#earvicket

A single, artificial finger pressed against the bruisings of his lips, flesh swollen and wounded from incessant gnawing and gnashing. Little nibbles here and there, then came the tearing of the soft, supple flesh. He’d become addicted to the sharp but fleeting pain for it grounded him in the present moment - a reminder that, indeed, he was quite real.  Oh goodness, oh me oh my! But he better than anyone (or anything) knew the fickleness of the real. Real. Reality. He still did not know. Not in its entirety. Feeling real differed from being real, mind you. Oh yes, feeling and being met at a crossroad but where exactly they took you remained a delightful mystery. Delightfully maddening.

The fable’s overblown “shushing” turned into an eruption of laughter. There is something strange with his eyes aglow with amber and a tinge of copper. A peculiar combination for a peculiar creature whose gaze resembled that of an animal’s as opposed to a sentient human being. “Out, out of the darkness you are! Out of the dark and into the gray, I see you stray. Oh yes, my friend”, he snickered whilst plucking at the skin on his fingertips. He then began to hum an incoherent tune, one born of the lunacy that stirred in the untouched depths of his psyche. “Friend, friend, come out wherever you are! Yes yes, I see you went far. I heard you coming”.

He would always know. The atoms, the corks and the screws of his being, rattled as if they’d finally awakened from a numbing slumber. A violent awakening. Loud and shattering. “You come here in the between. Between the real and the unreal: those little cracks in the world. Now I see…Yes yes, now I see”.

Violet orbs that blinked carefully, head tipped to the side as the male’s mannerisms played vividly and yet ever so clearly. Those curious eyes blinked. Once, then twice before pausing to tipping his head even further before settling at an angle that was comfortable. 

Yet he, was uncomfortable. Friend? Could be! For the male before was one he knew, one he saw and one that was certainly not new. One that was bright -- for surely he was not blue. Blue as the sun? No Hatter! That’s in the sky too! Hatter blinked, his nose scrunching and brows furrowed. He was disappointed with his shortcomings, though the other paid no obvious head. A ringed digit found his face, slapping his features so strongly that the loud “smack” had reddened his features. Oh, had he later realized. That the other male’s reaction was not intentionally -- he was not to be “quiet” at that moment. (His hat fell off his head!) 

Woohyun’s laughter brought his own. A sudden burst of emotion that chorused with the other man’s -- a familiarity that throbbed in the depth of his chest in pain that triggered an inability to breathe. Hatter stopped; a quick exhale, a sudden sputter in an attempt to breath. “Darkness you say? But I have been in the sun!” He spat -- there was no ill intent. 

Just suffocation.  

Questions, questions. Always questions! Head filled with questions unaccompanied by answers. No, no, this cannot do. Will not. Shall not. “You’re late…!” the Hare huffs, indignant. Again he gnaws ravenously at his lip, abusing the soft, supple flesh until it bruises slightly. “Late. Late for tea”. Anxious is the Hare’s natural state, twitchiness and all. The fable’s eyes do not, cannot, find the Hatter’s despite the softness in Woohyun’s gaze. He cannot see, cannot look!  What if there is no one there should he dare look up?

After a moment of gripping paranoia, the Hare bursts into a fit of laughter. A prosthetic hand runs down the side of his face, clutching at the roundness of his cheek. “I do say, it is never put with the wrong end in front!” Questions. So many questions with no answers. Perhaps the raven wished to be a writing desk – so be it. “Never…nevar…” the Hare trails off as his mind retreats into itself once more, lost inside a labyrinth of the creature’s own making.

"Well, well... welll." The mad man motioned, his own tiers curved into a dramatic frown that failed to show his true saddness to his evident lateness. Especially to tea, as it was his favourite time of the day. “Are you... a raven, my dear March?” His hand now placed upon the ivory crevice of his own features; sunken in cheeks that failed to see the sun those days. “I do say, I do say, you lok like such a mad little raven!” 

Dongwoo jumped from his seat upon the shelves, clumsily landing upon his feet in his obvious attempt to be as skillful as he was. Which was never, for the man was more clumsy then a peg-legged pirate, for that matter. He too may have had stumps for legs!