Tattletale.

hi i'm berlioz and i'm in looooooove with melody also my sister is a total douche xoxo

[cat--maestro-blog]

a-wendy-bird:

He was taking so long to answer that Wendy was almost beginning to think that he hadn’t even heard her in the first place. She was about to repeat herself before he finally said something. “Oh, Edgar. It’s a pleasure.” He didn’t really look like an Edgar, she couldn’t help thinking. In her mind, an Edgar had dark circles under his eyes, a nervous temperament, and probably wrote poetry about ravens. He didn’t look the type, and she said as such. “If you don’t mind my saying so, I wouldn’t have picked you to be an Edgar.”

 She was getting a little better at keeping the smile plastered on her face. “Music? How lovely, do you play a musical instrument then? …Oh, I’m doing Creative Writing. It’s my ambition to become a published writer, you see.” 

 Once they fell back to being silent, it became a lot harder to keep her incredibly fake smile on. She cast her gaze around the room again, before realising that Edgar had been trying to catch her attention. Wanna leave? Wendy certainly hadn’t been expecting that. She couldn’t fathom why anyone would want to leave the party with her right now, considering how mournful she looked. And she couldn’t help feeling hesitant about going off with someone she had just barely met. What on earth would her father say? Still… maybe she should take him up on it. It certainly seemed a better alternative than sitting here for the rest of the night, drowning her sorrows in red cups. And it would take her mind off of the train wreck her life was at the moment. 

 No, it’s not a train wreck. She ran her finger carefully and precisely around the rim of her cup. It’s a car crash, and I’ve hit two of my best friends. 

Wendy nodded, mouthed back, oh, why not, and rose to head out the door. Once they were at least outside the immediate party area, where it wasn’t so loud she’d have to yell to be heard (and she had to admit, she was already feeling degrees better outside, away from the partiers), she asked. “Did you have something in mind to do?“

Berlioz resisted the urge to roll his eyes. Of course he didn’t look like an Edgar, he wasn’t an Edgar. He could have picked any other name like Fred or George or even Mary and it would have made more sense than Edgar did. Still, he plastered on a smile and laughed nervously. “I have heard that one before. It’s a family name.” 

He was almost shocked Wendy Darling had actually agreed to leave with him. she didn’t seem like she was in the mood for anything, really. Still, it happened, and now they were both outside with nothing to do. He looked down the road, mostly taking in his surroundings. He had been in this part of Disney a few times so he knew it, just not very well. Berlioz contemplated telling Wendy Darling he was going home but -- he didn’t want to go home. He didn’t want to be at the party, either. Apparently he didn’t want to be anywhere.

...Actually, that was a lie. He knew where he wanted to be but he couldn’t go there. Berlioz sighed in spite of himself. So then -- what to do? He couldn’t go where he pleased. What would he and Toulouse do if they were in this situation then? Now there was something he did know the answer to; cause some trouble. He grinned a little at the memories, took a sharp glance at the convenience store down the street, and then looked back at Wendy Darling who was still awaiting his reply. “Oui, possibly.” He gestured for her to walk with him down the road. “I hope you don’t mind breaking a few rules.” 

It was a short walk. They reached the convenience store quickly and Berlioz pushed open the doors, holding one open for Wendy and then following her inside. “The paint section.” He directed simply, smirk twisted with mirth already. “We’re going to be modern Picasso’s!” When they reached the shelves of spray paint he started walking down the isle quickly and selecting a random assortment of colors. He got two different shades of blue, just because. “You can pick a few out as well, it’s on moi.” 

[cat--maestro-blog]

a-wendy-bird:

He really didn’t need to go get her another drink, considering she had barely taken a sip since she had first gotten the other one and would probably just end up nursing it for the rest of the night. Wendy didn’t get a chance to say no, though, as he plucked the cup away from her.

When he handed the cup back to her, she thanked him, voice so quiet her words barely carried over the din of the party. “Water’s fine.” Why was she there, honestly? Her eyes caught on the sight of a few rowdy people in the corner, chugging beer can after beer can, before scanning the rest of the room. Everyone there was buoyant, exuberant, filled with party cheer, and here she was, moody, lifeless, and wearing something drab and dull that absolutely did not qualify as party attire. This really wasn’t how she had pictured her first proper college party, and a boy spilling her cup and bringing her more drink as an apology probably did not count as her engaging in college party shenanigans.

Lost in her thoughts, it took a while for Wendy to realise that the boy had been staring. Was her failure of a love life written across her face or something? She unconsciously mimicked his actions, taking a sip from her own cup as she tried to feel a little less uncomfortable.

“I… I do?” She finally gave him a proper once-over. The most distinctive thing about him was his accent (French, definitely), really, but if he was an exchange student he wouldn’t be telling her she looked familiar, right? Wendy couldn’t say for certain that she had never met him, but she also couldn’t think why he would recognise her.

