Title of PM: Curiouser &… Entry - Flamingo
Name: Elda
Personality: FLEXIBLE; Elda is every part flexible indeed! A theatrical and happy Hyte, this pretty flamingo makes sure to fit in wherever she goes. She likes to think herself a social chameleon, but the fact of the matter is that Elda would much prefer make her own niche than find one to fit into. Despite being scolded for her daydream-y (and fickle) ways, her genuine sweetness is an infectious charm that works like a spider's web.
General Prompt: Your Flamingo has gotten herself lost in Wonderland[and/or]the Looking Glass World - write of her experience. [Feel free to use any elements/characters from this thread/HyTech/C*cktail.]
Elda did not like tea.
Oh, she liked a good many things, surely: the smell of old books (not necessarily the prose within), the sound buttons made when you clasped them shut, the scent wet pavement gave off after an afternoon shower (given it was clean), and most especially, etiquette class. But tea would always be boiled grass to her without some milk and lots of sugar, and she told Madame la Croix so during their third private lesson together. The severe faced French woman, wholly annoyed, then proceeded to remind her to uncross your legs, cross your ankles, that napkin belongs on the left, and for your impudence, you will be washing the teapot, cups, and cutlery!
All right, Elda agreed with practiced obedience, making faces into her napkin as she wiped her mouth.
It wasn’t the first time - or the last, rest assured - that she was left standing in front of Madame la Croix’s sink staring out of the kitchen window, distracted. Despite the day being overcast with watery sunlight spilling across the yard, she wanted to be out more than in. No use dreaming, she thought, lowering her eyes to watch the last of the soap suds pour out of the teapot spout. Posture was next, her mental schedule reminded because you have wings, darling, but you do not float! She grabbed a delicate china cup and tossed the contents down the drain with a sigh that made her lips flap.
But the dregs of tea, no matter how hard she scrubbed or how hot the water was, clung stubbornly to the bottom of her cup. She squinted and brought it close to her eye.
“Look here,” she told the dregs in a stage whisper. “I have book balancing to get to! Now, if you’ll get out of my cup, I won’t scrub anymore!”
She doused the cup beneath the faucet. Looking into it, she let out a frustrated noise-- that died the moment it left her lips.
“You know, if you turn your head sideways” - which she did - “Squint your eyes and crinkle your nose” - which she also did - “And lean in close… you almost look like a heart-- eep!”
While the teacup fell into the sink, Elda fell into the teacup, but the water decided to continue to do its duty and justly fell down the drain.
Shrubs, Elda decided after wrestling herself to freedom, were no comfy landing. Brambles stuck in her budding wings, her socks, her hair - after some prickling against her eyelid, she had even found one clinging to her lashes! The young girl wind milled her arms and flapped her wings in frustration, feet stomping the damp earth. She had yet to realize, or perhaps care, where she was.
“Honestly, who keeps potted bushes underneath a sink…” Pick, pick, pick.
“Miss?”
“Really, I knew Madame la Croix was a little batty….” Pick, peel, ouch!
“Excuse me?”
“I understand ferns, but--” A delicate touch on her elbow. “Eek!”
Startled by the feather-light brush, Elda spun around and choked on her own breath. The speaker’s tall white ears gave a delicate twitch, and whatever thoughts passed behind his eyes he seemed to reconsider in lieu of Elda’s disrepair. He clutched a large watch in his hand, gave it a once over, looked left, then right, then over his shoulder before leaning forward. It was then that Elda caught the fluttering panic in his voice.
“Just what are you doing out here?”
Elda opened her mouth and looked around. Since when had she ended up in Madame la Croix’s yard? It was the same grass, the same sky -- the trees looked as though they were wet, from rain (or perhaps paint!), but otherwise… she turned back to the rabbit-eared man (who, she realized, looked more like a rabbit when she stared at him from the corner of her eye, but more like a man when she looked straight at him).
“Teacups,” she answered dumbly. He stared, waved his paws, and ushered her forward.
