Feeling a little Noirish - Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

[UnquietDreams]

I was inspired by the "black and white" theme in the "Chaos: Don't Stress, Undress," thread, and wrote some excerpts from the (nonexistent) short stories of the cases of hard boiled private detective Unquiet Dreams. They started out short. I got self-indulgent (surprising, I know!) and they got longer, and no longer fit in that thread. So I decided to archive them here and link back and forth.

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by Amanda330)

It had been a quiet week. I had already spent the morning alphabetizing my library books -- I spent a lot of the time at the library. Then she walked in.

She moved with the grace of a big cat, smooth and not caring if you appreciated it or not, because she knew. Her hair was soft and fell about her face in light waves, like angels in a Michelangelo fresco. She had the beautiful face to match. Her mouth was full and sensual, accented by dark lipstick. And her eyes... I could have fallen into those eyes forever and never made a complaint.

"Are you Unquiet Dreams?" she asked. And her voice made the package complete.

I stammered for a moment. "Yes," I said. I have always been a brilliant conversationalist.

-"The Maltese Cock," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by me, heh.)

I found it was better to start a long story with a bit of whistle wetting. And she had quite the whistle. "So, can I offer you a drink, ma'am?" I asked, pulling out my favorite rye and a couple of glasses from my desk drawer.

"Sir, it is nine in the morning!"

I liked it when she called me "sir." "Well, it's just whiskey," I said.

"Oh, fine, I suppose a double wouldn't hurt," she replied with a sigh.

-"The Maltese Cock," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by Tigobitties98)

"I'm in here," I heard as I entered the hotel room. "In the bedroom."

I crossed the small sitting area, past the closed door of the bathroom, and into the bedroom.

"It took you long enough to find me," she said. She lay across the white bedspread, and the afternoon sunlight through the windows did things to her skin that would have made Father O'Flynn down at St. Andrews scream. Or fall to his knees and praise God for creating such perfection. I know my knees felt weak.

"Where is your gun?" She asked. Her voice was as warm as the sun on her beautiful ass.

"Guns are for amateurs," I replied.

"You may want to rethink that philosophy," she said as she rolled over. The pearl-handled pistol looked elegant in her slender hand.

-"Kiss Me Dangerous," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by Willingtoshare)

The three big bruisers led me through the elegant, well appointed home. Forget my apartment -- my apartment building could have fit in the foyer. The big fellas were pros, staying close enough but not close enough for me to reach one of them easily. Not that three on one was a fight I would chose. Well, not when I was the one, at least.

A tony butler stood beside a pair of mahogany doors. His tuxedo was impeccable, but I could still see the bulge of a gat in a shoulder holster. In case I forgot my place, I suppose. "Mr Willingtoshare can see you now, sir," he said, as if I were an honored guest.

The doors opened, and I saw a slender, powerful looking man sitting in a beautiful reading chair. His face was artfully hidden by shadows that just happen to fall there. Just happened to. "That is all," he said to his minions. "Mr. Dreams will not be any problems, will you, sir." It wasn't a question.

Also, I didn't like it as much when he called me "sir." At least not as much as I had liked it when Amanda did...

-"The Maltese Cock," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by Meduus)

She looked so peaceful sitting there, the stuffed dog in her hands. I wouldn't -- couldn't -- interrupt her. I turned to Jensen. He had opened his mouth to speak, but at the look in my eyes, he closed his mouth again. Which was good. Had he started, I would have punched him in the throat, and damned be the cost.

I am not a good man. But sometimes I am not a good man at a good time for a good cause.

-"The Case of the Stuffed Dog," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by Amanda330)

"So," I said, passing over the glass of rye. It looked good in her hand. "What shall I call you?"

"Amanda," she said before bending her head over the glass. She breathed deeply. "Spicy," she said, a smile filling those beautiful lips. "I like spicy." She took a delicate drink.

"Don't we all," I said, throwing back the rye. Fire, sweet and complex, burned down my throat. "Now as much as I love spending the morning day drinking with a beautiful woman, what can I help you with, dollface?"

"I'm looking for a cock," she said, her fathomless eyes finding my own. "A big one."

