Iris Morgenstern (unsteady) wrote in rooms, @ 2014-08-04 13:53:00 |
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Entry tags: | !wonderland, *log, cheshire cat, iris morgenstern |
Who: Iris and Cat
What: Wonderland meetings
Where: The wilds of Wonderland
When: Now-ish
Warnings/Rating: General Wonderland weirdness, probably some violence
Wonderland was something that Iris still didn't quite understand. It was bright and sharp and intense in turns, but there were also times where there was enough of a disconnect that made everything fade just a bit into the background. She cycled between being clearer than she could remember being in years, and being caught chasing her own thoughts around in some sort of faded, fuzzy circle. Her emotions jumped from something calm and steady, suddenly into happiness, face stretched wide in grins and giggles that were unfamiliar to her. From there, she shifted into anger, sadness, despair, each one as brittle as the last. It was what had happened during her conversation with the Cat - angry and then calm, distracted then broken. Confused.
Wonderland liked her, that was what he said. He Hatter, not he Cat. Said he liked her, it liked her, it wouldn't throw her out. Didn't. Hadn't. Broken and distracted and somehow hurting, her own thoughts chased her away from the table. Away from calm and tea, sips of things that would dance on her tongue. Sips of things that would make her smile. Sips of things that were richer than flavors she could remember. The fence around the table meant safety, a place for her to stay. A home promised to her when she needed it. But then - whenever then was - she had to move. Away. Bare feet in damp grass, blades crushed cool against her feet, green in the air and on her skin. She didn't trip, even with the dress' hem that fell below her knees. Head, shoulders, knees, hem, toes. Dark turquoise, contrast with grass green and the glow-pale of her skin. Everywhere a limb emerged was contrast, white against the saturation of bright color. Turquoise, white, green - like some graphic trio of underwater colors in the deeps of the tropics. Crowned by gold, the washed-out glimmer of hair at the corner of her vision. Winter sunlight, tropical reefs. A contradiction in color - desaturated, she wasn't enough for this place.
This place. She'd wandered too far. A new place, Wonderland/wander land. Where was Hatter's table? She was in the trees now, trees whose bark was gloom and rough, who blocked the golden syrup sun. She didn't know where she was. She still knew who she was, so that was better than long-faded memories that were shrouded in chemicals. She was still Iris. Iris in Wonderland. She didn't have a right to the role, that belonged to another blonde girl, but she could find a place. At a tea table. She'd been offered it. If she could find her way back. How long had she been walking? What direction? She turned in a slow circle, but no direction felt right, familiar. All trees, a path that split every which way, and her.
So she sat. Just a moment, she thought, and things would look better again. The direction to Hatter's table would make itself known. She would be pointed the right way again. This way. Or that. Eat me drink me walk this way. Look left. Trees. Look right. Trees. Look down. Feet grey and brown and green - no shoes. Hands with nails bitten down, pinky rough and ragged. And a book. The journal she thought she'd left covered in ink and tea at the table. Hotel or Wonderland? It didn't matter - the thing was tucked in one of the dress' pockets (a dress with pockets! It made her smile).
Tick. She would just wait here. Tock. Everything would sort itself out again. Tick. This was the place that she had to be. Tock. For now. Tick. Where else would she go? Tock. There was no other place for her. Tick. Wonderland liked her, didn't it?
Tock.