Memoirs of a RAFian

[Cloak]

Gonna try to finish this book today. The next, as it stands right now, looks to be of a somewhat lighter tone than this one was.

New chapter.

CHAPTER SEVENTEEN:
Conversations of Faith

Cloak rejoiced in the knowledge that the realms were safe, that his friends were safe. He was free to go back and live where he belonged. To where he had made his home. But he had defied that abominable Council. He couldn't dally any longer, for fear of being arrested.

He would not go to the Gate. He simply would not. He would not be interred with some of the most infamous criminals of Realm Walker history. It is even rumored that the son of Cataclysm, a Realm Walker far more dangerous than his father, whose form is deceptively harmless-looking, was interred there. Buried deep beneath the Gate, where he still lives. Of course, this was a myth. Something told to scare children from not wanting to go there, similar to the use of Dementors in Azkaban.

"It is done," Faith said, hands on her hips, appraising the Realms with a look of satisfaction at a job well done.

"Faith," Cloak croaked out, "how . . . how did you . . ."

"How did I know? Or how was I capable?" Faith said, smiling warmly at her baby brother. Then she chided him good-naturedly, "My dear brother, I may not be an Elements Master as my daughter, but that does not mean that I'm powerless!"

"I --I didn't mean to offend --"

"Oh, Cloak," she said, using his chosen name -- a sign of understanding on her part, she smiled knowingly and warmly, "you take yourself and everything too seriously. Relax a bit. It'll be good for you."

"I'm . . . I'm sorry."

"Don't apologize," she said, putting a hand on his shoulder. It was comforting, as Realm Walkers aren't what you might call a touchy-feely species. Physical contact is almost never made in most cases and circumstances. "You tend to over-apologize, you know."

Then she looked at him seriously, clearly detecting the conflict within him. "Look at me, little brother. You really ought think more of yourself. Look at what you accomplished. And I don't mean just here, ending the Merging. You mastered all six elements. What's more you've taught my daughter to.master those elements as well. And if what Shadow tells me of your exploits in the Prime Universe is true, look at what you've accomplished there."

Others might rankle at being lectured by an older sibling, but Cloak actually didn't mind. Faith geniuinely cared for Cloak. It was obvious in the tone and infliction of her voice. It was one reason that Cloak was always more than willing to help Faith out when she needed it, and, in return, Faith was always able to give Cloak some wisedom. He turned to her for it, as well as his aunt, after his grandfather passed on.

It wasn't anything remotely like the lectures he had received from his mother, which inevitably came back to how his behavior made things look for her. It always came back to what she wanted, or how it reflected upon her. Cloak's feelings were almost never taken into account, only his mother's. It was one of the factors why he became so skilled at internalizing his emotions -- it was an essential tool to survive living with his mother. But it also made him what is called "emotionally constipated".

"Thank you, sister."

"Anytime, baby brother."

Cloak knew this is where humans would have hugged, but Realm Walkers are not humans. Hugging was a rarity amongst the species.

"We have company," Shadow said.

It was Courier, a bunny-form Realm Walker. "Mr. Cloak, sir, the Council has humbly requested an audience with you."

[Cloak]

New chapter.

CHAPTER EIGHTEEN:
A Unconventional Request

Cloak bid Shadow and Faith adu, hoping that this wouldn't be the last time that he would see them. Prisoners in the Gate usually had no family or their family disowned them (the fairness of which is questionable). Cloak also couldn't help but wonder why Courier was escorting him to the Abominus Five, when Buffoon could. Granted, it'd be a lot less pleasant if he did, so Cloak probably shouldn't look a gift horse in the mouth. But still . . . it unsettled him.

Courier stopped right outside the door, giving a little bow, beckoning him in. Cloak had a rather odd thought when expected Courier to check his watch, gasp, and declare that he was late, late for a very important date. He was a white rabbit, after all.

The doors open, and Cloak was struck again on how unnecessarily large, impeccably ornate, and obnoxiously opulent it was. It was gold, and towered over Cloak, who was approximately eight Dweller Earth feet tall. It opened into the rather vast chamber of the Council, which could have fit two of RAF's auditoriums in it. It's floor was somewhere between granite and marble. The ceiling was shrouded in darkness, as the light came from either the Realm Wlakers or the torches. It was just empty space though. Wasted space.

