#Mrs Windin

[officialninacortex]

Wet Windin

[talk-to-the-mercs]

Audio From Slippery Spoon Café #3

Engineer: Now, Pauling…yeah, he’s just fine. Got his tongue stuck to a flagpole, but he’s all right now. Yeah. Uh-huh. He’s a little sleepy, but he’s comin’ round. Scout ‘n Demo’s takin’ care of ‘em. They should be in the back waitin’ for ya. Don’t worry, I’ll work on the wires so they don’t short out. [sigh] Miss - Miss Pauling, I’m gonna run outta quarters…you can debrief me when we all get back to the base. Right. I’ll be there. ‘Kay, see ya then. Bye.

[A click, wires tapping together]

Engineer: [deep breath] Hoo boy…this ain’t gonna look good in our files…

[creaking of a door, footsteps]

[Wham!]

???: Oh dear, excuse me- I deeply apologize, was I in your way..?

Engineer: [stammering] Oh, uh…I’m…real sorry, pardner. Didn’t see ya there. Just, uh, usin’ the phone.

???: No, no, it's fine! Err- I notice you seem very nervous, though. Something wrong?

Engineer: Er, no! ‘Course not! Just spooked me is all. [nervous laughter] You sure ate your greens, huh? When I turned around, I…well, I mean…I didn’t think…uh…

???: No, no, heheh, I understand. Honestly, I was just waiting to use this thing myself, but... Well, I noticed you seemed a bit worried is all. Wondered if I could help ya out with anything.

Engineer: Oh, well, that’s mighty kind of ya, but I’ve got it covered. Just had to tie a few loose ends.

???: Boy do I know how that feels... What sort of loose ends we talking here?

Engineer: …It’s a long story.

???: Hah! I've got the time, but I assume you can't really say, can you..? I understand, I work for a company that uh, tends to keep a lotta things under wraps. [laughing] Bit overboard if you ask me...

Engineer: Y-Yeah, I…I know whatcha mean. Hopefully things’ll be windin’ down pretty soon.

???: Aw yeah... Best of luck on whatever you're working on... We've got a ton on our plate, profits fell thanks to someone setting a project on fire... Hahah, I shouldn't overshare though.

???: I do hope your lot of coworkers aren't going to be as busy as we'll be for... Jeez, months? Years? I wouldn't wish that upon anybody, heh.

Engineer: It ain’t over yet, but I think we’re gonna come out on the other side. [murmuring] I can’t wait to put this whole thing behind us.

???: You and me both, man, heheh- Oh! How rude of me, I never even introduced myself. I'm Mr. Motley, good to meet you, mr..?

Engineer: They just call me Engineer ‘round these parts.

Motley: Oh, that’s a wonderful nickname! And a very telling one… I guess you’re a pretty smart guy then, huh? Honestly, could use the help of some engineers over at our place… Can’t let loose any details just yet, but uh, between you and me..?

Motley: [low and quiet whisper] It’s got a little something to do with teleportation, if you’re curious.

Motley: [back to speaking normally] Crazy, right? But boss would kill me if he found out I told someone about the top secret project, heheh. He’s an awful guy, so I don’t care too much about going behind his back, though.

Engineer: As much as I like tinkerin’, Motley, I’ve gotta stick by my team. Sure, they can be a pain in the ass, but they’re my family. I ain’t leavin’ ‘em anytime soon.

Motley: Hahah, yeah… I get that. I’m glad you’re a loyal guy. It’s a good show of character.

[Opening of a door, rattling of a couple of coins, door sliding shut]

Motley: There! Perfect. Not like I could fit in a phone booth normally anyway..!

Engineer: [nervous laughter] Alright, pardner, see ya around. And good luck! Sounds like ya got a real dead duck on your hands.

Motley: Tell me about it... I hope we run into each other again, just uh, not literally of course, heh. See you around, Engineer, see you around.

[footsteps on gravel]

Engineer: See ya arou-

[TRANSMISSION ERROR]

[ERROR]

[ERROR]

[INITIATING TRANSMISSION TRANSFER]

[TRANSFER COMPLETE]

[The phonebooth is empty.]

[gaslightwestern]

Love | Charlotte O’Shea | When Sins Haunt

For some reason, staring down a loaded six-shooter seems less scary than dancing with Thomas Quinn.

December 1877 | 1300 words

As usual, Charlotte was overdressed. While the other ladies danced with their beaus in their Sunday dresses, cotton whites and delicate florals, her satin evening gown stood out like a slash of blood upon fresh snow. She could already hear tomorrow’s gossip. Did you see what that Yankee girl was wearing? She just had to buy the dress though. The ruching on the skirt was too exquisite; the folds along the train too darling to ignore—but Charlotte was attending a Christmas dance in Fort Worth, not a night at the opera in New York City. What in blazes was she thinking?

Thomas leaned against the wall. A hint of laughter lightened his rough drawl. “That’s some dress.”

If only the heat of her gaze could set him aflame—although it might not make much of a difference. A face full of fire and a personality to match; even his blue eyes blazed in the shadow of his wide-brimmed brown hat.

Charlotte whipped out her mother’s black lace fan, concealing her scowl behind it. “I’m not in the mood for your teasing tonight.”

“You ain’t ever in the mood for teasin’.” Thomas’s playful smile peeked out amidst his rust-colored thick mustache and beard that toed the line of respectability. “I reckon you just might be the prickliest woman west of the Mississippi.”

An audible gust blew from her nose and that damned grin of his only grew. “And you just might be the most obtuse man in the whole state.” Charlotte fanned herself with vigor. “Leave me be.”

