Episode 059 Previous Episode	Next Episode
“Associate yourself with men of good quality if you esteem your own reputation; for ‘tis better to be alone than in bad company.” George Washington Morgan stared at the blue shirt as if looking into the eyes of himself. Standing in the center of the clothing store, the rest of the world seemed to have grown dark around him, leaving him holding the shirt. He searched the fabric and the color for some hidden secret or lost knowledge that seemed certain to be within its presence. He looked up, staring across the clothing rack at Everett. The knight watched Morgan unabashedly. Morgan looked back at the shirt. “I don’t know,” he finally confessed, tossing the shirt haphazardly back onto the rack. “You don’t know what?” Everett asked, plying the former knight gently. Morgan stared vacantly for a moment, letting his thoughts resettle. “I don’t know how I feel…about this.” “About the change in colors?” Everett asked. “I guess,” Morgan said. He looked across the store to where Roland and Armand stood with some shirts, both laughing as they tried on gaudy combinations. He looked back at the shirt that had captured his attention. “I mean…black and red, you know.” “Transitions like this are always difficult,” Everett ventured sympathetically. “But I think this one’s necessary. At least, I think it is if we’re going to avoid things getting truly ugly with Vick.” “Explain to me why you haven’t handed this guy his ass by now,” Morgan asked, absently looking at the clothes, paying attention to none of them. “For one, I’m really not down with knights versus knights, under any circumstances,” Everett said. “Even when he invaded your city?” “It’s not like we have officially designated territories,” Everett argued. “I don’t have any claim, legal or otherwise, to this city. Besides,” he said, looking off, “it’s not like I’m doing such a bang-up job keeping things under control.” “What’s that supposed to mean?” Morgan asked. Everett shook his head. “Don’t worry about it.” He took a black shirt off the rack and tossed it to Morgan. “Here. Try that one on.” Morgan held the shirt up, taken back by its form-fitting design and high neck. “No,” he answered with a chuckle, wadding the shirt up to throw back at Everett. “Come on,” he said, smiling. “I’m buying Armand some clothes. Might as well hook you up with a shirt or two.” “Yeah, except Armand’s a freeloader and I’m independently wealthy,” Morgan retorted, tossing the shirt over Everett and back onto the table it had come from. He walked around the rack separating them and stood with Everett as the knight considered more shirts. “Look, between you and me,” he said, “I’m, I’m not sure how to feel about you guys switching over to being blue knights.” Everett turned to Morgan, taken back by his candor. “By becoming blue knights, you guys are recognizing the, I don’t know, sovereignty, of the European knights.” “I don’t know about that,” Everett said. He put the shirt he was handling down and turned thoughtfully to Morgan. “I admit, there is a certain amount of…subservience going into all of this.” He went back to the rack. “But I think that’ll pass. At the moment, I’m personally kind of deferring to these guys because, well, they know more about Vick and stuff, and we’re kind of using them as a pawn in trying to stop things from getting ugly. But they will be going home,” he emphasized. “You hope,” Morgan muttered. He sniffed absently at the air and looked around. “I’m going to see if I can find somewhere in this mall that serves cognac.” He started to wander off. “You don’t drink,” Everett pointed out. “I didn’t say I wanted to drink it; just find a place that serves it,” Morgan responded as he strolled out of earshot. As he disappeared behind an over-sized towel display, Roland came up behind Everett. “What’s got his grape nuts in a bowl?” “I…” Everett stopped and looked at Roland. “Grape nuts in a bowl?” Roland shrugged, still watching Morgan. “I think he’s got mixed feelings about this whole red knight/blue knight thing.” “He goes on and on, day and night, reprimanding us about how he’s not a knight anymore,” Roland said with a disdainful look, “and when we do something as a collective group, he starts getting depressed because he’s not involved.” “I think he’s depressed,” Everett said, going back to the shirts. “Well, yeah,” Roland observed sarcastically. “No, as in, I think he’s clinically depressed or something,” Everett corrected. Roland considered it, then looked at Everett’s selection. “Do you have any idea how long we’ve been shopping? Pick some damn shirts and let’s go.” He turned and walked off. “People aren’t interested in your shopping habits or moral quandaries. We got fights to get to.” Morgan stepped into the cigar store, shutting the pressurized door behind him. He looked around at the wooden shop, his hands in his trench coat pockets. At the counter in the middle of the store, a middle-aged man was putting a selection of cigars into a box. Finishing, he smiled at Morgan. “What can I help you with?” Morgan said nothing. He considered the Indian made out of a thick tree trunk, smirking at the sight. Over the register, Morgan noticed a cavalry saber. “Is that a replica?” he asked with a nod of his head. The man behind the register looked up and smiled beneath his thick mustache. “No, that’s a genuine US Army Cavalry riding saber. Used on the plains in the 1890s.” Morgan considered the sword. “You much of a sword man?” Rather than answer, Morgan held open his trench coat, revealing the large sword beneath. With a blade longer than his arm, the slightly curved sword rested quietly in a hard plastic sheath. “Well, I’ll be,” the man whispered. “What’s that?” “It’s a Grosse Messer,” Morgan answered, shutting his coat. “It’s what you get if a broadsword and a katana had a baby.” He looked the store over once and nodded to the man. “Thanks.” He turned to the door, placing his hand to push it open. Through the glass, staring at him through his own reflection was Rebecca.
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