#♔ In his Glory (ic)

[iinxsearchofxisolde-archive]

‘  there is never an end  ’

"Oh, there is most certainly an end to all of this Cicero-

Be it time, misfortune, or one too many enemies made along the way we are both going to the same place when the last page of our story is turned. The dirt does not care if you are a King or not. It devours you all the same."

[iinxsearchofxisolde-archive]

Cassius smiled tightly, running his thumbs lazily over the soft surface of his Frumentarii helmet. He'd removed it the moment he knew the assassin was the only one in the area and sat now with it spread across his lap. As he listened to the other man he stroked it, vaguely wondering what the coyote it had been fashioned from once looked like.

He detested that horrible garment. Loathed the way it smelled of fur and sweat no matter how long he scrubbed it in the river. Cicero, for all of his taunting, at least seemed to share in that opinion. For Cassius had never truly seen him wearing one of his own.

"I suppose that would be the point of a hell - would it not?" He asks with an arched brow. "To suffer immensely for the missteps created in one's life. So I suppose were I to go somewhere like that it would be befitting that I had to spend it being teased by you on occasion."

@iinxsearchofxisolde

Continued from here.

“Cheeky as always,”

Cassius scowls, arms folded across his chest now. It hadn’t taken much time to learn not to aggravate Cicero when it came to his teasing. Though the man certainly didn’t make that easy.

A smirk formed in the corners of his mouth as he tilted his head in curiosity. Bemused somehow by the assassin’s conclusion.

“Who says that I think there will be anything after?” He rasps, barely able to suppress a snort. “I suppose if there is an after, my aim is to die horrifically far, far away from you. And everyone else that might annoy me.”

‘As always’ was the truth through and through. The more the other seemed irritated with him, the harder he’d push. Then they’d end up fighting and grumpy. It was always best to just endure long enough to let him calm himself down.

Cicero shrugs at Cassius’ question. “I sure as hell hope there isn’t. But, should there be, I’m sure Hell, or whatever you equate, shall be large. Large enough for the rest of us. Maybe I’ll try finding you. If only to pester and make you miserable even in death.”

[iinxsearchofxisolde-archive]

“You look tired.”

"Do I?"

He is not prepared for the comment. It is far less teasing than Kira typically offered up when she witnessed his foolishness, and that in itself gave Tristan some reason to worry.

It was impossible to explain it all openly. Most people would have called him ridiculous. 72 hours wasted trying to cobble the pieces together on a protectron only to finally accept it was deteriorated beyond saving.

Another piece of tech destroyed by someone's carelessness.

He casts aside the scrap he'd been toying with, sighing as he drapes a cloth over his cut and bruised knuckles.

"I apologize if you were waiting for me. I must have lost track of time.

[iinxsearchofxisolde-archive]

*Blows u a kees* <3 (Just because)

"Still alive I see."

[iinxsearchofxisolde-archive]

“I- ... did you really think I was asking about the books? 

            My preference for more technological methods of reading aside I do understand the purpose of restoring literature found in the wastes. There are some many unscathed copies of “The Old Man and The Sea” after all.” 

    “I was joking by the way. In case that is not already obvious. 

Yes- your eyes. I thought perhaps it was some sort of protest you had against the indecency of humans being modifying themselves. But I suppose it makes more sense that it is a simple thwarting of the whims of one of your parents. 

....You mean she wanted you to get laser eye surgery correct?” 

For a person so invested in her reading capabilities you are rather reluctant to use any kind of technology to preserve them. Why is that?

"I take fairly good care of my books. Rebinding and Frankenstein-ing multiple copies to make whole ones. I try my best to care for each one that can be salvaged. But recording them digitally? I mean, I suppose I could do that though it interests me much less than physical copies. I suppose maybe The Brotherhood burnt me out on typing and recording."

She thinks for a minute, a bit confused. He's seen her salvage them before. Unless he...

