was Chester Haven, but again, it was a name that said nothing about him; no one used that name. He certainly had no use for it. He would have been glad enough if he had no name at all; it certainly would have cut back on the social expectation that he introduce himself every time he met someone new. Such a waste of time; the Cheshire Cat had better things to be doing with his time. Yes, they called him the Cheshire Cat in the Red Hood, and for good reason, it turned out. And, really, the Red Hood was all he cared about anymore. The Red Hood were the elite, far more selective than the Card Army could ever hope to be. And, of them all, he was the most skilled, the veritable boss. There was only one that outranked them, and even then not in skill; the Gryphon was the leader of the Red Hood in that he was the one that often spoke directly to the Queen and issued orders, but the Cheshire Cat was leader in the field. And one day, when he was old and gray? Maybe he would succeed the Gryphon. Cheshire wasn’t thinking that far ahead yet. He was focused on the mission. And this mission was of particular interest to him. There was a beast running loose, and the assassin in the red hood was determined to kill it.
“How long do we have to stay out here?” Mock spoke up, interrupting Cheshire’s thoughts. “I hate this place. Brings on the waterworks, you know.”
"Oh, god, don’t do that." Chesh groaned. He had ordered that the Red Hood split into the groups of two to hunt their target, one of particularly high danger levels. What he hadn’t considered is that he himself would get stuck with a partner. In general, he hated working with other people; they slowed him down. Especially the Mock Turtle… the man was such a cry baby. His special ability made him invaluable, but still. "Look, this will go a lot faster if we split up. You take the east bank; I’ll take the west. Meet back here in an hour." he said, glancing at his companion.
“You mean by myself!? But…”
"You’ll be fine. See you in an hour." the Cat said, already moving west along the bank. He’d have to cover any ground the Mock Turtle covered again himself later, but he never objected to a little extra legwork. And, seeing as he did object to spending any more time with his whiny partner, he only lifted a hand in a cheeky farewell before dismissing any further thought of the Mock Turtle from his mind.
After a while of walking he could no longer hear the apprehensive mutterings of the Mock Turtle, which left the Red Hood alone with the agonies of the Sea of Tears. Unlike most people, he didn’t have a problem being near the tragic body of water. Sure, it was a sad place, if one stopped to think of it, but he didn’t. It could drive you mad, stopping to think things over while in Wonderland. Cheshire wasn’t that sort of man, and because of it, he escaped getting bogged down by the madness as some others did, even in the Red Hood, the strongest and most capable in Wonderland. Grinning at the thought, the solitary man picked through the oddly colored stones of the bank, back to scanning for his prey. For it was his prey; the Red Hoods had been told to hunt him down, but the Cheshire Cat was the one that was going to catch him, to kill him. He just knew it. He could feel it in his bones. And it was an exciting prospect. It was boring being at the top sometimes; he thrilled at the idea of a challenge. He was determined to kill the one they were hunting himself, and he was going to do it, humdrum partner or no humdrum partner. After all, this was the most exciting thing that had happened in Wonderland in ages. The Queen of Hearts was often screeching ‘off with his/her head’, but it was rare that her executions had such interesting consequences. The Cat knew the whole story; he was required to accompany the Gryphon to the palace occasionally as second in command, after all. Not that he really cared about the details; some court hussy was sleeping with the King, and the King lost his head both literally and figuratively, which prompted his target to do the unthinkable: to steal the Queen’s Tarts. He had guts, Chesh had to admit. He couldn’t ever remember meeting him, but he liked him. Respected him. Would enjoy hunting down and killing him. It was a pride thing. Not that he minded much if it dragged out, or even if the Queen to whom he was loyal never got her Tarts back. The Cat just enjoyed having something to do.
After all, he often said, what use was a special force if they were just sitting around?
"None whatsoever." he said aloud. He often talked to himself… he couldn’t help it. He liked intelligent conversation. Kicking a stone into the waves and ignoring the whines of objection it caused, the male glanced out to sea thoughtfully. His target couldn't be out there, could he? Surely not. Chuckling at the thought, the assassin continued his hunt.
[ O.O.C.: I'm still fiddling around with this guy's post dec... I just didn't want to keep you waiting around on my intro any longer. ^_^; And let me know if you want me to add anything to help you write your intro. owo ]
Lady March Hare
- The woods were quiet. Eerily quiet; still. In books, when the forest went still it meant something dark and dangerous was on the prowl, that nature itself was on alert. And, certainly, if that were the case it would fit the mood.
A woman stood along in the middle of a sunlit trail, her heart pounding loudly in her chest as she scanned her surroundings with dark brown eyes. Her face was pale, her muscles stiff, and the elegant knot that her hair had been wrapped up into was slipping, sending curled tendrils falling about her face. Clearly this woman had not been expecting to take a stroll deep into the Wonderlandian Wilds; one could tell by her dress alone. Yes, dress; the woman was decked out in court-appropriate finery woven of silk and colored in reds and whites, her feet covered in kid slippers. The brown leather pack that sat at her feet seemed rather slovenly in comparison, but the Duchess Snoelle le Blanc wasn’t thinking about such things at that moment. Her mind was racing; that demanded her attention.