That was not the answer I was expecting. I blinked once. Then twice. Then I glanced down at my lap. "Statistically average," I said at last. "But I am extremely enthusiastic."

-"The Maltese Cock," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by SalaciousMonkey22)

I stepped out of the dark night and into the darker bar. The scent of expensive perfume, expensive cigar smoke, and even more expensive booze danced through the air like a tango. The coat girl took my overcoat and hat, and was able to avoid sneering at my best suit, so I tipped her before moving to the bar.

My contact was sitting alone, nursing a tall glass of something clear. I would bet it wasn't ice water. He didn't even look over at me as I sat. He was tall, good-looking, but there was a couple of days stubble on his chin and a tired in his eyes that didn't look like it belonged. "It wasn't easy," he said, before taking a sip of his drink, "but I got the information you asked for."

I slid the envelope across the bar to him. He picked it up and rifled it, eyeing the presidents as the flittered by. He gave me a measure of stink eye before slipping the money into his jacket.

"Okay, Monkeyboy, I did my part. Now spill."

He sighed. "Sure," he said, his voice clipped, and took another drink. "Let me give you some history. In 1569 the Knights of Malta were sending tribute to the King of Spain. The hid it by melting the gold down and casting it as a big cock, then encrusted it with jewels, mostly diamonds."

"So, a jewel encrusted rooster?"

He looked over at me for the first time, his eyes declaring I was some sort of idiot. "No, Dreams, a cock. A giant, gold, diamond encrusted dildo."

-"The Maltese Cock," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by morelikeasong)

It was an odd place for a meet, but that wasn't a bad thing. The roof of the large room was high, far higher than the freestanding shelves which reached up a mere ten feet or so. Ceiling fans revolved languidly above us. And the smell of books perfumed the air. The Central Library was a wonder and a joy to me. I picked up a book of French poetry, to have something in hand.

Dekkart didn't give me a description, just that "she knows what you look like." It didn't matter--when I saw her, I knew. My heart seemed to stop, and breathing was more than I wanted to put effort into.

The first thing I noticed was her hair -- siren tresses, fiery red falling in curling waves. I suddenly understood why sailors would crash their ships on the rocks and do it happily. Shorter than most of the women in the room, but there was nothing meek--personality radiated like a rose among thistles. She was dressed conservatively, but it couldn't hide the voluptuous lines of her body--as curvy, and beautiful, and dangerous as Mulholland Drive in a summer storm. She was dressed innocently, but every inch screamed to me of wicked, sweet sins. Her face was beautiful, stunning, as if painted by Dante Rossetti. Her mouth was serious, but there was a play at the corners as if she wanted to smile. And her eyes...frank, intelligent, and measuring, hazel behind dark framed glasses. I have been punched by professionals that didn't hit me as hard as those eyes. She moved beautifully --more like a song than someone negotiating a library floor.

She walked directly up to me, and I could smell her perfume, hinting of amber and spice. "You're drooling," she said, and her voice was low and sweet, good aged whiskey and honey.

For once, I ignored the straight line. "How did you know it was me?"

She smiled for just a second. "He told me to look for a guy who absolutely didn't belong here."

I nodded. "Fair enough. So what is your role in this little...fairy tale?"

She tilted her head slightly, letting the fire of her hair fall a bit further down her dark jacket. "I'm the librarian."

I closed my eyes for just a moment. Of course she was. Of fucking course she was.

She glanced down at the book in my hand. "Is there something you want to take out?"

"Oh, absolutely," I said slowly.

"What?"

"The librarian."

She looked me up and down, once, then again. "I'll be sure to tell Miss Edna at the desk. She is an 87-year spinster, so you might have a shot." She looked me right in the eyes, and smiled brilliantly. "But personally, I wouldn't bet money on it."

-"Siren Songs, Time, and Things," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by Amanda330)

Amanda blushed prettily. "Oh, no, not that!" She stopped, took a sip of whiskey, took a lovely deep breath, then looked back at me. "I represent the interests of a businessman," she began.

"I bet you do," I replied.

"Stop it," she said, but she smiled as she did so, a smile carved by wicked, wicked angels. "My employer has heard that there is a sale going on in town, for something very old, very rare. He has only heard rumors, and a name, but he is willing to pay you to find all you can about it, and even more if you can...procure it for him."

