Right. So. Thank you so much to the four people who reviewed! :D As promised, this chapter is actually of a decent-ish length. It's also really, really bad. I couldn't even bear to proofread it. That's how bad it is.

I know this chapter's events don't quite match up with the chronology of Lewis Carroll's novel, and I use a pool of blood instead of a pool of tears, but beyond this chapter, you'll be hard pressed to find anything vaguely alluding to Alice in Wonderland. This is where it all starts going downhill, folks.

Also, I admit to using one movieverse character description here- that of Mrs Jones. I actually liked her film portrayal. All you need to know about this portrayal is that she is black. That is all.

Disclaimer: If I married Anthony Horowitz, then killed him, would the rights of Alex Rider go to me?

Previously:

Crossing his fingers despondently, Alex Rider closed his eyes and jumped.

Chapter 2 - The Pool of Blood (And similarly depressing things)

Thump.

Alex opened his eyes in disbelief. He couldn't have fallen more than a foot! The hole had looked endless before. If everything so far had been some sort of skewed dream-like sequence (for such bizarre happenings certainly couldn't have occurred otherwise), what the hell happened to the Endless Falling scene?

Really, Alex thought. Terribly anticlimactic. Very poor form for a cliché.

A brief glance around revealed not his previous surroundings nor the edges of the hole he'd jumped into, but rather... Pink. Just pink.

All around Alex was a world of pink; the leaves on the trees were a pale rosy pink, the cobblestones beneath his feet were salmon-coloured, and just a ways away a dainty little cottage sat almost dwarfed amidst the grasses in all its radiant fuchsia glory.

With a cry of pain, Alex was abruptly pulled from his observations by a sharp, sudden sting on his left forearm. A tiny (we're talking 'size of a sesame seed' tiny) metal capsule had somehow lodged itself into his skin, prompting a tiny trickle of blood to drip onto the ground.

Alex grimaced and flicked the projectile gently out of the cut, much in the manner one would remove a splinter. The teenager then proceeded to look around for the source of the undersized weapon, eyes finally locking on a minuscule (we're talking 'size of butter stick' minuscule) dark haired and dark skinned, vaguely feminine human figure with two large, circular protrusions on either side of its (her?) head and a tail in its (her?) backside aiming a miniature gun at Alex from the cobblestone stones beneath his feet.

"Who are you?" The figure squeaked in a authoritative, mouse-like manner. Ah, that's what the round things were.

Alex eyed the figure curiously. "Better question, what the hell are you?"

The mouse-woman might've glared at him coldly, but Alex's eyes weren't quite good enough to tell. "Do not change the subject," she squeaked icily, adjusting her grip on the gun. "Identify yourself."

And, before Alex's eyes, the figure grew. She grew and grew, until she'd matched and then even surpassed Alex's height by a few inches. Alex's eyes widened with shock and some amount of horror.

"Mrs Jones?"

"Alex! What a surprise," the woman exclaimed, now at a perfectly normal human pitch. (The ears stayed, though.) Her voice was noticeably warmer, and the gun (which had enlarged with her) was safely tucked away into her belt.

"Is there a reason you've got... mouse ears? And a tail? Or is it just a trend thing?"

Mrs Jones cocked an eyebrow, as if he had just asked something terribly obvious. Her tone mirrored her expression. "Why, I'm the Mouse, of course," she stated matter-of-factly. "And you're Alice."

Alex clenched his fists in his hair frustratedly. "Of course. Obviously. First Yassen, now you! What on earth is going-"

"Can you swim?" Mrs Jones interjected.

Alex blinked. "Pardon?"

"I hope you can," she continued blandly. "though remaining buoyant in a pool of blood must be a vastly different experience from doing so in water."

Alex yelped as he glanced towards his feet. "What!" He cried. A good six inches of blood licked at the pair's ankles, and the level was rising. "Where did all this blood come from?"

"Your bullet wound, obviously. Sorry about that," Mrs Jones apologized sincerely.

The teenaged spy stared disbelievingly at the unassuming cut in his forearm. "But it hardly bled a drop!" He insisted. "And it's not even open anymore! How could all this have come from my arm? I don't even have this much blood in my whole bloody body!" The blood had risen to his knees.

"That's not true," Mrs Jones replied. "Or, rather, it wasn't."

"...You've no idea how much sense that made."

"That was the intention, yes."

"Argh! Sarcasm! It was sarcasm!"

"It made complete sense, though. You used to be big, now you're small. Small enough to drown in a single drop of your big-self's blood, I might add."

Comprehension dawned on Alex. Mrs Jones hadn't grown at all; he had shrunk! ...Not that it made any more sense than the previous theory.

"...Alright... So how do we get out?" He asked as calmly as he could in the situation.

Mrs Jones, now grimacing at the mess the blood made of her orderly suit top, shrugged. "We hired you because you're good at these things, Alex. Figure something out."

"You don't even pay me," Alex ground out.

"A minor detail," Mrs Jones countered.

Alex heaved a sigh and calmed his (perfectly rational, thanks) panicking. With his passage of thought now unobstructed, Alex thought.

And thought.

And thought some more.

...But alas, try as he might, the sheer surreal factor of the whole thing clouded his mind far too much for a single rational thought. Mrs Jones noticed this. "Alright, since you obviously are currently experiencing temporary braindeath, I will improvise, yes?"

No reply. Alex was still mostly catatonic.

"How about..." And here Mrs Jones adopted an intense thinking-face, "We... Dry up this pool by telling the driest tale we know!"

Somehow in Alex's completely short-circuited mind, the suggestion made perfect sense. So he nodded his consent and motioned for her to continue.

Mrs Jones took a deep breath and began her tale. "My tale is long, and rather dull."

"Mm, your tail is long, alright. And, no offense meant, but brown is a rather dull color."

Mrs Jones paused. "...Wait, what?"

"Your tail! I was just speaking the truth!"

"Yes, I know my tale is long and dull! But you haven't even heard it yet!"

"It speaks?"

"No; I speak it!"

"You speak for your tail?"

"Exactly!"

"...I will not judge. Do go on."

Mrs Jones sighed in exasperation. "Alright. My tale is one of Niccolò Machiavelli. Machiavelli was born in Florence, Italy, the first son, and third child, of attorney Bernardo di Niccolò Machiavelli, and his wife, Bartolomea di Stefano Nelli. The Machiavelli family are believed to be descended from the old marquesses of Tuscany, and to have produced thirteen Florentine Gonfalonieres of Justice, one of the-"
"Hey look, a purple cat!"

"Alex! Mind your manners!"

"No, I'm serious! Look that way! It's a purple cat!"

A ways off farther on the cobblestone path stood, indeed, a figure dressed in a violet striped suit adorned with violet cat ears and striped tail, providing a sharp contrast to the massive pinkness of the surroundings (they're still in that pink world, remember?). The figure's back was turned to Alex and Mrs Jones, but its outline distinguished him as a male, likely an adult.

"Let's ask for help from him!" Alex suggested. "Hey! Purple cat over there! D'you think you could give us a hand here?" He shouted.

The purple cat-man turned around slowly.

Alex stared, this time in true horror. "No way... It's you..."

...BATHE IN THE BADNESS OF IT ALL.

Worst cliffhanger in the history of forever. Sue me. (Actually, please don't. I'm poor.)

The speech on Machiavelli was copied straight from Wikipedia. (Not trying to hate on Machiavelli or anything. I actually like the guy. Assassin's Creed made me like him. I just needed a random topic.)

Question for you- What's your opinion regarding the character Sabina Pleasure?