She settled on introducing herself. “Um, I don’t think we’ve ever met, but my name’s Wendy. Wendy Darling. …You’re a freshman too, aren’t you? What are you going to be studying?“ There. Her words might have come out a little flat (actually, a lot flat) but least she had begun making an effort.

She looked a little out of place here, he noticed. Not that he meant it in a bad way, in fact he really related more to people who didn’t fit in with a bunch of idiots shotgunning beers. It wasn’t just that. She looked genuinely dejected, even when surrounded by a hoard of drunk strangers cheering obnoxiously. He wasn’t usually one to stick around for random people’s feelings, but Berlioz had felt his fair share of dejected recently. 

Wendy Darling. His eyebrows shot up unconsciously. Of course, Wendy wasn’t the most unique name but... no. Somehow he knew, because his life was an ironic joke to everyone but him. This girl she was -- she was Alice’s friend. He glanced to the corner of the room unconsciously, thinking of all the possible scenarios that could come out of this conversation. If he told the truth he doubted it would take her long to realize who he was. There weren’t exactly a lot of teenagers named Berlioz with French accents running around. There was so much going on with Alice already -- and his brother -- if this girl knew everything then -- His brain was blanking out. Oh, fuck. Merde. He should definitely be saying something. “I’m -- uh, Edgar!” He smiled nervously and gripped the cup he was holding a little tighter.  “Sorry, ah, my name is Edgar. Uh, oui. I am... a freshman.” Berlioz glanced at her carefully. “I’m studying music but it’s mostly for the experience. Ah, what about you?” 

This was going nowhere good.  Edgar? Why did he have to say that? He could’ve picked a better name, too... But Wendy Darling looked so -- alone. He couldn’t even begin to explain how that was connected to why he lied about his name but it did. It was too late now, whether he liked it or not, he was Edgar. At least for now. Berlioz lifted his cup to his lips, downing the rest of it’s contents. There, that might help a little. 

He wondered what Toulouse might do, then realized his brother was nearly as stupid as he was and wouldn’t even be in this situation in the first place. He would have told the truth and apologized and probably painted her some abstract painting and told Wendy Darling that it was how he expressed himself and this was what he was trying to express. Or something. Stupide. Still, even painting sounded like more fun than this party was turning out to be. Someone had turned up the music and it was at full blast. Usually he wouldn’t mind, but whoever was in charge of music had awful taste. Honestly. Berlioz glanced at Wendy Darling, catching eye contact, then pointed to the door and mouthed “wanna leave?” Apparently he couldn’t stop engaging with people he should stay away from.

[cat--maestro-blog]

a-wendy-bird:

She was sure she hadn’t cried as much throughout her entire life as she had in the past week. It was, frankly, amazing how fast a person’s life could unravel. A week and a bit ago, Wendy had been ready to start university. She had had a boyfriend who she loved and who loved her. She had all of her friends and one who still counted as relatively new, in her head, but who she was sure would soon become one of her closest.

And then she had gone and kissed that friend, Andrina, during their surf lesson at the beach, had allowed herself to get swept up in the kiss and the other girl’s embrace. Had she always been such a horrible person, and had just never known it? Peter had been quiet, when she told him she had cheated (she couldn’t even look him in the eyes, and she was half-sobbing, anyway), and before he could even say anything else, she had broken up with him. It was too much. The guilt.

In return, he’d told her that he still cared about her, even if the words had come out slightly tainted in bitterness. Wendy still loved him. He was Peter, after all, he was her best friend and she was sure she would love him for the rest of her life. She hoped they could mend their friendship, have things go back to the way they were (before their relationship), but she didn’t dare ask.

To take her mind off of her ex-boyfriend (God, that hurt to even think in her head), she tried to throw herself into all the events the university was holding to welcome new students, both official and unofficial. Which is why she was here, now, at a party being held by a fellow freshman who she didn’t know, completely alone.

Wendy wasn’t even feeling up to talking to people, and so she stood to the side of the room, a red cup in hand, gaze distant. She was so lost in herself that she didn’t think to step aside as somebody backed up into her and knocked the drink out of her hand. At least none of it had gotten on her. She blinked at the now-empty cup then at the boy who was apologising, before realising she should probably say something. 

“It’s perfectly alright, it was an accident.” She managed a weak smile.

Berlioz nodded, awkwardly, not exactly sure of what to do in this situation. Get her another drink? Yeah, yeah that was probably a good idea. “Ah, just -- hold on.” He took the cup from her fingers and walked over to the small table with beverages. Water worked, right? That should be fine. He filled it, quickly, and then returned and handed it to the brunette. “Here, it’s water.” Berlioz shrugged, one corner of his mouth pulling upwards. He didn’t know what had been in the cup previously, hopefully this girl didn’t have some sort of water allergy. 

