2022-04-24 - Twas brillig, and the slithy toves

It's on the tip of Ariadne's tongue to agree immediately with the poor beleaguered head of royalty, but then words die on her tongue because...

...is she wearing tights? No. Breeches? Breeches. Tucked into cavalry boots which hug her legs to her knee. Blinking down at her feet, the barista then plucks at what counts for a shirt...dress...tunic? It reaches nearly down to her mid-thigh and almost seems part modern romper for how it's all one piece of fabric but for the ability to move more easily. Belted at her waist is a...short...sword? Binding at her chest and her hair is in a braid down her back, but what's on her head?

Oh, it's a hat. A...Tudor...flat cap-ish thing with a...long...ostrich plume sticking out the back of it. Ariadne stares at nothing over the king's shoulder.

"Success, right," she more woodenly repeats, bringing a smile to her face. All the while, in her head: fuck you, Veil, fuck you, I was napping, how dare you, why why why do I have breeches on, HOW VERY DARE I'm not going to say I like the feathered hat BECAUSE I DON'T. Spoiler alert: she kind of does, but like she'd give the Veil that satisfaction.

Della's staring. Goggling, really. It's probably not very in character -- unless it is? after all, she doesn't know what character she's supposed to be, yet, because she hasn't been looking at herself. But for once, for once she has a small inkling of a clue that this may not be one of her normal dreams. In fact...

There's that king dude. The maybe-dragon who at least hasn't started talking, yet. The pretty hat. Now Della's staring at the hat and patting her own head and... no. No hat, though she does have a hood, and no hat means no feathers. She peers at what she can of herself, reaches for her phone and... no phone. But she is wearing black, not a nice pretty dramatic black but the sort of shadowy dimness where one piece is brownish-black and one is purplish-black and not really like they're meant to be that way, either. She's also extra short, and when she touches her forehead, it's all pebbly right out of Star Trek, and where is her sword? No sword. Just a longish knife (that she's found so far, though she has an inkling there might be more) and loops of some sort of cording hanging off her belt and, under her breath, "Please tell me that's the Lasso of Truth."

Her voice is not her own. It's heavy on the whispers and a whole lot of vocal fry.

You know, eventually? Eventually Ava is just going to stop going to sleep. That should fix things.

"Of course Your Majesty." The voice is like velvet as the regal, hooded woman dips her head. Outwardly it's all respect, inwardly, she sighs as the dip in her head allows her a moment to look over herself. At least this time she's more clothed than when she was a druid. Probably not the healer this time if her attire is any indication. Mostly black, trimmed with golds and accented in crimson. The neck is shaped like a spade, with the wide swooping part exposing a good portion of the bust, before narrowing to a point again near the navel. The dress extends to the floor in a dramatic pool and it topped with a cloak with studded shoulders and a split back. Elbow length gloves allow for a white owl to harmlessly perch upon one arm without the claws damaging tender forearms.

There appears to be no place for weapons, with the only thing that could pass for one being the large staff gripped in one hand. It looks a touch delicate in nature at the top, however. Probably not meant to be used to hit someone. Maybe as a cattle prod?

Della's still riding the high of that first Dream where she (thinks she) knows what's going on from dot, as well as a Dream where nobody's menacing her with anything more than cardboard yet. She can't seem to resist one more look up and around, one more look at... that beast. That beast. The beast who winks.

So she waves back. Unless it's to the king? Maybe it could be construed that way, but it's not as though she's trying: just that wave and then she's off and, with an eye to the others, eager to get to the next scene. She doesn't quite skip.

In part because her stride is definitely not her normal stride. It's silent or nearly so, for one. More balanced, more poised, more ready than her distracted thoughts. There's also a heretofore unnoticed cape that (also silently) swishes.

That's more like it.

Ariadne is, admittedly, still lost enough that when the king decrees and the mounted creature-head winks, her expression is a nose-wrinkling of mostly-composed confusion.

Beamish. It's weird and it rings a bell.

