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shellbilee · 2 months

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Hey There Darlin' - Chapter 6

A Glen Powell RPF series

Thank you for all the love on this story! x

Glen

Glen is turning the heat on the stove down when he hears the doorbell ring, Brisket’s shrill bark ringing out throughout the house. He jogs down the hallway, scooping up Brisket on the way, aware that he’s already smiling even before he reaches the door. He lets out a breath and opens the door, feeling his whole body heat when he sees her standing there.

Billie.

She’s still dressed in her jeans and shirt from earlier, though her hair is now loose and flowing, framing her face in long soft waves. She looks beautiful.

Nugget is wagging his tail excitedly, happily panting from his spot at Billie’s legs, Brisket immediately scrambling in his arms to meet his new friend again.

“Hi again”

“Hey gorgeous” he says, loving the way Billie’s smile grows even bigger.

She steps inside and Brisket launches from his arms, Glen immediately reaching for Billie's waist and pressing his mouth to hers. He kisses her tenderly, his mouth firm but gentle against hers, her lips soft and plush and exactly as he remembers from only hours ago. His hands grab at her waist and her arms reach up to wrap around his neck, Glen only pulling away when he feels his lungs start to burn.

“I’ve been thinking about doing that again since the moment we left the restaurant” he whispers after a moment, smiling down at her breathlessly before bending and kissing her again.

It’s like he can’t get enough of her.

Billie bites her lip when they part - her perfect, plush lips, and Glen has to stop himself from groaning out loud, his grip on her waist momentarily tightening.

“Me too” she replies with a shy smile, her cheeks now flushed a lovely pink, her fingers unclasping and sliding down his chest.

They smile at each other and eventually separate, Glen closing the door behind them as the dogs take off down the hallway.

“Your house is incredible” Billie breathes, looking around when they step into the expansive open plan living area, Glen watching as she scans the room around her, “This makes my place look like a studio apartment”.

She looks back up at him with a smile and Glen feels his chest tighten at the sight.

He chuckles, his hand brushing the small of her back.

“Drink?”

Billie raises one eyebrow and tilts her head as she looks at him, “Only if you’re having one?”

He smiles as he walks into the kitchen and sets about pouring them both a glass of pinot, Billie walking over and running her hand over the black marble benchtop.

“Smells amazing too. What’s for dinner?”

Glen winks conspiratorially. “It’s a surprise. My specialty”.

Billie grins adorably as she sets down her bag. “I’m excited”

He walks around the bench and hands her the glass of red, tapping his glass against her in a cheers.

“Want a tour?”

Billie nods enthusiastically.

“Of this mansion? With that view?” she says gesturing dramatically over to the glass doors that line the whole side of the house - the outdoor deck and luxury pool sit in view just outside, an expansive, stunning view of the Hollywood Hills just beyond it, “Absolutely I do”.

Glen laughs and takes her hand, leading her down the hallway to show her the rest of the house.

Ten minutes later, awe is etched all over Billie’s face.

Glen is in awe too, except it’s got nothing to do with his house and absolutely everything to do with Billie.

How can anyone be so utterly adorable and so God damn sexy at the same time?

He can't think of anything he wants to do more than pull her to him and kiss her until his lips are sore, to feel her skin beneath his fingertips, to taste her on his tongue.

The house tour is basically torture - it’s even worse than their workout this morning, something Glen would have previously believed was impossible until just now. He can’t stop his brain from picturing himself taking Billie on every available surface in his home.

The way she’d look bent over the back of his black leather couch, his hands running over every stunning curve of her naked body.

Or the way she’d look lying spread open in the middle of his bed with her head thrown back, as he licked between her thighs like a man starved.

Or the way she’d look pressed up against the stone wall of his luxury shower, water dripping down her luscious frame as he drove into her again and again and again.

Billie is all but oblivious to the sinful thoughts running through his brain, Glen struggling to listen and respond appropriately to her comments about each new room he takes her through.

Fuck.

Every part of him is already hoping she'll stay the night, but he knows he's being forward. After all, he's only known her for forty-eight hours.

But still.

The way her ass looks in those jeans? The way her ass would look out of those jeans and instead spread in his hands as he bent her over?

My God.

Glen manages to hold himself together and eventually they finish at his favourite spot in his house - the lounge on the outdoor deck that overlooks the pool and the rest of the expansive yard.

Glen instructs Billie to take a seat while he goes to check on dinner, Brisket and Nugget full of seemingly boundless energy as they run chaotic laps of the grass chasing one another.

When Glen returns outside minutes later, he can't help his smile at the sight he’s greeted with. Brisket is standing on Billie’s lap, his little tail wagging furiously as he looks down at Nugget in front of them, while Nugget stands on the floor barking at his tiny friend to come down and play.

