eachdraidh | 004 - memory and open to both courts

Entry tags:

alice liddell: american mcgee's alice

004 - memory and open to both courts

Trigger warning: Victorian asylum, self-harm, suicidal ideations, abuse, and violence
It's dark now, the evenings set an unsettling, frightening light in the library. It's through the eyes of a child, with a hushed murmur of fear that she glances through the library, everything so tall now, ridiculously tall. She is smaller than usual, more than she recalls. Through her bare feet, she turns on the hardwood floor, suddenly cold letting out a shudder. She's turning down the hallway now.

"Papa?"

Her eyes fall down on the worn, white rabbit stuffed animal, with a button eye on the right side about to fall out. Her chubby little hands thumb over it with a hushed whisper. So she tries once again in the dark hallway because she's been a stubborn child, "Papa?" She she timidly continues forward, clutching her rabbit underneath her little chin, hoping to find her father.

Father, mother, and her elder sister, but her father especially, to hear his gentle voice lulling her to sleep. She'll rest her head on his shoulder as he carries her off to be, because he does so, so often. She follows him, eager to hear his stories and see his photographs. She has always though they were pretty. She calls for her father in the dark, her feet pattering further and further down, until she's following him, the white rabbit!

"Please, rabbit!" Her pace breaks out into a run, still a child, running after the rabbit, "Please stop! Can't I go home, now? I want to go home!"

She follows him, as he squeezes through the hole, the very rabbit hole, crawling further into it, until the ground beneath her palms and legs is nothing more. Air fills her little lungs, as she screams, watching the light above dim and dim, into the rabbit hole again.

Not again!

It is not the same, and it will never be the same. The scent of burnt flesh has never left her mind, nor the stinging pain of her burns against the cold air. She's cried and cried, until her little mind cannot take it more. Her body is riddled in burns, the lines between reality and dreams are not even worth distinguishing anymore.

How doth the little crocodile
Improve his shining tail,
And pour the waters of the Nile
On every golden scale?

Hours are days and days are weeks. Weeks are years.

Years, years, and years! There is no point in keeping track of the years, now, eyes fixated on the wall of a desolate room, confined in a small space with nothing more than a knife. It makes no difference how many years there are, there is no one else aside from imaginary friends. She cannot hear them well enough, for she has just come back into reality now. Was it real? Was it a dream? As soon as she hears them come closer, her eyes snap to the rusted door. Blisters and bruised hands grip the cold metal in her fingers tighter. In nothing more than a nightgown, she begins to crawl on all fours, underneath the table of the kitchen, as it were, for where else would she acquire a kitchen knife? Their voices become closer now and she is nothing more than caged, feral beast.

Why not? They had told her from an early age that she was never to be cured, she will be here forever. Her breath becomes tense as the come closer and it is without warning that the door bursts open, a slam against the wall as adults come pouring in.

They were supposed to help and they never did.

"Put it down, you fucking brat! Get over here!"

They're tall and she is so, so small. They've hurt her and tormented her, these men in the white coats and after the two of them come in, so does an older man who gestures her to put it down, put the knife down. She's almost forgotten how to talk, violently flipping a table, despite her little body barely manages to stay standing after being strapped to a bed for so long and left to starve.

"PUT IT DOWN!"

She's screaming at them, pushing further, and further to the wall. In the moment where they have her cornered in this damn kitchen, she attempts to bolt, only to be pushed down to the ground. SHe's screaming her lungs out, thrashing violently, refusing to let go of the knife, for it is her only way she will ever get them away

"GET OFF OF ME! GO AWAY!" She begs, she screams, throwing her head side to side. She hates to do it, but he has no choice, a small girl thrusting the kitchen knife up to his mouth. She rips it halfway open and why not, he deserves it, she hates that damn mouth. And suddenly, her cold skin on the ground is warmed by the touch of his blood as he staggers back. They're clamoring for her now, more men in white coats pouring in. But she seizes the opportunity to bolt out, slinking away like the cornered, feral child that she is. In her grief and despair, she's beside herself, covered in his blood that she finds herself laughing. Laughing since it is the only way she can cope with the fact she has seriously harmed another, for the first time.

As frightening as it is, why does it feel so good. She feels herself stumbling back against the wall, still laughing as she finds herself slipping against the wall. As much as she laughs, there's tears in her eyes.

