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 Posted: Thu May 17, 2012 6:33 pm
It had been, quite literally, weeks since she had heard from Boris. Days, perhaps even hours alone was unusual, considering the odd way he would randomly surface during seemingly mundane tasks; sometimes only to offer his two cents, or to make the odd comment now and again about her habits; but always a constant. Alice had become genuinely worried after the first three days, but had convinced herself that he was simply off having misadventures that she would rather not know about, or sulking about her latest outing with the twins (he always was quite sore when she spent time with someone besides him). Then, a week had passed, and that was longer than she'd ever gone without hearing hide nor hair of Boris- or at least, something Boris had done- so she had begun a search.
Julius was, of course, rather unhelpful in the whole endeavor, so she had set out on her own. No one had seen him, and all she had garnered in her search for him had been a few confused and incredulous looks, as if no one seemed to remember that he had existed in the first place. She had accepted it as common Wonderland nonsense at first... there always seemed to be a game here, a trick there- 'make Alice think she's crazy' didn't seem too far outside the realm of possibility for a new pastime. As the days continued to pass, though, and her thoughts continued to betray her into thinking that perhaps he'd left on purpose, or perhaps he was dead in a ditch somewhere- no, that couldn't be, wasn't he supposed to be reborn when that happened? That was an awful thought- she began to wonder if perhaps she was a bit mad, it wasn't as if nothing else of Wonderland was rubbing off on her... but to have imagined Boris in his entirety?
For reasons she didn't want to consider, that thought made her heart hurt.
No, no, it couldn't have been. She would not have been able to remember him so vividly, to picture his toothy, cat-like grin, to feel the warmth of his hand, to anticipate the wave of affection at one of his oddly-placed, but sincere compliments... no, he had to be real. Real was the tree bark beneath her fingers, the loose strands of hair brushing her shoulders, the sweat moistening the collar of her dress, and the cool breeze that carried away her panting breaths... when had she stopped running?
When had she started running?
Her trek through the dark woods had been a solemn one, the air about her tense in her brooding contemplation before her panic had swept her away. 'Boris.' She had to find Boris. He could make this all right- he had to. She wasn't mad, he could prove it- when had her feet started moving again?
Even lost in her own panicked thoughts, the path before her seemed to wind less than it ever had before, and the trees seemed to widen, providing clearings that Alice could never remember seeing, but now seemed achingly familiar. Slowly, the dim lights of the ferris wheel lit up the distant horizon, and her heart began to calm from its racing, her feet slowing their maddening pace. Everything was fine. Boris would be in his room, and it would all be a terrible misunderstanding- and one that he would never hear the end of, if she had anything to say about it. The thought brought a more relaxed smile to her face, though her teal eyes were distant. It didn't matter, everything would be fine.
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Posted: Thu May 17, 2012 8:30 pm
He wasn't sure which was worse; everything looking the same or that he'd almost forgotten how it had looked in the first place. There was something deeply disturbing about coming 'home', it felt like walking over his own grave. Or, more accurately, stepping back in time. The only thing that had been wrong was a simple note, pinned to his pillow.
It looked so recent, Boris had been a bit surprised to feel that the ink was dry as he promptly destroyed it. Anything to do with that was definitely not something he had the reserves to deal with. He didn't have much choice though, did he? The way they had stared at him, even those with no face, no eyes...
He shuddered and shifted on his bed, the slight movement making him wince as welcomed pain lanced through him. Grunting, Boris lifted his hand to see it glisten in the low light, his own fresh blood painting it a grotesque red. Wonderful. Perfect, really. There was a sort of beauty to it, dark and promising.
With all of his new tricks stripped away, he'd fallen onto old habits to keep his mind off of things. Namely, getting his a** kicked. Or shot, as it were. His chest heaved at the incredible amount of effort it took to sit up, taking note of the damage. Amazing he was still alive, really, and perhaps a shame he'd heal so quickly. Ace should've finished him off this time, there was plenty of opportunity to, but instead he had offered him a handful of words and a quirk of a smile.
"She's been asking about you."
Damn him.
Using his beloved boa to mop up the blood, he pulled away what remained of his vest, his hands trembling from the effort. How much did he have to lose for his clock to stop ticking? How much before the memories were drowned and washed away?
Wilting under the thought, he collapsed back into the pillows, groaning as his broken ribs dug in further. Was it wrong of him to care? Wrong of him to feel his breath catch in his throat when he thought of her eyes? He could forget everything about Wonderland, but never that. That shade of blue...
Through the haze of his drifting thoughts he watched the pattern of lights change on his ceiling; colors competing with each other, blending and pulling apart, all shining through the holes and gaps in his curtain. Messy. Alive.
He turned his gaze away, reminded too much of Cy's eyes. The exact shade of anger, or sorrow, or regret. How he'd come to memorize each one. In particular the way they looked playful and secretive as she whispered sweet nothings and purred her way along his chest. God, he could almost feel her hand trailing up his throat to outline the dip of his collarbone and- oh.
His fingertips pulled back from his own throat, slick with blood. It was trickling down the curve of his chest with each breath, gathering in the recesses and warming his chilled skin. Distantly, he was aware that he should feel angry. Misled, fooled, and manipulated. Maybe even hate. Somehow those didn't seem so important anymore. Knives with edges too dull to be of use. What a strange metaphor. Was this what dying was like? Thoughts drifting this way and that as they pleased? Words no longer making sense?
There were worse things, he supposed. He couldn't think what would be, at the moment, but there had to be something. Like... like thinking you had finally found acceptance and love, and it being a lie. Or... or wanting so bad it ached. Every part of your being filled with such longing for her to even look your way and knowing every smile was meant for someone else. Some memory or ...
