Post by LACKLAN on Jan 31, 2019 21:49:06 GMT -5
Billy Clarke groaned as he searched the shelves of the Hannaford Supermarket in Bangor (“Every game needs a plan! Get your Italian Meatballs Sliders for the Big Game...today!”). He had been the manager of the Bangor Japle-Bees Restaurant for three years, and had even come up with their new sales pitch (“At Japle-Bees, gluttony ain’t no sin!”), but this was the worst day of his career thus far. Because of the Big Game and their big push for pre-orders, his location was COMPLETELY out of their signature Burning Cross Wings, and the other three locations of the casual dining chain were too low on supplies to loan him any. He scratched his hair, which was in need of a cut already, and then ran his fingers across his chin. He missed his beard, but La Reine Mère demanded clean-shaven faces at all time.
“NONE of this is going to work!”
His voice was thick with consternation as his hazel eyes looked over the shelves. He needed SOMETHING to put on the menu to make up for the wings, but like his restaurant, much of the pickings were slim due to the Super Bowl tomorrow. Like the majority of New England, the streets of Bangor were awash in red, blue, and white flags in support of the Patriots, and regardless of how much the team was reviled by the rest of the country, Maine would always support their football team. Of course, many true football fans in the state prefered their college team (the Brice-Cowell Musket was THEIRS again; suck it, New Hampshire!), but the entire state came alive whenever Brady led his boys to the promised land.
The blasting sound of herald trumpets makes Billy freeze. And though the ice spreads to his lungs, making his breath come up short, his heart beats fast, the thumping loud in his own ears, as he hears a familiar voice ring out:
“ALL MAKE WAY FOR THE QUEEN’S PROCESSIONAL!”
Billy spun towards the door and his eyes go wide as he sees the owner of the voice. Short and round, seeming a troll from a fairy’s tale, if a fancily dressed one, Richard Vaughn took up most of the entrance to the market. His hat drooped down to near his knees, and his outfit of red and black had more puffery than anything seen since Victoria was Queen. Four men stood before him, each facing one another two-by-two in short rows, the long slender trumpets in their hands at the ready, mouthpieces pressed to lips. Vaughn unfurls the scroll in his hand and, with a flourishing ruffle of the papers, begins to read as the trumpets play softly.
“SHE IS THE QUEEN OF RED...THE CHAMPION OF CHAOS…LA REINE MERE...LE POING ET BORD DE DIEU”
Billy fell to his knees by rote as he saw the glimpse of red on the ground. Servants, liveried in black with a touch of purple for relief, roll out a red carpet large enough to fill the entire double-door entrance of the supermarket, and the restaurant manager shivers as he hears the first muted click! of heels on the carpet. The trumpets play louder as the crier finishes his litany of names, the sound of ”The March of the Queen of Red” filling the store, and everyone is quickly blessed with the sight of Aveline Lacklan.
Oh, how beautiful she is!
His queen wore one of her bright silver dresses today, one of the dresses with skirts that fell to the floor and a massive train carried by two more servants behind her; the long sleeves were slashed with what must be a hundred small lines of gold; the collar rose up to her chin, and even higher in the back; and a black veil was clipped into her bright white beehive and fell to her chin, obscuring her face. She walked slowly, her back straight and her head tilted slightly upward, as if she was seeing a horizon that he himself could never see, and her hands were before her, holding themselves underneath billowing sleeves.
Oh, such poise!
Oh, such refinement!
Billy looks around at the other shoppers within the market and cannot help but scowl at their impertinence. They were not required to bow before the Queen, of course, these clueless morons who were not a part of the Path of the Light Church, but they all still froze at the spectacle that was La Reine Mère. A baby cried in the distance for the attention of a mother who was giving it to the living goddess that was La Reine Mère and Billy wished the thing would be silent. He didn’t care much for the partner that the Blood Princess had chosen, but he was lock-step with the Grey girl on her opinion of stinking, dirty children!
He freezes again as she fully enters the store and a small wall of black follows her inside. Billy had been at the compound for several years, even before La Reine Mère found her place at the side of his Savior, He is risen, and he had seen the evolution of the security force. Initially just like him, just people who listened to the words of the Voice of God, He is risen, but they became more. They adopted Lord Lacklan’s believe in physical fitness, He is risen, and had learned to fight by watching him, but that had been nothing compared to when Redmaine had joined the church. The terrorist had found solace in Lord Lacklan and-
Billy’s knees shake underneath him as the hulking beast himself walks in at the end. The man in the half-mask looked as how he usually did, with thickly corded arms pushing out of his sleeveless fur-lined jacket, the fingertips at the end of his fingerless gloves holding onto the inside of his vest. He had only seen the part of Redmaine’s face that everyone else had seen, from his eyes to his bald head, but rumor had it that his jaw was a ruined mess, a rumor given life in part to his garbled speech.