I don't want to be without them anymore.

It is not without the cat's grin flashing in the dark, beckoning her closer. In his mangy appearance, she finds peace. Well! I've often seen a cat without a grin, but a grin without a cat! It's the most curious thing I ever saw in all my life! Slumped against the wall, she's about to take the knife unto her own skin, closing her eyes to hear the faint words of her own. How can you think so lowly of yourself? She finds herself closing her eyes, into darkness once again, although it is not without the cat, beside her, of course. She is no longer that little girl and the world is not the same scary place she has feared, it is one that she's grown to hate and despise.

She is herself again.

"You can't content yourself in watching the suffering of others and yet you're so quick to inflict it on those who anger you. Now what will you do? Go to war? Irrational as always, I see."

The cat is gone, as always. So typical.

Flat | Top-Level Comments Only

[ By now, Alice is ducking her head, frantic and confused. She isn't sure why his voice has such a sway and it is a little alarming after what Bumby has done to her already. In her irrationality, she mistakes it for something much more and finds herself starting to slip into her delusions. ]

Stop! Stop it!

[ The grip on her hair grows tighter as she covers her ears, shaking her head side to side. Alice starts to stagger forward, believing that if she moves or leaves, that would fix it entirely. ]

I will when you calm Alice, come back. [ Command, and soothing - like the half forgotten arms of family, leading her back to sunlight and stars ]

They are not here, Alice.

[ Maybe if she left the room, that would work. Her hysterics have reduced, but it may not be enough to get her to calm down in that instant. ]

Leave me be!

Not while you are this distraught. [ Calm, compelling ]

Look at me, Alice. You are not there, but here. There is little safety in the Drabwurld, but at the least your tormentors are not here.

No!

[ Alice takes a fist. She would like to say you aren't supposed to see that, she wants to know how. ]

No. I don't want you! I want to be left alone!

And do yourself more harm? No, gwilwileth. Come back, and then I promise I will leave you be.

[ She is not having any of it. Alice is getting up and leaving, in a paranoid daze just to get out and away. It will take much more to convince her right now that this isn't another invasion of her mind like the Infernal Train. ]

[ Well at least she's ceased harming herself or the room remarks Caranthir caustically, and Maglor sighs, getting up to go and look for her. He sways a bit as he stands - the control needed to do that over the lockets was perhaps a little more than he could spare, but he steadies himself and heads out to look for her. Best to make sure she comes to no harm ]

[ It will not take that very long to find her, huddled up against the wall, in the hallway, silently in a reprieve . She had vowed not to cry to herself, after so many tears were shed. She's alarmed and rightfully so -- the last thing she expected was a glimpse of her past, or so it seems.

She's not sure anymore and it frightens her. Maybe it was one giant dream and Alice was in Rutledge with a lobotomy. She sniffles, feeling something brimming in the corner of her eyes. No. It will not happen, she refuses to cry. ]

[ A soft sigh when he sees her and he settles down nearby. Just as he used to do for the twins when they were little, he stays far away enough not to crowd her, but close enough that she knows he is there. And then he plays.

Not the achingly beautiful hymns and great tales but the simple, silly things he used for younger brothers and unhappy fosterlings. Bright and clean, they recall sunlight and green grass, blue skies and fresh winds. The deep dappled green of the forest, and the shy hesitant eyes of a young fawn, peeking through the foliage. ]

[ A part of her mind begins to play the memory once again; things were very different by then. She knows that she can come back and things will be different. It's hard to, after everything. And yet, she sees the lush country side of Oxford once again and how green it was in comparison to London. But why now?

She slumps, so that she's not hunched over on her knees, as her breathing comes back so that she's not left hyperventilating and having a panic attack outright. As this happens, Alice begins to wonder what has happened and why her mind is swirling in confusion.

Everything is going so fast. She knows that she was angry and fearful that someone was attempting to creep back in her mind and twist her memories. In all actuality, it was her, she was twisting her memories. ]

[ He doesn't bother to put any Power into this song, beyond what is inherent in all music - allowing her own mind to pick up the threads of melody to find the memories to match. He simply plays, waiting ]

[ Surely, after a moment she'll be herself again, won't she? Little by little, she starts to loosen, peeling her hands away from her face after they've become so clammy from the sweat on her brow.

