[ His face briefly contorts as if he’s about to lose his temper, but the lines smooth out in the next moment. (She’s not one of the club girls, after all. He doesn’t have any say over her.) ]
Not afraid to speak your mind, are you?
[ He stares at her just a moment longer looking away. ]
[ she's curt when she replies, though his question is rhetorical. ]
No.
[ her fingers are in her lap; sleeves are pulled down tight across the expanse of her wrists, material pulled to the heel of her palm in a quick gesture. she glances at him, still, though her expression is dry, eyes unflinching. ( he's a monster in other ways than her own. ) ]
[ For a long moment, there's just silence on the other end of the line. (Frustration clenches like a fist in his stomach.) ]
Don't say that.
[ He doesn't sound angry, doesn't sound sad. It's a strange kind of middle ground, instead, the space that he most often seems to occupy whenever he's dealing with the girls. A beat, and then: ]
[ What I need, she wants to say. Is my sister back.
What I need is Gerry.
What I need is—
She exhales. Long, low, hitching in a sob. ]
She was the best of us, Gael. And they're keeping her in a freezer like she's some kind of— some kind of thing. And I want them to pay for thinking that it could've been any of us who did that to her.
[ (There's something mawkish — in a bad way — about it all. About the way people crowd behind the yellow tape as the coroners peel Stella's body from the concrete, leaving a pool of congealed blood behind, about the way people ask, in the days that follow, if Venus is "that club." Gael tells the girls to tell him if anybody's playing rubberneck, and he kicks every single one of those assholes out without preamble.
It doesn't escape him that this kind of reputation puts the girls in more danger. Human nature — men in particular — take advantage of weakness and willingness where they think they can sense it.) ]
[ He frowns. Paces. (She's not safe. It's not good business. The sticking points pile up.) ]
She's not mad.
[ There's resignation in his voice. If she won't come home on her own, he'll come looking. That's the way it works, that's the way it's always worked — the Venus girls are afforded everything they'd want under the house's roof, but it's a binding kind of contract. ]
Just worried. You know. [ There's no background noise on his end of the line, just a brief crackle as he sighs. ]
Magda's in a bathtub. Dirty, grimy porcelain, surrounded by the grey tiling of a motel bathroom. She stares up at the light above her: a moth slams again and again into it, flying dizzy, confused circles around the bulb.
You're going to die, Magda thinks.
All things do. ]
I'll come back, [ she says eventually. Quietly. ] I promise. Just— not right now.
[ (The bulb flickers. Stella laughs as Magda holds her chin, tries to apply her lipstick. She can do it herself, but it's a ritual by this point. The little things they do to take care of each other. This time next week, I'll be gone, she says, as she stands to inspect her reflection in the mirror. Maybe we'll go to Vegas, get married by Elvis. Maybe Paris. Her eyes catch her sister's in the mirror. You should come with us.
This time next week. This time next week, Stella shows up dead.) ]
Okay.
[ The conversation stretches. Long swathes of silence, indicative of the dark that's fallen over the house since— ]
Magda had clamped down the flare of jealousy, then. She'd just laughed. Kissed Stella on the corner of her mouth, even though it meant she'd have to reapply the lipstick, that the bright red bow of her lips sat like a mark against Stella's jaw.
Of course I will, Magda had said. Because Stella was a dreamer, everyone knew that, and the cruel thing to do would have been to say But he doesn't even love you.
You'd really choose him over us?) ]
No. It's okay.
[ Her answer comes out a little breathless, on the end of a hiccup. She sounds— tired, more than sad, more than the grief that makes her want to go back to the dark underneath the bed.
There's another pause. And then, softly (all instinct, call and response):— ]
On Friday morning, Gael wakes to the faint sound of a song. It's almost like a dream in how muffled it is. He follows it through the complex — he's slept in the little room he keeps in the club in case of late nights, in case it's better for him to keep an eye out, and a girl gone missing means both of the above — until the timbre of it becomes clearer. It's a phone ringtone.
There's already a crowd forming by the time he finds the body. The screen's lighting on and off in Stella's limp hand, a name — 🔮 maggie 👯💕✨ — flashing on the screen. Oh, you don't know, continues the song. You don't know what I go through seeing someone else with you. Oh, I wish the one with you were me.) ]
I love you, too.
[ Instinct. He would — will — kill for these girls. ]
[ She grins from where she's crouched, all teeth. It's not raining in the alleyway, and Reese digs through the unconscious guy's pockets with her good hand; the other is scraped to hell, knuckles cut open as they hit him in the teeth.
She finds what she's looking for in the pocket of his jacket. A phone, a pack of cigarettes, but no lighter. Reese grumbles as she continues to pat him down. ]
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no subject
no subject
Not afraid to speak your mind, are you?