The restaurant manager moves his head to follow the path of La Reine Mère as she walks on the carpet that the servants roll out before her, the wall of black closing behind her, with Redmaine taking up the rear. They make their way to the side of the large storeroom, towards the help desk, and eventually come to an end. Billy strains his ears to listen to the woman who shined the light upon the world, the reason for his existence, but it is the terrorist who speaks, instead.
“We are looking for something...specific.”
Remaine’s voice behind the mask sounds as garbled as ever, and Billy finds some sympathy for the confused and perplexed girl behind the counter. Nearly everyone in Bangor had a tale to tell about the Lacklans, as far as he could tell, but speaking of ghosts and seeing one in front of your eyes must be night and day. Billy can see the girl try to stammer a response, but Redmaine holds up one of his gloved hands to silence her.
“I know you have it. It is, after all, the first Saturday of the month.”
Redmaine then puts his hand in his vest and pulls out a piece of paper, which he hands to the scared girl. She takes it, her hands clearly shaking, and gives a nod after reading it. She disappears into the back of the store and, after several awkward moments, the shoppers within the store begin to go back to what they were doing. Billy himself wasn’t quite sure what to do. Protocol, of course, demanded that he remain where he was until he was told he could move, but as far as he knew, his queen didn’t even know he was there! He decides to be cautious and wait for the queen and her entourage to leave, and breathes a sigh of relief when the girl comes back out from the back with two large jars in her hands. He glimpses a look at the labels as she sets them on the counter: One marked escargot and the other pieds de porc.
Billy does his best to not throw up in his mouth. Japle-Bees had quite a bit of Cajun cooking, as that was the favorite of the Voice, He is risen, with his mother having been from Louisiana, but the food that La Reine Mère ate was hard for most to stomach. Snails and pig’s feet were chief on that list. Billy pushes away the revolting thought of those very dishes being made in his restaurant, as they were forced to do in order to keep their official Lacklanland Approved! license, and instead focuses on the counter. The Queen herself had thrown back her veil in order to personally inspect the imports from her homeland, and he hoped for the girl’s sake that they met her exacting expectations. Not many things did, from his experience. He loved her, and thanked her for every lesson she taught and sermon she preached, but some of her methods could be...harsh.
The queen suddenly smiled, and it felt like Billy’s heard would burst. The queen had hard eyes, eyes which had seen much from what rumors said, but that smile filled the world with light and joy. The relief on the face of the girl behind the counter seemed as genuine as his own when two of the queen’s servants picked up the jars. The queen replaced the veil over her face and gave the girl the barest of nods, which should have made the girl be overcome with honor and faint, if she fully understood who she was dealing with. That was the Queen of Red! La Reine Mère! How DARE she-
“ALL MAKE WAY FOR THE QUEEN’S RECESSIONAL!”
Richard Vaughn screams out into the air again and the herald trumpets play a second song, ”The Glorious Queen of Red,” and the group begins to leave. First the guards making their way, though Redmaine hangs back to take up the rear, and the queen herself walks down the red carpet as two servants keep her train off the ground. Behind them all, the initial two servants roll up the carpet as they all walk by. And then Billy’s heart stops all over again as the queen raises on of her arms, the billowing sleeve falling to show a pale hand curled up into a fist, and the entire entourage stops at once. Slowly, with a movement which felt an eternity to the restaurant manager, the queen turns her head directly towards him.
”Habitant.”
French was not spoken in Maine, of course, so there would be no reason for Billy to know it, but he knew this. “Denizen.” The Voice, He is risen, knew French, or at least the Cajun version of it, and the Blood Princess was known to be fluent in the proper language from an early age, but it had become somewhat fashionable to learn conversational French since La Reine Mère first arrived those years ago. Most only knew a handful of words, though the court were expected to be mostly fluent, but EVERYONE knew small words or phrases such as this. Billy lowered his head even further, going so far as to press his forehead to the ground.
“La Reine Mère.”
He put as much respect and awe as he could into the words, as was befitting her station. The compound had rejoiced when she and the Savior, He is risen, had become wed in a private ceremony those years ago, had wept when she vanished, and just about burst with glee when she returned and ascended her throne last year. He shivers as the muted click! becomes a strong clack! as heels leave the carpet and find the linoleum floor. He feels a tingle as her shoes, soft purple velvet with onyx heels, come into his view and the silver silk skirts lightly brush against his shaggy hair.
“What are you doing here, habitant?”
Billy tries to remain silent as he gulps. He had better not tell her the truth.