"You... you mean my eyes?" Kira blinks, the taste of bile coming up her throat. "My... my mother sh-she wanted and arranged for my eyes to be replaced actually. To be of more use to field units, but I- I wasn't sure. The idea made me uncomfortable I suppose."

[iinxsearchofxisolde-archive]

‘  i think i broke again last night  ’

"You wha-"

Tristan stops just as the armful of scrap metal he'd been carrying tumbles onto the floor. He watches bits and pieces roll everywhere but makes no attempt to retrieve any of them. Instead, he turns to her, his expression a mixture of bewilderment and confusion.

"What do you mean you broke?!"

[iinxsearchofxisolde-archive]

that-kid-from-vault-101‌:

that-kid-from-vault-101‌:

“Where is my sister.”

He bypassed the jabs, the pettiness, they were older now, beyond that, either through an increase in patience or an utter lack of it, Aaron couldn’t say. But that didn’t matter in this moment, he was of a single mind and no amount of taunting could haunt him from his goal.

It was less of a question than a demand, the rustling of a duster seeming to spread the silence across the bar as Aaron stood, broken only by the subtle sound of a side-by-side being primed behind the bar, every good wasteland bartenders answer to insurance.

“If there is anywhere in this world Beverly would go, no matter how unfathomable I personally find it, it is where you are, Tristan.”

It was odd how time had not made the sound of her name feel any less like a bullet. Though it had been years since another person had mentioned out loud Tristan still felt that recoil that had plagued him for months after he had parted ways with her. 

“Beverly...” 

He stared into his half-filled glass, willing himself not to focus on that sinking feeling that quickly overtook him. A lifetime had seemingly divided him and Aaron. Their choices parting them like night and day. But the one person that had always woven their lives together was a particularly charming auburn Vault dweller. Tristan could still vividly picture her face. Even now.

Reluctantly he sighs. Shaking his head at Aaron’s accusatory words. 

“If I still had her in my life do you think I would be wasting my time in this dive? I have not-”

            Closing his eyes, Tristan took in a slow breath. Willing his pulse to slow as the mixture of regret and every other terrible emotion all started pushing it’s way up. “I have not seen her for years, Aaron. Not since I left the Capital Wastes.” 

[iinxsearchofxisolde-archive]

"Cheeky as always,"

Cassius scowls, arms folded across his chest now. It hadn't taken much time to learn not to aggravate Cicero when it came to his teasing. Though the man certainly didn't make that easy.

A smirk formed in the corners of his mouth as he tilted his head in curiosity. Bemused somehow by the assassin's conclusion.

"Who says that I think there will be anything after?" He rasps, barely able to suppress a snort. "I suppose if there is an after, my aim is to die horrifically far, far away from you. And everyone else that might annoy me."

‘  there is never an end  ’

"Oh, there is most certainly an end to all of this Cicero-

Be it time, misfortune, or one too many enemies made along the way we are both going to the same place when the last page of our story is turned. The dirt does not care if you are a King or not. It devours you all the same."

[iinxsearchofxisolde-archive]

“Ah, so you are still around are you?”  

Without lifting his gaze, Tristan knew precisely which turbulent figure from the past had just barged in. Though years had passed since he’d last heard it, there was no forgetting the other man's audacity. He almost wondered if he’d slipped into a warp in time. Somehow crawling all the way back to those days in the Capital Wastes.

His fingers twirled the stem of the glass in front of him. 

“If I recall correctly we never had “words” to begin with. Unless you count the passive aggression and insults as a conversation now.” With a pause, the Outcast leveled his gaze towards the other man. Arching one brow curiously. “What could you possibly have to say to me?”  

“You.”

His tone was a commanding bark, that of a military commander and a wasteland Doctor with far too much experience to pretend to have a bedside manner.

The finger that Aaron leveled at Tristan wasn’t hostile, and the normally at-bat-for-argument look in his eye when they met was utterly absent. It had been a long time, but Aaron truly couldn’t give less of a fuck about the Outcast himself, even as several other bar patrons turned to look at him.

“You and I need to have words.”

@iinxsearchofxisolde