Queens Don't || #ONC2022

3 || QUEENS DON'T ADMIRE THEIR OWN BUTTS

"Okay, pause! Right there!" Phil instructed excitedly, her brown eyes glued to the flat screen TV mounted to the wall. "Can you zoom in right here? Now can you enhance it? Clean the image up a teeny bit? Now reverse the image!"

"You know this a TV, right?" Renning asked dryly with a minor hint of amusement dancing in his eyes. "I can't do any of that."

She shrugged nonchalantly. "Yeah, I know, but I've always wanted to say something like that. It always sounds so cool on TV."

"Does it though?" I countered, staring at the paused color image of my ass and short legs in the air poised to follow the same path of my upper body.

At least my ass looks good, I thought, making a note to take better care of the jeans.

After Renning mentioned the video, Phil and I were escorted to a small windowless conference room that contained a large flat screen TV and sleek modern black table for six. Thing One and Thing Two, who surprisingly preferred to be called by their real names, Archer and Keating, were posted outside before one of them dropped off an assortment of delicious scones and more blended coffee drinks.

Phil and I laughed hysterically at our stylish but dumb butts, watching ourselves a dozen times sprint toward the stone, trip over the industrial chain, and fly awkwardly across the boulder. Due to the placement of the three small cameras inside an ornate decoration at the top of the majestic water fountain, the angle simply showed our backsides.

According to Renning, the cameras' audio features were turned off during the warmer months because the sound of running water drowned out voices and other background noises.

Our amusement faded when Renning pressed pause the moment my hand wrapped around the sword.

"How did you feel when you touched the sword?" he asked quietly and calmly.

Looking at the screenshot that would probably be forever imprinted in my mind, I immediately understood the meaning behind his question. An explanation. An odd fleeting sensation. A haunting or fading vision. The tiniest of clues to help him understand what happened.

Except I didn't feel anything remotely supernatural at the time. I wished I had felt a strange or brief spark, but I didn't. Nothing about that moment had been magical. Just embarrassment. And desperation. And horror.

We watched, paused, and studied the footage about a hundred times, searching for anything out of the ordinary and seeing absolutely nothing. Even abandoning the chairs from behind the table to sitting on the edge with our noses practically pressed against the screen, Phil and I discussed at great length how and what we felt at any given time and honestly answered Renning's questions.

"So, what happens now?" Phil asked with her feet firmly planted on a chair in front of her as she rested her elbows on her knees. "Does the royal family know what happened? And, oh, wait! Shouldn't someone notice the sword is missing by now?"

I frowned and shot Renning a curious look. Why was he with us when he should probably be at some historic meeting, carefully crafting an announcement or something?

"So," he said slowly as his brown eyes stared at us, betraying no emotion. "I need to show you one more thing."

"What?" Phil demanded as I mentally instructed my racing heart to calm down.

With a silent nod toward the paused image on the screen, Renning resumed the short clip and we watched the rest of the familiar footage in silence.

My body disappearing over the boulder.

Phil strolling around to check my well being.

Two police officers shining flashlights at us.

The nicer cop slowly helping me to my feet.