How not to dance with an Alice

There was nothing quite so depressing, so heart-wrenching, so unutterably soul shattering as finding out that not only had the last scone been eaten, but you had not been the one to consume it.  Reginald L. Theophilus the third, otherwise more commonly known as the Mad Hatter, tried to explain this to his friend the March Hare in a concise, logical fashion.  However, it ended up coming out more like the plaintive wail of a young girl, with the background noise of some unintelligible babbling that may have resembled some kind of language, but certainly not one the Hare knew.


Soon enough, however, the Hatter was distracted by how his reflection looked in the back of his silver tea spoon, and the matter was forgotten entirely.  Once Reginald had tired of watching his distorted reflection, he began on a new tangent, one which was becoming an increasingly common thread of conversation with the sans-sanity Hatter.


“I mean honestly, nothing I try works!  How is it that Alice can be immune to my charms, when I am so enthralled by hers!”  the Hatter said, gesturing dramatically as he paced up and down the tea table, stopping every once in a while to sip at his tea, or to stare vacantly when he forgot what he was doing.  “Friend Hare, what was I saying, again?”


“Alice, and how you are so smitten with her.”


“Yes!  Look at me, I am sick with love!”


“I think they make shots for that now,” the Hare said calmly, spooning some sugar into his tea cup.  “Or they should, they have shots for everything nowadays.  Really, Reg, this whole this has gotten ridiculous, even for you.  Can’t you just admit defeat?”


“Never!” Reg said, jumping up to stand on the tea table, striking a pose and saying (in a very fake Scottish accent):  “You can take my life, but you can never take my love!  Or my TEA!  Or my love of tea!  Or my tea of love—wait, I think I’ve veered off subject.  Alice!  Now, what can be done about that vexing little cricket?”


It really was no use.  Reginald was surprisingly persistent in his pursuit of Alice, despite usually having the attention span of a goldfish with ADD.  “Have you considered something that, I don’t know, would actually be considered romantic, instead of just stalking her and doing all manner of insane antics?”


“Not really, no.  Why, do you think I should?”


The March Hare refrained from slapping his hand to his forehead and sighing deeply, but it was a near thing.  “It might be advisable, if you plan to continue.  You know, flowers, romantic dinners, dancing, all that sort of romantic nonsense the princesses twitter on about.”


Reginald went very still after that, and Hare started to worry a little bit.  His friend was concentrating, his eyes nearly crossing at his intensity.  Well, either that or he was having some kind of weird fit, but it was hard to tell the difference when it came to the Reg.


Just about when Hare wondered if his friend was permanently stuck in his peculiar state (well, at least he could always be put out in the garden as a very tall gnome) Reginald suddenly began doing a strange sort of jig, looking terribly pleased with himself.


“Friend Hare, you are a genius!”


“Yes, I know,” Hare answered easily, though he became almost immediately suspicious.  “Wait, why am I a genius?”


“Dancing!”  Reg answered, before pelting off who knew where like the hound of hell was after him.  Which the Hare rather doubted, as he knew Hades kept Cerberus on a very short leash (no pun intended).  At any rate, he got no elaboration on that one word, but even so, Hare began wondering how long it would take before a pretty blonde woman named Alice would be coming around to list all the reasons why Hatter was a cad, a loony, and a complete and utter failure as a man.


He gave it an hour, tops.


~*~*~*~*~*~


Things were going perfectly!  There was no way Alice could resist this time; he had everything planned down to a T.  Mmm, tea, he could use a cup of—no, Captain Picard, keep to the subject at hand.


And yes, the Hatter often referred to himself in his mind as Captain Picard.  Doesn't everyone?


Yes, everything was going according to plan.  The music was picked out and waiting to be played on the stereo he’d “borrowed” from someone or other and never returned.  And now he was stringing white Christmas lights and Chinese lanterns in the trees around Alice’s house, to complete the ambient atmosphere.  He just had to make sure to finish before she returned from work.  And considering that things were now not going according to plan, and that he was hanging upside down with his foot wrapped in a strand of Christmas lights, might make being on time a bit difficult.