“The croquet match is at noon and if the Queen realizes she’s missing her favorite mallet, she will be most displeased,” he continued as though she had never spoken at all. She tripped over her clawed feet as he pushed her forward.
“What does her favorite mallet have to do with me?” Elda prompted, turning her head every which way to catch the rabbit leading from behind. Too many things were passing through her mind at once, and not one could she grasp. The underlying panic is the rabbit’s voice began to course beneath her skin, but for very different reasons.
Since when had the Madame planned a garden party, she thought when they neared the center of the yard. Elda was hardly ready to entertain her own family let alone a party full of strange elite! Were those knights or horses? Was that a flower or a rat dressed as a flower? Small, behooved boys no older than she scampered this way and that, dressed like pages. A blue haired woman done up in a bow politely greeted another, who was dressed more lavishly and with a crown. But most importantly--
“Where’s Madame la Croix?”
“Getting her head lobbed off, I suppose.”
Elda shrieked when a pair of golden eyes, much more gold than her own, materialized in the air before them. This amused the eyes and a grin formed below them to show her so. The rabbit, unfazed, sighed.
“Please go away, you caused enough confusion amongst the court last game.” (it was all a very polite affair!)
“The Miss needs a word or two or three of advice!”
“What advice could you possibly give to a mallet, Cat?”
“A mallet??”
The figure finally stepped from thin air, black as pitch. Tall, menacing in a lithe way, the same way the Rabbit was not. He flashed a white-fanged smile at the harried pair.
“Fine,” continued the Rabbit, ignoring her outburst and the feline at his side. “Three words max.”
The Cat leaned towards Elda, who shrank away in not in fear, for she had already gotten over that, but shyness.
“Use your head,” he said with a broad grin, rapping a claw against her temple. He laughed and in the next step, the air had swallowed all but his mouth up again. Another blink and that too was gone.
“Honestly,” the Rabbit breathed.
My head? The moment the Cat was gone, the Rabbit lengthened his strides. Elda puzzled over the feline’s words, figuring them useless. Things were beginning to grow particularly bizarre, as those same page-like, horse-hoofed boys were dropping their trays of tea and treacle and forming arches across the yard. Hedgehogs were jostling one another in a pile. The crowd seemed to have swelled in size -- a giraffe here, a raccoon there, a caterpillar with a hookah, a unicorn with a fish’s tail, a lion nursing a large, steaming mug. Each step brought Elda closer and closer to the menacing figure of the queen, whose gown shown like rubies against the grass (or blood, her mind whispered). As though sensing her stare, the queen turned and pinned Elda down with a steely gaze - it warmed, if only slightly.
“My mallet!”
Elda froze, turned towards her rabbit escort as he thrust her out and into the queen’s arms. The Queen of Hearts scooped her up and promptly boxed her ears.
“Ouch!”
“That’s for leaving the confines of your box, you silly thing!” she scolded fondly. She dropped Elda back onto her feet and patted the girl down, straightening her out. Then she bent and grabbed the girl’s ankles, promptly flipping her upside down.
“But I’m not a MALLET!” she cried, awash with sudden understanding. Her cheeks pinked as blood rushed to her head. The winged girl tried to make sense of her situation, but things were beginning to run together in her horror and panic. She wanted to be home again; she’d even settle for washing all of Madame la Croix’s dishes! Her house! The Queen shook her out, limber, limber! she told the girl-mallet, and Elda began to sob uncontrollably.
“Stop that crying! I am to start the game and I do not want a weepy mallet! It‘s bad luck!” demanded the Queen.
“But I’m not a mallet!”
“You are, you are-- Rabbit, set a hedgehog!”
“Right away, your Highness!” A hedgehog was gingerly rolled into place.
“I shall prove you to be a mallet, now watch!” The Queen in her infinite strength, swung Elda back and up, preparing to knock the spiked ball through an arch, but Elda never gave her the chance. Use your head, the Cat had said. Twisting up and around, the winged girl grabbed onto the first thing her arms came to -- the Queen’s head.
