Title: A Dame Like That
Author: Chocolatequeen
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Who has been spreading rumors about me?? Of course I don't own them!!
Rating: PG
Genre: AU/parody
Summary: Alias meets 1940s film noir. The story is told completely from Vaughn's POV.
Dedication: I want to dedicate this one to my favorite cyber family, my cousin Nadja whose "husband" I keep stealing, my other cousins C, Amanda, Tina, and Julia (Jewls is a cousin right?), our grumpy neighbor CA, and especially Auntie Lijo who gave me the idea in the first place.
Act 1
I remember that day like it was yesterday. She walked into my office with her soulful brown eyes, and nothing's been the same since.
It was a dreary day, dank and rainy. I was busy working on a case when a shadow fell across my desk. I looked up, and there she was—by far the best looking dame I'd ever laid eyes on. She had the lithe figure of a gymnast and light brown hair falling to her shoulders. But what held my attention was her eyes—eyes that looked like they had seen too much, too fast. What could give a dame like this eyes like that? A soft "drip, drip" pulled me out of my trance, and I realized she was standing in a puddle of rainwater, waiting for me to say something. "Hang your jacket on the hook and have a seat, Toots," I told her gruffly. She complied silently and we resumed our staring contest.
Finally I had to look away. Her eyes… I felt like she was looking right through me. Clearing my throat, I asked, "So what brings a classy dish like yourself to this part of town?"
"I have a situation that needs your skills," she replied, her voice a strange mix of silk and steel. I merely raised my eyebrow—the left one—in a gesture for her to go on, and she did. "I'm being followed by someone, someone who wants something that I have."
"What do you have that someone else would want?" I asked. She'd piqued my curiosity. I prided myself on being able to judge people, and she didn't seem like the type of broad who would be getting herself into a pickle like this, the kind of situation I find myself in everyday, situations where people are slimy and the places are seedy… Oh well, no skin off my nose—I'm paid to do the job.
"That's not important," she responded tersely. "All you need to know is that it's vital that this person does not get what they are after. Can you do that?" she asked me bluntly.
The lack of faith in her words and tone burned my britches. I was tempted to tell her then and there just where she could take her mystery item, but something about her held me in check. It could have been her sweet smile, or the way her hair fell across her face, I can't say. All I know is that I surprised even myself when I agreed. "Sure thing doll face. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll get right on it."
"I need you to have surveillance done on two people. Myself, to see if you can catch the person who's following me, and my one suspect…" She opened up her purse and withdrew a picture. "This man—my father." How she managed to say that without so much as a tremor in her voice or a flicker across her face I still don't know. At that moment, my admiration of her raised ten points.
"Okay doll, I'll have my partner Eric follow your father and I'll follow you. Just let us know when and where and we'll be there."
She rose from her chair and I followed suit. "I'll be in touch," she said. As she was walking out the door, it hit me that I didn't know her name—I had been too entranced to ask before. I ran after her, but it was too late. She had disappeared into the mist.
After she left I lit a cigarette—I always think better with a cigarette in hand. This dame was a jumble of contradictions; by looking at her you take her for a soft, sweet, feminine little thing. But just one word out of that mouth and you know she's not. She's the kind of broad who would drop you like a hot potato if you didn't do her bidding. I took a long drag and blew the smoke out, contemplating what to do next. It didn't take long, as I couldn't do anything until she let me know what was up.
Grinding out my light, I yelled to my partner. "Weiss, a dame was just in here with a job for us. Get in here for a minute and I'll tell you about it." Opening the bottom drawer of my desk, I pulled out my bottle of scotch and poured two shots. He walked in and picked one up, drinking it in one swallow before sitting down. Leaning back in the chair, he swung his feet up on my desk and waited with that look of expectation. After downing my own scotch, I began.
"Ok, here's the deal. The dame thinks someone is following her. Apparently they're after something she has, she wouldn't tell me what. Our job is to find out what it is. She thinks it might be this man," I tossed the picture of her father down in front of him. "Find out everything you can about him."
"Righto. What's his name?" Weiss asked languidly, still not moving from his relaxed position.
"You tell me and we'll both know," I answered.
"You don't know his name? What about the dame?"
"I don't know that either," I admitted. "But it doesn't matter, because she's coming back to us when she's ready for this thing to go down." Weiss just looked at me incredulously, and I shrugged my shoulders. "You'll understand when you meet her—she's a dame like no other. She's calling the shots in this little shindig, and we just have to wait for her."
Shaking his head, Weiss stood and headed for the doorway, picture in hand. Stopping for a moment, he glanced at me over his shoulder. "Hey Vaughn, next time this dame shows up, try not to lose your marbles so you don't forget to talk turkey," he said cheekily and walked out into the rain.
I tried to come up with a good retort, but it was pointless—he'd already left the building. Even if he'd still been there, I would have had to admit that he was right. I took a case from a client without even mentioning our fee. What kind of spell had this broad weaved over me? Pouring another glass of scotch, I resolved to put her out of my mind for the rest of the day.
It worked too. By the end of the evening, "Sweet thing" as I'd named her, was only a blurry memory. I'd gotten my other pending cases cleared off my desk and it was time for the weekend. I grabbed my coat and headed out into the deluge, not knowing that this weekend would be different from any other. I should have remembered that a sweet dame like that could mean only one thing: trouble.
