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    welcome to across the chessboard! we're an alice in wonderland based site with an original plot and slight modern dystopian twist and canon characters from alice's adventures in wonderland and through the looking glass and what alice found there, both by lewis carroll. for a longer summary, please visit our information center here. if you have any questions, feel free to give an admin a shout in the cbox (it's to your left- just click the chatter button and it should pop open). again, welcome, and we hope you join us!

    it is currently summer 2015 in london.
    it is currently summer-ish in wonderland.

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    Wonderland wasn't always this way. There was a time when it mirrored medieval England, albeit with a few magical elements: a few quirks and eccentricities that made it truly unique. While all feared the Queen's mercurial temper and the fine blade of her Guillotine, all was well, until a little girl named Alice Liddell disturbed the status quo and sparked a revolution. The kingdom began to fall into decay as the taint of the modern world invaded. History is beginning to repeat itself and no one is happy. As the Queen of Hearts tangles in a battle of wits and riddles with the Cheshire Cat, the rest are starting to wonder ... is it true that the White Rabbit is bringing humans to Wonderland when they themselves are banned from going to London?

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 Mud Baths, Terrence
olivia nightspurre
 Posted: Sep 28 2015, 01:33 PM
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Sometimes the sound of a thousand whispering words can confuse, but when you´re sleeping... They shift and slide together. Bring meaning to the canyon's cry. So I - I keep on dreaming, I live to dream again...
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olivia nightspurre


Olivia's stomach felt as if it was weighed down by rocks. She missed the wonderland before. Not in the sense of longing for what was lost. But how she had missed to opportunity to see it. Framed inside of the garden with her sisters did not allow much exploration. When things started to change… when she changed Olivia never looked back. She wished she knew wonderland in its Renaissance age. She wished to know it in its glory and whimsy. Had she left earlier from the flowerbed, or born with feet or feathers instead of roots, perhaps she would have.

Olivia is lost in her own thought as she looked up towards the branches of the leaves while they walked toward a village. She could hear Terrance talk of course but it soon became ambience and another background object to her own thoughts. How would she write about this? Terrance’s song was well preformed, had means to an end, but why lay behind the ballad?

It took almost too long before she noticed that Terrance's voice had become shaky. As if he was about to start crying. Once she did notice, Olivia stopped firm in order to gauge if Terry was going to become a puddle of useless tears on the side of the road, or if he could carry on.

From what Olivia could see Terrance had his fingers wrapped so tightly around his scarf it almost looks like he was trying to strangle the sad thought out of his life. Olivia watched Terrance’s hands a she finds herself in a vivid fantasy of Terry using the scarf to strangle a dark figure of depression as his way of trying to hold back tears.

For a couple of beats Olivia stood firm on the side of the road. She let the grip on her bag loosen as she thinks about reaching out to touch Terrance. To offer some sort of condolence or comfort. Her hand comes off her bag but she can’t find the energy, or the strength, to reach out her hand to help Terrance. She was wrong to think the song was beautiful. Wrong to think that the most depressing creature in Wonderland could produce something happy for a change.

“Terrance.” Olivia said softly, it is foreign to hear her own voice so soft, almost shy. Olivia took a deep breath as she tried to reset herself as firm, as self-assured. “You should never have to be sorry. Not for anything you do.” Olivia tried to remain firm as she spoke. Tried not only to convince Terrance that was the truth, but herself also.

As Olivia readjusted her bag once more and carried on the trail. Fifteen minutes it not too long she thought. If she stopped trying to put her foot in her mouth then it would all work out in her favor. It’s quiet for a bit longer between them. Olivia had become increasingly unsure of what to say that might set Terrance off. She tried to think of light subjects, hopefully too keep Terry from curling into himself on the side of the road.

Nothing lasts forever. Some things aren't meant to be., But you'll never find the answers, Til you set your old heart free.

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terrence chelony
 Posted: Oct 11 2015, 12:57 PM
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........Sometimes........ he thought sadly to himself, "Why?" and sometimes he thought, "Wherefore?" and sometimes he thought, "Inasmuch as which?" and sometimes he didn't quite know what he was thinking about.
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terrence chelony


Terrence shook his head, but slowly relaxed, slacking his death-grip on the fabric of his scarf. It wasn't so odd to think, the way Olivia did, that he would use it to strangle his depression. After all, it was his security blanket of sorts and it was tied to his happiest memory. If any one object could help him fight those thoughts, it was the scarf. It was a reminder of London. Of being human. Of a happy afternoon spent with Pierre singing and laughing. In spite of it's depressing color, it was the happiest thing Terry owned, and he clung to it tightest when he was sad.

"I don't have to apologize for anything, and yet I constantly find myself saying 'I'm sorry'." He said weakly "I shouldn't have snapped at you like that. I know you weren't trying to imply anything or offend...."

He wiped his eyes a final time and took a deep, shaky breath to relax himself a bit more. "Thank you." he said "For liking my songs, even if you didn't know what it meant. I've been told I can't take a compliment. "

They continued walking together in comparative silence, spotting the edges of the nearest town within 20 minutes. Terry was both relieved and disappointed. It meant that Olivia could go off on her own way and find herself a pair of shoes, but it also meant he would be left alone again. He wasn't sure if that was a good thing or not, but he tried not to let on that fact to his companion. His loneliness wasn't something she needed to be worried about when she was covered in mud and missing shoes.

"Are you off, then?" He asked "I'm sure you could find your way from here, if you wanted. I can leave you to it. I'm sure you're sick of having someone like me follow you around." He said it quite blandly, in his usual way, already knowing the truth of his statement without having to ask. No one wanted him around. He was sure Pierre only tolerated him out of some mental issue of his own. No sane person would want to spend their day with an old, stuffy, depressing, mock turtle.

He wrapped his hands in his scarf again as he waited for her reply, eyes down on a patch of dirt a few feet ahead.

Gardens are not made by singing 'Oh, how beautiful,' and sitting in the shade.
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