“Dear Lord Hatter, will you shut the hell up!” I’m sitting lounged in a giant, overstuffed chair, my legs flung carelessly on the table. I’m examining my nails and their chipped away black polish. Hatter is clicking random cups of tea together, sloshing their contents onto the table rug and singing in a high pitched manner.
“Don’t be such a prude Cecily! I’m only having a little fun!” Hatter winks and randomly pitches his arm to the left and flings his tea on the Hare.
“Damn you Hatter!” The Hare jumps up, grabbing a butter knife in his clutches. “I swear to it, I shish-cabob you and have you with a side of tea!”
I roll my eyes. This happens about every third Tuesday of the month. The bickering! You’d think I was surrounded by children. I was surprised the Queen didn’t hear them all the way from her kingdom and order them to be executed.
“You’re just upset because you don’t know why a raven is like a writing desk!” The Hatter spats, chucking a cup at the Hare.
The Hare, picking up a cup of his own and flinging it, I duck, the cup narrowly missing my head. “Neither do you!”
“You wouldn’t dare accuse me of not knowing the answer to my own riddle! You filthy, deranged Bunny!”
The Hare’s front two teeth grind against his bottom row and a growl erupt from deep inside him. “I’M NOT A BUNNY DAMMIT!” And with that, he lunges across the table.
Daisy, our dormouse that like to sleep in teapots, decides to pop her head out of one at that moment. Yawning, she slowly crawls out of the teapot and up onto my shoulder. “At it again are they?” She squeaks in my ear. I nod just as The Hare jumps on top of Hatter.
The Hatter is staggering around, the Hare wrapped tightly around his face. They are screaming at each other and swinging punches. But they mean nothing by it, they’ll be friends again in five minutes no doubt.
The Hatter finally got the hare off and they are spread out on the table, rolling back and forth, trying to over power the other.
“Apologize for calling me a bunny!”
“You apologize for saying I didn’t know why a raven is like a writing desk!”
“Why is a raven like a writing desk?”
The Hatter and Hare stop, mid-swing. The slowly detached from each other and stare at our guest. I eye her suspiciously. She got wavy blond hair, held back by a black headband. Her dress is of plain blue. A starch contrast to my black pants, dark red shirt, and military boots. I had once served in the Queen’s army, and still wore my old uniform and gear.
She smiles politely, and says, “Hi, I’m Alice.”
And all I can think is, “Aahh bloody hell…”