A glance over at her companions, only just noticed, becomes a wide-eyed blink. Swishy cape. Owl. Alright, it's one of those Dreams. Immediately, she plucks at her not-quite-tunic-romper once more and considers her boots. And short-sword. And reaches to feel at the grandiose ostrich-plume. Assuming it's even an ostrich.

Swishy cape goes swish, ostrich-plume goes feather-swish...or whatever a feather does when one about-faces after a sharp salute. Does one salute a king around here? Oh well, doesn't matter, they're being herded by cardboard swords now. Ariadne eyes the weaponry. Does this mean cardboard cuts are a very real risk? She grimaces. Ugh. Cardboard cuts.

"So..." A lingering vowel to her companions in an under-breath as they walk. "What exactly are we killing in the forest?"

Did that dragon head just wink at her. What in the sweet hell? Okay. So probably not a nightmarish Dream, which doesn't necessarily mean that she can relax, but it does ease some of the tension in her shoulders.

Ava turns and moves one foot forward, trying to figure out exactly how one is supposed to move in a dress that just sort of puddles on the ground like this. "This cannot be conducive to woodland venturing," she murmurs to herself. But surprisingly the fabric seems to flow with her steps as if it appears to know how she's going to move. "Huh. Okay then." Well that works.

"The beast is as much as I got," offers the regal voice that's not entirely her own, but still kind of sounds like Ava if her voice were accented and far more haughty. "But to be fair, I was kind of busy staring at all this cleavage I've got going on and wondering how it's all staying put. Magic really is something special, huh?" The owl on her arm scoffs. "Don't give me that," she says to the bird. "I have to admit, this Dream is a weird one."

"The beast. Vague. Irritating and yet totally predictable," grumbles the owner of the be-feathered cap. It is a Dream, after all, predictable in its unpredictability. This corridor seems without its troubles. Nothing weird lurks in the shadows, no extra doors, sweet and simple. Sighing in a peevish vein, Ariadne takes to briskly walking towards the distant double-doors leading out to the courtyard. At least the lighting is good too; torches burn merrily in their scones.

Her mutter is mostly to herself. "Also, what the fuck is jubjub bird. Why -- why -- does that ring a bell."

One can see the stutter in her step and the surprise flicker across her face. Suddenly, it becomes highly necessary and almost ridiculously serendipitous that she'd had to memorize and recite a poem back in sixth grade.

"Holy shit. Bandersnatch. Brillig. T'was brillig and the slithy toves. Beware the jub-jub bird. That poem," she says, looking between her companions for confirmation.

"Time, killing thereof," Della says cheerfully. Her attention veers from familiar-looking Pretty Hat Girl to Dread Sorceress Lady, and her cleavage, and her owl, and her cleavage again, which gets more scrutiny followed by, "Tape? Magic tape." A double-check confirms that her own neckline is high enough to support the collar of the hooded cape without extra chafing or self-strangling, so there's that good fortune at least. Though D.S.L.'s brings to mind the question -- "That poem!" No, not that. Now that P.H.G.'s reminded her, "Gyre and gimbal in the wabe? wade? Something."

As, meanwhile, they're (still) in a castle. Please let there be a moat. Please let there be a moat.

"I have heard the word Bandersnatch before," Ava offers with a faint smirk. "But I can't say that I know the poem. You think it's a jub-jub bird that we're after, then?" Della is checking out her cleavage, so Ava has to look down again. Her boobs really have never looked this good before. She pokes around at them, trying to figure it out with the staff hand. "I don't feel any tape, it must be something about the dress. I'm really really sad that I don't have the power to take this dress home with me, because if I could, I would. Look at this?!" Such boob power!

"Sorry, I'm distracted. Shouldn't do that in a Dream. By my own cleavage, especially. Um, any idea what a wabe is?"

No moat. Poor Della. But at least there's boob power!

"That is amazing," the currently very short woman says, and although she's moved on to checking out the courtyard, "The way the hem floats, sort of, so you don't trip... How do you bring something like that back? Not you, you already said that; but how does someone?"

At least Della has a lot to look around at, and they're standing still to make the first scan easier. Blacksmiths are fascinating, especially if they have sparks! Laundry, not so much, though she does check it out just in case there are any more dresses like D.S.L.'s on the line. And animals, looking for owls, or birds with feathers as in the hat. But with them still standing there...

