The Dark Queen and the Rooster.

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Two different tales.

The Queen of the Mad.

The woman, affectionatelylessly and fraudulently known as the Virgin Queen as time passed, was set to take the thrown.  Her sister, actually the current queen, had been captured and merely awaited execution, after some sort of formality trial.  Many courtiers, nobility, and royalty shared the train with the new queen to be on the way to the unholy place of her coronation.  It was these who would be forced to spill royal blood for King, Country, and God Himself.  The plot had been under consideration for some time as it had become apparent that her rise and the successful conquest of her sister were brought about by a devil artifact, one that gave her powers equaling some of the greater demon lords, perhaps stepping even on Satan's toes.

To that end, the gentlemen of nobility, royalty, and a few vampires of pedigree, debated for hours, days, to hatch the plan to remove the queen-to-be from her life.  A simple straight attack, of course, using what she thought were her guards.  But that could not be counted on by itself, not with the talisman.  It was decided that four groups, including the guards, the pair of vampires, a group of the nobility, and some of the lesser royalty, would attack all at once, in different ways, from different directions.  A diversion to distract attention had been arranged as well.  I, being considered one of the primaries to restore the throne to it's rightful heirs, had been left from all but the planning.

I do not know what went wrong, being kept off the scene, all I know is the Dark Queen, the Skirt Dictator, the Terror of England, did indeed become queen, to the woe of all.  Ah, the dream was much more intricate, but I am losing it as I wake.---

The Rooster of the Heights

I was a reporter with a small to middling paper, somewhere south of Salt Lake City.  I headed out on vacation, or more a personal wandering, through and to an area I knew in the hinterlands.  I did have a lead for a story out that way, if I had no real intention of following that lead, at that time, if you never know what incidental information can be gathered just through gab.  Still, being known to be a reporter has a way of quieting those who know and emboldening those who know nothing to talk wildly as if they did know.  I wasn't going to blow my cover.  Just a simple plainsman taking in the sights and sounds, fresh air and heights, and time away from the hectic life in the city.  That was my story and I was sticking with it.  Oh, and I was a minor actor in publishing, no one who knew anything, just a cog paper-pusher.  That should do.  Having heard enough lies and fibs, telling them seemed second nature.  A tool in the kit, for many reasons, already and anyway.

I headed up to the area.  The commute just to the far side of the great desert city was just one more reason to enjoy finally seeing the far side and then the city in the rear-view mirror.  Splitting off the interstate to a highway, then from there to a paved but winding road up to my destination were simple joys.  Less and less for more and more, I thought to myself, without even knowing or caring what that meant.  As I got within fifty miles of my destination I was amazed to find that the roads had been paved since the last time I drove this way.  How long ago was that?  I had to think.  Odd, it has only been five years, and the roads weren't just paved, they were vastly improved.  These had been rough graveled dirt simple two lane roads, if that at points, slow stretches of a long dusty drive.  Had some major interest brought demand?  In five years?  A pair of five star ski resorts, or even the reinvention of one of the dying little communities into a resort area?  Being a reporter, and covering these things, I thought I would have heard about this.  Perhaps, though, a pipeline had come through and the road was part of the price?

I drove further.  Nearing the community in which I had planned to spend my three day weekend, with the possibility of extending my stay for any and all pretenses, or even just because, depending on how things went, I started wondering if I was... somehow... completely lost!  While the roads remained extremely high quality two lanes, they started climbing at very odd and frightening angles.  My vehicle was actually built for off-roading, but these roads were taxing it's eight cylinder muscular ability to climb!  On some of the more serious climbs I prayed to God in heaven that the road not have a bend in it, not even a little one.  While I was not experienced in off-roading, I was certainly alive enough to know when a plain to the parallel horizon had been bent enough to be a serious risk.  But... this was not where I had been, where I was going, was it?

