Post by walkindude on Apr 3, 2019 23:37:20 GMT
Two weeks prior…
EMILY WEST:
Their meeting wasn’t scheduled for another half an hour, but Emily West arrived early partly because she wanted to reconnoiter the area for potential ambush spots and mostly because she hadn’t been to Best Used Books in a year or more. Situated in the center of a nondescript strip mall with neighbors that included an old biker bar and a chain pizza place, the bookstore was a cavernous space jammed full of floor to ceiling rows dedicated to any genre a reader might want.
At the moment Em had already picked out a pair of battered Robert McCammon paperbacks and was contemplating a hardbound Arkham House Clark Ashton Smith anthology that looked to have escaped a library in the Midwest no less than three decades prior. She’d just tucked the volume under her arm when a voice came from the far end of the dim aisle.
“Your desire for punctuality borders on the manic, sister. Or perhaps you’re here to memorize the floor plan in case I reneged on my initial offer?”
MIRANDA WAINRIGHT:
West turned in that direction and of course it was Miranda Wainright, the slender blonde watching her calmly. Emily held up her books. “Always on the lookout for more reading material, Miranda. And though I think a direct assault outside the confines of the arena would be ill-advised, yes, I have walked the store to make sure Tiffany or Penelope or Helena didn’t ‘happen’ to be in search of books at the same time.”
Wainright smiled faintly. “Did you find anything untoward, sister?”
“No. You appear to have kept your word.”
“Appear?” Miranda’s tone was tinged with pique. “I always keep my word, Emily. Your galling lack of faith is a personal issue to be sure, and yet I can’t help but bristle when it tinges our personal interactions.”
“My faith in you has never wavered, Miranda.” the brunette replied. “You’ve always done anything necessary to get your way.”
“Said the pot to the kettle.” the Deacon of Despair came down the narrow aisle and stopped opposite Emily. “But that’s why I asked you here, isn’t it? We’ve both made careers out of controlling the narrative of FAWN, unfortunately control has proved elusive these last several months. Helena and Rebecca are waging their own sort of guerrilla war on every front imaginable, I believe the number of count outs and disqualifications among them is no less than a dozen as of this past weekend. Your Fair and Radiant Lenore has only just returned from injury and Adelaide--”
“Is losing her mind.” Emily said bluntly. “She’s going feral, if she isn’t already. You lost control of her long before she lost the World Title. And I noticed you excluded mention of the fact that Brewster is the reason Lenore was off the board for more than two months.”
“Pieces are lost in chess games all the time, Emily. This cannot come as a surprise to you.”
“Hardly. But the pieces should only move at the direction of the players. Not of their own accord.” Miranda frowned, looked like she might say something, then decided against it. “Why are we here, Miranda? A cessation of hostilities seems impossible at this point. Even if you demanded it, and I highly doubt you would, something tells me Adelaide and Helena would carry on their respective courses.”
“Oh, and I’m certain Lenore, Susan and Rebecca would simply lay down their swords if you decreed them do so?” Wainright’s sarcasm was almost acidic.
“Hardly, but then I wouldn’t ask unless… well, I’m not sure what circumstances would warrant such action. Something tells me you’re here to suggest one.”
“I am. It’s perhaps a bit more direct than you tend to prefer, but I believe it’s the best for our respective factions, and FAWN as a whole. We sweep the board clean, sister. Oh, your rook can fight my knight and our bishops can do battle however they see fit, but those are merely skirmishes. The real war is between us and you know it.”
Emily dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Go on.”
“My proposal is a simple three part series, a triptych, if you will. Starting at March to War, carrying on to Mayhem and concluding, if necessary, at Red, White and Bruised. Three battles between us and only us, winner take all.”
“Stablemates barred from ringside, I assume?”
“Absolutely. I trust you can keep your pawns from rushing the ring when their Queen starts to falter?”
“As long as your flock doesn’t whine and low when their shepherd loses her way.” Emily countered. “What is the ‘all’ in this case, Miranda?”
Wainright’s smile was radiant in the dim light of the old bookstore. “Quite simple, really. IF you win, I will disband the Church of Eternal Midnight, freeing them to seek their own way through the duplicitous light of this sorry world.”
“And if you win, I break up the Black Court?”
Miranda shrugged. “If you like. No sister, the continued existence of your group of wardens is no concern to me. But WHEN I win… you bend the knee to me in the center of the ring and pledge your loyalty to the Church of Eternal Midnight. Do we have a deal?”
“I want your word that none of the other Churchgoers will interfere.”
“They’ve already given it to me. I give it to you, if the Courtiers will do the same.”
“They will.” Emily extended a hand. “Don’t accept lightly, Miranda. Because if you do it means your days behind the pulpit are numbered. After Mayhem or Red, White and Bruised at the latest, you’re back to being just another street corner prophet.”
Wainright took her hand and squeezed hard. “Pulpit or street corner, the word remains the same, sister. And I promise that you’ll know them chapter and verse by the time the summer is over.” Seemingly satisfied, the Septa of Sorrow broke the clasp and walked away. She’d almost turned the corner when she stopped and said, “This place has a remarkable theology section, sister. Perhaps something on the power of prayer might prove useful? You’ll need it once the bell sounds.”
Emily didn’t dignify it with an answer, instead she pulled out a thin volume by Charles Beaumont, then turned around and set off for True Crime.
