𝗥𝗢𝗕𝗢𝗧𝗜𝗖

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

THE REST of the month flew by in a swift blur of motion, motley lights and beclouded shapes up and down the pavement. Festivity had overtaken Deadwood, and with it the indomitable spirit of elation. It was intriguing, even admirable, to witness gaiety take over the town and its citizens, and drape it all in vivid tints. It was truthful to say that the fair lit up crackling sparks and vicious flames in everyone — she had never seen a more coordinated, ambitious affair.

She felt quite out of place for the first couple of weeks, until Aaron improved her involvement by giving her all sorts of errands. She, like everybody else in the town, barely spent time at home anymore, too busy arranging for the event. Even those who never showed their faces couldn't help but be present; it was the most optimal time of the year to make acquaintances. It also served as a distraction; an opportunity to busy your mind and tighten the ropes around it.

Ellie and the group would stay up until late hours, commonly huddled together at one of the family houses —never Ellie or Emma's homes, too small—, working on whatever project they'd taken up: fashioning decor, judging Amanda's upcoming performance, distracting themselves with one thing or another. Ellie was mostly a passive participant — she didn't bring or come up with anything, she only listened and nodded along. The others were fine with that.

Work carried on. Some other families could, perhaps, slow down their efforts, but the St. James family could not. It wasn't overly straining, blessedly, at least for her, a mere pawn at her job, whose only duty was to go on patrol and, on occasion, write reports to Blake. Speaking of the devil — she couldn't say the same about her. If it was, indeed, ordinary for Blake to appear dour and gloomy, in the manner of a corpse who had just found its way back into an ill-fated life, it was more severe now, as if this wretched corpse's path had just gotten increasingly thornier. It was thought-provoking. Aaron asserted that she was handling work just fine, yet refused to elaborate on what else could be the cause of this unease. Ellie wasn't close, by any means, to Blake, but one thing she had always done right was observe. It didn't go over her head the way that gaze darkened further—which she had previously never thought possible—, the sounds of her steps, louder, more piercing than ever, a growing lack of sleep—that before had already been ocean-wide—, the unending cups of coffee delivered to her office. There was something else going on — soldiers walking around town, striding to god-knows-where, engaging in secret outings; incessant reunions at the chief's office, door heavily locked. Moreover, a succession of raiding attempts had befallen the town. They never truly managed to get in, but it was a bizarre novelty to experience these disorderly, conspicuous yet non-confrontational incidents. That, at least, explained why Blake was working overtime — but it did not explain why these things were happening in the first place. Ellie had made very few conjectures. The Montier situation had come to mind, but that couldn't be it — it couldn't possibly merit such amount of attention, based on how little the group worried about it.

No matter, the town talked. Even though the raiders hadn't been able to step past the gates, this sudden outburst of violence had people questioning if Blake had indeed grown cack-handed at her job, which—Ellie imagined—brought forth a surge of mirth upon Montier.

Fortunately, Blake held an unwavering, respectful temper. She never once exercised impolite behavior around anyone, as far as Ellie'd seen, and certainly not toward her. Even when she would come into her office late at night, with questions, with defiance, and seen the ghostly white of a face staring back—the fatigued gaze, and under, the deep blue shaping crescents, and the taut wrinkle of the brows—, she had never been struck by impudence. She was glad of it; wouldn't it be heinous to have to withstand the lashings of a vituperative boss?

At eight o'clock in the evening, after returning from patrol and checking out at the station, Ellie headed, as they group had decided, to Aaron's house, to join the others in whatever activities they had planned for the night. Evenings weren't quiet in Deadwood anymore: there was the slight, fresh bustle of excitement wafting by — a backdrop to the sound of hammers and nails and wooden planks.

She reveled in the atmosphere during her promenade, feeling senselessly tranquil as always when she walked these warmly-lit streets. A mellow chill drifted through the air, coming east from benighted mountaintops and canopies of green. Her hands were stuffed deeply in the pockets of her field jacket, safe from the tender breeze that stirred up her bangs. The rest of her hair was fixed in a half-up, half-down bun—in the style of her nineteen year old self—, needing restraint now that it had grown back a good chunk. Had to chop it off again.

The stroll was brief yet pleasing. Aaron's house was located in the very center of town, beside other family homes that were just as sumptuous and imposing, divided by thick, vibrant hedgerows that were commonly taken care of by a gracious batch of gardeners. Aaron's home was constructed from bricks the color of fresh blood, in Deadwood's widespread victorian design. Topped by conical and gable roofs of a dark grey tone, it possessed a palatable contrast with the pearly white windows and columns and eaves that lined the build.

Ellie crossed the perfectly-groomed lawn, down the crackling path of stepping stones, and knocked three times on the door as its bronze fitments shone dully on her. She heard a muffled ruckus from somewhere inside the house, briefly upsurging before the arched doors swung open before her. Emélise was always the one to welcome her in, after—what Ellie conjectured—causing a rumpus in her attempts to scramble to the door before anyone else. Her smile was radiant, canines sharper than most.

