After Deacon and Dea finished their little conversation at the piano, they climbed the stairs in the back of the room. It was quiet up here compared to the commotion below, which was now muffled underneath the floor. The hallway they walked through was dimly illuminated by a few lanterns. She observed the hanging black-and-white photographs and peeling wallpaper around them in distaste. She was glad they wouldn't be staying here for long.
"I have a question," She dragged out slowly, eying the doors they passed. "Aren't rooms in saloons like these usually used for… prostitutes ..?"
"They can be." He replied. He stopped at one door and slid the key into the lock. A revelation hit her and she pointed at him with a small gasp.
"...So that's why you're a recurring customer here!"
He ignored her comment and opened the door to their room. She let her mind wander as they stepped through the doorway. There were two full-sized beds and a pair of nightstands with lamps on them. A door led to a small bathroom, there was a reasonably-sized closet, and a desk placed in front of a lone window. She imagined succumbing to boredom if she had to spend more than 5 minutes in here.
She shuddered as she approached the mattresses. "I hate to think how much sex these things have seen..."
"More than either of us can count," He mumbled, briefly searching through the drawers. He almost laughed at the ironic placement of a bible.
"I would rather sleep back on the ship."
"You'll just have to deal with it, then.'"
She opened her mouth to complain, but held her tongue when he reached into his coat and grabbed a dossier. He handed it to her patiently. She opened the file with curious eyes. It contained all the information about their current target. He brushed past her to head to the door.
"Read that while I go and fetch our things. You'll need to know what's in there."
She nodded, allowing him to leave the room.
By the time Deacon came back, Dea had finished reading all the papers. She threw the folder onto the desk and went to sit on the edge of the bed before she stopped herself. She moved to the chair instead and crossed her arms. She picked up her head to look at him.
"That man's disgusting," He could hear her quietly grinding her teeth. "Just why had he been targeting the Armada, anyway?"
"From what I learned, his past lover enlisted and that made him furious. He had a history of stalking her, and claims that we took her 'away' from him when we provided her protection. He likely found shelter in Santo Pollo after escaping his arrest."
"Dios mío… "
"I should warn you - most fugitives I capture are the scum of the Spiral. I don't exactly work clean."
"I'll be more than happy to give this bastard what's coming to him." She peeked over to the large bag he carried into the room. "What's in that?"
He pulled out a few pieces of clothing. "-Our disguises."
"So we really are going undercover..."
"Indeed. I had to contact Queen to make sure your size was right. We'll try them on in the morning."
She tilted her head, attempting to remember when she ever caught him talking with anybody . "When did you have the time to do all of this..?"
"I've planned our entire journey before we ever left Valencia." He set it aside and handed her a smaller bag that contained her things. "We'll head to Santo Pollo tomorrow."
He moved to set his things on the nightstand and hung their disguises in the closet. He placed a couple of books down on the desk while Dea eyed her bed warily. She peeled off the top layer before reluctantly laying down. It was a little comfortable, but that was definitely because the mattress had been worn in.
She shivered.
Deacon began writing on a few papers with one of his books propped open. She watched him scribble away until the room darkened. By then, he flicked on a nearby lamp and resumed what he'd been doing. She shuffled a little in the background, starting to get restless.
He eventually set down his pencil and stood from the chair, taking a brief glance outside. "I should get us something to eat before it gets too late."
She didn't stop him when he moved to the door. Her stomach felt like it was going to eat itself. They didn't have their usual meal today on account of their… detour this morning. She was getting a little sick of the MREs back on the ship, so she was craving to eat *actual* food again.
He dismissed himself, promising a prompt return, and she waited patiently in the meantime. After some time passed, boredom got the best of Dea and she climbed back down into the main floor of the saloon.
She wanted to have a good night out for a change, and ordered a heavier drink this time around. The unfortunate part of working for the Armada meant that she was always busy, and had no idle hours for partying. Not that she was the reckless type - but she sort of missed the social scene, after being kept from it. Being forced to share a room with the same man for several weeks was starting to make her seek company from others.
'This will have to do ,' She thought to herself.
She was halfway through her glass when a man sat next to her. Judging by his outfit, he worked as a miner in one of the local sites. His hair was long and he sported yellow leather gauntlets with overalls. His skin was dirty and his beard looked like it hadn't been washed in ages.