"He wants to get his hands on an old cock," I said.

She laughed, and it did spectacular things to her body. Spectacular things. "In a nutshell, yes. That is all we know -- that it is called The Maltese Cock. We don't even know what shape it takes. A rooster, a weather vane, or something else."

"Like a cock," I said dryly.

"Yes, it could look like a man's cock," she said, and this time she didn't blush. "We have little idea, but we are willing to pay for your time."

I stroked my chin. A treasure hunt, at my age. Almost worth it for that alone. As I thought, she ran her hand down the creamy exposed skin of her throat, and down, drawing my eyes to her décolletage.

"Mister Dreams," she said languidly, her beautiful eyes burrowing into mine, "I would be very, very grateful if you were to help us."

My mind was filled with the ideas of beautiful treasures, and even more beautiful chests. They were the things dreams were made of, after all...

-"The Maltese Cock," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by crazychemgirl)

It had been a weird case. It got weirder: I had never brought a date to an investigation. Well, technically, Detective Jensen had brought me. He was currently piling a plate with as many shrimp that gravity would allow. Say what you will, the Johnsar/Acme Chemical Company threw a lovely cocktail party, and the police were willing to take advantage of that.

I looked across the room. Several of the people I wanted to talk to were here, including the head of Acme's research department. A lovely, petite woman, she stood talking to a tall, distinguished looking man in a dark gray three-piece suit. She was more casually dressed in a black cocktail dress covered with small, white polka dots. It was short enough to show off her toned legs without being scandalous. The only thing that looked even slightly improper in the uptight business setting was the beautiful, intricate black line tattoo that ran down from her shoulder to almost her forearm.

"Hot broad," the detective said, noting my interest. "Think she is a party favor?"

I rolled my eyes. I was going to get Detective Shermer for dumping this idiot on me, even if it got me into the party. "She is the number one research scientist in the company," I said quietly. One of us had to be quiet.

"What? She's a girl!"

"I am glad your investigative skills have stayed so honed." I replied dryly.

"Doesn't matter," said Jensen, pointing at her with a half-eaten hors d'oeuvre. "I can tell. I think she is one of those yakasoba guys."

I glanced at him. "Yakuza?" I asked. And before he could speak, I held up a cautioning finger. "And if you say 'gazuntite,' I am going to kick you in the shins."

He looked angry for a moment, but then resumed devouring crustaceans. "We had a briefing on them. Look at that tattoo."

I turned to him, then back to her. "So you believe, based on her tattoo, that that small, Canadian woman is, in fact, a member of a very misogynistic, very Japanese, criminal organization?"

"Don't know nothing 'bout that, but she's got the tattoo. You gotta think she could be a killer."

I didn't. Though I thought she might be a cannibal...

--"Deadly Dinner," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by morelikeasong)

"Alright, Princess, Dekkert said you need something. What's the lowdown, Librarian?"

She took a deep breath. That took my attention for a moment. Maybe more than a moment. "Someone is following me," she said at last. The banter was gone, replaced by trepidation. Or more.

"Go on."

"For the last few nights, there has been someone following me home. I recognize the same car, every night."

"Did you get a license plate number?"

She shook her head. "But I recognize the car."

I nodded. "Fine, do they do anything else? Just follow you home?"

She pursed her lips at my tone, but continued. "I have also noticed someone hanging around the house as well. Not on my property, but just out of sight, watching the house. I saw him pretty clearly, and I think I saw him here in the library as well." She shook her head, and her titan locks danced. "I see your look, mister. I am not imagining things!"

I could see in her eyes that she was worried, maybe scared, but trying not to show it. That tugged at me, but I shut it down. Hard. "Ex-husband? Ex-lover? Ex-anything? Anyone you have..." I searched for the right word. "Spurned?"

She shook her head again. "No, nothing like that. And I saw they guy, but I don't know him. I think it is because of the list."

"List?"

"Yes, a list of names. When I was checking in some books, I found a piece of paper, probably used for a bookmark. Happens all the time. But it was a list of eight names, and the first two were crossed off. I looked in the newspapers, and both of the names were people who had disappeared in the last fortnight."

