Snippet #2314666

"Like this," Alice repeated in response to the boy's confusion, as though this somehow explained everything, sounding almost condescending as she gave another would-be wise smile and hopped a few times up and down, as though to indicate the cobble path beneath her feet. "Standing. On the ground. In the same place. Forever." In quick succession, she began to add more and more descriptors to what was now quite obvious, and didn't really need them. Undeterred by this, however, she simply continued with her little tangent.

"How else would I become a tree? If I grew roots, I would have to stay still and let them sink into the ground, or else they wouldn't serve any purpose. Like legs that don't work. Oh, wait. That was probably offensive to crippled people. Are you crippled? You don't look like it. I suppose that means I didn't offend you. But you do seem to be the type to be offended easily. Or, at least, you're not very laid back. I would know. I'm an expert on being laid back. Would you like me to teach you how- Oh." Alice's usual monotone slipped first into a sort of sly manner that seemed to but might not have actually implied a joke, then to an attitude that might have been called "sage" - if it had been a little less half-baked. Finally, she simply trailed off into silence, since it seemed like Jacob was interested in other things at the moment, something even she, unfocused though she might have seemed, picked up on. And so, she remained silent, standing stock still as though she was trying to test her theory of treeification, and listening to her companion speak with a demeanor somewhere between innocent, vague curiosity and that of a sleepwalker.

"I think," Alice began at last, her expression shifting into one of intense contemplation, bearing an air of seriousness that bordered on distress. "That I should not like to become a tree, after all. Or maybe I already am one. Do I look like a tree to you?" This last comment was, despite the quiet, calm, yet somehow piercingly poignant tone of voice it had been delivered in, more so than anything else she had yet said, directed with an unprecedented level of earnestness towards Jacob. Alice's face bore a painfully complicated expression, and her deep blue eyes had fully focused directly upon his face, yet bore a sad look that might have been compared to the visage of a lost puppy. It was almost like the question she had just asked was some sort of convoluted call for help, or for reassurance. For reasons that would not be readily apparent to Jacob, it seemed that his depressing explanation of things had resonated deeply with the strange pink-haired girl, and, for whatever those reasons might be, it troubled her greatly.