Episode 37: The True Queen
ext. lost highway morning
The Lost Highway, which we have not seen since Alice and the Pale Horse braved its cracked, broken concrete at the start of our journey. It is much the same now, save for the swirling debris scurrying across the weathered, paved slabs toward a tornado of fire and molten rock- The World Machine, in chaotic disarray, its makeshift mouth yawning open, screaming, threatening. It tears down the highway, a sentient whirlwind, consuming the very path it travels, leaving nothing in its wake.
ext. valley of the bones cliff morning
A rumble across the horizon, cascading into a sharp, scraping cry- like a catastrophic train crash. It catches the attention of our party- Pale Horse, Alice, Knight of Cups, Queen of Swords. Reactions- concern, quiet, perking ears and tilting heads- save the Alice, who can only clutch her suddenly tight chest, her breath exiting her body against her will. She stumbles toward the cliff’s edge.
The cold clasp of the Queen’s hand stops her from tumbling over the cliff entirely.
Alice’s wide eyes staring over the edge into the valley floor- sharp rib bones and rusting swords jutting up from the red dirt.
QUEEN OF SWORDS
I think we’ve had enough close calls with cliffs for the day.
At this, everyone takes a step back from the cliff as the Queen pulls the Alice back, her chest heaving. The Queen leans in toward the Alice, confidentially.
QUEEN OF SWORDS
You aren’t well?
Alice is indeed unwell. Alice is also well practiced in the art of lying about her wellness. If Alice reported every moment she was unwell it is highly likely she would be placed in one of those plastic bubbles you only see on old comedies. Alice always has an ailment- her chest feels tight, her heart beats funny, she’s incredibly hungry or she hasn’t been hungry in days, she’s dizzy, she sees after-images, she sees spots, she sees floating objects that don’t exist, her face twitches, her arms tingle, she can’t sleep, she sleeps but wakes up gasping for air, her digestion doesn’t work or it works too well, her teeth hurt, she has a strange looking mole…and really, all of this is just the start of a long, ongoing laundry list of health items that Alice regularly represses- all in hopes that with enough time and distance they’ll simply fade to the background. Some are legitimate- a combination of bad luck, thoughtless genes passed down by her idiot parents conspiring to make her everyday as inconvenient as possible- not miserable, or disabling, mind you- just inconvenient. Some are imagined- Alice is well aware that she is, for all intents and purposes, “crazy”, or, as her medical files say- “chronically anxious”. The body can be a bitch of a muse, composing no small number of ailments that are completely inexplicable and harmless- yet still spur the same stream of adrenaline as any actual crisis may.
Alice is fine. It is a default state of being where all these little factors are just barely restrained, delicately juggled and managed behind Alice’s placid mask of levity and thoughtlessness. It is often said that to speak to Alice is a challenge, because one never knows where Alice stands- there are no cues from the eyes and the face rarely contorts but for rare occasions. And even in Alice’s tone there is often something forced- mechanical, hollow. It has the quality of a radio actor from the 40s- as though Alice is constantly performing for a theater of one.
ALICE
I’m fine. Sometimes I just forget to breath.
Alice ressts her head on t he Queen’s shoulder for a moment. This takes the Queen by surprise.
ALICE
Thanks for saving me, your majesty.
The Queen freezes in this moment, and her next words betray the chilled emotion which permeates behind her porcelain mask.
QUEEN OF SWORDS
I am not your queen, or anyone else’s. Do well to remember it, girl.
A flash of intuition cuts across Alice’s brain- in such moments, she can only help but speak- she certainly thinks better of doing so, but the impulse is inevitable- like a child chucking a great stone into a pond just to see the ripples.
ALICE
Then how about mom?
QUEEN OF SWORDS
(so quiet, a whisper)
What would possess you to be so familiar with me after mere hours.
ALICE
You just seem like the kind of mom I always imagined I had.
At this, the Queen shoves Alice off of her. Alice spins- somewhat purposefully, doing a twirl which resolves itself in a crosslegged sit on the ground near the group’s camp- a smoldering fire, the Knight’s horse, and various bedrolls.
ALICE
(sigh)
She doesn’t want me. I guess I shouldn’t be surprised.
PALE HORSE
(from behind)
Tread carefully with the Queen. She may walk with commoners, but she is still worthy of respect.
The Queen stands off, alone, leaning on her sword. She takes another swig of fajro juice from one of her skins.
ALICE
(to Pale Horse)
What does she have against mothers? Why does she say she’s no one’s queen?
PALE HORSE
That is her story to tell, if she wishes.
ALICE
But you get to call her Queen.
PALE HORSE
I respect her, even if it is not a mutual respect. She has bled for her house and proven her merit many times over. Among all the Minor Arcana, she is considered the strongest- and the most dangerous. Do not underestimate the significance of her walking amongst us. Even without a true house to lead, the Queen of Swords is true royalty- if not of cards, then of her blade…