   "Hey. You're finally here," she greeted, "you don't know how insufferable it's been being alone with those idiots."

Ellie slanted the corner of her lips slightly as she stepped into the house. "I'm glad I can help."

Latching onto her arm with one last jocular glance, Emélise led her across the foyer toward a grand, arched doorway that opened into the living room, and which revealed the source of chaos. The place was nearly upside down; a confused jumble of misplaced furniture, tools and gubbins strewn about and hot-blooded people bubbling with passion. Amanda's voice was the first thing Ellie made out, distinctly emerging from the bedlam:

"Aaron, what the fuck are you doing?!" She craned her neck sharply to glare at him, who was insouciantly popping green grapes into his mouth. "Give me the damn thread!"

He set the bowl down, raising his shoulders in a guarded manner. "Jeez," he relinquished a wooden thread spool to her, "whatcha getting all rude for?"

"I literally asked you three times, focus and do something!"

"Can't a guy relax?" His reply dripped feigned annoyance as he went back to the fruit bowl, unbothered by her chastisement.

"Guys," Jamie spoke, not glancing up from his work. "Can y'all cut it off? Ellie just arrived."

The bunch snapped out of their minds as if abruptly pricked by needles; some of them—Lana and Jamie himself—flashed her easygoing smiles before hunching back down. Aaron, on the other hand, unceremoniously threw a grape at her. She pursed her lips as it hit her face without grace — though she was not truly peeved. He threw his hands in the air, and exclaimed:

"Finally!" His cerulean gaze twinkled with glee. "Took you long enough. See, you work too hard."

Before she could reply, Amanda caught her attention, waving energetically as if they had not seen each other just yesterday night.

"Hi, Ellie, hi! Look!" She held up a way-too-glittery, one-piece garment, from which stuck out bent needles and pins. One could foresee the finished product and it was nice—albeit a tad cheesy—, this red and blue, patriotic piece she was putting together. Although Amanda's teeth were brighter than the clothes could ever be.

Ellie's response was a slight sideways smile as she bent down to take the fallen grape in her hand.

"Don't want to make Count Dracula's days worse than they seem, you know?" She threw the grape back at Aaron, who suffered a light blow to his eyelid, too engrossed in munching away at the rest of the fruit to even dodge. He emitted a null sound of protest, before chuckling at her words.

   "Wise, actually."

Ellie took a seat beside Lana, whose heavy-looking earrings swayed and tinkled as their bijoux clinked against each other, beaming red. By her side, Jamie busied himself with designing some sort of lettering on a large piece of cardboard. He handed Ellie a chunk, words unneeded for her to begin scissoring at it. Uncomplicated comprehension, bosom routine.

Right as Ellie was going to to inquire about her, Emma emerged from the hallway, quick-paced. She had been in the kitchen; aside from the obvious—the ivory apron, the flour dusting the cheek—, one could guess by the fruity, sickly-sweet scent that trailed behind her and the sticky dough patching her hands.

"Heard Ellie was here," she smiled, shiny eyes landing on her. "Hi!"

"Hey," Ellie lifted her chin. "Whatcha doin'?"

"Practicing my pie recipes! Aaron's kind enough to lend me his kitchen."

"Nah, don't even mention it. All yours," Aaron added, making a quick hand gesture.

"Got a taste buddy yet?" Ellie asked, setting aside a nicely-cut letter.

"Yes, sorry," Emma leaned against the wall, apologetic. "But you guys will all get some, like always!"

Ellie eyed her curiously. Usually her taste buddies were Aaron or Ellie, the two fondest of sweets—or the ones Emma felt most comfortable with—. Aaron always bragged about it when it was his turn. Today, he didn't. Maybe she'd changed things up a bit.

"You better," Ellie ended up replying, looking back at her work.

Emma let out a soft chuckle before skipping back to the kitchen, the sugary fragrance trailing behind her footsteps. Ellie could almost make out Emélise's eye roll out of the corner of her vision. It was strange. Sometimes she could be magnificently pleasant—as Ellie had come to discover during their outings—, quick-witted, gentil enough to make you smile without noticing. Others, she could be just as venomous as a viper for no apparent or justifiable reason.

They worked fast. As soon as someone was done with one task, they would soon follow it up with another, with no lack of chatter or light entertainment. The festival was to be held in two days, on a cozy Sunday. Fortunately, they had been working hard enough for the past few months to not be overcrowded by work on the last week.