Cloak looked over to the raised seats, covered by a continuous desk-like counter surface of some dark wood with gold etchings. Cloak was once again reminded of excessive opulence. He found it extremely distasteful. Wealth that could have been spent on vastly more important things. Such vain decorating.

It was then that Cloak noticed that Abominus Five were not seated behind the continuous podium. It was then that Cloak noticed flecks of ichor staining the the wood of the podium stand. Cloak narrowed his eyes swiftly putting two and two together.

Clearly, the Abominus Five were killed, but considering the slight movements and the cleanliness of those seated, Cloak quickly ascertained that they were not the ones who did the slaying. Cloak could have asked the seated about it, but decided that would be too crass, too forward. The opportunity would present itself in due time.

He looked at each of the Councilors in turn. There was a male northern harrier, a female osprey, a male red-tailed hawk, a female bald eagle, and a male peregrine falcon. Cloak wasn't quick to trust them.

"Ah, Cloak," said the osprey genially. Cloak didn't let his guard down. "You recieved our request for an audience, I see.

Obviously, Cloak wanted to say, but held his tongue.

"We have a request of you," the harrier said.

"Request?" Cloak said, suspiciously. Clearly, the Abominus Five's laws didn't stand. But what request could these newcomers have of him. The ichor stains didn't look to be even two hours old.

"Yes," said the peregrine falcon, the Head Councilor, "a request. More of an offer ,really."

"Offering what?" Cloak said, staying on edge. He wasn't ready to just trust these people right off the bat.

"A seat," the osprey said, as if she was offering him paradise. "A seat on this Council."

[redtailedsaffa]

Sudden chapters! SUDDEN PLOT TWIST!

And I see what you did with the choice of birds.

[Cloak]

Eh, might have been sudden for you, but I've had it planned out for months.

New chapter.

CHAPTER NINETEEN:
Cloak's Choice

Cloak was silent for several beats, almost certain that he heard wrong. He narrowed his eyes, and said in a flat voice, "What?"

"A seat on the Council." the red-tailed hawk said.

Now it most certainly was a joke.

"You're serious?" Cloak said, with scornful cynicism.

"Yes," the osprey said. "We know it might be overwhelming at first, but --"

"No." Cloak interrupted.

"No? No what?" the bald eagle asked.

"As in I reject your offer." Cloak said, standing up straight. "As in thhere has never been more than five Councilors as far as I recall, no to mention that I don't believe you're being as gregarious as you pretend."

Cloak don't know what he expected -- maybe scandalized looks or afronted expressions -- but avian faces are some of the hardest to read. He continued.

"Not to mention the seats of the Council are usually, inevitably corrupted. I prefer to not lose myself, or my principles. Politics are only for the trecherous, the backstabbers, the backpedalers. Full of either themselves, self-righteous moralizations, brutish tactics, truth ambiguity, and other sordid things. Call me simple or traitor, I don't care. But modern day politics seem concerned with only ine thing, how to keep themselves in power, regardless if they oppress innocent people or coverup things the people should know. No thanks."

"We're not like that," said the red-tailed hawk.

"Perhaps not," Cloak said, turning to walk out, then spoke over his shoulder, "not yet, anyway."

The council permitted him to go, but Cloak didn't care if they or not. He would never go into politics, as he believed them to be stagnant most of the time, dredging into the lowest common denominator, prositituting one's values in order to garner votes. On the whole, it was a filthly, muddy business. And it was a business that Cloak rather stay out of.

He went with deliberation, went with pride, back home.

[redtailedsaffa]

I suppose straight talk isn't always the way to go.

[Cloak]

Right. Last chapter of this book, comin' up. It's gonna be a long one.

CHAPTER TWENTY:
This Isn't My Idea

Cloak had returned to the thread, and related everything that had happened. The. He insisted that he retire to his thread. He needed some rest. He needed to unwind, to relax.

And when he slept, he dreamed. Dreamed not of imaginary events or symbollic meanings, but he dreamt of the past. Of his ancestors, of Guardian and Noble.

Theirs was an arranged marriage, and neither were too happy about it. At first.

The Noble, as a young foal, sang in voiceover:

I can’t believe I’m stuck with her all summer.
I bet she doesn’t wrestle, run, or box.

Meanwhile, the young cygnet Guardian sang in voiceover:

He looks conceited.