“Just needed some supplies for the restaurant, my queen.”
“Ah! You face adversity! I know this well.”
Billy nods his head slightly, careful not to accidentally slam it into the floor.
“Yes, my queen. Adversity. I look forward to seeing you defeat your own adversity on Monday.”
Billy was surprised to hear laughter above his head.
“Adversity? Monday? Whatever do you mean?”
“Your match, my queen. Against-”
He is cut off by sudden uproarious laughter, and then a soft tap on his shoulder.
“Rise, habitant.”
Billy slowly pushes himself to his feet until he stands before his queen, though he is careful to keep his eyes low as to avoid meeting her gaze. Many had been flogged for that.
“I do not face adversity on Monday, dear child. I face just yet another in a stream of silliness and promoters who are far too willing to give opportunities to those who have not earned them.”
Billy licks his lips.
“But...this past Monday...he-”
“Defeated Rydell?”
The Queen of Red laughs again.
“Le Visage Lutter is no challenge, dear child. Just another in a long line of those who are placed before me in order to be humbled and, if they must, be burned by the Light of God. If you will allow me, I will explain.”
Billy have an obedient and fervent nod of his head, making sure that his eyes never rose too high to be beyond his station.
“On March nineteenth of last year, Mizore Payne was given an opportunity at the Chaos Championship, then held by Jase Ingalls, without any apparent reason. With only a single match under her belt for the company, a loss in the qualifying round of the Trios Tournament, she was given the stuff of dreams and hopes. And I crushed her, dear child. I brought her into the Embrace of God and snapped her neck and took what rightfully belonged to me.
“On the twenty-third of April, the Harvester was given that same opportunity, and in the same vein. Outside of subjecting the world to unending promotional videos of himself rambling in circles, and far too many advances towards a happily married woman, Necron had done nothing in the company other than lose in a match with that ugly hunchback woman. Still, Donovan Hastings found that he should be given an opportunity to fight for the most prestigious championship in this business, though I still wonder if the Creative Director had ulterior motives and wished to thin the playing field of my unwanted suitors. Regardless, I took the Harvester, who much like Payne, did not deserve the opportunity he received, and dragged him through the very dragon’s fire and nearly ripped his head clean off and I held onto what rightfully belonged to me.
“And on the fourteenth of May, I did the same with Dynamo. At that stage, the glutton had only had a single match for the company, that of a table match on Chill where she barely survived, and her very first match on Synergy was to earn a championship match with me. Of course, ‘earned’ is not quite the right word, as she ‘earned’ it by defeating Payne, who at that time had only one victory out of six attempts. Either way, I was going to face a person who did not deserve to be in the ring with the Chaos Champion...much less the Champion of Chaos. And I did to Dynamo what everyone would expect: I dissolved her 3-on-1 advantage as one would salt a snail, and laid the track for her career of winning opportunities at championships yet failing to then win the titles themselves.”
Billy shivered as he felt a soft touch on his chin, and then broke out into a sweat as he felt a small push of pressure. He lifted his chin and looked directly into the green eyes behind the black veil.
“This is what I do, dear child. This is what God wishes of me. Just as Matthew spoke of wedding feasts and those invited, my job is to take those who are unworthy and burn them in the light. My job is to expose the falsehoods of those who would challenge me, just as Matthew tells us of Jesus pulling away the veil of lies worn by the Pharisees. Those who sit upon thrones of lies find themselves unseated before me, blinded by the light, scarred forevermore by the truth. And this truth is what my...opponent...faces on Monday.
“Le Visage Lutter must face the mirror that I hold up like every other person who has come before me, and he shall either accept who he is, push away the false vision, or else face the destruction of his reflection. I will remove ALL doubt! I will remove ALL falsehood! I will remove ALL questions!”
Billy’s mouth opens slightly as his queen gets going, her arms beginning to flail around, her voice rising from its kind tone to that of the preacher upon the pulpit.
“Let him come! Come to me with his flips and twists in the air! I will swat him as a fly and squish him as a bug! ”
He can see some of the heads of the forgotten shoppers turning towards them, and he sees understanding and awe creep into a few of them.
“Let him come! Come to me with his stories of fights in parking garages, gymnasiums, Young Men's Christian Association centers, and the warehouse of Larry’s Bait Shoppe! I will defeat him on the grand stage of the Synergy Arena in a world FAR beyond his limited scope!”
He sees eyes around him filling with devotion.
“Let him come! Come to me with his list of prizes such as the time he pulled down the Thanksgiving Turkey in the parking lot of the Cow Palace, or when he captured the East Florida Street Intercity Promising Stars Championship, or any other such example of his lackluster mediocrity! Let him see MY face! Let him see MY fury! Let him see MY championship pedigree! FOR I...AND I ALONE...AM THE CHAMPION OF CHAOS!”
