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Crawlin' the Walls (CaptainPeriwinkle and Madam Mim)

Madam Mim

Madam Mim

One Big Modern Mess
Joined
May 30, 2013
Well I'd leave you on a cross to die, and hang ribbons around your neck! Oh I know I told you that I forgave you, I lied and you lost the bet. Oh baby, fuck you for never being true; The Horse you rode in on and your girl too. I'll be ok, but never the same, and by this time next year, I won't remember your name.

Smoke made the air hazy as Nora crooned into the microphone. It was a song she had written for an ex-boyfriend nearly a year ago, but the club's owner insisted on it at least once a week. She smoothed her dress as the band finished the bridge and she went into the final verse. It was a short number that showed off her breasts because that's what the customers came in for, mostly; come in for the girls, stay for the booze and the music.

Nora looked out over the crowd. New Orleans police had told her they would assign someone to her, but that wasn't who she was looking for. She didn't care about some dumb gumshoe on guard duty, though it was a little comforting. It was the Axeman. He was here, he had to be. He wouldn't have left her those notes or that flower if he wasn't. And Sam, the bartender, hadn't seen who had left it.

Towards the end of the song she spotted a man staring at her. More than men in this place usually did, anyway. Was that him? She bit her lip, trying not to smear her lipstick too much as the song wound to a close. She glanced sideways at the bassist, who had convinced her to go to the police in the first place, and nodded ever so slightly.

"Well boys, that's me." Her voice was low and smooth like honey. A groan came from the crowd and she smiled and chuckled. "I know I know, but I'm just takin' a break. Y'all sit tight with Miss Rita here til I come back." She motioned stage right, where Rita was walking up the steps. The club owner only hired beautiful girls to sing on his stage; it kept newcomers and regulars alike hopeful that it would one day turn into one of those burlesque shows you heard about these days.

"Anything?" Nora slid up onto a stool where she leaned against the counter, hooking her heels over the bar at the bottom of the stool.

Sam shook his head. "Nothin'. That shifty fella over there, though." He nodded as he set her martini on the bar.

"Yeah, I know." She took it with gratitude, sipping gradually. A bit of a buzz took her nerves off of edge, but not enough to continue keeping an eye out for that cop. Given where she worked, she wouldn't be surprised if there was a raid on this place with all the liquor going around.
 
To say that he could blend in an almost any situation was completely true. Even sitting in the semi-rundown, dimly lit, smoke filled bar in a three piece suit, no one was the wiser. Sitting back in his chair, enjoying the show, and simply just scoping out the situation. A glass of the bar's finest scotch sat on the table, ice cubes just beginning to melt, the water taking a little edge off of the amber drink. A smoldering cigarette sat between the man's fingers on his right hand, as he scribbled something unimportant in a black, leather bound notebook. The woman he happened to be tracking was on stage, and she sounded good. It was rather unfortunate that he didn't particularly care for smooth jazz, otherwise he likely would have enjoyed the show that much more.

When her song was done, he stood up and clapped just like the rest of them, but he was also the first to sit down and kill his drink. The crowd loved her, it was easy to see how she could have potentially landed herself in this situation. The town of New Orleans was filled with unsavory characters, scumbags, and drunks. It was a beautiful town sure, but if you didn't play things close to your chest, it was very easy to end up as an obsession for someone you'd like to avoid. As it seemed, that's exactly what happened to Ms. Nora.

When the next girl got onto the stage, he made his move. Standing up and making his way over to the counter with his empty glass. "Give me another." He said, lighting up another cigarette, this one just haphazardly dangling between his pale lips as he looked on. It was simple, he didn't care about the liquor or anything going on around him. That's not why he was here. He was here to get some information, and maybe as a secondary objective, enjoy himself a little bit. Everyone had always told him that he was stuck up, and wound tight. Normally, he shrugged off those sorts of comments, but for whatever reason, he decided to take them into account tonight.

"Beautiful song, Ms. Nora."

He started out, putting his hand on her bare shoulder.

"My name is Detective Robert Walker. I was assigned to your case. Do you mind if we go and get some fresh air?"