Before Glen can open his mouth to comment on the scene in front of him, Brisket launches himself from Billie’s lap and sprints down the deck, Nugget tearing off after him and giving chase onto the manicured lawns below.

“Dinner should be ready in about forty-five” Glen says when he walks over to Billie and sits down on the lounge beside her, stretching one arm out along the back of the couch.

“Can I help in any way?”

Glen scoffs and Billie laughs and shakes her head, clearly knowing her answer without him even saying anything.

She shifts on the lounge to face Glen, tucking her now bare feet underneath herself, her phone slipping off her lap in the process.

It's then that Glen notices there’s a video playing on her phone, his brow furrowing as he picks it up and inspects the screen.

“I didn't know there was a game on today?” Glen comments, instantly recognising the video as a sports channel.

Billie laughs and shakes her head, reaching up to tuck one side of her long hair behind her ear.

“There isn’t. It’s Aussie rules, from back home” she explains, taking her phone from Glen and looking down at it almost wistfully, “Football. My team is playing”.

“Do you want to put it on the TV?” Glen asks, gesturing to the enormous TV mounted on the wall of the outdoor deck area.

Billie frowns and looks at him oddly, causing Glen to let out a laugh.

“I have every sports channel available Billie”.

Her face softens then, her teeth flashing in a gentle smile.

“Of course you do” she says with a chuckle, shaking her head in amusement, “But no, it’s ok, I don’t want to force you to watch a sport you know nothing about”.

Glen scoffs for the second time in two minutes.

“Don’t be silly. I love sports” he says as he suddenly sits forward and reaches for his own phone, unlocking it and scrolling through to the TV app, “Besides, I wouldn’t say I know nothing about it. I got to stand on the Sydney stadium when I was in Australia. The SCG I think it was called?”.

Billie laughs as the TV starts up, Glen leaning over to double check the channel from the video on her phone, “I wouldn’t exactly call that knowledge of the game”.

Glen grins and shrugs, clearly unphased, putting his phone down on the coffee table in front of them when the game starts playing on the screen. He leans back on the couch and stretches his arm along the back, this time his hand finding Billie and pulling her back into him.

“You’ll just have to teach me the rules then”

She smiles gorgeously up at him - that same fucking smile that's blessed his nearly every thought for the last two days, and Glen feels himself melt.

“Thank you” Billie breathes, shifting beneath his arm, reaching up to cup his cheek and pulling his face down to hers in a gentle kiss.

He smiles when Billie cuddles into him, the sweet scent of her peachy perfume filling his nose, his arm draped across her front giving her a soft squeeze.

Billie's fingers wrap around his and Glen looks down at their intertwined hands, feeling a wave of contentment wash over him at the sight.

He lets out a silent sigh and relaxes back into the couch, holding Billie's body against his as they watch the screen together.

---

“He’s holding him!” Billie nearly screams at the TV, throwing her arms up into the air in exasperation, “How do you not call that umpire!?”

The play continues without intervention from the referee and Billie drops her arms dramatically, muttering curses under her breath and running her fingers through her hair.

Glen can't help the way he's grinning at Billie, loving how fired up and passionate she is about her team. She's exactly like he is with his Texas Longhorns.

“Holding him?”

Billie turns back to look at Glen, her previously angered expression instantly softening.

“You can't hold another player and block their attempt at getting the ball” she explains, making quotation mark signs with her fingers when she says hold, “So like if the ball was coming to you, I could try and bump and contest with you, but I couldn't say, hold your arm down and stop you from trying to mark the ball”.

Glen shakes his head and laughs.

“This sport has so many insane rules” he says, taking a drink of his wine, “And I still can't believe the players don't wear any protective gear”.

Billie laughs, sitting forward on the lounge and reaching for her own glass of wine on the coffee table.

“The tackles aren't nearly as rough as they are in NFL though”

“Are you kidding? That guy almost took that other guy's head off before”.

Billie chuckles and taps her fingers against her wine glass before taking a sip. “Yeah but that wasn't allowed either. I'd almost guarantee that he'll be written up for that and get at least a one week suspension from playing”.

“They should at least wear helmets to protect their heads”

“They can wear helmets, but they're not a full on one like the NFL players would wear. They're not hard, they're made of a moulded foam material so I'd call them more of a head guard than a helmet”.

“Crazy”

Billie laughs again. “They wear mouth guards though. Gotta protect the teeth you know”.

Glen shakes his head. “I swear you Australian’s are just on another level”.

Billie chuckles and slides back on the couch again, sitting back beside Glen. He wraps his arm around her as she does so, pulling her back into him and giving her waist a gentle squeeze.

