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The edge of the glass rolled against her plum-painted lips as she surveyed the room, her handiwork, and her nearby accompaniment. The music downstairs was bright and raucous jazz from some bygone era that predated any family she ever thought of. The bar was stocked with all kinds of shady-looking bottles bearing handwritten labels like everything but the kitchen sink whiskey, Uncle Pembroke’s moonshine, and limited craft beer with an accompanying lot number, because it really was limited. The names were just monikers, the booze was imported –hardly makeshift. The building had been some kind of church, if the architecture and stained glass were any giveaway. What a turnaround.
A sound from her left turned her gaze. The first grunts of a complaint were issued, though unintelligible. To her right, the petite woman who was second in command to Mystic plunked herself down with a cheery kick of her feet and a winsome smile.
“Fancy meeting you here,” Amelie drawled over her glass. “Didn’t think you would show.”
“If you think I’m here for your company, I’m happy to disappoint.”
Amelie sipped her blind bourbon and looked Annie over. She knew her own weaponry, but what was the other female packing? Annie paid her no mind as she unbuttoned her jacket and slipped her arms free. Her vest was well-tailored, fitted, and lay smooth in a way that made it hard to distinguish anything hiding underneath. Violet eyes took stock of the unusual jewelry, the shoes, the sleeve garters. One’s arms didn’t have to be large to be effective.
Carl had proven that to her. Poignantly. She wouldn’t admit to the numbness that still affected her left arm.
Annie unhooked a concealed earpiece from her unadorned ear and chucked it at the low table, then picked up her own glass of bathtub gin.
“With that formality out of the way, cheers.”
Amelie clinked the lower edge of her glass to Annie’s rim. She wasn’t going to be deceived twice in the same fortnight. Annie noticed and glanced at her, her smile sobering a little around the edges before they recoiled their drinks. Annie took a sip, her gaze lingering on Amelie. Paranoia went both ways.
“This is a nice place. I never pegged you as the jazz type.”
“Surprise,” Amelie smirked. “How’d you get through the door carrying all that?”
“I didn’t. We came through the roof.”
“Special delivery? I didn’t feel a chill.”
“Chopper.”
They both turned their attention when another muffled round of complaining groans arose from Amelie’s side of the divan.
“Dare I ask?” Annie arched a brow.
“Objects in eevee socks are smaller and lighter than they appear, at least when knocked out.”
“Huh.”
“Yours?”
“Nyquil.”
“That’s devious. Can I borrow that?”
“I know.” Annie grinned, and there was something a little unkind about it. “You? Asking permission?”
Amelie gave a dainty shrug.
“So. We’ve got time until they come around. See anything you like?”
“More time than you, if I know the Chief. No, I don’t think I’ve had a chance to browse. Maybe next time I’m not… Well.” A gesture at the body sprawled on the adjacent divan.
“Ow, my head…”
Annie sipped her drink again and paid little mind to the voice on Amelie’s left.
“A dance or two would be nice,” she pondered aloud. Annie turned her head, set her emerald gaze on the Rocket second. “As I recall, you’re a pretty good dancer.”
Amelie smiled and inclined her head in a subtle nod.
“Maybe next time I’m not hauling ass.”
“Your ass is moving.”
They both turned their gaze to the left of the divan. All Annie could make out were boots and what might have been a thin blanket. She sipped her gin and watched Amelie reach over the armrest. With a grunt, she pulled, and her arm rose again, now clutching an olive-skinned bicep.
“Can you see yet?”
“No,” groaned the perfect likeness of Mystic one. “Amelie, wha’th hell-?”
“Not a morning person, either, huh?” Annie chuckled.
“Wuzzat Spark?”
“No boss. You were drugged.”
“Ugh… Want fries.”
Even with one eye, the put-upon eyeroll did not lack any emotion. Amelie let go of her charge and let them catch themselves on the divan, or fall. From Annie’s right came a snore.
“Shall we try to get this show on the road?”
“The others know where Blanche is, don’t they?”
“I didn’t tell anyone.” For a moment, Annie looked genuinely offended, then understanding softened her expression. “Well. Those two I can’t do anything about.”
“Guess not.” Amelie pursed her lips and arched a brow at the perfect likeness of her boss snoring on the other divan. “Candela won’t be pleased.”
“Moltres is still enjoying being very drunk. Thinks it’s great fun. Nobody’s seen Spark since Tuesday.”
Amelie met Annie’s gaze and understood the unspoken, namely that their time was limited. She threw the last of her glass back and leaned forward to set it on the table.
“Great, let’s get them up, I guess.”
She startled when she realized Noire was getting to their feet, the blanket inexorably sliding off as they found their legs and footing.
“You got this?”
“Hngh… What’s in me?”
Noire’s arm shook as its hand clutched the furniture for support. Their breathing was labored and a thin film of sweat told her the drugs were losing their hold.
“Take your time. Try not to puke.”
“Amelie?”
“Mm?”
“What’s going on?”
The widened eyes and trembling, chapped lips gave Noire a vulnerability rarely shown to anyone. Amelie smiled faintly and reached out to brush aside a hank of hair obscuring her charge’s face.
“It’s all good, boss. We’re ok.”
Those olive eyes held hers for a long moment, and she watched the lips mouth the words, trying to make sense of things. She wondered if she’d made the dose too high. And then Noire sighed, and let their head hang as they raised themselves another few inches, then paused for breath.
Amelie offered no assistance. She ran her fingers through the hank of hair, letting strands flow free, brought the longest ends to her lips as she set her chin on her hand and watched Annie attempt to rouse her own boss.
“C’mon, chief, rise and shine!”
“Gnh.”
“I got a good surprise for you.”
“Nnnnh.”
“Chief, wake up!”
A snore was her reply.
“I will pluck your hair! Get up!”
“Think we were overly-prepared?” Amelie called out.
Annie gave her an exasperated glare, then burst into laughter. Amelie felt a genuine smile tug at her lips.
“How about that dance? Shotgun lead.”