[highercost-blog]

Ω      ≾ 𝒘𝒄𝒏𝒅𝒆𝒓𝒍𝒄𝒏𝒅·. ≿

        Blood-stained smile spreads as flickering tail swishes past green hues. Whilst grey-toned form materializes, nearly appearing as a step- though, seated is how he presents. Scans over her lithe being, snicker in near-breathless grin. “ Having boundaries never did too well for you, Alice. It’s better when you care less about what must be done. Killing the beast is better for us all. “ 

Knee-deep in the mire,  she presents herself a rather hapless urchin;  wrinkled nose and fidgeting all in turn.  Some blue hue emanates from the pocket of her apron,  wherein she’s kept it firmly snug and untouched.  The cat is met with apathy,  and then whetted judgement.  He’s more ugly and mangy than she has first recalled.        “  Why must I be the one always killing for you  ---  albeit all is my creation.  Haven’t you your own rage to expel so?  ”

[philomena-famulok]

©Philomena Famulok

Amnesia (2019)

[highercost-blog]

How she suits syfy’s Wonderland*....

Alice is The Alice,  Alice of Legend,  all other titles.  Though of course she was a little younger back then;  she did bring down the whole house of cards,  she did free her otherwise trapped mind and those unfortunate enough to live within the chaos of it all.  

That being said,  she’s a girl with a fragile mind.  It’s no surprise it all broke apart again.  The destruction of Wonderland is the destruction of her.  Her mental state sadly holds the key to Wonderland’s well-being,  as well as all its inhabitants.  It’s a ramshackle,  torn apart world as a representation of her mind.  Below the city is where the Ruin lies,  the Dollmaker’s domain;  it’s actually slowly but surely swallowing the place.  As her mind descends further into her madness,  or further out of it,  Wonderland much reflects that.  It actually isn’t the Queen she needs to take down when she ventures there next,  it’s Bumby’s alter-ego.  The Queen’s fall should come after,  if she hasn’t fallen already.  ( in the mini-series,  depending on the time set,  she has been thanks to Alice Hamilton.  Alice’s a prone to tearing down a monarchy apparently )

The realm also holds her memories,  that which she’s still painstakingly collecting.  Even in the wake of the Dollmaker’s defeat,  things are still scattered.  She might have remembered the core of her trauma,  and the truth of some of the abuse she has suffered,  but much of her family and growth are still hidden from her.  Alice’s cognitive state is never resting,  constantly moving.  It’s an allegorical crucible of lost truths and false memories.  Hallucinations are common;  these also shape Wonderland to whatever horror she can come up with.  What she believes is real,  is real.

*I cross over,  as I guess is feasible when we’re talking about a world literally come to life inside a child’s head.  The Vale of Tears,  for example,  will be found somewhere beyond the Jabberwocky’s forest.  It all slots.  It’s just sometimes more hellish for her than other times.

[highercost-blog]

That tea might be a scorpion set loose upon the table,  the way that which she peers at it.  All about her smells sweet as cave water and summer berries;  her very breath hangs afore her eyes.  She is small,  some vixen swallowed by a stranger’s den - but she does reach.  Lithe fingers curl about her offering,  pallid as though they’ve not felt warmth in weeks.  Perhaps they have not.  He is tall,  a standing monolith in his great hall.  Alice’s eyes will not stray from him;  for such beauty in its grand state will not go ignored.  Even his voice holds its mesmerising lilt,  warms her ears and draws comfort from otherwise barren depth within her.  So queer a thing,  she thinks,  to sit with tea,  under the eye of something quite glorious.

“  I’d half-wondered if guiding hands were the cause of my plight...  ”      She is cutting in comparison,  a grating blade upon the stone about them.  When Alice swallows she swallows knives and burnt fingernails.  She cannot soften herself.      “  Thought perhaps it is the motive behind their guiding I should take into account.  ”      She hugs her tea,  but will not yet sip.      “  You,  a monarch,  must have your own method.  ”

                          @edhelaran                      continued.

