[Iris stared. She couldn't do anything else. His voice was expected, somehow, from the versions of Alice in Wonderland that she'd seen. English, even if she couldn't much track it to where it might be from. She had a picture in her mind of what he looked like (when he wasn't a pony, at least), older with white hair, short and with a head that fit an oversized hat. A combination of the Hatters that she knew. And the voice fit.
She shifted self-consciously when he studied her, crossing her arms over her stomach (in a way that still hid the overly thin line of her body). She wanted to hide, but then he was dancing, prancing in place with his hooves sinking into the bright grass. It was so absurd that a laugh crawled up the back of her throat and slipped out quietly before she lifted a hand to her mouth and pressed fingers to her lips to keep herself quiet.]