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incorrectunrulyprincesses · 3 years

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Underland’s Unruly Princesses: Go Ask Alice Chapter 1

Ember I

It all started with Alice. The very first time the pesky, golden-haired girl had ever visited Underland, I had not even been thought of. My mother, the Red Queen, had just been freshly coronated as high queen of Underland. After the death of my grandparents King Oleron and Queen Elsemere of Witzend, the crown had passed down to my mother, who was their eldest child. When Alice had arrived, my mother had been queen for about a year and had settled into her role quite comfortably. And then one day came along little Alice. A lost little girl whose mouth was just as big as her wit. She had been led astray by the Cheshire cat and had ended up in the garden at Salazen Grum. According to my mother’s right -hand-man, Ilosovic Stayne, the Knave, Alice had gotten a little too snippy with my mother, and as a punishment, she was ordered to paint red all of the roses that the gardeners had mistakenly planted white. That had been the first time, but the second time had been much more eventful. I had been relaxing in the courtyard, back to a tree, feet up, book in hand. My little sister, Rosalind, was across the way, practicing her croquet strokes. Mum had released us early from aiding her as she governed the land, and we had decided to take advantage of the absolutely gorgeous weather. It had been perfect outside- not too warm and not too cold. There was a gentle breeze. Just as Rosalind had drawn back to send a ball off, a voice rang out across the courtyard. “Girls!” cried the voice of Dahlia, the courtier with the large ears, and, unfortunately, our governess. “Girls! There you are! Come, now, your mother summons you to the throne room.” Quirking a brow, I closed my book and sighed. “It’s ‘Your Highnesses’,” Rosalind spat. My little sister had always been one to assure that people behave well around us. I did have to agree with her, though, we were the Princesses, and we deserved to be addressed as such. Dahlia curtsied. “My apologies, Princesses,” she said smoothly. “Your mother requires your presence in the throne room.” I stood up from the ground and smoothed the front of my gown. “What in Underland for?” I asked. She regained her stiff posture. “It seems that after a long procession, Ilosovic Stayne has returned.” I rolled my eyes. Ilosovic Stayne, the knave, who happened to be Rosalind’s father. He was a man whom I never really could get along well with. Ever since Rosalind had been born, even when Mum was carrying her, Stayne had hardly stepped up and was barely around. I could remember vividly that when Mum was heavy with child, she was often crying, claiming loudly that Stayne didn’t want her child, and that she had been a fool for laying with him at all. Mum had spent most of her pregnancy in tears, and that hadn’t sat well with me at all. Now Rosalind was a blossoming young woman of eleven, and Stayne still presumed to do whatever he could to avoid her. “As if we need to be present to see Stayne,” I hissed. “Bloody deadbeat,” Rosalind muttered darkly under her breath. Dahlia frowned. “I understand your quarrel with your father, Rosalind, but your mother requests your presence and therefore we must obligate her.” Rosalind sighed heavily and flounced off to the throne room. I followed Rosalind smoothly, eyes forward, head up. Anubis the dormouse was stationed outside of the throne room doors. He stood proudly, leaning against the sewing pin he used as a weapon. “Announce us, please, Anubis,” Rosalind directed him sweetly. “Yes, Your Highness,” Anubis agreed. He sheathed his tiny sword and scurried through a small hole in the baseboard of the wall. Once on the other side, everything fell quiet. Behind me, Dahlia ruffled at her skirts. There was a small trumpeting. “Presenting the royal Princesses of Underland,” Anubis said as loud as he could manage. What with being a dormouse and all, he was rather small. The doors peeled open slowly and Rosalind moved to her position behind me. I was the eldest so I was required to enter first, especially when it came to royal business. I strode as smoothly and ladylike as I could, so as to not draw extra attention to myself. I had a designated wooden seat to the right of my mother’s throne. To the left was Rosalind’s seat. Each of our chairs were made of a heavy wood, had high backs to them and had our first initial