I nodded, but groaned silently. I think the librarian had spent too much time in the murder books. "Okay, so you think someone is following you because of a list of names you found used as a bookmark in a book they returned to the library."

She sighed. "When you say it out like that, it sounds pretty silly." But she looked back up at me with those hazel eyes. "But I am scared, Mister Dreams."

She was. That was apparent. "Fine, why did Dekkert send you to me?" I had a sneaking suspicion. Dek was a Pinkerton, and they wouldn't piss on you if you were on fire if there wasn't a deposit laid down already.

She looked down at her feet. "I don't have the money for the full fee," she said quietly. "Mr. Dekkart said you sometimes helped people out..." Her voice trailed off. I felt for her. Fear fighting pride. Fear winning. Dammit.

But an image rolled through my brain: Amanda's beautiful eyes, and how that had all fallen out. The last time I got involved with my heart and not my brain. "I'm sorry, Princess, but I can't help you. I don't stick my neck out for free. I don't stick it out for anyone. Sorry."

She looked stricken, then scared again, and then sad. "I understand, Mr. Dreams." She turned away.

Dammit. Dammit, dammit, dammit. The Burleson Insurance Agency had a paying gig for me if I took it. Not great money, but it would pay the rent. Be smart, for the first time, maybe. Be smart, Unquiet. Be smart, you idiot. Let her walk away. Do not say it. Don't you fucking say...

"Listen, give me the paper. I will look into it." She turned back, her eyes full of something I did not want to see. I put my hand up. "I am just looking into the names, see if there is anything to it. Nothing else. I am not your guardian angel, okay?"

She nodded as she put the paper into my hand. "Thank you," she said, closing her hand around mine. Hers was warm and soft. "Oh, thank you."

Fuck, I should have known I never had a chance when I saw those eyes...

-"Siren Songs, Time, and Things," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by Biggalute)

The thug was an idiot. He shoved the gun at my face, way to close. I could practically grab it from him. "Shut up!" he yelled, and spit ran down his chin. Too easily rattled. "I'm going to blow your fucking face off!"

"With the safety on?" I asked, with as much sarcasm as I could load into a sentence. And I could load a lot.

He looked confused as he actually pulled the gun sideways to look at it. As he moved, I reached out to grab along the barrel and keep it moving towards him. His wrist was already bent when he looked at it, so it was almost easy to lock his hand. He was whimpering in frustration when my left hand looped up in a fast, short hook to the side of his neck, once, twice, thrice. He went down like a sack of crabs, and I reached down to relieve him of his handgun. As I stood, I heard a gentle cough, like someone clearing their throat.

Slowly, keeping the gun lowered, I turned around.

Standing there was a big galute. Tall, dressed in pinstriped pants held up by leather braces over a sleeveless undershirt tucked in at his slim waist. Prodigious amounts of both hair and hard muscle filled out his arms and shoulders. His hair was short, his smile gentle, his eyes professional, and his pistol, a big .45, not in any danger of being grabbed.

"I'd like to apologize for my associate," he said, and the level of derision on that last word was astounding. "He was an idiot to threaten you. He was an idiot to get too close. He was an idiot. But please — don't shoot him. I would have to escalate the issue, and we don't need that, either you or me." He moved the pistol slightly. "Don't mind this. It is just to give a bit of weight to the conversation and to insure no one gets...hasty."

I nodded, and took my finger away from the trigger. Moving very slowly, I held the pistol up, the barrel pointed at the ceiling, then released the cylinder to let the rounds fall to the floor. Then I set the gun on the table. "Not hasty at all," I said. "I hate these things."

He nodded, his smile firm on his handsome face, then safetied his gun and slid it into a leather holster on his belt. "See, I heard you were smart."

I had heard the same of him, though we had never come to cross purposes. In a town of with a well of cheap thugs, he was top shelf. "So where are we in this conversation?"

He smiled, but it never reached his eyes. He had pro's eyes, gunslinger's eyes. "As the idiot said, our employer would like to speak to you. He was too keyed up to get to the pitch. Not that you helped with that," he said, laughter in his voice. "My employer would like to speak to you. Just talk. I have your day rate in an envelope in my pocket, for maybe a half hour of your time. And we both know, if it was going to get messy, you already would be messy, right?"

