Desafinado: Slightly Out of Tune
"I'm not asking you to forgive me. I'll never understand or forgive myself. And if a bullet gets me, so help me, I'll laugh at myself for being an idiot. There's one thing I do know... Because we're alike. Bad lots, both of us. Selfish and shrewd. But able to look things in the eyes as we call them by their right names." -Rhett Butler (Clark Gable) in Gone With the Wind, 1939
Session Four: It's a Sin to Tell a Lie
Faye sighed as she weaved in and out of the Ganymede Art Gala hall, she had her gun tightly grasped between both her clammy hands, and cocked it before turning another corner. Her holster was bouncing incessantly against her thigh. The black dress she had slipped on felt so annoyingly tight at the moment, too. Overall, she was irate, uncomfortable, and the fact that her bounty was playing a game of chicken with her did not help in the slightest.
The bounty, from her initial deduction thus far, seemed to have a neurotic streak in her from the way she addressed Faye with high hostility at their first interaction, even when the bounty huntress lead no indication of what she was there for. After trying to strike up friendly conversation with the bounty, she was met with cold indifference, and after finally coercing the woman she saw an internal struggle within her baby-blue eyes on whether to stay or run off, meaning the woman was just as impulsive as she was hostile.
The fact that she was leading Faye on an impromptu game of cat-and-mouse alluded to the fact that she was less than emotionally stable. Judging from this impulsivity, Faye theorized, she would try to take the other path and head the opposite of the hallway.
Predictably, she heard slight shuffling echoing off one of the junctions from the hall opposite her direction and her feet led her towards that path. "C'mon O' Hara, quit playing hide-and-seek and come out and play!" She called out towards the hallway.
Another rustle and then a loud click, like metal clanging against metal, reverberated throughout that general direction and Faye broke out in a sprint with her gown flapping wildly behind her and her stilettos pounding on the granite floor.
"Got you now bitch," she muttered under her breath.
"Her name is Scarlet O' Hara. Age thirty-two, eyes: blue, hair: brown, height: five-foot-seven, and ethnicity: white; go figure," Jet read aloud from his computer screen.
Faye was hovering over him for the last five minutes while Spike lay on that same yellow couch in that same position just like every other day, pretending to doze off but probably carefully hanging on to each and every word the black dog was saying.
She glared at the computer screen and staring back was the picture of a beautiful woman, the type of woman you see from one of those vintage movie posters and weathered-down stamp boxes - all perfect pin curls, small red pouts, and white teeth with big crystal colored eyes that just looked so tragically sad, so tragically alluring, that they pulled you in and never let go.
"What is this, a nineteen-thirties box-office hit?" Faye laughed with her hands on her hips.
"What?" Jet raised a thick eyebrow in confusion.
She sighed. "You know, Scarlet O' Hara, Southern belle plantation heiress played by Vivien Leigh - literally one of the most phenomenal actresses in Hollywood history?"
"Err, what?"
"You know, Gone with the Wind, the nineteen-thirties box-office hit?"
"No, I still don't get it."
Faye pouted and proceeded to muster her best Golden-Era-Hollywood-Lead-man accent," Frankly my dear, I don't give a damn. Ring a bell?"
"Nope," Jet shrugged and turned to Spike. "How bout you, Spike-o, does it sound familiar to you?"
"Nope, no bells have been wrung," was the lanky man's laconic reply.
"Ugh, whatever, you guys are hopeless. Don't you know a thing about pop culture?" She sighed before ungracefully throwing herself on the armchair across Spike and picking up her abandoned notebook that was perched on the coffee table.
"Not enough to give a damn."
"Oh, ha, ha funny -" she rolled her eyes and flicked through the pages "- What's this broad's case anyway?"
"Well, Scarlett O' Hara's wanted for several cases of grand theft and arson, murdered a curator, and as of recently, stole an art piece worth billions of woolongs. The Ganymede Museum of Historical Art put a bounty on her head for a whopping seventy million woolongs and a bonus of one hundred million if we were to get that piece back," Jet continued.