Billy takes a step back as her voice turned into a roar.
“NAME AFTER NAME HAVE FALLEN BEFORE ME IN CHAOS MATCHES!”
She raises her fingers one at a time as she rattles off the list of names.
“Vaughn! Deimos! Payne! Ingalls! Lockheart! Necron! Dynamo! Pierce! Cotton! Rydell!”
She holds up both hands, fingers splayed out fully, and breaths in deep guffaws.
“NONE! None stand before me! NONE! None can defeat me! NONE! None will stop me from adding a eleventh name to that list. And certainly not some man-child who has cut out two holes from his small clothes and now wears them atop his head! Let him flip! Let him fly! And let him face what EVERYONE has faced who has come before me: LOSS.
“God DOES NOT want mediocrity! God DOES NOT want this business, His prefered sport, to be forever seen as a sideshow act to be watched alongside the bearded lady and the strongman. God DOES NOT want His most glorious of contests to be represented by silly infants like le Visage Lutter who are content to play the role of a clown piling into and out of undersized cars. God DOES NOT want le Visage Lutter to lead His beautiful business into some shadowed tent where children pitch peanuts to elephants.
“And because of this, dear child, le Visage Lutter is NOT my opponent on Monday. Defending the Chaos championship against him is NOT my adversity. My adversity is against Chaos...itself! Tell me, child, come Monday, how many days will I have been the Chaos Champion?!”
Billy’s answer is immediate.
“One hundred and twelve days, my queen. Two hundred and twenty combined.”
Lacklan’s smile and nod were approving. Every member of the compound was to study and memorize those numbers daily, and were quizzed on such facts throughout the day by members of the clergy.
“Oui, mon enfant! THIS is my adversity! THIS is my challenge! To send the man-child pretending to be a wrestler to his rightful home inside the loser’s circle and wake up on Tuesday as the Chaos Champion of two hundred and twenty two days...leaving MacLean behind...and only with Chaos, Pierce, and Ichabod himself ahead of me! My adversity is myself, child! To BE the Champion of Chaos! To how the world, day after day, what God TRULY wants from His beloved progeny! I WILL pass by Ezekiel Pax and close in on the longest single reign with the Chaos Championship. I WILL pass MacLean and have the trinity of Chaos, Pierce, and our new Creative Director in my sights. I WILL defend all the way THROUGH the Trios Tournament and be recognized as THE preeminent Chaos Champion...and thus THE preeminent champion in ALL of this business! And NO matter how much le Visage Lutter scratches and claws at relevance...NO matter how much time he spends in a ‘big time’ company...he will NEVER dethrone me...he will NEVER be able to stand up to God...and when standing next to him?”
She leans in forward and Billy shivers as her veil brushes his face.
“I AM.”
Billy can feel the tension in the room, can feel everyone frozen in place as they stare at the woman with the blazing green eyes.
“So!”
Billy nearly chokes as his queen’s entire countenance changes instantly. Gone is the fire and fury. Gone is the preacher and judge. And in its place is the smile which fills hearts with brightness and glee, the dimples that cause men to weep in awe and woman to feint in jealousy. She claps her hands together as she leans back away from him
“What item are you stocking up on?”
“Chicken wings, my queen. We ran out of the-”
So caught up in the serenity of his queen, he did not realize what he was saying until it was too late. The face of his queen’s joy fell to stone as the words tumbled out. The judge had returned.
“You mean to tell me, dear child, that you, the leader of one of the restaurants affectionately named after my husband, il est ressuscité, ran out of his favorite appetizer?”
Billy nodded. He tried to explain. Tried to say something. He didn’t mean to! There was just such a-
A small movement of his queen’s hand was followed by pain shooting through his back. Billy’s eyes were wide as he stared at the hulking half-mask of Redmaine. The man’s hand was around his throat, and he could feel his feet dangling off the ground. He heard gasps from people around him to accompany the crashes of jars falling from the shelf he had been slammed into, though not in any form of fear or concern. He understood the sound in their voices:
The conviction of new converts to the Path of the Light Church.
At least what was going to happen to him would be for the greater good.
Billy doesn’t know how much time as passed. His eyes are stained with sweat. His body aches. His skin, nude and shining in the dull light, flares with pain from what must be thousands of slashes. All he sees is a stone floor, dirty and lined with cracks. He looks up, his eyes passing by a series of chains and bracelets lined into the wall, and sees a sight he would forever remember in his dreams:
Aveline Lacklan is in all her glory. Wearing nothing but a slip, her pale skin slathered in as much sweat as he was, she stood above him, her chest rising up and down in deep breaths. Her arms were bare, their lengths lined in the infamous scars, some jagged and other clean, and a whip with many tiny thin cords hung from her hand, the ends flashing red with what he knew was his own blood. As she stood above him, two words slipped from his lips, the two words that he knew she wanted to hear, and two words that he knew, to the very bottom of his soul, he meant with every bit of conviction he could mutter:
“...thank you...”