How did such a woman, a Duchess, no less, end up in the middle of the forest, so far from her courtiers and Queen? Because she was that Duchess, of course, the ones people had been whispering about for months. Snow White, they’d called her. It had been a mocking nickname, and she knew it; the sneering tone it was often uttered in and the scandalized giggles that had always followed it were more than enough to alert the woman to that particular fact. Snow White, they’d say; skin white as snow, hair black as night, lips red as roses… the perfect description for a perfect little whore. And that would cue the tittering, which Snoelle had been expected to pass by with chin held high, no furious blush in her cheeks, and no tremble in her bottom lip. A difficult thing to accomplish, needless to say, especially when everything in the noblewoman demanded that she voice an objection. None of what prompted the rumors was true! None of it! She was not a tramp, and she had not, as the rumors insisted, seduced the King! Because that was the charge against her, that the King of Hearts had fallen into her web and head over heels in love with her, and it was a rumor that had spread like fire from apparently nowhere. A rumor harmless enough until it had reached the ears of the Queen of Hearts herself. The woman had been known to demand executions in compensation for the planting of white roses instead of red; no one was surprised when the mere suggestion of an affair between her husband and the Duchess had sent the Queen red faced and screeching for heads to roll. And heads had rolled. The King of Heart had been the first fatality; several of his attendants that had supposedly been in the know had followed quickly after. And the Duchess had been rousted from her sleep by the Card Guards kicking in her bedroom doors with swords drawn. She had been allowed to dress; again, Snow had known why. The Queen thought she had had an affair with the King; she wanted to parade the Duchess before her court like a trained monkey, offer her up for mockery, have her beg for her life only to execute her in tremendous pomp and circumstances. And things had gone according to HER schedule; Snow’s mind had been racing then too. She was accused of having an affair with the King and, to further incite the Queen’s rage, someone had stolen the sacred Tarts, the powers of Wonderland that belonged to her alone. The Queen of Hearts hadn’t yet had a person to direct her fury for that crime towards, so she had settled for leveling this additional hatred on Snow’s supposedly deserving shoulders. The furious woman’s OFF WITH HER HEAD was still ringing in her ears. Snow had had to think fast. So she had lied.
And now, here she was, standing out in the middle of the woods with a mission: to find the seven stolen Tarts, as she’d promised she could. The Duchess had, at the last minute, confessed to the supposed affair with the King; the scandalized gasped that had filled the court room the Queen loved to preside in as judge and jury had nearly been deafening. So much so that she’d had to shout the next bit: that the King had revealed all of the places the Tarts might have been hidden away in to her and her alone, and that she would be able to find them and bring them back if only given the chance. The room had gone silent, and for a long minute the Duchess had been terrified that the Queen might try to extract that information from her in other ways. But the Queen had finally grinned, proclaimed to the court that the idea of the Duchess scrambling to try and save her life was pleasing to her, and she had been given leave. The deal? Find the stolen Tarts, or be beheaded. Snow hadn’t needed to be told twice.
So now she was out in the wilds, with only the clothes she’d had on her back and a bag that had been secreted to her by a sympathetic guard before the Castle gates had been slammed in her face. And then, prompted by a sudden burst of energy fueled by nerves, Snow had run as best she could, determined to put as much distance between herself and the murderous Queen as she could. The result of which had left her here, in the Wilds, alone. The Duchess had never been outside the Castle walls alone before; as a member of the court, she had always gone out with guards in attendance, at the very least. It was so quiet when one was out in the woods alone, and something about it kept her heart racing long after she caught her breath. The clearing in which she found herself was beautiful, true, but she was having a bit of a hard time appreciating it, considering all that had occurred.
"Ah…" her breath left her in a hiss and she reached out a pale hand to press to the nearest tree, looking down at her feet with a grimace. Running in kid slippers was not advisable, and for good reason; her feet were killing her. Limping to a fallen, mossy tree, the young woman dropped to sit and, with a habitual glance around to make sure she wasn’t being watched, hiked her skirts up somewhat and looked at her feet, biting her bottom lip. Well, this wouldn’t do; the woman slid her feet free with a wince and sighed as she set the slippers aside, massaging her aching, bruised feet. "At least I won’t miss these." she murmured, throwing them into the bushes in frustration. She was from a line of Dukes and Duchesses, born a noble, but not one with funds. In fact, her noble parents had been rather poor before they sent her to the Queen’s court to serve as part of the Queen’s entourage in an effort to gain favor. Needless to say, that little plan was up in smoke. But the point was that she had experience in doing without. Sighing, Snow pulled the sack towards her and pried it open to scan the contents. She was pleasantly surprised to see a pair of dark brown boots and thick socks; those would serve her well indeed. Along with a roughly woven pair of breeches and shirt, the sort worn by men or commoners. The woman sighed, then shrugged to herself; it would be infinitely easier to move in than what she had on at the moment.
"Not that I should be thinking about clothes at a time like this." she murmured. She should be thinking about how to retrieve the Tarts. Unfortunately, she had no idea how to do such a thing. There were seven to find, and who knew where the Jabberwock had taken them when he left? Clearly, there was only one solution: she had to find the Jabberwock. Maybe she could negotiate with him and get them back? She doubted that it would be that simple, but it was all she had at the moment. No, she had to focus on the things she could do, move forward, keep panic away. And right now, she had to change. Which was a strange thing to be attempting to do while out in the wild, but she wasn’t going to linger on that. So, after dumping the contents of her pouch onto the mossy log next to her, the young woman set to work on the ornate buttons on her dress.
She could do this, she assured herself; it would be hard, but she could do it.
