Hello, everybody! I can hardly believe it's taken me this long to update. I will just say, I am sorry. It gets tough coming up with good ideas, but I have to say, I think this one coming at you all is a winner.

We have this chapter taking place during the Playa De Losers episode, back on the island while both Chris and Chef are gone for the weekend. When the cat's away the mice will play…

I will also tell you, this fic is based [loosely] on Alice in Wonderland, so if you don't remember the characters, you might want to take a second to visit Wikipedia and recall some of the major details. I won't tell you who's who because that would ruin the fun of reading, but I will say that every character here has an alternate Wonderland persona…

"Oh. My. GOD!" Heather, on her knees in the girls cabin, furiously tore through the contents of her many trendy suitcases. "It's not here!" A lopsided mountain of designer clothes and exclusive beauty products had accumulated behind her as she tossed item after item over her shoulders. "Oh, come on, I haven't moved it since I got here. Where are you?" She let out a frustrated shriek.

One could expect Heather to be searching for a photo of her siblings, or a family heirloom with high emotional value, or even that pair of pure silver earrings she'd gotten for her eleventh half-birthday (which had been stolen and later found on Duncan's person on more than one occasion). But no, Heather didn't have that kind of emotional depth. The only thing Heather missed about her family at the moment was their endless flow of cash. The only family heirloom she'd keep was one with high monetary value—not emotional. And that pair of earrings? They were pretty, but it wasn't like she wasn't going to get a nicer pair for her sixteenth half-birthday, coming up days after the grand finale of Total Drama Get-Me-The-Heck-Out-Of-Here.

Heather was searching for a necklace. More specifically, five tiny blood-red garnets (her birthstone) set into a 14 carat piece of gold in the shape of a crown, hanging on a pure gold chain so fine you could barely even see the links. It was, at the moment, her most prized possession (not to say it couldn't be replaced); whenever she began to feel overwhelmed by the mind-blowing concentration of loser on the island, she'd pull it out, see the crown, and be reminded that she was a queen (queen bee, at least), and how Wawanakwa was crucial practice for her eventual takeover of some large foreign nation. She never wore it at the camp, of course; it was far too expensive for her to risk it falling into the goo-infested lake, and if Duncan ever saw it, it would never be safe agai—Duncan!

Heather dropped her third smallest suitcase on the cabin floor, not even caring as four enormous bottles of hair product rolled onto the floor. Cringing at the idea of Duncan rifling through her belongings, she made a paranoid 360 around the cabin, as if just the thought of him would bring him to the door. However, seeing nothing but dying wildlife through the streaky cabin window, Heather let out one more sound of disgust before exiting the cabin in search of the thief. Being a perv was one thing. Being a delinquent was another. But being both? That meant war.

It also meant her suitcases and everything inside were in desperate need of industrial-strength cleaner.

"All right, Duncan!" Heather called, stomping through the forest. "I know you're in here somewhere. Give it up!" It wasn't hard for anyone to guess where Duncan was at any given moment. If he wasn't sleeping, stealing, or eating, he would almost always be found among the rotting trees. Back when his friends (and his lover) were still on the island, he would run around with them, but since Courtney, Geoff, Bridgette, and DJ had all been eliminated, the only person left for him was Gwen. And honestly, no one could take more than a 10 minute dose of that without getting nauseous.

"Ouch!" Heather put her search on pause and leaned over to pull a twig out of her shoe. "Ugh," she cursed, recommencing her hunt. "Stupid forest," she muttered. "Stupid competition. Stupid Duncan. Stupid—" Heather coughed as the smell of smoke filled her nostrils. "What the…?" Heather spun around and saw it: a gray-tinted cloud floating through the trees, much too thick to be fog. Her first thought would have been FIRE!, but the forest was cool and green, not hot and orange. Against what might have been her better judgment, Heather followed the cloud and came upon Duncan, sitting on a hacked-up tree stump, smoking.

"Finally! Duncan, you have some serious explaining to do. Hand it over or else you are going to get seriousl—wait…" Heather pulled up short and looked from Duncan to the cigarette in his hand and back. "You smoke?" she asked, stunned.

Duncan raised an eyebrow, taking a pull off the thing to answer her question. The glowing orange tip was easily seen in the dark, and it lit up his face with a sickly glow.

Heather looked up at the canopy of trees, wishing more light was getting through. "Okay, I knew you were a delinquent and all, but…smoking? And then there's…and drugs. And the smell…" She fanned the air around her in a wild attempt to push the smoke away. "Seriously?" Heather considered herself to be socially perceptive. Why hadn't she picked up on this sooner?

