They spoke of many things that night. Mostly unimportant and trivial, but when discussing literature Myka found the other woman to be as serious and passionate as she herself was. It was refreshing and utterly alien, to speak with someone who understood and didn't act as though books were written in an entirely new language. Madame Wells was a bold woman, unconcerned with the opinion of others, and so too were her own opinions; voiced without a care for consequence. Myka would have happily sat back and listened to them in all their melodic verbosity, but the madame would not allow her to be silent for too long.
"You have paid for conversation yet you do very little in the way of aiding my attempts."
"I like hearing you talk."
As the hours had crept by them and the whisky had continued to disappear and reappear in her glass, Myka's words had flowed more freely, more easily, and the madame had less and less reason to scold her. Still, though she was still a far ways from being an ace-high conversationalist, she found herself speaking of things that she usually would not speak of during the sober light of day.
"I had a home once." She offered with no prompting, long after the hour had turned late.
"Once?" Madame Wells asked, thumb brushing back and forth over the star emblazoned ring on her right hand. "What became of it?" Myka offered a shrug and nothing more for a little while, and no attempt was made to coerce her into speaking further until she was ready. The madame seemed content to wait.
"Might still be standing. Might be nothing but dust and charcoal. Alls I know is I'll never know for sure, because I ain't ever going back there." Myka downed the remainder of her shot and placed it back atop the table. She misjudged the distance, letting go of it too soon, and it clattered nosily against the wood as it tumbled onto its side. She chuckled drunkenly as the madame righted, a small smile curving her painted lips, and leaned back heavily in her chair. The old wood creaked beneath the upholstery.
"Am I to assume then that the relationship with whomever you left behind was a far sight less than spectacular?" The laugh that left Myka was a bark of alcohol fuelled amusement.
"Ain't no relationship to speak of." She hooked her pointer finger over the rim of the glass and tipped it towards herself, rolling it to and fro on its rounded bottom. "Pa's a cattle farmer, a real man's man. He never got no boys from my Ma, just me and my sister. Never forgave any of us for that." She rolled her eyes at an unseen memory and Madame Wells let out a noise of disgust at the implication. "We ain't ever seen eye to eye me and him. Not from the day I was born to the day I left a trail of dust at his door." The momentum of the glass began to slow and she gave the side closest to her thumb a little nudge to get it going again. "When I was twelve he arranged for both our marriages, my sister's and mine. She was to be wed to a banker from the nearest town who Pa had attended church with. He came for dinner one night so that we all might get a good look at Tracy's soon to be husband and he was just like I'd imagined he would be. Obviously well to do, handsome," she let the glass drop and levelled the other woman with with an amused, almost flirtatious gaze, "boring." The Madame laughed, real and bright, and Myka's body hummed at the sound of it.
"And who was to be your intended?" She asked around a full smile, a smile that Myka could not help but return.
"He", she began very slowly, pointedly, "was a pig farmer. And I'd have become a grass window quicker than he could have hucked his slop to his swine." The madame laughed again, throwing her head back and knocking loose a handful of strands of hair. Myka watched them fall with rapt attention, lingering unabashed at the smooth, pale expanse of the madame's neck where it fell to rest. The other woman tutted in annoyance when she realised and reached up to where the rest of her hair was gathered away from her face. With the pulling of a few clips it all came tumbling down like a rolling wave of black ink and Myka was struck by a sudden and overwhelming urge to touch. To feel tresses the colour of midnight slip between her fingers, curl around them. And along with that came the altered visage of the woman; she appeared no less elegant in her beauty, Myka would wager that the affects of it would remain long after they were all gone from the world, but there was a difference now. A striking change that Myka could neither explain nor find a word for. She somehow appeared less like the madame of her own house and more like a woman. Just a woman. Yet so much more.
"Myka, you're staring." She blinked a handful of times at the statement and let out an airy laugh that was bordered by an unthinkably sheepish smile. She would have a lot to curse the liquor for come morning.
"I 'spose I am." She remarked, a slight slur to her words. "Ain't nothing you're not used to though." The madame bowed her head in agreement, eyelashes fluttering in a manner that was terribly exaggerated and Myka laughed again at the playfulness of the woman.
And it suddenly struck her that she had had so very few reasons to laugh or smile over the last few years. The West was littered with danger and misery and even though the sun shone hot enough to turn your whole body slick, there was little shine to break through the gloom.
And then there was this woman. A woman from whom Myka did not even have a first name and yet she felt as though that which she hand received was so much more. Indescribably more.
"I thought you to be different." The madame sighed in a fashion so dramatic that had the teasing of it been any less obvious it would have been sickening. "Interested in me for my mind, rather than what lies beneath my clothes." Myka gaze drooped at that, down the curve of the woman's neck and stopping at the locket that hovered just above her breasts.
"I find you fascinating." The confession came at the tail end of a pause, Myka's attention returning to a face she was finding increasingly more difficult to turn away from. "Don't mean I can't admire the view." She blew out a slow breath, vision spinning just a little. "Especially one so... so..."
"Stunning?" Madame Wells offered, appearing more than happy to help. "Beautiful? Radiant?" Myka's smirk drew a curved line across her features.
"Modest." And again the woman laughed. Myka shifted in her seat and opened her mouth to say more but the motion hit her strangely and she almost slipped to the floor.