I continued on.  I suppose I could have looked at the map, or tried to connect my smart phone to the satellites.  But I knew I was on the right highway by the signs.  And the highway postings indicated the town which was my target was just a score of miles before me by the time I thought to reconsider the notion.  I was literally sweating most of the trip, the stench of fear born on the body odor of it.  Like a soldier too fixed on his objective to realize the danger, I drove on.  It wasn't bravery, it was simply that I didn't even have the time away from the fear to think about what other choices might be available.

There it was!  The town I had so looked forward to visiting.  I was on the low end, the shallowing spit of the last terrifying peak of a road before I saw it.  I had to stay my course or otherwise I would have pulled aside, gotten out, fallen to my knees, kissed the ground, and given thanks to God in heaven for the picture perfect town that lay before me.  Not being a Christian mattered little.  Not an atheist, just... not a believer, in anything, save coin perhaps.  Still, some things bring back the old superstitions that others hold, somehow.

As I drew closer I could easily see that the town was not improved in any way.  The collection of ramshackle abandoned homes, barns, and stockades, dotted between the obviously lived in homes and homesteads... the small fishing tackle, bait, and general store at this end of town along the road, the weary anachronistic diner in the center of town, and the gas station and auto service station a bit past that, all seemed just as they were on my last visit.  This was the last town on this road, as the road went further up the valley but ended where the ranges closed in at the far end of the valley, creating a boxed canyon.  Nothing I had seen would have indicated a resort on the way, if sheer terror at times might have stolen all my concentration save what I could lend the road?

To the diner.  I wasn't sure a meal is exactly what I needed.  A pot of coffee is what I wanted, with whiskey, if that would have jumbled my nerves the more.  Perhaps just whiskey.  Fie, I thought, a cup of java or two and a piece of pie.  Anything else would be too heavy on my still tight gut, I thought, as I entered the greasy spoon.  The place was laid out like so many others.  The floor plan was more like an aisle in a store, with an L at the left end, the bathrooms at the dead-end on the right, where a pay phone used to hang off to the side of the restroom doors.  The side closest to the windows consisted of booths, one next to the other as tightly fitted as possible.  The row along the counter was dotted with single serve seating, no-back, fixed, twist-seats.  I ought to see if there is a single word for those, sometime, I thought to myself.  Words, of course, being part and parcel to my trade.  Although no matter if there are words for things, sometimes the word isn't sexy or interesting enough to bother with.

I chose one of the twist-o-seats.  I had my pick.  There were two booths occupied, one by what looked to be grandparents, one of their daughters perhaps, and a grandson.  The other booth that was occupied held a solitary man in some sort of business uniform, such as a gas reader or even perhaps a delivery man, his name probably embroidered on a name patch on his chest, but his back was to me so I didn't know for certain.  With no vehicles, save mine, on the road in front of the diner, they must have been locals.  An older, almost pretty, tall woman approached.  After a bit of looking me over, she suggested that their special was s.o.s. on mashed potatoes, with a side of cheesy broccoli, and soup or salad.  Before I thought, I took the deal.  In spite of my earlier thoughts, I actually was hungry.  Coffee, too, I said.  And who knows, pie might still fit in there afterward I thought to myself.  Whiskey later, absolutely no doubt on that.

 As she finished scribbling, and before she could escape as she seemed about to do, I asked when the road had been upgraded?  She looked at me blankly.  It has always been here, she suggested.  Always?  How long have you lived here, I asked?  Oh, four or five years, I think, she replied.  Perhaps my memory was wrong, perhaps it had been longer since I had been here.  I would try to nail it down later.  I let her go, though not without sizing her up as a source of information, with a few general questions, within the limits of her time here.  Learn, check, verify, prove, write.  For a newsman, that is supposed to be the way of it.  It certainly was my way.

...  the rest of the dream soon... or not?  :p

Quite some dreams.  I laid down at about 7:00 and slept until about 9:30, waking to some... interesting material.  I'll try to get to some work now.  Oh, the rest of that last story was much more interesting.  I hope I remember it.  I lost most of, and the rest of, the queen story.  Ah well.  I certainly enjoyed them.

Later.