Chapter Text
A Texas mercenary should not be set off by a bump in the night—especially not one as experienced as Argus. Normally, it takes a lot to make her uneasy; but here she is, pointing her rifle down a long, dark hallway, creeping slowly—her crooked fingers wrapped around the handle in a death grip, her ring finger cramping with the tight and awkward position it holds clutching the trigger. The faint glow of the various exit signs is not nearly enough, so she's used a weak incantation for a light source. She can still hardly see, and it's not just because she's half-blind. This motel is unnaturally dark and gloomy, especially after the sun goes down. Every meek step forward spikes her heart rate. She's been on edge ever since she spent her first night here, honestly, and any little incident or noise sends a violent bolt through her nervous system.
Tuesday wasn't exaggerating when she said no one had the stomach to eat after their stay. Argus has built herself a stomach of steel out of necessity; she can eat the foulest-smelling meals and the grossest-looking bugs without breaking a sweat, she can enjoy a nice sandwich sitting beside a maggot-infested body rotting away in the hot Texas sun—nothing deters her appetite anymore. She's felt the pain of hunger before and she'd really rather not feel it again. But her stomach has been growling, and the thought of eating even just some cornbread makes her feel sick.
Tuesday… She was something else entirely. A different beast. Argus would've left this place ages ago if it weren't for her—the threat she posed to the other unsuspecting guests. Infuriatingly, Argus hasn't been able to find any evidence, but she's very sure the motel manager is dangerous, and she might be involved with Kayla. There’s an unexplainable aura about the woman—an evil one. Something sinister lingers around her, and the polite smile always plastered on her face suggests that she doesn't care—or that it’s been a part of her for a long while. She's used to it—she's used to evil. Tuesday’s no good. But there’s something about her, too, that made Argus feel like she needed to protect her. The way she coos to whatever is under the blanket—-it’s genuine and tender, like she's really a mother. The woman's glassy eyes had a look to them that always made her seem a bit dazed or even a little frightened—like a beautiful deer. Tuesday is docile and calm on the surface, but it doesn't take long to gain the feeling that something is very wrong—like a not-deer cryptid.
Not-deers… Argus scoffs, shaking her head to herself. Why do people come up with this stuff? The uncanny behaviour of a deer with a neurological issue is what makes it so creepy. Explaining the behaviour away as a new monstrous species just ruined it.
But that's exactly what Tuesday is, isn't she? She's not a cryptid or a monster or whatever the hell you want to call it—she's just a woman with some issues. A true southern Belle…
“Miss Argus~” A honeyed voice calls softly, nimble fingers curling around the mercenary’s hardy shoulders. Despite the woman's state of undress—a baggy, moth-eaten t-shirt and short sleep shorts—-she didn't forget her precious cowboy hat, placed crooked on top of her golden wheat hair. Tuesday finds this incredibly amusing.
“Shit-!” Argus jumps higher than she could ever hope to jump on a horse. It takes everything in her to resist the instinct to whip around and smack her host into next Tuesday. Unfortunately, she recognizes that saccharine voice. It is Tuesday, with her warm breath on the back of her neck. Argus is starting to wonder if the motel keeper knows what personal space is. “---don't fuckin’ sneak up on me!” She turns around, the butt of her rifle landing on the thin hallway carpet with a loud clang.
“My apologies, Miss Argus… I didn't think I was that quiet,” Tuesday says calmly, unphased by the mercenary's outburst. She glances down at Argus’ lips, staring long enough for the other to notice and scowl. She reaches forward to snuff out the incantation in the girl's palm.
“What-” Argus tries to take her hand away and recast the incantation, movements a touch frantic. Tuesday just intertwines their fingers, squeezing tightly.
“I'm sorry darlin’, I just can't have you waking it up,” Tuesday frowns sympathetically, squeezing the other's hand once more. “...are you afraid of the dark?”