Attempting to catch the eye of the old woman, her excitement damped down, "What?" If only it weren't still her rough, whispery voice.

Glancing over, Ariadne's eyes meander to the area of the caster's décolletage per the conversational topic at hand. Brows lift beneath the shadow of her hat's minute brim. Indeed, some lift there.

"I have no idea what a wabe is, but..." She falls quiet at the reaction of the townsfolk scattered around the courtyard of the castle. "Uh." Another look between her companions. "I mean, that the old lady just crossed herself," -- a thumb over the barista's shoulder towards the old lady as she then keeps walking. " -- means we're up against something dangerous. Does the Jabberwock ring a bell? Whuffling through the tulgey woods and burbling as it came? Jaws of flame? Betcha we're after a Jabberwock."

Her gloved hand strays to the hilt of her sword. "It'd be nice if this were a Vorpal Sword, but no Dream makes things that easy. No way in hell. It just means I've got a sword, apparently some cheery reputation, and everyone's convinced that I've slayed a Jubjub bird. Or the Jubjub bird. Sweet." She grins like a fiend. "I'm a barrrrrrrrrd," comes the singsong and rather melodiously at that. "Fear me. On a more pragmatic note, do we need a mount or anything? Mounts. Ponies. A cart pulled by an ox. These boots will kill my feet after a while."

"Isn't that something from the Star Wars movies? You know, he kept the Princess in the cool bikini outfit. The giant alien guy." Definitely not the Jabberwock. Ava glances to the old lady Ariadne gestures to and Della is trying to speak with. Figuring she'll probably spook people, Ava doesn't attempt to make conversation with folks, however. "It's not one of my skills," is explained to Della. "But the folks who are gifts with things like telekinesis and accessing doors to The Veil? They can also bring things back from Dreams, and The Veil. Not that they work the same as they did while they were in there once we're home, though, obviously." Maybe not so obviously.

"Oh, mounts. Good question. Does everyone know how to ride?"

"Are you sure it's not that we're dangerous? That would be more fun," Della asides rather wistfully. "And yes. Alice in Wonderland. Unless it's the sequel? And could your arguably-not-vorpal sword have anything to do with, mmm, iocaine powder?"

But with Ava weighing in, her eyes get all bulgy, and she stifles a laugh so hard she, well, squeaks. Sorry, old lady. Sorry, question of riding. Sorry, even, what she'd actually asked about. Maybe it will sink in later.

"Eh-hah."

And that's all to slip from Ariadne at the misidentification of the Star Wars villain. Throat clearing. Composure regained. She's geek enough to get the reference, though feels it unkind to point it out. Maybe at a later time, when they aren't consumed with concerns about mounts and more importantly, surviving what appears to be a pitiful, doomed quest by how the folk around the courtyard are reacting.

Though Della has a point: "It'd be nice if we were dangerous, yes. Or maybe because I'm a Bard, I've convinced everyone that we're dangerous. It's entirely possible." The Jubjub feather in her hat flitters as she turns to then give Della a sharp grin. "I mean, I'm not about to go up against a Sicilian when death is on the line. A land war in Asia is just as unappealing. Who knows though? I might have built up a resistance to the powder."

One of the mounts tied up nearby bleats and draws her attention in another swish of hat-feather. Ariadne blinks. "Welllllllllllp. It's goats, people. We're riding goats." She doesn't seem overly dismayed or boggled in the end. "Dibs on the brown one with the cream-colored eyebrows." With that, she fearlessly leads the way through the gate with its raised portcullis and over to the animals. "I've got telekinesis," she adds back towards the others as she lets the oversized goat-mount whiffle at her fingers. Must learn scent. "We'll see how useful it is. I can move little things in honor of the saying about pebbles and avalanches."

"How are you a bard?" inquires a sort of put back together Della, not to contradict but to figure it out. "I mean, you have the attitude, but -- do you have a harmonica in your hat? Or," but she manages not to laugh, this time.

In fact, after a second look, she declares with the utmost seriousness, "You could be a paladin." And waits, to see if those are fighting words.

