When I enter, I am mildly surprised to find the little girl isn’t alone.
To my left is a four-legged creature covered in a thick coat of fur in patches of blue and pink. I can’t make out any eyes or nose, but it has a cavernous mouth filled with broad, blunt teeth. When I first notice it, the creature is crouched, as if ready for a pounce, against the top of the wall near the ceiling.
To my right floats a roundish entity floating with the help of three rubbery bladders extending from the top. Below, eleven individual tentacles hang, terminating in a cluster of opposable digits.
Finally, on the girl herself, her outfit seems to morph and flow around her as if it, too, is alive. Before I’d noticed the wall-climber, she was wearing an unzipped red hoodie over a yellow shirt with a white daisy on it and dark jeans. The next time I looked, the red jacket had become an oversized, knitted sweater and the jeans were now black leggings. There seems to be a low, rhythmic, auditory vibrating coming from the clothing.
The wall-climber descends and slinks over in front of the little girl, who carefully climbs up to sit upon its back before addressing me.
Girl: Are you a researcher?
Montague: You could say that.
I take in her unique physical characteristics; her hair is pink and brittle, her expression shy but curious, but it’s her eyes that stand out.
Her heterochromia presents as one normal, green eye and one eye with a yellow iris and black sclera. I note how she turns slightly to that side, to give the green eye the full view of her visitor.
Girl: What would you like to know?
Montague: I was told I could visit for some musical inspiration.
The girl covers her mouth as she lets out a tinkling giggle. I indulge her mirth with a soft smile, and wait patiently for her to answer.
Girl: Stand over there.
She indicates the corner where her mount had recently been crouching, and I follow her directions by moving toward it. I turn, expectantly, when she narrows her eyes as if concentrating on me.
After a few seconds, the floating creature begins to drift my way, its movement not betraying any sort of purposeful destination as it wafts this way and that on its way to me. Eventually, the being hovers over my head, its strange appendages caressing my neck, temples, and the base of my skull.
Gradually, a reedy but complex music begins to emanate from within the creature.
The Showman feels the music working its way through him, up from inside his stomach and up to where the tentacles touch his skin. Eventually, inspiration kicks in, and he begins to recite.
Montague: Conquest, such a military word.
The first defense has occurred.
The second comes with a Blade
And all the comments he’s previously made.
We can count them all, can’t we, friends?
Another attack on Beretta, at my hands.
Interfering in his business
Has got John on his defenses.
Is it a wonder no one can see him?
This gimmick belongs in a museum.
He dreams of a golden shovel,
But winning matches proves too much trouble.
Another step on the Path has me excited,
But being honest I’ve been invited
To a break before the festival.
Blade can’t compare to the rest of all
The opponents against whom
I’ll defend against as I resume
Answering challenges on my way to cinco.
It kind of makes you think, though.
Is the Mothman truly abandoned?
Is this a gift from his Consortium companion?
As always, perhaps time will tell.
For now, I introduce John Blade to Hell.
The tentacles disengage as the creature floats upward a few inches. All eleven appendages curve upward and begin to snap. The little girl and her mount join in, all three congratulating my improvised verse.
