Work Text:
Some things really do just happen strangely.
This thought isn't something that was new to Argus, finding herself laying on the soft warm and of the beach, hat covering her head from the sun.
It would look like something outta those adverts that Argus would see in town, sun and surf and sand.
Only… Argus is pretty sure that the octopus was something shown for deep sea diving sightseeing or eating.
Not necessarily something to be curled on her stomach and making odd purring noises and poking at her when she stopped.
The bounty hunter lifted her head up, moving her hat out of the way to look at the creature still laying content on her stomach, "Where's yer mama? Why'd ya come crawlin' over, Motel?"
Truthfully, it had taken Argus a while to become more comfortable with the baby, or Motel, as Argus just referred to it since it got so damn annoying to keep calling it the baby, the creature.
Tuesday was all too thrilled with Argus naming it, or at least giving it a more formal name. The younger woman had batted her pale eyes, a soft blush on her face, "It feels like you've accepted this child as your own, Argus… I'm so happy," she had said, voice soft and coy, her gaze intense despite Argus unable to see but able to feel.
Argus may love this strange little lady, but damn it if she didn't tell her to back off with that familiar whispery tone so close to her ear when she couldn't see.
Argus was stunned to see that the little albino crocodile had shifted form, becoming a pitch black little octopus that wiggled and clung to either Tuesday or its shell, which had vanished after a day of appearance.
Tuesday's smile and crooning told her all she needed to know; she broke the shell and now was off somewhere.
Argus could hear the noises of the fair from the boardwalk above her, hearing others from the suitcase, other people attending, and the ocean hitting the support beams. Yet, after Argus had her fun of showing the rigged games that they were no match for her, she told Tuesday that she was done for the night, and to have fun with the kids.
(In reality, Argus had begun to have her vision fail her, and since coming to the suitcase, Boss had been productive about making sure that the Texan hitwoman did not abuse the Picrasma candy.)
(So, even while talking to her bathing suitted girlfriend, Argus could just only make out her and the bag she was holding, the background had begun to look all fuzzy like.)
… Which led to now. The little octopus was crooning, new suction cups clinging to her stomach. Argus poked at its side, "Hey, I know ya heard me, Motel. Last I saw you, you were with ya Mama. So, where's Mama Tuesday?"
The octopus wiggled, before a tentacle lifted and seemingly pointed down the beach. The dirty blonde woman looked over and blinked.
Tuesday was there, down some yards from the beach and starring at the horizon, her face obscured by her hair. Tuesday herself though, was stock still. Clad in a bathing suit, a purple sheer covering tied around her waist, she stood out remarkably.
What in the Sam Hells is she doin'? When did she get there?, were the two thoughts in Argus' brain, not even asking why Tuesday didn't come up to her. Clearly, it had been when Argus took a small nap, and left the little monster on her stomach so she could sit- well, stand and stare off at the horizon.
Scooping Motel in her arm and placing her hat back on her head, the older woman walked towards her silent partner, coming up next to her, and wrapping the free arm around her waist.
Predictably, Tuesday didn't jump, or startle.
"So, were ya gonna leave Motel with me while ya starred off into the sunset? What're you imagining now? A giant lizard attackin' the boardwalk from down bellow? Maybe some kinda freak accident with the ferris wheel?"
When it came to her lovers intense love of horror and the unexpected, Argus really had to learn to deal with it, or rather, learn how to manage it. Most of the times with Tuesday starring off like this it meant that the Texan housekeeper was simply imagining things, harmless and just some morbid, macabre day dreaming.
Tuesday leaned against her, her bang obscuring her face still but the soft exhale that escaped her, gave Argus a sense that Tuesday was indeed day dreaming.
"I was only thinking about how things unravel, and coming to this little fair made me remember something, a story I heard long ago…" her voice was wistful, her hand coming up to play with Argus' fingers, loosely twining them and rubbing her fingers against the others more calloused finger pads.
The tone wasn't new, but judging by how she focused on the setting sun, it made Argus wonder if for once, Tuesday wasn't ruminating on her horror stories, but on the rare instances that she would think about her past.
Argus knew parts of Tuesday, parts of her from before she became the maid of the old motel. She knew she had a family, a rugged father and a god fearing mother, and had siblings. She knew Tuesday changed her name, and that she wasn't the… most popular person.
Of course, not that Argus was popular either, but Tuesday was practically socially isolated and damn near ostracized because of her strange behavior.
Hence, Tuesday's intrigue and fascination to bond with the children, and others who are interested in horror. She seemed more liberated and herself in the Motel and in the Suitcase, and Argus wonders if its because she's surrounded by similar, unhinged folk.
But still… what exactly was making her so wistful?
"You gonna tell me what story? Or am I gonna have to guess again? 'Cause no offense, 'Day, but I ain't in a guessin' mood," she stated bluntly, to which the younger woman laughed, peering up at her at last, her pale eye dancing with amusement.
"You're not? Very well," Tuesday hummed, reaching out her arms to take the octopus in them, and it clung to her, naturally, "This one is one that my Baby knows a lot, and likes to try and make me relive after telling it. It's less so fictional and more so true, right in a town that I know."