"All right, Heather," Duncan said in a monotone. "What brings you here?"

The girl cocked her head to the right and examined him through narrowed eyes. "Why are you talking like that?"

Duncan took another drag from the cigarette in response, a puff of smoke escaping from his mouth a second later. Heather looked on, waiting for a verbal answer, but realized he wasn't planning on giving one. "Okay then," she continued. "Fine. Where is it, thief?"

Duncan looked at her blankly. "Where's what?"

"You know 'what'! You obviously took it, and if you don't hand it over now, you're going to be sorry," Heather hissed.

Duncan examined the glowing embers on the end of his drug-stick. "Oh, really?" he asked absentmindedly.

"Really! Are you even listening to m—"

"Isn't it a nice day?" Duncan didn't even seem to realize she'd been speaking, much less that he'd interrupted her.

"…W-What?" Heather furrowed her eyebrows. The polite question somehow threw her off guard. That wasn't something that Duncan walked around saying.

He puffed out a leisurely ring of smoke before repeating the question slowly. "Don't you think it's a nice day?"

Heather rolled her eyes and responded with a flat, "No. This forest is rank and dank, and it smells like burning nicotine."

"That's just as well. We wouldn't be able to appreciate the light if we never had any dark."

Heather took a small step back as she considered his words. They were way too philosophical for a smoking delinquent. "All right, Duncan, what the hell are you on? Because that sure isn't tobacco!"

"Oh, on the contrary," Duncan said, gazing at the stick in his hand as if to make sure it hadn't changed within the last minute. "It certainly is."

Heather snatched the thing out of his hand and examined it herself. It looked like one of those cigarettes her dad used to smoke before he quit, but could she really be sure?

Duncan looked up at her from where he sat on the tree stump. "Could I have that back presently?"

Heather threw it back at him, substantially freaked. "Why are you sounding so…smart?"

"Hmm," Duncan mused, taking another pull on the cigarette. "Why does anyone sound smart, really?

She opened and closed her mouth several times, like a fish. "Whatis wrong with you?You're acting like even more of a freak than usual!"

"What's wrong with anyone? We're all freaks in a way. Every one of us here." Duncan cast a meaningful look at Heather before blowing smoke from his mouth. He smiled to himself as it made a perfect O in the air.

Heather shuddered. "Ugh! I'm getting away from you and your noxious fumes NOW! Something is up, don't think I don't see it." Heather pointed a menacing finger at the boy before turning to walk away.

"Oh, Heather," Duncan called, unhurried.

She didn't turn around. "WHAT?"

"I didn't take your necklace."

"Oh yeah, I really believe that!" she called sarcastically. Then she realized: she never told him that it was a necklace. And yet, against all logic, she believed him when he said he didn't take it. Turning around to confront him once more, she was met by a cloud of smoke, much thicker than any of the others he had previously produced. She coughed and fanned the air, and as the smoke cleared a few moments later, she saw Duncan's tree stump. He wasn't on it.

He was gone.

Heather hadn't run so far, so fast, in all her life. And in wedges, no less! After Duncan had pulled his magic act, she'd high-tailed it out of that forest, hardly even noticing as the branches snagged her dark hair and twigs got stuck in her stylish shoes. All she'd cared about was getting away from Duncan and his illegal, smoking, drug-doing self before she got infected. Weird was highly contagious.

"Gwen!" Heather called, upon spotting the girl, standing in the field in front of the cabins.

Gwen turned and, seeing a substantially freaked Heather running towards her, smiled deviously. "Heather. What can I do for you?"

Heather paused next to her, panting. "Did you know Duncan smokes?"

Gwen widened her eyes mockingly. "Duncan does what?"

"Smokes."

"Who does?" Gwen grinned.

"Oh my god, you're on it too." Heather shook her head as if to clear the thought from her mind. "Okay, forget it. I have a question for you," she said suspiciously, folding her arms and doing her best to look nonnegotiable.

Gwen's smile remained frozen in place. "Fire away."

"Have you seen a necklace of mine? It's a crown on a gold chain and it has red garnets in it. My bet was that Duncan stole it, but he denies it, and while I don't trust that criminal farther than I can throw him, these seem like…" she searched for the right words. "Special circumstances."

"You thought Duncan stole what?" Gwen delicately picked up a strand of hair that had fallen over her eyes and smoothed it back.

"My necklace."

"You have a necklace?" Gwen's smile grew wider as she fingered her short hair felinely.

