<strong>Name</strong>: Mock<br/><strong>Location</strong>: Lost<br/><strong>Tagged</strong>: Doormouse<br/><br/><br/><em>"Right... rightness is nice..."</em><br/><br/>Clever soft girl. It always was and will be, though wrongness is commonly more efficient, profitable, and endlessly entertaining.<br/><br/>The tip of his tongue slipped out and was caught between his teeth in excitement as she nodded. There were tears, no mistake, trickling down from laden lashes drooping with dews of sorrow. Each one a salty sweet story of hurt in the heart. That's why they were so dazzling. Hurting the outside was the simplest way – anyone could wring tears aplenty given a spoon and enough time – but real heart-hurting tears, well, those were  more precious than rubies or tea bags. People were so quick to leave their hearts and heads behind in this colorless world, lest they broken beyond repair.<br/><br/>His eyes began to ache from being so open for so long and he knew really should stop staring at her so hungrily but she simply would not stop being delicious and covered in high-quality tears. It made his own eyes brim and he turned his gaze modestly to her knee. Her ripe and curving knee, begging for a nibble... No! Rightness, rightness, rightness!<br/><br/><em>"I got lost... or was left... lost left, I don't know but I loath to be alone. And there was the Hare," </em><br/><br/>Mock noticed his left hand, fingers clenching and unclenching with the desperate need to touch her, had gotten quite carried away and was nearing the girl's face. “Hare,” he repeated cautiously, stuffing his wayward hand in a pocket until it could behave itself. “You were alone with the Hare? A loathly alone there. Unless you fancy the candy he keeps. His prices ever rise so steep and you must know he gouges too deep.” He paused to rub at a twinging sort of phantom pinch in his chest.<br/><br/>“As for losing your left, they do tend to be bereft of common sense, though in other ways quite deft.” Mock stopped and looked back up at the girl's diamond-dripping eyes with a horrified expression. “Have I begun to rhyme?  Oh, it comes on in darkest times. Apologies, sweet stranger, I should just resort to-” he brought his hand to his mouth and pretended to shove an invisible gag in place and tie it, which required both hands and then his finger got caught in the invisible knot and he ended up rolling on the floor for a moment while he put himself to rights. Knots were tricksy things at the best of times but invisible ones doubly so.<br/><br/>At that point he could no longer remember what had gone before so he went back to the beginning. He climbed to his feet with some difficulty, swept off his floppy helmet and bowed at the girl in the corner. “I greet you, miss,” soft thing, diamond tears, tasty knees, “for I am the Mock Turtle. Just Mock to most, I'll be your host in this empty ghost of a room. We will sit, “ and he sat with a loud clunk, “no longer coppers' quarry, not alone or quite as lost and share a story or two, perhaps? Might I learn your name, miss...?”