“I wouldn't say another level” Billie replies with a soft chuckle that makes Glen's insides warm, “Perhaps just tough?”.

She grins and winks one gorgeous eye at him, Glen grinning back in response.

“My worst injury when I used to play, back when I was in my early twenties” Billie says suddenly, sitting up and turning to Glen, pulling aside the collar of her shirt and exposing her golden collarbone, “I got tackled by this girl and she just crunched me underneath her. Dislocated my shoulder and snapped my collarbone in half”.

She points at a long white spidery scar on her collarbone and Glen does his best to pay attention, trying his hardest not to notice that she's just given him a now near uninterrupted view of her cleavage. His brain almost short circuits as he eyes the swell of her left breast, the hand that was previously holding Billie now gripping at the soft material of the outdoor lounge.

“Part of it came through my skin. Honestly it was the most sickening sound, I still get shivers thinking about it” Billie explains, looking down at her shoulder and back at Glen.

“The sound? Not the pain?”.

Billie shrugs. “I remember it hurting, but the sound is what really haunts me”.

Glen just shakes his head.

“See? Another level”.

Billie drops her head back and laughs, her eyes crinkling and her cheeks bouncing in a way that Glen finds adorable. He smiles at her, his eyes dropping back to her scar.

He reaches out and runs his fingers over it, feeling the thickened, bumpy ridges that are still somehow soft beneath his touch. He swears he sees Billie shiver then, and all at once he has to fight the overwhelming urge to lean in and kiss along her scar, to run his tongue across her collarbone.

Before he can actually do it though, the beeping of the kitchen timer stirs him from his thoughts. His hand drops from Billie and she readjusts her shirt, Glen instead putting down his wine glass and hauling himself to his feet.

“Are you sure there's nothing I can do?”

Glen nods.

“I'm sure darlin’. You stay out here with the boys” he says looking down at Billie, gesturing to the lawn where Brisket and Nugget are still chaotically chasing one another.

“You can let me kiss you though” he adds with a mischievous smile, loving the way she grins back up at him.

“That I can definitely do”

His own grin grows and he bends to kiss her, cupping her cheek and pressing a gentle kiss to her waiting lips. He winks at her when he pulls away, making his way into the kitchen and leaving Billie outside with the dogs.

—

Billie

“You don’t need to help me with dishes Billie”.

Billie ignores his words and pushes past him in the expansive kitchen, earning a deep chuckle from Glen.

“You’re stubborn, you know that?”

Billie laughs this time, unable to help her grin.

“Nope, I’m just a good dinner guest” she fires back as she bends to put her plate in the dishwasher, looking up in time to see Glen’s face split into a wide grin.

They’d just finished dinner - an amazing dinner of Glen’s apparently famous Texan pulled pork tacos, sitting down outside on the outdoor lounges as the sun had set over the valley in front of them. Billie had been in love from her first bite, almost moaning out loud when the spicy smoky flavours hit her tongue, both Nugget and Brisket sitting close by on guard for any dropped pieces of food.

She stands up and holds out her hand, Glen reluctantly passing her his empty plate for her to stack next, along with their dinner cutlery. He steps around her and moves to the sink, setting about cleaning the dirty stove pot. For a moment Billie can’t help but smile at the domestic-ness of the moment, of something as small and simple as doing the dishes together.

“On another note though, that was amazing” she says when she stands back up again, moving to lean against the marble bench, her front facing Glen beside her, “You really are a man of many talents. Acting, running, cooking. Is there anything you can’t do?”.

Glen chuckles, his hands soapy with dishwater bubbles, the overhead lights of the kitchen highlighting the planes of his face covered in the smallest amount of stubble. For a second, Billie finds herself wondering how his face would feel beneath her fingertips. Beneath her fingertips, and against her skin.

God.

“I can’t touch my toes”

Billie can’t stop the bubble of laughter that escapes her throat then, covering her mouth with her hand to suppress the sound.

“Really?”

Glen nods his head earnestly. “Really”.

“I stand corrected then. Acting, running, cooking, but most definitely not a gymnast”.

They both laugh and Billie grins happily, looking up when Nugget and Brisket come bounding into the kitchen. She bends to pat Nugget, smiling at his goofy, golden smile, standing up again and turning to Glen as he rinses the pot and rests it on the drying rack beside the sink. She rests her hip against the marble bench top, folding her arms across her chest as she looks at him.

“Seriously though, dinner was incredible Glen. Thank you so much for inviting me tonight” Billie says, watching as dries his hands on the dish towel.

The smile he gives Billie then makes her want to melt into a puddle on the floor, right there on the luxurious kitchen tiles.

“You’re welcome Billie”.

