<span class="bbc_font" style="font-family: georgia;"><strong>Name:</strong> Cheshire<br/><strong>Location:</strong> The Hatter's Hovel<br/><strong>Tagged:</strong> Hatter<br/><br/><em>Find the biscuit.  Don't come back until you've found the biscuit, THE EXACT BISCUIT.</em><br/><br/>So the cat had a pill on her tongue, though it was threatening to melt and there was a something of a glaze about her eyes that hadn't been there when she'd left...whenever she'd left.  Or rather, the glaze was no longer from yelling and pain because the cat, whose eyes were often red and bloodshot and dry...had yet to cry in Wonderland.  But the little splash of green was vibrant on her tongue, in a way her eyes weren't and she'd become very much intensely aware of just how the ground felt beneath her feet and how the cling of her clothes felt against her skin so that as she hopped up the walk, from one broken garden stone to the next she kept trying to itch herself.<br/><br/>After all, to step on a crack was to break your mother's back.  Cat stepped with vigor; with little twists of her ankle that ground her dirty socks in against the crevices and a sneer of satisfaction so that the sound of her demented giggling could be heard echoing up against the tall thickly thin walls of the Hatter's manor.<br/><br/>She was breathing hard by the time she'd reached the door; her hair clinging in sweat damp tendrils to her cheeks, the thin white of her tee-shirt clinging to youthful rise of perky breasts.  One hand tugged against the hem of a too short skirt and her eyes were blazing far too intently above her flush cheeks as if for every step she'd taken she could hear the sounds of screams echoing in her ears and perhaps...perhaps she had.<br/><br/>"'ucking 'itch.", because it's quite hard to shape proper letters with something on your tongue.  And she'd a pill for the Hatter after all.<br/><br/>Except...except there were no shoes allowed on the carpet, so the cat kept on those thigh high socks and after nudging open the door...no shoes on the carpet; so she ran on sockfeet.  No feet on the carpet, but she'd made it halfway down the hall before she remembered to tumble up on her hands.  It meant her skirt was suddenly kissing the very top of her hips and threatening to consume her waist while the sight of white cotton panties read Tuesday upside down and in reverse.  Perhaps she'd gotten confused.  Perhaps she'd lost Wednesday.  Perhaps it was Friday.<br/><br/>But the stairs were a bitch and she had managed exactly...three, which was one more than yesterday before she went tumbling down them with a cry that made everything sound as painful as it actually was before she came to a very unceremonious stop at the bottom, with her neck fit to the edge of the last step, her head even with the floor her spine curved as if she were about to tumble forward and land upright and proper.  Except she wasn't moving, and her legs were sprawled so that they framed either side of her face, with her ass still up in the air.<br/><br/>And she'd swallowed the pill.<br/><br/>Whoops.<br/><br/>"HATTER!"</span>