I had to give him that. I was too focused on the idiot, which may have been his purpose. "Fair enough," I agreed. "You want to help me with that?" I pointed to the thug on the floor.

He shook his head as he handed me an envelope. "I'm not paid to collect garbage," he said. "There is a car out front. Three of my compatriots will take you to my employer. They work with me, and they are not idiots. They will also bring you back here after the conclusion of your discussion."

I nodded again. See, I could control my mouth when it suited me. Sometimes. "Okay, see you around," I said as I walked past.

"No," he said quietly. "Not if I am looking for you, you won't..."

-"The Maltese Cock," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[UnquietDreams]

(Inspired by MissLabelled)

I stood at the hotel ballroom door, fidgeting with my tie. Right on time, she swept down the hall. And once again, my heart gave a little extra beat as she walked towards me like flame to a moth.

Her scarlet locks were pulled back to fire fall down her back, with curls framing her beautiful face. Her outfit was a deep, dark red, a swing dress, tight across the curves of her breasts but hanging loose and dancing around her lovely legs. "You're drooling," she said as she came up to me. I made a production of wiping my lips with my thumb, and she laughed. I added that to the list of things I wanted her to do more often. It was a good laugh.

Stop it, I reminded myself, but I presented my arm, which she took with her own, leaning slightly into me for a moment.

"So," she said quietly as we entered the ballroom, "how did you get us in here anyway?"

"I know someone on the hotel security team," I replied, scanning the room. "I made a donation to his retirement fund, and he got our name on the Senator's guest list."

"Dreams! What happened to not getting too involved?"

She sounded like my inner voice. "It wasn't that big a donation, Princess," I said. "Anyway, this is purely for my amusement."

"Sure," she said dryly. "So, what's the plan here?"

"There are two names on the guest list who match names on your list," I said as I accepted a pair of glasses of champagne from a passing waiter. I handed her one. "I will try to talk to those people while you mingle. If you think you see your night visitor, don't get too close, and come get me right away, no matter what I am doing. Clear?"

"Crystal," she said, and moved off into the crowd.

I spotted my first interview across the room, an actress, holding court with a coup in her hand like a queen. Dark hair fell loose past her bare shoulders. Her cocktail dress was black with thin silver threads woven occasionally through. It began just above her full breasts, and fell in a lovely cascade, looking like falling stars, and ending in a flourish, drawing eyes to her stellar legs. Startlingly high heels completed the outfit. She was stunning, and drew eyes and whispers from around the room.

I waited until the latest group had moved away from her before stepping up. She smiled warmly as I moved towards her, but it never reached her eyes. It was very much a public smile.

"Miss..." I began.

"Labeled. Mislabeled, often, darling. Hello." She had a slightly husky voice that played across my chest like a cello's bow. "If you are a fan, I'd love to chat for a moment." She finished her drink with a practiced flourish. "If you have a screenplay for me to read, you can just fuck off right now."

I laughed. "Happen a lot?"

"Twice tonight," she said, and her eyes warmed slightly. "It's an industry hazard."

As I introduced myself, she dropped the public smile entirely and grinned in genuine delight. "A private dick? Really? I have some experience with private dicks. And public dicks as well! Though between you, me, and this empty glass, I am eschewing dick entirely." As she spoke, she watched a local judge with a beautiful woman on his arm who could have been his granddaughter. From the look in her eyes, I judged that she may have given up half the population, but the other half was firmly in play. "Sorry," she said, returning her attention, and sounded like she was. "I am easily distracted. Now how can I help you?"

"I am just looking into a few things for a...client," I decided on.

"Oh, you are her...dick?" She laughed as she looked over my shoulder. "You may want to rescue her."

I turned to see the lovely librarian amidst a crowd of about four men, all apparently vying for her attention. I turned back. "She's a grown woman. Trust me, she can defend herself."

"I'm sorry," she said, and there was a touch of sadness in her eyes, for just a second.

"For what?"

She shook her head and smiled a bit sadly. "Oh, nothing. Though, I may go ask her for a dance later." The smile turned wanton, and watched for a reaction.