His voice was smooth, though a little raspy due to the years of heavy smoking and drinking. Lifting up his freshly filled glass, he tossed his head back and drained it, before his rough hands moved to her bare arm, almost in a manner to shuttle her in the right direction. There was really only one direction to go, and it was towards the front door. Either way, he would likely be considered a little unorthodox. Behind him, the song had just finished.

"Rita! I'm going to need to you stay behind a little late tonight! I need to talk to you!"

Sam cried out, just as the door closed. The next singer was on the stage in a few moments, and the muffled sounds of the loud piano, saxaphones, bassists, and the rest of the instruments could be heard fairly clearly outside.

Once outside, Robert offered Nora a cigarette before flicking the ash off the end of his. Looking back to her, he smiled. It was night. The city was dark, and the dim lights from the surrounding area flickered beautifully against the water. Putting his cigarette case away, he offered her a light before he started.

"So, go ahead. Start from the beginning."

He said, flicking his cigarette once more, and pulling his notebook out of his pocket.
 
"Don't look now," Sam muttered. Nora pursed her crimson lips and took another sip of her drink. She looked at the man out of the corner of her eye when he sat down at the bar near her.

"Thanks," she returned shortly, moving her shoulder out of his grip. If this was the same sicko who had left her flowers the other night, she didn't fancy being anywhere near either of his hands. She relaxed a little when he introduced himself, but still didn't trust him entirely. Particularly when he put his arm on her hand again. "You're gonna show me a badge before I go anywhere, buddy."

She only went willingly with him once she had looked over his badge thoroughly. Once they were out, she leaned against the brick. It was nice and cool in the warm, humid night. She heard Sam shout to Rita that he'd need her to stay late, do an extra set, but she didn't plan on being out here long.

"What, you don't have my statement in your records or whatever?" Nora took the cigarette and took a long draw and let the smoke out slowly. She took another sip of her martini, which she had brought out with her, and put one foot flat against the wall. "It's like I told your boss. I've been getting these notes signed the Axeman. He uh...he likes my singing, or that's what he says. Sam says he never sees who leaves them. It only got really creepy last Friday night. He left me a rose. Just ah, just one red rose. And that's the night they found Doris..." She took another drink and a drag on the cigarette. She had known Doris. And the things she had been told had been done to her...

"Anyway, that's when I went to the cops." Nora shrugged, not having anything else to say. "Can I go back in and do my second set? I get paid per set, and no offense but I don't like cops."
 
The man in front of her took down the statement exactly as she spoke it, perhaps cutting out a few unimportant words for the sake of speed. The lit cigarette between his lips gaining a large column of ash at the end. It had been awhile since he had flicked it. He had understood her demands about the badge, especially in this trying time for her, but the simple act of demanding is what put Robert on edge just a touch. It was a good habit to have though, so Robert didn't say anything about it. Instead, he just made a mental note and then moved on.

"We do have your statement, but we need a follow up."

The man said when she was all finished going through. Sometimes, with these sorts of cases in particular, confirmation of the story drew out lies and liars. Often timese these girls wanted to feel bigger than their britches. They wanted everyone else to know that they had a stalker, and a police presence was always a nice touch. Every time there was a man with a badge in the establishment, there would always be whispers and rumors floating about. No one could really confirm anything about a stalker and these were preventative measures as to not waste any of the police's precious time. Not saying that Nora was lying, merely just checking and making sure.

Glancing down at the notebook, he would have to cross reference it with the statement she had given earlier in the week. He had seen her singing and she was good. Good enough to warrant one of the more notorious serial murderers in the city? Robert was unsure about that. He would pay to see her again, but it was clear that he wouldn't pay an arm and a leg. It was just an assumption, but from what Robert knew about the Axeman, he never just picked someone in a small town bar. Perhaps it was someone mimicking the Axeman, or perhaps it was just a sick joke by her friends. No one was really sure at this point.

"I'm sure the drunken idiots in there can wait."

Robert motioned to the door, as the sounds of hooting and hollering from the drunken patrons exited the door as the wind blew it just ajar.

"If there is anything else that you need, feel free to call me."

