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    welcome to across the chessboard! we're an alice in wonderland based site with an original plot and slight modern dystopian twist and canon characters from alice's adventures in wonderland and through the looking glass and what alice found there, both by lewis carroll. for a longer summary, please visit our information center here. if you have any questions, feel free to give an admin a shout in the cbox (it's to your left- just click the chatter button and it should pop open). again, welcome, and we hope you join us!

    it is currently summer 2015 in london.
    it is currently summer-ish in wonderland.

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    Wonderland wasn't always this way. There was a time when it mirrored medieval England, albeit with a few magical elements: a few quirks and eccentricities that made it truly unique. While all feared the Queen's mercurial temper and the fine blade of her Guillotine, all was well, until a little girl named Alice Liddell disturbed the status quo and sparked a revolution. The kingdom began to fall into decay as the taint of the modern world invaded. History is beginning to repeat itself and no one is happy. As the Queen of Hearts tangles in a battle of wits and riddles with the Cheshire Cat, the rest are starting to wonder ... is it true that the White Rabbit is bringing humans to Wonderland when they themselves are banned from going to London?

    myrmidones of the queen — 12/∞ 
    myrmidones of the cat — 08/∞ 
    unaffiliated — 09/∞ 
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AGE: 26
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QUOTE/LYRICS: This was the way he had to go; he had no choice. He had never had any choice. He was only a dreamer.
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toby williams


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Aug 31 2015, 07:30 AM
[dohtml]<center><div class="ptem1"><div class="ptem2"><div class="ptem5">

To err is human, and Toby had certainly made a grievous error. Whether it was loneliness or sheer stupidity that had driven him to it, he wasn't entirely certain. Penelope's disappearance had certainly addled his mind and for the life of him, he couldn't quite understand why it had to such an extent. Of course, she was a dear friend, and her disappearance was certainly something to worry about- but why did he feel such an intense guilt? He hadn't told her a thing to make her suspect anything, hadn't breached the subject of their to-be engagement, thus it couldn’t possibly be anything to do with him. And yet he felt remorse, and yet he felt responsible...<p>

A Police report had finally been filed and that evening found him once again attempting to console his frantic nerves with drink. He was by no means an alcoholic, but he'd learned from watching his father that at times, there was no better cure for stressful times than a couple of stiff glasses. What his father had failed to tell him, was that sometimes these stiff glasses can confuse the mind further… and make a truly terrible idea seem to be a harmless choice, a cheerful act made in the moment that can bring the most well-meaning man into a very compromising position.<p>

Thus, loneliness and liqueur had brought Isaac Irving to the doorstep of Tobias Williams.<p>

While he might have already begun to regret his decision, he'd been brought up in a polite, English household- and thus he allowed the man entry, biting his lip as he shut it behind him. Anxiety coursed through his veins like the alcohol the previous night and his hand shook as he fastened the lock. What would people say? Certainly, they weren't living in the eighteenth century… things were a little more relaxed these days. Still, there would be gossip, and if his parents were to find out… well, things would end very badly. Think of the scandal, Tobias he could almost hear their voices in his mind and he swallowed hard.<p>

“Can I get you anything…? A drink, or...”<p>

</div><center><div class="ptem4"></div><div class="ptem3">Gentle whispered sins and I retreat and I hide but no matter how I try, I end up here, with you, good judgement ended and a sinner I become.</div></center></div></div></center>[/dohtml]
May 1 2015, 07:11 PM

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<div class="atem1" style="background-image: url("><div style="padding: 150px;"></div><div class="atem1a">Tobias Tarquin Williams</div></div>

<div class="atem2">Life is really simple, but we insist on making it complicated.</div>


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Toby would have it said that he's never really felt any strong pull to London and, indeed- was quite happy to get out of there when he got his place in Oxford but the truth is that London will always be home to him. After a particularly nasty incident at University it was where he returned to feel safe, and where he decided to complete his masters degree instead of returning to Oxford or looking around elsewhere. It is where he was born and where he grew up, and while he has many complaints to offer about how it's governed and the transport system and his own family... he really can't deny, when it comes down to it- that it has, and always will be home.<p>

