LemonTarts

Of Wormholes & Men

Neris, despite the exertion, kept her breaths efficient and short, enough to push her on, but not enough to deplete her air source quickly. "Captain." Neris acknowledged, letting the man she was dragging slump to the ground below her. “It is good to see you are still standing, spirits willing we’ll be standing a little longer.”

She snapped into a respectful yet stiff salute for her superior. She then extended an imploring hand, a gesture communicating a reserved sort of affection among her people, for her friend. Regardless of whether or not the woman took it, she withdrew quickly and curtly.

“No life signs on the monitor, not sure how much of my communications gear is still intact after the fall. My pod took a pretty thorough beating entering the atmo.” As if for emphasis she directed her gaze upwards, scanning the sky for any sort of tell as to the nature of the planet. “Captain, have you seen any life? Besides us and the flora? Any indication that the planet might be habitable to at least some form of living and breathing animals?”

She paused a moment before speaking again, as if hesitant. “Do you have a plan, Captain? Are we searching for survivors?”

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Ashley Gallagher

8:22 AM - Club Carousel

Ashley strolled up to the base of the club, his true destination being the dingy apartment complex perched above it like a scraggly old bird. He took a long drag from his cigarette as he waited for Smith to catch up, eyes scanning the doors of the club with a newfound intensity as if he could somehow make out red lips and green eyes from behind the red curtains. He mulled briefly over the sudden idea that perhaps the body he was called to investigate was hers— left there by an angry employer after hearing of her day trip to the Police Station. He didn’t have long to ponder this however, for a flurry of Smith flew by him at a brisk pace. “Stop dallying, Gallagher and let’s get in there before the vultures show up.”

Ah, vultures, Ashley Gallagher's personal favorite passtime. Why? Because there was something so satisfying about having the power of knowledge over information-hungry fiends that he simply couldn't live without. Nonetheless the scene would be significantly easier to investigate if it were lacking the crowd and unbearable noise of reporters. He pressed his cigarette into the pavement with the toe of his shoe before entering the club.

It was somehow lifeless, in the daytime. Like a hollow shell of its potential. It was not daylight that brought it to life and health, but the thick light of carelessness and neon that it had grown so accustomed to. Seeing the dust particles flutter through the golden glow filtering in through the windows disturbed Ashley in a way he couldn't really explain. Perhaps it was the essence of normal. The idea that something so fantastical yet poisonous was essentially the same as his own damn apartment when the light of day touched it. An implication that no matter how full of vibrant life something can be, it has the potential to be just as limp and dead.

And there she was.

A smudge of charcoal against an empty crimson backdrop, wrapped in a thick black coat and a distant expression. Emerald was seated across the room, at the uninhabited bar, the only other soul in the cavernous club. She met his eyes for a moment the flickering of a smile teasing the corner of her lips, but it was fleeting and died almost as quickly as it began. She swept her gaze over the two of them, but made no move to otherwise acknowledge their presence. Ashley wondered briefly why she hadn't been removed from the building by authorities, but let the thought slide away as their brief dalliance of eyes came to an end and he started up the stairs.

Crime scenes were always the same for him. Slow. Muddled. Yet oddly focused. Time seemed to move at the pace of molasses around him, voices and present distractions mixing into a general, bubbling white noise like sounds through water. It was the details, the small ones that could take him back to the moment of violence, that stuck to him like gum to a shoe. Peeling wallpaper patterns, the broken lamp with a dark shade, a misplaced, heeled shoe.

Time caught up with him in a sudden impacting wave as his eyes fell upon the obviously distressed girl. Ashley caught Smith’s shoulder with a palm. “You take a look at the bodies, I’ll talk to the girl.” He nodded in her general direction before moving towards her, careful to keep his stature smooth and unthreatening. It was a moment before he spoke, filled with the familiar sounds of a notepad slipping open and pencil-tip meeting paper. “Hello Miss, I’m Detective Gallagher,” He paused, giving her an extended moment to take this information in. “What can you tell me about what took place here last night?”

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Ashley Gallagher

7:00 AM - Gilded Heights Apartment Complex, Room #67

Ashley Gallagher started the new day with a spring in his step and a weight in his chest. He didn’t bother trying to discern whether said weight was an emotional one or a heart attack— With his health habits and daily activities it was probably both. He helped himself to a portion of cold eggs and bitter coffee, letting the morning sun filter in through the open window and illuminate the headline of the fresh newspaper in his hands.

He considered a lot of things. First and foremost the pile of week old dirty dishes in his sink, and then the thick line of gunk in his current coffee mug that he was trying desperately to ignore. He also considered Emerald. He fancied he might pay her a visit today, get some actual leads to follow instead of the bullshit he’d been toying around with all week. Smith would be happy with him, that was for sure. He also considered the fact that she might be playing him like a fiddle— and that when he got there it wouldn’t be red lips, and secrets, but Townley himself and the entire fucking brigade there to riddle him with bullet holes and turn him to swiss cheese.

Ashley took a contemplative bite of his eggs and came to the conclusion that he didn’t much like eggs. They were too rubbery, too yellow. And regardless, he needed to make his way down to the Station.