[xec]

𝐼 𝑤𝑎𝑛𝑡 𝑡𝑜 𝑓𝑜𝑟𝑔𝑒𝑡. 𝑊ℎ𝑜 𝑤𝑜𝑢𝑙𝑑 𝑐ℎ𝑜𝑜𝑠𝑒 𝑡𝑜 𝑏𝑒 𝑎𝑙𝑜𝑛𝑒, 𝑖𝑚𝑝𝑟𝑖𝑠𝑜𝑛𝑒𝑑 𝑏𝑦 𝑡ℎ𝑒𝑖𝑟 𝑏𝑟𝑜𝑘𝑒𝑛 𝑚𝑒𝑚𝑜𝑟𝑖𝑒𝑠?​

[highercost-blog]

Ω      ≾ 𝒅𝒖𝒂𝒍𝒊𝒕𝒆𝒂𝒔. ≿ 

       “you all right?” he offers his hand, brow furrowed with concern reserved for those he knew and cared for long before the QUEEN turned him inside out and burned all his caring away. “bit farther and we can stop for a rest.” 

Hatter has always been a familiar,  if often obscure,  pillar for one whose world twists and turns in all directions.  Lucidity doesn’t quite become her;  she’s estranged from the earth upon which she walks.  Yet he’s granted her hand,  small still in the bowl of his own.        “  I’d have thought the world would appear smaller than it was,  what with my being bigger and all.  ”       Dry as it is,  timbre comes with a lilt of endearment.  Alice plants her feet alongside him - she only reaches his shoulder - and huffs.        “  Where are we running to now?  ”

[highercost-blog]

“ How fine you look when dressed in rage.  ”

[daydreaming-wildflower]

“My dream was a blue-colored roadway […] And I, within my slumber’s blueness, confused reality with dream”

— Vladimir Nabokov, from “Dream,” trans. Dmitri Nabokov in Selected Poems

[memetaped]

nonverbal starters prompts featuring nonverbal scenarios.

guide take them by the hand, arm, or shoulder to guide them.

shelter protect them.

shove push them.

loop drape an arm around their shoulders.

touch a gentle touch like rubbing their back, hugging them, holding their hand. 

kiss a kiss on the cheek, knuckles, forehead, in their hair.

palm smack them upside the head.

bed rest gently push them back down when they try getting out of bed.

aid help them with a task.

note pass a note to them.

cry wipe away their tears.

wash wipe something off their forehead, cheek, so on.

bandage patch them up when they get hurt.

heal take care of them when they get sick.

book silently read a story with them. 

carry pick them up. 

scrap punch them.

cherry find blood on them.

sit help them sit down.  

medical wake up in the hospital and find them holding their hand.

steer place a hand under their chin to make them look up. 

beat dance with them.

stare stare them down. 

off track get lost with them.

no shaking their head in disagreement. 

yes nodding their head in agreement.

rush tackle them to the ground.

open hold the door open for them.

[highercost-blog]

“ How fine you look when dressed in rage.  ”

[highercost-blog]

there she is.

[highercost-blog]

shhh.  shhh.  she doesn’t care.

[bma-2020]

@highercost

[highercost-blog]

as is tradition with my reboots,  alice’s face is going to change.

[highercost-blog]

Uhhhh I... did not expect to remember this blog’s password first time ‘round,  aight,  hi,  anyone alive ??

[finita-la-commedia]

[highercost-blog]

Ω            ≾   MOUSE.   ≿

            “ HATTER’S DOMAIN operates once again, less HOMICIDAL than before. The Cat still wanders through the land, if you can call his appearances wandering. “ Shrug offered, back pressed to withered bark that continues breaking away from what once could have been seen as foliage, even the mushrooms seem to topple over, too weighted to keep tall. “ Hard to rebuild what he had destroyed, fixing the denizens has proven problematic. The children torn between the freedom they desire, and the thoughts instilled from his control. “ Eyes glance towards the ground, dried blood upon dirt kicked beneath her feet. “ Couldn’t tell you below the waters. You might not have expected your return, those who know you well enough believed in it. Out of anyone, you most belong here. “

HIS CONTROL.  SHE RECALLS LIKE A BITTER MEMORY.      Still that lurid tongue rolls against her ear,  pretty words whispered through prison bars hanging akin to a lure upon her right shoulder.  Angus Bumby is dead,  cut in half on the train tracks with his fingers still twitching like ten shrivelled insects  ---  but he still hangs beside her.  Rot fills her nostrils,  a pungent scent.  The destruction of Wonderland and thus her poor addled brain may not have prevailed,  but it has at least seemingly plateaued.        ‘  Still,  ’         As though she’d spoken aloud,      ‘  I suppose anything ‘less homicidal’ should be seen as something of a victory.  Though I thought the lands might reclaim some eponymous wonder. . .  I haven’t slept,  and the trees climb through my window at night to rake the walls.  Not so much in a celebration of gratitude,  then.  Typical.  Here,  who reigns?  ’