Topic: Concerning Mamie Clover (and the end of kin)

Madison Rye

Date: 2014-07-08 22:08 EST
Reference: http://rdi.dragonsmark.com/forums/viewtopic.php?t=27600/

((Thank you to the player of Jack Scot, for obliging me with your mystery and magic.

Thanks to the players of Gemethyst, Mamie Clover, Tina and Audrey Horne, for sharing the story))


A Walk with Jack Coyote


The night before last, blood spilled down the wall of Mamie Clover's room. It was not Mamie's blood, but that of the Crow that had stepped in to defend - bound by ribbon, and honor. So it was, that Gem, his sweet and darling, had endangered the one she loved, and placed him around her, on the other side of shadows. The one who put the stars back into her eyes, had lost some of those that glittered in his. Fate, she can be cruel.

What did this mean, for the ones of the Westling Wind?

That Mamie was in Rhy'din for more than the science and art of cartography and curiosity. She was a pair of eyes, for those who, by distance, and danger, could not see. And, it was believed, a pair of hands. It meant that, by mere association, Madison was in threat. That the fears of those beyond the mirror were justified. It was, as Jack says, enough.

After some enquiry from Tina, progeny of Artsblood Shusburg, the name of the intent was given shape. Mamie's words, after the night of fallen blood, had expressed the scope, the range, and the potential. Where they were vast canyons without detail, Jack filled them up.

__________________________________________________


The Crow and the Gunslinger's shadows fell ahead of them, eventually bleeding into the grayscales and chiaroscuro's of West End's alleys and lanes. She had been quiet most of the way from the Inn, where Tina sat with that rebar, and just in case, she kept looking back occasionally. Her body was a wired thing. Just seeing Morgan Wright earlier had elicited a mood in her that she hadn't meant to allow herself to walk. Then there
was Jack, singing the blues. Her eyes watched his profile in the dark. Troubled by the lack of stars in his eyes.

"Jack? You doing okay?"

His steps were steady. He was a life long traveller and most of it on his feet. He could sleep and still walk. Maybe he had been until Madison broke the silence that was not. The WestEnd never slept. There was noise of the doings and goings and comings all around them if one knew how to listen. "Wings got clipped."

"What happened? Mamie says Gem tried to stab her? I am new to the logic of this other world, of Susie and the end of kin. But... how were you stabbed? Why?"

She slowed her steps, to place a hand, gently, gently, on Scottie's
arm. Eyes shadowed by that concern, still bloomed on her face.

"I am not sure of the history of this story, luv." The ribbons on his sleeves had escaped unharmed. It was the front of his coat that was in ruins. "Mamie Clover is looking for the bairn of a friend of ours. And the way Mamie explained it, it seems whoever is wanting this child found means it harm. Gem is near sister to the mothers of this child. Do you see?"

Nodding, a hand tucked a few erstwhile curls beyond an ear. Thoughts fitting into thoughts, layers beneath layers, the twisted mosaic coming to be. "I do see." Her voice thick with the knowledge. Uneasiness spread lukewarm through her.

"I don't wish to sound bias, Jack, but from what Mamie has told me, and by
... her expressions about the Mother, she means only to learn.. I don't believe Mamie seeks to set the child to harm."

"She's here to... to seek, to form an opinion. This progeny is no ordinary child, and I think Mamie knows fear because of that, but .... Mamie isn't a killer." Or was that a hope against a hope? Mamie wasn't a killer. Yet. There was intake of a breath.

"Mamie's motives don't matter. I am sorry. It's perception. I know them.

Anything like this is a threat, luv." He sighed and gazed high up into the star
blanketed sky.

Madison's eyes tracked his above.

He continued. "They will assume that whatever judgement is given will be the one that threatens their family." "And they will act. That is what will happen. That is what has happened."

"That makes me feel awful sad, Jack."Eyes pulled back to the ground. She
exhaled.

"It may end me."

Madison, eyes wide, looked to him. "How so?" A thumb travelled a ribbon, and then the hand fell to her side.