carved into them. Mum’s throne was crafted of the purest gold one could find in Underland, complete with the softest red velvet cushions. We, too, had red cushions to sit upon. As I made my way across the throne room, the courtiers gathered before Mum, bowed lowly. As I had been taught, I paid them no mind and kept my eyes straight forward. Gracefully I turned to face them and lowered myself into my seat. To the left of my mother, Rosalind did the very same thing. My Mother eyed me curiously, a small smile on her lips. But she said nothing. Instead she motioned for the courtiers to leave. She reached a pale hand over and patted Rosalind on the head. It was a way of assuring her that all would be well, even if she was being forced to look on as our mother welcomed her deadbeat father back to court. Once again Anubis sounded his little trumpet. “Presenting the Red Knave, Ilosovic Stayne,” he announced seriously. The mighty doors opened behind him and he stepped out of view. The familiar sound of Stayne’s heavy black boots began to ring through the throne room as he strode smoothly down the length of the red carpet. He had a smug look on his face, yet his body was relaxed. His single eye found its way to me almost immediately. It was no secret to me that Ilosovic Stayne secretly bore an admiration for me. It was an admiration that could easily get him killed, if my mother ever found out. In truth, I despised the man for how he treated my mother whilst she was pregnant, and I despised him even more for completely ignoring Rosalind’s existence. Even after all those years, my mother was still deeply in love with the man, and after all those months he tormented her, she still took him to bed with her. Stayne went right to Mum and pressed a soft kiss to her offered hand. Rosalind rolled her blue eyes dramatically. A slight coloring of rose appeared in Mum’s cheeks and she beamed for a mere second. She then stiffened her posture and reverted to her stately air. “Ilosovic Stayne,” she said aloud. “I welcome you back to court.” Stayne dropped down to his knees immediately and bowed his head. “My Queen, it is good to be home once again. I come bearing news from Marmoreal.” At the mention of Marmoreal, Mum’s bottom lip twitched a little. Marmoreal was the home and reigning kingdom of Mirana the White Queen, my mother’s sworn enemy, and, unfortunately, mine and Rosalind’s aunt. “What say you, Knave?” Mum asked him. He got to his feet and reached a gloved hand into his doublet. He withdrew a scroll. “Majesty,” he chided softly. “I have found the Orcaculum.” He then tossed one end of the scroll across my mother’s lap. It rolled past my feet and continued onward. “That?” Mum asked. “It look so ordinary for an oracle,” she observed. Stayne’s single eye scanned the surface of the Oraculum. I was surprised he possessed the capacity to locate an item such as the Oraculum.. I highly doubted Stayne’s abilities, unlike Mum, who doted on them. I was pretty sure that Rosalind felt the same way about him as I did, and he was her father! “Look here, Majesty,” Stayne continued, extending a finger and placing it on the Oraculum near Mum’s feet. I leaned over Mum’s shoulder to see, too. “At the Frabjous Day,” he added. Rosalind’s disturbed expression explained it all. There lay a depiction of Mum’s dearest pet, the Jabberwocky. Before the great beast, was a young girl with a tangled mess of hair, clad in armor. The girl bore what I immediately recognized as the Vorpal sword, high above her head, ready to strike at the beast. Mum loved the Jabberwocky. That was no secret at all. In fact, the creature had been key to her rise to the throne. Mum had told me and Rosalind many, many stories about her ascent to her queenly state. And the notion that anyone could possibly slay it, would drive her over the edge. “I’d know that tangled mess of hair anywhere,” Mum remarked lowly. “Is it Alice?” Rosalind and I eyed one another oddly behind Mum’s head. “I believe it is,” Stayne replied. He brought a hand up to his face, almost as if he were examining. “What’s she doing to my darling Jabberwocky?” Mum asked, her pitch rising into quite the grlish tone. “She appears to be slaying it.” Mum gasped. “SHE KILLED MY JABBER-BABY-WOCKY?!” she demanded loudly. I noticed as Rosalind’s eyes widened in horror. “Not yet,” Stayne chided. “But she will if we do not stop her.” “Find Alice, Stayne!” Mum barked. “FIND HER!” Stayne then marched from the throne room, a handful of red knights in tow. Unable to