Waits verbally, at least; it doesn't slow her down from eyeing the various goat-creatures, pulling back her cape so it doesn't get chewed upon as quickly. There's the black one left, but... Della sighs, glances back at Ava, and settles for the grey with appaloosa-style speckles who at least seems... sort of calm. If only her mount didn't slobber on her fingers; Della wipes them on the saddle blanket, making a face. Note that she doesn't actually try to mount yet. 'Only a boy named David, only a little sling,' she hums under her breath to her goat.

There's a look to the donkeys and then to her dress. Then back to the donkeys. "I guess I'm taking this side saddle?" This is going to be uncomfortable." The dress is lovely, but unwieldy when it comes to mounts. Can't win 'em all. "Also, I'm going to take the fact that you two are snickering at me like little brats to mean that I got the wrong Star Wars. Or Star thing. Was it a Trek character? I don't know there are so many star things!"

She wobbles her arm in the air, the owl moving off to land on the donkey's head with an annoyed look. "Clearly I am a wizard, or warlock. Fire magic, obviously." She glances at Della's small form as she tries to gracefully pull herself onto the donkey. "Della, are you good at biting ankles? Or?"

Ariadne's goat, if disinclined to be a mount, is at least comforted enough by the unobtrusive greeting by the barista (and the sugar cube in pocket, always be prepared, how was that there, convenience WHATEVER, don't look a gift hor -- gift goat in the mouth) to let her fuss with the saddle. Della earns herself a dry smirk and squint. "Paladin? Excuse you." Apparently, if not fighting words, sass-inducing words. "I'm easily too opportunistic for that. Pfft. Also."

Reaching into a pocket of her tunic-romper, Ariadne pulls out...a kazoo. "Bard," she reiterates. Dear god. Not the most dreaded Bardic instrument in any and all realities.

Dread Kazoo goes away into pocket again.

"Star Wars," she then replies to Ava with her disgruntled avian cohort. Sporting a grin, the barista also notes, "But given I've still got an inch on you even if you're sporting heels, please, it's 'tall brat'." Her own cavalry boots have lifted heels, though to a more vaguely fashionable and far more functional block-heel sense. Up into the goat-mount's saddle and the creature bleats LIKE IT'S DYING OH MY GOD TORTURING ME -- "You're being dramatic, stop." Reaching, she patpats the goat-mount's head and the bleating stops. Simple creatures, these things.

"Alrighty! Intrepid companions! I wish I could remember Aragorn's speech before the Walls of Mordor, but I don't, so you're safe from that for now. Per the poem, Jabberwockies live in tulgey woods, so." A point towards the trees and the path which disappears beyond thickly-organized trunks. "Probably tulgey woods." Point at path leading off towards open spaces. "I have no idea what's over that way. Thoughts?"

Maybe a little more snickering from Della, if only to prove Ava's point, though the goat-creature with the owl on its head doesn't help. "Aren't little brats good at that?" Aaaaand maybe a little more, because kazoo on top of the paladin argument, though this threatens to become more of a giggle. A husky-voiced, whispery giggle.

Belatedly, regarding Ava's question, "Oh. You mean..." she waves a hand, "Powers? Nada. Well, unless a creature wants to run up to me and have me pet it to find out how upset it is... although actually that was a piece of paper and only the one time, so I don't know about animals anyway. But I do have at least one knife! And a Lasso of Truth, even if it isn't."

Regarding directions, "Woods it is. Over there is mostly a good view of the... sun, that looks like it's lowering, which means that if we're going to do this, we should do this. Before it gets dark. Even with fire." Given a certain other Dream, "Especially with fire." So much vocal fry.

And if she's going to say that, she better get going; finally, after eyeing her goat (unless it's that bandersnatch in disguise), she goes to mount up. And it works! Her body knows, even if it treats the goat more like scaling a wall.

And that's when the goat takes off.

"You've got me there," Ava offers with a chuckle. "One tall brat, one little brat! Though, that's very wordy."

