Episode 4: The Meadow of the Moon

ext. The  Moon's meadow Night

Darkness. Nothing but sightless black.

THE MOON
(voice)
As if you could simply ride to the Tower.

THE PALE HORSE
(voice)
I thought she had the will. I was wrong.

THE MOON
(voice)
That's the second time. You should have listened to me, Pale Horse, and stuck to the House of Wands' plan.

Flickering vision. Eyes open to a meadow- green grass, blooming flowers. All lit as though under a black light. A soft breeze. Blades of glass gently rustling. Delicacy. Warmth. Peace. This is the meadow you try to go to while sitting in the dentist’s chair, your fingers bloodless white from gripping the armrest.

Alice’s eyes open, staring forward. They blink away the crusted moisture of a long sleep. Standing just a few feet away, the PALE HORSE. He lowers his head, pupil-less eyes staring forward at Alice, mirroring her tousled straw hair and fairy-kissed face, the red dots demurring to a glowless black under the purple rays of the Moon.

A moment of silence as Alice and the Pale Horse regard each other. Finally, the Pale Horse sighs and speaks.

THE PALE HORSE
You are a disappointment.

The Pale Horse does not move its mouth, but its voice is heard. It is a low rumble, like a distant thunder that startles you on a clear day. Alice rises, stretching her arms, groaning. The surreal meadow quivers, the grass and flowers immediately straining, orienting themselves toward Alice with a rubbery, cartoonish fashion. The breeze threads through the meadow’s tenants and carries soft whispers that gather and curdle at Alice’s ears so that she instinctively raches beneath them, massaging the point on her neck just below the ear, harassing the delicate tubes that are otherwise dedicated to conveying sound to her very busy brain.

ALICE
Honestly, honestly. Is that any way to speak to your queen.

It is, of course, a lie. Alice is not a queen. Alice is not royalty. Alice is as common as a loaf of white bread. Go to any bus stop, any bar, any convenience store, any liquor store, any mini-mall and you will see a dozen Alice’s from a dozen different lifestarts hard at work being perfectly mundane and invisible. But this Alice is cursed with three incurable conditions-

Alice is creative.

Alice is discontent.

Alice is a relentless liar.

There is a fourth incurable condition, but we’ll save that for later.

THE PALE HORSE
You are not royalty.

ALICE
How can you be sure? I just woke up here. For all I know, I'm dreaming this. If I'm dreaming it, then I can be anything I want. And I choose to be royalty.

When it is said that Alice is a relentless liar, it is not meant to be the damning accusation normally would assume. Being a relentless liar doesn’t make Alice a bad person so much as it makes her tedious and occasionally amusing. This is because in all her life Alice has never lied about something that actually matters. Being a queen would not change the fact that she is in a meadow with a strange talking horse. Being a queen would not erase the horrific vision of the abyss she just experienced. Being a queen would not show her the way home. Being a queen would simply make Alice feel better. The desire for self-confidence is a benign tumor that Alice never bothered to extract.

But when things are serious- when you absolutely must have someone come through for you- Alice never, ever lies.

It has been a very long time since anything has been serious for Alice. It has been many years since Alice was needed. This is the fourth incurable condition, which can be temporarily satiated, but never solved-

Alice misses being needed.

THE PALE HORSE
(huffs)
I have met queens, you don't come close to rating.

ALICE
(turning, a matching huff)
You don't know me.

THE PALE HORSE
No, but she does.

The Pale Horse nods to the sky. THE MOON sits in the sky, cradled by the purpled net of the night sky, her starry subjects twinkling around her. She is full, yellowed, and essentially the same as she appeared in the prior scene save for the occasional purple/blue waves of arcane aura which pass over her features which each word spoken and each slow shift of her expression, the canyons and craters changing, fissuring to create a new twist of bemusement. She lowers her chin toward the meadow, her face now jutting out of the sky like the illustration of a newly opened pop-up book.

The Moon examines Alice- not in judgement, but in curiosity. Her findings only encourage a wider smile, a soft crackle of shifting soil and loosed gravel signaling her new disposition. When the Moon speaks a soft glow escapes her craggy mouth, betraying a core of pure, blissful light.