"Perhaps it's time I put you to bed." Myka blinked unevenly at the woman at her side; she hadn't seen her move. A hand was offered to her and she grasped it, marvelling simultaneously at the softness and strength she found beneath her palm. With the madame's help she was able to get to her feet, though they were unsteady against the wooden boards. She wasn't of a mind to argue and so she allowed herself to be led out of the room and back along the hallway. The other woman had unabashedly pulled Myka against her side and held her there with an arm wound around her waist, one of Myka's thrown across delicate shoulders.
After a length of time that was indeterminable to Myka, they arrived at another room. This one was unlocked and as the handle was turned the door swung open and Myka was walked over the threshold. Had she had the presence of mind to notice such things, she would have noted that this room was more sparsely furnished. Nothing more than a bed and a small table atop which sat an empty porcelain bowl and jug. The bed was still far more lavish than she was used to though and she sank heavily into it when the madame deposited her there as gently as she could. Then she pulled off Myka's boots and set them beside the bed.
"My gun." Myka mumbled, eyes bleary and half obscured by their lids.
"It will be quite safe in my company until you wake. At which point you are welcome to find me and retrieve it." Satisfied, Myka let her eyes flutter as a thick blanket made from the hide of some great beast was pulled across her body and smoothed out. When she felt the woman begin to draw away she reached without thinking, closing a hand around her arm. The madame stopped abruptly, glancing down at the hand on her and then at Myka. She idly wondered what might have happened to her hand had it belonged to someone else.
"Thank you." She muttered, voice groggy from alcohol and the murky tendrils of sleep that pulled at her. The woman stared at her strangely for a few moments before her gaze seemed to soften, and she smiled.
"It was my pleasure."
When she awoke, head leaden with the weight of all she'd drank the night before, the sun was hanging much higher in the sky than it had been when she'd been to eagerly tugged towards slumber. Her mouth felt thick and dry, like cotton, and it she found it was an effort just to swallow. The blankets that had kept her warm whilst she slept were now stifling and she tossed them from her, using her legs to kick them away. She lay still in the unfamiliar room afterwards, staring lazily at the ceiling as she allowed her body and mind the time it required to fully awaken. She hadn't imbibed so much that her memory had been wiped clean of recent events and as she recalled the myriad conversations she cursed the amber liquid that had allowed them to transpire. She felt foolish, though knew she had no real reason to, and was certain that the madame would no doubt remember the way Myka had carried on about the most unimportant things. The books and literature were an entirely different entity when compared with things she had done as a child.
So it was with a heavy dose of chagrin that Myka rose from the bed, slipped into her boots and tidied the covers, then exited the room. She recalled the journey to the madame's room and retraced her steps until she was once more standing before the door. And she continued to stand, unsure of how to proceed until she was certain someone would surely stumble across her soon and make her out to be even more of a buffoon. She curled her hand into a fist and rapped her knuckles against the door. When no answer came she tried again, finally trying the handle when silenced continued to be the only response.
"You are aware it is a crime to break into another person's home, are you not?" Myka spun around at the voice and her eyes landed on the very vision she had set out in search of. Clothed in a different dress and with her hair perfectly pinned in place once more, she was regarding Myka with a wry smile and the rider felt her heart inexplicably stutter at the sight.
"Forgive me, Madame." Myka said with a bow of her head, a motion that felt strange while she was absent her hat. "I was only-"
"Myka." The woman interrupted, the cadence of her uttering as effective as a stunning slap to the face. "I'm merely playing the fool." A smile flashed across Myka's lips but it disappeared as Madame Wells brushed by her to unlock the door, too focused was she on her breathing to keep up appearances.
The room remained the same as it had been hours before, brighter perhaps, and her gun was exactly where it had been left, her hat sat neatly next to it. The madame moved to the table and took hold of the gun, turning to Myka who had continued to approach from behind. The rider reached out to take it but her hand was ignored, the madame choosing to rather repeat the actions of the night before, though this time in reverse. She slipped the gun back into its holster, hand brushing Myka's hip in the process and causing the taller woman's body to twitch involuntarily. Glancing down, she thought she had caught the madame smiling but she had turned away before Myka could be sure and when she spun back with the hat now in her hands all traces were gone.
"You mustn't forget this." She raised her hands to place the hat atop wild, curly hair and just like that, Myka was transfixed. By dark eyes and pale skin, and a face so lovely it left her feeling weak and shaken. And they were now the closest that they had ever been, the only exception being the drunken walk she had been aided in that morning, and Myka was finding the proximity far more intoxicating than any liquor. "I feel it rather solidifies your rugged appearance." Myka's lips twitched, unable to remain steady long enough for any more than that as the other woman's fingers dropped from the brim of her hat to Myka's face and stayed there.
Myka's breath hitched and held, then evaporated into nothingness as dark eyes swam closer.
The kiss was chaste, brief, a fluttering of lips on lips and yet the impression it left was deep and instantaneous. Soul-shifting and almost innocent. And then it was over and Myka's eyes opened only when the madame spoke once more, her hands fading from Myka's face like a ghost.
"Something to remember me by," she said simply, "should you pass by this way again."
And Myka knew. She could wander through a thousand towns and see the faces of a thousand different people.
But she would not forget.