She lifts a hand to cover her mouth as the kazoo is pulled out of Ariadne's pocket, trying so hard to not laugh. "I swear to whatever God rules these lands, if you try to play that while we are riding, I'm gonna light it on fire," is teased. "Though, if that's your bard instrument, and the swords are cardboard. I'm going to guess I'm spitting out match flames here. So you shouldn't be too worried."

"Star Wars. The Jabberwock is from Star Wars. Got it." Her head bobs firmly. Trivia night is going to be a fail on that one, for sure.

"Empathy powers are good, very handy." Still, Ava's eyes sweep over Della as she checks to see exactly what gifts and power level she has, like a filthy cheater. Curse those Spirit users and their nosy nature. "You should talk to Kailey, if you know her. She can help show you all the different things you can do. Because you are capable of a lot more than you kn--" and she's off. "Shit." She gestures for her own donkey to go, but he just kind of stubbornly sits there, grunting.

"Della! In your head, tell my goat to move it's ass after yours. Think really hard at it."

"MOVE YOUR ASS!" Della howls... raspily. Head and voice go together. "C'MERE, ASS!" Unfortunately, she neglects to tell just Ava's goat. And hers accelerates.

"Woods it is."

Annnnnnnnnnd there goes Della's goat. And Della.

A glance over at Ava on her owl-hatted mount. "Y'all are kazoo haters," the barista-Bard sniffs indignantly. She watches Della plus high-speed herbivore -- the big question is does it run on horsepower or caprine-power? -- and nods to herself. "Thing's got some speed to it."

Then Della is yelling and now Ariadne's goat apparently wants to join this sudden sprint-fest. "SHIT?!" This is nothing like riding a horse. This is very jumbly. "The woods! The woods, you hairy little bastard, THE WOODS!" Yank on the reins, yank, and the thing bawls before veering towards the woods. Mostly. Look at the hat-feather shimmy about.

"Look at that! You did i--EEEEE!" Where Ava's goat had started to trundle off after Della's, it was apparently just to get it's footing for a moment, before it decided to take umbrage in the fact that the other goats are so far ahead of it. It has decided that this is not alright, so it's time to make up for that now by going top speed. However, owl-hats are not aerodynamic. Also, they are grumpy and their claws are sharp. All of this leads to an uncomfortable side saddle ride which leads to more of a neck clinging than anything.

"You!" Bump bump bump over the terrain. "Need to chill..." bump bump "the fu-" BUMP "uuuuuuuck." Almost right off the goat. This saddle was not a great idea.

The scream seems to finally slow the goat down enough, perhaps scaring some sense into it that it's decided charging full tilt is not a fantastic idea. Let the other goats get eaten first. Ava had been looking regal. Now she looks like regal roadkill. Also, motion sick.

"I'm going to throw up."

Did Della do it, or did she just scare them? Either way, post-scream, her goat is not only volunteering to be eaten first, it's practically waving a cloven hoof in the air: pick me, pick meeee!

The woods have slowed it down some, and she hasn't dropped the reins, and she's not sitting side-saddle, but... "Slow down? Please slow down!"

Thank god the goats at least appear to recognize that tree trunks are not to be crashed into at their various helter-skelter speeds. Ariadne continues attempting to fight her own mount to a stop. She's pretty easy to track: if it sounds like angry Hungarian, it's her. Not like anyone can't just bespy the feathered hat anyways, but hey, the trees appear to be growing thicker and thicker the deeper they traverse (hah, funny, such a calm word, traverse) into the woods. Roots rise up like enterprising fingers, it feels, in an attempt to trip up cloven hooves and booted feet alike. Is that ominous mist? Great.

"STOP!"

And suddenly, an abrupt stop. Ariadne nearly goes over her mount's head; instead, she hits the thing's neck with a whuft of half-lost air and sits up creakily. "Ooh, you fucker," she wheezes, hand against her chest. OW. Where's -- there's Ava, looking green around the gills and her owl beruffled indeed.

The screech. All the hairs stand up on her body; if her feather could have startled, it would have. Where's -- "Della?!"

Well, that's quite civilized. Even if it puts the 'arguably' in 'arguably convivial.'