Thankfully, Ariel happened to wander by, on her way to visit Alice and Belle in their shop.  The former mermaid didn’t seem terribly surprised to find Reg, given that practically everyone knew about his infatuation with Alice.  The position she found him in, however, was a little puzzling (it was also puzzling how his hat was still on, but she decided the first bit was more important).


“Hatter, what are you doing?”


“Oh, you know, just hanging around,” he said, gesturing in a way that made him swing about like a piñata.  He quickly ceased the motion.  “Don’t suppose you could give me a hand?  All the blood seems to have rushed to my head, and while it’s a fascinating experience and lets me see all manner of pretty spots in front of my eyes, I don’t think it’s quite healthy.”


Feeling rather sorry for him, Ariel soon had Reg back on his feet, and the unhealthy red flush faded from his face.  She bid the Hatter goodbye after that, deciding to wait until tomorrow to seek out Belle and Alice, so she could hear the story of what would no doubt be quite the spectacle involving the Hatter.


And oh, what a spectacle it was, as Alice herself found out as she came home from the bookshop.  She stopped short in the gathering twilight, as she took in the scene before her, with her front yard all aglow.  It actually looked very pretty.  As she stood there, she heard music began to play in the background.  A voice began singing:


“The best things happen while you’re dancing

Things you would not do at home come naturally on the floor

For dancing soon becomes romancing

When you hold a girl in your arms that you've never held before”


Just as Alice was really starting to wonder just what was going on, she felt herself being turned around, as an arm came to circle around her waist.  She felt utterly shocked and surprised, and it showed as she came face to face with the Hatter, who was grinning brightly.  Before Alice quite knew what was going on, they were dancing.


And why shouldn’t she dance, really?  All the princesses got to do it.  There was always a big dance number in their stories, complete with romantic overture.  She’d always felt a little left out that she never had one.  So for just a moment, she decided to forget how much she was supposed to dislike Reginald, who turned out to be a remarkably good dancer.  Their faces kept getting closer and closer during the dance, as the one song ended and another began (some tune called ‘Our Love is Here to Stay’), and for another of those moment, Alice wondered if perhaps she hadn’t really been giving the Hatter a chance.  Their faces got even closer, and Alice’s eyes began to close, as she wondered if something was about to occur.


Something did occur.  Reginald went and tripped over those gigantic shoes of his (how did he expect to dance in those, anyway?  For that matter, how did he walk in them?) and they tumbled to the grass, the atmosphere broken like a shattered tea cup.  Actually, Reg tumbled to the grass.  Alice found herself in a mud puddle, and when she got to her feet that she was filthy.  There was even mud in her hair.  She was so upset she almost didn’t hear the sound, but somehow it made it past to echo in her ears.


A laugh.


She turned to Reginald, who had a hand over his mouth, trying to keep himself from laughing further, but it was no use.  He ended up bent double, nearly in tears as he chortled and snickered and snorted and all other manner of noises.  When he noticed how Alice was glaring daggers at him, he tried to compose himself, but it was useless.


“Alice, I—,” he started, still giggling, but Alice was having none of it.  


“You—you—ooo, I cannot even think of a word bad enough for what you are!”  she told him.  “You foul, odious, repellant creature!”


“You seem to finding words just fine,” the Hatter pointed out.  He knew he’d said the wrong thing when he found himself pushed down to land in the same mud puddle which had sullied Alice’s attire.  


The object of his affections turned, and without another word began stalking towards her front door.  Reginald struggled to his feet, calling after her:  “Alice!  Oh, do come on, Cricket, don’t be like that!  Alice!  Alice, sweetie pumpkin apple strudel, don’t be angry!  What about the music, and the lights, and, and—well, everything!  Doesn’t that count for anything?”


All he got for an answer was the slam of Alice’s front door, as she left him alone with the sad remnants of the evening.  Undeterred, Reginald stood tall and marched off, stopping only long enough to grab the stereo.  You never knew when it might come in handy again.  


It was not to say he wasn’t disappointed, he was.  But he considered this another lesson in his path towards his ultimate goal, namely Alice’s undying love.  Or at the very least to be able to pass the time of day with her without Alice running off in the opposite direction as soon as she spotted him.  But yes, ultimately, the undying love.  


One thing was for certain: next time, make sure there were no mud puddles.