With that, he handed her his personal card before tipping his hat and trudging away. By all means, it could be a ploy, but he wasn't about to call her a liar.
 
Nora took the card and looked at it. She read his name off the card--which matched the one on the badge--and stuck it in her bra. She looked up just in time to see him walking away. She started to go after him with stilting steps in her high heels.

"Wait! You're not gonna stay?" She caught up to him and fell in step. "The cops, they said they'd send someone to keep an eye on me. Y'know, like a body-guard I guess? Or uh, just protection, I dunno." She shifted her weight and tugged at a stray strand of hair falling over her shoulder. "At least stay for the second set? The note said he'd be back..."
 
When he heard the loud clicking from her heels on the pier, he stopped and allowedh er to catch up. Turning, he looked and noticed they were only a building or so from the club. As he listened, he smiled. He understood that she was scared. She had every right to be. If he was in her situation, he'd probably be scared too. He knew the person who had left the note would be back, that was almost a given, but the officers who were on the case (himself included) knew that she was in little to no mortal harm. There was certainly some danger there, sure, but she wasn't going to die. Still, if a madman was that obsessed with her, there was likely the risk of abduction.

The glow of a freshly lit cigarette bathed his face just a little, as he puffed the cancerous smoke. Rubbing his eyes just a touch, he looked at his watch. His shift was up in a few more hours, and if she wanted someone to help her feel safe, it was his job. Breathing in through his nose, he let out a bit of a laugh.

"Alright, I'll stay tonight, but I can't make a habit out of it. When are you off? I can even make sure you get home safe."

Robert said truthfully. It wasn't like he was trying to slight her or anything, but it was just fact. He had places to be and things to do. She wasn't the only one out here with problems. He was going to make her feel safe, just his presence, and it was unlikely that the Axeman would come back. That was, unless he got distracted or something. She, and everyone at the bar would be perfectly safe. Flicking the cigarette into the waters, he followed her inside and took a seat at the table he had been sitting at.

With the raise of a finger, Robert ordered a neat scotch, and settled in.

(Sorry, lame post)
 
"I'm off at two," Nora said after a few moments. She was, truthfully, surprised he was going to stay. She flicked the long tube of ash off of the end of her cigarette before taking another drag. She led the way back to the club, still carrying the empty martini glass.

"So you're not gonna arrest us all?" she asked, raising an eyebrow as the cop ordered a drink. She still had to wait for Rita to finish her set. "Y'know, with the prohibition on and everything?" New Orleans was a port city; it wasn't like booze wasn't coming in and out from France, the Caribbean, South America...Nora had even dated a few bootleggers. And futile though it might seem, the cops usually did all they could to stop it.

Rita had caught Nora's eye and finished her last song of the set. Rolling the cherry in an ash tray, she clicked her way over to the stage and up the stairs. Just an hour more and she could go home. Curling her fingers around the microphone stand, she looked out over the audience. They were boozy and sleepy, but they wouldn't go home until they were told. Nora could sing "Twinkle Twinkle, Little Star" and get a standing ovation this late at night. But she wouldn't; she always put in her best.

"This one goes out to all you big, bad, handsome men out in the audience tonight." Her voice was low and throaty and the "dedication" pulled a few whistles and cheers from the audience as the piano and trumpet started up.

At the end of the last set, Nora stepped down off of the stage and walked over to Detective Walker. She rifled through her purse to make sure she had everything before looking up at him.

"Walk me home?" She wasn't uncertain; she simply wanted to make sure that was still the plan. Nora wasn't a woman easily flustered by a man, even if she did think he was a little attractive.
 
When she had asked her question, Robert just smiled and all but ignored it. Finally, he turned to her. "Why don't you just worry about singin' well, and I'll worry about the prohibition." It was true, most cops did frown upon it, but Robert would be lying if he would have said he was he picture perfect cop. As a matter of fact, he was nearly the complete opposite. While he did most things by the book, he tended to show more emotion than most cops, let some of the minor stuff slide, and enjoy the occasional drink here and there. A good glass of scotch was something that should be coveted, not shunned.

