<div align="center"><span class="bbc_size" style="font-size: 14pt;"><span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: verdana;">[Nightfall]</span></span></div><br/><strong>Name</strong>: Hatter<br/><strong>Location</strong>: The Hatter's Hovel, Entrance Hall<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Cinnamon Tart, Hare<br/><br/>The Hatter stood in the current entrance hall of the Hovel. Well, one of the current entrance halls. It had earned the designation by virtue of the fact that the east wall had collapsed suddenly, taking with it a portion of the ceiling and now providing unhindered access to the side gardens. A promotion had been earned in the eternal war between the rooms of the Hovel when the front entrance hall had been overtaken by a creeping black mold that had proved nearly fatal to one door-to-door solicitor. This suited the Hatter nicely, and he had decided to leave the front entryway to its fate. Anyone of import would find their way in, eventually. Anyone of consequence would eventually find their way out.<br/><br/>The peals of the sixteen ton bell spread across the face of London, sending the last of the sunlight scurrying below the horizon and yielding control of the City to the forces of night. It was the Hatter's favorite time of day. On a good night one could hear the screams of those caught outside without proper preparation, their protests of 'due process' and 'extenuating circumstance' falling upon surgically deafened ears. No such luck tonight, though. The streets were as quiet as a disemboweled churchmouse.<br/><br/>He would not be dining alone this evening. The card had arrived hours earlier, the acceptance of a long-standing invitation he had issued in happier days. The Hare, and apparently bringing a guest. The mind boggled at the possibilities. Why would that man -- that infuriating, lovely man -- be coming here? It smelled like... Change. And change meant chaos, the teacart upset, the structures of the world collapsing like the walls of the Hovel and rebuilding themselves in more interesting configurations. The Hatter smiled. Hare, coming here. He wondered if the beast meant to kill him. Now that would be interesting. He wondered if he ought to try to kill him first. In self-defence, of course. Completely justifiable lepucide. No court would convict him. And even if they did, he had that Royal Pardon around here. Somewhere.<br/><br/>Footsteps sounded outside, crushing the eggshells that had been so carefully arranged on the garden path. He wasn't sure exactly why. It had seemed a good idea at the time. So many things did.