He wasn’t sure exactly where, but Berlioz was pretty sure he had seen this girl before. Maybe they had gone to school or something together, he didn’t know. He tried to place it, staring a little too intently on this girl, who he was a stranger too. That was probably bad and creepy. Also, he realized the drink fetching thing could have been a little weird. Merde. Music concerts? One of Marie’s friends? That could have been it, maybe. Marie had lots of friends he couldn’t keep track of. The only ones he had really ever bothered with were Melody and -- and Alice. 

He hadn’t seen her at university at all and he didn’t know if he should be relieved or... otherwise. As far as he knew, she hadn’t spoken to his brother at all. But, then again, Berlioz had also not spoken to Toulouse, so really they could be talking and he would have no idea. 

Berlioz came back to reality only to realize he had definitely been staring for a little too long. “Uh, sorry, you just look very familiar...” He shifted awkwardly and took a sip from his own cup, trying to mask his discomfort but he doubted it was working.

[cat--maestro-blog]

University. New things, new people, new experiences. Those are the things Berlioz was told about it, but honestly he wasn’t so sure he wanted things to change at first. At least, he wasn’t sure until a certain incident between a certain family member and ex-girlfriend occurred and ended with Berlioz holding an ice pack to his jaw for the rest of the evening. After that, change really didn’t sound bad at all. 

At this point, he was not on speaking terms with pretty much anyone in his household other than his mother. (And Edgar, but Berlioz tried not to talk to him too much anyway. It always led to very awkward and bitter conversations). But he hadn’t had too many run ins with Toulouse anyway. Mostly because he would rather resort to jumping out his bedroom window than receiving another punch to the jaw (and had to on a few occasions, it did not go well). If he heard his brother’s voice, he would walk down a different hall. It was simple, and it was lonely. 

Basically, he would rather be anywhere other than home during the day. It was easier to ignore problems if you were far away from them. Berlioz had caught wind of a party for university freshman and, well, he very obviously did not have anywhere else to be so here he was. And really, maybe a punch in the face would have been better than this. He had never been good with social events, so Berlioz at an event where the purpose was to introduce yourself to other people? He would rather spend his evening doing pretty much anything else. At least he had this seemingly endless red cup to keep him company. 

With a sigh, Berlioz shuffled over to a bench on the far side of the room that remained unoccupied. He stepped through strings of people carefully, trying not to get in the way of anything. Unfortunately, he didn’t notice a small girl behind him until he had taken a step backwards to avoid bumping into someone. “Pardon me, I didn’t --” He looked over his shoulder to see that he had not only bumped into her, but had spilled the drink she was holding. Merde. “Eh... sorry.” Hopefully she wasn’t too mad. 

[cat--maestro-blog]

Teal. Orange. Au revoir.

You must think you are so funny, but you aren’t! You are just an annoying sister. 

[cat--maestro-blog]

torn between missing them and knowing they are the wrong choice. some stupid optimism, bitter old feelings, and a lot of denial.                                                     8tracks

[pixiedust-poppycock-blog]

I’m sorry are you speaking to me? I—er, I mean…

Is it very strange for Al—for me, I mean, to speak in the third person? Isn’t this the sort of nonsensical thing I would get up to? It certainly seems that way.

[cat--maestro-blog]

Uh. I guess, but -- I’m sorry, que? 

I -- mon dieu, never mind. I. Um. How have you doing?

[pixiedust-poppycock-blog]

There’s not a single book in this room that does not have pictures in it, and all of the clothes in the closet have grass stains. Not to mention, I think Alice has been painting on the walls! Does her mother know about this? It’s ruining a perfectly sensible room.

[cat--maestro-blog]

Que? Eh, Alice... are you alright? You are, um... talking in third person. 

[cat--maestro-blog]

tell me secrets only trouble knows | berlice

[mad-miss-alice-blog]

Alice was glad of her coat. She almost hadn’t taken it, insisting that she’d be back inside of half an hour, but her mother had known better. She’d left the house to run to the shop three hours ago, and had found herself walking straight past it, into the Hundred Acre Wood and into one of her old haunts. She hadn’t been back there since her incarceration but she’d spent a lot of time there before, making jewellery out of flowers, lounging in the sun with Dinah and paddling in the stream that ran through it, ignoring every piece of advice Lorina had tried to give her. She wasn’t quite sure what had prompted her to go back. One minute, she had been turning down the street towards the corner shop, ready to grab a pint of milk and go home, and the next her feet had carried her right past it, and she wondered if it was too cold to take her shoes and stockings off and float her feet in the river, just like she used to.