The man's bloodshot eyes watched the singer on stage. She had most of the men eating out of her hand. Hell, if he wasn't on duty and he had a few more drinks in him, he'd have him eating out of wherever she wanted him to eat out of as well. While he may not have particularly cared for the music, she was still a great singer. Rubbing his face for just a moment, he stood and disappeared outside for just a moment.

Inside, he had heard the music queue stop. The live piano player must have been done with his set, which meant Nora was likely done with hers. Making his way back inside, he set the glass on the counter before sitting back in his seat, getting back just in time to look up and see Nora approaching him. She asked him her question, and he smiled.

"Sure, why not. I got off about fifteen minutes ago." He said, thought it was a lie. He wasn't off for another few hours, but again, it was about making casual conversation and making her feel safe. There was nothing more distressing than a helpless woman in New Orleans. He could see why she was being stalked, and why she was the target of this deranged man. Offering a hooked arm for her to take, he began walking her out. Pausing and giving her some time to say goodbye to the others who were working in the bar at the time. From Robert's count, there were just the two: the bartender and Rita. He was unsure what the deal was with the musicians, but as it was in most places, most of them were freelance. The musicians did have the most access to the singers, which meant that they were the prime suspects. .
 
Nora bade goodbye to her coworkers, musicians included. Detective Walker's intuition was right; most of th musicians were freelance, though there were a few who stayed loyal to certain places or certain singers. She went way back with the bassist, and they had caused quite the stir a few years back. It was what they called the "Roarin' Twenties," but a black man and a white woman seen so much as holding hands still caused a stir, even in fast and loose cities like the Big Easy. It was for this and several other reasons they had parted the closest of friends and to this day played in joints around the city wherever they could get work.

On their way down the street, arm-in-arm with Detective Walker, Nora lit another cigarette before shaking out the match and tossing it away. She offered her cigarette case to her companion. Unlike traditional tobacco cigarettes, Nora preferred cloves; they tasted and smelled better than "white" cigarettes. Most of her family and friends outside the club circuit called them N--ger sticks, but she didn't pay them any mind.

"So, Detective Walker," she said at length once all the cigarettes were lit and matches thrown away, "Any ideas who this mysterious Axeman might be?" Nora listened patiently as they walked and he talked. She studied his face. Okay, so maybe he was a bit more than "a little" attractive. Not enough to keep her up at night maybe, but definitely worth another look.

It wasn't long before they came to her apartment building. It was a shabby, old, two-story brick number a little ways outside the French quarter. At one point it had probably been a shop or something, but now housed eight apartments; four on the ground floor and four on the second. Nora led the way around the back to the fire escape. She usually came and went this way because the walls inside were thin and she'd gotten complaints from neighbors about her heels "stomping up and down the stairs at all hours of the night."

"Well, this is me," she said at length, looking up the fire escape then back down to Detective Walker. She stepped half a step closer and smoothed down his tie. "So uh...wanna come up for a quick drink before heading home?" she offered, putting on her stage voice; the low, throaty, honey-smooth voice that had the audience eating out of her hand all night. She looked up through her eyelashes at the detective and gave him a smouldering look that would have made the most stalwart knight weak in the knees.
 
The question left her lips and flowed freely into his ear. Of course he was expecting it, there was always a similar question for situations like these, and everytime the Detective was supposed to issue the same answer. The answer was the same for a few reasons. Not only did it help protect the detective, but it also gave them time to distance the victim from the situation. Often times, the perpetrator was someone that the victim knew and knew well. Any spoiled leads could lead the one being investigated to being aware of their own investigation. As a detective he needed every suspect to be as candid as possible. The other reason was that it was a vague enough answer to show the victim they weren't messing around.

"There are a few leads, but I don't think we are ready to disclose them at this time."

The words came out faster than he expected. The way he had said them almost screamed that they had been rehearsed over and over again. This wouldn't be the first case like this, nor would it be the last. He had accepted the cigarette offer from her, but after one drag, Robert realized that clove cigarettes weren't for him. Instead of saying anything or contorting his face, Robert kept it cool. Holding the cigarette by his side, every once in awhile bringing it up to his face to take a drag without inhaling, before putting it back. Soon enough, the cigarette smoldered and he flicked it towards the side of the street.