“NONE of this is going to work!”
His voice was thick with consternation as his hazel eyes looked over the shelves. He needed SOMETHING to put on the menu to make up for the wings, but like his restaurant, much of the pickings were slim due to the Super Bowl tomorrow. Like the majority of New England, the streets of Bangor were awash in red, blue, and white flags in support of the Patriots, and regardless of how much the team was reviled by the rest of the country, Maine would always support their football team. Of course, many true football fans in the state prefered their college team (the Brice-Cowell Musket was THEIRS again; suck it, New Hampshire!), but the entire state came alive whenever Brady led his boys to the promised land.
The blasting sound of herald trumpets makes Billy freeze. And though the ice spreads to his lungs, making his breath come up short, his heart beats fast, the thumping loud in his own ears, as he hears a familiar voice ring out:
“ALL MAKE WAY FOR THE QUEEN’S PROCESSIONAL!”
Billy spun towards the door and his eyes go wide as he sees the owner of the voice. Short and round, seeming a troll from a fairy’s tale, if a fancily dressed one, Richard Vaughn took up most of the entrance to the market. His hat drooped down to near his knees, and his outfit of red and black had more puffery than anything seen since Victoria was Queen. Four men stood before him, each facing one another two-by-two in short rows, the long slender trumpets in their hands at the ready, mouthpieces pressed to lips. Vaughn unfurls the scroll in his hand and, with a flourishing ruffle of the papers, begins to read as the trumpets play softly.
“SHE IS THE QUEEN OF RED...THE CHAMPION OF CHAOS…LA REINE MERE...LE POING ET BORD DE DIEU”
Billy fell to his knees by rote as he saw the glimpse of red on the ground. Servants, liveried in black with a touch of purple for relief, roll out a red carpet large enough to fill the entire double-door entrance of the supermarket, and the restaurant manager shivers as he hears the first muted click! of heels on the carpet. The trumpets play louder as the crier finishes his litany of names, the sound of ”The March of the Queen of Red” filling the store, and everyone is quickly blessed with the sight of Aveline Lacklan.
Oh, how beautiful she is!
His queen wore one of her bright silver dresses today, one of the dresses with skirts that fell to the floor and a massive train carried by two more servants behind her; the long sleeves were slashed with what must be a hundred small lines of gold; the collar rose up to her chin, and even higher in the back; and a black veil was clipped into her bright white beehive and fell to her chin, obscuring her face. She walked slowly, her back straight and her head tilted slightly upward, as if she was seeing a horizon that he himself could never see, and her hands were before her, holding themselves underneath billowing sleeves.
Oh, such poise!
Oh, such refinement!
Billy looks around at the other shoppers within the market and cannot help but scowl at their impertinence. They were not required to bow before the Queen, of course, these clueless morons who were not a part of the Path of the Light Church, but they all still froze at the spectacle that was La Reine Mère. A baby cried in the distance for the attention of a mother who was giving it to the living goddess that was La Reine Mère and Billy wished the thing would be silent. He didn’t care much for the partner that the Blood Princess had chosen, but he was lock-step with the Grey girl on her opinion of stinking, dirty children!
He freezes again as she fully enters the store and a small wall of black follows her inside. Billy had been at the compound for several years, even before La Reine Mère found her place at the side of his Savior, He is risen, and he had seen the evolution of the security force. Initially just like him, just people who listened to the words of the Voice of God, He is risen, but they became more. They adopted Lord Lacklan’s believe in physical fitness, He is risen, and had learned to fight by watching him, but that had been nothing compared to when Redmaine had joined the church. The terrorist had found solace in Lord Lacklan and-
Billy’s knees shake underneath him as the hulking beast himself walks in at the end. The man in the half-mask looked as how he usually did, with thickly corded arms pushing out of his sleeveless fur-lined jacket, the fingertips at the end of his fingerless gloves holding onto the inside of his vest. He had only seen the part of Redmaine’s face that everyone else had seen, from his eyes to his bald head, but rumor had it that his jaw was a ruined mess, a rumor given life in part to his garbled speech.
The restaurant manager moves his head to follow the path of La Reine Mère as she walks on the carpet that the servants roll out before her, the wall of black closing behind her, with Redmaine taking up the rear. They make their way to the side of the large storeroom, towards the help desk, and eventually come to an end. Billy strains his ears to listen to the woman who shined the light upon the world, the reason for his existence, but it is the terrorist who speaks, instead.