"Yes, I have a necklace!" Heather shouted, growing annoyed. "Short term memory loss much?"

Gwen eyed Heather's empty neck area. "Well, where is it?"

"Where's what?" Heather snapped.

"Your necklace, genius." Gwen rolled her eyes.

"If I knew, would I be talking to you right now?" Heather pursed her lips.

Gwen pondered for a moment. "Only you can know that," she replied cryptically. "You might be talking to me. Or you could be talking to someone else. But most likely, you'd be talking to no one at all." She shrugged and smiled unevenly. "Do you know how a raven is like a writing desk?"

"Oh, you want to tell me a joke. A joke?" Heather asked condescendingly, seconds away from punching Gwen in the center of her permanent smile. "Anyway, I've heard that one before."

Gwen's smile remained unaffected, though her eyebrows furrowed. "That's not the right answer."

"Well, duh! It's not an answer at all." Gwen smiled crookedly, not replying. "Fine then. Enlighten me. How is a raven like a writing desk?"

"I'm not sure," Gwen said. "Leshawna asked me. And I was asking you."

Heather blinked. That was nuts. Loco. Gwen had officially gone off the deep end. Heather looked back at the girl and her pale complexion, her black wardrobe to match her prickly black hair. That was one person who could seriously use some conditione—

"Hey," Heather said, abruptly switching gears. "Did you dye your hair?" she asked curiously, looking at the pure black mass on top of the other's head.

Gwen ran her fingers through her hair distractedly. "My hair?" Heather nodded her head. "No. Where would I even get hair dye?"

"But…the blue's gone. Your hair looks semi-normal now. You must have dyed it."

"Are you very sure about that?" Gwen asked, widening her smile.

Heather looked down at Gwen. "Well of course I'm very…" She trailed off—the ugly blue streaks were back. "…sure? But your hair was just black a second ago! I'm positive." Heather snatched up a handful of the Gwen's hair and examined it. It looked blue like usual, but that couldn't be possible.

"Heather," Gwen said giddily, nudging her in the ribs. "I think the island's finally gotten to you!"

Heather pushed the Goth away by her shoulders, sending her staggering back a few steps. "Uh-uh. No way," Heather quipped. "Just so you know—oh god." Heather pointed to Gwen's head, her free hand flying to her mouth. "Your hair's black. Right now. I'm looking at it with my own eyes!"

Gwen began taking slow steps backwards. "Are you, Heather?" she asked. "Are you really?" Her lopsided smile stretched from ear to ear.

"Yes, I am!" Heather protested, rubbing her eyes. "I…" The blue streaks were back. Again. As Gwen continued to retreat into the distance, Heather stood in the afternoon sun, wondering if she was going crazy. Maybe the island was getting to her. Or maybe Gwen and Duncan were planning something. They were trying to freak her out. That was it! And the necklace, that was just…the necklace! Heather squinted, trying to make out Gwen's silhouette in the distance. Unfortunately, it was too late.

She was gone.

Heather stumbled into the Dining Hall, hoping the weak air conditioning might help her recover from the heatstroke, or whatever it was she was experiencing. Grabbing one of the heinous orange mugs from the tea station, she made her way to the tap and filled it to the brim with water. Leaning against the wall, she gulped down its contents and then, feeling revived, glanced over the edge of the cup to see Leshawna watching her from where she sat at one of the tables.

Heather snorted. "Oh my god, what is wrong with your hair?" It had puffed out into a hideous afro, larger than the size of her head. It looked peculiarly similar to a hat. Heather wished she had a camera with her.

Leshawna gave Heather the 'talk to the hand' signal. "Oh, don't start with me girl. You know what happens when it gets humid outside!"

"But it's not humid today."

"Do you want to tell that to my hair?" Leshawna pulled out an oversized spoon and shoveled it into an oversized plastic container. Then, noticing Heather once more, Leshawna held out a second pudding cup. "Puh-ing?"

Heather's stomach chose that moment to grumble loudly, reminding her that she hadn't eaten since that carelessly thrown together breakfast Chef had made before he and Chris went AWOL. "Pudding," she said dryly. "Really?"

"Really!" Leshawna mumbled through her full mouth. "It's the best stuff." She held out a cup to Heather, who took it hesitantly.

She sat down across from Leshawna, trying to suppress her repulsion. Such lows she had sunk to, eating a pudding cup, but it was food, after all. And Leshawna seemed to be in a generous mood. Might as well take advantage of it.

"Do you know what the carb count is on these things?" Heather inquired, carefully peeling off the foil on top.