"Good evenin'." He greeted.
She drummed her fingers on the glass. She wasn't feeling anything yet, which was disappointing, but also a relief right now. "Hi."
"Say…I saw ya' here earlier with a fella'. Wouldn't happen ta' be yer' beau, would he?"
"No," She answered, observing the shelves of liquor in front of them.
"Well then, might I say yer' awfully pretty! I mean…I'm guessin' you are, under that thing yer' wearin' on your face." He looked at her sideways. "What's with the mask?"
"I'm from Valencia," She said, like it was the most obvious thing in the world. The man stared at her before scratching the inside of his ear.
"Is that the fancy place with all them unicorns?"
Dea rolled her eyes. The good part about hiding her face meant she didn't have to smile. "-Thaaaat's the one."
He watched her chug the rest of the liquid before his very eyes. The moment she set it down, he perked up in his seat. "Might I buy the pretty lady another one?"
"No thanks," She declined. She knew where this scene went - a stranger would offer her drink after drink in hopes of getting her wasted, then he would have his way with her later that night. She wasn't stupid enough to fall for that.
"Gosh! I just wanna' be polite. You can pick anythin' ya' want. And I won't impose after that, I promise."
She mused the idea for several minutes. Right when he was about to leave, she held up a finger to the bartender. "Get me a long island iced tea."
The alcohol must have hit her in the midst of their conversation, because she was laughing after every sentence he spoke. He wasn't necessarily a funny guy, nor were the tales of his childhood entertaining in any way, but her mind felt bubbly and she couldn't focus on anything except the strange-sounding words coming out of his mouth.
"-So my pa comes out an' starts hollerin' at my brother and I to get out of them bushes! We were panickin', ya' see, cause we thought he knew 'bout the branding iron..! But he was jus' mad that we didn't eat my ma's pie. Boy, were we relieved..! You wouldn't believe the type of whoopin' we used ta' get back then…"
An unbecoming snort came out of her nose. She felt...warm. Not entirely comfortable, but she could listen to this all night if she could. She slid the empty glass forward and waved a hand when the bartender offered to refill it for her. Judging by his look, it was clear her inebriation was becoming obvious.
She brought her gaze up in time to spot Deacon coming through the two swinging doors out front. He was carrying a bag that undoubtedly held their dinner. He was about to walk straight past her until their eyes met, and then he paused in his steps. He observed her slumped posture before darting his attention over to the gentleman she'd just met.
For some reason, she felt like she'd been caught doing something obscene, and froze in her movements. But then the man said more of those funny words and she broke down laughing again.
"How much has she had to drink?" Deacon asked the stranger, who puffed out his cheeks as he got a good look at her. Dea had her head rested on the counter, completely turned away from the two of them. She looked like she'd pass out at any minute.
"She was holdin' it together 'til now. I wouldn't keep her out too long, if I were you."
He took the hint and tugged on her sleeve, urging his co-captain from her seat. "It's time to leave."
Dea protested, shrugging his hand off with a huff. "What!? No! This man here, Rick– Um…Wait. What was your name, again?"
He smiled patiently. "Brody."
"¡Gracias, mi querido hombre! Brody was just telling me about the time he-"
To her utter astonishment, Deacon lifted her off from the stool with no hassle. She wobbled a bit in his grip at first. He had to shuffle to balance her over his shoulder while carrying the food in his other hand. Her drunken mind could barely comprehend what happened, except for the fact that she was looking at the floor now.
He dipped his head politely. "Grazie."
Brody waved it off as he watched the masked figure carry his lookalike up the stairs. When they disappeared from view, the emissary fumbled while he carried her. He was thankful their room wasn't far, and practically threw Dea on the bed once they were inside, just to be relieved from the weight on his arm.
She landed safely on her back, but didn't move. She spent an awfully long time staring at the ceiling. He set down the bag and carefully removed their food, arranging the plastic cutlery with their servings.
Deacon watched as her eyelids fought to stay open. He started with an amused tone, "Far be it from me for criticizing a lady getting wasted on her job, but–"
"-I'm not!" She defended, turning to look at him. "Just…a little tipsy. Is that so bad? Wanting to wind down a little bit?"
"Might I suggest not blindly trusting pitmans at the bar? Not every stranger you meet out here is a good-intended oaf like him."