8:00 AM - Police Station

“Gallagher! Hey pal, where’ve you been all night? Did you decide to go home and actually get some sleep for a change?”

Ashley spoke around his unlit cigarette, wearing his usual grin for Smith and putting his hands up in mock surrender. “Shoot me, I was tired.”

“Nah, pal, you look great! Your hair is combed, the bags under your eyes are gone, you’re a completely new person, Gallagher.— Is it a woman?” Smith tucked his thumbs into his suspenders, his eyes following the early-morning influx of people entering the station.

Ashley explored this idea for a moment, but eventually came up in the negative. The tart was not to blame for his newfound care— what was wrong with a man just being god damned tired? “Maybe the reason I don’t get no fuckin’ sleep is because you pester me when I do?”

Smith smirked, snapping the suspenders and making a move towards the stairs. “That wasn’t a no.”

Ashley followed him, running a hand through his hair. “Wasn’t a damned yes either.” He made a last-ditch effort to change the subject. “How’s the Missus?”

“Oh, you know, ‘Richard you work too hard and too late, you have to be there for us, you put yourself in danger every day why can’t you just put us first for once?’” His voice climbed an octave in mockery, but a shadow passed over his face.

“Ouch, that already?”

“Can’t hate her for caring I guess.” Smith gave a noncommittal shrug that in no way summed up what Ashley suspected were his actual feelings about the issue.

Ashley swung the door to their shared office open, holding it out for Smith to enter. The last thing he expected was the Chief Detective's hand catching the door before he could shut it. "Gallagher, Smith. I've got a case for you."

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"Emerald"

2:33 AM - Outside Club Carousel

Emerald nodded slowly. A secretary at the police station. She had already made her limit of friends at the police station and had no interest in any more ties to the place. She stood, wrapping her arms around herself as the wet chill finally made itself noticeable. A damp walk home it was. "It has been a real pleasure... Alison, was it? Maybe we'll see each other on the street sometime," Unlikely. "And hey, if you see a fella by the name of Gallagher at your little police station will you tell him to stop by? I'm feeling awfully lonely."

She tapped out into the street, turning back and shielding her eyes from the rain with a forearm as she waved her farewell. "Don't 'run out of your youth' too soon, you hear?" And with that she was off into the night, beginning her long, solitary walk home.

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"Emerald"

Ashley Gallagher

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"Emerald"

2:31 AM - Outside Club Carousel, Manhattan

Emerald grinned, pulling out her lighter and striking it up below the woman's cigarette. "It's a real pleasure, Alison. I go by Emerald." She gave the girl a cheeky wink before withdrawing the lighter. "Oregon is a long, long way from here, darling. What brought you to this shithole? Was it the pretty lights?" She pinned her own cigarette between two fingers and drew it away, exhaling a pretty gust of smoke from her lips.

She gestured vaguely towards the Club. "Yeah, I dance here. It's a living." Emerald paused, eyes lifting briefly to the sky with an accompaniment of fluttering eyelashes. The rain had slowed to a small drizzle. "Why, you looking for work?"

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"Emerald"

2:31 AM - Outside Club Carousel, Manhattan

Oh. She was one of those. Emerald let out a billow of smoke with her cynical chuckle. She said nothing, she simply draped a sympathetic look over the girl, her rouged lips pursing around the cigarette. Finally she plucked another out from the shiny metal case, offering it to her companion.

"Never is, sweetheart." She admitted after a moments thought. "Sometimes its better, sometimes its worse." Emerald offered what she hoped was a reassuring smile, though she was sure it appeared as mirthless as it felt. "You find the things that make it work. There's always a way out of every situation, don't let anyone tell you different." She paused a moment to take a long, lingering drag from her cigarette. "Where are you from?"

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Ashley Gallagher

2:30 AM - Gilded Heights Apartment Complex, Room #67

The ceiling fan made its rounds, each swing making a hideous squeak and obscuring the small crack in the plaster from view. Ashley Gallagher of two years ago would be sleeping soundly, sans the set up of whiskey at his bedside table. Ashley Gallagher of today, however was watching a damn ceiling fan, his bedsheets strewn haphazardly about him and his mind still reeling with the last grasps of the nightmare that plagued him not twenty minutes prior.

He blamed it on the heat. The thick, clinging heat that stuck in beads of sweat to the back of his neck. Even with the window open, the soothing noise of general city nightlife filtering in, the lights painting his ceiling in a collection of golds and blues, peace would not find him. Ashley held his breath, releasing it only after a few beats in a strong puff, the only thing that might settle his nerves enough to let him drift into sleep once more.

It was always her. The face in his dreams. Her cool, rainy-sky eyes that perceived him with a warmth he couldn't understand or share. Her soft smile or her upturned palms, invitations. The tall grass swaying around their hips in a steady dance that even the strongest of hearts couldn't deny. It was always the blood that pooled between her fingers, spilling between them even as he tried to catch it in his own. "Hold on." He'd beg, but it wouldn't be enough. It was never enough that the world could bring a strong man to his knees in despair-- it always wanted more. He'd cradle her head in his lap, running his calloused fingers through her blood caked, thin strands of hair. It was too much.

