Fx M or F Curiouser and Curiouser

[brenda brunette]

Remember Alice — the curious girl who once followed a rabbit down a hole into Wonderland? The same girl who stepped through the Looking Glass into a world where logic was bent and reality twisted? She did a great deal of growing up in those days (and, of course, some growing down), but now she's no longer a child. She's become a remarkable young woman of nineteen.

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What new adventures await her? Will she find herself in modern times, navigating a world far removed from the one she once knew? Or does she remain the Alice of long ago — still firmly rooted in the 1870's? One thing is certain: her curiosity is as strong as ever, and her sense of justice remains unshaken.

Who will you play? Where will our adventures lead us?

I welcome any dedicated writer, regardless of real-life gender. Perfection isn't my expectation — nor should it be yours. What matters most is that we create something engaging, with enough substance to build upon. Length isn't a concern, as long as you provide something meaningful to work with.

I prefer playing in PMs and typically write three to four paragraphs per response — sometimes two, depending on the flow. I aim to reply daily, though lately, my responses have been a bit slower, sometimes taking up to four days. If I need to take longer, I'll let you know, and I ask that you please do the same.

I -- and Alice -- will be awaiting your response.

 

[brenda brunette]

Here is a starter we could use:

Alice had attended many a tea party, of course — some most peculiar — but this was her very first as hostess, a role that seemed infinitely more important than mere guesthood. She was all of nineteen, which was a particularly grown-up age, though not quite as grown-up as forty-nine, and yet significantly more grown-up than nine.

She had no husband, nor any particular inclination to acquire one, though society seemed to think she ought. She lived in a cottage — a modest one, which was an agreeable sort of modesty, neither too boastful nor too apologetic — provided by her father, who was comfortably placed between wealth and want. Suitors had come and gone, with some making hopeful noises, but none had stayed long enough to become anything more than an interesting footnote in Alice's life. She did not mind in the least.

"Why ever should I marry?" she pondered aloud, though no one but the teapot was listening. "I have been Alice quite successfully on my own, and see no reason to become anyone else."

Her guests were due any moment, and the thought of seeing them, of serving them tea in her home, filled her with delight. She set out a tray of cakes — little ones, just the right size for nibbling — when something curious caught her eye. The lid of the teapot was off, which was not terribly unusual, but the glimmer inside was. Something winked at her from within.

Alice leaned closer. It winked again. She leaned closer still. And then — oh dear — she tumbled headlong into the teapot with a most unladylike splash.

"Oh bother and befuddlement," she thought. "It's happening again!"

It had been eleven and a half years, precisely, since she had last grown small (or large, for that matter), and while she could not say she had missed it, she certainly had not expected it to return like an overdue letter.

Looking up, she spied the round hole through which she had fallen, now impossibly far above. The teapot itself was rather roomier than teapots ought to be, filled not with porcelain walls but a vast, rippling ocean of tea.

Alice took stock of her predicament. She was small. Very small. Perhaps small enough to fit in a sugar bowl.

"Well," she reasoned, "if I am to be swimming again, at least I have chosen tea over tears."

And so she swam, and swam, until the tea became something else entirely — a great expanse of salt water, endless and briny, under a sky painted with clouds as fluffy as well-whipped cream. To her right, a ship loomed — a rather ship-like ship, although it had misplaced its funnels in a most careless fashion.

Alice waved. "Ahoy!" she called, her voice carrying across the waves.

She did hope the ship would stop for her. It would be dreadfully inconvenient if it did not.

And, of course, what a tale she would have to tell when she got back to her tea party.