Her name in his voice makes her stomach flip flop, just like his stupidly handsome smile. Never mind her heart rate that suddenly goes through the roof when Glen steps towards her, her breath catching in her throat when his hands find her waist.

Billie can’t help it when her eyes flicker to his lips, his stubble covered jawline, his soft, sandy hair that’s messily slicked back. She feels his eyes search her face, soft and pale green, the colour making her want to stare at them forever.

All at once her mind is empty except for how much she wants to lose herself in Glen, and then as if he can hear exactly what she's thinking, his hand is snaking up her back and coming to rest on the side of her jaw. His eyes move to her mouth and she feels herself exhale, and all of a sudden Glen's lips are on hers, tender and wanting, and delicately coaxing hers apart.

Billie lets him take the lead, lets him deepen their kiss, feeling like putty in his hands as he all but steals the breath from her throat. His lips move against hers, a delicate dance of push and pull, his fingers moving to her hair and holding her head in place. She feels his free hand slide down her back and then finds leverage on her ass, her feet suddenly leaving the ground as she's lifted onto the bench.

The marble is cold against her thighs, even through the denim on her jeans, but she barely registers the feeling as Glen's tongue suddenly finds hers. She can't help the soft moan that falls from her then, the sound having a clear effect on Glen - his fingers tightening their hold and his hips pushing her legs apart so that his front is pressed against hers.

Billie feels herself slipping. She's losing herself, feeling almost entirely consumed by Glen and his mouth. His kiss feels like heaven, a delicious, intoxicating feeling that she just wants to drown in, his scent, his taste, his feel, completely overwhelming her. She can feel her heartbeat in her ears, her arms wrapping around his shoulders, her fingers gripping desperately at the nape of his neck as he kisses her over and over.

She can’t remember the last time she felt like this. And all they’d done is kiss.

Just when she thinks she can’t possibly slip any deeper, any further into the blurred fog of hedonistic want, Brisket’s shrill barking pierces her ears and she feels Glen’s lips suddenly slow. She’s instantly aware that her chest is heaving, lungs burning from being temporarily oxygen starved, Glen’s own breath heavy as he pulls away and rests his forehead against hers.

Her lips tug into a smile at his tender action, her hands slipping down to cup his face. He smiles back at her with that soft, handsome grin that she’s quickly learning is classically Glen, bending and kissing her once more before pulling away and turning to look at Brisket at his feet.

He’s wagging his tail furiously, looking up at his owner standing beside him, letting out another high-pitched bark that’s almost insistent and tapping his two front paws.

Billie grins and raises one eyebrow, tilting her head as she looks at Glen, now standing with his hands on his hips and looking down at Brisket.

“I assume that means it’s dinner time?”.

Glen clicks his tongue, shaking his head in an almost annoyed amusement.

“You’d assume right. God forbid it gets past seven-thirty and he hasn’t eaten yet”.

Billie laughs and jumps down off the bench, bending to pat Nugget - who’d since taken a seat beside Brisket, and was watching his new friend with curious interest.

“I suppose that means you’re hungry too then hey?” Billie asks, smiling when Nugget’s head snaps to face her at the word ‘hungry’.

Billie grins down at her golden fur-child and chuckles. “C’mon bud”.

She walks over to her bag and pulls out the kibble mix she’d packed earlier, Nugget following happily behind her, drool already starting to form on his jowls.

“Another wine?” Glen asks when Billie’s walking back inside, having taken both the boys outside to feed them on the backyard deck.

She notes that there’s a soft country music song playing in the background now, a candle burning on the wooden coffee table in the centre of the room. The lights are dimmed, shadows thrown across the space and broken by a soft glow from the lamp in the corner.

Billie smiles, reaching up to run her fingers through her long hair.

“I shouldn’t. I have to work tomorrow”.

Glen laughs. “That doesn’t sound like a no darlin’”.

She exhales heavily, grinning as she flops down onto Glen’s luxurious black leather living room couch.

“Okay but this has to be my last one or I won’t be able to drive home”.

Glen chuckles, low and deep, the sound making Billie’s muscles squeeze. She can’t help but think for the thousandth time how handsome he is, watching his muscles ripple beneath his tight shirt as he walks over to the couch, two red wines in his hand.

“Maybe that’s my plan”.

Billie shoves him playfully as he sits down beside her, causing Glen to chuckle again.

“You know you can stay if you want to” he adds, passing her a glass.

Billie shoots him a look and Glen lifts his hands innocently. “No no, not for that reason, I’m just saying, you’re welcome to stay”.

Billie smiles inwardly, taking a sip of red and feeling her chest flush. She wonders idly if it’s to do with the wine, or the fact that her brain suddenly can’t help but imagine what would undoubtedly happen if she stayed the night. Either way, she struggles to keep her thoughts in line for a moment.