Author: Chocolatequeen
Email: g_chocolatequeen@hotmail.com
Disclaimer: Who has been spreading rumors about me?? Of course I don't own them!!
Rating: PG
Genre: AU/parody
Summary: Alias meets 1940s film noir. The story is told completely from Vaughn's POV.
Dedication: I want to dedicate this one to my favorite cyber family, my cousin Nadja whose "husband" I keep stealing, my other cousins C, Amanda, Tina, and Julia (Jewls is a cousin right?), our grumpy neighbor CA, and especially Auntie Lijo who gave me the idea in the first place.
Act 1
I remember that day like it was yesterday. She walked into my office with her soulful brown eyes, and nothing's been the same since.
It was a dreary day, dank and rainy. I was busy working on a case when a shadow fell across my desk. I looked up, and there she was—by far the best looking dame I'd ever laid eyes on. She had the lithe figure of a gymnast and light brown hair falling to her shoulders. But what held my attention was her eyes—eyes that looked like they had seen too much, too fast. What could give a dame like this eyes like that? A soft "drip, drip" pulled me out of my trance, and I realized she was standing in a puddle of rainwater, waiting for me to say something. "Hang your jacket on the hook and have a seat, Toots," I told her gruffly. She complied silently and we resumed our staring contest.
Finally I had to look away. Her eyes… I felt like she was looking right through me. Clearing my throat, I asked, "So what brings a classy dish like yourself to this part of town?"
"I have a situation that needs your skills," she replied, her voice a strange mix of silk and steel. I merely raised my eyebrow—the left one—in a gesture for her to go on, and she did. "I'm being followed by someone, someone who wants something that I have."
"What do you have that someone else would want?" I asked. She'd piqued my curiosity. I prided myself on being able to judge people, and she didn't seem like the type of broad who would be getting herself into a pickle like this, the kind of situation I find myself in everyday, situations where people are slimy and the places are seedy… Oh well, no skin off my nose—I'm paid to do the job.
"That's not important," she responded tersely. "All you need to know is that it's vital that this person does not get what they are after. Can you do that?" she asked me bluntly.
The lack of faith in her words and tone burned my britches. I was tempted to tell her then and there just where she could take her mystery item, but something about her held me in check. It could have been her sweet smile, or the way her hair fell across her face, I can't say. All I know is that I surprised even myself when I agreed. "Sure thing doll face. Just tell me what needs to be done, and I'll get right on it."
"I need you to have surveillance done on two people. Myself, to see if you can catch the person who's following me, and my one suspect…" She opened up her purse and withdrew a picture. "This man—my father." How she managed to say that without so much as a tremor in her voice or a flicker across her face I still don't know. At that moment, my admiration of her raised ten points.
"Okay doll, I'll have my partner Eric follow your father and I'll follow you. Just let us know when and where and we'll be there."
She rose from her chair and I followed suit. "I'll be in touch," she said. As she was walking out the door, it hit me that I didn't know her name—I had been too entranced to ask before. I ran after her, but it was too late. She had disappeared into the mist.
After she left I lit a cigarette—I always think better with a cigarette in hand. This dame was a jumble of contradictions; by looking at her you take her for a soft, sweet, feminine little thing. But just one word out of that mouth and you know she's not. She's the kind of broad who would drop you like a hot potato if you didn't do her bidding. I took a long drag and blew the smoke out, contemplating what to do next. It didn't take long, as I couldn't do anything until she let me know what was up.
Grinding out my light, I yelled to my partner. "Weiss, a dame was just in here with a job for us. Get in here for a minute and I'll tell you about it." Opening the bottom drawer of my desk, I pulled out my bottle of scotch and poured two shots. He walked in and picked one up, drinking it in one swallow before sitting down. Leaning back in the chair, he swung his feet up on my desk and waited with that look of expectation. After downing my own scotch, I began.
"Ok, here's the deal. The dame thinks someone is following her. Apparently they're after something she has, she wouldn't tell me what. Our job is to find out what it is. She thinks it might be this man," I tossed the picture of her father down in front of him. "Find out everything you can about him."
"Righto. What's his name?" Weiss asked languidly, still not moving from his relaxed position.
"You tell me and we'll both know," I answered.
"You don't know his name? What about the dame?"
"I don't know that either," I admitted. "But it doesn't matter, because she's coming back to us when she's ready for this thing to go down." Weiss just looked at me incredulously, and I shrugged my shoulders. "You'll understand when you meet her—she's a dame like no other. She's calling the shots in this little shindig, and we just have to wait for her."
Shaking his head, Weiss stood and headed for the doorway, picture in hand. Stopping for a moment, he glanced at me over his shoulder. "Hey Vaughn, next time this dame shows up, try not to lose your marbles so you don't forget to talk turkey," he said cheekily and walked out into the rain.
I tried to come up with a good retort, but it was pointless—he'd already left the building. Even if he'd still been there, I would have had to admit that he was right. I took a case from a client without even mentioning our fee. What kind of spell had this broad weaved over me? Pouring another glass of scotch, I resolved to put her out of my mind for the rest of the day.
It worked too. By the end of the evening, "Sweet thing" as I'd named her, was only a blurry memory. I'd gotten my other pending cases cleared off my desk and it was time for the weekend. I grabbed my coat and headed out into the deluge, not knowing that this weekend would be different from any other. I should have remembered that a sweet dame like that could mean only one thing: trouble.