Warnings: Alcohol, language.

 

Dominique’s POV.

 

 

Like A Criminal – Chapter 3 of 16 – “In the Middle of the Valley”

By Bennu (who is sick of disclaimers)

 

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“I’ve always been so proud of you,” he whispered, a loving smile transfiguring his eyes into pools of perfect warmth. His hands were so warm too, touching me softy, adoringly. “I love you.” His breath was sweet as sandalwood and anise, mingling with mine as we kissed the way lovers were supposed to kiss, as if nothing could ever come between us...

 

And then I woke up.

 

I was alone in bed, tangled up in damp sheets, at once too hot and too cold, a massive hangover starting to drum in the back of my head as I looked over at the light still on over the nightstand. I winced and shoved my head under my pillow, curling up tight, willing the universe to just fuck off a little longer.

 

My addled mind vaguely noted what exactly I had been dreaming, but if there’s one thing I’ve gotten good at in my life, it’s ignoring the things that hurt the most. So I simply shut my eye tight and tried to get back to a safer unconsciousness. Unfortunately, the operative word would be ‘tried’, as my kidneys chose this moment to scream at me in brutalized pain. Groaning miserably, I rolled out of my secure cocoon of blankets and shuffled across the chilly floor to the bathroom.

 

Feeling fractionally better, I blinked blearily into the mirror. I look like Medusa, I thought, referring to that old Earth myth of a woman so hideous that one look at her turned men into stone. My hair had even mussed itself into dirty-blonde tangles that could have passed as snakes. I sluiced some water over my face, careful not to aggravate the mass of bruises and scar tissue that surrounded my right eye. It looked even more hellish than usual, if such a thing were possible. Padding back out into my room, I retrieved my eyepatch from the table and proceeded to hunt down some clothes that hadn’t been slept in.

 

One black camisole, lavender button-down shirt, and tan slacks later, I found my boots and brushed out my hair, feeling almost presentable to the world. I already knew what I was doing today, and doubted I really needed to get so prepared for it: I would walk around aimlessly, waste bullets practicing my shot even though I was the best for a hundred isles, and then drink myself dumb.

 

Headache reduced to a mere fitful throbbing, and my stomach feeling like a vast hollow, I wandered off in the general direction of food.

 

The room that served as a kitchen of sorts was usually empty when I got there. The other handful of residents here kept extremely different hours from me—a few of them on purpose—and so I was surprised to see a human form lounging around. And I was even more surprised when I saw who it was.

 

In an instant I was at his side, one hand over his eyes, the other snatching the untouched half of the sandwich he had been eating. “Guess who?” I said, caught up in the girlish delight of seeing an old friend alive and well.

 

“...what the hell? Dominique?” Midvalley squawked, batting me away. I plopped down in the chair next to him and started in on my pilfered breakfast. Chicken and bean sprout, probably just on the good side of going bad. “Don’t do that! And give me back my lunch!”

 

“It’s my breakfast now,” I growled playfully.

 

“I was going to eat that!”

 

“I’ll spit in it.”

 

“Fine, you brat.” Midvalley sighed and ran his fingers through his hair. He looked older than he had when I’d last seen him, several months ago. There were deep bags under his eyes, and a line on his forehead that hadn’t been there before.

 

“You look like you had fun out there,” I chided. He glared at me. Something seemed missing about him, about all the unbalanced whiteness of his suit... “Where’s Chapel?”

 

Midvalley seemed to age another three years right before my eyes. “Chapel’s gone,” he muttered.

 

“Dead?”

 

“No. Just gone.” Midvalley offered no further explanation, just chewed broodingly and avoided my curious gaze. I sat and tried to process it. I hadn’t been the Evergreen’s biggest fan, nor was I really that great of friends with the Hornfreak. But seeing them together had been the status quo for as long as I had been a Gung-Ho Gun, and I suddenly felt left out again, like something was going on right around me and only I couldn’t see it. At least, I thought with some small relief, Midvalley still had his horn. Its case sat on the ground by his feet.

 

“I’m sorry I brought it up,” I offered at last.

 

“Don’t be.” he said quickly. “Say, Domi—you haven’t been out in awhile. What do they have you doing, cooped up in this pit?”

 

“They” meant Legato, and the way Midvalley said it made my stomach twist oddly. I knew he was afraid of our Master, but this seemed somehow different, another thing changed. I decided to let it slide. “Nothing. You know I haven’t had a mission in over a year.”

 

“You must be bored,” Midvalley said. “Why don’t you ask them for an assignment?”

 

“Maybe I like doing nothing,” I said, perhaps a bit too defensively. Midvalley looked at me oddly.

 

“What happened, Dominique?” he asked, concerned, leaning in close. “You can tell me stuff, you know? I know I’m a jerk sometimes, but hell, at least I’m a human being and proud of it.”

 

“I swear, nothing happened.” I didn’t like the look in his dark eyes, and I didn’t know what he was trying to get at, but it unsettled me. “Midvalley, can we talk later? I just want to hear you play again.”

 

He sighed again and backed off. “Yeah, later,” he said, but he pulled the case up on his lap and had his sax put together in seconds. “What do you want to hear?” He smiled roguishly, starting to remind me of the old Hornfreak again.

 

“Can you still do ‘Permanent Vacation’?” I asked. It was a nice, perky tune, familiar and one of my favorites. He nodded, and started into it, just warming up and showing off a little at first, but then working into the whirl of sweet music that took me right back to better days. I got lost in it fast, absorbed by the powerful, brassy voice of his instrument, smiling and laughing as he finished it off.

 

He unslung the sax and caught his breath. “It really sounds better with a guitar behind it,” he said, almost as if he was apologizing.

 

I shook my head. “Dammit, Midvalley, that was perfect.”

 

“Indeed. Why is it that artists always feel the need to criticize themselves?” an unfamiliar voice wondered. We both turned to look, and I felt my jaw drop.

 

A tall, platinum-blonde woman stood in the doorway, eyeing Midvalley with appreciation. She was wearing the most expensive-looking clothes I had ever seen, a bright-red traveling cloak with a pure-white ruff that looked like real fur, a downy-black turtleneck and a dark grey skirt. Topping it off was the oddest hat I had ever seen, and a white suitcase big enough to stuff a small body into. The whole thing looked like it cost a fortune and had never even heard of dust. Her makeup was impeccable. She would have been right at home living in a wood mansion in the middle of December.

 

“Sorry to interrupt,” she said, “but that was hard to ignore.”

 

“Thanks,” Midvalley said, looking like he was rethinking his decision to pack up his sax again. Strangers here were not always considered a good thing, and this woman was definitely strange. “I don’t mean to be rude, but I haven’t seen you around here before...”

 

“Of course,” she laughed. “Elendira the Crimsonnail. The thirteenth Gung-Ho Gun.” She extended a hand, fingernails painted true to her name.

 

She was a Gung-Ho Gun? But I thought there had only been twelve of us. I shot Midvalley a look, but he was busy introducing himself back, apparently unbothered by the fact that this painted socialite had just declared herself to be a willing murderess. He was probably already wondering if he had a chance with her, I thought sourly.

 

I got up and left, in my usual sudden style. Today was going to be a bad day for paper targets.

 

 

 

AN: Sorry about this being so late. And, as of next chapter, I swear there will be plot…