“We are looking for something...specific.”
Remaine’s voice behind the mask sounds as garbled as ever, and Billy finds some sympathy for the confused and perplexed girl behind the counter. Nearly everyone in Bangor had a tale to tell about the Lacklans, as far as he could tell, but speaking of ghosts and seeing one in front of your eyes must be night and day. Billy can see the girl try to stammer a response, but Redmaine holds up one of his gloved hands to silence her.
“I know you have it. It is, after all, the first Saturday of the month.”
Redmaine then puts his hand in his vest and pulls out a piece of paper, which he hands to the scared girl. She takes it, her hands clearly shaking, and gives a nod after reading it. She disappears into the back of the store and, after several awkward moments, the shoppers within the store begin to go back to what they were doing. Billy himself wasn’t quite sure what to do. Protocol, of course, demanded that he remain where he was until he was told he could move, but as far as he knew, his queen didn’t even know he was there! He decides to be cautious and wait for the queen and her entourage to leave, and breathes a sigh of relief when the girl comes back out from the back with two large jars in her hands. He glimpses a look at the labels as she sets them on the counter: One marked escargot and the other pieds de porc.
Billy does his best to not throw up in his mouth. Japle-Bees had quite a bit of Cajun cooking, as that was the favorite of the Voice, He is risen, with his mother having been from Louisiana, but the food that La Reine Mère ate was hard for most to stomach. Snails and pig’s feet were chief on that list. Billy pushes away the revolting thought of those very dishes being made in his restaurant, as they were forced to do in order to keep their official Lacklanland Approved! license, and instead focuses on the counter. The Queen herself had thrown back her veil in order to personally inspect the imports from her homeland, and he hoped for the girl’s sake that they met her exacting expectations. Not many things did, from his experience. He loved her, and thanked her for every lesson she taught and sermon she preached, but some of her methods could be...harsh.
The queen suddenly smiled, and it felt like Billy’s heard would burst. The queen had hard eyes, eyes which had seen much from what rumors said, but that smile filled the world with light and joy. The relief on the face of the girl behind the counter seemed as genuine as his own when two of the queen’s servants picked up the jars. The queen replaced the veil over her face and gave the girl the barest of nods, which should have made the girl be overcome with honor and faint, if she fully understood who she was dealing with. That was the Queen of Red! La Reine Mère! How DARE she-
“ALL MAKE WAY FOR THE QUEEN’S RECESSIONAL!”
Richard Vaughn screams out into the air again and the herald trumpets play a second song, ”The Glorious Queen of Red,” and the group begins to leave. First the guards making their way, though Redmaine hangs back to take up the rear, and the queen herself walks down the red carpet as two servants keep her train off the ground. Behind them all, the initial two servants roll up the carpet as they all walk by. And then Billy’s heart stops all over again as the queen raises on of her arms, the billowing sleeve falling to show a pale hand curled up into a fist, and the entire entourage stops at once. Slowly, with a movement which felt an eternity to the restaurant manager, the queen turns her head directly towards him.
”Habitant.”
French was not spoken in Maine, of course, so there would be no reason for Billy to know it, but he knew this. “Denizen.” The Voice, He is risen, knew French, or at least the Cajun version of it, and the Blood Princess was known to be fluent in the proper language from an early age, but it had become somewhat fashionable to learn conversational French since La Reine Mère first arrived those years ago. Most only knew a handful of words, though the court were expected to be mostly fluent, but EVERYONE knew small words or phrases such as this. Billy lowered his head even further, going so far as to press his forehead to the ground.
“La Reine Mère.”
He put as much respect and awe as he could into the words, as was befitting her station. The compound had rejoiced when she and the Savior, He is risen, had become wed in a private ceremony those years ago, had wept when she vanished, and just about burst with glee when she returned and ascended her throne last year. He shivers as the muted click! becomes a strong clack! as heels leave the carpet and find the linoleum floor. He feels a tingle as her shoes, soft purple velvet with onyx heels, come into his view and the silver silk skirts lightly brush against his shaggy hair.
“What are you doing here, habitant?”
Billy tries to remain silent as he gulps. He had better not tell her the truth.
“Just needed some supplies for the restaurant, my queen.”
“Ah! You face adversity! I know this well.”
Billy nods his head slightly, careful not to accidentally slam it into the floor.
“Yes, my queen. Adversity. I look forward to seeing you defeat your own adversity on Monday.”
Billy was surprised to hear laughter above his head.
“Adversity? Monday? Whatever do you mean?”
