Location: Docked over the Deep Woods
Time: Evening
Captain's log, day... er... nine.
Ahem. I’m doing a terrible job at keeping this Captain’s Log up to date. Then again, I assume that there will be no one of any official status checking it… I suppose there’s no reason to feel badly about missing a few days. Ah… but perhaps I’m not really worried about the update, but rather the odd state of affairs that led to my failure to update. It was the strangest thing. I’d only planned to have our vessel stationary for three days, but somehow we’ve managed to stay anchored for five. And no, not because my incompetent crew did something else to cause themselves personal harm… not at all. It was, haha, I can hardly believe it… because of me! Me! I know! I’m as alarmed and disbelieving as you, nonexistent reader!
Something happened to me… I was sick, or something like that. It’s difficult to understand, to tell the truth. I was awake yesterday, but I felt strange, distracted, distant. It was as if I had a foot out of this world, like I was drifting. It was the strangest thing; my head was spinning, and I felt weak for no particular reason that I could fathom. The first thing I remember about when I opened my eyes was the blurry nature of the ceiling. When I turned my head to the side to try and shake off the odd visual trick I saw the Mad Hatter fast asleep in a chair next to the headboard and the White Rabbit perched in a chair near my feet. He’d informed me that I was just anemic, that just getting some rest would make me ‘right as rain’. Had I been in my right mind I might have made a quip about the stupidity behind such a statement, but as it was I simply nodded and drifted off into dreamland.
I had the strangest dream. I was standing on the bow of the Devil’s Claw, the wind billowing around me and the smell of fresh cedar heavy in the air. The forest below the helm was growing sparse, and I abandoned the helm to move to the bow. Not too far before the ship the forest gave way to desert stands, spreading like a golden oasis off into the horizon. The sun was harsh and highlighted every cactus, every rolling tumbleweed disturbing the heat waves that rose up systematically from the dunes. I planted one booted foot up on the edge of the ship, stood precariously… and then jumped. I didn’t plummet to the ground, but it was as if black smoke surrounded me and whisked me up into the air, rocketing my body into the desert. Landmarks seemed to form and burn themselves into my mind; as clearly as if was set before me I could see them etched onto a mental map. A shortcut through the desert… I could literally feel it’s authenticity. It was as if some great spirit of the desert had possessed me, granting me some gift of knowledge… and then, suddenly, I was standing before the mirror, recoiling from my wrinkled, aged face. I turned away and froze as a massive gorilla roared and pounded his chest. My older self stepped out of the mirror and lifted her cane as if to attack… only to be swept off her feet by the gorilla, kicking and screaming in a feeble sort of tone. It would have been comic if the gorilla hadn’t suddenly wheeled its arm back and thrown my older self through a plate glass window. It was as if there was a cord tying me to her, for as soon as my older self fell out of sight sometime pulled tight, dragging me forward towards the gaping hole in the window…
"Ahhhhhhhhh!" I screamed as I woke, sitting up with a start. My head started to spin almost instantly and I lifted my hand to cradle my forehead with a small groan.
“Damn!” White hissed at my yelp, nearly spilling his tea. He set the cup down with a sigh and reached to touch the top of my head. “Don’t scream like that without reason… and don’t sit up so fast. You’re extremely anemic right now; your equilibrium’s off. You could fall out of bed if you’re not careful.”"I was thrown out of a window by a giant monkey." I mumbled.
“You most certainly were not.” the White Rabbit sniffed in disapproval. “You haven’t been eating well and you went too many days without sleeping. You need to give your body time to recover.”
"I need a pen." I murmured blearily, reaching for my bedside table. The White Rabbit was right about one thing; the world tilted and swirled around me, and for a minute I thought I might pass out. White’s albino hand came to rest on my shoulder to steady me, and before he could voice an objection I grabbed a felt tipped marker and fell back against the pillow. I took his hand in mind and forced myself to focus through the haze as I scribbled the short cut through the desert atop his skin. "Hold still."
“What are you doing now, Chamomile?” he sniffed, but to his credit he allowed me to keep his hand in mine. “Is that a… map?”
"It’s a short cut for when we get to the desert." I mumbled, letting the pen drop. "It’s a sure thing."
“Er… I’m sure it is…” White said in a slow, suspicious tone. I flopped back on the pillows with a sigh, pink strands falling across my face as I let my eyes close. I felt the White Rabbit busily brush my hair back into place, almost smiling at yet another example of his compulsive need to have things in order made itself known. “There we go… good idea, Marchy. Go back to sleep.”
Were I honest, I’d have let him know that I hadn’t waited for his permission. But I was asleep, so I couldn’t. Obviously.
I slept straight through the morning, disturbed only when the afternoon started to whittle away. A noise began somewhere against my ears, soft and seductive; it began so gently that it only nudged me into that floating state between waking and dreaming. Lips brushed against my ear, softly murmuring against my skin.
“Open your eyes… open your eyes… open your eyes… open your eyes… open your eyes…”
It was eerie, strange, bewildering; I was suddenly shocked with a sort of uncertainty. What was dreaming, what was waking? Loading up an airship with a crew obtained through a mixture of bribery and threats to go put out the fire on the head of a jellyfish god… had that all been but a dream?
I opened my eyes.
Nope. Still in my captain’s cabin aboard the L.M.H. Devil’s Claw. A grin sprung unexpectedly to my lip. I must admit, had this airship nonsense all been some figment of my imagination I’d have been greatly disappointed. It has, thus far, been a very interesting adventure.