“Off! Off!” came the Queen’s muffled shouting. Her hands withdrew from Elda, busy trying to pry her from her face.
“Off! Off!” she cried again.
“I am not a mallet!” Elda shouted back.
“Oh dear, oh me,” the Rabbit gasped.
“Off! Off!” the crowd began to chant.
The Queen stumbled about in the din of confusion, the caws, howls, and chirps. She beat her hands against Elda’s body, snatched at the pink of her flapping wings. Like the dregs had to the teacup, Elda clung stubbornly to the Queen.
“Off with her head!” the Queen finally thundered.
“No, no, no!” Elda pleaded against the Queen. She was beginning to feel as though she were pleading her case. “I am not a mallet!”
“That you are not,” came the soothing voice of the Cat. Elda’s face snapped up in surprise.
As the golden eyes of the Cat faded against a pale stretch of rain cloud, sound came rushing back to Elda. Steam was rolling from the basin, hot water splashing from the sink and onto her front. Elda gave a cry of surprise and hopped back, hands coming up to wipe at the wet patch on her blouse. The sink had overflowed with water, suds and steam escaping over the lip of the counter.
“Mademoiselle! Elda!”
Elda spun around to see Madame la Croix’s astonished - and enraged - face. The woman crossed the room and plunged a perfumed hand into the hot water, plucking the tea cup that plugged the drain and turning the faucet off. Elda stared at her wide-eyed. Oh, she had never been happier! She slipped as she threw her arms around her tutor’s middle.
“Oh, Madame la Croix! You’re here and you’re MAD and you have your head!” she said happily. “I’ll learn to like tea, I promise! And I’ll learn to cross my ankles and set my napkin right! And I’ll learn to float!, I promise!”
Now thoroughly bewildered, Madame la Croix could only stare down at the pink crown of her student‘s head, “What on earth are you going on about, child? You have MUCH to clean up!”
But despite older woman‘s scolding, the young girl was ever so happy and such glee was infectious. Somewhat confused, but touched, she patted Elda’s head. She blinked and looked down.
“Elda, how on earth did brambles get in your hair?”
Name: Elda
Personality: FLEXIBLE; Elda is every part flexible indeed! A theatrical and happy Hyte, this pretty flamingo makes sure to fit in wherever she goes. She likes to think herself a social chameleon, but the fact of the matter is that Elda would much prefer make her own niche than find one to fit into. Despite being scolded for her daydream-y (and fickle) ways, her genuine sweetness is an infectious charm that works like a spider's web.
General Prompt: Your Flamingo has gotten herself lost in Wonderland[and/or]the Looking Glass World - write of her experience. [Feel free to use any elements/characters from this thread/HyTech/C*cktail.]
Elda did not like tea.
Oh, she liked a good many things, surely: the smell of old books (not necessarily the prose within), the sound buttons made when you clasped them shut, the scent wet pavement gave off after an afternoon shower (given it was clean), and most especially, etiquette class. But tea would always be boiled grass to her without some milk and lots of sugar, and she told Madame la Croix so during their third private lesson together. The severe faced French woman, wholly annoyed, then proceeded to remind her to uncross your legs, cross your ankles, that napkin belongs on the left, and for your impudence, you will be washing the teapot, cups, and cutlery!
All right, Elda agreed with practiced obedience, making faces into her napkin as she wiped her mouth.
It wasn’t the first time - or the last, rest assured - that she was left standing in front of Madame la Croix’s sink staring out of the kitchen window, distracted. Despite the day being overcast with watery sunlight spilling across the yard, she wanted to be out more than in. No use dreaming, she thought, lowering her eyes to watch the last of the soap suds pour out of the teapot spout. Posture was next, her mental schedule reminded because you have wings, darling, but you do not float! She grabbed a delicate china cup and tossed the contents down the drain with a sigh that made her lips flap.
But the dregs of tea, no matter how hard she scrubbed or how hot the water was, clung stubbornly to the bottom of her cup. She squinted and brought it close to her eye.
“Look here,” she told the dregs in a stage whisper. “I have book balancing to get to! Now, if you’ll get out of my cup, I won’t scrub anymore!”