stand the silence that hung over the throne room, sliding my hands down my skirts, I said: “Well, that certainly was interesting.” “Whoever this Alice chick is, she’s going to feel my wrath,” snarked Rosalind. Alice had made her first appearance two years before she was born. “We shall leave the spiting to Stayne, ladies,” Mum said calmly. She slid from her throne. She reached a pale hand into the hidden pocket that was sewn into the side of her skirt and withdrew her sun spectacles. Placing them on the bridge of her nose, she turned to us. “But for now, let us play a few strokes.” Mum strode gracefully from the throne room, her scepter in hand. I was behind her, hands rested at my sides, eyes front. Behind me, Rosalind marched along, her nose in the air. It had been apparent since she had been old enough to speak that she had inherited Mum’s bitey attitude. Rosalind practically doted on her ability to imitate Mum at whatever it was she doing. As we made our way through the castle, we were joined by the majority of the courtiers. Soon the bunch of us were exiting through the side corridor and out pouring out into the courtyard. Within but a few minutes, me, Rosalind and Mum were lined abreast in the very center of the courtyard. I waited patiently as both Mum and Rosalind received their flamingo playing sticks. When I received my stick, I did as Mum had taught me a long time ago, and took the bird by the neck. Skillfully I knocked the bird upside the head with the side of my foot, stunning the thing. The flamingo then assumed its stiff pose, ideal for croquet playing. “Ready?” Mum asked us. “Ready Mum!” Rosalind said happily. “Ready,” I whispered deeply. The newly hired Page, a white rabbit named McTwisp lay a hedgehog ball before Mum. He then hopped off and stood beside me. Mum licked her lips curiously as she drew her bird back, and let fly. The small furry ball hurled across the courtyard and plunged into some hedges. A round of applause rose from the courtiers. “Splendid shot,” remarked Lord Burgle, the big-bellied lord. Mum beamed at the court as they continued to clap. “Where’s my ball?” Mum asked. “Page!” she called. McTwisp hopped back into the playing field. “Yes, Your Majesty.” With that he disappeared off into the rose bushes. My mind was far off from our little croquet game. It was off somewhere beyond the walls of Salazen Grum, roaming the Tulgey Wood, prancing about the vast flower fields of Witzend, even playing a magickal game of chess in Chesster. Mum was one to keep us within the castle walls as much as she possibly could. Rosalind and I both owned beautiful horses, yet we weren’t allowed to take them out to ride them. If we wanted to ride, we were confined to the training ring out back the stables. Even when Mum went out on processions she left us at home, normally under the watch of Dahlia, and completely bored out of our minds. Mum never knew just how much Rosalind and I craved adventure. Growing impatient with the Page for taking too long, Mum huffed deeply and marched off after him. Rosalind and I looked at one another, nodded, and trotted off after her. Why, in the mass of rose bushes, towered the tallest girl I had ever seen. Standing at least fifteen feet tall, with long, golden hair, the girl’s expression bore down on us, giving me an uneasy feeling. It was clear by what little skin the bushes did cover, that she was stark naked. I immediately took hold of Rosalind and covered her eyes. “What did you do that for!? I wanna see what’s going on!” Rosalind stamped her foot and pouted. I opened my mouth to shush her but was cut off by Mum’s voice. “And what is this?” Mum asked curiously. Rosalind began to wriggle in my grasp. McTwisp began to tremble. “It’s a Who, Majesty, Um….” Mum’s thin eyebrows quirked. “Um?” she inquired. Rosalind shot me a look that said really? Deciding I wasn’t up for a fight, I released her. “From Umbridge,” said the large girl. “What happened to your clothing?” Mum asked. Rosalind sniggered. The girl licked her lips. “Why, I’ve outgrown them. I’ve been growing quite a lot lately. I tower over everyone in Umbridge. So, I’ve come to you, hoping you may know what it’s like.” Mum’s bright brown eyes lit up, much like they did whenever she sprouted a new idea. “My dear girl, anyone with a head that large, is welcome in my court.” She turned to us. “Oh, do cloth this unfortunate soul!” Mum instructed the court. “Use the curtains, if you must, but, do cloth this enormous girl.” Rosalind frowned instantly.