She placed a hand on her chest, acting offended at his words. "How dare you say that about my new friend, Bret!?"
He didn't want to bother at this point, though the situation was a little funny. He hadn't witnessed her intoxicated like this, but made a mental note not to leave her alone at a bar again. He handed Dea her boxed food, which made her sit up. She took it eagerly from his hands and threw it open, only to blink in intimidation at what she saw.
"This…is a lot of beef."
"Good luck finding anything else here." Deacon scoffed as he reached for his plastic fork.
She shrugged before digging her utensil in to retrieve a bite, only for the food to gracelessly clash against her mask. She groaned in frustration. She had no second thought as she unbuttoned the sides of her zendale. Her company's eyes flew over to her direction as she clutched the edge of her mask and began to lift. Before it could leave her face, he jumped from his chair and shot out his hand to grip her wrist tightly.
"Dea." He warned.
She jumped as his gloved hand latched onto hers. She looked at him in a mix of offense and confusion. But then she realized where her hand was and turned rigid. She was about to take off her mask! Right in FRONT of him! Her heart beat rapidly at the realization, and the sober part of Dea inwardly scolded her for her thoughtlessness.
He removed his grip and stood to his feet, noting the heavy air in the room. "'I'll…go eat in the bathroom."
She scrunched up her nose. The unappetizing thought was tenfold to her right now. "No, that's gross. Let me just-"
He gave her no chance to stop him, disappearing through the other door in the room. There was an audible sound of the lock latching afterwards. Dea sat there staring at the wood before glancing down at the food still sitting in her lap. Its smell was growing enticing as the seconds ticked by. Her growling stomach wasn't making things any easier. In a moment of defeat, she threw off her mask and hungrily ate the food. She was thankful Deacon hadn't been in the same room when she did this.
She wanted to wait for her partner before heading to bed. But the dizzy feeling encompassing her head made the room suddenly turn fuzzy. Her head fell to the pillow in a slow movement, and she was passed out in only a minute.
Deacon tightly gripped the plastic fork. He didn't unclench it at all during his time in the bathroom.
It was a grimy place that likely didn't see much cleaning. Knowing what these rooms were for, he could understand that. The lodgings back in Valencia were grand and impeccably clean. But in his line of work, he'd stayed at much more unsavory motels before. Places he would never willingly take Dea to. For this reason, his appetite was practically nonexistent as he stood there. He wasn't sure where to place down his food, so he held it instead.
He was as still as a statue, staring at the tilted floor in complete silence.
He was glad he looked up when he did to catch her removing her zendale. He hadn't stopped her then, despite how much he should've. He reasoned with himself that she was feeling hot, probably from the drinks, and needed to get some air. Unfortunately, he'd been distracted by the sight she unknowingly exposed to him. He only caught her trying to take off her mask at the last second. He'd never moved so quickly in his life.
Dea had messy black hair that fell to her shoulders. Her ears were also pierced - he recalled seeing a small pair of blue earrings on them. But he refused to indulge any further when he realized what she was doing. He couldn't live with himself if he *had* seen her face - revealed in a drunken stupor…
It was a little ironic, he thought. He'd been prying into her personal life since they started working together, wishing to know her identity just to get a peek at her credentials. And here had been the golden opportunity to know what she looked like. He would have undoubtedly memorized her face and shortly scoured the Armada's files to find everything he needed.
But things were different now. He knew how much Dea valued her privacy; the countless requests for him to look away or step into another room when it was needed...He could respect the mysterious requirement for a mask - he donned one himself, after all. And he would loathe himself if his moment of vulnerability came from having one too many drinks in a night. He couldn't let Dea make that mistake. Not when he was of sound mind and she wasn't.
He leaned against the wall, trying to rid these images from his mind, for her sake. After spending what felt like an eternity in that restroom, he realized he couldn't. He unlocked the door and gripped the handle. For a second, he felt unsure. Considering what just happened, walking in on her mask-less was the last thing he wanted. He pressed the side of his head against the door to listen for any sounds. All was quiet. Hesitantly, he opened it just a sliver and called out to the room.
"Dea?"
Upon getting no response, he opened the door further until he could see her figure sprawled out awkwardly on the bed. She had fallen asleep with her mask on.