Chapter Text
Petra’s boots clacked against the cold, wet pavement. With one hand tightly gripping her umbrella and the other in her coat pocket, she kept her head down to avoid any loose droplets that snuck around with the wind to splatter her cheeks.
The address Dorothea had given her was surprisingly close by to her actual apartment. Only a ten minute walk to the Lionheart Park. Petra had passed the park every now and then but never actually stopped to enjoy the scenery.
She did notice, however, that there would be a woman with surprisingly blue hair throwing seeds to a group of birds every now and then during the day time. Of course, it would make sense for that woman not to be out and about during this dark and damp night.
Petra scuffed at the pavement while rounding the corner to the park. Sure enough, it was completely deserted, yet still lit up by the tall street lamps. There was a sheltered park bench near the fountain where a figure sat, and Petra instantly walked over.
“Ms Arnault,” she greeted and rested her weight against her left leg.
Dorothea’s lips, painted in a dark red, tilted into a smile, “Inspector Macneary. How do you do?”
“I must be admitting that the coldness is something I am not fond of,” Petra answered honestly, but kept her voice steady.
“Well, perhaps my intel can warm you up,” Dorothea grinned and patted the park bench, indicating for Petra to sit down.
Cautiously, Petra sunk into the bench but kept her posture straight. She looked incredibly unnatural in comparison to the brunette - legs swung over each other and hand gently resting against her palm.
“Please be telling the intel,” Petra robotically pulled out her notebook and pencil.
“Always so eager, I do love how thorough you are with this investigation,” Dorothea raised an eyebrow and quirked the corner of her lip up.
“Ah, thank you?” Petra didn’t know how to respond except for to her take out her notebook and clear her throat.
“Yes, so are you familiar with Jeritza? He is the usual pianist at Mittlefrank...”
As Dorothea spoke and Petra shorthanded every important detail. The word ‘suspicious’ appeared at least twelve times.
“I mean, Jeritza is normally a quiet fellow so it’s natural that we’re used to him leaving so suddenly but there was just...something suspicious about him.”
“The thirteenth time,” Petra mumbled, then looked up at her witness, “Ms Arnault-”
“Dorothea, please.”
“Ah, well Dorothea, when you are saying suspicious, was it being his mannerisms?”
“Well, one could say that. He was fidgeting with his gloves all evening. Understandable, the weather is rather nippy at the moment. You must be struggling.”
“I am not having fondness of the weather, no, but I
am
needing to know more about this Jeritza,” Petra was doing her best to steer the conversation but to business. She was doing her best to ignore how close Dorothea was getting to her. She was fighting the urge to put her hand on the other woman’s thigh…
“He had a gun that evening.”
Petra’s entire nervous system turned to ice. She almost dropped her notebook.
“A g-gun?! Are you having sureness?” Petra tried to keep her voice steady from the testimony.
“Oh yes, now I figured since he works for the union that his gun is part of his job, but none of the union fellows wear their uniforms to the club. Alois has never once brought out his gun, either.”
“This is most concerning,” Petra circled the word ‘gun’ in her notebook and took a gulp of air. “I-I must be reporting this at once to my colleagues. You have my thanks, Ms Arnault-”
“Dorothea.”
“M-My apolo-”
Before Petra could even blubber out her apology, Dorothea had leaned right over and crashed her lips against Petra’s.
Petra concluded that her insides needed climate control, because now her whole body was on fire.
-
Petra had
no
idea how she ended up in Dorothea’s apartment. She had no idea how quickly she had undressed, or how she ended up on the blush queen bed with silk sheets pressed to the heavens.
As Dorothea straddled her, Petra, albeit in her daze, noticed that Dorothea had a habit of doing things thrice. Every small movement was done thrice, kisses down her neck trailed in three little pecks. Every tiny detail of their love making seemed to have a schedule, and Petra just followed, completely obedient.
-
Brown eyes blearily blinked at the ceiling. The last eight hours made absolutely no sense, and just trying to piece together everything only made Petra’s head hurt more.
“Are you okay?” Dorothea propped herself up on her elbows and grinned at her bedmate.
Petra didn’t respond, she just lay there, remnants of her entire being scaretted as easily as the flowers thrown Dorothea after her performances.
“You are...amazing me,” Petra barely mustered her compliment, and returned to a frazzled being when Dorothea let out a giggle and pressed a kiss to her cheek.
“Y’know, it’s always been a dream of mine to get down and dirty with someone in uniform,” Dorothea purred.
“But, I am a plain clothes private inspector,” Petra winced.
“Hmm, but that badge is certainly rather official, don’t you think?”
Petra sighed and sat up straight. Her hair had come loose from the past activities. She looked down at her body, completely naked, and gulped again.
“D-Dorothea, are you having possession of a telephone?” Petra asked the brunette next to her.
“Why yes, it’s just in the living room. Why do you ask?” Dorothea’s emerald eyes followed Petra, watching the inspector dress herself in a shaky manner.
“I am needing to report your findings to my colleague, if that is okay?” Petra slipped her top back on and threw her messy hair into a ponytail.
“Oh, I see, always business,” Dorothea pouted and spoke in a mocking tone.
“I-I will only be a short time,” Petra quickly defended herself
-
Then, it hit her.
“Caspar,” Petra gasped, glancing at her left hand and pulled it out of her pocket. She extended her whole arm, feeling her triceps and upper torso stretch as she placed her fingertips to the wall.
“I am having the thought of our culprit not being ordinary.”
“Uh, yeah? I mean, they’re probably a real psycho and skilled marksman to shoot the-”
“No! I am meaning- urgh,” Petra scrunched up her face and clamped her eyes shut as she tried to translate the thoughts in her head.
“The uh...uhm...dex-”
“Dexterity?”
“Yes!” Petra’s face snapped into a smile, ignoring the annoyance of her mouth and brain not co-operating.
“In Brigid, there is a saying that is one is being born with left-handedness, then they are a child of the moon.”
“I, uh, not sure I follow,” Caspar grunted.
Petra narrowed her eyes as she heard the familiar click of the pistol directly behind her head.
“It is okay, Caspar. I am following. Please be waiting for my next instructions.” Petra slowly raised her free hand as she placed the phone down.
“I’m afraid your friend won’t be receiving any instructions, Inspector.” Dorothea said in a rather sad voice.