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She had trouble written all over her. At first, you could write it off as the lingering effects of the town and bar that she was so often found in. The whole place felt like a dark smudge on the surrounding areas. It was sick, ill in its people and morals. Crime ran wild, innocents suffered, and everyone seemed to have a knife ready to plunge into your back.
And yet, despite this, Chell just kept finding herself back here. Not entirely by choice mind you, but being a detective, it seemed that ninety-five percent of your cases somehow trailed back here. Part of her wondered if she should just move in and live here if she visited so often, but the options for neighbors kept that from happening.
This place was trouble, that much was clear. But her… she was the most dangerous of them all.
She wasn’t the most physically imposing of the residents, nor was she a known criminal. The emphasis on ‘known.’ Chell knew there was something about her from the second she caught sight of her. Chell had followed so many cases here, hot on their trail, only for any traces to go completely cold at this woman’s feet. It was clearly suspicious, yet no matter how much she tried, she couldn’t find anything against her.
Worst of all? The woman knew that Chell suspected her. And she seemed to… relish it.
The smile- no, the smirk on her face when Chell had first approached her, putting on her most intimidating face and intending to get some kind of answer from this slippery eel, only for her to take a long, slow drag of her cigarette, and promptly blow the smoke back in Chell’s face.
“You’re testing me, detective. Very well, I do love a good game.”
Her voice felt like some disturbed mix of velvet and poison, soothing and far too smooth, yet seeping into Chell’s skin and digging deep, infecting her with… whatever sickness this woman possessed. She was not the same as the other vermin of this place. Chell could look around the bar they stood in, and she could not see one man or woman even remotely similar to the person in front of her.
They were like rats, scurrying around alleys, grouping together when needed, and scattering when found. This woman, was a snake. She seemed to slither out of the shadows, never once needing any thugs or bodyguards around her. She was not afraid of Chell, nor any of the men in this place.
Chell almost wouldn’t be surprised if, like a snake, this woman ate these rats for breakfast.
After their first meeting, Chell had struggled to gather as much information on the woman as possible. She searched and searched, yet found nothing. She tried to wring answers from citizens who she had seen hanging around the same bar, but she got nothing. They all did one of two things. Respond with a neutral- downright monotone- ‘I don’t know her,’ or, they’d go pale in the face, with eyes wide, insisting that they knew nothing, before getting out of there as fast as they could.
Chell ran her fingers through her hair, her teeth gritted together in a silent growl of frustration. She sat now, in that very same bar. One hand mused her long, dark brown hair, trying to lose some of her stress without pulling her hair from its usual low ponytail. And the other hand clutched a chipped, slightly dirty glass of whiskey. It was half gone at this point, but Chell had paused drinking to take a break from the taste. She had never attempted to drink gasoline, but she assumed this tasted similar. It burned her throat, numbing her mouth for awhile, only to leave a horrid, bitter taste in her mouth.
She hated the stuff. Yet this was her second glass tonight.
She was stuck in this city for at least a night, and she needed a drink. To calm her nerves, to help drown out everything else. To forget about her, at least for a night.
Despite her best efforts and worst choice of drink, she couldn’t get the woman out of her mind. Her smile, seeming both fake and genuine, as it resembled the eager look of a predator closing in on prey. Her eyes, a sharp, almost golden amber, that held secrets that Chell longed to know. Even her scent was distinct. A mixture of cigarette smoke, something that Chell was sure could be poison, and an odd, trace of cinnamon. So faint it could be missed, yet somehow so notable if you were up close…
Chell suddenly stiffened, her back straightening and her eyes snapping open to be fully alert.
She didn’t have to move to know the woman was behind her.
The detective raised only her eyes to look at the bartender, who seemed… indifferent. No look of malice, fear or alarm in his expression, meaning one of three things. He worked for her and could hide his emotions very well, she had a weapon drawn and he couldn’t see it, or the dangerous viper of a woman behind her was doing nothing wrong.