Della, saddled with (or rather, on) her goat -- and not guiding it at this point, so long as it's not acting up -- is awfully wide-eyed, but with the pebbled overhang of her forehead, can one even tell? She settles for clearing her throat, for all that it will do nothing for the needs-a-plumber roughness: "Ah, hello." Hello jub-jub. Hello jaguar. Hello big creature. Hello stump.

She isn't quiet; the creatures need to hear her, after all. So do the ones behind her.

"Is the not somewhere on this slightly spinny ground?" asks Ava as she slides ungracefully off of the goat's sidesaddle into a heap on the ground and desperately tries to keep her dinner where it was. It was such a delicious dinner. Wait. No. Where's Della? Della, who still doesn't know that she can shoot electricity and can't properly defend herself, Della. Ava's head shoots up. Cheeks puff immediately. That was a mistake. A hand covers her mouth. Nope. Don't do it. It takes a second, but dinner stays contained for the moment.

"Fuck the goat," is offered in a steely voice as the wizard? gets up to her shaky feet, pulls up the bottom of her dress in one hand and starts to run towards where she hears the vague echo of voices. There's a whistle, and the now very puffy, very aggravated owl zig zags drunkenly after her.

Shit, where is Della?! Ariadne can hear the rogue , but can't see the rogue, and really -- with rogues -- that's a situation.

She glances over at Ava in time to see the wizard(?) slump to the ground like knees don't matter. A wince from on high, the barista-Bard still sitting astride her goat-mount. "I mean, the goats are all troublemakers, yeah, but you can take a breather if you want to work at keeping dinner -- "

Down. Keeping dinner down, never mind, there goes the wizard. Ariadne kicks her heels and the goat trot-bumbles after the wizard and her woozy owl at a pace making the redhead grunt. Oof oof oof oof oof -- you get the picture. Bummer there aren't any bells, she'd be jingling. Reaching the clearing along with Ava, the goat pulls up short and holds still, eyes wide. The barista-Bard does the same.

Never mind the headless creature. Never mind the jaguar-critter. Hi, hulking shadow in the trees.

That's a Jubjub bird -- and she's wearing a Jubjub plume. Ariadne smiles like they're best friends EVER -- and maybe they are. Maybe the feather was a gift. Or maybe Ariadne beat the bird up and took it after calling the bird the bastard child of a toad and a feather duster. She really hates not knowing. Fuck you, Dreams.

That pause might be Della stalling for time; it might also just be her thinking. Or trying to hold in her own dinner. Or trying to hold in...

"What? Wait. It's your head above the throne? And you thought you were a Snark? Snarky? Snarkity-snark-snark? How does that affect -- hush," she says to the Bandersnatch. "We need to figure this out!"

All that word vomit? It's still in that husky, raspy rogue's (if not exactly roguish) voice.

It looks like Della has not been eaten. That is a good thing. Also, there's talking. That is also a good thing. But what on earth is going on here? Her bottom of the dress is dropped when it looks like running is no longer a necessity . For the moment Della is safe. Ish.

There's an attempt to look regal again as Ava strides up towards Della's side. It's a little difficult to do when you're green around the edges, but at least there's a staff to hold onto. Small miracles are still miracles, after all. An arm lifts and the owl comes to rest, looking ragged and annoyed. "We are more the types of people who like to gather information before making any sort of judgement call. I'd say we'd have to hear more about what happened. Wouldn't you agree?" she wonders of her companions, glancing between them.

Ariadne's goat flicks back its ears at the Jubjub bird's scream. Ariadne herself winces through her smile and twiddly-waves the fingers of one hand; hi, shrieking bird, nice to see you, ignore the plumage in my hat, it's nothing to be concerned about.

She eyes Della as words seem to tumble from her mouth and lifts her brows. Uh. Snark? What Snark. Who's -- what -- Jabberwock without a head -- ohhhhhhhh, the head which had winked -- WINKED without a body attached to it because that is the body there -- the headless body.

Cue one bemused barista-Bard. Her smile melts into a twisted moue of, frankly, what the fuck.