<div class="atem2">highly intelligent — "posh" accent — considerate — asexual — musically talented — gay</div>

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<span class="atem15"><u>Name:</u></span><br>Tobias Tarquin Williams <p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Nickname(s):</u></span><br>Toby (insists upon it)<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Birthday:</u></span><br>3rd January<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Age:</u></span><br>26<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Hometown:</u></span><br>Islington, London<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Occupation:</u></span><br> Masters Student (Computer Science)<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Membergroup:</u></span><br>Grey<p>
<span class="atem15"><u>Face Claim:</u></span><br> Ben Whishaw<p>

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<div class="atem2">at the age of twelve he hacked his fathers bank account for "more pocket money"</div>

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<div class="atem6">I suppose it could be said that I come from a highly privileged background, and in a way that is entirely true. My parents have always been financially stable; my father is descended from nobility that traces back to Tudor times, and since the family managed to keep itself fairly affluent down the line- he had quite a bit of money, which he invested wisely and managed to double within ten years. My mother was more of a socialite, but came with quite an impressive amount of inheritance herself. So there you have it; two high class individuals with more money than sense, coming together in a marriage of convenience (my mother’s father arranged the match, so I’m told… very traditional, my family) and winding up with a townhouse in Islington, London, and a large villa in Spain for the Summer holidays.<p>
And then I came along, the son and heir… the disappointment.<p>
Perhaps I’m being a little harsh on myself; I wasn’t always a disappointment. That came much later.<p>
I was born on the third of January, 1989. I’ve been informed that I was premature, the first of many inconveniences I would force upon my parents; who, at the time of my impromptu birth, were still nursing wine induced hangovers from the merriments of welcoming in the New Year. As if in punishment for my heinous crime, they bestowed me with the rather unfortunate middle name of ‘Tarquin’, a badge of shame passed down by my paternal great grandfather, nestled between a less embarrassing moniker of ‘Tobias’ (easily shortened to ‘Toby’ as is my preference) and the family surname of Williams. <p>
My birth was a rather rushed affair- due to my small size, I was quite an easy birth (although my mother would have you believe she was in labour for over a day and had to be heavily medicated to allow the birth to come smoothly; the latter is true, but largely to shut her up I imagine) but had to be swiftly contained. I spent quite a long while in one of those intensive care units, but luckily for me… I pulled through. I’m told it was a slim chance back then, 20% survival rate or something along those lines.<p>
My childhood was rather sheltered, in hindsight. Due to the premature birth, my parents decided that I was likely to be a terribly feeble child, and while my father privately harboured some discontent- he permitted my mother to coddle me well into my early teens. Or rather, he allowed my mother to direct my nanny to coddle me: coddling meaning being bundled up in far too many layers even in Winter, being forced to take every form of medication available that they could get without a doctor’s note, and long hours whiling away the time behind a piano while I watched the other neighbourhood children get acquainted playing in the street and probably calling me all kinds of derogatory slurs behind my back… or rather, in front of my face through double glazing and the distance of the steps to our front door.<p>
I wasn’t a complete pariah though, luckily the extent of the coddling didn’t go quite as far as home-schooling me. I attended a relatively nearby Junior school, the kind that only let ‘certain’ types of people send their children there. Honestly, I’m surprised there was, and is- some sort of class divide in modern London but there we have it… and being on the supposed ‘winning’ side, I really ought to not complain. At this school, I was amongst my peers… similar boys and girls with equally overbearing parents and skills in piano, violin or some other instrument.<p>
It was there that I met one of my closest childhood friends; Penelope Brontë.<p>