It was most definitely too cold, she knew now. Sitting still wasn’t doing her much of a favour, but she couldn’t quite feel the cold ground through her coat, and she had found her mittens in the pocket of it, meaning there was no danger of her getting frostbitten either. Snow was beginning to drift down from the sky, and she knew that should have been motivation for her to move herself and start towards home, but she had been content to sit, legs stretched out in front of her, hands folded in her lap, and watch the flakes fall. Any other day, she’d have busied herself making a daisy chain or a flower crown, but it was too early for any of the flowers to be out, and she had been left to watch the river and listen to the wind, and the footsteps coming her way.

She had turned her head when she heard them, and found herself suddenly holding her breath, though her facial expression didn’t change at all. The last time she had seen him, she had slapped him across the face and stormed out of his house, intent on never seeing him again. She’d done very well in that respect for a few months, and been happy to do so, as she scoured every trace of him from her life. Photos of the two of them had been deleted from her phone and social media websites, she had thrown the CD he had gifted her two Christmases prior into the bin, and had worked hard to keep him out of her thoughts. It wasn’t always easy. There were still lingering feelings for him, no matter how many times she squashed them down and reminded herself just how much he had hurt her, just how much he had humiliated her, and as she met his eyes, she felt those emotions start to resurge inside her. Why did he have to look so good, even when blinking like a deer in headlights? Why couldn’t she just let those feelings go? Why did he have to show up here, of all places?

“Hello,” she replied, drawing her legs up to her chest and wrapping her arms around them, mentally noting that he would apologize for disturbing her, but not for abandoning her. She should have been angrier, but curiosity got the best of her. She had to know what he was doing. “You’re not disturbing me at all. I was just watching the water. You – you can sit, if you want. I know you don’t like the cold, but if you’re out here… h-how have you been?”

[cat--maestro-blog]

Berlioz bit the inside of his cheek hard and shifted. He was trying his best not to stare weirdly but Alice looked a lot different. Her hair was longer than their last meeting, not as long as it was previous to her asylum visit but it wasn't chopped short anymore. She wasn't strangely thin like she had been then either, although pale but he blamed the snow and cold weather. It was a lot easier to find Alice in her appearance that it had been that day. He remembered that she used to talk about being Almost Alice sometimes and while he didn't really understand what that meant, even if he had tried, after seeing her for the first time after her release compared to this version of her Berlioz thought he was starting to get it. 

"Hi," He said again without even realizing it. It probably would have been embarrassing any other time but right now he didn't even care. He was more distracted by feeling lucky that this had happened to him. It was dark outside, in freezing weather, and Berlioz was okay with that. More like, he was satisfied even. There were so, so many problems with that. One of them being that this feeling was actually incredibly humiliating, even if only to himself. 

Snow had collected on his shoulders so he brushed them off, realizing it was probably in his hair, too. Great. His hands were gloved and there was no way he was taking them off so there wasn't a way to properly fix it. Berlioz sighed quietly and left it. 

He probably shouldn't sit. He probably should've left Alice alone, too, but he didn't do that so he might as well take the consequences. No complaints because really, he did this to himself. "If that's okay with you." He mumbled, awkwardly kneeling down in the grass. The ground was cold, the sky was definitely dark now, it was still snowing. Berlioz had no intention of getting up, though. 

It was a normal question, so he didn't need to fumble for an appropriate answer like he did. Berlioz shrugged and smiled a little trying to seem like he wasn't completely uncomfortable. "I'm okay. The same. I guess..." That's unfortunate. He glanced at his quickly and then let his eyes rest on the ground. "Ah, how are you? ...You look much better." He physically winced after saying it. Berlioz really was no good with compliments. "But I don't know, um. I'm not saying you looked bad just. Now. It's different." 

[cat--maestro-blog]

tell me secrets only trouble knows | berlice

It wasn't that late but the sun set early in the winter so the sky was verging on dark when Berlioz decided to slip out of the house and go for a walk. Just because, he didn't really go on walks just because before he met Alice but now he's constantly just walking around and staring into space, especially since their reunion. It was actually a little irritating, because there probably wasn't a single thing Berlioz hated more than winter, but when he was sitting around at home or eating quietly somewhere in the city he'd get restless just being there and doing nothing. Walking helped, kind of. He tried not to think too much and just enjoy the scenery but it could be difficult when everything's dead and covered in snow. 

Winter really was terrible. He could never write music properly in winter, either. No inspiration, everything is cold and stupid. After the holidays everyone was simply just waiting for it to get warm again. And this winter is more stupid that winter usually is because, well, just because.

This Christmas was different than the last, kind of dry. He enjoyed his presents and he even put things under the tree for Marie and Toulouse this year and actually put some thought into them. It was nice, but when everyone had left to do their own things respectively all Berlioz did was stare at their looming Christmas tree and think about the Christmas previous to that one. 