There was no one out tonight. Robert supposed that the word of the Axeman or someone imitating the Axeman had gotten out and spooked the normally active nightlife of the fair city. Either way, Robert didn't mind, it was just something that he had noticed. The loud noise of the heels making contact with the cement covered up any subtle noises that could be heard around them, but Robert had one hand in his pocket, close to his revolver. The other hand, tangled around Nora's fair arm.

The man smiled when she smoothed his tie out. He figured few men found themselves in this position, and here he was on the first day of meeting her. He was unsure if she was just desperate for company, if she was truly that attracted to him, or if she was just one of those types of women. Either way, he looked down at her with the same dumb smile strewn across his face. The same look that she had used to captivate the drunk men in the bar, was being used on him and solely on him. In the back of his head, his better half and his responsible side screamed no. Screamed for him to get out of there, live to fight another day, and assign someone else to the case. If this happened, he would be emotionally invested, and it likely would ruin his work on other cases and the sense of indifference towards the victim that he should have.

On the other hand. . .

"A simple drink never hurt anyone, eh?"

Fuck.
 
Nora grinned. "No...it never did, did it?"

The answer he had given was bullshit and they both knew it. Perhaps a drink or two would loosen his tongue, and even if it didn't that didn't mean they couldn't have a bit of fun. After all, she was lonely, he seemed lonely. They'd make a good match for a little while, perhaps. Nora led the way up the fire escape, swaying her hips as she climbed. Satin clung to her body tightly, leaving only a little to the imagination as to what might be underneath.

The apartment window she led Detective Walker up to was climbed through with very little decorum. Inside was dark until she lit a lamp, revealing a small but tidy kitchen, and through the kitchen door could be seen a small but comfortable living room full of second-hand furniture and slightly threadbare carpet. Straightening up once she was through the window, Nora straightened her dress and stood in the kitchen.

"Well, it's not much but it's home," she said with a sheepish smile. "Bathroom's through there to the right if you need it." She pointed to a hallway off of the kitchen. "I'll be right back. Make yourself at home, Detective Walker." With a charming smile she disappeared down the hallway into the only other room in the small apartment; the bedroom.

A few moments later Nora returned, though not quite as she had intended. She was barefoot, but still in her stockings. Her hair had been let down and her dress was gone, but she still wandered into the kitchen in her lingerie, stockings held up by garters but thin panties visible beneath the garter belt. It was certainly no absent-mindedness, but Nora wouldn't tell if he didn't.

"I'm sorry, I invited you up for a drink, didn't I?" she said with a charming smile, moving over to the liquor cabinet. "How do you take it?" She began to reach for the vodka.
 
The sad part of it was, she knew she had him. As soon as she grinned and reaffirmed his statement, she knew she had her hooks in him. The saddest part of it all was that Robert knew it as well, but there was seemingly nothing he could have done. Taking off his jacket when she disappeared, he laid his hat ontop of in over the back of the couch. Wearing just the vest from his suit, the dress shirt underneath, and the slacks, his jaw dropped when she came out in that lingerie.

As much as he did his best to stare, he knew it was futile. She was showing just enough of her body, where there was little left to the imagination. Why she came out wearing that was beyond Robert, but whether or not it was intentional, it was definitely working. Did she really expect Robert not to say anything or bat an eyebrow? Did she really expect Robert not to lay a hand on her after this showing? Either way, Robert stood up and made his way towards her. His hair slicked back from being stuck under the hat. It held with a mixture of sweat and hair gel from the morning. His loud footsteps were short and sweet, the tall man striding towards her.

When her back was turned to him, as she was reaching for the vodka and the glasses, he smiled, pressing his chest against her back. Two could play it this game. Whatever sick game she wanted to play, Robert was all but ready and willing to play it. If she wanted to be a tease, it would be met with subtle advances. He wasn't expecting much out of it, but that was the best part. Anything more than a drink at this point was just the icing on the cake, the cherry on top, the ring around the rosie.

"Allow me to help you, I don't want you straining yourself."