"Y-Yes." Ariadne regains her composure and focus in time to knee the goat-mount up into place behind Ava and Della. "Like the lady with the owl said. How it went down before we make any decisions on matters." And if the goat, breathing heavily, has hay-scented breath blowing on both Ava and Della's heads? Maybe it's nice? Maybe it's not.

Maybe Della's expelled all the word-vomit from her system; she glances at the other two in a way that would like to be encouraging. Maybe it's her forehead-carapace that's keeping her brows from saying much. Maybe the hay/goat-creature breath (and is that goat-creature-slobber getting in her hair?) is just that stultifying. Maybe...

Once her hands have left her ears from the jubjub's latest shriek, she rasps at the Jabberwock, "No, no eating." It's a wonder her own goat-creature is holding still, but maybe it's just as well that she doesn't think out loud about it. Circling back, after another glance back at the bard with the kazoo, "It's a boo... oot?"

"Uh, no eati -- " Wince. OW.

Carefully, Ariadne wiggles her jaw back and forth to see about her ears ringing. Damn, that jubjub bird can shriek. It mostly works to remove the ringing, but rubbing at her ears seems to help a little more. This almost knocks her squishy-cap, feather and all, off of her head -- a quick snatch and it's back in place now, feather quivering.

She does realize Della's looking at her again and lifts her far more malleable brows. "Boot? A boot what? There's nobody from northern Michigan around here, what do you mean ah-boot -- Wait. It's not a Boogie Woogie Bugle Boy either." The barista-Bard pinches her own nose and closes her eyes. "Damnit, brain, I do not need that song stuck in my head right now," she mutters.

Then gesturing off to one side, she arches a brow at the tea table and its occupants. "So you're a Bandersnatch, he's a Jabberwock, you're a Jubjub bird -- " So awkward, addressing the bird minus one plume. " -- and you're a Snark, but not a Snark. You're a Boo-Snark. A Snark-Boo. Okay, whatever ignore that," and she waves this same hand about, dismissing her own thoughts. "Why is his head missing in the first place? Was the kid with the Vorpal Sword some impetuous teenager who uffishly thought his way into these woods to earn points with his dad or something?"

Goat breath does not to well to help with the whole keeping dinner down thing, so Ava has to drift forward a little bit again. Do not hurl. Do not. There's another scream and she winches, flinching away. Her owl ruffles up his feathers, pissed off.

"Enough!" She yells out in her best version of a booming, sorceress? voice she can. She hits the staff against the ground, willing her magic through the top, drawing enough fire to try to get their attention. It's not exactly scary fire sorcery like she'd been hoping for. Nope. Instead? It's a pretty red and orange firework that pops up from between the prongs of the staff and scatters into the air in a bloom of lights between the arguing supposed-to-be-fictional characters. Not intimidating at all. But it does get attention. That's /something/.

"Where did the people who disappeared to go? If we get them back, then I'm sure we can get them to leave you alone."

Della's chortle, what with Snark-Boo or Snark-Bae and this is so, so peculiar, gets cut off because that's a snarky boom. And there are lights and eyes (so many eyes) and words and...

...sadfaces...

...and for all her earlier excitement, she's new to Dreams and what.

Della tries to not just blink, tries (tries) to think.

Suddenly, wizard pyrotechnics.

Ariadne's goat pronks about twice before she gets the creature under control and hates her hip bones -- rather, her hip bones will hate her, because walking bow-legged is going to be the result of this and she just knows it. Still, while the firework's glitterings fall down and snuff out, she can be heard to mutter to herself, "Look, my dog might be named after a Hobbit, but only one of us is short enough to be a Took here, okay, Gandalf?" The goat-mount bleats quiet agreement -- no more sudden and loud and sparkly, its little goat heart can't do much more palpitating.

But the Jabberwock not being in the poem in question captures Ariadne's attention. She squints. Hard. The poem is about the Snarks...? Shit. She didn't memorize this poem.

"I...have hope and kazoo?" Observe, the Dread Kazoo, as it appears out of her tunic-romper pocket. Surely this will work in lieu of a fork?