"Not a clue!" Leshawna said, snatching the cup from Heather. "Looks like…330 calories." She slid the cup back to Heather.

Heather made a face. "I said carbs, not calories."

"Oh, for real?" Leshawna said, laughing to herself. "My bad, girl." She grabbed the cup from Heather a second time. "10%."

"10% what?" Heather asked warily.

Leshawna chuckled, handing the pudding cup to Heather again. "10% carbs, Queenie! What else?"

"Leshawna," Heather started snobbily, surreptitiously guarding her pudding cup from her grabby hands. "I don't know how to tell you this, but carbohydrates aren't measured in percentages. They're measured in grams." Heather went to look at the carb count herself, and she shuddered at its high value. "Oh my god, that's like…one third of my daily count! I don't know if I can eat this."

Leshawna's jaw dropped, making her look inexplicably offended. "Well don't have any then, Miss I'm-too-skinny-for-pudding-cups!" she announced, snatching the pudding out of Heather's hands. "You can find yo' own lunch."

Heather glanced around the room looking for a second witness to Leshawna's oddness, but she was sadly the only other person there. "Fine then!" Heather said as she turned and stalked to the door. "Bipolar, much?"

"Bipolar?" Leshawna said vaguely. "I'll have you know, I ain't bi nor am I a polar bear."

Heather whipped back around and took a few steps back to Leshawna, who was still digging into her pudding cup. She wasn't so stupid as to not know the meaning of bipolar…was she?

"You're not a polar bear," Heather restated, slapping her forehead. "That's great! Thanks for telling me. Because I never would have guessed you were actually, oh, I don't know, human!" Leshawna didn't seem to hear her. Either that or she was extremely good at ignoring Heather. Whichever way, it wasn't acceptable, so Heather continued. "You're starting to act like Izzy!" Heather froze and widened her eyes, taking in every detail of the girl in front of her. "Oh my god, you're Izzy in disguise."

Leshawna waved her free hand dismissively. "Psh, girl, no. Not even Izzy is good enough to duplicate this amount of bootyliciousness." She gestured to herself, and then to Heather's partially opened, cup-contained pudding. "Pudding?"

Heather's mouth fell open. "But you just said—"

"Oh please, who cares what I said? Pudding is meant to be eaten!" Leshawna pushed the pudding across the table to Heather's previous spot. "Sit, sit."

Heather sat, but only to avoid another of Leshawna's mood swings, she told herself. "I have a question for you," she said, folding her arms in the same way she had with Gwen. Because that was so successful, she added bitterly.

"Okay," Leshawna replied. "But you have to answer my question first."

Heather gingerly picked up a second spoon and plunged it into the pudding. It made an unappetizing, gloppy sound, but she supposed it was better than nothing. "What's your question?" Heather asked cautiously.

Leshawna folded her hands and leaned forward conspiratorially, posing the question, "How is the forest like your heart?"

Heather blinked and, coming up with no feasible answer, decided to humor Leshawna since she was being somewhat tolerable. "How?" she asked flatly, dipping her spoon into the pudding.

"They're both cold, dark, and empty."

Heather froze, her spoon dangling near her mouth. "What did you say to me?" So much for her being tolerable. That was harsh, even for Leshawna!—not that Heather cared. Cold, dark and empty. Cold, dark, and empty. The words whispered in her head before she mentally squashed them.

Leshawna, scooping the very last bit of pudding out of the plastic, shrugged distractedly and stood. "Later, girl."

"Wait! Don't. You. Dare. Leave." Heather abandoned her pudding on table and chased Leshawna to the door. "Where's my necklace?"

Leshawna blinked, her face completely free of any signs of guilt. "Owen has it."

Heather braced for confrontation. "No, don't even try to deny it. I know that y—" The words registered. "Wait. Why does Owen have my necklace?"

Leshawna scoffed, as if the answer should have been obvious. "Because you're darn mean. Period." She flounced out of the Dining Hall without another word.

"Get back here, Leshawna! You can't just leave!" …And yet she had. Heather leaned out the doorway to yell at her receding figure. "Don't be surprised if your afro is chopped off when you wake up tomorrow!" Leshawna didn't hear the empty threat, though.

She was gone.

"OWEN. OWEN!" Heather pounded on the door to his half of the cabin, seconds away from slamming the door open herself.

Someone from within cleared his throat. "Bring her in!" Owen called, his unmistakable giggle following.

