It’s someone’s birthday this week, so I understand … As it is my Dearest Brother’s, I suppose I should write something that’s … apt. Remember, as much as I love him, he deserves every …
It is well known that the Realm has quite a varied arsenal of weaponry for the ebon-maned, red-tailed Queen of the Realm to choose from.
There is, of course, her cherished silver pitchfork which makes an appearance from time to time. Mainly a ceremonial item, it is the symbol of the Queen of the Realm, though she has been known to use it on those rare occasions when someone doesn’t quite get the point and there is a need to drive it home. Repeatedly.
Then there is her sword: perhaps not as often seen, but that really isn’t a bad thing, considering the times in Realm history it has appeared. Silver in hue, licks of green flame dance along its ornate blade when she holds the hilt in her hand. It is a weapon of last resort, a point at which discussion and reason have been spent and what remains is that which she finds the most distasteful: conflict.
There are other weapons, of course, from leashes and collars to bindings and other means: things to be used to bring a soul to heel, to obey the Queen’s will; items for which there is a singular purpose, desired by some, which can be used in pleasure … or anger … depending on what may be. That is, after all, the choice of the soul on which these implements are to be used.
While there are all of these, there are other options, perhaps not as pointed as a pitchfork, but they have their uses and purposes. There is one particular item which offers the Queen of the Realm a singular choice to give physical form to many of her thoughts and emotions–perhaps to drive a point home, express something of a dislike. It might be used to advise the recipient of their error in judgement, whether in taste or choice of opinion. A two-handed approach is required to wield the item. One must be sure to put one’s full effort into the attack.
The best approach, discovered over many uses, is to approach the target in question and pummel said target repeatedly. Now, considering the target is one who tends to hurt walls with one’s head, this does present a problem. The instrument does tend to come apart at the seams, of course. There is a moment when the outer casing tears and the inner contents explode into the space between the one being smacked and the one doing the smacking. But this is intentional, you see.
The target claims that the pillows do not hurt him, but they do confuse him on occasion. This allows the red-tailed attacker a moment to toss the consumed item to the side and collect a new one from the infinite pile waiting nearby.
As the inner stuffing of feathers floats around him, the attack continues with a new pillow, and once more the target’s confused expression makes Tera so very bemused. Still, he brought this upon himself; he can only blame himself for these attacks. He started this; she’s going to finish it, no matter how many pillows it takes.
That is, of course, if he remembers to stop talking about poutine. Somehow his red-tailed sister doubts that will ever happen, and so the pillows will continue to fly. Because, of course one must smack one’s brother from time to time to remind him how wrong he is, remind him of the error of his ways, and …
… remind him of how much he’s loved.