"Client," I repeated. I know, I had been telling myself that for a while.

"Right. You're no fun. Fine, ask your questions."

I wanted to ease into it. "So do you end up at a lot of these parties?"

She rolled her eyes. "Yes," she sighed. "Part of the game. Get seen by with the powerful. Don't stare, but see those two gentlemen by the bandstand?"

I slowly glanced over to where the band was setting up to see two men, mid-fifties and soft looking, discussing something earnestly.

"Thomas DeWiller and Thorton Forman. Two of the biggest producers in Hollywood right now. They are looking to land me for a film. And over there is Oliver Wilson, who is trying to get me on stage for his next play. So this is a bit of a dance, a bit of battle for the three of them. Senator Keller wants them to be seen, to be seen as a wheeler and dealer. Me? I'm just window dressing here."

"And the prize."

She grimaced charmingly. "A commodity, rather. I'm just hot now."

"You are," I said.

She smiled again. "No dick, remember? Save the charm, Mr. Dreams." As she spoke, a waiter approached with a glass on a silver tray. "Tom, my darling!"

The young man smiled and blushed at her remembering his name. "Another drink from a secret admirer, ma'am," he said, offering her the large tumbler, garnished with an orange peel. "An Amaretto Sour this time."

She took it and laid her hand on his shoulder. "Thank you, Tom, darling," she said warmly. I knew she was an actress, and a damn good one, but she sounded sincere. The kid lit up like a flare, and my opinion of her improved further. "You know you are my favorite, right?"

The kid looked like he couldn't say a word, and just nodded before almost running off, taking her empty coup glass with him.

She laughed warmly. "I hate being here, but they hire good staff. He's a sweet kid." She took a sip and nodded in appreciation. "Strong pour. Good drink,"

"That happen a lot too? 'Secret admirer' drinks?"

She nodded. "Fourth one so far, and the night is young. I find they help me not say what I mean to people I don't like." She moved the garnish and took another healthy sip.

"But there are parties you do like," I said.

"Oh, yes," she said, drawing the words out. "I could tell you stories..."

"How about one at the Denora House?" I asked, my voice soft.

Shutters dropped over her eyes, covering something not quite fear. She covered with a long pull of her drink. Then the actor's smile was back. "I have been to quite a few parties. I am not sure that I remember that one."

"I believe there was another senator there," I supplied.

The actor polished off the rest of her drink, then turned to place the empty on a nearby table. Either the alcohol or the questions were getting to her as a flush arose on her creamy skin. "I don't remember the Senator, either senator, at any parties." Her breath was coming faster. "I'm sorry, can you get a waiter over with a glass of water? It is getting a bit close in here."

As I turned to wave down someone with a water pitcher, the math suddenly added up. I turned quickly back, but I was just in time to grab her as her legs buckled. She was red-faced and gasping as I lowered her to the floor. God dammit! I grabbed someone by the leg. "Go call for an ambulance, right now! Tell them it is cyanide. Go, dammit!" I turned back.

"Can't breathe," she gasped. "Can't get a breath." Her eyes were terrified.

"Don't worry," I said, as calmly as I could, "just concentrate on breathing. The ambulance is on its way." I cradled her head and shoulders under my arm. "Just breathe."

Her eyes were wild as she grabbed my collar and pulled me close. "They fucking poised me," she said in wonder. "Those fucks! The party. It wasn't the Senator there. It was ...sonofabitch," she hissed. She screwed her eyes tight and began to shake.

There was a strong hand on my shoulder and I looked up. "Princess," I said, "go wait at the door for the ambulance. Bring them right here. Please, go." I didn't want her to see this.

There was fear in her eyes, but she pushed through the gathering crowd pulled to the disturbance.

I was stroking my hand down the poor woman's face, trying to comfort her. Her eyes flew open, and she tried to say something, but only gasped. Then she stopped gasping. Then she was still.

-"Siren Songs, Time, and Things," Undressed City of Chaos: A Case File of Unquiet Dreams

 

[MissLabelled]

(Inspired by MissLabelled)

I was entirely captivated by this! Thank you

At least I died looking like a bombshell