Chell highly doubted the last one. Slowly, she raised her glass to her lips, and finished the remaining liquor in one gulp. She closed her eyes for a moment, inhaling deeply as she felt the alcohol burn her throat all the way down, and somehow twist around in her stomach as anxiety and the not so slight effects of drinking combined into one, nauseating concoction.
She felt no gunpoint pressed to her back, and the woman had yet to hold a knife to her throat, or bury it in her back. What was her game? Did Chell dare turn around and meet her gaze?
“You are a surprisingly hard woman to find, detective. Yet, when I’ve finally decided to call it quits for the night, you walk right into my nest. Is it convenient, or tragically ironic?”
The voice gave Chell chills, goosebumps quickly covering her arms, and the hair on the back of her neck standing on end. The words were spoken so quietly, clearly only intended for Chell herself, yet somehow they cut through the music that had been playing like white noise in the background this whole time.
She had been looking for her? To kill her no doubt. Was Chell finally getting close to uncovering the truth about this woman? Surely she was, why else would this be happening?
“Now now, it is rude to just ignore me like that. At least look me in the eyes, miss Chell.”
Chell decided then and there that she hated the way her name rolled off this woman’s tongue. How she spoke it like she was cherishing the feeling, letting the word linger on her tongue like… like she enjoyed it. Chell hated that.
Yet, she did as requested, and slowly turned around on her bar stool to face her newfound companion, her expression stoney, and as emotionless as she could possibly manage. Her hand twitched to go to her side, to grab her weapon. She’d feel a lot safer with her revolver in her hand, and the trigger under her finger. But sudden movements could be bad, so she sat still.
“There we go, was that so hard? Honestly, acting like that, one might think you were sulking.”
The woman grinned, moving closer. Chell struggled not to let her gaze wander from her eyes. She would not back down, she would not-
Before she had noticed it, the gap between them had nearly been closed, as she felt herself almost pinned in place. On instinct, her hand shot to her side to grab her gun-
Only for a hand to grab her wrist, preventing her from moving. The fingers were long, almost dainty, and the skin was smooth, not calloused. It did not seem like the hand of someone who did anything by force directly. But those eyes showed that she didn’t need to do things personally to get blood on her hands.
“Easy now, we wouldn’t want things to get messy in here, would we? I simply want your attention, Chell, not your life.”
Those words did not make the detective feel any better, as she could practically feel the words ‘not yet anyway’ hanging in the air after the sentence was uttered.
“Perhaps we got off on a bad foot, hm? Would you like to know my name? Would that make us any closer?”
The woman spoke in a tone that Chell labeled as far too close to condescending for her liking. Still, she would not dislike having something to call the woman by, even if it was, undoubtedly, a false name.
“It’s Gladys. I’m sure you’ll... make good use of it.”
As the woman- Gladys- spoke, she moved her hand from Chell’s wrist, bringing it up, far too close to her neck, and lightly ghosting over her collarbone. Once more, Chell resisted the urge to move. To try to reach for her gun again, or to slap the hand away. What would it take for this woman to strike? To lash forward and have Chell’s throat under her hand? How long was she going to play?
“I must admit, I’m a bit disappointed. Cheapest liquor on the menu? Either you’re desperate, or you just want to get drunk. A dangerous thing around here you know. Besides, you smell of it.”
Gladys pulled a face, though it didn’t look disgusted as much as amused, as she wrinkled her nose at Chell, who was still managing to hold her silence, despite the urge to respond with a snarky ‘Maybe you should back up then.’ Instead, she watched as Gladys raised her free hand, waving vaguely at the bartender without so much as looking his way. In response, Chell could hear the sound of her glass being moved, and refilled. She wanted to look, to no doubt see herself about to be poisoned, but somehow, she didn’t move. Gladys was not holding her in place- though if she was any closer Chell reckoned that she’d be sitting on her lap- yet for some reason, Chell could not force herself to move away.
“Here you are, this is on me.”
Before Chell could register what happened, Gladys had pushed the glass into her hand.
