wild west au from cecily :o
gun tw, death tw, violence tw
@masqucradings, guest-starring @vixenandviper
Cecily Gwynne rode into town on a dusty evening. She had nothing with her except her horse - or, her momma’s horse. Her own horse was killed back in the gulch. And her mom...well her momma never made it out of the gulch either.
She wasn’t even close to thirty, but Cecily Gwynne felt so tired. Exhausted, even. She thought she’d be living this life forever - living for the thrill and excitement, the look in one man’s eyes right before she put a bullet in his brain. The soggy wilt of another’s manhood as she strangled him to death. Sometimes she just shot men in the back of their heads, without them even realizing it was their time. Sometimes she just killed men for the feel of hot wet blood on her face.
No sex with a man had ever felt as good as that.
Her momma was the brains behind their operation - sweet and matronly, easily gaining people’s trust with her harmless demeanor. Cecily was the brawn, deceptive as that seemed. If she wasn’t using her body, she used Miss Smith & Mrs Wesson. Either way, they got the jobs done.
Until the gulch. The showdown. Her narrow escape. Leaving her dear sweet momma’s body there, in the dust and mud tracks.
She couldn’t think about it now.
Now, she tied her horse and slouched into the saloon, a nasty glare to anyone who dared look her way. She was glad to be dressed in her leathers and man’s kit, dirty and scruffy like a wayward boy rather than a small woman. She pulled up a stool at the bar, and the bartender - a tidy, dark-skinned man with a neatly trimmed moustache - came over.
“What’ll it be, son,” he asked first, then ducked his head to look under her wide-brimmed hat.“Uh. Miss?”
“Whiskey. The bottle if you can spare it. I’m good for it,” she grunted, slapping down two lumps of silver.
The bartender picked up the pieces first, inspecting them as if he had an eye for it. They weren’t in silver country, so it was amusing to watch him act like he knew what he was doing. He seemed satisfied (as he should be, it was real silver...well real enough for cheap watered down whiskey, anyway) and pocketed it, then brought out a bottle.
“Looking for a place to stay, or just passing through?” he asked, since she was the only one at the bar. The saloon was surprisingly quiet, for the evening. She heard distant music, but not here.
“Passing through,” Cecily said first, then shot back a glass of hooch.“No - looking to stay. Just a night or two.”
“The Nightshade’s got room. Granted, it is a brothel.”
“You trying to be funny?” Cecily glared at him, unamused now.“I don’t like jokes.”
“No ma’am. I just owe the mistress a favour, and she likes shiny things. Like silver,” the bartender replied quickly, cleaning glass after glass with a fastidious precision.“Plus as a lady, you’ll be safer there. I can put in a good word, if you like.”
“My hero,” Cecily said dryly, downing her third. Nothing helped. She remembered the cry of her mother, the last words that escaped her mother’s mouth:‘Leave this life.Go be happy’.
What did make Cecily happy? She thought it was the life she had with her mother, robbing and killing those who deserved it. But without her mother, it hardly seemed worth it any longer. She drank from the bottle this time.
“Y’know, you look familiar,” the bartender started up again. And Cecily, never one to pass up a good brag, smirked at him. The saloon only had a handful of old men and nervous boys. If they tried anything, she’d get them first, she had no doubt.
“Yeah, well you might’ve heard of me. The Gwynne Sisters?” she decided to say. She lived for his reaction - he almost dropped one of his overly clean glasses, and Cecily beamed.“So you’ve heard of us.”
“Indeed I have, ma’am,” the bartender said, wiping faster. He looked behind her.“But where’s your sister?”
“Hrm. Wanna know a secret?” Cecily crooked a finger, getting him to lean in closer. He smelled like woodsy sarsaparilla, and Cecily was tempted to lick his jaw. Instead, she just whispered, “She ain’t my sister. She’s my momma.”
“Well I’ll be,” the bartender whispered too, then leaned back, looking fearful and impressed.“We don’t want no trouble in Amaranthe, Miss Gwynne.”
Was that the name of the town? She’d been through so many, all the saloons and names blended. “And I ain’t here to start any.”
Relaxing slightly, the bartender nodded.“Mighty glad to hear it, ma’am. I gotta get going now, but Kiri’ll come take over the bar soon, and he’ll look after you.”
“Yeah. Sure,” Cecily said dully. She was glad to see him leave, but also wished he’d stay and keep talking. He was a welcome distraction. After another gulp and ten minutes of unhappy, dark silence (’Leave this life. Go be happy’), she decided she wouldn’t wait for any Kiri. She took her bottle and strode out of the saloon. Across the street, she spotted the source of the music, and where she surmised most of the townsfolk were. The brothel. The Nightshade.
It looked inviting and lively in the twilight. Maybe she’d hire a pretty whor* herself, some real distraction for the night. A nice soft woman with comforting, pillowy breasts that she could pass out on in a drunken stupor. Then she’d wake up next morning, and try to figure out what the hell she wanted to do with the rest her life.
‘Leave this life.’
She just stepped onto the porch of the brothel, when she was greeted by a woman as petite as her, but rouged and dressed in a magnificent satin dress.
“Howdy,” Cecily said with a tip of her hat. “You must be the madame.”
“That I am,” the woman replied, then tilted her head, addressing someone else. “This really her, Avi?”
“Yep. This is indeed, Cecily Gwynne of the Gwynne Sisters. Or rather, The Gwynne mama and daughter - but that’s our little secret,” The bartender appeared from behind the madame. He’d been hidden in the shadows, wearing a dark coat over his crisp white shirt, blending in the dimming light. Hackles raised, Cecily’s hand immediately went to her holster.
“And who do I have the f*cking pleasure of speaking to, exactly?” she demanded.
“Pinkerton, Miss Gwynne,” the bartender - Avi - replied. “Well, an agent thereof, but you get the idea.”
‘Go be happy’
The madame produced a rife from her voluminous dress and pointed it at Cecily, as the bartender kept speaking. “Now you can come with me alive, Miss Gwynne, or we could take you in dead. Either way, we get--”
Cecily moved with her trademark swiftness. She managed to get a single shot fired, before she felt buckshot slam her square in the chest.
“Avi!” She heard the madame gasp, but Cecily was already falling to her knees, a small smile on her face. She must have shot the Pinkerton. Her momma would be proud. She shot a f*cking Pinkerton.
“I’m coming momma. Wait for me...” she whispered, as she crashed against the hardwood. Her eyes blurred with tears before everything turned black.