#fanfiction #go ask alice #two angry princesses #princess emberess #lady dahlia #princess rosalind #Anubis the dormouse #red queen #iracebethofcrims #knave of hearts #ilosovic stayne #white rabbit #givens mctwisp #lord burgle #alice kingsleigh #the alice #um from umbridge #alice in wonderland

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goose-books · 3 years

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& while i am posting things today. some more maxwriting, specifically two mini-fanfictions for yves. @yvesdot ’s WIP the one and only universe of kay rainier (would recommend! arguments to lovers! he/him wlw! interdimensional (?) shenanigans!) one of which also features an OC i've mentioned a few times on this blog but done historically very little with.

it’s occurred to me in my moment of posting that neither of these pieces have titles. oh well.

THE FIRST ONE

you ought to send yves. some bingo prompts. anyway, i sent them kay + daemons, and then immediately realized i had ideas and thoughts about that, too. so i wrote my own version. unlike theirs, this is vaguely set in the HDM universe, which is funny because i haven’t read HDM and learned everything i know from waya vivji, a single war and peace fanfiction, and also wikipedia just before i wrote it. the notable context here is that daemons are usually the “opposite sex” of their humans, and if i got that wrong do not tell me because i am embarrassed.

Kay is a precocious child; she is twelve years old when her daemon settles. Chesire is a sleek dark mahogany, a ferruginous hawk with a wickedly curved beak and eyes that glitter like beads. He is also male. This, for the Rainiers, is not done; even the absent Ariel, despite his eccentricities, had a properly gendered daemon. It unsettles Kay in a way she will not place for many years; still, as soon as she registers her disappointment (for it must be disappointment, surely; nothing more), she’s awash in guilt.

“How lovely,” she tells him, stroking his glossy new feathers, keeping her voice low less to keep out her father and more because it is only polite. Cheshire bobs his head and flutters his wings and seems, very slightly, to preen. He must be able to sense her uncertainty, the subdued flatness to her voice, but he is a Rainier as well; the polite thing is to ignore it, and he does.

“How curious,” Father says, stroking Fauntleroy’s velvet ears.

“Not unheard of,” the dormouse says from her seat in his breast pocket. Constantine inclines his head slightly; he does not deign to offer more.

When the Neighborly enters the house the jackal stalks at his heel, ears pricked at attention, wet black nose gleaming, mouth crooked open in a canine grin. With it comes a distinct smell — not unpleasant so much as it is unbalancing, an earthy scent, filling the foyer as its claws click on the floor. Like his clothes, it is black, head to toe. They aren’t usually. Kay wonders if it’s coincidence, if perhaps he dyes its fur so it will match.

She thinks of it as such — it — because to be frank she is not sure what to make of Atlas, and what to assume about his daemon. During the customary introductions, Cheshire perches atop Kay’s shoulder, and Fauntleroy emerges from her pocket to whisk up to Father’s collar and cling to the fabric to study the Neighborly. He can’t stay quite still. His hands twitch at his sides. He shifts his weight. The jackal paces maddening circles around the room, eyeing the dark walls and the fine wooden furniture, too dignified to lower its head and sniff but not too good to cast judgment without speaking. Every time it passes Kay in its slow inexorable orbit, Cheshire’s claws tighten on her coat.

“It’s a pleasure, Atlas,” Constantine says stiffly, extending a hand to shake with an expression that suggests he’d rather have it removed.

Atlas shakes, grinning easily, a looseness to his motions, and then he tilts his head and says, “Anubis.” In a moment the jackal’s at his side, curling around the backs of his legs to turn its wet smile on Kay’s father. It’s too large; that’s what she decides. How does he take it anywhere? Why hasn’t it learned to behave? Unless this is his goal: to part rooms, to announce his presence as soon as he steps through the threshold.

“Anubis,” she says, the first time she and Atlas are alone. “Like the god?” Atlas and Anubis; it is the sort of half-joke she can appreciate.

Anubis looks up at its name. Atlas looks at it. “I don’t know,” he says. “It was my sister’s idea.” He looks to Cheshire, who has settled near Kay’s inkwell to reorganize her pens. “And this is…”

“Cheshire.”

“Cheshire,” Atlas repeats, piercing glinting as his eyebrow quirks.

“When I was younger, I thought he would be a cat.”

“I thought she’d be a crow. Probably better this way. Crows are poser birds.” Anubis snorts at that, a sound both doggish and human.

“She is… she, then,” Kay says carefully.

“Oh, yeah. Apparently that’s weird.” Atlas leans back in Kay’s chair until the front legs leave the ground.

“Is it,” Kay says.

Atlas’s eyes flit around her face, like he knows what she’s asking; his smirk doesn’t lessen. “Well, women have male daemons, right? Ask Cheshire.”

Kay and Cheshire look at each other. Cheshire fluffs his feathers and says, “This is dull.”

Kay is less certain. She does not smile at Atlas, but some of the edge has smoothed from her voice. “I should like to watch you explain it to my father.”

“If he could take it,” Atlas says. “What’s the mouse’s fucking name again?”

Cheshire steps back and forth, feathers ruffling, until Kay sets a hand out to still him, gentle, comforting. “Fauntleroy.”

“Christ,” Atlas says. “Bless you.” When he catches Kay stiffening, he relents a little, letting the chair clatter back to the floor. “Fits the vibe, I guess.”

“As yours fits you,” says Kay, making it as uncomplimentary as she can.

“Guess my soul’s black,” Atlas says cheerily. He balls up a piece of paper and tosses it to Anubis, who, flopped across the floor, doesn’t move. “Not the weirdest thing about us.”

“Well,” Kay says, “I think it would be rather unfair for me to talk about oddities,” and she takes a small victory in the look they share: not friendship, not fondness, but something like an understanding, reached in the quiet moment before Cheshire hands her another pen and she resumes her work.