Gross. He rolled his eyes at himself and zipped up his fleece all the way up since the cold was biting harder than usual. It was so bothersome. If he had known when he met Alice that she was going to plague his mind this much even when she wasn't around he would have turned and walked the other way. 

"I think I’d quite like to be your friend, if only I could puzzle you out." 

...Well. Maybe he wouldn't have. 

He walked for a while more, considered turning around and going home a few times but he was still antsy and didn't want to be around anyone. Berlioz rounded a corner and stepped off the end of the concrete path onto the grass, briefly contemplating when he became such a miserable person in general but also to be around. It was a little funny, and also kind of sadistic to find it amusing but it made him want to laugh. He got caught up in trying to remember and his legs kept moving, wandering through the field with no intention of going anywhere at all. It wasn't until his mind had registered that he actually didn't know how far into the field he had traveled that he stopped walking to take a look around. 

Berlioz wasn't particularly lucky, not in the sense that good things just came to be in front of him for no reason. He had wealth and family and was a fairly good pianist, that was true, but things didn't happen for him, most of the good things had already existed before him. So when he turned and saw Alice sitting there in the grass he had to blink several times to even process the situation. He must've looked like an idiot, a big one, but shortly after he also realized Alice thought worse things of him. And the best thing to do right now would be to turn around and walk away quickly and leaver her alone forever but. But. 

"Bonjour," He said softly, averting his eyes and feeling more uncomfortable that he had ever felt, however, also so relieved he might be able to grow wings and fly. "Sorry I -- I didn't mean to disturb you. Um." 

[cat--maestro-blog]

to: berlioz✴

Dinah: I texted u about our band and you never texted me back. >:( we're THROUGH

Berlioz: My heart is broken.

Berlioz: But really Dinah where am I going to find such an experienced tambourinist on short notice?

[mad-miss-alice-blog]

would you have the guts to say | alice & berlioz

Sometimes, Alice wondered if she should have been let out of the asylum so soon.

That wasn’t to say she wasn’t glad to be home. She was. After so many months with her visitors prohibited to the point where, for the last two months, they had been banned entirely, to be surrounded by her family again was incredible, and Alice had spent a few weeks under the radar, spending time with everyone, telling them all about the friends she had made, the type of therapy she had undergone, and what treatments the doctors had given her to make sure she wasn’t mad anymore. Well. That was how her parents put it – she was mad, of course, but not now, not anymore, and they knew as well as she did it was a lie. She was still mad, crazy, broken, whatever. She was just on pills that made her stop being obviously broken, which was all that mattered. She didn’t hear voices anymore, she didn’t see things and she was finally getting a good night’s sleep but she had spent the best part of seven months locked away with people who were far more mentally unstable than her, and she didn’t know how to explain to her family that the structured care regimen she had received at the start had quickly disappeared and that more often than not she found herself wandering among mad people and increasingly despairing of her chances to get out. She half-felt that the only reason she had even been let out so soon was because more people were admitted and they needed her bed. Perhaps, if they hadn’t, she’d have been left to rot there forever.

Still, she had been sent home and the long road to recovery had begun. An orderly had accompanied her to Valentina’s castle for a few days before bringing her back to her own house and since then she had begun to tentatively reach out to her friends again, trying to bring back a sense of normality as best she could. It would take a while, she knew, but if there was anything she could do to hasten the process, she would, and so shopping with Marie would be her first attempt. She was nervous to see her again, not in the least because of her appearance. Marie always looked flawless and though Alice had often lovingly ribbed her about her fashion choices, she knew that they were excellent ones, as she’d never once seen Marie have a bad day that related to fashion in any way. She, herself, had always been fond of whatever was clean and had complimentary colours, and had never paid too much attention to make up or hair products or anything of the sort but figured it was about time she started to. Her weight had plummeted due to her limited diet in the asylum, her skin lost much of its colour due to her confinement and her hair had had to be cropped in the asylum after one inmate took to pulling it. She had not, however, been the culprit’s only target; anyone in the asylum with long hair, bar Valentina, had felt their wrath and often came out of the experience with bald patches. As a result, she now sported a bobbed style, though she wasn’t especially fond of it and couldn’t wait to grow it out again. She hadn’t a clue what to do with it; when it was long, she could at least tie it up, but for now, she had resigned herself to looking like an idiot. Maybe she could buy a wig. Marie probably knew a good place.