"Because I am bound to them and to you and Mamie Clover and sweet Gem. You all have a piece of me. I don't know how I am to protect you all. And then there's Manon...my heart, my home. She is ...I don't even know how to explain it. She and this child's mother are soul sisters? Lovers once. If I help you and Mamie..." he trailed off. What could he do. He was between rock and hard with an anvil dropping.

"I don't want you..you don't have to protect *me*, or Mamie." Teary, she stumbled through her words. "As... gracious, and sweet, and .... well, it's more than you owe me so soon... but ... How can I undo this?" At that, her hand had floated to her blouse, and the breast pocket. Inside, sat two ribbons. One sunflower yellow, one sparkling emerald green.

"I will not have you... at risk, for me. Even if there are others you have to protect. You've no need to be put that way on my, or her, account." She wouldn't have it.

Jack smiled, tired and haggard. "You can't. This is what happens when you play with faeries."

Madison could only mirror his smile.

"Sounds like the West, Jack Coyote."

"Wild and wilder." Said Jack.

A shiver ran through her, then.

"I will do my best for you, Madison Rye." He stopped to take her face in his hands. A few stars twinkled in his eyes as he looked into hers. "And Mamie, because you need me on your side."

The woman was a girl, there. Stripped of all the bravado, swagger and wild wind attitude. She tilted her head into that clasp, and smiled. A few tears did touch her cheeks. They shimmered, where they parted the dirt on her
face. "Then by such, as am I, to you."

Madison wondered if a person could drown into those starry eyes. Perhaps, she finally saw what Gem did - not that the man was not without his
looks, and a charming personality, but it was a registering instead, here, of the Crow's depth, and breadth, and scope. She closed eyes to blink away the tears.

"Gonna turn me to mush."

"I'm gonna kiss you."

And he did. On the mouth, not quite chaste because he was who he was. And he deserved a kiss, darnit. He took stab wounds for Mamie.

If she melted at that, she could only hope Mamie, and Gem, and Ben.Jamin, didn't kill her. She smiled and let the moment flow as it would. Surprise and unexpected delight made the pale cheeks pink. "Well, take that as a round of thanks", she whispered, her grin breathed with sunlight.

That put a spark of the old coyote in his eye and a bolster in his step. His arm swept around her waist to hold her high and keep her from slipping. The truth pealed and clanged beneath their skin. On into the West End's night.

Mamie Clover

Date: 2014-07-09 16:30 EST
When Madison found Mamie again the gunslinger was weighted down with knowledge, and Mamie answered it without a word, just the fierce connection of gray eyes, a kiss, and an embrace that threatened to crack bones. Somehow that was enough to ease the burden. Whatever the blonde might be (and she might be many things) Madison knew instinctively that she was true as a well-sighted Winchester, straight as a warrior's arrow.

They talked then, there in the dark, moon-kissed and windblown, and eventually it became clear that they must return to their room, to the site of blood and shambles. Perhaps there was something left behind that needed retrieving, or maybe they sought evidence to help them understand the chess board they found themselves suddenly on. It could be, as well, that they were simply helpless in the face of the gravity of tragedy.

Quick as night birds they traveled, stopping only outside of the Inn so that Mamie, well enough into the darkness to confound any eyes peering from within, could gauge the danger. They huddled there until the Crow and Artsblood left, unable to hear what sort of parlay those unlikely enemies held. Mamie, for her part, studied the latter carefully. If she succumbed to a tremor while doing so, only Madison's hand, trapped in hers, would feel it.

When the coast cleared they formulated a plan. Madison, volunteering (and how Mamie's strange heart swelled with pride), would slip up to the room while her blonde kept watch below.

It all went well at first, Mamie finding mundane tasks in order to appear inconspicuous, Madison reaching the closed door without incident. But when the latter entered the room, her wordless horror called out to Mamie and she flew up the stairs, careless of whatever curiosity she might attract from the few nightowls the Inn still sheltered.

It was hung from the rafters from a thin cord, classic loop-shafted noose around its resin neck. The pale limbs were twisted akimbo, straining the elastic that allowed it to pose. Blue-black hair hung from its bent head in an imitation of death.