THE SECOND ONE

this one’s a bit older but i never posted it until now, at yves.’s urging! i think i was doing... camp nano last year? or something. and couldn’t think of what to write. or maybe i couldn’t focus on my project because i was thinking about my other project, the butch4butch hamlet retelling i still haven’t written. to which yves. said, “write kay x your lesbian hamlet character,” to which i said, “you don’t think i will, but i will,” and i did. so really this is yvesmax crossover fic.

It is annoying, Holden’s habit of dropping by whenever she likes. This can probably be attributed to the fact that Holden, herself, is annoying. Kay can only adjust the items on her desk (pens, mainly) so many times; she is caught up in an aggravating state of waiting but also not waiting, and she does not care for that.

Just as she thinks so, there’s a knock at the front door.

Holden doesn’t ring the doorbell anymore. She did that the first time and Kay came down the stairs a few seconds too late to find Father staring at the creature in his front hall, looking like he didn’t know whether he should be put out or concerned. “I think the earrings got him,” Holden said later, on Kay’s bed, tapping the crosses hanging inverted from her ears. Kay’s opinion was that it was all of her, from the messy post-buzz hair to the propensity for suits to the Doc Martens to the way Holden leans on any available surface.

She opens the door and Holden is leaning against the doorframe. Which looks a little more awkward coupled with whatever she’s carrying under her arm.

“Hi,” she says.

Kay blinks slowly.

“It is late,” she says, spinning on her heel and heading for the stairs. Behind her, she hears the quiet click of Holden closing the door. The grandfather clock in the front hall is ticking toward eleven.

“I never get over how weird this place is.” When she glances back, Holden is peering into the nearest glass cabinet. “Like a little dollhouse.”

“Thank you,” Kay says stiffly. She cannot decide whether she is irritable.

“And this is coming from someone whose parents were devoted to taxidermy.” Holden follows her up the stairs, hands shoved into the pockets of her suit jacket, looking entirely too comfortable here, and Kay decides that she is irritable after all.

“I do not know what you suppose your business is here,” she says. “Especially as it is almost an hour past ten.”

Holden shrugs.

“Do not shrug at me.”

Holden opens her mouth as if to speak, then casts a glance behind her. There’s no one in the darkened hallway; Father is in his office. Still, Holden waits for Kay to shut her bedroom door.

“I know I’m late,” she says, slouching back against it. “Sorry. I lost track of time in the bookstore.”

Kay blinks. “You are late to see me because you went to the bookstore,” she intones.

She says nothing as Holden withdraws the books from under her arm and extends them. “I really wanted to find Carmilla for you,” she says. “Like, the oldest print version I could find.”

It certainly looks old. Kay purses her lips. “I own Carmilla.”

“I know. But, like… it’s vintage.” Holden attempts one-handed jazz hands. “I have a sentence in my notes app from six months ago that just says carmilla but like the old edition.” She shuffles the stack of books. “And then I sat down for — look, I swear I was trying to be timely about it. Trying to be punctual.” She pops the P. “But time isn’t real and I read two chapters of Pride and Prejudice and I don’t know if you own that but it feels like the kind of thing you’d find sexy.” Her smile glitters. “And then — I know The Catcher in the Rye isn’t your thing. But I wrote in this one, so.”

Kay reaches out, very carefully, to take the books. She does own Pride and Prejudice, actually, but she still feels a pang. She flips through The Catcher in the Rye and is met with scrawls of black-ink handwriting, filling up the margins and underlining passages.

“Thank you,” she says, very softly, and moves to set the books on her desk. “You didn’t have to… get me anything.”

“I like knowing that my parents’ money is fueling homosexual agendas,” Holden says pleasantly. When Kay turns around, Holden catches her hand and steps in closer, showing her teeth in a smile. “But I’ll try to be on time from now on.”

“As you should,” Kay says, pulling Holden a few inches closer.

Holden raises a hand to caress Kay’s cheek. “That said,” she says in a low voice, “now that I’ve — what did you say. Now that I’ve fulfilled my business here, I can think of a few things we could do. Unless it’s too late.”

Against her will, Kay smiles.

“I suppose we can extend your stay a little longer,” she says, and their lips meet.

#max.txt #max actually writes #yves tag #love h tag #holden hemlock #apparently i only write kaypov. i'll admit atlas's pov intimidates me a little bit.#but i do maintain my choice of holden/kay versus holden/atlas because holden and atlas are like... the same. doubles #well not really doubles but like... i think the furthest they would get would be holden asking atlas to swap clothing items.#in a nonsexual very literal way.#anyway! enjoy.

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