Her mind is a blank slate, detached from her body as Alice slowly starts to come to. Now that she's not slumped over, she does make the effort to at least move, a little, finding it more difficult than it should be. Alice nearly takes a small tumble as she lurches forward from her knees. ]

[ He nods quietly to himself when she uncurls but makes no move towards her, despite the urge to do so when she stumbles. Instead he keeps playing, simple, light and easy - as if he has nothing better to do than to sit there and play ]

[ After a few moments, Alice's meltdown is nothing more than a blur. The broadcast memory seems like nothing more than a bad dream -- all of this does. And after the soft hum of music flowing through her ears, even in her lack of coherency, she knows she has to move. Alice starts to rise to her feet, her knees wobbling as she does.

It's always funny, in those states of utter rage and despair, they're always particularly draining given how hard her mind spirals out of control. Carefully, she starts to brace herself against the wall, rising with her hair in her face. Standing on her feet doesn't last long; Alice had over-estimated herself and takes a very hard stumble back on the ground. ]

[ When she stumbles he breaks his silence for the first time, setting aside the harp and rising to come towards her ]

Alice! Did you hurt yourself, gwilwileth?

[ She slowly starts to pull herself up revealing a very nasty bruise on her arm. Although that would be the least painful things to happen to her, compared to her youth. She knows this all too well -- massive headache, delirium, and trembling. To her, it's just another Tuesday in London, but this isn't London.

It's somewhere else, isn't it? Oh, right, it is, because if Alice had taken a stumble in London like this, she would have woken up in a stranger place, like a jail cell to keep her safe. Alice with all of her blurry vision glances up to the taller man. She doesn't cringe or pull away, which is a start.

She breathes, pushing her hair out of her face. The most she does is look at him in a state of confusion. ]

What?

Ah, little butterfly. [ He murmurs softly, instinctively weaving comfort in his voice to dull the pain of the injury ]

Have you returned to us then? You wandered far afield, I fear. I am sorry - I did not mean to upset you so.

[ Alice doesn't respond, at least not yet. She mulls his words through her head before she finally looks up at him, dazed. Her expression says it all -- she's not sure what he means. ]

I- I'm sorry?

[ The fact remains that these situations are so terribly normal for her, especially on the streets of London. ]

[ She does not recall? Curufin's ghost says in surprise Shock does that the Ambarussa answer softly Too painful to remember

Maglor does not move from where he is, quiet and patient, hand outstretched in an offer to aid ]

You wandered far away from here in your mind, Alice. Into memories.

[ It's a sad thing when Alice has heard this so regularly from childhood. She looks stunned for a minute, but it passes into something laced with fear. What is he doing? Alice stills in her position. She's still very dizzy, lurching forward, gently colliding against the wall as she refuses him. Alice soon realizes that she'll need a moment or two.

Or even longer.

The headaches are unavoidable. ]

It's nothing. I'm fine.

[ One eyebrow goes up and his eyes very deliberately track down to the blossoming bruise, and then to the way she is slumped against the wall and then back to meet her eyes.

Really?

Maglor only waits, quiet and patient. ]

[ She recoils softly, still instilled with years of weariness behind her eyes. Alice is also stubborn enough to refuse to budge, almost daring that he try to move her. ]

I've had worse. A little spell like that is nothing.

[ Unless he insists otherwise, but for now, Alice needs a few more minutes. ]

[ Never try to out-wait an elf, Alice - Maglor has all the time in the world, and plenty of patience for recalcitrant younglings. He approaches no closer but he does not leave either, and the hand is there, if she chooses to use it ][ so quiet it might be the wind in the trees ] And yet I offer my help, even so.

[ Always stubborn, even a little spiteful in her resistance. The memory (or a mix of it) explains why. Alice stubbornly resists, using the wall as leverage to rise, albeit, very slowly, as she knows getting back on her feet too quickly will cause a fainting spell. She can't trust him or anyone else in this building for that matter. ]

No one is gracious without wanting something in return.

004 - memory and open to both courts

no subject

...somehow I feel we have done this before lol

laskfjas i am so sorry

lol /pets

no subject

no subject

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

Re: action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

action;

1/2 action;

action;

action;

action;

action;