She tips her head back against the couch and sighs softly, turning to look at Glen beside her.

“As much as I’d love to, I know I have a crazy day tomorrow since I took Friday off for Rufus” she explains, swearing she can actually feel the fibres in her body protesting the moment she says that.

“Do you have a busy rest of week?” Glen asks, shifting closer to her on the couch and making Billie smile when he picks up her legs and drapes them over his lap.

She nods, explaining that she has a couple of athletes doing qualifiers this week, so it won’t necessarily be busy, but it will certainly be a full on week. She tells him about Hayley, one of her favourite clients, a seventeen year old junior getting back to her first gymnastics meet following a dislocated shoulder.

“Do you always go to their events?”

“It would be impossible for me to do it for all of them, but for the ones that I can, I try my best” Billie says, taking another sip of her wine, “ But I've been working with Hayley for the better part of a year, so I definitely don't want to miss hers”.

“When is it?”

“Thursday lunch-time” Billie explains, already looking forward to her late morning start.

She looks over at the dogs, the two apparently having run out of their seemingly endless energy, now snoozing peacefully on the grey living room rug.

“Do you have set hours at work or is it all over the place?” Glen asks, his free hand falling to Billie’s left knee.

She can’t answer him for a moment, too caught up in the way her skin is suddenly burning from his touch, even through the material of her jeans. She looks down at his hand and swallows, her brain conjuring the image of his hands on her skin without clothes and temporarily blanking her thoughts.

Fuck.

She clears her throat, gripping her wine glass tighter.

“Ah for the most part it's the same, but occasionally it's thrown around when there's games and events for me to go to” Billie answers, looking back at Glen and loving the way he’s watching her face so intently, “Generally Tuesdays and Fridays I start early and finish early, whereas Mondays and Wednesdays I start later and finish later. Thursday is usually my paperwork and mentoring day so they’re always a bit more low key”.

“What about you?” she asks after a beat, taking another sip of red, “I imagine you have absolutely no routine to your schedule and every week is different? I have no idea how you deal with that” she adds, shaking her head with a smile.

Glen laughs and says that he’s used to it after all this time, and that he has a relatively quiet week coming up - a couple of meetings with his agent and publicist, and a photo shoot later in the week. He adds that most of his projects have finished filming and that his next press tour isn’t for a few weeks yet.

It’s then that it dawns on Billie that this is the first time they’ve actually spoken about his work, and she can’t help but notice the gaping difference between their two lives.

“What project is the press tour for?”

“Twisters”

Billie tilts her head. “As in like Twister, the tornado movie from the nineties with Helen Hunt?”.

Glen nods, “That’s the one”.

“I used to love that movie. I didn't know they were re-making it” Billie says, eyebrows raised in surprise, looking down when Glen moves his hand to her foot.

“How’d you get this scar?” Glen asks suddenly, changing the subject, running his finger tip along her left ankle, “Another football injury?”.

Billie shakes her head and smirks.

“Nope. Worse”

Glen looks back at her expectantly. “I'm not sure you can get worse than your collar bone coming through your skin darlin’”.

Billie chuckles, tilting her head as she looks back at him.

“Stung by a jellyfish when I was eight”.

Billie can't help the laugh that escapes her when Glen's eyebrows shoot up in shock.

“A jellyfish?”

“Specifically, a box jellyfish”

“Wait, can't you die from those?”

Billie laughs again. “You absolutely can”

Glen just stares for a moment, and Billie swears she can see his brain searching for an appropriate answer to say back to her.

Instead he just shakes his head and takes another sip of his wine, looking back at her with an expression that she can't help but grin at.

“Like I said earlier, you Australian’s are literally on another level”.

Billie just laughs and shrugs her shoulders, Glen looking back at her scar and running his fingers along the deep purple lines on her skin.

They settle into a comfortable silence then, the soft background music the only sounds in the room, and Billie realises how content she is. More content than she expects to be with a guy she's only known for forty-eight hours. A guy who happens to be absolutely gorgeous, and also just happens to be an A-list celebrity.

If someone had told her last week that she’d be on a couch with Glen Powell, drinking wine with her feet in his lap, she’d have flat out laughed in their face. Billie smiles to herself, letting out a silent breath, looking down at her almost empty wine glass.

“I suppose I should probably go. I need to get my ass into gear for tomorrow”

Glen bends forward to put his now-empty wine glass on the coffee table in front of them, turning to look at her with a gentle smile.

“Again, you know you are more than welcome to stay”

Billie chuckles.

“As tempting as your offer is Mr Powell, respectfully, I must decline your sleepover proposal” she says, finishing her own wine and nodding her thanks when Glen takes her empty glass and puts it with his, “This time anyway”.

