Chapter Text
Goddamn, my ass is sore.
Imogen shifts uncomfortably on the barstool, jaw clenched as the rigid wood digs into her tender flesh. That bull sure did a number on her. She managed to cling on for a handful of seconds before the damn thing sent her flying through the air. She landed right on her tailbone, teeth clattering together at the sheer force of the impact. She’s bound to have a sizable bruise tomorrow, if it hasn’t formed already. Raising the bottle in her hand to her lips, she takes a generous pull of the cheap beer within, the condensation dripping onto the worn leather of her gloved hands. Absent-mindedly picking at the label with her thumb, she scans the bar.
The dusk light pours through the dirty windows, dressing the beer-sticky tables and patrons up in a golden haze. The familiar scent of sweat, booze, and manure lingers heavily in the air. It's made only marginally better by the rusty fan propped up in the back corner. The tables fill up as more and more folk trickle in, the bells on the door announcing each new arrival with a chime. Some folk she recognizes, mostly other ranch hands covered in dust and blood from their attempt at making it big in the rodeo. Some of ‘em, Imogen included, clearly aimin’ to drown their losses. Others swagger in, flashing their freshly won wad of cash as they buy a round. Or ten.
It’s loud. The patrons, mostly men, are loud. Clapping each other on the backs, raising toasts that grow increasingly slurred as their glasses are drained, refilled, and drained again. Seated at one of the back tables, Imogen spots Samuel, a ranch hand she works with down at Master Faramore's. He's friendly enough and a hard worker. Fresh off a victory in the barrel race, he appears half-drunk already. His dopey smile grows as they make eye contact, excitedly motioning her over to his table. She just tips her hat, raises her drink, and resituates in her seat, turning so her back rests against the bar counter.
At the front of the establishment lies a small stage, scarcely large enough to fit the string band and their various instruments, but it serves its purpose. They’re playing a lively tune, an old folk song that appears familiar to most of the patrons. Imogen hums under her breath, tapping her foot against the leg of her stool, spurs still adorning her boots jingle in time. A handful of couples occupy the makeshift dance floor below the stage, two steppin’ happily between the tables. Imogen finds that she can’t watch them for too long, their wide smiles and sure feet filling her with a strange mix of envy and frustration. She shifts her gaze to her bottle, nearly empty and label picked clean off, leaving the glass coated in a tacky residue.
The song draws to a close, punctuated with a thunderous uproar of applause. Imogen half-heartedly claps along. She takes one last pull from her drink and places the empty bottle on the counter. She pats her pockets. Sighs. Out of cash and patience, Imogen begins to rise from her seat. Before she has a chance to walk to the door, a voice rings out over the din of the bar. The voice, backed by the gentle plucking of a guitar, is beautiful. Raw with emotion and power, but still delicate. Almost fragile sounding.
Glancing back up at the stage, Imogen’s eyes are instantly drawn to the woman, tall and pale, standing behind a microphone. Her frail frame is almost entirely hidden by the guitar strapped around her shoulders. Her dark hair, shocked with white and littered with flowers, frames her angular face, obscuring it almost entirely. She wears a dark gown, flowy fabric cascading into gentle waves as it reaches the floor. Her fingers strum at the strings with a practiced ease, eyes remaining closed as she croons. Without taking her eyes from the woman, Imogen shuffles back into her seat and listens with rapt attention.
As she begins the second verse, the singer opens her eyes. Wide eyes, deep brown, flit across the silent crowd. Even the drunkards seem to be appreciating the level of this woman’s talent. Imogen’s heart thunders in her chest as those eyes drift closer and closer in her direction, until they finally meet hers. She knows she probably looks foolish, all slack jawed and bated breath, but she can’t bring herself to care. Instead, she scoots to the edge of her seat, helplessly drawn into this woman’s magnetism. Everything else seems to fade away, leaving only this woman and her dark eyes and siren song.
The singer’s gaze remains locked onto Imogen as the guitar tapers off. She repeats the chorus one final time, her gentle voice resonating in Imogen’s chest. Imogen has only a moment to mourn the end of the song before the eruption of cheers and whistles shakes her from her almost trancelike state. The singer seems to startle, too. Suddenly aware of the dozens of drunken eyes upon her, the woman breaks their eye contact to curtsy to the crowd.
Dark eyes shift to the crowd once more as the singer speaks into the microphone with a bashful smile, “Thank you. Thank you all for that very warm welcome, you’re too kind.” Her voice is just as beautiful as she speaks. Rising and falling in a melodic pattern so unlike the usual drawl folk speak with around here. “I am Laudna, and we” -- she motions to the other members of the band -- “are Hell’s Bells. I’m afraid that was our last song of the evening, but we have a few more shows lined up!” Imogen swears this woman, Laudna, looks right at her as she continues, “So, do be sure to come back and see us. Goodnight everyone!”
