The Red Queen

A strikingly beautiful woman in a smart, silken black blouse pulls up beside a red pick-up truck in her blue Honda Prius. Flipping down the sun visor to reveal the vanity mirror, she takes a last look at herself. Her hair is jet-black and scraped into a tight ponytail. Her facial features are sharp with dark skin and brown eyes. She pouts with her full lips, as if blowing herself a kiss. Satisfied at her appearance, she returns the visor to its original position and exits the car. She manages a few strides towards the villa, her black trousers swishing together when she stops at what she sees before her.

Her door looks as if it’s been torn off by a wild beast - possibly even a bear.

But there are no bears here.

She crouches down and draws a black Glock 17 pistol from behind her, and, keeping low, she makes her way slowly to what is left of her door. Her movement is slow and deliberate, trying to make as little noise as possible, which is hard as every step she makes with her short, black heeled boots upon the gravel drive sounds like an elephant walking on bubble-wrap. Gingerly, she steps through the hole that used to be her front door and surveys the scene. It looks as though a bomb has been set off in her house; the bamboo furniture is in dis-array, the wall at one end of the villa looks as though someone drove a truck at it, and there’s glass everywhere. Most of it seems to be piled neatly around the remains of the ornate glass table that used to dominate the lounge area.

The shower seems to be running though.

And the cooker hob is on.

‘Bo...?’ she yells, ‘...are you ok?’

Suddenly, from behind the kitchen counter, Talos, the large barbarian, appears holding a large frying pan.

‘Woah...!’ the woman yells, levelling her gun at him, '...who the fuck are you?’

‘Do ye always start yer conversations that way, lass...?’ Talos asked, with a hint of sarcasm, and turned to commence cooking. She can see that the man is wearing the apron that Bo usually wears when she cooks; the black one sporting the words “kitchen ninja” over his sleeveless t-shirt, exposing his muscular arms and braceleted wrists. Just then, the red-haired woman comes out of the bathroom wearing a purple towel wrapped around her slim figure and a white hair-towel upon her head in a pseudo-turban, hiding most of her flame-red locks. There isn’t a single scar remaining.

It’s almost as if she simply washed them away.

‘Oh, hi babe...’ she calls absently as she carefully tiptoes around the broken glass shards to the door to the bedroom, ‘...had a good day at work?’

The other woman can’t believe what she is seeing.

‘What the fuck happened here...?’ she questions, with her gun still trained on Talos who ignores her and resumes cooking, '...and why is there an “80’s rock reject” in our kitchen making... making...’ she paused to tilt her head to the left, looking past her gun at Talos, '...what are you making?’

‘Gypsy toast...’ he replied, without looking at her, ‘...want some?’

She didn’t want to admit it, but whatever “gypsy toast” was, it smelled divine.

Bo, the red-head, appeared a few moments later wearing a tight white t-shirt and three-quarter-length blue jeans. The broken glass crunched under her slippers as she walked to the cupboard for the dustpan and brush. She was still wearing the hair towel. The other woman looked to Bo, then to Talos, then back to Bo before lowering the gun.

‘Ok...’ she announced, ‘...do you mind telling me what happened here, and who is he?’ she finished, pointing casually to Talos with the gun.

‘Oh, ok...’ started Bo, rising from the floor with a pan full of glass, ‘...Maria, this is Talos Greywolf - he’s my... erm...’ Bo waved her hand as if to try and pluck the words out of the air.

‘Teacher’ finished Talos, serving the last of his “gypsy toast” onto a third plate.

‘Greywolf...?’ Maria echoed with amusement, ‘...do you howl at the moon or something?’

‘Only in the throes of passion...’ he replied with a sly grin.

’Yeah, my former teacher...’ agreed Bo, quickly changing the subject, ‘...and we’ve... erm...’ she looked to the devastation caused by their earlier “fight” for inspiration, ‘...had a break-in!’