Noble sighed:

"What a total bummer!

Both thought:

If I get lucky, I’ll get the pox!

After being prompted by his mother, who had the form of an anthropomorphized Maine Coon cat, Noble sang politely (thought his face showed that he clearly did not want to say it):

"So happy you could come."

When Guardian was prompted by her father, a giant panda, in turn, she sang in an equally forced way:

"So happy to be here."

Both thought:

Oh, how I’d like to run . . .

Then they switched to quiet asides:

"This isn’t my idea
Of fun."

Then the dream's focus changed to their parents. Noble’s mother, oblivious to the fact that the two seem rather disinterest in each other, sang:

"The children seem to be getting along quite nicely."

Guardian's father sang proudly:

"We’ll join our families together with this arrangement fix."

"My dear, that’s my point!  Precisely."

"It’s such good parenting."

"And politics.
So happy we agree."

"I think we’ve got a deal."

"My boy’s quite a catch!"

"This is my –"

"This is MY idea."

Then they both sang in unison:

" -- Of a match."

Several years pass, and both Noble and Guardian are pre-adolescents, what humans might call "tweens".

Guardian's father sang loudly:

"Good heavens, child!
Don’t dawdle!
We can’t keep them waiting!"

The pre-adolescent Guardian protested, singing:

"I haven’t packed, washed my hair,
And father, I get travel-sick!"

Meanwhile, elsewhere, Noble's mother entered his room as he hastily tried to hide a picture of Guardian and act like he wasn't getting a little crush on her. But she saw him.

"They will soon be arriving.
Is that respect your showing?"

Attempting to recover his poise, he sang hastily:

"If you make me show her around again,
I swear I’m goin’ to be sick!"

Fast forward to Noble and his lupine friend, Amigo, running in the forests as Guardian tries to keep up. He sang:

"I’ve tried all summer,
But I just can’t lose her."

The two flee to treehouse. Once inside, they pull up the rope ladder, which was effective as Guardian was not old enough to fly. They put out a sign that read "NO GIRLS ALLOWED" sign in archaic Realm Walker script, which was still a rather immature thing to do at their age.

"When picking teams or friends,
I’d never choose her.
One would think that she would take a hint
And learn to read."

She protested:

"That really isn’t fair."

The two boys countered:

" We really couldn’t care."

Guardian, frustrated and hurt, loses control over her powers causing the tree fort to be reduced to splinters, as she sang:

"Boys are really – "

All three sang:

"This is not my idea of fun."

Some time passes, and the two grow into teenagers. There was a growing attracton between the two that neither was willing to acknowledge.

Noble sang:

"She tries to talk me into playing “dress up”.
She’s always flirting with the forum guards."

Amigo sang:

"I think you really sort of like her.
Fess up."

Noble countered this, as he began a card game with Guardian.

"I’d like her better if she would lose at cards.
. . . Four sevens and a ten."

To which Guardian replied,

"I think I’ve won again."

The two sang:

"Every time, she’s won."

Guardian demurely sang:

"This is my idea – "

Noble interjected:

"This isn’t my idea --"

Then they both said:

"Of fun."

Fast forward to the point of time when they were young adults. They both sang:

"For as long as I remember,
We’ve been told we’d someday be wed."

The full-grown Noble sang:

"All their pushing and annoying hints."

The full grown Guardian sang:

"I’ve got bruises from their fingertips."

"I can do much better, I am sure."

"He’s so immature!"

They both are herded into a room with each other, and they see each other. Soon, all pretense is lost.

Guardian sang:

"I see him smiling
And my knees start buckling.
I see inside him,
And my doubts are gone."

Noble sang:

"She started out as such an ugly duckling.
And suddenly became a swan."

"So happy to be here."

"‘Til now I never knew."

Both sang to each other:

"It was you I was dreaming of."

Noble sang:

"This is my idea. . . ."

"This is my idea. . . ."

"This is my idea . . ."

"This is my idea . . ."

Both sang:

"This is my idea . . .
Of love."

Then Cloak awoke suddenly, saying, "Wow. That was random."

[Cloak]

New book, new chapter.

BOOK LXVII:
Be A Doll
CHAPTER ONE:
What Harm Would It Do?