It was the same kind of drink, in the same glass. But Chell was not stupid, nor was this the first time she had been in a sketchy bar with sketchy people. This was poisoned. It had to be. Honestly she was shocked that this seemingly insanely clever woman was making such an obvious move. And so, she did not bring the glass to her lips, instead staring Gladys down with heavy distrust.
“Ooh, so suspicious, aren’t we? But so misplaced, cara mia. I’ve already told you that I’m not out for your life. But if you’re so worried…”
Gladys took the glass back- which Chell was more than happy to let her have- and to Chell’s surprise, took a sip. Not small enough to be faked, she very clearly took a mouthful of the drink, and swallowed it as overly exaggeratedly as possible, as if she wanted to make sure that Chell was watching.
She pulled another face, this time genuinely disgusted, but definitely not the face of someone with a failing heart. It wasn’t fast acting poison, if it was even poisoned at all. Would she really risk drinking her own poison to try and get Chell?
Questions swarmed in Chell’s mind, buzzing like a hive of angry bees, almost ringing in her ears. What was Gladys’s game? What was she doing? And why couldn’t Chell predict anything she did?
Either way, alcohol was sounding like a better and better idea to fix this problem with every second, so without much hesitation, she took the glass back from Gladys, sniffed it, tasted it, then knocked it back in one go. In hindsight, a bad idea, as she fought back the urge to cough up her lungs.
“I don’t know how you can drink that stuff, it tastes disgusting.”
Gladys raised an eyebrow at Chell, who managed to give a small shrug in response. The most of a reaction she had given the woman all night. This act, as small as it was, earned Gladys’s smirk back.
“Maybe it’d be better with a second taste…”
Both of Gladys’s hands came to rest on the detective’s shoulders now, and without missing a beat, she got onto Chell’s lap. She didn’t hesitate, ask, or show any signs of timidness.
And Chell really, really ought to push her off. To walk out of here right now, and go far, far away.
But she didn’t.
All she did was silently curse whatever forces in the universe that had dressed Gladys. A low cut dress, black. It felt like silk. Bits of jewelry adorned her body, and upon being closer, Chell noted that she seemed to be wearing perfume. Somehow, it mixed well with the faint smell of smoke and cinnamon, mingling with the smell of spirits that hung between them. She smelled more intoxicating than any drink that this place could serve.
Chell’s heart jumped into her throat, hammering so hard she knew that Gladys must be able to hear it. Or, as she found herself being pressed even closer to the woman, feel it.
A low laugh bubbled from Gladys, infectious and dangerous. It was smooth, and inviting. Chell had to swallow the lump in her throat as it formed as she listened to that laugh, feeling it spark something in her chest that she was very concerned about. A flicker of warmth. Excitement.
This was all probably the fault of the whiskey. It had to be. Being drunk was the closest thing to a logical reason as to why Chell hadn’t done something by now.
Why she didn’t stop Gladys from playing with her hair a little, or undoing the top button of her shirt. She did nothing. Well, nothing to stop it. Moving almost outside of their own accord, Chell found her hands on Gladys’s waist. This act, it seemed, earned genuine intrigue from the woman, who looked slightly surprised, and then very, very satisfied. She resembled a cat that hadn’t just swallowed a canary, but one who had just charmed one into her jaws instead.
“Now that’s more like it…”
She moved forward, pushing Chell against the edge of the bar in a half leaning, half lying down position.
“I think I’d like to have a little fun, detective. And do you want to know what else I’m thinking?”
The woman was purring her words out now, her chin resting on Chell’s shoulder as she tilted her head, her warm breath tickling the outer shell of Chell’s ear.
“...I think that you agree.”
Chell had been right all along. This woman was trouble. She was trouble from that black dress, to the smell of cigarettes, to the lipstick marks that she left littered around Chell’s skin and shirt collar. And as Chell awoke the next morning in a cheap motel, accompanied by nothing but messy sheets, bruises on her neck, and the smell of whiskey to remind her of the night before, she knew that she was in a lot more trouble than she had originally bargained for.