Glen looks at her with one eyebrow raised, the sudden mischievous glint in his sage green eyes nearly making her moan out loud.

“This time?”

Billie shrugs her shoulders innocently.

“This time” she answers quickly, offering her own mischievous grin and loving the way he looks back at her.

Billie swings her feet out of Glen’s lap and stands up from the couch, fully aware of the way he’s suddenly staring at her ass as she stands in front of him. She walks over to grab her bag, the movement stirring the dogs, Nugget suddenly standing and stretching out his front legs.

“So when can I see you again?” Glen asks when she’s finished putting on her shoes, his hands finding her waist and pulling her flush to him.

For a split second Billie wonders if her breath will ever stop catching in her throat every time she feels his hands on her body.

She reaches up to wrap her arms around his neck, bending to press a quick kiss to his waiting lips.

“How about Wednesday? We can grab a drink? Or, you and Brisket can come to mine for dinner?” she suggests, her gaze flickering back to his lips when he wets them quickly with his tongue, “I finish a little later on Wednesday but… I don’t have to go in until midday the next day”.

She knows the insinuation hits Glen immediately, feeling his grip on her waist momentarily tighten. Her own muscles squeeze deliciously and suddenly she has no idea how she’s possibly going to wait until Wednesday.

“Wednesday’s perfect”

Glen grins down at Billie and for a second she forgets how to breathe, threading her fingers into the hair at the nape of his neck as he bends down to kiss her. His mouth is insistent, his tongue quickly finding hers, their kiss tender and heated as if they both know what’s inevitable at their next meeting.

Eventually they part, and Billie silently sucks air into now her starved lungs, feeling her chest heave as she gazes up at Glen. His lips are parted and his eyes are almost glossy as he looks down at her, and in that moment Billie's almost certain that his thoughts mirror her own.

She bites her lip, her fingers gripping tighter in his hair, the corner of her now swollen lips tugging into a salacious grin.

Wednesday cannot come quick enough.

---

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licially · 10 months

Text

Checkmate: Esse est percipi.

/// A gift for @niagaragrape and their character Pamella, but reposted on here because my writer's block is hitting me again and I kinda wanna spread my fics across tumblr and twitter, enjoy the read.

Out of mind, out of touch, yet not out of life. The duo of cats strutted into the complex at the dead of night, as the crickets nearby croaked loudly and the farm sat underutilized. Autumn turned the production down by a notch, and the decline of such delicacy had led to this farm to cut down their services little by little. After all, their dominance and reputation not only came from this humble farm but a major bootlegging operation just outside of Missouri, and Pamella Pomedore had taken that operation without another hitch.

Besides her, unlocking the door of the house that stood atop the premises, was Mordecai Heller. The infamy that surrounds him and his reluctance to follow the people that once considered him a henchman or a triggerman. She had found him recently after the fallout of Marigold, and the disbandment after Asa Sweet met the same fate as his partner, with a similar incident that had left the three conspirators of the crew: Nicodeme Savoy, Serafine Savoy and Mordecai Heller choosing to mutually separate. The lock’s jingle twisted and turned, as Mordecai cautiously opened the door for possible intrusions. The front of the estate boasted more grandeur than he’d been accustomed to, and the multiple walkways posed more problems that were unseen than the rest of the house. Before he could utter any words to the other party, the other door swung open by Pamella’s hands.

Her grasp from the door proved difficult to let go, as she took in where she had been prior to overrunning the bootlegging operation. Mordecai opted to finally go into the complex, his hand poised towards his holster as he rustled through the house through its multiple floors. He had no idea of any dangers that lurked by, nor did he have an idea on where he was at, but he sweeped the floor regardless. As he flicked the first lightswitch on, he went through towards the kitchen, off towards the right hand side, with its rose patterns dancing through the white tiles and marble benchtops that once housed utensils. Past the kitchen top, through the island that sat in between, and outwards through the pantry door, he walked through the living room, his tail and eyes both whizzed through the room’s decorations.

The living room proved to be nothing out of the ordinary: a more than comfortable sofa, with an ottoman tucked neatly towards the center, and a coffee table that sat just towards the back side towards the windows that is covered with an undetermined color. The space itself didn’t have much to offer, as the lights flickered on: the curtains themselves showed a dark blue sheen, with a fireplace that sat towards the center left of the room, and an empty wooden shelf that sat atop the stone fireplace. Confused, he turned towards the living room door to see that Pamella caught up with his antics.

“Your paranoia proves fatal, Mr. Heller.” She addressed him, a slight smile attached to her.