One person was evading police on foot. The man wore a tattered trench coat, sneakers, blue jeans and a black shirt. He had long, ratty hair with a generally unkempt appearance. He sang in voiceover:

It starts with just a little thing
No one would miss at all.
What possible, perceivable harm can it do
To break just a little law?
What harm can it do?
What harm can it do?
What harm can it do?
Bedtime's every night at 10:00,
But out of bed you creep.
You post real quiet until you hear:
"You're supposed to go to sleep!".
What harm can it do?
What harm can it do?
What harm can it do?
Rules are made for a reason.
Always some we hate.
But they help us all get along together.
Laws are made to keep us straight!
You borrow something from a friend:
A doll or maybe a truck.
They saw you take it.
They want it back.
Oh, boy! No toy! Oh, yuck!
What harm can it do?!
WHAT HARM CAN IT DO?!

"Hold your fire!" said the cop in charge. "He's in the Joy's Toys shop, we need to get in, quickly and quietly."

They did, and he forced on cop to shoot him in the shoulder. It was a fatal shot, but he was ambulatory enough to stagger away, and realize.

He was dying.

[redtailedsaffa]

That was quite a dramatic start.

And here's the PDF of the last, brilliant book.

[Cloak]

Thanks, Saffa! Now . . . new chapter.

CHAPTER TWO:
That's Mr. Abominus

Malice held the vial that held the fused deux ex machina of the Abominus Five -- now just simply called Abominus -- aloft, contemplating her next step. Malice was fully sure that she had extracted any free will from it, apparently forgetting that deux ex machina carries no intelligence, no sentience. Usually. It just contains the powers, wisdom, valor, and such of the Realm Walker it came from. It was by no means the Realm Walker's soul. There has never been a documented case refuting this.

Malice pondered her next move again, hiding, in a skillfully surreptitious way, in the shadows of an alleyway. Some might see her actions as a perversion of nature, but there are some who liken anything they are uncomfortable with as a perversion of nature or simply unnatural, so the term has essentially lost most if not all meaning.

Malice smirked as she thought of her plan. Yes, she thought, it is the perfect plan. No one would see it coming. No would expect it.

She had taken a doll -- a ventriloquist dummy, actually -- and scrutinized it a bit. Its head sculpt looked a bit like Jeff Dunham's Walter dummy and a bit like Robert Naylor. It had black slacks, black dress shoes, black "socks", a white shirt, a black jacket, and a clashing red tie. Its eyes were an inhuman blue, and its hair was somewhere between brown and black.

"A mock-up of the ridiculously human form," Malice breathed, with a humorless chuckle. "But it should suffice in causing a little mayhem, chaos and bedlam. It should make for an entertaining viewing."

Then she altered the puppet's eyes, add some tech to it that would allow her to see whatever the dummy saw. She smiled to see it worked, although it was strange, as it seemed a little too passively voyeuristic for Malice.

But then she undid the top of the vial and ushered in the deux ex machina of Abominus into the inanimate form. Malice was pulling a Blue Fairy, making a rather more sinister Pinocchio who was devoid of aspirations of being a real boy -- devoid any thoughts that weren't given to him.

"Wait, until you've been purchased," Malice said, sneaking the dummy back into the store she stole it from. It was unnecessarily dangerous, and it would have made more sense to insert the stuff while still in the store. But it is almost as if she wanted people to know there was a break in. "When you are, then we'll see some real entertainment."

Then she left the store, as quickly and as stealthily as a Tasmanian devil can. . . . You probably can see the inherent problem with that.

Meanwhile, Abominus just sat where Malice had left him. He hadn't a real mind of his own, but it was greatly unknown if he might or might not develope one over time. He was the result of some questionable experiments, none of which would have been condone by event the most obssessive of Realm Walker scientists. Also, it wasn't clear just what precisely that Malice had done to it to get the deux ex machina of the five into this state. They were spark-like, whereas most others are in forms of radiant energy or wisps of smoke-like energy, but not like that. It could also be a unique property of the Abominus's five fused deux ex machina.

What would happen next? Only time would tell.

[Cloak]

Another chapter, whilst I have energy. Hmmm . . . I MIGHT go off my notes with this book. It might extend past the requisite twenty chapters. We shall have to wait and see.

CHAPTER THREE:
You Really Don't Find That Suspicious?