Thomas rose to his full height, looking down at her with thinly-veiled amusement. If he wasn’t so coarse Thomas would almost look like a Southern gentleman. His stature was too overbearing however, skin too rough and tanned, waistcoat too stretched over his broad chest, and manner too crude to ever resemble anything other than someone who belonged beyond the confines of the city. The cattle-drover-turned-firearms-dealer was out of place and no amount of fine clothes nor attempts at politeness could disguise that.

“To do what? Stand here and collect dust?” He snorted, fiddling with the sleeves of his smoky-gray frock coat. “What’s say you and I go dance?”

Her hand froze. “It’s a tad early in the evening to be dipping into the whiskey, Mr. Quinn.”

“It’s never too early for whiskey, Miss Grace.”

She rolled her eyes. “Now you sound like your Pa.”

The fiddlers and banjo player strummed and plucked with fury, their instruments seemingly taking on a life of their own as their lively melodies swept up into the air. The music reached out, but Charlotte ignored its call. They were there to investigate whether Laurel Granston had any connection to the murders, not dance.

“You and I haven’t gone a day without arguing. Why on earth would you want to dance?”

“We only argue ‘cause you have to be so darn difficult about everythin’.”

Charlotte snapped her fan shut in response.

“Maybe I’m bored.” Thomas shrugged, before adjusting his necktie. “Or maybe it’s because you’re the best lookin’ woman here and a man don’t need much of a reason other than that.”

A blush as deep as her dress burned its way up her décolletage. Thank heavens the light was low. “I won’t look so nice when I trip and take you down with me. I dance the waltz, not—” Charlotte gestured towards the dance floor. There was much laughter and little organization. “—whatever that is.”

“Windin’ up on the floor with you don’t sound half bad.” Rather than apologize like a gentleman for his forwardness, Thomas extended his gloved hand with a roguish grin. “Mr. Granston ain’t here yet and we put too much effort into our appearances to stay glued to the wall.”

Never one to be shy, her sudden spell of timidity was baffling. This was Thomas. Her colleague. Her partner in justice. An arrogant cad who had been a thorn in her side since August. Why was she anxious? For that matter, why was he? Thomas’s chest remained still as he awaited her answer. Charlotte placed her hand in his. She had faced far more terrifying things than a man asking her to dance.

“I must have taken leave of my senses,” Charlotte muttered as Thomas led her to the center of the dance floor. Of course he would.

“Could’ve told you that based on your outfit.”

The hard muscles of his shoulder beneath her fingertips would have been delightful if Charlotte’s corset had not magically become three sizes too small. As Thomas drew in her however, his large hand firmly on her back, she breathed in a sense of familiarity. No hint of whiskey today, just gun oil, leather, and warmth. They had never been this close. Not even during target practice when he corrected her form. Strange how this felt more dangerous than wielding firearms.

“You’re as stiff as a corpse,” Thomas snickered as the music started up again. “Relax. Step together then take two more steps opposite me. I’ll lead you ‘round.”

Despite the urge to stare at her feet, Charlotte kept her eyes on his. Soon she was gliding backwards in tune with the beat through a sea of colors as Thomas skillfully maneuvered them across the crowded floor. A lightness bubbled up, emerging as laughter. Her dress fluttered as Thomas drew Charlotte out and then back to him with ease.

“Where did a cowpoke like you learn how to dance?”

“You learn pretty fast when all your free time at the end of a drive is spent with women.” Thomas raised their left hands, twirling her twice. “Got to know the dance halls in Dodge real good—among another fine establishments.”

Charlotte quirked a brow as they did a side step. Now she advanced. “I can only imagine what other skills you picked up in those establishments.”

Another surprise—Thomas was capable of looking sheepish. “Miss Grace, if your goal is to make a grown man blush, you doin’ a mighty fine job.”

As if to return the favor his hand slid down, resting just above her bustle. Two can play at that game. Charlotte pressed against his chest as he changed directions again. There was a delightful hitch in his breath, but he remained undaunted despite the swell of his heartbeat. Their legs moved in tandem. An odd sensation; they had been dancing around each other for months. Their proximity was indecent and wandering eyes lingered.

Let them talk.

His face was so close; gaze all-consuming and dark as the ocean. There were times, like now, where Charlotte wanted to let go, let herself be dragged down. They were so wrong for each other. All they ever did was fight. Still though, it was hard not to wonder what it would be like to kiss Thomas. Would it be as passionate as the man himself or tender like the way he was holding her? Charlotte closed her eyes. Stop it. If Thomas knew the truth, he would never look at her the same. He deserved better.

“Sorry, Miss Grace. I should show more restraint.” Thomas placed a more respectable distance between them, unable to meet her eye. Before she could tell him he had done nothing wrong, a deep scowl tore across his face. Charlotte did not need to turn around to know that Granston had finally shown up to his own party.

“Can’t say I’m thrilled with our plan.” His hands fell away. “How about we switch? I search the house while you distract him.”

A chill swept through her body, as if in protest at the loss of his. “I am perfectly capable of sneaking around without getting caught.”

“With your knack for gettin’ into trouble, I ain’t so sure about that.” Thomas grinned. “Be careful, darlin’.”

[ Overview | Intro | Page | # | Charlotte | Jack | Warren | Sam | Martin, Mae & Theo | Backstory ]

@writer-jess, @maskedlady, @thewritertiffany, @strawberry--sunrise, @teacupwriter, @girlnovels, @cirianne, @okrashan, @paranoidwriter, @drabbleitout, @nyxnevin, @scintillations-of-the-scribblers, @theforgottencoolkid, @inkpot-dreamer, @nightskywriter, @oceanwriter, @lynnafred, @katerinarevel, @g-marrader21, @the-writers-soul, @yourocsbackstory