Spike whistled and Faye set her notebook down. "That's a total of one hundred and seventy million, holy crap. What's the art piece anyways, enough to make it worth billions of woolongs? Hell, if we ever find this broad, why not pawn it off the black market ourselves?"
"That's because I'm not too keen on playing the illegal card today, Faye," Jet said pointedly.
"Anyways, the piece is some small painting, some old earth relic -" he leaned into the computer screen and squinted at it "- and it has some weirdly painted red head guy."
"...Wait, don't tell me..." Her eyes widened as realization dawned on her. "It's not called 'Portrait de l'artiste sans barbe' now is it?"
"What if it is?" Jet mocked.
"Since when did you know French, planning on becoming a Parisienne hooker?" Spike chimed in drolly.
She ignored the men's comments. "What the hell? That woman is in possession of one of the most iconic pieces in world history! That's Vincent Van Gogh! Even during my time, that painting was hundreds of years old and it was worth over a hundred million, how in the world has it been preserved for so long?"
"Vincent-Van-Who, now?"
"Van Gogh, a Dutch painter during the Post-Impressionism movement. He had a tragic life story, a genius who wasn't recognized at his time and only sold like one portrait when he was alive. After his death, his paintings became some of the most coveted pieces of art in all history, most of, if not all, his paintings were worth millions and I'm not talking about the single digit range either. They're priceless."
"Well, aren't you just a walking history book. Got pop culture and art down to a form, huh?"
"Shut up. All I'm saying is that this piece is priceless, worth more than all our lives put together, and I'm not just saying this cause' I appreciate the finer things in life. I mean, literally, that painting is worth more than..."
"It's an inanimate object that's too old to even exist, I can't see why it'd be more valuable than human life. I mean, maybe it's worth more than your life but..."
"Shut up, Lunkhead."
"Just stating the facts," Spike said with a shrug.
"Fact of the matter is, it's worth a hell of a lot of money and the person in possession of it is worth a pretty penny too. I tracked down the IP address she's been setting all her main emails up in and if I'm correct, she'll be initiating another heist in Ganymede's annual art gala, so -"
"So, you want us to play dress up?" Faye interjected already knowing what the man was going to say.
"Yep, you'll be playin' the part. Spike, I want you to go after the painting, I know you're good with tracking hide-outs and you, Faye, will be going after Miss O'Hara," Jet finished with a grin.
"Let me guess, are Spike and I to be infiltration and you're gonna be Intel back-up?"
"You know the drill by now."
"Fine."
"Now, I say you two get your lazy asses up and prepare to head off to Ganymede within the hour. Got it?" Jet said as he stood up, his voice taking on its authoritative timbre once more.
As Faye sprinted down the corridor, she could here the loud clicking of O'Hara's own heels attempting to flee from her. She had her gun pointing away from her now and turned the next corner, prepared to fire a warning shot. But before she could even manage to turn, a fist cocked in front of her and sent her toppling to the ground.
"What the fuck?" Faye half-mumbled, half-shouted in annoyance as she began to rub her aching jaw profusely. She glared up to see the perpetuator herself.
Scarlett O' Hara, for all things worth, was an exceptionally beautiful woman and much to Faye's disdain, her bounty picture on file did not do her justice. Up close, she was really something, she sort of reminded her of a certain blonde she had hitched a ride with only a few months back, the same blonde who captured the heart of syndicate men alike; the modern-day "Helen of Troy" more like it, enough for men to wage wars for her, just to see her gorgeous countenance; just to be around her. It was her eyes, those tragically alluring eyes, that pulled her in and for a moment, Faye felt as if all time had stopped and she had been ensnared in the woman's Hollywood starlet eyes.
"You didn't think it was gonna be that easy, did you?" O' Hara smirked as she pulled out a butterfly knife from seemingly nowhere.
"You know, for a second there, yeah, I kinda did," Faye retorted as she wiped a drop of blood that had trickled down her lip from meeting the other woman's knuckles head on. Faye readied herself for a good old-fashioned ass kicking.