With one final bow, the dreamlike spell that the singer cast over the room breaks. The rest of the bar returns to their drinks, cursing and carrying on. Imogen should leave. She’s got an early morning tomorrow, a fence that needs mending, and a chores list a mile long. Imogen has no good reason to stay, but she finds herself lingering anyway. Tracking Laudna’s lithe movements across the stage as she unplugs her equipment and packs it away with care. Despite her tall frame, she moves with a gentle grace, practically floating across the stage, her gown billowing behind her. As if she could sense Imogen’s eyes on her, Laudna looks up. Dark eyes immediately latch onto Imogen’s once more, eyebrows furrowing slightly in confusion, in consideration. Without the performance as an excuse for her staring, Imogen feels exposed, getting caught gawkin’ at her like that.
With a barely perceptible nod, Imogen looks away, hoping the flush on her cheeks isn’t visible from across the room. She rises from her seat, and heads towards the door, winding her way through the crowd with a forced calmness. She throws open the door with a harsh shove, creaking hinges and echoing chimes announcing her departure.
The night air isn’t cool, by any means; even after sunset, the desert heat is almost unbearable this time of year. The gentle breeze and fresh air still offer some semblance of relief, though. At least compared to the hotbox of booze laden sweat she just escaped. Gulping a breath, Imogen meanders in the direction of her pick-up. The dirt lot, illuminated by the hazy light of the surrounding streetlamps, is filled with dozens of vehicles, mostly pick-ups. A handful of polished, newer models, likely belonging to the seasoned rodeo riders, stand out against the sea of rusted, mud-splattered relics.
It’s only a minute or so before Imogen reaches her black pick-up, but she’s already covered in a light sheen of sweat. Fishing the keys from her pocket, she opens the driver side door, wincing as she’s hit with a wall of heat.
Shit. I forgot to crack a window.
Imogen shuffles into the truck. The backs of her thighs, below where her denim shorts cut off, burn against the scorching leather seat. Cursing under her breath, she rolls down her window. Reaches across the seat, rolls down the passenger-side window. Placing her Stetson on the seat beside her, she shakes out her freshly-freed hair, lavender locks tumbling down past her shoulders. Adjusting in her seat, Imogen presses down the clutch, puts the keys in the ignition, and turns. The engine sputters briefly, but doesn’t catch.
“C’mon, now. Don’t do this to me, darlin’.” Imogen pleads as she turns the keys again. Nothing. “Great. This is just great.”
She drops her forehead onto the steering wheel with a thud and sits there for a minute. Maybe two. Eventually, she musters the strength to lift her head with a groan.
“Alright, let’s see what the damage is.” She says aloud, unsure whether she’s talking to herself or the truck. Unsure which one’s worse.
She tugs off her gloves and sets them in the seat beside her hat. Hopping out of the cab, Imogen circles around to the hood, pops it open, and inspects. There’s no cloud of smoke or acrid smell, which is good. Nothing appears obviously damaged, no frayed cables or leaks.
Battery must’ve drained in this heat.
Not great, but at least nothing needs replacin’.
Leaving the hood propped open, Imogen considers her options. On one side of her truck is a dingy old van. On the other is Samuel’s truck, a beat-up blue Chevy. She could go in and ask him to help jump start the battery, but he seemed to be having a good time and he deserves to celebrate. Besides, she doesn’t really wanna go back into that bar anyway. Too many drunk men and a beautiful woman who definitely noticed her staring and her hasty exit. Resigning to simply wait until Samuel decides to leave, she reaches through the passenger window and pops open the glove compartment. Collecting her pouch of tobacco, papers, and her zippo lighter, Imogen walks round to the back of her pick-up.
She unlatches the tailgate, and unbuttons and peels off her shirt, leaving her in a sweat-damp tank top that clings to her torso. Draping the faded plaid fabric across the downturned gate, Imogen hops up and takes a seat. Her feet swing idly as they dangle off the edge of the truck bed, spurs on her boots twinkling ever so delicately. She rolls a cigarette, lighting it with a click, and takes a long drag. Other than herself and a few nocturnal critters, the lot is devoid of life. Most folks have either gone home already or intend on drinkin’ the night away. The noise of the bar has been reduced to a low hum, barely noticeable at this distance. As she exhales, smoke billowing out in plumes, she takes a moment to relish the quiet. It’s a different sort of stillness than the kind she’s used to. It’s peaceful.
The cigarette between her lips is little more than a stub when the sound of a throat clearing catches her attention. Glancing up, Imogen freezes as she finds familiar brown eyes staring at her. The singer, Laudna, lingers beside a parked vehicle, no more than ten feet from her.
