#swynhatter

@davidhatter​

"Hullo, Mr. Hatter,” Belle said, quite chipper as she entered the shoppe. It was late, once again. Belle had stayed at work far longer than she probably should have, but she was feeling downright chipper, back to her normal self after weeks of feeling like she was slowly dying (which, in a way, she kind of had been; an awkward sort of half-death that she’d rather not experience again.)

“I know you are about to close, but I was wondering if I could get a tea for the walk home?” she gave him her very best, sunny smile. “It seems I lost track of time, once again. I meant to get here earlier but I got caught up at work. Would you like any help closing up?”

@davidhatter

The cold was their cousin Nimble’s world. Ordinarily, the dry winter air sucked the power from Thistle, but with the artificial heat from inside the tea shoppe running, condensation had collected in the corners of the glass. Just enough for Thistle’s powers to be able to reach out and turn it into fog. It slipped under the door and began to fill the space.

It was dark again. Night. Almost closing time. Thistle had been watching and waiting from the bookshoppe across the street. The last thing he needed was to be caught by Nimble or one of his spies paying attention to what was going on there. But--this had gone on too long. Toby was worthless. He didn’t know enough of what was going on to be any use. All he had reported was that Nimble had come to the shoppe. More than once.

That was enough for Thistle.

When he entered, his glamour dropped and his telekinesis locked the door behind him. Now that he was inside, the fog covered the windows.

“What have you done?” Thistle growled. This was, after all, in their opinion Hatter’s fault. How else would all of their hard work begun to unravel?

@davidhatter​

The boys were driving Elinor up a wall. She had brought them with her to Chapter Three for the day because she did not trust them in the castle all alone for the whole day. Merida was supposed to be coming by to pick them up and take them home, but for now, they were stuck in the bookshoppe. Hamish hadn’t minded quite so much but Harris? He’d started complaining the moment they’d gotten there. (Strange, since she thought he’d appreciate the books, but she had a feeling he was just being a pain in the arse to punish her.)

Not even a promise of a trip to the comic store tomorrow could quiet them. And soon, they had both been chorusing about being hungry.

So, fine: off they popped across the street to Hatter’s for something that wouldn’t ruin their dinner. It was an awkward time of day, early afternoon, but quite passed the lunch rush. When they entered, it was empty besides Hatter and one of the baristas.

“Mr. Hatter, hullo,” Elinor said politely as she came up to the register, a hand on each of her tall sons’ shoulders. “Laddies, go look at the display and see what you want.” She steered them in that directing and then smiled at Hatter. “I’ll just have a chamomile, please. How are you?”

@davidhatter​

It was not often, these days, that Belle was able to spend long periods of time at Hatter’s. During uni, Hatter’s had been a refuge during exams. She couldn’t stand the library, usually, in those weeks. Everyone who spent most of the school year faffing off, finally thought it would be smart to study. Everything became cramped and loud and her secret places taken by people who left food wrappers and empty tea cups.

In those days, Belle would spend all day at Hatter’s. She would get there as soon as Hatter flipped the sign, and stay until all the other chairs were flipped up on the table and Mr. Hatter was running a mop over the floor.

That felt like a lifetime ago, except for days like this, where she was right back in it. She had been at Hatter’s since around five that evening. InterPride kept its offices open late, considering they had offices all over the world in many different timezones, but Belle wasn’t as cozy there as she was in her corner table at Hatter’s, her papers spread around her, fingers flying over her laptop. She had been more or less lost to the world the last few hours and it was only as a chair banged on top of a table that she realized it was near closing. The case she had been working on had consumed her almost entirely.

She glanced up to see Mr. Hatter moving on to the next chair. One was a fluke, two was a pattern as it slapped down harshly onto the table top. She watched for a moment more, before reluctantly shutting her laptop off.

“Mr. Hatter? Er, would you like me to leave? I am sorry, I am always overstaying my welcome.”

@davidhatter

Thistle had not stepped foot in the Mad Hatter’s Tea Shoppe since first returning to Swynlake in February. It was not a place he liked to visit often. He knew that it was possible that not going was more suspicious than going, considering everyone loved Hatter’s. Thistle simply couldn’t bring himself. 

This, however, was important. The success of his mission would determine the success of his and Hatter’s...future partnership. After all, if Slightly did not bring back what Thistle had suggested: he would have no more leverage over the sorcerer who played at teamaker. 

So, Thistle waited until night fell. The streets of Swynlake quiet after the disaster of the past few days. There was a single light on in Hatter’s, though, like a beacon on a dark street, just ten minutes before they closed. Thistle stood in the shadow of the bookshoppe across the street, watching carefully. Seeing only one shadow, the shadow of a wiry man, moving back and forth through the large window with uneven, ungraceful movements.

When Thistle was satisfied that Hatter was alone, he took a breath--feeling the moisture in the air. Letting out that breath, he let the air condense, turning into a soft fog, grey-white in the darkness. It flowed from across the street and slipped under the door of the tea shoppe, until it filled the place. 

The door bell jingled as Thistle stepped in. The mist thinned, but still swirled, creating heavy condensation on the window, so that no one could see in. 

“David Hatter,” Thistle greeted the familiar man. “You have something I need.”