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"Hello? Bianca?"
"Mmmhn, oh, Fleur, my angel.." A light, airy voice droned through the speakers, one that the brunette un(willingly), immediately recognized to be her blonde coworker Bianca. Never, though, did that voice—low, often harsh in its wit— sound this out of it, as she was sure the other woman would describe. Something was off, and Fleur's mind was already working to solve it, despite her mild frustrations at being called in the first place.
"Bianca." Fleur replied, cold and typical in her tone. "What's going on?"
"It is you." The blonde replied softly, a touch muffled. Not as muffled as the faint sound of music, however. "Good. Might.." she paused, just to huff a laugh. "Need ya. Considering.."
"What's going on, Bianca?" Fleur asked, impatiently, though worry was making itself known, too. "Where are you?"
"Lux," She replied. "At Lux. I think.. shit, I'm fucked up, Fleur. 's terrible, much- shittier than the one vodka redbull I got." She slurred, laughing into her phone's speaker. "This is so- stupid—"
"Bia," Fleur replied, cutting the inebriated woman off. "In the building, where are you?"
"Mm? Bathroom." She replied, her voice sounding a touch more distant, as though she had tipped her head back. "Why're you asking?"
"Because I am coming to get you before something happens." Fleur replied, her voice cold once more. "Making sure you get home."
"Aw," Bia replied, though not out of disappointment, Fleur could figure. "Could've just said you missed me. 's ok, I know you did."
Fleur just huffed a breath. "Would you rather me just leave you then?"
"-No, no." Bia replied, easily. "Shit, maybe I didn't miss you either. If I could.. find the button.. I'd hang up on your ass.."
"Do not." Fleur was quick to retort. "Stay on the phone, Bianca."
"Mmmmm." The blonde hummed trailing off to silence. "Fine. Fine. Not hanging up. Geez."
"Good. Lux, you said? Where—"
"Oh stop, you know exactly where." Bia laughed. "You're not.. not as slick as you think, honey."
"Not not slick? What's the point in that?" Fleur deflected. "Double negatives are useless in English."
Bia scoffed. "Just get here. Please. Stop that."
Fleur did not immediately answer, presumably because she was satisfied with her win, or rolling her eyes. 'I am on my way. Just stay put, Bianca. Can you do that?"
Bia hummed. "Yeah, sure. Whatever you want, Fleur."
Fleur scoffed, muttering something Bianca couldn't decipher, not in her state, anyway.
But the blonde didn't push it. She never did, come to think of it.
"Keep talking." Fleur spoke, after a few silent moments. "So that I know that you're still there."
"Um," Bia snorts. "Okay? I dunno. I came for a friend's.. birthday, hah. Had fun. Apparently drugged, so it's not so fun. Anymore."
"Friend's birthday? Whose?"
"Mmm, s'uh. Shit…" Bia hummed, slowly tapping a palm on her other arm as she thought. "Franny. Francesca from- from.." she tsked. "The skater. blue skates. Y'know."
Before Fleur could reply, Bia continued,
"Always passes your volley courts. When you play." She hums out. "Really nice. You totally know 'cause- cause she always manages to pass when you play. Which.. is so weird 'cause.. you're always off th' court when I pass.. it's like… like." Bia pauses. "Kinda stupid."
"How is it stupid?" the brunette refuted.
"It's intentional, isn't it? Volleyball isn't that perfectly timed. So it's just stupid."
Fleur huffs. "You're insufferable, Bianca."
This draws a small laugh out of the intoxicated detective. "You just like to deflect, Green."
More silence.
"Shit." Bianca mutters.
"What?" Fleur asks. "What is it?"
"My phone," Bia replied. "Think it's.. about to die. Like, few minutes, die."
Merde. "Okay. I'm almost there. Just stay put."
"Kay- I know, shit. Stay put. Will do."
"Good. Be careful, watch-"
Fleur heard the line cut out over her car's speaker.
Shit, shit, shit.
Fleur was in the Lux sooner than her feet could even register the movement from the car. She maneuvered easily through the crowd, looking over it for "Franny", but, more importantly, for Bianca.
Of course to no avail, Fleur ducked into the bathrooms.
It was much quieter than the club outside the door, only a dull thrum that made Fleur's racing heart sound like an absurdly boosted bass in comparison.
"Bianca?" She called.
Nothing. Nothing but the grating sound of a stall door faintly swinging.
Fleur called again— nothing but an unnerving, heavy silence responding to her as she moved, pushing open the stall doors one by one. Nothing, nothing, a blocked door, and nothing.
She stops in front of the blocked door, crouching in front of it.
There are shoes on the floor, a familiar pair of burgundy converse that are staring right at her.
"Bianca, this isn't funny—"
Fleur moved, peeking through the side of the door, then, frustratedly, peering over the top of the stall door.
"Merde," Fleur hissed, managing to unlock the door by reaching over it, almost climbing over it.
The shoes were Bianca's, sure. So was the phone that was now face down on the ground.
Yet Fleur could only focus on the unsettling absence in the stall that left her ears ringing.
The blonde was gone. Her coworker, her friend, who multiple times over promised that she would not move—
Was gone.