She doused the cup beneath the faucet. Looking into it, she let out a frustrated noise-- that died the moment it left her lips.
“You know, if you turn your head sideways” - which she did - “Squint your eyes and crinkle your nose” - which she also did - “And lean in close… you almost look like a heart-- eep!”
While the teacup fell into the sink, Elda fell into the teacup, but the water decided to continue to do its duty and justly fell down the drain.
Shrubs, Elda decided after wrestling herself to freedom, were no comfy landing. Brambles stuck in her budding wings, her socks, her hair - after some prickling against her eyelid, she had even found one clinging to her lashes! The young girl wind milled her arms and flapped her wings in frustration, feet stomping the damp earth. She had yet to realize, or perhaps care, where she was.
“Honestly, who keeps potted bushes underneath a sink…” Pick, pick, pick.
“Miss?”
“Really, I knew Madame la Croix was a little batty….” Pick, peel, ouch!
“Excuse me?”
“I understand ferns, but--” A delicate touch on her elbow. “Eek!”
Startled by the feather-light brush, Elda spun around and choked on her own breath. The speaker’s tall white ears gave a delicate twitch, and whatever thoughts passed behind his eyes he seemed to reconsider in lieu of Elda’s disrepair. He clutched a large watch in his hand, gave it a once over, looked left, then right, then over his shoulder before leaning forward. It was then that Elda caught the fluttering panic in his voice.
“Just what are you doing out here?”
Elda opened her mouth and looked around. Since when had she ended up in Madame la Croix’s yard? It was the same grass, the same sky -- the trees looked as though they were wet, from rain (or perhaps paint!), but otherwise… she turned back to the rabbit-eared man (who, she realized, looked more like a rabbit when she stared at him from the corner of her eye, but more like a man when she looked straight at him).
“Teacups,” she answered dumbly. He stared, waved his paws, and ushered her forward.
“The croquet match is at noon and if the Queen realizes she’s missing her favorite mallet, she will be most displeased,” he continued as though she had never spoken at all. She tripped over her clawed feet as he pushed her forward.
“What does her favorite mallet have to do with me?” Elda prompted, turning her head every which way to catch the rabbit leading from behind. Too many things were passing through her mind at once, and not one could she grasp. The underlying panic is the rabbit’s voice began to course beneath her skin, but for very different reasons.
Since when had the Madame planned a garden party, she thought when they neared the center of the yard. Elda was hardly ready to entertain her own family let alone a party full of strange elite! Were those knights or horses? Was that a flower or a rat dressed as a flower? Small, behooved boys no older than she scampered this way and that, dressed like pages. A blue haired woman done up in a bow politely greeted another, who was dressed more lavishly and with a crown. But most importantly--
“Where’s Madame la Croix?”
“Getting her head lobbed off, I suppose.”
Elda shrieked when a pair of golden eyes, much more gold than her own, materialized in the air before them. This amused the eyes and a grin formed below them to show her so. The rabbit, unfazed, sighed.
“Please go away, you caused enough confusion amongst the court last game.” (it was all a very polite affair!)
“The Miss needs a word or two or three of advice!”
“What advice could you possibly give to a mallet, Cat?”
“A mallet??”
The figure finally stepped from thin air, black as pitch. Tall, menacing in a lithe way, the same way the Rabbit was not. He flashed a white-fanged smile at the harried pair.
“Fine,” continued the Rabbit, ignoring her outburst and the feline at his side. “Three words max.”
The Cat leaned towards Elda, who shrank away in not in fear, for she had already gotten over that, but shyness.
“Use your head,” he said with a broad grin, rapping a claw against her temple. He laughed and in the next step, the air had swallowed all but his mouth up again. Another blink and that too was gone.
“Honestly,” the Rabbit breathed.
