It was quiet; silence erupting from every inch of the landscape. There was a hushed, yet harshly toned din surfing on the hand of the chill; and scouring the sea of cobbles underfoot was a ballet of leaves, twirling to the melodic rhythm of their skirt-hems caressing the floor, a few twigs rolling in suit. Old, widowed and withered trees keeled down and over the tranquil glade, some thin and straw-like fingers of branches sweeping the floor to the cadence of the chorus; a mysterious magic pulsing through the atmosphere at the speed of light. The leaves movement became more abrupt, more ritualistic, and more solid, no longer dainty. Flower heads turned to face the sun, sunlight illuminating through their frail physique as their smooth yellow petals absently screamed out for redemption, stretching out thoughtlessly to steal a few slim blocks of shallow yellow light. It was a mysterious place all in all, though then again it was enraptured out deep into the coils of Wonderland.

It was simply another replica of many like it, another forest, nothing new, it had no feral originality of eye-catching grace. Well, it at least had none of that to any regular person of Wonderland, for other it was a bit of a different story. He himself couldn't have cared less really about the delicate blades of grass he was crushing beneath his feet, or the hundreds of tiny creatures he could have been crippling. Wonderland? Really the place had such a stupid name to put it, for the simple fact that it gave the impression of a flawless reality. Yet Wonderland itself was far from perfect, it was in ways a bit like a macabre sort of fairground, beautiful in that haunting way out on the outside, yet inside quite crooked and mysterious. The strong everlasting pulse of magic that throbbed so neatly though the air was nor light or dark, yet a swirl catastrophic mix of both. Nothing was ever as it seemed to be, much like the male that was currently picking his way through the forest.

An exact word through the history of time, most likely could never be found to place itself heavily upon the label of the man – not a word would be able to fit. Though who  could say he was right or wrong, if his dress style was old  or new – The land of such intoxicating beauty would ever be on its eternal shift, and his styles just slid  along with it. Opinions came and went, spoken over the lips of those who reaped the mystical place, some called him fascinating, some called him average, there was quite a string. Yet still, in a place where everyone was apparently rather mad, it was a bit foolish to state he was anything above the norm. He was dressed up finely in what appeared to be a sort of suit, a suit that held its own aura of quite used classiness. Sleek dark oasis beige pantaloons hugged his slim legs, the frilled bottoms of them hidden away by a pair of long black boots. The shiny silver buckles where dragging a bit, showing that they hadn’t been done up in quite a while. A mud splatter or two dared catch his thick leather boots though it was nothing to outrageous, he didn’t look like he’d dragged himself through a pig sty really, to put it simple. Sticking upon the lower area a chunky brown leather belt ran through the hoops of these pantaloons, securing them firmly to slender hips and making sure they didn’t trail down too low. A light white handkerchief was hung in a small triangle out of his left hand pocket and upon this; a lazy red heart was printed.

Moving upwards away from the first general folds, quite a few layers left themselves open to follow, this starting with the barely visible white one. Made from a fine white silk, only another small triangle of cloth can be seen under a yellow and beige check design shirt. Flowing down from this check shirt was three pointless golden buttons, holding nothing together at all. Over this shirt was get another layer, this one being a firm pinstripe black and gray waist coat, held together at the low middle by two simple buttons. Around his neck was a yellow and red, polka dot tie joined with a small, pinkish daisy. Thick locks of ink black lazily bounced in sweet curves around his softly featured face, brushing down to a lazy stop some where upon his middle neck. Strained with streaks of the faintest red, the impression of blood dared strike the neat tips, emanating out that twisted sort of fracture against something so delicate looking.

Furled into the smooth strands was yet another flower however, placing itself near one lightly covered ear. Pink flecked petals of red and white lazily bled in more color to the shadow of his hair and left him with a slightly more feminine look. High cheek bones showed lightly through his creamily pale flesh, and the slightest band of a hazy blush kept itself over his cheeks. Two plump, plush lips pursed themselves in a small sweet smile of nothings before he tilted his head back, curious sea-green eyes searching blandly for anything of interest over skies of sunshine streaked blue. With the softest of gasps he let long lashes flutter with delight, white teeth broke into view for a second and a grin warmly lapped over his face. His expression itself held the shadow of madness back in its almost plastic depths and past delight that had fluttered about it slowly slid away. With an infectious bubble of laughter he tipped a small top hat onto his head, letting the delicate object rest there upon the crown of his cranium. Narrow hips swayed with ease and he weaved his way around the murmuring body of a tree before he stopped.

Mister Bubbles was all he was affectionately called, the sweetest of the local wackos.