“Your match, my queen. Against-”
He is cut off by sudden uproarious laughter, and then a soft tap on his shoulder.
“Rise, habitant.”
Billy slowly pushes himself to his feet until he stands before his queen, though he is careful to keep his eyes low as to avoid meeting her gaze. Many had been flogged for that.
“I do not face adversity on Monday, dear child. I face just yet another in a stream of silliness and promoters who are far too willing to give opportunities to those who have not earned them.”
Billy licks his lips.
“But...this past Monday...he-”
“Defeated Rydell?”
The Queen of Red laughs again.
“Le Visage Lutter is no challenge, dear child. Just another in a long line of those who are placed before me in order to be humbled and, if they must, be burned by the Light of God. If you will allow me, I will explain.”
Billy have an obedient and fervent nod of his head, making sure that his eyes never rose too high to be beyond his station.
“On March nineteenth of last year, Mizore Payne was given an opportunity at the Chaos Championship, then held by Jase Ingalls, without any apparent reason. With only a single match under her belt for the company, a loss in the qualifying round of the Trios Tournament, she was given the stuff of dreams and hopes. And I crushed her, dear child. I brought her into the Embrace of God and snapped her neck and took what rightfully belonged to me.
“On the twenty-third of April, the Harvester was given that same opportunity, and in the same vein. Outside of subjecting the world to unending promotional videos of himself rambling in circles, and far too many advances towards a happily married woman, Necron had done nothing in the company other than lose in a match with that ugly hunchback woman. Still, Donovan Hastings found that he should be given an opportunity to fight for the most prestigious championship in this business, though I still wonder if the Creative Director had ulterior motives and wished to thin the playing field of my unwanted suitors. Regardless, I took the Harvester, who much like Payne, did not deserve the opportunity he received, and dragged him through the very dragon’s fire and nearly ripped his head clean off and I held onto what rightfully belonged to me.
“And on the fourteenth of May, I did the same with Dynamo. At that stage, the glutton had only had a single match for the company, that of a table match on Chill where she barely survived, and her very first match on Synergy was to earn a championship match with me. Of course, ‘earned’ is not quite the right word, as she ‘earned’ it by defeating Payne, who at that time had only one victory out of six attempts. Either way, I was going to face a person who did not deserve to be in the ring with the Chaos Champion...much less the Champion of Chaos. And I did to Dynamo what everyone would expect: I dissolved her 3-on-1 advantage as one would salt a snail, and laid the track for her career of winning opportunities at championships yet failing to then win the titles themselves.”
Billy shivered as he felt a soft touch on his chin, and then broke out into a sweat as he felt a small push of pressure. He lifted his chin and looked directly into the green eyes behind the black veil.
“This is what I do, dear child. This is what God wishes of me. Just as Matthew spoke of wedding feasts and those invited, my job is to take those who are unworthy and burn them in the light. My job is to expose the falsehoods of those who would challenge me, just as Matthew tells us of Jesus pulling away the veil of lies worn by the Pharisees. Those who sit upon thrones of lies find themselves unseated before me, blinded by the light, scarred forevermore by the truth. And this truth is what my...opponent...faces on Monday.
“Le Visage Lutter must face the mirror that I hold up like every other person who has come before me, and he shall either accept who he is, push away the false vision, or else face the destruction of his reflection. I will remove ALL doubt! I will remove ALL falsehood! I will remove ALL questions!”
Billy’s mouth opens slightly as his queen gets going, her arms beginning to flail around, her voice rising from its kind tone to that of the preacher upon the pulpit.
“Let him come! Come to me with his flips and twists in the air! I will swat him as a fly and squish him as a bug! ”
He can see some of the heads of the forgotten shoppers turning towards them, and he sees understanding and awe creep into a few of them.
“Let him come! Come to me with his stories of fights in parking garages, gymnasiums, Young Men's Christian Association centers, and the warehouse of Larry’s Bait Shoppe! I will defeat him on the grand stage of the Synergy Arena in a world FAR beyond his limited scope!”
He sees eyes around him filling with devotion.
“Let him come! Come to me with his list of prizes such as the time he pulled down the Thanksgiving Turkey in the parking lot of the Cow Palace, or when he captured the East Florida Street Intercity Promising Stars Championship, or any other such example of his lackluster mediocrity! Let him see MY face! Let him see MY fury! Let him see MY championship pedigree! FOR I...AND I ALONE...AM THE CHAMPION OF CHAOS!”
Billy takes a step back as her voice turned into a roar.
“NAME AFTER NAME HAVE FALLEN BEFORE ME IN CHAOS MATCHES!”
She raises her fingers one at a time as she rattles off the list of names.