“What? No. I just wanna see,” The mercenary answers quickly—-defensively. She's not normally afraid of the dark, but everything in this damn motel made her baby hairs stand up.
“Mmm…. You are. I can sense it.” the motel keeper shakes her head, putting on a sorry expression. Argus’ heartbeat is loud and frantic, and her hands tremble despite the brave front she puts on. Argus is terrified, and Tuesday couldn't be more delighted. “It's alright dear, everyone has their fears.” Tuesday steps forward, and Argus doesn't move, but the narrowing of her eyes and the deep frown on her face suggests now is not the time to hug her. Eventually. She did love pressing the girl's buttons, but part of the fun was pressing just enough to annoy her, but not enough to give the mercenary reason to hold a grudge.
“You can sense my fear?” A snort punches its way out of Argus’ chest, bushy eyebrow raised, “Any other freaky talents I ought to know about?” She folds her arms over each other, keeping a grip on the head of her rifle so that It won't clank to the ground. She has half the mind to raise it against the woman in front of her. She'd probably like it… Argus’ frown is cartoonishly deep.
“...” Tuesday just keeps a neutral expression, smiling her usual customer service-esque smile. She steps closer, now chest-to-chest with the lone mercenary. She relishes in the fear Argus holds in her posture – heart beating rapidly against her left breast, shoulders slumped inward protectively. “Guests can do what they want, but I must ask: what you were doing with your rifle pointed down the hallway?” Tuesday usually kept a ‘keep your guns behind the front desk’ policy for the motel, but it was a lenient one and she never really bothered anyone about it if they didn't just read the sign and do it voluntarily—it was never worth the hassle. Perhaps it would have been with Argus; to watch her begrudgingly conform and squirm with the knowledge that she's down in her defences, that would be a treat. But it's too late for that now, so she must find another way to get under her beautiful bronze skin.
“Heard somethin’... had to go check. Not stupid enough to go without my rifle,” Argus explains, straight to the point. Tuesday's voice is very beautiful, Argus could listen to it all day if her words weren't so irritating. She doesn't want to spend more time talking to her than she has to, so her explanation is straight to the point.
“What did you hear?” Tuesday's question is polite, but there's an underlying tone of doubt. Her thin eyebrow is raised, and her smile is almost teasing. She doesn't think it's that serious, things make noises all the time; Ice coolers starting up, clocks, air conditioners—all of these things are scattered throughout the motel. Judging by the sour, flustered expression Argus subtly tries to hide under the brim of her hat, this is exactly how to get under her skin. Wonderful.
She thinks I'm being paranoid. Argus would rather die than have this woman think lowly of her. “I-I dunno…. It woke me up. Only heard the last bit of it… sorta sounded like a rumble.”
“Oh, sweetheart… that's just an ice machine,” Tuesday coos, like she's trying to talk a frightened child into calming down. She puts her hand on Argus’ shoulder once again, pouting in a way that was made to convey her sympathy. The expression Argus has as she looks down at her could kill.
“It wasn't the same-”
“Shh, shh. It's alright, you'll be okay. How about I guide you back to your room, hm?” Tuesday's soft voice is a touch forceful, and she holds out her hand expectantly.
“ …Fine,” Argus sighs, picking up her rifle with one hand and placing the other on Tuesday’s open palm. The motel keeper smiles a bit more genuinely now, gently tugging her along. “You know, I'm not just paranoid… did hear something weird–or the end of it, I guess.”
“Of course, sweetheart,” Tuesday nods, giving her hand a reassuring squeeze without looking back.
“...” I'm gonna squeeze her fucking neck- Argus shakes her head, shutting her eyes tightly to try and calm herself down. She's better than being violent with a woman half her size, even if that woman does both annoy and scare the shit out of her. She's only ever seen Tuesday take joy in other people's fear before; Argus is the only one she enjoys bothering, it seems. I guess that means she likes me… Argus doesn't want to think about the butterflies that train of thought gives her, so instead she focuses on what she can make out of the motel as Tuesday drags her back to her room.