"I see. So there's no getting them back. That does present a problem, doesn't it?" Ava frown. "For what it's worth, I have care and hope, but I'm fresh out of forks and thimbles. No pockets for either, I'm afraid. Even in this reality, dresses lack for pockets." There's a tsk and a headshake.

Ariadne's protest and Gandalf name calling get a smirk. "Ava, the Black?" I'm not sure that suits me. But point taken. To be totally fair, I thought it would shoot a little flame. I never thought it'd be fireworks. My mistake!" She looks properly sheepish. There's a glance back to the kazoo, then to Della like 'help'. Not the kazoo!

Della shakes her head: dresses without pockets suck.

Perhaps it's Ava the Really Dark Grey's glance that helps her rally at last. Skipping the kazoo, "Our three," weapons, "resources are care, hope... and an almost fanatical devotion to the vote," Della offers. (Or possibly funny quotes.) "Also, there's a fork in this road, which we left back there. That should count, one for each of us. And," she twists to look backwards, "her scabbard is absolutely a thimble for her sword."

"I mean..." Ariadne gives her companions another uncertain smile-grimace. "Song can be like -- "

Ow, eardrums.

Rubbing her ear again, the barista-Bard still holding her kazoo mutters to herself, "I swear to god, I will write and sing songs to bring you to ruin, bird."

More loudly, she replies to the collective tea party as a whole, "So you're saying if we get the head back, there won't be any more vanishings?" Ava is given a significant look. What can we do here, wizard?

Also, there's no mention of the feather. Ariadne likes this feather. She got it fair and square. Maybe. Possibly? Not knowing is quite annoying. BUT IT'S HERS, DAMNIT.

Ava glances towards Della with a lift of her brows. Well. She never would have thought of that. Bravo. "Nice," she whispers Dellaward.

"I don't know about magicing it to you, but since you're still alive it might be possible to regrow it like a bone or something. I'm not-- sure. I can try?" Ava is clearly not entire aware of how the weird magics of this Dream realm are supposed to be working, but all she can do is try to restore a head. Her hands weave, gathering energy. Healing is her forte, but then, fire didn't exactly work like it was supposed to.

"Here goes nothing." Bippity Boppity, snoot.

Feather, no feather, Della winds up stifling a small smile; Ava and her whisper, now, her sideways look attempts to convey her real relief with her eyes.

Of course, then she has to ask: "If that works... can you regrow a body for the head?"

"That's an excellent question, actually," Ariadne agrees with Della. "Though it would probably take a lot more magical effort and..."

Her voice falls out as she watches Ava's magic get to work. It's impressive. Watch the barista-Bard's eyebrows try to disappear into her hairline and her lips part on the way to goldfish mimicry. But -- but wait. The uncanny beauty that is the creation of the head in reverse is a thing of glory, but the end is result is slavering. Snippits of the poem filter through the barista's head in fractured spurts. Those are definitely eyes of flame and that whuffling seems full of far too many teeth.

"GAH!"

Maybe it should have been something simple like 'stop' or something noble like 'HOW DARE YOU IMPUGN OUR PARTY' -- but nope. Throwing her hand out in a halting gesture, a translucent half-sphere comes to being in front of the party. It's her first shield, a construction of impulse and Dream machination, and not exactly the strongest thing -- but maybe it'll work?!

"Holy crap, it's working. Do not expect me to be able to regrow head outside of here, though, ladies. That is not a thing. But then, being able to survive without a head is also not a thing, so--HOLY CRAP!"

That's not matching the head that was in the throne room. Nope, not at all. Not good, not good. Ariadne's got their front, thank goodness. Ava's staff glows again, green light flaring this time as it swells around one of the nearby trees. She was going for a side slam with all of those branches. What was not expected was for the Ent-likeness of the tree to sudden spring to life out of its roots and attempt to side tackle to creature.

"--what."

"Oh shit." That from the very short woman with the Star Trek forehead. She'd been transfixed, murmuring something about the special effects here being tremendous, but now there's that different head -- and that big contact lens -- and then the tree, and didn't a tree attack Una and Jules and Ariadne and --

"STOP THAT."

There's her goat, who's none too happy, but more importantly, the Jabber-whacked. All caps.