Mordecai was always known for his careful consideration of foreign space, not even his own apartment is safe from his cautiousness, which stemmed from paranoia from formerly being Atlas’ triggerman and, more infamously, Asa’s partner-in-crime. However, after he was relieved from his duties at Marigold, he doesn't seem to know how to keep this feeling in check.

“This is an estate riddled with insecurities. To be paranoid is better than to be careless.”

She scoffed at him, turning to leave back through the door he entered from, mouthing a few words off to herself as she leaves him to be. She pondered at the ceiling of where she had been before she went into the city, back when she had nothing to worry about other than the flowers that flowed between her hair and the kitchen, accompanied by the smell of her mother’s cooking. Sometimes, the sting of homegrown tomatoes, and soft sizzle washed over the melodies that played in her ears during her off time. She frowned, slightly, as she traced her hand through the benchtop. There was nostalgia to be brushed off, and thus emotions also reigned over her.

Was it regret? Was it acceptance? Was it confusion? Perhaps a mix of all three, as she stood there for a bit. Shortly, the flower patterns caught her eyes. It was randomly assorted, just dancing up and down with different flowers, and different colored roses. She still vividly heard her mother’s voice, who pointed at the specific flowers that matched with what they had on the garden beds in the backyard, in convenience of the kitchen window that happened to overlook an abandoned patch of grass. She remembered, she only remembered two words.

“Esse…. est.” She mouthed out, managing to also garner the attention of Mordecai, who was standing off towards the side silently. Pamella zoned out, trying to rummage through what she knows about her mother and what she had left behind with her. She can only remember some things, not all of them were pleasant either, yet-

“Miss Pomedore? Is something disturbing you about this place?”

Mordecai’s voice cut through her initial spiral, his monotonous voices served a condescending parallel towards her spiral and her as well, as Pamella shook her head and tail, rapidly blinking in and out of the mindset before walking towards the cat in question. The other could only turn and watch as she walked past, trailing off of a sentence that Mordecai barely made out.

“Nothing more than bad memories…” She mumbled off, her face of an unforeseen sadness.

Furthermore, she kept walking back into the main entrance, passing through the dining room completely, as she faced the staircase that led upstairs. The marble staircase stood out from the rest of the household, the railings etched more and more floral designs, walls cracked and crumbled, charred with markings of stencils that she remembers when she was here. The trail, and subsequent staircase, lead up to the second floor, where they had lived the early lives out in private estate, granted by the tomatoes that grew abundant and business surrounding those sought after crops.

She walked upstairs, her silence still remained between her and the triggerman as she ascended the staircase, with Mordecai closely following. He had hoped for this random midnight trip to go just as she had said prior to this sequence of events: a “trip back home to get a few things”, within the span of a few minutes, turned into a nostalgic trip through her childhood home. Sure, this may be better than the endless amounts of tasks that he was subjected to by Atlas and Asa, but his plans were all definite and set in stone. He wasn’t exactly prepared for the change, especially not from her of all people.

Pamella reached the stop, and immediately ignored all of the other rooms. She acted ghastly, and appeared as if she was an apparition before she reached the room near the end of the hall. Mordecai watched as she slipped through the barely visible doorway, as he soon followed suit in a tick of fear. The door creaked, and the room itself made its main attraction towards the place clear. The doors towards the balcony were wide open, with the view that could stun anyone fortunate enough to stumble into this house; the left viewed towards St. Louis’ skyline and buildings, with a road that was leading towards it, shrinking lights and even smaller treelines. Smokes billowed up from unseen factories, and leading towards the right hand side was the Mississippi River. The other doorway towards the right had a view towards the river some more, albeit for a moment. The landscape over towards the right expanded through the clearings and farmland that grew prominent and offered peace of mind, perfect for anyone looking to do something without such a distraction for a background. Near the middle of the room, a piano sat whose pianist could face the calmer side of the Missouri-Illinois border.

The piano itself sat behind a sheet, as Pamella soon disposed of the sheet towards the side, where empty shelves once held sheet music. This had been her piano that she vividly saw in that dream, something that took her back here, whatever force of nature had been involved, put her here. As she turned the lights on, she lifted up the key lid, the piano keys sat burdened with dust and revitalized by a touch, put out years of neglect out of it.

A reluctant oscillation from a hasty key press arose a panicked reaction from Pamella, as she never dealt with a tuned out piano before, since this one has constantly been tuned to near perfection by pianists that had been hired by the Pomedore household. Her wealthy stature now extended as far back as the piano key’s off putting vibrato that shook the two cats, one more lightly than the other, more experienced pianist. Mordecai had been standing towards the side all along, and peeked at the piano itself and back to Pamella every once in a while. He was already bedazzled by the interior of such a place, and it’d be more impressive if she delivers her promise of that prelude. However, from the sound of the out of tune key, it’d seem that he’ll involve himself in this symphony one way or another.