These were the thoughts she dwelled on as she stepped up to the front door of the Bonfamille house, pale and shaking and filled with nerves. God alone only knew what Marie would think of how she looked. God alone only knew who she would see inside. Even the perpetually stoic Edgar seemed shocked to see her, though whether that was in relation to how she looked or that she had been released from the loony bin, she couldn’t tell. He led her through the foyer, their shoes clicking off the marble tiles and echoing in the empty hall, and left her in the living room, where she found herself hovering awkwardly, not sure if she should sit or not. She was tempted to just leave. Marie had been kind when they had gotten back in touch but to say Alice had become rather anxious was an understatement – she was jumpier than ever, and as likely to bolt at a sudden noise as a wild animal. Indeed, after only a minute of loitering, she decided she couldn’t do it and hurried across the room, pulling her cardigan closed across her old dress and folding her arms, glancing around furtively as she did so, only to stop dead in her tracks.

She knew, she knew, she knew she was running a risk of seeing him again, but after seven months of nothing, of silence, of complete and total abandonment, to see him standing there had the same impact as someone delivering a sucker punch to her gut. She didn’t know if he had seen her, and she stood, floundering, silently gasping for breath, searching for words, hateful, hurtful, loving, distressed, anything she had to say something she couldn’t just walk away and slip out and let that be that she had to say something something something –

“Berlioz.” Well. It was something, a flat statement with minimal emotion behind it, though that didn’t last; anger, no, fury rushed through her veins, the bitter taste of rejection in her mouth and she strode across the hall, eyes welling, face contorting, don’t cry don’t cry don’t don’t DON’T, and she unfolded her arms, raising one hand and bringing it down as hard as she could, hoping that it struck his face – her vision had distorted, tears fracturing the world into a thousand fragments, and she couldn’t tell where the blow would land.

“I needed you,” she spat, shaking violently, trying to disguise the anguish in her voice under venom. “Where were you? Why? Why?!”

[cat--maestro-blog]

Berlioz, as usual, was completely out of the loop on everything. Almost to the literal sense, because everybody and their hipster cousin was aware that yes, Alice Liddell is coming home. And yes, she's okay now (to some degree). Maybe his mother or Edgar or Marie or Toulouse or literally anyone he knew didn't think he was worthy of this information (because let's be honest, he wasn't) and no one was more surprised than he was that day when she just showed up in his house. 

And -- wow. She looked so different from before. Skinnier and paler and her hair was chopped off. She didn't even really look like Alice at all, or maybe she did. Maybe this was Alice now but it wasn't his Alice. The one with the long soft hair and always wore blue and made tea a lot. The one that didn't see things or hear things or go to asylums. The one that was his girlfriend -- but he kind of thought that was over now. This one was different though, because she didn't smile when she say him or said his name and she most certainly didn't like him and probably never would again. The only thing he could think right then was where is the real Alice?

She had said his name like it was nothing. And Berlioz turned to her and didn't even flinch or anything. He felt numb, and not the comfortable kind. The kind where you can feel something prickling on your skin. "...You're here." He said quietly. Already. Finally. He didn't know which one fit more. He stared, trying to find the old girl in the new one. And then she was right there and he could see her hand coming down, down, down -- taking too long and going too fast at the same time. He could actually hear the noise echo through the house almost. His face stung where she had hit him now, too, high on his cheek and one finger over his cheekbone. 

He blinked and felt for his face with one hand where she had slapped him. It hurt, obviously, but not for more than a few seconds. The only thing that was really in any pain was his ego. He didn't really know how he expected this to go; them meeting again. Maybe because he chose not to actually think about it anymore than the few moments it took to crawl across his thoughts. It was kind of like he assumed Alice was just gone. She was gone, and not coming back. But she wasn't dead, so he didn't grieve (or maybe he did a little but that was something no one would ever learn from him). 

And finally, he looked down at Alice, tears close to running down her face and expression holding so many emotions at once it was unreadable. The prickling numbness was fading a little but stuff prominent, becoming more irritatingly prickly than numb. "...What?" His face twisted, "You needed me? Mon dieu, Alice, who do you think I am? What could I have done?"

He looked to his hands, feeling guilty. "I'm sorry." He said quietly after silence. "I'm really sorry. I wanted to go..." Berlioz winced, acutely aware of how pathetic he sounded. I missed you. I missed you a lot. Welcome home. It didn't matter if he thought Alice would never return at one point, she had come back. He thought they were both victims at first, but he was wrong. He was the villain the whole time; Berlioz vs. the Monster. That's what he thought it was -- a monster took Alice, a monster is what he was fighting, a monster prevented him from going back. He didn't stop to realize the entire time he was only fighting himself. Monsters belong in asylums, not innocent girls that deserve someone Berlioz isn't.

[goodystark]

Instagram profiles of Melody, Marie and Berlioz.

