Ep. 19: The Queen of Swords
int. hovel night
We pick the scene back up at the Hermit’s hovel. Here, assembled throughout the living space of the small abode are Alice, the Pale Horse, the Devil, the Hanged Woman and the Knight of Cups, who have just ceased their discourse on the Pale Horse’s secret love to acknowledge the entrance of a new member of the party. THE QUEEN OF SWORDS.
A tall woman in a black dress, of which the flowing fabric obscures her long limbed, angular body, giving the illusion of levitation to her body as she moves, her legs and feet unseen within the folds. Her straight, raven black hair, parted at center, frames an unnerving mask of white porcelain, the lips of which are of painted crimson with small black slits which obscure the Queen’s eyes in shadow. Fixed upon her back is an enormous two-handed greatsword, a hunk of metal that would not be out of place in a videogame farce. Swinging from her neck are several wineskins. Her hands, the only exposed skin immediately visible- are long and lithe, but hard, like exposed marble, with nails sharply filed. She is both warrior and queen- a presence that inspires grace and awe- yet demands respect- and perhaps, fear. Her voice does not carry a regality to it, but rather is the hard low alto of someone who never questions if they are heard.
The Pale Horse is the first to acknowledge her arrival with a soft bow.
PALE HORSE
Queen.
The Queen of Horse nods to the Pale Horse, her unwavering mask returning its sightless gaze to her captive audience.
QUEEN OF SWORDS
Well? What does a horse long for?
DEVIL
(stammering)
Servitude. Submission. Respect.
His gaze crosses; up to the Queen’s enormous sword, an ever-present threat.
DEVIL
To, uh, not be beaten?
At this he laughs, not too confidently, stands, does a half-hearted bow- perhaps a bit too low- and then plots back down into his seat, exhaling an exaggerated breath of relief. The Hanged Woman, notably, does not acknowledge this Queen, instead retreating further within her own witch cap. The Knight of Cups attempts to stand, speaking as he does so, only to fall backward into his seat mid salutatory bow.
KNIGHT OF CUPS
(falling backward)
A trustwooooorthy master.
QUEEN OF SWORDS
Yes. The master. Our Pale Horse loves her so.
At this there is a collected silence. The Pale Horse clears his throat, stepping back from the group in sulking silence at this mention. The Knight of Cups nervously fumbles at reloading his pipe. The Devil takes a hard swig of his drink. Alice, brightly watching this strange, wraith-like Queen, cannot help but speak up.
ALICE
(clearing her throat)
You said…her?
QUEEN OF SWORDS
Naturally, his master is a woman. And one, I suspect, who may not be so far away…