A mother was looking for a particular doll for her son, a popular toy this year. It came in a yellow box with red-printed, stylized lettering. The doll itself had reddish-orange hair, freckles, penetrating blue eyes. It wore a shirt-sleeved orange shirt with a moon on the lower right corner of the front and with green cuffs, red overalls with purple squiggles printed on them, and red sneakers with white soles and untied white laces. It was a very difficult toy to find, when it is was made of such a quality that knockoff are easily noticed, and the only place to find them was in the Joy's Toys shop, which was closed due to that odd lightning strike that hit it.

This left Cat Alexander in a bit of a quandary, as he son, Vinny, had only one request for a birthday present -- that doll. The trouble was finding the thing, and one still in decent quality. The proprietor of the shop had claimed that they had lost all of their stock of the dolls. She really didn't want to disappoint the six-year-old, but she didn't know what to do. She didn't make all that much to begin with, and was always outbid on eBay. She had no choice but to be frugal.

So when she found the homeless person with the doll in his possession, one in mint-condition no less, how could she resist not buying it from him?  It was a very reckless thing to do, really. It may have looked pristine from the box, but there was no actual telling how good the condition really was, but she was a woman desperate to not disappoint her child. Yet, she did not pause to consider just how this man came into possession of such a highly-sought-out item, how come it was in such remarkable condition (she did eventually open the box to consider the quality).

How could she know the truth? How could she know the type of heartache and survival-based stress that this decision would cause? She couldn't and she didn't. She bought the doll, took it home to her small apartment for two and wrapped it up in cheap paper.

***

"The restoration of the Joy's Toys store is estimated to be completed in mid-December. This comes as a blow to many who patronize the shop regulary, and for those who eagerly want the Rugrat Ricky doll, as nowhere else sells the popular toy."

The newscadter stood in front of a burnt out shell of a building, which was struck by lightning. Cloak noted how odd that the lightning didn't damage the building any more than it did. He found this suspect, but wondered if it was just his innate paranoia setting in.

"This was also the site of the death of one Jerry "Bucky" Newkirk, a sociopathic murderer known to have killed six people, but claimed the deaths of countless more."

Cloak took this in, and thought it sounded familiar, as if he had visited a realm where something similar had taken place. But he could not think of what it was at the moment. It irritated him greatly.

[redtailedsaffa]

Dolls have always creeped me out.

[Cloak]

Then this book won't get any easier for you, I'm afraid, Saffa.

Anyway, I've started planning out the chapters for Book CCCXXIX ("Rogue's Gallery -- Assemble!"). I think it is turning out reasonably okay.

CHAPTER FOUR:
Connections

Then Cloak saw a new story that he had missed from earlier. Another shop, this time specializing in stage-based entertainment -- ventriloquy, prestidigitation, pantomime, plays, and things like that -- had appeared to be broken into, yet nothing was taken.

Cloak stood in his thread, stroking his chin. There were a bountiful number of reasons why someone would do such. Perhaps they were simply getting a thrill by breaking and entering without being caught. Perhaps the window was simply broken by a disgruntled former employee. Perhaps it was the result of someone who was a bit too fond of the drink that overindulged again. And there were still more possibilities.

And it was obvious it wasn't a robbery. The money was still in the till, the merchandise was all present and accounted for, and in perfect condition. And yet . . . something didn't sit right with Cloak, especially how the reporter said that nothing was caught on security tapes. It was dark in the store as the interior lights were off and the sun had been down for hours. Yet, Cloak thought he detected the slightest of movements on the footage that they showed for really no reason at all.

First, the lightning-struck toy store, now this break in at Stage Quite (an obvious play on "stage fright", Cloak deduced). It seemed to be connected, but Cloak gave himself a mental slap. If he started down that line of thinking, he might as well start calling himself The Question.

But he couldn't help but feel an overwhelming sense of an evil scheme afoot.

***

Meanwhile, Stage Quite was still operating normally, its glass door having a piece of cardboard covering its hole. A twelve-year-old girl, Gabby Durham, enters the store. She has voluminous red hair, a thin frame, and a rather nondescript face. She wore bluish-red sneakers, blue overalls, and long-sleeved shirt with red and yellow strips on it. She was an aspiring ventriloquist, which several of her schoolmates didn't hesitate to tell her was weird, though she was fortunate to have supportive friends. Her parents, however, were indifferent to what they considered a hobby.