[mad-miss-alice-blog]

once upon a december | alice & berlioz flashback

Alice was late. Very, stupidly, extraordinarily late, and the fact she now had to make a trek out into what was rapidly becoming a snowstorm was not helping matters in any way, shape or form. Really, it was her own fault - Christmas Eve was always a busy time in the Liddell household, considering just how many of them there were rushing around and she had spent too much time helping out her siblings and not enough getting ready to meet up with her friends later that night. The gifts were all set, of course; they had been wrapped and set aside a few days ago, currently resting in a bag so she could hand them out over the course of the evening, but she herself had spent most of the day looking ragged, for lack of a better term, and was currently tearing through her bedroom like a whirlwind in the hopes of finding something decent to wear on her trek. Normally, she was fairly laid-back in regards to her appearance. She liked to be tidy, yes, but for the most part she just picked outfits on a whim and went about her business. Tonight was different. She was going to John and Tommy’s to meet with them, and Jane and Wendy, so that they could finally exchange their secret Santa presents, but she had a stop to make before that, to the Bonfamille house, so that she could give her boyfriend his Christmas present. Boyfriend. A blush spread across Alice’s face every time she even thought of the word, hardly able to believe that after so long hoping and praying, and almost giving up on him, that she and Berlioz were actually sating. Although, if she took any more time to get ready, she might not be - she was already ten minutes late and she hadn’t even left the house yet.

As it turned out, she arrived over an hour later than they had agreed, thoroughly embarrassed at herself for having taken so long. What sort of girlfriend was she, to have essentially arrived to what could almost amount to a first date so late? She was mortified, and found her stomach knotting as she was seen into the sitting room by Edgar, focusing instead on taking out the presents she had painstakingly wrapped, to try and distract herself. She should probably fix her hair instead, considering that half a ton of snow was currently melting on her fringe, and adjust her dress, but instead she found herself also worrying about whether or not Berlioz would like the presents she’d gotten him. She loved the boy, that much was certain, but it couldn’t be said he was easy to buy for, and she had found that most of her present money had gone towards his. She was distracted by the sound of footsteps and looked up to see Berlioz approaching - her stomach did somersaults, but she just smiled and hurried towards him, fully intending to kiss him hello before she remembered just who she was dealing with. Instead, she stopped short, putting her arms around him for a short hug.

"Merry holidays! … I mean, merry - I meant to say merry Christmas, but happy holidays came out instead, I think, or at least it tried to - words can be so rude to each other, can’t they? I mean… merry Christmas. You look wonderful," Her words had followed each other, rushed and breathless, and her face was looking incredibly pink again, and she cast around for something to change the subject to, amazed at how she had managed to muck up the evening so quickly.

"I’m sorry I’m so late - my house has turned into an utter madhouse, I forgot just how bad it got around Christmas, I am so sorry! Can you forgive me? I brought presents to make up for it, look!" She pointed to where his gifts were stacked on the sofa, before turning back to face him, hoping he approved. For some reason, she always felt like she had to meet certain standards when around him, and the presents had been something of a worry for her, as she wasn’t sure if they would have his approval. Oh, God, she was so nervous.

"So! Have you had a good Christmas Eve so far?"

[cat--maestro-blog]

It wasn't that Berlioz hated Christmas. He actually liked Christmas a lot, who doesn't love free gifts? And maybe he kind of enjoyed spending time with his family, so what? It was the gift shopping and gift-getting that was the actual problem, because he was complete shit at it. It wasn't always like this, in fact when he was picking up gifts for his family or friends it had never been this awful. Marie was easy to shop for, in a way, because she liked pink and clothes and other sissy stuff. He usually asked Mama for her opinion on gifts like that. Toulouse liked art, which he knew a good amount about so it wasn't difficult to find something suitable for him. If he's being honest, he didn't have too many friends close enough to get gifts for them without it being awkward, so all the years before this one he had never encountered this particular problem. And, well, he wasn't -- hadn't ever had to buy something for -- for Alice. Or anything... like that. He felt a little stupid now for giving her the CD as an early gift, because now he had nothing for when they were actually celebrating the holiday. And while it wasn't mandatory to get someone more than one gift, it seemed a little weird not to. In the end, he didn't get anything. That left him laying around scorning himself for not just buying something -- anything at all to give Alice. And isn't it the thought that counts, anyway? If he just bought something... 

Berlioz sighed and sat up, doing his best to clear his mind. Mama had said it would mean more if the gift was personal. That was why the CD made sense, music was personal and he was playing. Alice seemed to like it a lot, or at least enough to ask him to be her -- to be that thing. He couldn't just make her another, for one it would be unoriginal and for another there wasn't enough time. Alice was supposed to have arrived some time ago. He'd barely even noticed she was running late, being too busy worrying about getting her a gift. What does Alice even like? Tea, the color blue, and music. Okay, that was a start. He could ask one of the maids to prepare tea -- but Alice didn't really appreciate it when he and Marie did that, according to her you had to make tea yourself or it wasn't "the same" whatever that meant. He could just... make the tea himself? Except he didn't really know how to do that. Berlioz mentally kicked himself for not learning sooner, and then hurried to the kitchen. Alice would be here any minute he'd have to hurry. 