An hour or so having passed, Ellie decided to take a small break. As she popped berries into her mouth, the bell rang. Before anyone could even step in the door's direction, Emma emerged from the kitchen like a madman and made a run for it, wiping her flour-dusted hands on her puerile cat apron. "I'm getting it!", she declared, as if they hadn't all noticed. A few intrigued looks later and she came back with a dour-looking Blake, whose saturnine countenance contrasted sharply with Emma's ebullient one. The younger's face had taken a darker, pinker shade, notably upon the cheekbones.

   "Taste buddy!" Emma gestured to Blake, as if presenting a little robot. She did act like one most of the time, after all.

   "You fiend," Aaron shook his head, glaring at the newcomer. "You didn't tell me you were coming. Finally made time for us?" He crossed his arms, turning his head to the side like a petulant child. Blake looked amused — the slightest of curves on the corner of her lip, a minuscule glimmer in the eye. It was a look Ellie hadn't seen before.

   "I think it's better if you just stayed in your little office," Emélise said out of nowhere, walking over and latching onto Ellie's arm, who eyed her, askance. "Crew's full."

   "Charming," Blake just replied, throwing Ellie a furtive look that she couldn't decipher, before turning to Emma, who seemed to jolt awake.

   "Oh, right," the brunette replied. "Come!" After this and a clap, they vanished into the kitchen.

Aaron still looked sort of displeased, his mouth quirked in a small frown. "Can you believe this? She's totally abandoned me."

Amanda rolled her eyes. "Oh, plish."

"Take that out of your mouth, you sound stupid."

She pulled the measuring tape from her lips. "Oh, please, I said. Don't be dramatic. She literally lets you bother her twenty-four seven."

"Yeah, when I catch her in her office or somewhere else. But she never comes hangout anymore. Do you guys remember when we used to do this with her? All the prep for the festival?"

"Emma's forever taste buddy," Lana smirked, hammering some nails into a piece of wood.

   "It makes me sad. No, it makes me... worried. Ever since..." Aaron trailed off, his eyes landing on Ellie. "You know." He looked away. There was silence as the others stared at Ellie, with faces she wasn't interested in unraveling.

   "I don't care." Her reply carried a faint bitterness. It did make her feel like an outsider still, to be constantly treated with this sort of dishonesty and lack of trust.

   As if reading her mind, Amanda spoke up, considerate as ever: "Sorry, Ellie. It's not that we want to hide things from you... It's just not our stuff to tell."

   "Seriously," Ellie made a hand gesture. "I don't care."

"Anyway," Aaron interjected. "Your break is over, lady. Help me with this, can ya?"

She went back to work. Conversation picked up after longer than usual, but it eventually did. The scent wafting from the kitchen was intoxicating, almost dizzying — a sugary medley confectioned with only the ripest of fruits and freshest of crusts. Their stomachs were rendered but chasms after the half hour. But as luck would have it, Emma and Blake reemerged from the heavenly room with pies upon pies upon trays. Like teenagers, they scrambled off the floor and took to the dining table, there in the room next door, and sat to ingest all the sugar one must.

   "Okay, these are the ones I'm going to be presenting at the fair. Taste test approved!" Emma cheered as she placed the pies on the table, Blake helping her with plates and other utensils. "Of course, this isn't the final version. And I won't tell, because it's a secret."

Aaron didn't even wait until she had finished talking to dig in; he moaned loudly, eyes rolling into the back of his skull.

   "Jesus... If this is the prototype, the actual pie will kill us at the fair!" He said. Emma did a little bow and sat down to watch them eat. "Cooks don't eat," as she liked to say.

   Ellie helped herself to a serving of one of the three pies. "What's this one got?"

   "Oh, it's peach, raspberry and basil. My favorite."

Ellie took a bite. Well. She definitely went through some internal hardships to swallow a moan just like Aaron's. The only thing Emma saw were her widened eyes, and that was enough. The others showered her in compliments too, and light chatter rose over the sound of dishes clanking. Emélise didn't touch the food though, and instead stared at the wall with a slanted frown and eyes that seemed to wish for a roll.

Lana entertained Emma with a fervently passionate questioning about the glories of baking, and Aaron chatted everyone else's ears off about god-knows-what, like only he can do. Ellie didn't eat as much as she'd wanted to; she was still getting the hang of her old stomach. After a few moments of silence, she decided to excuse herself and go for fresh air.

It was late. Past midnight, as one could tell by the crispier bite of the air. Ellie licked her lips, savoring the sweetness left behind, faintly. Dina loved pies — it was one of the desserts she enjoyed making the most. And although Emma's were delicious (surely even more so), there was something that itched at the thought of the ones made by Dina's hands. It probably wasn't even about the taste itself, but about what it meant. Home. Warmly-lit evenings at the table, a humble meal and light dessert spread about, the red streak of cherry beside JJ's lip. She could almost sniff the decayed wooden walls and the way their scent melded with the food's.

   "You okay?"

Ellie turned her head slightly. Blake stood a few steps behind, with her weary eyes and the short, slightly spiky black hair branching over the sides of her face.