In the grand scheme of things, our time together was brief- but I distinctly remember arranged ‘playdates’ where either I or she would visit the others house for tea, and we’d struggle to find some way to amuse ourselves that didn’t involve sitting around stiffly with overbearing parents. I must admit, I preferred going to hers… she had all these escapes and places to go, and her minder was a lot more forgiving and lenient than mine (if only their appearances were reversed, Natalia would have suited Beatrice’s looks far better, and deserved them). Yes, I enjoyed time spent with Penelope Brontë- but then all too soon she was sent packing to a girl’s school and I too was sent to a boarding school. One for boys, unsurprisingly… and finally escaped Beatrice, the house- and my parents… at least, until the holidays.<p>
A good education, combined with an exceptionally good mind (allow a sheltered ‘geek’ their pride) made for very, very good things and I managed to gain acceptance into Oxford University for my foundation degree in Computer Science. I learned a lot of things there, many extra-curricular things outside of my decided degree: how the world works, how impressively obnoxious and unclean my fellow students could be and an awful lot about my own sexuality. Or rather, somewhat lack of.<p>
Her name was Emily Mathers. She was a nice enough girl at the time, good looking I suppose (I must confess to never really paying much mind to the aesthetics of the fairer sex) and pleasant enough company. She wasn’t in my degree, she was doing something to do with music if I remember rightly but sometimes the more technical aspects of her course led her to be in the lab when I was, and of course… my musical inclinations often found me sneaking time on her degree’s piano when I had spare time and they weren’t using it. I suppose the crosshairs we so often found ourselves in led to a natural introduction. It turns out she’d been admiring me for a little while now, thought I had a lot of talent when it came to playing- and she wanted to get to know me.<p>
I found the whole thing perplexing- I wasn’t her type, I was adamantly certain of that fact but considering I couldn’t come up with a good reason as to why that was… I couldn’t argue. In a manner of days we were considered a couple, and I found myself pulled along by the hand through what remains to this day one of the most confusing experiences of my life. Things might have gone well for us, had it not been for what many in my life consider to be an ‘unfortunate’ genetic ‘default.’<p>
The human race truly is remarkable- how one moment you could be sat in a coffee shop with a girl insisting that she wants to marry you: that the two of you will grow old together and live in California and make music together and she can just see it now… to hissed comments of ‘couldn’t even get it up’ and other such unsavoury things whispered behind your back as you walk through a University supposedly famed for the calibre of its students.<p>
I looked elsewhere when it came to completing my Masters degree.<p>
I can’t explain what made me choose University College London, perhaps it was something about the change of pace- or maybe the familiarity of home. My father was disappointed, of course, because I had turned down my more esteemed offers from Oxford and Cambridge- why, I could have even studied abroad at MIT, he said- but no. There was something about London that pulled me back, and after the unfortunate incident with Emily… (Sometimes I swear I can still feel the slap, and the scratches) I craved familiarity. <p>
Alongside my studies I still like to play the piano. Sometimes memories make it a little taxing, but more often than not I can sit a while and play in peace, I’m even composing a piece of my own in my downtime: there is not much, unfortunately… not with a degree such as mine, or indeed, a masters level of any course. It will be worth it in the end, my father often tells me- with an unwanted clap to the shoulder. He and mother still insist on interfering in my life, despite my living alone now: I have a town house of my own a few streets away from them. Well, I say it’s my own, it is of course all bought and paid for by the parental units… my money is their money, until I marry.<p>
A topic that has become worryingly real these past few weeks.<p>
The phone rang, and he sighed- placing the pen down and reaching for the answer button, pressing it with a growing sense of dread;<p>
“Good afternoon, mother.”<p>
He cringed at the name, but made a soft noise of acknowledgement- sounding far more pained than intended, if the slightly admonishing tone of her voice was anything to go by; <p>
“Hush now, that is the name we gave you. Tobias, listen… do you remember the Brontë family?”<p>

<div class="atem2">eve — 22 — gmt — pm/skype — judas, jack, antoinette, aubrey, dominic</div>


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