Shaking off the strange vibe I sat up, unbelievably famished. Planting my bare feet onto the wooden floor, I slid to my feet, tugging my long white nightgown into place. I was a bit wobbly, but after a long, precarious moment I took a deep breath and a step forward. The dizziness was gone, but my stomach growled pathetically; I pressed my palm to my midsection with a pained expression on my face.
"Easy, stomach, eaaasy…"
I stumbled over to the writing desk and took a long look at the timepiece upon it; it was evening time. No wonder it was so dark outside my windows. My stomach grumbled again and I deliberated getting dressed before going on a hunt for something edible, but shrugged it off; though going out dressed only in one’s nightgown is indecent, it would be a waste of time to get dressed when I only had more plans of going back to sleep as the night drew on. So I made the executive decision that if anyone saw me or felt the need to make a comment I could use my position as captain to gouge out their eyes. It sounded appropriate.
It was oddly cool, something I wasn’t used to experiencing when moving through the passageways of my ship. It was quiet until I came past the kitchen; from the sound of the chatter clearly audible through the wood, I had found my crew. I tiptoed past the kitchen, despite the fact that it was where most of the food would be; just because I was willing to gouge out the eyes of my crew didn’t mean I wanted to. After all, this ship would be going nowhere if they all were blind. I had a secret stash of cookies stored beneath the helm; they may not be the most nutritious, but they’re mine, damn it. It was difficult to keep my maniacal giggles to myself as I made my way on deck. I headed for the helm, glancing past at the bow warily as foggy memories of my dream snuck to the forefront of my memories.
"No more grunny meat before bedtime…" I muttered as I knelt to tug at the wooden board that hid my cookie stash.
Out of the corner of my eye something glistened, and I glanced towards it only instinctively. There was nothing there, save for some sparse puddles on deck. I started to shrug them off and return to my food hunt, but something seemed strange about the puddles. It took a long second for me to realize what it was, and when I settled on it I rose with a frown, stepping closer and pressing my nightgown to my knees as I knelt to give it a closer look. It was a thick substance, dark even in the darkness, and when I thought to focus there was the faintest whiff of iron in the air.
Blood.I looked up slowly, feeling a tenseness envelop me for no reason in particular. Had someone been hurt? I hadn’t heard anything… true, I’d been less than involved over the last few day, but people were laughing in the kitchen; they would be so jolly if someone had been murdered, would they? No, of course not… besides, the White Rabbit, being the clean freak that he is, would never allow blood from the battle to stain the ship. If he knew it was here, he’d be bellowing for it to be cleaned. Then it was something recent. But where had it come from? I took a step forward, cautiously, carefully… and froze, dark gooey droplets missing my nose by a breath. I blinked and followed the drops of blood as they plinked against the wooden grains before slowly arching my neck back to gaze upwards.
It took a long second for me to discern just what it was I was seeing strung up in the riggings. But my eyes were adjusted to the moonlight, and allowed for me to finally discern that it was some sort of carcass hung high above me. My ears flattened back and I breathed in deeply, my lips parting in what have might become a scream had a hand not slipped across my mouth to smother it. Instantly regretting any sort of subconscious decision that had led to me leaving my scythe behind in my quarters again, I shifted to attack, but paused as a familiar voice spoke against my ear.
“For God’s sake, Hare… don’t you start your screaming. It’s a horrible habit of yours.”
"Hatter..?" I said… or, rather, I mumbled incoherently into his palm. He understood, or, rather I assume he did since he withdrew his hand; I turned to face him with a smile he didn’t return. I didn’t take it to heart; the Mad Hatter may not often look at me as analytically as he was in that moment, but he was usually friendly enough even without face contortions. "Ah… evening, Hatter. I suppose you know something about that… thing… up there?"
“That’s about 25 pounds of food for our coffers.” he said, still looking me over with an odd expression on his face. “It’s good to see you up and about. How’s your neck?”
"Well… it’s good that you’re keeping an eye on our supplies…" I muttered, shooting a disdainful glance upwards. His last sentence caught me off guard, and I lifted a hand to my neck automatically in response. "My neck? Er… it’s fine, I suppose. Why do you as-oh." There were a pair of raised bumps on my neck; pain shot through my nerves as I applied pressure and I frowned, childishly compelled to poke them again and again. "Ouch… are these mosquito bites? When in the world did I..?"
“I’d stop poking them if I were you.” he grumbled irritably, reaching out to grab my wrist and pull my hand away from my neck. His tone finally caught me off guard, and I looked at him in surprise. Oh, the Hatter’s often irritated… but never with me. He edged closer, looking at the mosquito bites on my neck with a frown while keeping a firm grip on my wrist. I could feel the tension in his fingers, and I was put even further off guard. “Looks like it’s healing rather well… no signs of infection or anything.”"Since when do bug bites get infected?"
“….er, right.” he grumbled, dropping my hand and turning away. “You should probably eat something other then cookies. See you in the morning.”
"Er… yeah, sure. Goodnight." I murmured. I don’t know what my expression was, but it was surely the sort of look that the Hatter usually didn’t leave me with. But he did; he didn’t even glance back at me as he took to the riggings.
Oddly enough, something about that stung.
I got my cookies. Returned to my quarters undetected. But I feel strange… like that time Hatter and I had a spat when we were children and I ended up setting his hat on fire and he tried to cut off my ears with a fork. It feels like something’s off balance between the Hatter and I… but what? I don’t remember insulting his hat again… I’m relatively sure I learned my lesson about that in my childhood. How strange… I’ll ask Cheshire about it tomorrow. He knows just about everything… and perhaps his insight will prove useful.