‘Oh my god...’ started Maria, absently holstering her pistol behind her as she strode up to Bo and embraced her, ‘...are you ok? What did they take...?’ She spied the broken display case.

‘Oh, god...your sword!’ she exclaimed with alarm.

‘Ye ken about our kind...?’ enquired Talos, with suspicion, suddenly appearing beside the two women, handing them a plate each. On the plate was a slice of bread which had been soaked in a beaten egg and pan-fried, drizzled with maple syrup.

Maria’s eyes darted between Bo and Talos.

’What do you mean... “your kind” ...?’ she stammered.

Talos threw his head back and laughed; it was clear that Maria did not know about “their kind”.

‘She’s a wee nippit, ain’t she...?’ he laughed.

‘He means we’re both British...’ Bo gushed, '...but, it’s ok, my valuable antique sword...’ she looked sternly at Talos when she said that last bit, ‘...is safe. We must’ve disturbed them when I came home...’ she finished, sheepishly, as she bit into her toast, not taking her eyes off Maria.

Did she sound convincing enough for Maria to buy it?

‘Wow...’ exclaimed Maria, biting into the toast, ‘...this is gorgeous - where did you learn to make this?’

Bo sighed with relief.

She hated lying to Maria, but sometimes it was better that she didn’t know the truth.

‘An auld gyppo buddy...’ replied Talos with a grin, '...hoo’s yers, falt ruadh..?’

Bo coughed and sputtered, trying not to choke on her toast upon hearing the name he always used to call her.

‘Falt ruadh...?’ echoed Maria, ‘...what’s that?’

‘It’s a nick-name from Uni...’ gushed Bo, ‘...means “red-hair” in ancient Celtic’.

‘Makes sense...’ agreed Maria, looking at the mess of glass and broken furniture. Her eyes settled on Talos’s coat draped on the back of the only chair still upright. She followed down the length of the coat with her eyes until she saw the antique Sabre resting against it.

‘I see you collect swords too...’ she said absently, not being able to take her eyes off the magnificent weapon, ‘...what type is that?’

‘It’s a tsurugi...’ Talos explained, almost absently, '...its name is “Onikoroshi”, which means “Demon Killer” in Japanese. It was re-forged from a Mycenaean Naue II sword in 573 B.C., by the master swordsmith, Masamune in payment for savin’ his life. The blade is folded ower two-hundred times, which wouldnay become common practice ‘til the 14th century. The last few inches o’ the blade has a double edge t’ it, for thrustin’. Otherwise, ‘tis only edged on one side as most Sabres are. It is the only non-Japanese blade he e’er forged. The knot was added in 1369, but it’s mare for decoration noo...’.

‘Wow...’ stated Maria, ‘...you talk like she does...as if you were really there...’. Talos smiled with mischief at Bo, who simply shot back a “don’t you dare” look.

‘So, are you sticking around, or is this a flying visit...Mr Greywolf?’ asked Maria, whilst she and Talos straightened the furniture as Bo continued to sweep up.

‘Ah’m vexed tha a cannae stay...’ he replied, ‘...ah’ve some...auld buddo’s to call on. And please, call me Talos...’

‘Oh...?’ asked Maria, ‘...old teaching buddies, or students?’

‘Just auld buddo’s...’ he smiled, '...we like to get the...heeds up...on recent engagements...’.

Bo shot him another “WTF?” look and he simply grinned back.

He was obviously enjoying himself.

‘Whe’ell...’ he said, scooping up his lavish coat and throwing it on, ‘...ah’ll go and no humbug thee, any mare. It was canny meeting ye, Maria...’ he took her hand and kissed it. Maria giggled like a schoolgirl, despite herself.

‘Don’t forget your sword...’ she gushed as he turned to leave.

‘Wouldnay want to forget tha’ now, would I...?’ he joked before locking eyes with Bo as he recovered his favourite weapon. She simply scowled back at her former mentor, ‘...another time, falt ruadh...’ he called with a casual salute, ‘...try no’ t’ lose that pretty head of yers!’.