“Here you are,” Tuesday says, using her spare keys to unlock the door to Argus' room. She's not sure why the motel keeper remembered her room—considering she's never asked for room service or anything. It's probably better to stop thinking about it.
“...Thanks,” Argus tries to sound a little more polite than she has been, considering Tuesday was actually being a little helpful. Wouldn't need help if she wasn't so worried about my little light…
“My pleasure, Miss Argus…” Tuesday hums. She keeps the door open with her petite body, leaning on the frame. “Do you need anything else?” The motel keeper’s eyes are hooded, and her smile is more of a smirk—an expression that makes heat rise to Argus' face. Tuesday’s voice is low and smooth. A light blush dusts her cheeks, and her arms are folded under her bust purposefully, in a way that makes it clear—what she wants the other to say.
Argus wants to say it—I need you---but she won't. She's had a bit of an infatuation with Tuesday since she first met her, but she can't just admit it; she's too prideful, and every logical cell in her body is telling her to slam the door on the pale woman's face and make sure it's locked.
“Uh,” She scratches the back of her head with her rifle, something she does often when it's difficult to make sense of things, “I don't think so…” The way she draws out her words is very unlike her.
Tuesday is quick to notice it, leaning on the doorframe even more and subtly pushing her breasts up higher. Argus can't really see anything with the conservatively non-existent neckline of Tuesdays dress, but she can guess. She looks away, finding the dirty vanity mirror on the left wall a much more interesting sight. Unfortunately for her, she can't hide her blush under her hat when Tuesday is at this angle. The motel keeper's giggle draws her attention back to the woman.
“How ‘bout I come inside? It gets awfully lonely on the night shift…” Tuesday's long eyelashes bat against her rosy cheeks.
It's obvious what she's really asking, and now that she's gone and asked, Argus can't say no. A girl like her just can't resist such an alluring woman. Besides, it's not Argus’ issue anymore, either; Tuesday offered, so now it's an admission of her wants rather than the mercenary's. It doesn't matter that they share the same wants, and it doesn't matter that Tuesday still gets the last laugh—as always---It's Argus' win in this game of cat and mouse they've been playing. “...fine, you can come in.”
“Oh, If you'd rather just be left alone I won't bother you, darling… I can busy myself with work,” Tuesday shakes her head, looking utterly dejected.
“N-no! It's alright, you can come in.” Argus despises the slightly panicked tone she takes on. She stops herself from reaching out for the motel keeper.
“Well, if you insist~” Tuesday's pitiful, lonely woman act drops in an instant. She hastily enters the room, slamming the door shut. There's hunger in her eyes as she sizes the mercenary up, grinning from ear to ear. For a moment Argus considers the possibility that she might not see the light of day tomorrow.
_____________
Argus is not usually a light sleeper, but tonight every little sound forces her wide awake. It's difficult to just shrug it off when the red of the hallway's exit signs are shining directly into her one good eye. The door is wide open. Tuesday didn't lock the door. Great. Can't she just lose her dignity in peace? Hopefully this is just a drunk that got the wrong room.
She glances over at Tuesday, keeping her movements minimal. The girl is still sound asleep, cold fingers gripping Argus' waist and face buried in the side of her neck. Her curly hair tickles the side of her face, and she can feel her warm breath against her neck. The bite there is still sore as hell, and it's still wet. It hasn't been very long since they retired for the night. At least they didn't come in any earlier… She sighs quietly, trying to wake up enough to quickly get up and confront whoever is in the room. She can't really look around too much, so she doesn't know where they are.
Argus counts down in her head, gripping the end of the comforter. On 3, she throws it off herself, pivoting quickly to slide off the bed onto her feet, grabbing her rifle—previously propped up on the nightstand—and pointing it in front of her. There's nothing there. She scans the room, heart beating louder and louder in her ears as no figure appears anywhere she looks. What the hell? Did a ghost open the damn door? The doors in this motel are old like everything else, but Argus has never seen them open on their own. Hell, she had trouble opening it just yesterday.
