The Queen
The Queen docks every evening along the banks of the Mighty Miss, and by the time the sun touches the water, the line to board stretches back along the shore. A fully restored steam-powered paddle boat, she runs on river water and old-world ambition, her decks lined with marksmen who keep the raiders and river hunters at a respectful distance. Inside, the casino holds over two hundred people across perfectly lined felt gambling tables, wood-worked bars stocked with bottles that predate the Fall, and an old organ in the corner that plays through the night, sometimes accompanied by a vocalist whose songs carry across the water.
The staff dress in pre-fall elegance: vests, cuff-linked shirts, bow ties, and finely crafted dresses with hooped bases, clothing choices based on personal preference regardless of gender. Lola, the owner, tends the bar herself, a brightly dressed woman standing about six foot three who oversees operations with the calm authority of someone who knows the river will handle anyone she cannot. Visiting Telling Visionaries compare the experience to the scriptures of the Wild West, and they are not wrong. The Queen is a floating monument to a world that died, rebuilt by people who decided that world's pleasures were worth preserving.
The lowest floor holds rooms for overnight stays, frequently occupied by big winners riding their luck or by those who provide more intimate services to the clientele. Room service includes a small sum of gambling chips, a courtesy that ensures guests find their way back to the tables. Bawdy or disruptive patrons face a penalty more effective than any bouncer: removal from the boat into the rapidly moving waters of the Mighty Miss. The fear of the river keeps order better than any rule posted on the wall.
The staff dress in pre-fall elegance: vests, cuff-linked shirts, bow ties, and finely crafted dresses with hooped bases, clothing choices based on personal preference regardless of gender. Lola, the owner, tends the bar herself, a brightly dressed woman standing about six foot three who oversees operations with the calm authority of someone who knows the river will handle anyone she cannot. Visiting Telling Visionaries compare the experience to the scriptures of the Wild West, and they are not wrong. The Queen is a floating monument to a world that died, rebuilt by people who decided that world's pleasures were worth preserving.
The lowest floor holds rooms for overnight stays, frequently occupied by big winners riding their luck or by those who provide more intimate services to the clientele. Room service includes a small sum of gambling chips, a courtesy that ensures guests find their way back to the tables. Bawdy or disruptive patrons face a penalty more effective than any bouncer: removal from the boat into the rapidly moving waters of the Mighty Miss. The fear of the river keeps order better than any rule posted on the wall.