“Vaughn! Deimos! Payne! Ingalls! Lockheart! Necron! Dynamo! Pierce! Cotton! Rydell!”
She holds up both hands, fingers splayed out fully, and breaths in deep guffaws.
“NONE! None stand before me! NONE! None can defeat me! NONE! None will stop me from adding a eleventh name to that list. And certainly not some man-child who has cut out two holes from his small clothes and now wears them atop his head! Let him flip! Let him fly! And let him face what EVERYONE has faced who has come before me: LOSS.
“God DOES NOT want mediocrity! God DOES NOT want this business, His prefered sport, to be forever seen as a sideshow act to be watched alongside the bearded lady and the strongman. God DOES NOT want His most glorious of contests to be represented by silly infants like le Visage Lutter who are content to play the role of a clown piling into and out of undersized cars. God DOES NOT want le Visage Lutter to lead His beautiful business into some shadowed tent where children pitch peanuts to elephants.
“And because of this, dear child, le Visage Lutter is NOT my opponent on Monday. Defending the Chaos championship against him is NOT my adversity. My adversity is against Chaos...itself! Tell me, child, come Monday, how many days will I have been the Chaos Champion?!”
Billy’s answer is immediate.
“One hundred and twelve days, my queen. Two hundred and twenty combined.”
Lacklan’s smile and nod were approving. Every member of the compound was to study and memorize those numbers daily, and were quizzed on such facts throughout the day by members of the clergy.
“Oui, mon enfant! THIS is my adversity! THIS is my challenge! To send the man-child pretending to be a wrestler to his rightful home inside the loser’s circle and wake up on Tuesday as the Chaos Champion of two hundred and twenty two days...leaving MacLean behind...and only with Chaos, Pierce, and Ichabod himself ahead of me! My adversity is myself, child! To BE the Champion of Chaos! To how the world, day after day, what God TRULY wants from His beloved progeny! I WILL pass by Ezekiel Pax and close in on the longest single reign with the Chaos Championship. I WILL pass MacLean and have the trinity of Chaos, Pierce, and our new Creative Director in my sights. I WILL defend all the way THROUGH the Trios Tournament and be recognized as THE preeminent Chaos Champion...and thus THE preeminent champion in ALL of this business! And NO matter how much le Visage Lutter scratches and claws at relevance...NO matter how much time he spends in a ‘big time’ company...he will NEVER dethrone me...he will NEVER be able to stand up to God...and when standing next to him?”
She leans in forward and Billy shivers as her veil brushes his face.
“I AM.”
Billy can feel the tension in the room, can feel everyone frozen in place as they stare at the woman with the blazing green eyes.
“So!”
Billy nearly chokes as his queen’s entire countenance changes instantly. Gone is the fire and fury. Gone is the preacher and judge. And in its place is the smile which fills hearts with brightness and glee, the dimples that cause men to weep in awe and woman to feint in jealousy. She claps her hands together as she leans back away from him
“What item are you stocking up on?”
“Chicken wings, my queen. We ran out of the-”
So caught up in the serenity of his queen, he did not realize what he was saying until it was too late. The face of his queen’s joy fell to stone as the words tumbled out. The judge had returned.
“You mean to tell me, dear child, that you, the leader of one of the restaurants affectionately named after my husband, il est ressuscité, ran out of his favorite appetizer?”
Billy nodded. He tried to explain. Tried to say something. He didn’t mean to! There was just such a-
A small movement of his queen’s hand was followed by pain shooting through his back. Billy’s eyes were wide as he stared at the hulking half-mask of Redmaine. The man’s hand was around his throat, and he could feel his feet dangling off the ground. He heard gasps from people around him to accompany the crashes of jars falling from the shelf he had been slammed into, though not in any form of fear or concern. He understood the sound in their voices:
The conviction of new converts to the Path of the Light Church.
At least what was going to happen to him would be for the greater good.
Billy doesn’t know how much time as passed. His eyes are stained with sweat. His body aches. His skin, nude and shining in the dull light, flares with pain from what must be thousands of slashes. All he sees is a stone floor, dirty and lined with cracks. He looks up, his eyes passing by a series of chains and bracelets lined into the wall, and sees a sight he would forever remember in his dreams:
Aveline Lacklan is in all her glory. Wearing nothing but a slip, her pale skin slathered in as much sweat as he was, she stood above him, her chest rising up and down in deep breaths. Her arms were bare, their lengths lined in the infamous scars, some jagged and other clean, and a whip with many tiny thin cords hung from her hand, the ends flashing red with what he knew was his own blood. As she stood above him, two words slipped from his lips, the two words that he knew she wanted to hear, and two words that he knew, to the very bottom of his soul, he meant with every bit of conviction he could mutter:
“...thank you...”
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