Argus is only truly afraid of two things; Tuesday and the paranormal. Rabid animals, guys with guns, angry bulls—all of these things are something Argus can shoot, punch, kick, run away from or just do something about. Evidently, she's not very good at running away from Tuesday. She can't do anything to ghosts because they're not real in the corporeal sense. She's an arcanist, and she's not stupid—she knows the paranormal is real in some sense. She's managed to stay blissfully unaware of just how real it all is until now. Damn woman… She should've never let Tuesday get so close. She's definitely the type to attract ghosts like flies to a rotting corpse.
There's a weight on her bare foot that's not her own, and the rough texture of whatever it is makes her skin crawl. She's unable to stop herself from jumping, trying to stumble backwards and falling flat on her ass with a thud. Her rifle clanks onto the ground beside her.
Red, beady eyes stare directly into her soul. There's an alligator on top of Argus, its albino form very easy to make out in the dark. What the fuck? What's an albino alligator doing all the way out in the middle of Texas? Why is it in her room of all places? What the hell is she supposed to do now? Argus can't find the answer to any of these questions as she keeps staring at the red eyes in front of her, dumbstruck. I guess I can shoot it… But it's not being very aggressive. Argus grabs her gun off the floor anyway, though she doesn't have any intentions to shoot it at the moment---it's better safe than sorry.
That was the wrong move, unfortunately. The once calm and dopey looking alligator springs into action, snapping at Argus as soon as the rifle is off the floor. She just barely reacts in time, holding the rifle out in front of her to stop the gator from digging its sharp teeth into her flesh. Instead, its teeth dig into the barrels of the rifle like flesh, and it lets out a low reptilian hiss. “T-take it easy, boy,” Argus coos with an unsteady voice. The gator just clamps down on the metal again, the sound loud and unpleasant. Argus’ heart is beating so fast she can't feel it anymore.
The gator is not even close to full-sized, but it's definitely not a complete baby either. It will be difficult if not impossible to move with it on her legs. “Tuesday!” Argus whisper-shouts, clenching her fist. Tuesday is the last person she'd want to ask for help, but in her situation there's really no other option. The gator makes a weird grumble at the name, small pupils growing just a bit bigger. Something about the look in its little red eyes makes Argus' heart rate spike. “Tuesday!”
“hm?” Tuesday hums, rubbing sleep out of her eyes. She peers over Argus’ side of the bed, stifling a laugh at the scene in front of her.
“Don't laugh! Help me!” The mercenary growls, making a face. She still can't take her eyes off the gator infront of her.
“Oh, put down your gun, dear. It doesn't like them,” Tuesday says quickly, watching her alligator chomp into the metal of the double barrels once again.
“What?” Argus doesn't move, straining to hold the now destroyed gun up as a barrier. “Are you insane?”
Objectively, Tuesday is insane—but this particular instruction was not really insane. She knows how to keep her own baby tame. “Trust me, this is my lovely alligator. It hates guns.”
Argus shakes her head, doing what she's told. It was only a matter of time before the gator got past the gun and to her anyway. The gator appears docile and dopey again, laying low on Argus’ legs. “...why does it hate guns so much?”
“Well, I trained it a while ago, when I was more strict about guests keeping their guns behind the front desk—we don't want any incidents, right?” Tuesday explains, smiling as the gator grumbles, climbing further into Argus’ lap. The mercenary looks absolutely terrified.
“We’re supposed to do that?” Argus pretends to be clueless. She might've seen the sign, and she might have hoped no one would say anything. She might have not seen the sign at all. Who knows.
“Yes, but you seemed like a noble ranger, so I thought you'd be a fine exception…” Tuesday sighs, “but you love waving that thing around everywhere… even point it at your own head. Has anyone ever taught you gun safety?”