“Hello there!” Laudna calls out with an awkward wave. “I’m terribly sorry to intrude! I was heading out when I saw you sitting out here alone. It’s growing late, and I just wanted to check and make sure that everything was alright.”
Imogen is unable to form words, cigarette hanging limply from her half-open lips.
Those dark eyes flicker with concern at Imogen’s lack of response, “Is everything alright, dear?”
Imogen grabs the cigarette from her mouth, flicking onto the dirt below. She coughs, shaking her head at herself as she finally breaks her silence, “Ye-yeah. Um, sorry I was just - Everything’s fine, ma’am. Just a bit of car trouble, is all.” She scoots off the edge of the truck bed, stomping her cigarette out under her heel. She takes a few steps forward, bridging the gap between the two women. “Thank you for checkin’ in. I’m Imogen, Imogen Temult.”
She extends a hand towards Laudna. Dark eyes drift from Imogen’s face, trailing down until they pause, lingering on the exposed flesh of Imogen’s offered hand. Imogen winces as she realizes she left her gloves in the truck. She begins to pull her hand away, ready to tuck them behind her torso and out of sight, ready for this woman to start looking at her like everyone else does when they see the scars . With pity. Disgust.
A pale hand, oddly cold given the temperature, grasps hers before Imogen has the chance to hide them away. With a gentle squeeze, Laudna’s eyes find hers again. They hold nothing but warmth.
“It’s lovely to meet you, Miss Imogen Temult.” The smile that stretches across Laudna’s face is infectious. Imogen can’t help but mirror it. “I’m Laudna.”
“I know.” Imogen blurts out. “Um, sorry. That’s not as creepy as it sounds, I swear! I was at the bar. Earlier, when you and the band were…” Rubbing the back of her neck, Imogen takes a breath, hoping to slow her rambling. “You’ve got a real beautiful voice.”
“Oh.” Laudna appears genuinely touched at the compliment, growing bashful as she continues, “Why thank you, dear. That’s incredibly kind of you to say.”
“Just bein’ honest.” Imogen mumbles, eyes drifting to her shoes, toe of her boot tracing lines in the dust.
There’s silence for a moment before Laudna breaks it. “So…about this car trouble. Do you need any help? I could take a look, or give you a lift, if you needed it.”
“Oh, no. No, that’s alright. My, uh, friend will be out soon, I’m sure. I appreciate the offer, but I wouldn’t want to put you through any trouble.” Imogen mutters.
Laudna doesn’t seem deterred. “It’s no trouble at all, really! I know I may not look the part, but I’m actually quite good with cars. Besides, a young woman shouldn’t be left alone this late at night. Even if you seem…” Laudna’s eyes scan Imogen’s body, tracing the muscled lines of her exposed arms and legs with a glint of something Imogen can’t pin down, “... quite capable of handling yourself.”
“Y’know, I - Uh.” Imogen sputters for a moment, unsure how to interpret this woman’s comment. Desperately hoping the lighting is dim enough to mask the flush that is undoubtedly spreading down her neck, Imogen regains her composure enough to speak. “Thanks? I think I’ll take you up on that offer, actually, if you don’t mind. My battery’s drained. I’ve got cables and everything, I just need a jump to get me back up and runnin’.”
Laudna claps her hands together. “Wonderful! I just so happen to be parked right next to you, so we should have you home in no time.” She fixes Imogen with a smile before she turns and heads towards her vehicle, the rusted Volkswagen van.
Imogen climbs back into the bed of her truck, rummaging through her things until she locates the jumper cables. She grabs her discarded shirt and tugs it back on, leaving it unbuttoned as she jumps off the back of the truck. Glancing over at the bulky Volkswagen, she spots Laudna waiting in the driver seat, hood of her van propped open already.
Imogen loops around the van, flashing a small, grateful smile at Laudna as she passes the window. At the front of the vehicle, she connects two of the clips to the van’s battery, carries the other two prongs over to her truck and attaches them to the dead battery.
Imogen clambers back into the cab, placing the keys in the ignition as she hollers out, “Alright, we’re all hooked up! Just give it a little gas, whenever you’re ready!”
She hears the van’s engine comes to life. Waits a moment. Then, with her eyes closed, she turns the keys in the ignition. The engine sputters. For a heartstopping second, Imogen fears it won’t catch, but it does. Heaving a sigh of relief, she flicks her headlights on and opens the door, leaving the engine running. She walks to the front of her truck, unhooks the cables, and shuts the hood, giving it a gentle pat. She does the same for Laudna’s van, shooting another appreciative smile at her through the windshield as she carries the cables back to her truck.