[ He stares at her just a moment longer looking away. ]
Fine, then. Wouldn’t want to be impolite.
no subject
No.
[ her fingers are in her lap; sleeves are pulled down tight across the expanse of her wrists, material pulled to the heel of her palm in a quick gesture. she glances at him, still, though her expression is dry, eyes unflinching. ( he's a monster in other ways than her own. ) ]
Did you invite me here to stare?
no subject
[ There's a certain level of overlap, there. Him, his sister — they operate as one. Differentiation is disingenuousness.
A beat passes before he speaks again, gaze fixing on her once more. ]
Why'd you come?
no subject
—sometimes I don't even think you care.
[ Magda sounds angry, hateful, her voice cracking with it. She's done a lot of growing up since— well. ]
no subject
Don't say that.
[ He doesn't sound angry, doesn't sound sad. It's a strange kind of middle ground, instead, the space that he most often seems to occupy whenever he's dealing with the girls. A beat, and then: ]
Or— do. If it's what you need.
no subject
What I need is Gerry.
What I need is—
She exhales. Long, low, hitching in a sob. ]
She was the best of us, Gael. And they're keeping her in a freezer like she's some kind of— some kind of thing. And I want them to pay for thinking that it could've been any of us who did that to her.
no subject
It doesn't escape him that this kind of reputation puts the girls in more danger. Human nature — men in particular — take advantage of weakness and willingness where they think they can sense it.) ]
It's only gonna add more fuel to the fire.
[ Again, a pause. ]
Come home, Magda.
no subject
[ She's not safe, right now — Magda likes to pretend, but she knows where her loyalties are, and that's with the family. Venus is home.
Sometimes, the last thing you want to be is safe. Magda sighs, hiccups, and there's the brief, far-away sound of sirens streaking by.
Quietly: ] Is she mad at me?
[ His sister. Well, all of theirs, in a way. ]
no subject
She's not mad.
[ There's resignation in his voice. If she won't come home on her own, he'll come looking. That's the way it works, that's the way it's always worked — the Venus girls are afforded everything they'd want under the house's roof, but it's a binding kind of contract. ]
Just worried. You know. [ There's no background noise on his end of the line, just a brief crackle as he sighs. ]
What are you going to do?
no subject
Magda's in a bathtub. Dirty, grimy porcelain, surrounded by the grey tiling of a motel bathroom. She stares up at the light above her: a moth slams again and again into it, flying dizzy, confused circles around the bulb.
You're going to die, Magda thinks.
All things do. ]
I'll come back, [ she says eventually. Quietly. ] I promise. Just— not right now.
no subject
This time next week. This time next week, Stella shows up dead.) ]
Okay.
[ The conversation stretches. Long swathes of silence, indicative of the dark that's fallen over the house since— ]
—Do you want me to stay on the line?
no subject
Magda had clamped down the flare of jealousy, then. She'd just laughed. Kissed Stella on the corner of her mouth, even though it meant she'd have to reapply the lipstick, that the bright red bow of her lips sat like a mark against Stella's jaw.
Of course I will, Magda had said. Because Stella was a dreamer, everyone knew that, and the cruel thing to do would have been to say But he doesn't even love you.
You'd really choose him over us?) ]
No. It's okay.
[ Her answer comes out a little breathless, on the end of a hiccup. She sounds— tired, more than sad, more than the grief that makes her want to go back to the dark underneath the bed.
There's another pause. And then, softly (all instinct, call and response):— ]
Love you, Gael.
no subject
On Friday morning, Gael wakes to the faint sound of a song. It's almost like a dream in how muffled it is. He follows it through the complex — he's slept in the little room he keeps in the club in case of late nights, in case it's better for him to keep an eye out, and a girl gone missing means both of the above — until the timbre of it becomes clearer. It's a phone ringtone.
There's already a crowd forming by the time he finds the body. The screen's lighting on and off in Stella's limp hand, a name — 🔮 maggie 👯💕✨ — flashing on the screen. Oh, you don't know, continues the song. You don't know what I go through seeing someone else with you. Oh, I wish the one with you were me.) ]
I love you, too.
[ Instinct. He would — will — kill for these girls. ]
Be careful, querida.
no subject
She finds what she's looking for in the pocket of his jacket. A phone, a pack of cigarettes, but no lighter. Reese grumbles as she continues to pat him down. ]
Just give me a fucking second. Fuck.
no subject
[ Gael's brow knits. He's not entirely certain what he's doing here, which is the kind of uneven footing that's always made him a little antsy.
Still, he doesn't say anything else to indicate his displeasure, remaining mum as Reese keeps searching the prone man's body. ]