But it was more than a hobby to Gabby. She wanted to turn it into a career, like Jeff Dunham and the likes. She would need a dummy first, however. She had saved up all her pocket money to be able to purchase one, and now came the all-important task of chosing one.

Guess which one she chose.

[redtailedsaffa]

Oh, brilliant.

[Cloak]

Yeah, it turns out that this book won't be as lighthearted as I thought. We might be getting one for . . . *flips through his notes* . . . for a while yet.

Oh, and Saffa, please excuse my curiosity, but what does "Khaleesi" mean?

CHAPTER FIVE:
Isolated Incidents?

After practicing a bit with the dummy, getting comfortable using it, Gabby decided to give a little show at her brother's birthday. His name was Arnold and he was only a year elder. The dummy -- which she called "Stevie" -- acted just like a ventriloquist dummy should. She actually had a very believable voice for him too.

The day came and the party was in full swing, a qualified success. The celebration was perfect, everything to Arnold's specifications for perfection. He was content, though he was unsure about let his little sister preform her ventriloquy. He relented, as the two often tended to look after each other.

Gabby was decked out in the most formal clothes she owned. She wanted to look her best, as she believed she'd have a harder time being taken seriously being a female ventriloquist. Well, aspiring ventriloquist. The opening jokes with Stevie seemed to go off without a hitch, then her mind seemed to get muddy and unforcused.

It didn't make sense . . . she had gotten plenty of sleep the night before, right? No one seemed to notice this, so it was best to ignore and go on with the show. Wait . . . did Stevie just deliver the punchline of his own accord? No, that's ridiculous.

Then suddenly her vision blurred, and she tried to excuse herself, but didn't manage to get the words out before she saw blackness. . . .

. . . And when her vision cleared, when her mind cleared, she found the party over and several parents angrily berating her for things that she most definitely did not say. She was confused -- it had been early afternoon when she began, yet now the sun was just beginning its daily descent. Where had the time gone? Where had Arnold gone?

She dropped Stevie with a deep clunk, and managed to detatch herself from the angry parents. She looked to find Arnold, and found him by a window, alone. He didn't even look around to her, but it was obvious that he was hurt and had been crying."

"Go away." he said. It was obvious he was trying to snap at her, but the hurt he felt wouldn't allow it to come across as much.

"Arnold, what --"

"I said, go away!" he snarled, the hurt transforming into anger.

"Why are you so angry? What --"

"Oh, stop pretending you don't know what you've done." he said angrily. "You had no right to do it. To use . . . to use that word!"

"Arnie, I don't know --"

"You know exactly what! You know exactly what you called me." he said. "For nearly thirteen years, I've known you. And, all along, you've hated me. What I am."

"Arnie, I blacked out. I don't remem--"

"You don't remember outting me? In front of everyone?" Arnold said, his voice trembling from the utter pain of the betrayal. "Then calling me a . . . then calling me by that homophobic slur?"

He turned from her to leave, stopping to look over his shoulder and say, "How could you?" Then he left and walked away, bracing himself from the homophobes of the community.

"But . . ." she protested quietly, "but I didn't. . . . Did I?"

Gabby was shocked and scared by this. She had no idea what was happening, and she never suspects the dummy.

***

The police were at the Alexander residence. Apparently, Vinny's Auntie Maggie had fallen out their apartment window. Which was shut. Vinny said, "Bucky said that she got what she deserved."

"Vin, how can you say that?" Cat replied swiftly. "How can you say that about Aunt Maggie?"

"I didn't, Bucky did."

"Vin," Cat said, at her patience end, " Bucky isn't real."

"It was Bucky!" Vinny insisted. He turned to the unmoving doll, and demanded. "Bucky, tell them! Tell them what you told me. C'mon, Bucky! Tell them!"

"Vincent, enough!" Cat said, stress evident on her.

"But it was! It was him!" Vinny insisted.

The doll's expression remain placid and unexpressive. Yet, something about this cause the detective on scene to say, "We best not jump to conclusions, but this may be a bit out of our jurisdiction. Let's bring in someone with more experience with this kind of thing."

"What do you mean?" Cat said, fearful that they might consider something drastic, like locking Vinny up in an asylum.

"I mean the RAFians, ma'am." the detective said.

[redtailedsaffa]

Khaleesi is a title for "queen" in one of the languages of George R. R. Martin's A Song of Ice and Fire books.