“Uh…” Argus squints, trying to think of a time where she took any type of gun course. When she was a kid she'd watch the guys at the shooting range, but they never really paid any attention to her—everything she knows is just from observation and figuring it out herself. “No.” She glides her blunt nails on the scales under the gator's jaw carefully. It makes a satisfied noise in the back of its throat.
“Oh.” Tuesday wasn't expecting that answer. “Well, anyway, how about you pick it up and bring it to bed? I don't usually reward naughty behaviour, but if it missed me enough to break out of our room… it would be cruel to make it go back,” she offers, straightening out the bedsheets before folding them over to welcome Argus and the alligator.
Argus pauses, eyebrows furrowing. It missed her..? “is this what you carry ‘round in that blanket all day?”
“Yes,” Tuesday confirms with a firm head nod, patting the bed, “it's my baby—in a sense.” Argus is honestly shocked Tuesday has the consciousness to recognize that this alligator is not actually her kin. She definitely seemed like the type to grab an intimidating animal and treat it like it's her actual human baby. Then again, to a lot of folks—including the perfectly sane ones—there's no big difference from a human baby to an animal baby, so maybe Tuesday is only clarifying so Argus does not think she's any more delusional than she already is. Appreciate it… I guess…
Argus carefully leans forward, keeping her calloused hands on the animal as she moves so it doesn't startle. She's never actually handled a reptile before, but she can hopefully figure it out with the experience she has handling cattle and barn cats. One hand stays under the alligator’s chest, and the other travels down to its pelvis—at least, she's pretty sure it's there. She picks it up, almost dropping it immediately with the surprising weight. “Christ, what do you feed this thing? It weighs a tonne!” It is not actually that heavy, but Argus would not expect an animal on the much smaller end of medium to weigh this much. Its rough scales dig into her skin with the pressure. No wonder Tuesday’s arms are so strong…
“Unruly guests.” Tuesday’s answer comes quickly, nonchalantly like she wasn't just admitting to crime.
Argus pauses for a long moment, the only audible noise the gator adjusting itself in her arms. She complies with its non-verbal requests, cradling its body in her arms. She's so stunned she forgot she's still sort of terrified of this thing. “...You… you can't just tell me that!” If it were anyone else Argus would laugh and assume it was a joke, but with Tuesday it's almost more likely that she's just being honest.
“Why not? Are you going to tell on me?” Her small smile is almost teasing.
“No.” Tuesday is hers. She will be the one to deal with her, figure out what exactly is Tuesday’s fucking problem—only after she's figured it out and done everything she can will she go to actual law enforcement if it's necessary. But Tuesday just told her she kills people and feeds them to her alligator. Argus can't just ignore that.
“Relax, hun. I'm joking,” Tuesday laughs, bare shoulders heaving. Her laughing quickly turns into a howl in a matter of seconds at Argus’ pout. This is the first time Argus has seen the woman uncomposed and it's at her expense. “I feed it leftover food from the week; no one takes advantage of the free breakfast, but I must order enough food for it anyway. At the end of the week I give it everything guests or myself haven't eaten—which is usually quite a bit of food,” She explains, wiping a tear from under her eye.
“Oh.” That did make a lot of sense, given this thing’s sheer mass and the amount of food that must be leftover every week.
“I'll ignore this transgression if you come to bed, dear. It's still late,” Tuesday offers, patting the empty space on the bed once again.
It shouldn't count as a transgression when Tuesday's the one acting maniacal enough for Argus to believe her, but she's too tired to fight about it. With a sigh, Argus shuts the door with her heel, walking to the bed and placing the gator down. She crawls back under the covers, opting to just hug her arms around herself. The gator settles down on top of the comforter, little claws digging into Tuesday's form. This is the weirdest fever dream she's ever had–cuddling up to Tuesday and an alligator.