& sнε's ʅσʂƚ, 𝔩𝔬𝔰𝔱, ˡᵒˢᵗ

     THE WORDS of a fanciful person shouldn’t keep leaving him surprised by now, but everything that comes out of a mouth is something new, something largely unexpected that deviates from the norms of what he hears nearly every day. There was someone whom he needed to see, and that person was highly important to be spoken to for the day, yet there’s the fact that he has the whole day indeed – there is no rush. She stands firm, she gives good threats; perfect tone, even disposition, and he gives in.

   alice is wary of smiles; she has seen too many, most of which were not friendly. there are the tight-lipped ones of annoyance, the ones of condescending mirth, and slight mocking ones when they say they believe but don’t ( those are are perhaps the worst ). and so when the boy so readily agrees not to tell with a smile upon his face she doesn’t believe him. there is nothing she can do, though, besides narrow eyes and clasp her elbows in her hands. ( the confession he is here to see the mistress earns no favors with her, words sending lips into the downward curve of a frown ).

   tangles of red hair obscure most of her face ( a bit of pale skin, the hallow of one cheek marred with a bruise ), blue eyes peering through the snarls as she remains silent but gives a slight dip of a nod. why she’s on this ship --well it’s simple really. it was a way out, a way to escape people telling her what to believe. didn’t the stories say those who went to sea were free?

  alice had not planned very far, the patter of feet in worn slippers more spur of the moment than considered plan and evidenced by her blank silence now before this captain.

     HE HADN’T meant to look at her direction, since he was here for a particular bit of business that he simply must take care of by the day’s end. Leveled tones command her otherwise shaky words; probably, she thinks that he’ll tell on her, and that a threat would scare him off, but it had not scared him off just yet. It didn’t mean that he thought of her as uncapable of carrying out a threat of her choice – quite the opposite, he knows that she is more than capable, but he spares her a genial smile.

Eyes light up wickedly, the Chessur’s already stretching grin widening to meet both ears. His reputation precedes him as his name is addressed with  familiarity, and a smug and yet pleased expression overcomes soft features of blue and grey. A humming purr of approval follows.

                                                      —–   ‘ THE Alice? ‘

He has come close, v a n i s h e d from his spot upon the tree to materialize before her, swiftly in a fog.  The  Auburn hair and light eyes give her  away to him, and he remembers  years before when a girl ( younger than  she ) had appeared before the tabby in a similar fashion.  Still, there is  something off about her gaze, as though her place in time has been altered.

   “ i’m the only alice i know, if that’s what you mean. ”    she drinks in the cat’s appearance, all crystal clear and sharp around the edges ( it’s different than when she usually sees him, slightly blurry like he’s constantly in a state of half-fading ). alice has long learned to not question such things as the unexpected, and stares unflinchingly at the the rows of sharp teeth.

          ‘’ its DANGEROUS to be wandering                these woods  a l o n e,                                                        you know. ‘’

Chessur gives a low purr at the  end of his statement, pupils  widening briefly with excitement as he studies the young woman like a funny new toy.  She’s definitely a curious one, and with a sharp grin, the tabby vanishes  from his perch on the far branch, and appears before her, head spinning to observe her.  He crosses his paws.

   she is not wandering, persay, hands clasp around her basket like the little girl clad in red in the bedtime story of the her and the wolf. alice is not so young as her though, not anymore --time has weathered her mind and sanity into the kind mothers try to shield their children from. a gasp escapes from her lips at the sight of the feline, however, rough weave of the basket slipping between fingers to a pillow of kingsmeadow and clover.