My head? The moment the Cat was gone, the Rabbit lengthened his strides. Elda puzzled over the feline’s words, figuring them useless. Things were beginning to grow particularly bizarre, as those same page-like, horse-hoofed boys were dropping their trays of tea and treacle and forming arches across the yard. Hedgehogs were jostling one another in a pile. The crowd seemed to have swelled in size -- a giraffe here, a raccoon there, a caterpillar with a hookah, a unicorn with a fish’s tail, a lion nursing a large, steaming mug. Each step brought Elda closer and closer to the menacing figure of the queen, whose gown shown like rubies against the grass (or blood, her mind whispered). As though sensing her stare, the queen turned and pinned Elda down with a steely gaze - it warmed, if only slightly.
“My mallet!”
Elda froze, turned towards her rabbit escort as he thrust her out and into the queen’s arms. The Queen of Hearts scooped her up and promptly boxed her ears.
“Ouch!”
“That’s for leaving the confines of your box, you silly thing!” she scolded fondly. She dropped Elda back onto her feet and patted the girl down, straightening her out. Then she bent and grabbed the girl’s ankles, promptly flipping her upside down.
“But I’m not a MALLET!” she cried, awash with sudden understanding. Her cheeks pinked as blood rushed to her head. The winged girl tried to make sense of her situation, but things were beginning to run together in her horror and panic. She wanted to be home again; she’d even settle for washing all of Madame la Croix’s dishes! Her house! The Queen shook her out, limber, limber! she told the girl-mallet, and Elda began to sob uncontrollably.
“Stop that crying! I am to start the game and I do not want a weepy mallet! It‘s bad luck!” demanded the Queen.
“But I’m not a mallet!”
“You are, you are-- Rabbit, set a hedgehog!”
“Right away, your Highness!” A hedgehog was gingerly rolled into place.
“I shall prove you to be a mallet, now watch!” The Queen in her infinite strength, swung Elda back and up, preparing to knock the spiked ball through an arch, but Elda never gave her the chance. Use your head, the Cat had said. Twisting up and around, the winged girl grabbed onto the first thing her arms came to -- the Queen’s head.
“Off! Off!” came the Queen’s muffled shouting. Her hands withdrew from Elda, busy trying to pry her from her face.
“Off! Off!” she cried again.
“I am not a mallet!” Elda shouted back.
“Oh dear, oh me,” the Rabbit gasped.
“Off! Off!” the crowd began to chant.
The Queen stumbled about in the din of confusion, the caws, howls, and chirps. She beat her hands against Elda’s body, snatched at the pink of her flapping wings. Like the dregs had to the teacup, Elda clung stubbornly to the Queen.
“Off with her head!” the Queen finally thundered.
“No, no, no!” Elda pleaded against the Queen. She was beginning to feel as though she were pleading her case. “I am not a mallet!”
“That you are not,” came the soothing voice of the Cat. Elda’s face snapped up in surprise.
As the golden eyes of the Cat faded against a pale stretch of rain cloud, sound came rushing back to Elda. Steam was rolling from the basin, hot water splashing from the sink and onto her front. Elda gave a cry of surprise and hopped back, hands coming up to wipe at the wet patch on her blouse. The sink had overflowed with water, suds and steam escaping over the lip of the counter.
“Mademoiselle! Elda!”
Elda spun around to see Madame la Croix’s astonished - and enraged - face. The woman crossed the room and plunged a perfumed hand into the hot water, plucking the tea cup that plugged the drain and turning the faucet off. Elda stared at her wide-eyed. Oh, she had never been happier! She slipped as she threw her arms around her tutor’s middle.
“Oh, Madame la Croix! You’re here and you’re MAD and you have your head!” she said happily. “I’ll learn to like tea, I promise! And I’ll learn to cross my ankles and set my napkin right! And I’ll learn to float!, I promise!”
Now thoroughly bewildered, Madame la Croix could only stare down at the pink crown of her student‘s head, “What on earth are you going on about, child? You have MUCH to clean up!”
But despite older woman‘s scolding, the young girl was ever so happy and such glee was infectious. Somewhat confused, but touched, she patted Elda’s head. She blinked and looked down.
“Elda, how on earth did brambles get in your hair?”
