[action]

[Anyone happening to be near the outskirts today might be treated to something of an unusual sight; one of the guardian wolves padding into sight, carrying Eleanor by the scruff of her shirt. Both are soaking wet, and Eleanor bears the unmistakable signs of someone taken for a very rough ride. The watchful wolf lays her small, unconscious form on the grass and briefly disappears from sight, returning only to deposit an empty birdcage beside her before leaving for good.

She stirs after awhile, groggily sitting up and coughing quietly. Her face is expressionless as she brushes damp bangs out of her flat, inscrutable eyes, not wincing even as the motion jars the painful stiffness covering her body. Perhaps she shouldn't have followed that red robin out so far after waking up on that bed of flowers.....it was terribly frightening, all that water in her mouth, that strangling sense of helplessness. At least no one besides that beast witnessed such unfitting and embarrassing behavior- she was supposed to be a Countess after all, wasn't she?

Although maybe that title matters even less than usual, Eleanor silently wonders. This experience is proof enough that her current situation isn't the Aristocracy's idea of another cruel joke. Sure, they'd undress her and leave her to wander around the orphanage's garden in the hopes that she'd cry or get angry. They might even procure some poor stray cat from somewhere and stuff paper in its mouth. But she walked oh so very far, and the orphanage never came into view, and now she's in a rather deplorable state. What's a little girl like her to do, so far away from the familiar, if unhappy, world she knows?]

[video]

[The realistic answer would be to panic, but that would be strange coming from Eleanor- it's not like her to react outwardly to anything. Her gaze when she looks into the Vine's mirror some time later is blank; there's a fantastic bruise blooming on one pale cheek and she's still noticeably wet. Her voice is quiet, distant, faintly British.]

...I appear to have been kidnapped. Send word to the Aristocrat Club. [a noticeable pause as she considers her next words- she doesn't want to be a snitch, buuut....] Or Mr. Hoffman, if you must.

[Eleanor regards the scroll. Young as she is, she can make out the gist of the message.]

...don't suppose that this Queen of Hearts is related to the Princess of the Red Rose?....no, of course not. How foolish.