Curious, she tiptoed over the grand piano’s monstrous bowels and past the lid that overshadowed her. It didn’t help that it represented one of her fears, that some day she’d be overwhelmed by a force far beyond her control and size completely. She hesitated, before looking over at the cast iron that held it for dear life, noting that it didn’t seem too rusted nor would it be much trouble for the heir of the family. Cautiously, she peered through the soundboard and at the tuning pins.

The key she had struck - an F key on the fourth octave - heard more like an E sharp towards the fifth octave. A simple fix would be to tune the pin at the same time someone would be playing a note, yet she wasn’t exactly the jack of all trades that could do both of those at the same time. She stood up, and turned towards the triggerman who stood at the balcony overlooking the city, calling out for his help.

“Mr. Heller, would you care to help me tune this piano?”

Her calmness certainly got through to him, as he slowly straddled over towards her, peering into the piano’s many tuning pins.

“Tuning a piano does require a lot of effort. Are you prepared for this task?”

She nodded, as she handed a piano tuning hammer to a very confused Mordecai.

“There are some keys out of tune, and as I play through the keys you will use this to tune it until I say it’s just right. Understood?”

The former only nodded, a bit confused but he was in no position to talk back to her. She dusted off the seat, and pulled it closely to the piano as she pressed every key of the octave. Slowly, softly, the key comes into more in tune, with a keen eye from outside, as Pamella showed no sign of stopping up to the second octave. So far, so good. The second octave began, and for the first half, it went smoothly, until a shrill tone shook Pamella, as she stopped in her tracks. Hesitantly, Mordecai went towards the pin closest to that key: a D key, out of tune, and Mordecai was able to follow up with the tuning as he twisted and turned the pin under Pamella’s slow but frequent key press. Eventually, it reached the sound that was consistent with the D key.

“Well done, Mordecai.” She congratulated, yet the moment was short lived. “Shall we continue?”

Through the span of 15 minutes, she went over every octave of the grand piano. Some keys struck off tune, yet otherwise the instrument remained in near-perfect condition after this household was left almost abandoned. This room had served as both a leisure room, and a practice room. With the last key press going without a hitch, Mordecai stood back with the hammer as Pamella sat zoned out again. Mordecai soon got back to the balcony, after placing the hammer on a nearby table with a picture. He took no mind to it, but the picture showed a much younger Pamella in the foreground of a field of flowers. However, he took no notice, and opted for an outside look towards the city, wondering what he had to do.

In less than a minute, began Chopin’s Prelude in Op. 38, first in D Major. Pamella took time to study sheet music from some of the famous works of pianists and composers. Mozart, Beethoven, Chopin, she had the sheet music from them at the ready thanks in part to her reputation and wealth. Her affinity with piano and its intricacy stemmed from this room, and she had this tune that brought her home again. From D Major, she transitioned to an even faster F sharp minor, which ferocity soon brought a halt through an E flat major, and finally she halted at a loop of D minor.

Upon a grand piano, sat a grander movement with grandeur, yet she sat amidst it all, fully embodying the heart and soul of the preludes. Chopin’s Preludes demonstrated what an experienced pianist can embody through the movements in different keys and octaves, and further amplifying said skill by transitioning each prelude to one another, effectively linking the preludes together by improvisation and heavy knowledge for the art. She had those preludes saved for the times she did slowly but surely get back to where her home once was: her heart.

A slight push upon the pince-nez, and a slow turn from the other party, as Mordecai impressively stood amidst the movements. His appreciation for piano works and classical music had always been a more reserved thing for him, yet the tune of tonight only filled his once troubled mind with a lasting impression. Pamella only continued on, as her focus and dedication flowed back through the preludes as the E flat minor segment played out, soon soloing into a B-flat minor, in which the latter’s fast tempo left even Mordecai facing her with full on attention.

He also finally knew the answer to the statement that she had said downstairs. Esse est percipi, a philosophical saying from George Berkeley, or “to be is to be perceived”. He had seen her dabble in philosophy, and maybe he saw this opportunity and concurrent state of her wellbeing, and her legacy, to be associated with that one quote alone. Maybe this piece she is improvising from the Préludes is her piecing together what connections she and her family had made over the decades. Yet he saw the piece more as an interlude during the chaos of Missouri, as the pieces deliver more a perfect assortment of chaos that ran the backbone of St Louis.

Perhaps, this is just the Queen’s Gambit. An opening towards the unknown, and it is the determinant of who or what wins the game of chess. No matter what, the chessboard is in the hands of her, and her alone.

#mordecai heller #lackadaisy #lackadaisycats

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