   "Yeah," Ellie replied, voice a bit hoarse. "Just wanted a breather." She heard some movement, but didn't look back again. A chair creaked and then no other sound was heard — barely the in-and-outs of another person's breathing. After a long stretch of silence, during which Ellie grew increasingly anxious, she asked:

   "Did they send you to get me?"

   "No, needed a breather too. Emélise's death glare was boring holes into my skull."

   "It's not like she likes many people, but she seems to dislike you the most. Why?"

Blake let a few seconds pass in absolute silence, as if weighing her words. Ellie almost thought she wasn't going to answer at all.

"She hates me most because I never bothered to acquiesce to her. Didn't let her actions go unpunished." She ended up replying. "She's ignorant and disdainful, and likes to side with and believe the words of immorality."

Ellie was a bit taken aback by the sternness of it all — although she should just grow accustomed to it. And she should've argued, defended Emélise, but there was no perceptible fallacy in the other's statement. It made her wonder why she was even doing what she was.

"Excuse the harsh words," Blake continued, courteous as ever. "I know you two are engaging in something, and I wish you good. Perhaps you can even set her on a greater path, good girl that you are."

Ellie's fingers twitched, and she shifted on her feet. "Jesus," she found herself breathing out. "Me?"

"You do not agree?"

"I've been called everything but that."

"You are tough-skinned and foul-mouthed, but good, as far as I've seen. And I wouldn't want to see otherwise."

Ellie chuckled. She had sounded authoritative for a moment there. "Sure, boss." A silent beat. "But, me and her aren't... We aren't engaging in anything."

The other didn't reply, and although Ellie wasn't looking at her she could almost make out her intrigue. She didn't know why she had said that. It had been some sort of impulse to fight back at the allegations, that weren't truly allegations after all.

"Actually, we are. I just lied," Ellie pinched the bridge of her nose, thinking many things. "But I'm not sure I'm okay with it."

"You're not okay with what you're willingly doing?" Blake's tone made her feel silly. Maybe she was.

"I know, it's fucking stupid. I'm kind of a mess."

"I would say complicated."

"I guess."

Dot dot dot. More silence, and the wind blowing through the trees. Ellie's mind was considering various options. She had thought about stopping things with Emé since the very beginning. It wasn't like she was truly enjoying anything they were doing, but she just felt compelled to show life that she could move on. It wasn't working. It just made her feel more disgusting, every time Emélise left her house after an agitated night.

Crickets chirped about, perched under the blinking array of stars. Nighttime brought about a sort of darkness that had always felt soothing to her. She looked back finally, and glimpsed Blake sitting on one of the porch's chairs, legs spread slightly wide. Atop of them, her hands, folded. Ellie took a seat on the chair at the other end of the porch.

   "You know, Aaron misses you, if it wasn't obvious." She kept attempting a conversation. God knows why.

Blake was gazing away, at the long stretch of road and town beyond. The moonlight slid upon her profile just so, jutting out the sharpest edges.

   "I know," she replied.

   "Everyone says you're best friends or some shit. Why do you pull away?" Ellie intruded. She kind of regretted it, even though there was no reaction on the other's part. "It's none of my fucking business. You don't have to answer that."

   "It's complicated," answered Blake, to her surprise. "And perhaps pathetic." There was no further comment about it after, and Ellie didn't push.

When any word was heard again, after another long—although not exactly awkward—silence, it was on Blake's end:

   "You're doing a good job."

When Ellie's eyes drifted to her, she found her staring back. It looked kind of uncanny — there with the high shadows covering her eyes.

   "Thanks." Her response was stiffer than planned. She hadn't expected the random compliment; this woman just kept on surprising her. "I try to do something, considering the times."

   "Ah, the times."

   "What?"

   "Everyone in town avoids the topic, too comfortably settled on cowardice. As if somehow I won't find out if they don't tell."

Ellie remained silent, feeling close to a sudden open door which could be blown shut by the slightest trace of wind.

   "The three wise monkeys."

   "What?" Ellie's lips curved upward slightly. What a goofy sentence.

   "Hear no evil."

   Ellie finally remembered. "Ah. See no evil?"

   "Speak no evil."

   Ellie paused for a beat. "Hey, I'll speak it. You're in deep shit."

A faint sound—soft and low, almost imperceptible—escaped Blake's lips. Her shoulders shook once, then stilled, as if the moment had never occurred. The night froze.

"Did you just... chuckle?" Ellie ventured, more pleased with herself than she ought to have been.

Blake stood up, rising to her grand height. "I'm not a robot, Ms. Williams."

With nothing else to add, she returned inside, leaving Ellie with an awe she herself couldn't comprehend. Huh, a robot. She had been thinking about that earlier.

▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃▃

DEADWOOD

next up, the festival. woohoo