The words exited his mouth, flowing like molasses as his warm breath crashed against her bare shoulder. Reaching up, he easily grabbed two glasses with one hand, while the other firmly planted against her bare side for "support." Leaning down to put the glasses on the table, Robert allowed his lips to graze those bare shoulders of hers.

"Gee, won't you be cold wearing so little? I figured you would know better."

Robert said in a teasing manner this time. What was the harm in a few little games?
 
Nora smiled quietly to herself as she heard him walking over. She busied herself "looking" for the liquor and glasses, then standing on tip-toes to reach them. One foot popped out behind her as she reached up, her form nothing but inviting.

"Take your shoes off, why don't you? Stay a while," she suggested as he walked. "Plus my neighbors won't complain again if you do." That had been the wrong thing to say, possibly. Then again, her bedroom was on an outside corner; not much to cause complaints, really.

Nora closed her eyes as the soft linen of his shirt pressed against her back. Biting her lip as he reached over her, goosebumps formed on her arms when his breath brushed over her shoulder. She chuckled when he told her not to strain herself.

"Who said it'd be a strain on me, detective?" she purred, turning so they were face to face. She let her gaze linger on him for a moment before pushing herself onto the counter and reaching backwards over her head for the liquor. Setting it gently on the counter, she slid off and smiled coyly before ducking under his arm.

"I'm in the mood for a screwdriver, I think," she mused, busying herself with the drinks. "Heavy on the screw. What about you, Detective Walker?" The singer looked up at him, seemingly forgetting that she was traipsing about in her underwear.
 
"Well, we don't want to get you in trouble do we?"

The man happily obliged, discarding his shoes and leaving them right by the old and beautiful liquor cabinet. His black socks made contact with the ground, as he looked up and watched as Nora twisted and turned in front of him, making all the effort to try and pour them two drinks. While Vodka wasn't his drink necessarily, anytime free alcohol was involved anything was Robert's drink. He thought for just a moment. He didn't need orange juice to dilute the alcohol he was about to consume. Instead, when she was finished pouring her drink, Robert grabbed the bottle.

Tipping his head backwards, the man drank for a few seconds before he put the bottle down seemingly un-phased. For Robert, vodka was like water. It was tasteless, he didn't feel anything as it went down his throat, and he was able to go for awhile without feeling the familiar burn of the alcohol making contact with his throat. If he had to guess, he would guess that he had taken four to five shots, though he normally underestimated thest sorts of things. Robert was a drinker through and through. He was a drinker that never counted his shots, and it almost always got him into trouble.

The alcohol he had poured ontop of the alcohol that hadn't metabolized from earlier drinking, add that to an empty stomach and Robert was likely in for an awkward moment with Nora a little later. The effects were already starting to sink in a little bit as his vision went a little blurry. It hadn't affected his speech or his demeanor quite yet, but he was beginning to have the early stages of drunk vision.

The man's hands found her body. His hands on the bare skin outer skin of her legs. Holding back a burp, he smiled towards her. Part of this was his fault, being the detective he was and given some of the cases he was given, there was no surprise that he was a closet alcoholic. Robert was a good enough detective where the force sometimes looked past his faults. He wasn't perfect, though then again, no one was.

The large calloused hands touched her bare thighs as his breath started to slow. The drink had seemed to take off the edge, but also removed what charm and class he had left. Now, he was just thinking about the woman in front of him in her lingerie. Stopping to grab the bottle, Robert decided he needed a bit more liquid courage before he ventured into parts unknown. Liquid courage was always good, and the awkward tension in the air wasn't felt by Robert. Alcohol always did a nice job of numbing his senses and his ability to pick up on social queues.
 
Nora turned from the refrigerator to see Detective Walker downing a good amount of vodka straight from the bottle, his drink untouched on the counter. She raised her eyebrows, pouring a bit of juice silently to cut the burn. The singer was no prude; if she'd had a decent upbringing, she wouldn't be having drinks, she wouldn't be in her underwear, and she certainly wouldn't be doing all of these things with a man in her apartment who she had only met a few hours ago at 2:30 in the morning.