Leshawna and Duncan slammed open the door, causing Heather to jump back. "Watch it!" she warned. "You almost ruined my nose." She rubbed it tenderly where it would have received the impact. "Hey, let go of me!"

Duncan and Leshawna dragged her into the cabin by her wrists and deposited her in front of the largest collection of pillows and blankets she had ever seen; it reached just a meter short of the cabin ceiling. Owen rested upon them, as if the mound was a thrown, though it looked more like he had fallen butt-first into a volcano since the middle of it had collapsed under his massive weight. Most curiously of all, however: Heather's necklace hung around his neck, nearly choking him. (Heather's neck was less than half the size of his.)

Heather took a deep breath, preparing to handle Owen using the only tactic she knew he would respond to—pure animosity. "OWEN! Why do you have my necklace? I demand you answer me now!" She stomped her stylishly clad foot for emphasis.

Owen narrowed his eyes and clapped twice in Gwen's direction. She hopped off her spot on the volcano, scampered down to where Heather stood, and clamped both of Heather's hands behind her back with a devious smile. Leshawna walked in front of Heather, folded her arms, and spat, "How dare you speak to the king like that."

"That's unspeakable!" Gwen chimed in from behind.

"Unheard of," Duncan asserted.

Heather shook free of Gwen's grasp and stared up at Owen from the base of the volcano. "The king of what? This island? Junk food? Obesity?" Heather whipped around to see that Gwen, Duncan, and Leshawna had gathered in a semi-circle behind her.

"Why, the King of Farts, of course!" they replied in unison.

Heather gaped at them. "That is absolutely the stupidest thing I've ever heard." She turned back around and looked up at Owen. "I don't care what you're the king of, Owen, you hear me? Give me back my necklace!"

Owen fell a bit deeper into his thrown. "Well, Heather," he said, chuckling. "I'd be happy to give it to you if you can prove that it's yours." He turned to Duncan. "Put her on the stand!" Duncan grabbed Heather from behind and pushed her onto a stool, though Owen remained several heads above her still. "Assemble the witnesses!" The three leapt up and sat in a row on the bottom bunk of the bed. "Who's first?"

"Me," Duncan called, waving a hand in the air.

"Proceed!" Owen called jovially.

Duncan stood and addressed Owen. "Heather's pure evil, and she doesn't give a damn about it. She'd stab someone in the back sooner than I would, and that's saying something." Duncan sat back down, but not before casting a flinty glare in Heather's direction.

Heather gazed at Duncan in disbelief, taking a moment to recover from her stunned silence. "Wh—wha—I object! That doesn't have a thing to do with you taking my neckl—"

"SILENCE!" Owen boomed. "Next witness!"

Gwen dusted herself off and approached the volcano. "Heather is conniving and mean, and even worse, she doesn't care. She'll step on anyone and everyone to win, and doesn't see anything wrong with it." Gwen smiled unnaturally in Heather's direction before returning to her seat between the others.

"Mmmm," Owen said, considering her words. "I see. Very important. Remember that!" The three witnesses nodded their heads quickly. "Last witness!"

"Wait!" Heather called. "Don't I get to testif—?"

"I said, SILENCE!" Owen laughed nervously. "It's Leshawna's turn." He gestured to the her.

Leshawna rose. "Heather is mean just for the fun of it. She gets a kick out of hurtin' people, plain and simple. She's got a black hole where her heart should be, and some sorta schemin' device in her head instead of a conscience."

"I see, I see," Owen murmured, glancing at Heather's head curiously; the scheming device didn't appear to reveal itself to him. "All right. Assemble the jury!"

Leshawna, Duncan, and Gwen hopped up and climbed to the top bunk, shuffling their order before settling themselves up above. They turned around, conversed for a moment, and then faced Owen once more.

"Jury, have you reached a verdict?"

"You've got to be kidding me!" Heather protested, stranded on her designated stool. "The witnesses can't be the jury too! They're totally biased. This is completely ridiculous!" She threw her hands above her head to accent the statement.

Everyone ignored her as Duncan spoke up. "We've reached our decision, Your Majesty."

Owen smiled happily. "And it is…?"

The three spoke together. "GUILTY!"

"That settles it!" Owen called, flailing about in order to free himself from the volcano. Sliding down the pile of pillows like a rockslide, he turned to Heather. "Are you ready for your sentence?"

"My sentence for what?" she called, losing her cool. "Being mean? This is the most pointless trial I've ever seen! You're nothing but an obese, naïve idiot who has no idea what he's talking about! You're stupid and fat and no one would ever make you the king of anything!"