MOON
Hello, my daughter.

Alice considers making an issue of the insinuation of parentage, but thinks better of it. If possible, Alice avoids talking about parents. In her mind, Alice has always been a alien visitor from a distant planet. Besides, nothing in the Moon’s delivery implies condescension. We are all the Moon’s children. She is merely stating a fact, however abstract it might be.

ALICE
Hi.

A moment of silence, because what else can be said to a celestial rock that has existed since the beginning of time? Even Alice’s wit draws a blank.

MOON
Don't tell me. A talking horse? Normal. A talking moon, however-

ALICE
I'm just worried you're going to fall on me.

MOON
(understanding)
And if I fall, who will keep the sky from falling with me?

Alice nods. Did we mention a 5th incurable condition? Because Alice does have an 5th incurable condition.

If something is unlikely, rare or even most certainly impossible- Alice will worry that it absolutely must come true.

MOON
I wouldn’t worry, young one. You must know who would keep the sky from falling?

And of course, Alice does not hesitate, cannot hesitate, with such an important responsibility open for claiming.

ALICE
Me. Absolutely. I'm very strong. I'll be the new moon.

MOON
(a bemused laugh, soft as down)
How precocious. You picked a live one, Pale Horse.

The Horse doesn't reply. His practiced disinterest in this conversation, however, betrays his obvious interest. The Pale Horse is consistently betrayed by this reverse psychology, his habitual denials giving away what he might otherwise hold secret. In Alice he might find an unlikely ally- in that they are both practiced liars.

Alice stands, slowly, stretching each arm overhand as though giving a salutation.

ALICE
Pheeeeew. It feels good to be living.

MOON
Would you like to know where you are?

ALICE
Arcana, right? A magical land ruled by a tower and populated by a whole bunch of people with crazy strong powers?

PALE HORSE
(startled from his silence)
How-

ALICE
(taps her head)
I got the visions. From her. We've met before. Like, in the tutorial.

MOON
(calm)
So you could hear me. Lovely, that saves time.

Alice paces left then right. She scans the horizons. Alice rarely keeps still. Latent energy and anxiety forever demand perpetual motion. If she can’t move she’ll talk and vice versa. That shaking at your table during a meeting is the bouncing knees of The Alice, a genny nervous energy always on the verge of rupture.

MOON
(kindly)
It's not here. Not yet.

ALICE
(turning)
Hm? What?

MOON
(briefly darkening)
The World Machine.

A quiver in the meadow. the breeze stops for a moment and the flowers crouch shorter.

PALE HORSE
(straightening up)
So I wasn't mistaken.

MOON
(seriously)
You were not.

The Pale Horse huffs at this and kcks its back leg, a clump of earth flying over Alice’s shoulder. Its nostrils dilate with the intake of air as it raises its head up to the moon, its milky eyes giving a soft glow in the blacklight.

PALE HORSE
(accusing)
Tell me Moon, do you and the House of Wands delight in suicide missions?

MOON
You were only instructed to retrieve The Alice. Charging The Tower was of your own volition.

PALE HORSE
Moon, you and I are both Major Arcana cards. An explanation is only fair.

MOON
(firm, but not cruel)
Let me correct on this, dear horse. I am a Major Arcana. You are...something less than that.

The Pale Horse downturns its gaze in acknowledgement of this otherwise unspoken deficiency. Alice, sensing the social awkwardness, steps in to fill the void- and of course, to claim her “rightful” spot in this new social hierarchy.

ALICE
What am I? I'm a major card, right?

PALE HORSE
(uncharacteristically amused with himself)
A major pain.

ALICE
(pretending to be stricken)
OOF. Got me.

Alice mimics being shot through the heart, spins around and falls backwards. A small cluster of flowers, grass and weeds sprout from the soil to catch her, softening her fall. She lets out a surprised exclamation at the appearance of her apparently loyal subjects. As the foliage cradles her in the weird meadow, her gaze casts upwards toward the Moon, who now bears her full countenance upon the Alice, her cratered eyes boring deep into Alice, the purpled auras dancing across her canyon smile.

MOON
(a flash of the conspiratorial)
What card is The Alice? I say we find out. Right now.