Mamie climbed a chair, gentled the cord from around the white neck, straightened each limb with almost maternal care. When she stepped down she handed the doll to Madison, looked at her lover while confusion and anger battled for her voice.

"She called it Miss Wakahisa..." she began, and suddenly mastered by rage pivoted to fling a kick at the wall, plaster and splinters falling.

"She called it Miss Wakahisa, and some b.tch is gonna pay for this."

Madison became the voice of reason, urged them escape before the disturbance drew new eyes. Doll in the gunslinger's arm they fled, and as they did Mamie pieced the evidence together.

"Miho would never allow herself to be separated from Miss Wakahisa," she whispered, anger cutting through her words like prairie wind. "So either someone has ended her, or someone took it during the hours when she slept. Someone, maybe, who walks in both worlds? I wonder, baby girl. If this doesn't tell us everything we need to know."

Wakahisa Miho

Date: 2014-07-11 18:41 EST
She squatted in a culvert, just far enough from either end to escape the lingering lick of twilight, the probing fingers of dawn. The pipe was small, barely three feet in diameter, yet it had apparently proven large enough for travelers to relieve themselves in, and the odor of waste and urine was pervasive. Originally intended to shunt a stream beneath a road to allow for ease of travel, the tunnel was now dry; the erosive action of water running above and falling below had left the creek-bed below the culvert, in effect creating a dam where a passageway had been intended.

None of this was of any consequence to the young woman who huddled in its center, arms around her knees and head bent, blue-black hair covering her eyes. She had awakened the evening before in the abandoned cabin Mamie Clover had found for her, only to discover that her beloved doll and companion, Miss Wakahisa, was missing. A search of the small structure, bereft of furniture save one chair and a mattress fragrant with mildew, took only minutes, but she repeated the effort three times, each with increasing panic.

When it had become clear that the doll was gone, taken, she had fled in terror, uncertain of how she could even confront the thief should he or shoe return without the comfort of Miss Wakahisa's interventions. She had found the culvert before daylight, and as she huddled there and let the hours flow past as the water never would again, her fear slowly hardened into anger.

Someone has stolen the doll. There was no other explanation. But who would do such a thing? Miss Wakahisa was no one's enemy, and existed only to ease Miho's journey through the mindless social interactions that seemed to occupy so many of mankind's hours upon this earth.

She knew that she and Mamie, yes and the Madison girl too, had enemies now, those who either did not understand or purported not to recognize the urgency of their mission. Surely it was one of these. In her right hand, Miho clutched the only clue she'd discovered in her frantic search of the cabin; a single earring, a chain upon which dangled a small orange sphere.

Miho had been a sheltered girl even before her turning, adverse to sports and careless of technology. She didn't know that the tiny globe was meant to represent a tennis ball.

But someone would.

Madison Rye

Date: 2014-07-13 04:43 EST
Redemption the homestead swelled around her, every single board that kept the place up all swollen with heat and humidity. The pressure was so great that even her feet didn't make a sound on the floor, as she cleaned, tidied, moved through the rooms. The better part of the day she had perspired over sanding down what would be a desk out in the sun until the wood burned her cuticles and the edges of her fingers with the labor, and re-painting the bland walls of the study - a term that could only be loosely ascribed to that small room and its spartan decor. All in all, a way to be both productive and distracted. She couldn't allow herself to spend too much time in her head with the worry over Douglas nor the dubious incidents of a stolen baby and a missing doll. Not to mention the dark car casing the Inn a few nights back. So, instead of freaking out, she was practical - indulging in various paint swatches, lending some ambience to a house that like her, had become something spectral, haunted, and easily missed in the monotonous shades of Cadentia.

Paint had left sneaky streaks on her person - a cheek, a brow, the red-hot sigil on the back of her right hand, and somehow, a lick of lavender mist had ended up across the peak of her left breast and behind her right knee, noted with surprise (and abundant delight) by Mamie as she undressed the taller girl to explore her a little before a shower. A searing, slow kiss, and Mamie wandered out to ready. Mamie Clover was to leave and continue her search for the eerie girl named Miho.