For a moment, the room stood still. Nobody spoke. Or breathed. Heather widened her eyes as she registered what she'd just said, and the other three stood frozen in wait. Owen's face crumpled in on itself as though he was going to cry, but a moment later the look was entirely gone, replaced with a stony glare never before seen on such an innocent face.

"OFF WITH HER HAIR!" he cried, throwing himself about the cabin with the force of a raging tornado. Duncan appeared out of nowhere with his favorite chainsaw while Leshawna and Gwen tackled Heather to the ground and held her there.

The blades of the chainsaw were getting closer and closer as Duncan loomed over her head, a malevolent smirk on his face. Owen stood at Heather's feet watching the action, while Gwen and Leshawna grinned from where they pinned her to the ground. "Will you say you're sorry?" Owen asked, surprisingly gently.

"NO!" she cried. In a split second, the cool and collected Heather had been replaced with a wild, desperate one. She kicked with her free leg and made contact with someone's shin.

Owen's kindness instantly evaporated. "Say it!" he screeched.

The chainsaw was nearing her scalp. "Fine!" Heather shrieked. "I'm sorry, okay? I'M SORRY, I'M SORRY! Just let me go!" She broke into sobs just as the chainsaw connected with her raven-colored hair. The last thing she saw was Owen standing over her, a disappointed look on his face, the necklace still strung around his neck. And then, a moment later:

Everything was gone.

Heather awoke in a crazed panic, shrieking at the top of her lungs. She flailed around her bunk in an attempt to throw off the dingy covers, succeeding only in falling off the top bunk and landing in a tangled mess on the floor. She clutched at her hair and looked around her. "My hair! My hair, my hair, my beautiful hair," she sobbed, grabbing a handful and yanking it over her eyes to make sure it was really there. It was.

She threw the blanket off her bruising body and stared up at the ceiling of the empty cabin, rubbing her head where it had collided with the floor. A single tear slid down her cheek as she blinked, but she quickly wiped the weakness away. Sleep-crying, all because of an absurd dream. She was pathetic.

As the details of the nightmare came flooding back to her quickly, something struck her as odd. "I don't even have a necklace like that. Where the heck did that come from?" she asked herself. Her dreams were always so random. They were always seriously symbolic, too. It was getting tiresome. She'd stab someone in the back sooner than I would… Heather is conniving and mean, and even worse, she doesn't care… She's got a black hole where her heart should be, and some sorta schemin' device in her head instead of a conscience… Was it all true? Was she really that…that…

"Ugh!" Heather cried. "Just forget about it!" Furiously rubbing at her eyes once more, she shoved herself up off the floor and went about applying her make-up like usual. She covered up the blotchy red spots and tear-stains on her face, and a minute later it was like she had never been crying at all.

She leaned against the wall and told herself she would be fine. It had just been a dream. No one was going to cut off her hair with a chainsaw—especially not Owen, the King of Farts! That was ridiculous. In a couple of hours, she wouldn't even be able to remember the dream at all. Already, the details were fading, thank god.

Soon, they'd be gone.

Did you get all my allusions to Wonderland? Just in case you didn't:

Heather is Alice. Since the second season has progressed, I'm starting to think that maybe she's not such a bad person after all. She is, but I wanted to explore a different, more confused side to her. I have to say, it was an interesting experience.

Duncan is the Caterpillar. I sincerely don't think he smokes, at least not on the island, but it came time for me to pick a caterpillar and he seemed like the obvious choice.

Gwen is the Cheshire Cat. I hope that the whole hair-changing-colors thing wasn't too vague for everyone. I just couldn't bear to take it out after I thought of it, so I tossed in all of the smiling to give another clue…

Leshawna is the Mad Hatter. Someone needed to be dealing with food, and I'm just a bit obsessed with her one-time mentioned pudding cups, so she was the obvious choice as well. It was definitely the most difficult to channel Mad Hatter through her, if I succeeded at all.

Owen is the Queen of Hearts! I thought it would be wonderfully ironic to make Owen the evil one compared to Heather. And I have to say, as soon as I thought of the King of Farts I knew I had to do it. It was a sign!

And finally, I'm sure you all caught the OFF WITH HER HEAD/OFF WITH HER HAIR comparison. Don't you just love that delicious irony? You keep telling yourself that no one's going to chop off your hair, Heather…

Review and let me know how many of the characters you figured out! I'm really interested to know how many of us are up on our Alice in Wonderland…

Also, big thanks to strayphoenix for directing some of her deviantART viewers here. (:

~Rina