And with that thought he sat up, reaching instinctively for the glass next to him and pouring himself some of the amber liquid he so heavily depended on. The dreams? They were a lot, but he could drink more, and within the hour he felt himself dozing into something of a rest, his mind slowing from its mile-a-minute pace to an inching sort of crawl.

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"Emerald"

2:28 AM - Outside Club Carousel, Manhattan

Emerald nodded towards the seemingly intimidated girl and gracefully lowered herself to the bench, ignoring the cold, clingy feeling of rainwater seeping into the seat of her old trench coat. She stole guilty, lingering looks at the girl beside her, somehow fascinated by the purely depicted cleanliness on such a grimy street. There was a moment of silence, of which the culprit was most likely Emerald as she watched the variety of entertainment around them. Her personal favorite spectacles were the drunks, the stumblers still humming or even flat-out singing the remnants of a long quieted song, shimmying and swaying in that giddy, uncoordinated dance that she couldn't help but admire. What courage it must take, what dumb courage, to leave yourself so vulnerable to the terrible world around you and nonetheless sing as if you hadn't a care in the world.

Her curiosity overcame her. "What brings you to these parts, huh? You look like a white rose in a field of weeds, sweetheart." She reached for a cigarette and stuck it between her lips. "Mind if I smoke?" She said, speaking around it.

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"Emerald"

1:30 AM - Club Carousel, Manhattan

Friends, or she supposed people she was acquainted with as she didn't often bother with friends, occasionally asked her what drew her to the stage. Was it the money? Was it the attention? Was it a last ditch effort for hope in the kind of city that despite the lights, flash, and pomp still suffocates you slowly with its heady, heavy weight? It was always asked with a sick sort of superior sympathy, as if she was something to be pitied. Truth was, it was none of these things. She got on the stage because it felt like power. She could stand in a room filled wall to wall with authorities, mobsters, cops and anything in between and she could control the room with nothing more than the languid movement of her body.

Tonight was no different. Emerald stared out at the sea of faces, directed at her or otherwise, and put on her best smile, pretending to hold no knowledge of the mighty web of crime being spun before her eyes in thick, black pitch.

When it was over and she was backstage, she ignored the empty green eyes of a lost soul that gazed back at her from the lit up mirror and curled her painted lips into a private smile for the woman seated next to her.

“You were great out there Em, it seems like every night’s your best.” Emerald was two years Angel’s senior, but one would think ten by the looks of her. She was a lanky thing with pale skin, dark eyes and just enough to shake it on stage, her wispy blonde hair in a wild flight about her face.

The day she walked into the club looking like a smear of white paint on a canvas of blood and grime she had caught Emerald’s fond eye. The girl was sweet and so Emerald allowed herself to take pity on her, and take her underneath her wing. “Why thanks, sweetheart, though I wouldn’t say it was my best. I’ve been dreadfully distracted lately.”

The small voice responded. “I’m sure no one noticed.” Angel fidgeted, twisting her hands into the frill of her own fluffy skirts with her lips pressed tightly together.

“Spit it out dear, you look like you’ve swallowed a nasty bug.”

“Well it’s just that… I saw you at the police station yesterday.”

Emerald resisted the urge to roll her eyes back with the flutter of her thick lashes before speaking. “A private call, I assure you. I’m a favorite among New York’s finest. Who would have thought?” She kept her eyes on her reflection, leaning forward to feign dalliance with her makeup.

“Oh.” It was a moment before she spoke again. “I didn’t know that you—.”

Emerald was quick to interrupt her. “—It’s none of your damn business if I do, sweetheart.” There were only a handful of ways a woman could make decent money in this city without working herself to the bone, so why not take full advantage of the gifts she’d been given?

“Right.” Emerald’s gaze flickered to the girl to watch her tawny eyes drift to the side. “I just… this is the only job I have and if the club closes down because of the cops I don’t think I could ever…”

Her guilt trips were easily overlooked and Emerald filed this conversation away for later inspection. Angel was pushing today and she was not truly sure why. The girl hardly ever questioned Emerald’s motives or actions. “It won’t close down because of my visits to the station— in fact if anything I’m securing our place in the heart of our dear protectors.”

This finally got her a smile out of Angel, which were few and far between. She ignored the small swell in her heart and abruptly stood, shrugging into her trench coat and hefting her bag over her shoulder. “That was my last dance of the night, I’ll be making my way home. Stay out of trouble, dearest.” She tossed a wink in Angel’s direction and was out the door before she could hear the response.

2:21 AM

The rain and the crowd of people on the sidewalk that greeted her upon her exit did little to temper her foul mood. She shoved through men and women alike, focusing her gaze on the brilliant colors of red and purple emitting from the club’s signs and dancing upon the shiny puddles. She almost missed the girl at the bench. She stopped her brisk pace and looked the woman over. Her state and choice of clothing made Emerald’s first guess a tart, but a lowly one with poor taste in attractive colors.

Emerald was intrigued, and that was really the only explanation she could think of when she later asked herself why the hell she didn’t just move on. “Mind if I sit, sugar?”