Welcome to Gaia! ::

"The chair just loves you," he said, paw reaching out for the sedative; but the laugh came and his fingers settled on the scapel instead.

"Hold that thought, Yorick." He flipped it into his palm with a clink of metal - eyes widened momentarily as he focused on nothing but the stitches, and with a deft precision [and perhaps a bit of prayer] he sliced the blade across the threads.

"The treacle tarts are ready if - oh, for goodness sake." Julien had just popped his head in after the lengthy baking incursion into the kitchen - were they still not done? "What are you doing faffing around, Maxwell?" he clicked his tongue in annoyance as he bounded up to the wondering Jabberwock, "you haven't even got the ones going round the back of his neck!"

"Fine, you whiny crybaby," he rummaged around in his pocket for something he'd picked up on his way back from the kitchen - he'd thought it might come in handy...where was it...ah - yes: "Yorick, if you don't mind," waving a dainty pair of nail clippers vaguely, "could you just hold still for a moment?"

He leaned in close and neatly clipped apart the remaining threads, carefully picking out the remnants. It was barely any time at all before he flipped the clippers back into place and tucked them away. "There!" he dusted his paws with satisfaction at a job well done, "thanks for being so good about it, Yorick! Does it feel alright now?"

A sort of agony boiled in Maxwell's stomach - he shot a dirty look at the rabbit, one that conveyed a deep longing to smack both parties severely and savagely. The growing incredulity during the little dainty clipclips of the nailclipper didn't help, and by the end of it he was staring in vehement disbelief at Juli's guileless satisfaction. It was only when Yorick wanted the chair to dehug him that he shifted his stare, said "sure," and clicked the shackles open.

[Any of the wonderland kids want to respond, or are we just going down for treacle tarts and growing up now? lol ]

[ Likewise. o Ao ]

Midway through the Jabberwocky's operation, the Dormouse found himself drifting off to sleep in a standing position. Some support he was. Elda's croaking was what jolted him back to reality, almost as if someone had whispered the dreaded C-word into his ear. Shaking off his sleep with a rub of his eye, Clement casually glanced over at his fellow Wonderlanders.

"So, is it --" A yawn escaped his mouth, and then he continued, "nevermind. Guess it is," The Dormouse flashed Yorick a sheepish smirk, and then gave him a pat on the back. He had been brave to sit through getting his stitches removed, but it was worth it.

"Looks good, mate! Now we can all eat treacle tarts in celebration!"

(( And naturally I got sick. @A@ Sorry if this is - hurhur - disjointed. ))

He gave his two friends a rather perplexed look. Had he forgotten they were there, or were they still so enamored with the tea party that he had been forgotten? Not that he would blame them - he would have preferred a nice cup of tea to the humiliating spectacle any day!

Yorick lowered his large claws as Elda peeked near, displaying his perfectly intact neck, save for the red welts his own claws had left in his confused scramble. He gave Clement a light smile; the conversation about treacle tarts before the lab seemed like ages ago! He knew it was a farse, however, for had it been any further than that very day, he'd not remember it in the least.

The Jabberwock pulled himself into a wobbly but standing position, giving the White Rabbit a silent nod of thanks before resting his arms on either side of the Wonderlandians, the only two in existence who would ever understand his wrath turned puppy-dog-compliance within seconds. Only they would truly ever get him, and he supposed it was both their burden and their blessing. "Tarts and tea," he agreed, quite ready to forget the incident already, "let's not keep the Blue Lady waiting..."