Huh. A story about a town that Motel uses a lot against Tuesday? It was familiar since Motel literally did this to anyone and anybody whenever it felt like 'playing tricks' on other people.
Tuesday continued, "It all starts with a little farmhouse…"
Upon this farmhouse within a small town, there lived a family; a father, mother, and their few children. This was your everyday American family, a religious family with a strict but quiet patriarch, the god fearing, diligent mother and three children.
One of these siblings was the oldest daughter, Christine, whose main duty was to the family and to watch her rambunctious siblings. But oh, Christine was not like others in her small conservative town.
Christine went to church, and did her duties with the other youngins' in town, but her preferred method of teaching stories in the Bible to the children was to use the real scary ones, sometimes exaggerating the punishments given, or freely explaining the events to their little ears.
Christine's father was often told that his oldest girl, why, she needed to be set straight. She was pretty and mighty fine, but that wouldn't help if she was labeled a loonie, a crazy girl on a farm, and then what would she do to get married? No sane man would want her.
Despite her mothers attempts to have Christine earn the errors of her way, or find other methods that weren't graphic and terrifying story time, Christine's father set her to be wed to the finest, hot bachelor in the surrounding towns.
Christine and her betrothed had months of wonderful bliss, even coming to places similar to this very boardwalk, holding hands, smiling. Her family was pleased to see that Christine's bouts of creepy story telling lulled.
Then, they put it out in the papers; the couple was to be wed in August. All were welcome to come and witness the sacred service of marriage, to wish peace upon them.
But on the 30th, two days shy of the target month, tragedy and horror struck the town. A murder, and a farm caught on fire. Two escaped convicts, Patrick Jensen and Fidel Bello, attacked the farm and attendees; four people had died, and one en route to the hospital.
To make matters worse, Christine, the bride to be, was the one left unmarred. She never got to hold that wedding, her fiancé had perished to knife, as to some of her and his family members.
The story goes, is that Christine was distraught by it all, and unable to handle the gruesome scenes, vanished. To this day, the people pity poor Christine, always wondering where she went, what she's doing now…
"… Keeping her in their thoughts an' prayers… it's awfully nice now. But I can't help but wonder; why keep her in their thoughts? She prolly don't want you to think of her that way."
The blonde was quiet for a time, contemplative. Jensen and Bello. They were indeed criminals. But why suddenly attack a farm? Why set it ablaze? That's a big scene for convicts on the run.
And Tuesday… "Ya said ya know that town right? What did you think of Christine?" Argus asked casually, "You pity her too?"
"Pity?" The maid glanced up to Argus, holding her gaze, staunchly immovable, "… No. I think Christine was just herself, surrounded by people who ain't have a lick of understandin'. Besides, we ain't heard from her again. If she wanted to be found, I'd think she'd speak up. She's more than capable of speaking don't you think?"
Argus looked down at her, searching her sweet and calm face. But Argus knew better. She hated that face plenty of times and threatened that face plenty of times, as well as that creature cradled delicately in her arms.
The maid was not an ordinary maid.
Tuesday was far from ordinary.
And Argus always did wonder… what led her to this place? It wasn't family owned. It wasn't family operated. It wasn't even bestowed upon her. She just found it.
How in the world… did she get to the Motel in the first place? Out there, in the middle of nowhere? What was Tuesday doing, that far away from anywhere normal?
"… Yer damn creepy, girl, ya know that?"
"Oh my, I'm awfully sorry. I didn't realize that one scared you."
Argus snorted, burying her nose into dark hair, "It's not scary. Plus, what would Motel use on you? Escaped convicts? A fire?"
"That, and some more," Tuesday hummed, petting the rubbery skin of the octopus, and it crooned in response.
Silence grew between the two, the soft lull of the waves and sounds of the boardwalk filling the air.
She decided to break the silence, "Well, 's gettin' late, and I don't fancy you being my night guide in the dark," Argus' statement provoked a soft gasp, "You don't trust me to lead you, Argus? I didn't realize you were out of candy this bad. Tell me, when did your vision get dark? Durin' my story?"
"It's not gone yet, but it's goin'. So that's why I wanna get movin, 'Day." Even now, looking at Tuesday in the decreasing light, Argus struggled to see the smaller woman.
Tuesday's soft laugh entered her ears, and she felt her nuzzle closer. Argus twitched when she felt a small touch of a tentacle, "I know. Thank you for such a lovely time, Argus, playing with you and our baby has been wonderful. And you even stayed around to listen to my story."
The bounty hunter hummed, "Yeah, it was pretty fun gettin' to do all those carnival games with you an' Motel, and the boss. Let's get going."
"… And, Tuesday?"
"Yes?"
"I may be used to you and stuff, but just so we clear… I ain't no doormat."
A pause.
Tuesday's smile blossomed, her cheeks pinking, gazing at her true lover's unseeing eyes, "Oh, I wouldn't dream of thinking that. Not for a moment."
The moon began to rise in the sky, the boardwalk would continue to make noise until it would close later, just as the words of the past would soon be left behind, told in sand and surf. Left, in memories of blood and smoke.