A note concerning stand offs

The Hatter was resplendent in his multi-faced, multi-armed avatar form. He displayed a serene, beatific expression as he swayed slightly back and forth. March Hare slouched against a pillar at his side. Across the bridge, the Huntsman stood amidst his pack of hounds; three hundred pound precision engineered monstrosities. The rent heart on his banner seemed to beat as it flapped in the breeze. “You’re outnumbered twenty to one! There’s no way you’re going to make it across the bridge. Turn around and go! There’s no need for a slaughter.” The Huntsman was incredulous.

“You are correct. Stand down and we will allow you to keep your lives” replied the Hatter.

“There are only two of you! Are you mad?”

March levered himself away from the pillar and scratched the back of his head. “No, not yet he isn’t. I’d just let us by if I were you. You wouldn’t like him when he’s mad.”

The Huntsman shook his head, “If you’re not going to go, then you leave me no choice but to engage you.” The hounds growled and stood poised and eager. He raised his cannon to his shoulder and fired a devastating bolt at the swaying Hatter. The blast blew him off his feet and enveloped him in a cloud of smoke and energy. March shook his head as the Hatter sprung upright, his faces rotating in a blur before settling on an expression of unquenchable fury. The Hunstman’s jaw dropped and the hounds began to howl.

“Now you’ve done it,” offered March as he rolled up his sleeves. 

The Hatter charged up the bridge. “Why is a raven like a writing desk?” he bellowed.

March drew a pair of gleaming, pearl inlaid pistols with a sigh, “I doubt you’ll guess the answer, and I don’t think you’ll like it very much even if you do.”

A note concerning mimsy

White’s troops began to mount up on their bikes and trucks, led by her seven lieutenants. White herself had a gleaming, blue chrome machine. It was sleek and striking with its red enamel accents, ivory leather, and midnight black hardware.

“Hey, did anybody else hear that whuffling sound?” asked Sleazy.

White snugged her riding gloves onto her delicate hands and glanced over her shoulder at Alice. “What’s the matter, my dear? Nothing left in the motor pool? You can ride double with one of my men if you’d like. I think there’s room on Greasy’s bike.” Alice looked up at the sky and shaded her eyes with her hand. She smirked.

“Oh come on! I know you guys heard that burbling! It’s coming from the woods! How did you all miss that?” complained Sleazy.

White’s false smile was replaced by a real frown. “Look at me when I’m talking to you, girl.” A violent crash echoed from the woods, a fitting accompaniment to the explosion of splinters that used to be trees. In the gap a horrible creature was revealed. The beast was 15 feet high at the shoulder and covered in scales that looked like mossy stones. It flapped its membranous wings and roared, swamping the panicking troops with its fetid breath. Above its terrifying maw, where there should have been eyes, blazed two fire streaming pits.

“What the hell is that?” screamed Sleazy.

“My ride,” replied Alice with mimsy.

A note concerning role reversal

Dashing kicked in the door, gallantly strode into the room, shouted “Don’t worry milady, I’ll save you!” and immediately slipped and fell on his face. That was not how it was supposed to go. Whatever he slipped in made a wet, sucking sound as he pried his face out of it. He noticed a couple of horrifying things as he rose to his knees and looked up: The reason he slipped was because the floor, the walls, and for that matter the ceiling, were covered in blood. Not just blood as it turns out, but all manner of body parts as well. A Cat with the most fiendish look he had ever seen was rolling around delightedly in a pile of viscera. Prince Dashing threw up. This definitely was not how it was supposed to go. He wiped his mouth off, realized his hand was covered in semi-clotted blood and almost threw up again. Light headed, Dashing slumped back on his heels and stared wide eyed across the room. A young woman was perched, quite demurely despite being spattered with gore, atop a pile of crates and weaponry. Her smile contrasted brightly against all of the blood.

            “Excellent timing! I was just beginning to wonder how I was going to carry all of this loot out by myself,” remarked Alice.

A note concerning first impressions

Cinder set the file down on the desk and leaned back to regard the applicant. White wasn’t impressed, this one wasn’t even royalty. She clicked her pen against her perfect teeth. “So what is it that you feel you can add to the cause?” She asked.

The young woman ran a hand through her short, spiked, blonde hair and rose. Cinder wasn’t sure if the room got smaller or the girl got bigger, but either way her presence filled the space. White whimpered. The applicant reached into the mirror hanging on the wall, toothy, feline grins glittering around her, and drew forth a notched, stained sword. It made a noise that Cinder would later describe as ‘snicker snack.’

“I can make it rather easy for folks to stand on their own heads, for starters,” Alice said crisply.