When all the paint-flecks and streaks had gone down the train in a rainbow at her feet, Madison dressed again and prepared herself for her own mission. With some reluctance, she swung open the wall cupboard where several boots sat stacked and the scent of dust and leather persisted. From the back, she hefted out the guitar case and carried it with her into the bedroom, where she placed it on the bed and sprung the latches. The resin doll stared back at her. Madison stared back. "Damn creepy thing." She reached down to turn its head, and therefore, focus-less eyes away from her. Content the dubious creation was still in place and not blinking, she secured the case again (going so far as to undo and re-do the latches, for her own peace of mind) and then flung the case onto her shoulder, the doll rattling inside, and stopped only to pull on her hat over the braids worked into sleepy curls in an attempt to tame, and tuck her gun into the side of her belt. It was a customised design and she wore it just so the gun hid behind the swell of her left hip.


The ride into town had been smooth, unhurried. The air was all heavy-hanging and the sky was an aching pink; orange where it stretched to the limits of the sky, and dying in purples and gold. She admired it from her saddle until it was gone, and around her the great black canvas of night rolled down, and alone she shone in the dark.


---

Seeing Gem and Jack had been as tense as she had imagined it would, but the feeling of worry dwindled as she saw the light in Gem's eyes, and Scottie's distraction. Beyond, was Lirenel, and Miho herself. The doll's likeness, seeing the girl in the flesh, stunned her. Without wasting time, she placed the guitar case on a table, freed the latches and gestured that Miho will find a hell of a song within. No guitar, of course, but the Doll. The goddamn, creepy, sought-after Doll.


There was a stand-off, confusion, politics, regret. But the doll, if nothing else, was safe, and as all parties knew, that boded well to various degrees. It was always about more than the doll. And it meant that Miho had her freedom, her voice, and that all was not lost as feared. Nonetheless, the fact someone had managed to steal the doll, and had notably rigged it in a strange fruit fashion from Mamie Clover's room, was something else. Why all was not entirely safe. But it changed the picture if Miho had her doll. It was a pardon, it was extended grace. She had demanded the girl leave, with the doll, at once. She only hoped the girl and the doll would make it somewhere where the shadows could gossip around them, and if whoever stole the doll came knocking, the shadows wouldn't tell.


A bond of ribbons was broken, but a bond of heart was revived. Jack need only see to his darling Gem, and his own. Mamie and Madison would stand back to back, fighting off the horrors alone if need be. It was what was right, and what was right would define the nature of the resolution. Gem and Jack stood on the other side, and Mamie, by blood, would have to remain on hers. Madison stood somewhere in between, but for love, and for righteousness, would, ultimately, stand with Mamie.

Susie's true purpose and potential was a mystery, as thickly so as her apparent kidnap. When Madison's head lay back on her pillow that night, she dreamed of a long desolate road and a faceless woman being dragged down it. The imagery, half-memory, half-prophecy, made for a restless, fretful sleep. When the summoning pain and need was all too great in the blonde's teeth, and the thread ran red, Mamie returned from her roaming and hunting of scents, to the bed and its dreaming gunslinger. She sat with her, caressing her brow, until Madison awoke. The woman told her about the dreams, and about Miho, about Magenta's madness. But all Mamie's keen ears and mind grasped onto, was that Miho was alive, and the doll was with her.

"Who was the woman bein' dragged down the road, baby girl?" Her small chin bent low as she looked with the gravest concern at her lover.

Madison shook her head, not knowing where to go with the lucid, troubling thoughts that lingered, if faint and fainter the longer she stayed awake. Knees to her chest and hugging them, she stared tired and helplessly at the pool of sheets around her. "I don't know.... I suspect the worst is coming. Magenta promises murder. So I hear. Who knows what events this might set off." Mamie kissed away the worry with a peck. "Nothing we can't handle."

The night had not been all dread and panic, it had been woven with relief and friendship, but beneath the brunette hair swam darker notions. She had seen the way these things had gone before. Enough anomalies and anger abiding that, she sensed, violence would yet be bred.

"Sleep, baby girl."

The Westling women hugged, and then slipped under the covers, one curled around the other. Peas in a pod and innocent as they would ever seem, or be.