"Silly cowgirl... Couldn't even anticipate my next move."
"That's because you're so damn impulsive, I didn't know whether you were gonna turn the next corner or fling yourself out the nearest window, you crazy broad."
"That's just all part of the game, sweetheart," she replied as she flashed Faye her million-dollar-smile.
"Can we just fight, O' Hara?"
"Scarlett, call me Scarlett. If we're going to fight, I want you to address me by the name my mama gave me," the woman demanded before she lunged forward slicing in the air aiming to stab at Faye. To this, Faye ducked and weave, dodging every slice aimed at her body, trying so hard to be like water.
"Enough with the theatrics, Scarlett O-Hair-Ugh," she enunciated the last words mockingly before bouncing on the balls of her feet and pushing herself up to give herself enough momentum to land a roundhouse kick on the side of the woman's head. Scarlett collapsed to the floor, but used this to her advantage by slicing the back of Faye's left calf.
"Fuck!" The bounty huntress grunted as she reflexively clutched at the wound. With her other leg, she kicked Scarlett square in the face and the woman had tumbled five feet over.
Feebly now, Scarlett stood up and spat out some blood and one pearly-white tooth," You know, my mama told me a story once, that the Lord came down to earth, and blessed her with a dream while I was still in her tummy. He told her, you will name your baby girl Scarlett, it's so pretty isn't it? We were one of the last families left behind in the ruins after everyone migrated to the other planets, you could only imagine how bad life was down there. Mama always said I was a blessing. And then she gave me my name."
"Or a name you created yourself out of a box-office hit that has been withered away by the proverbial sands of time," Faye retorted. "I mean really, Scarlett O' Hara? At least be original."
"Shut up, you don't know a damn thing you're talking about," Scarlett flinched... And that was it. It was too late now, Faye had already found the root of all problems.
"Oh, I don't hmm? I think I know enough to understand that this whole persona you've contrived is your own way of rationalizing those fears of yours," Faye smirked as she dodged another punch and instead drew closer to the woman, the bounty in turn backed away unconsciously and a slight twitch in her jaw captured Faye's attention.
"That impulsivity, that hostility you showed me? Great way of displaying your little neurotic streak there, Scarlett. It just goes to show that there's a vulnerable, little girl tucked deep within, underneath the underneath. You're weak and Scarlett O' Hara comes to the rescue to help you cope with that weakness, doesn't she?"
"Shut your Goddamn mouth."
"That rationalization, hmm, perhaps it's more than that, isn't it Scarlett?" Faye tapped her chin lightly in mock contemplation. "Let me guess, you loved the movie Gone With the Wind, huh? Probably so much that you were so fixated on that one female lead, the protagonist, the one that all the men begged for; the lady who was untouchable. And being the little country bumpkin you were, the thought of being born with a silver spoon, the thought of being the southern belle plantation heiress was so appealing, you just couldn't help yourself couldn't you?"
"Shut your Goddamn mouth, you bitch!" All fighting seemed to have halted altogether and the woman was now pointing an accusatory finger at her.
"And then, you got hurt, someone in that little inner circle of yours, someone blood related no doubt -who knows what the hell goes down there in the countryside- had went and done it. You were so little weren't you?"
The woman's eyes began to tear," No, shut up!"
"They touched you didn't they?"
"N-No, stop it!" She was trembling now and she lunged forward to throw a punch only to be stopped by Faye's swift hand. The bounty huntress squeezed down mercilessly on the other woman's hand and the sound of her knuckles popping resonated throughout the corridor.
"Denial and rationalization are a bitch, it's got you all fucked up in the head now. It festers and eats up at your conscious, tormenting you each and every day twisting your personality into something completely, utterly wrong, something so demented that you're not sure who the hell you even are anymore. Now, Scarlett O' Hara, you see, your neuroticism levels are on the other side of the spectrum, Miss O'Hara, they're unstable. So unstable are these levels that you manipulated your own name, fixated on the pretty, pretty plantation heiress and that fixation turned to petty theft because you wanted those pretty, pretty things, didn't you?"