Ten minutes later he stood scratching the back of his neck slightly miffed behind one of the kitchen maids he had asked to help him. "You just drop it in?" He asked, unsure. 

"Oui, Monsieur." She replied quietly, eyes wavering and looking a little confused. 

"Eh..." Berlioz glanced at the label on the box, the flavor of tea spelled out in bold letters. "Do you think she would -- never mind." He shook his head and opened the box, then dropped one tea bag inside. "Is that all?" 

"Oui, Monsieur." The woman repeated. She looked behind her at the other kitchen staff going about their business. "Is it alright if I get back to work now?"

"Oui, of course." He replied, grasping the cups by the handle, one in each hand. "Merci." Then he exited the kitchen, walking fast back to the sitting room without spilling hot tea on himself. On his way there he passed the music room, four steps away from it an idea formed in his mind. Alice had really liked that song, hadn't she? The one on the CD. He backpedalled and opened the door, pushing down the handle with his elbow. He was greeted with cold air, but it was not necessarily uncomfortable. Berlioz set the mugs down on the end table and walked over to the piano. The sheet music from the song was still there, and it wasn't particularly difficult to learn the chorus. Even for someone who hadn't played before. "Hmm." He muttered quietly to himself. Maybe this wouldn't be so bad. It was strange, having so much money and using hardly any to get gifts. He was interrupted by Edgar then to tell him Alice was waiting in the sitting room. Berlioz thanked him quickly and darted out the door. 

Should he be nervous? He'd met with Alice a number of times without being nervous, but there had been times when he had been, too. It was a weird feeling, not really nerves but not exactly nothing. Just like Edgar had said she was waiting for him, setting up some presents -- had she gotten him presents? Alice smiled and greeted him with a short hug, which was unexpected but he returned it without even thinking otherwise. "Bonjour --" He started, before more words started tumbling out of her mouth to cut him off. "You -- you too. Look wonderful." He mumbled awkwardly. "Joyeux Noel, Alice." 

At the mention of being late he just waved it away with his hand, "Non, it's nothing I was --" Berlioz glanced at her snow covered hair and chuckled a little. He brushed it off to the best of his ability. Unfortunately now there was snow on the carpet but he'd let someone else handle it. "Oui, there." He looked over to the gifts she had brought and smiled wide. "I didn't know you were shopping for me... I mean, merci beaucoup." He corrected, looking back over at her. He didn't want her to think he was ungrateful, only surprised. "Um, I -- this means a lot. I hope you didn't run into any problems." Money wise, he decided not to add out loud.

"Me? Oh, oui." He said, hurriedly. "I made tea, actually. It's in the music room. You don't have to have any, you know. If you want. I haven't made tea before so it's probably bad." He shoved his hands in the pockets of his trousers and looked at the ground nervously. "I didn't really buy you any gifts. I'm sorry. But -- but I thought you'd like to learn that song on the piano? The one a recorded... for you. Then you can play it all you want." He made eye contact again, remembered his manners and even decided to use them. "Has your Christmas Eve been going well?" 

[mariebonfamille-blog]

Que? I was under the impression that she is your friend too. Ugh, do you know or not? Stop playing this stupide game, I am not in the mood. Alice is in the mental asylum and you should care.

[cat--maestro-blog]

Why would you think that? Oh, is this about the piano incident? Mon dieu, that was looong ago. Although it was fun, I don't know if I would call us friends just because of that... 

Mental asylum? I still fail to see what that has to do with me. Why are you being so annoying about this?

Look... I am sorry about your friend -- I guess. A-and... I guess I'm sorry for her, too. But that does not give you an excuse to jump to random conclusions. Moreover I... uhh, I do not think seeing me will make her get better. 

[mariebonfamille-blog]

Berlioz, I can tell by the expression on your face that you know who and what I am talking about, mon dieu. Stop doing this!

I am not asking stupide questions, stop saying that. Do you seriously not know? Because I do not believe that for a second. 

I am talking about Alice. Dieu, was it really that difficult?

[cat--maestro-blog]

What are you rambling on about? Stop accusing me of things that aren't even true. Stop doing what?! 

Sure you aren't. Ugh, what did I just say? I really do not have any idea what you're talking about. 

...who? Oh oui, she's that friend of yours, isn't she? Why would I know anything about her? You're not making sense, Marie. 

[mariebonfamille-blog]

You know who, Berlioz.

Ugh, I am not stupide! I was only asking, besides - how did you, um… Find out?

[cat--maestro-blog]

...I don't. I'm not a mind reader, Marie. 

Maybe you shouldn't ask stupide questions, then. I seriously do not know what you're talking about. Find out what?