*******
EMILY WEST:
Their meeting wasn’t scheduled for another half an hour, but Emily West arrived early partly because she wanted to reconnoiter the area for potential ambush spots and mostly because she hadn’t been to Best Used Books in a year or more. Situated in the center of a nondescript strip mall with neighbors that included an old biker bar and a chain pizza place, the bookstore was a cavernous space jammed full of floor to ceiling rows dedicated to any genre a reader might want.
At the moment Em had already picked out a pair of battered Robert McCammon paperbacks and was contemplating a hardbound Arkham House Clark Ashton Smith anthology that looked to have escaped a library in the Midwest no less than three decades prior. She’d just tucked the volume under her arm when a voice came from the far end of the dim aisle.
“Your desire for punctuality borders on the manic, sister. Or perhaps you’re here to memorize the floor plan in case I reneged on my initial offer?”
MIRANDA WAINRIGHT:
West turned in that direction and of course it was Miranda Wainright, the slender blonde watching her calmly. Emily held up her books. “Always on the lookout for more reading material, Miranda. And though I think a direct assault outside the confines of the arena would be ill-advised, yes, I have walked the store to make sure Tiffany or Penelope or Helena didn’t ‘happen’ to be in search of books at the same time.”
Wainright smiled faintly. “Did you find anything untoward, sister?”
“No. You appear to have kept your word.”
“Appear?” Miranda’s tone was tinged with pique. “I always keep my word, Emily. Your galling lack of faith is a personal issue to be sure, and yet I can’t help but bristle when it tinges our personal interactions.”
“My faith in you has never wavered, Miranda.” the brunette replied. “You’ve always done anything necessary to get your way.”
“Said the pot to the kettle.” the Deacon of Despair came down the narrow aisle and stopped opposite Emily. “But that’s why I asked you here, isn’t it? We’ve both made careers out of controlling the narrative of FAWN, unfortunately control has proved elusive these last several months. Helena and Rebecca are waging their own sort of guerrilla war on every front imaginable, I believe the number of count outs and disqualifications among them is no less than a dozen as of this past weekend. Your Fair and Radiant Lenore has only just returned from injury and Adelaide--”
“Is losing her mind.” Emily said bluntly. “She’s going feral, if she isn’t already. You lost control of her long before she lost the World Title. And I noticed you excluded mention of the fact that Brewster is the reason Lenore was off the board for more than two months.”
“Pieces are lost in chess games all the time, Emily. This cannot come as a surprise to you.”
“Hardly. But the pieces should only move at the direction of the players. Not of their own accord.” Miranda frowned, looked like she might say something, then decided against it. “Why are we here, Miranda? A cessation of hostilities seems impossible at this point. Even if you demanded it, and I highly doubt you would, something tells me Adelaide and Helena would carry on their respective courses.”
“Oh, and I’m certain Lenore, Susan and Rebecca would simply lay down their swords if you decreed them do so?” Wainright’s sarcasm was almost acidic.
“Hardly, but then I wouldn’t ask unless… well, I’m not sure what circumstances would warrant such action. Something tells me you’re here to suggest one.”
“I am. It’s perhaps a bit more direct than you tend to prefer, but I believe it’s the best for our respective factions, and FAWN as a whole. We sweep the board clean, sister. Oh, your rook can fight my knight and our bishops can do battle however they see fit, but those are merely skirmishes. The real war is between us and you know it.”
Emily dipped her head in acknowledgement. “Go on.”
“My proposal is a simple three part series, a triptych, if you will. Starting at March to War, carrying on to Mayhem and concluding, if necessary, at Red, White and Bruised. Three battles between us and only us, winner take all.”
“Stablemates barred from ringside, I assume?”
“Absolutely. I trust you can keep your pawns from rushing the ring when their Queen starts to falter?”
“As long as your flock doesn’t whine and low when their shepherd loses her way.” Emily countered. “What is the ‘all’ in this case, Miranda?”
Wainright’s smile was radiant in the dim light of the old bookstore. “Quite simple, really. IF you win, I will disband the Church of Eternal Midnight, freeing them to seek their own way through the duplicitous light of this sorry world.”
“And if you win, I break up the Black Court?”
Miranda shrugged. “If you like. No sister, the continued existence of your group of wardens is no concern to me. But WHEN I win… you bend the knee to me in the center of the ring and pledge your loyalty to the Church of Eternal Midnight. Do we have a deal?”
“I want your word that none of the other Churchgoers will interfere.”
“They’ve already given it to me. I give it to you, if the Courtiers will do the same.”
“They will.” Emily extended a hand. “Don’t accept lightly, Miranda. Because if you do it means your days behind the pulpit are numbered. After Mayhem or Red, White and Bruised at the latest, you’re back to being just another street corner prophet.”
Wainright took her hand and squeezed hard. “Pulpit or street corner, the word remains the same, sister. And I promise that you’ll know them chapter and verse by the time the summer is over.” Seemingly satisfied, the Septa of Sorrow broke the clasp and walked away. She’d almost turned the corner when she stopped and said, “This place has a remarkable theology section, sister. Perhaps something on the power of prayer might prove useful? You’ll need it once the bell sounds.”
Emily didn’t dignify it with an answer, instead she pulled out a thin volume by Charles Beaumont, then turned around and set off for True Crime.
*******