"Y-You don't know a thing, you don't know a damn thing!" Scarlett was in hysterics now, with fat tears rolling down her once alluring eyes causing the layers of mascara and eyeshadow to trickle down with it. She was shaking so violently that the butterfly knife she had been grasping had now lay on the floor.
"Uncle or Daddy or whoever the hell it was touched you and made you feel funny and made you feel all scared and, mama...she just watched and acted as if nothing happened. And at some point, she even blamed you too, blamed you because the guy up and left. Blamed you for the reason why he touched you, didn't she? They stripped you of your most precious gift, he took away your innocence. And then you did what you thought was right, you went out and said, why don't I just take, take, take? Because they took it all away from you, didn't they?"
"No, no, stop it! Please stop, please stop talking!"
"But, petty theft wasn't enough, was it Scarlett? Or whatever the hell your name is. You had to up the ante, now you're a high-roller, a bonafide cat burglar some would say - scheming on priceless antiques, getting your filthy hands on things that aren't supposed to be touched. It's a game now isn't it? Let's see how much sacred, untouchable items I can get my hands on in order to compensate for the sacred thing that was taken away from me, that sacred thing that should not have been touched. You can't get your innocence back, Scarlett, from all those pretty, pretty things you take."
"Sh-Shut your f-fucking mouth, y-you fucking bitch!"
"At first I thought it was just that, petty theft. Now I see it, I see it all. Your loss of self-worth, that precious self-actualization that tells you, yes, you're still human, it was taken away from you once you were forsaken by someone so close to you. And now, now you're trying to compensate for a lack of it by taking things that are seemingly priceless, things that are more worthy, more valuable than anything. Because what they took from you was more valuable than anything, wasn't it?" Faye's voice softened.
"Shut up, shut up, shut up!"
"It was so precious, now it's gone. Does it hurt, Scarlett? Does it hurt to know that all these pretty little things can never make up for what you've lost?"
She crumpled to the floor now and Faye took this as an advantage to swoop in and grab the butterfly knife in one fluid motion. In a matter of seconds, the butterfly knife was pressed to the Scarlett's lithe, porcelain throat and bunches of her hair were wound tightly in Faye's other hand as she twisted the woman into a headlock.
"It's gone forever now, sweetheart," Faye taunted in her ear as she cuffed the woman's wrists together.
"Scarlett" broke out into hysterical tears, she was rocking back and forth now, sniveling all the while. The bounty huntress could only frown as she watched the woman cry out in pure, unadulterated pain. The internal conflict had finally consumed what was left of her, the walls cracked with the long withstanding repression fighting with her denial, until it swept over her entirety in a scorching flame burning all logic thought, burning all reason. When the fires would blow out, there would be nothing left, but the internalized hate that had been forming underneath the underneath for years now. It was such a sad sight.
"It's not fair! It's not fair," she cried. "It wasn't supposed to happen, it wasn't supposed to happen, it didn't happen, it didn't, I swear!" She curled up, almost like a ball, and began to clasp her hands around her temples and a loud, ear-piercing scream came wrenching out of the woman's throat. "It didn't happen, it didn't happen! No, no, no, it didn't...I swear, mama, I swear..." She cried out once more. "Mama please, I didn't mean it, I didn't! It wasn't supposed to happen!"
"You're under arrest," Faye whispered somberly, bringing the woman to her feet." I'm sorry was what she wanted to say. She was so, so sorry. Sorry that the world was as cruel to this poor girl as it was to Faye. She was so sorry.
As if in the nick of time, a towering figure came striding down the hallway, shoulders slumped in that lackadaisical way, with his hands buried deep inside his pant pockets. His steps echoed off the empty hallway approaching slowly, ever slowly. When Spike finally made his grand appearance, he whistled at the sight of the two woman, one looking completely solemn and almost sad, while the other was... just a complete mess altogether.
"So, what'd I miss?" He queried casually.
A/N - It's a Sin to Tell a Lie By. The Ink Spots, 1936