The door to the van slams shut just as Imogen climbs off the back of her truck, closing the tailgate behind her. Imogen wipes her hands off on the back of her shorts, adjusting her hair quickly before tucking them behind her back. She leans against the side of her truck. Laudna waltzes around her van, the train of her gown dragging in the dirt, leaving a dust cloud in her wake. She beams as she catches sight of Imogen.
“Good as new!” Laudna announces, coming to a stop a few feet from Imogen.
“Thank you, again, Laudna.” Imogen fixes her with a smile. “I really appreciate your help.”
Laudna dismisses her with a wave of her hand. “No need to thank me, dear. I was happy to help, truly.”
There’s a pause. With her truck up and running, there’s nothing stopping Imogen from heading home. But she lingers, draped against the side of her truck with a feigned casualness.
“So…I, uh, I haven’t seen you around before. How long have you been in town?” Imogen asks.
Laudna heaves a dramatic sigh, “Ohhhh, just a few days. We tend to drift from town to town.”
“We?”
“The band and I!” Laudna cheerfully clarifies. “We tend to follow the rodeo circuits, picking up odd jobs and performing when we can.”
“That sounds…freeing.” Imogen utters wistfully.
“Oh, it’s wonderful. As long as you don’t mind sleeping in a van with three grown men, that is!” Laudna considers before playfully adding, “Although, Orym, the fiddle player, is so small that it’s more like two and a half men.”
“Y’know, that fiddle did look a bit large when he was holding it.” Imogen laughs.
“And what about you? How long have you been in town?” Laudna asks, curiousity glinting in her eyes.
“Gelvaan county, born and raised.” A phrase she once boasted in pride, now uttered in resignation. “Been here my whole life. My daddy and I help out on a cattle ranch, just outside of town. You might’ve passed by it on your way in.”
Laudna’s face lights up. “You get to work with all those animals?”
“Every day.” Imogen sighs out.
“Oh, that must be so much fun! I’ve always loved animals, you know.”
Imogen can’t help but crack a smile at the sheer level of Laudna’s enthusiasm. “Y’know, uh. Depending on how long you’re planning on bein’ in town, you could always come by. I’d be happy to show you around, if you’re interested.” Imogen wrings her hands behind her back.
“Oh, I would love nothing more!” Laudna claps her hands together excitedly, dark lips stretching into a wide grin. “Tomorrow? Is that too soon? That’s probably too soon. How about you just tell me when and I’ll be there.” Laudna tries to tone down her enthusiasm, but she’s practically vibrating, rocking back and forth on the balls of her feet.
Without hesitation, Imogen replies with a chuckle, “Tomorrow works just fine for me. I have some chores in the morning, but I could pick you up once I’m done? Maybe around noon? Does that work?”
“Yes! That sounds wonderful. I’ll be here!” Laudna’s eager grin falters for a moment. “Are you sure it isn’t a bother? I would hate to be an inconvenience.”
“It’s no bother at all, promise.” Laudna doesn’t appear convinced. “Seriously, consider it my way of thanking you for helping me tonight.”
Laudna looks at her a moment, before she relents. “Well, alright then. It looks like I’ll be seeing you tomorrow.” She utters, smile slowly creeping back onto her lips.
“Yeah, I’ll see you tomorrow.” Imogen reluctantly pushes herself off her truck. She hovers for a moment, unsure. “I reckon I ought to get goin’. Early morning and all that.” Imogen trails off.
“Yes, I suppose you’re right. It is rather late.” Laudna’s hands begin to fiddle with the ends of her dark hair. Imogen hopes she’s not imagining the disappointment in her tone.
“It was real nice meetin’ you, Laudna. And thank you, again. For your help.”
“Of course, dear. Don’t mention it.” Laudna stretches her hand out, hovering in the few feet between the two women. “The pleasure was all mine.”
Imogen takes the hand, hoping her palms aren’t too clammy as she gives it a firm shake. Their hands linger together for a few seconds too long.
“Goodnight, Laudna. I’ll see you tomorrow.” Imogen drawls out.
“Goodnight, Imogen. And please, drive carefully.”
“Always do.” Imogen goes to tip her hat, only to remember halfway through the motion that it rests beside her gloves in the truck. She runs a hand through her hair instead, hoping Laudna doesn’t notice.
Laudna just beams at her. She leans against the side of her van, watching as Imogen clambers back into her truck, engine still running. With one final wave goodbye, Imogen reverses out of the spot and leaves the parking lot. She finds herself glancing at Laudna through her rearview mirror until eventually, she loses sight of her.
On the drive home, she keeps the windows down, her hair whipping in the wind. Through the static, June Carter sings of her love on the radio. Imogen can’t keep her mind from drifting to the enchanting songstress she just met, her voice even more beautiful than June’s. By the time her tires crunch over the gravel of her driveway, Imogen’s cheeks hurt from smiling so hard, something that hasn’t happened in a real long time.