"Gee, it's a wonder your name isn't Johnny Walker," Nora joked grimly before replacing the juice and sauntering over. Her crimson lips were turned up at the corners, hips swaying alluringly. She turned to open the liquor cabinet again, and felt calloused hands roughly handling her thighs.

"Whoa there, cowboy..." Nora turned to face him, chest heaving gently and face flushed. "I think maybe you oughtta start with a glass first, hmm?"

She pulled the bottle from his hand and turned once more to put it up. Nora was no stranger to casual sex, but she liked them both to be relatively sober-ish, or at the very least not the sloppy sort of drunk Detective Walker seemed to be achieving. She knew first-hand that shit-faced sex was often very bad sex, and they would both wake up unable to face one another in the morning. The singer had already had three martinis and a beer, and was already halfway through her screwdriver, but that had been spread out since six o'clock and on top of dinner and a few handfuls of pretzels; even if she hadn't eaten, she was no lightweight.

"How about we start off on the couch and see how things go, hmm?" she suggested with an arched eyebrow, taking another sip of her drink.
 
"Johnny Walker is my brother."

For a man that had been drinking as long as Robert had, he had an unsurprisingly high alcohol tolerance level. That being said, Robert had drank a lot today. The man was a little offended when she put the bottle away, effectively cutting him off, but she tore his attention away from that when she mentioned the couch. Robert knew he should have eaten before hand, but anyone would tell you that one got more drunk if he didn't eat. Given his circumstances and his job, it wouldn't be farfetched to see Robert drunk in his apartment on a daily basis. He was nearly the definition of an alcoholic, and while he got drunk fairly fast, it would take him just a moment for his brain to adjust and he would become his smooth and suave self again. Well, more smooth and more suave anyhow.

The man let out a smile. His vision was beginning to normalize. Well, either that or his brain was starting to adjust. It was odd, for Robert drinking was like going out on the ocean. Things were a little rough at first until one got their "sea legs." Then they are fine. For Robert, it was almost the same way. A switch would turn on in his brain, and he would be able to be near fully functioning. This all of course could feasibly just be in Robert's head. He could just be a sad, pathetic, drunk man, which likely was the case, but you would never be able to convince Robert of such.

The situation was already awkward, at least it was getting to be that way. Lucky enough for Robert, he believed that awkward was just a state of mind. One didn't experience awkwardness unless one wanted to. If only one person felt like a situation was awkward, then they are the only one who thinks that. The logic was fairly straight forward, but it made sense to Robert. It didn't take him long to react. If she wanted to fool around this evening, Robert was all for fooling around.

"Kill it."

The detective said in reference to her drink, before he grabbed her wrists and pulled her off of her perch. Dragging her over towards the couch, he gave her a wide smile before he sat down, pulling her ontop of him. Robert wanted to make his intentions known. He wasn't just here for a few drinks, he was here for something more.
 
Had he been sober enough to have the conversation, Detective Walker would have found Nora in agreement with him: a situation was only awkward if one made it so. Nora didn't feel awkward around the clearly drunk detective, but she had been put on her guard by his rough grabbing in the kitchen. There were plenty of weapons both real and improvised around the apartment, placed strategically by Nora herself. Because of the type of neighborhood this was, several times it had come in handy to know the location of every possible weapon she had, and if it came to that with Detective Walker she wasn't afraid.

Apparently it might. Even through her buzz Nora was surprised when she was told to kill her drink, then not given enough time. Walker pulled her off of the counter and dragged her into the living room by her wrists before pulling her onto his lap. The singer's face twisted into an angered and frustrated expression before she immediately leapt up off of him.

"I'm not your fucking burlesque whore," she spat before the smooth veneer laid back over her visage. She side-stepped over to the radio and flicked it on. Static crackled before a slowish love song came on the radio. Nora's lips turned up in a smile. "I just love Billie Holiday, don't you? Care to dance, Detective?" She held out her hands to him.

It was casual sex; Nora didn't expect romance. Didn't want romance, but damn it if she was going to be treated like some common slut! She was going to wait for him to sober up a bit first. Perhaps then Nora would get to enjoy the smooth, sophisticated man she had invited home instead of the drunken idiot who had shown up in her kitchen.
 
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