He closed his eyes with a sigh, suddenly craving the warmth of a blanket, but too tired to grab one. Cold and tired, tick tock. Tick tock tick tock tick...
((uh, wow. Ok no he's not dead, but that came out way more macabre then I originally intended ._.;; ))
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Posted: Thu May 17, 2012 10:20 pm
Though her body took her through the motions- continuing her walk on the long path, eyes navigating through the rapidly darkening sidewalks, hands raising to push open the heavy gate, feet quickening their pace as she neared her destination- Alice's mind was elsewhere. Somewhere, beyond each of these walls and doors, the warmth and comfort she hadn't even known she missed until it was gone from her- unsuspecting, ungrateful, undeserving- grasp, lay in wait. There was no alternative, no possibility that he was- gone, gone forever- unable... or unwilling to return. She refused to acknowledge the thought that he may be- no, no, no...- dead.
Finally, her shaking hands- when had this door gotten so heavy?- pressed against the final wooden barrier between her and that which she sought, and as the door slowly creaked open, her body immediately stiffened and froze. The smell of blood wafted potently through the air, and her gaze went eerily blank as the thick, cloying odor and crimson-spattered oak beneath her feet prompted a different vision of bloodstained walls, shaking hands, a sense of pain and failure, too late too late toolaaaaate- before she swallowed heavily, unsure of the name that had leapt to her throat, but knowing that it wasn't Boris'. Her knees were weak, and if her hands shook before, her entire frame seemed to tremble like a leaf.
"...Boris?"
She could not explain the smallness of her voice, the hoarseness of its quality, nor the stinging tears that filled her eyes as they fell upon a- still, too still- form draped across his bed. Seeing him there was a small comfort, knowing that while she may be allowed to keep her sanity, was it worth losing him entirely? Would she even lose it still? Suddenly faced with the question of whether she would choose to know him and witness his loss, or never know him and experience that pain at all- Alice was ashamed to say that she did not know the answer. Her body screamed at her to move, do something, do anything, but her terror had frozen her to the spot, unable to do anything but stare and pray as the first tear fell.
No. No, she was not weak, not useless, and where she had failed before (what she had failed was eluding her, but the stench of it was there, always lurking), she would not fail again.
Alice all but lunged forward, cerulean eyes quickly taking stock of what was available, going immediately for the sheets and tearing what she could, folding what she could not. Wordlessly, she probed Boris' limp form and sought out his injuries- they were not hard to find, and she bit her lip to keep from crying out in panic. 'Focus, Alice. One step at a time. Don't even look up.' Rip. Fold. Wrap. Pull. Pray and hope. She knew that injuries like this would have killed any normal person, that she could only pray she was doing some sort of good by staunching the bleeding- would it even work? It had to. There was no alternative.
When her frantic movements slowed, her hands clearly out of things to do, her head fell forward, a veil of brown hair concealing her face from view as a gasping breath escaped her. Was he even conscious? If she were to look up, would his eyes be closed in peaceful sleep, or be staring blankly ahead in a trance he would never awaken from? Unable to handle the thought, Alice covered her face with bloody hands, trying to stem the despairing gasps that continued.
"Please..."
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Posted: Tue Sep 18, 2012 1:41 pm
Pain.
Blessed, bittersweet, and infuriating pain.
His body was moving against his own accord as something tugged at the sheets. He tried to lift a hand to swat the annoyance away, but there just wasn't enough strength in his body to command it.
Touch.
He hissed at the infraction, new agony racing along his form as each poke and prod reminded him he wasn't smart enough to just lay down and die politely. Nooooo, he had to cling to life, and now someone was trying to tie it to him. His head swam but that thought caught his attention for a brief moment before slipping back into the fog. Someone...? That's very important.
It wouldn't stick though, couldn't, with all the blood. Wait, that didn't... he wasn't making sense. Trying to open his eyes, all he could see was this shadow that kept flitting over him, touching, moving, which hurt but... but something told him that was good. Shadow...? His clock-
Blinking, he tried to bring the world back into focus with little success. The movement was making him nauseous though, and it was taking everything he had to just breathe. Closing his eyes again, he tried to remember where he was. What had happened. Who he was. Nothing came to mind, and he was oddly alright with that. It meant it couldn't hurt. Or... something.
For the first time in what he was sure was forever, Boris could hear breathing. No, gasping, like there wasn't enough air. It worried him, he was sure, though didn't know why. It wasn't him making that sound, he didn't think. This was that important thing, though. That something he was or maybe wasn't supposed to be remembering.
Please...
Alice.
She was with him, in his room. His room. He'd found Ace and... because? No, wait. Not that part. It meant pain and blood. That wasn't it, though his body was broken, held together with some hope and bits of torn fabric. It didn't matter, he was the Cheshire cat, goddamnit.
It took all his focus, all of his effort, just to turn his head to face the sound. The pillow felt oddly warm and sticky against his cheek and the notion as to why made him feel a little sick. Dying was one thing, dying in front of her was probably not a good idea. He didn't have it in him to lift a hand, or hell, even try to open his eyes again, but this wasn't supposed to happen. Not like this. It didn't really seem fair, after all.
He tried to make his throat work, and all that came out was a horrible rasp. Th itch made him cough, which hurt like ******** hell, but suddenly he was able to breathe a bit easier. The realization that he probably had to clear his airway of blood never dawned on him, it was beyond what he could reason, and since he couldn't see he couldn't know.
"A...lice..?"
God, was that him? He sounded like death warmed over, which probably wasn't far of the mark all things concerned.
"What ...are...?"
You doing here? You shouldn't see this.
He wheezed as his breathing hitched, unable to speak.
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