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purkinje-effect · 5 years ago

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 43

Table of Contents. Second Instar, Chapter 10. Go to previous. To to next. TWs: Trypo, mental break, unreality, tampered foodstuffs. Nearer, my God, to thee...

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‘Choly sat back at his desk in his townhouse, thinking over his errand. Thirty minutes before, over a morning drink that somewhat resembled a Blood Mary in spirit, ‘Choly and Olivia had discussed what she believed he’d need. She had offered up a few clips of .38 bullets, and a box of sharpened pencils which now soaked downstairs in coolant. The Mister Gutsies had tried to fit him with combat armor, but his infirm joints couldn’t even bear the helmet. When he’d refused grenades ‘to shuck the damn hermit crabs, if God forbid, you encounter any,’ Olivia had insisted upon tweaking one of Angel’s lasers to exhibit incendiary properties. She’d sworn fire was a crucial weapon for anyone traveling along the river.

She’d also voiced surprise that ‘Choly hadn’t sought to hash out compensation for the task. Whether he believed it or not, he coolly told her that sometimes, peace of mind is worth more than money.

He chewed at a fountain pen, with the map screen of his Pip-Boy pulled up. The night before, Angel had laid out his belongings in every room of the townhouse, including the office, which now included his typewriter, and also the deathclaw hand and bloodbug proboscis. The Handy had expressed revulsion over what it perceived as ‘dead weight’ and requested never again to carry pieces of corpses. He couldn’t entirely argue with the sentiment.

It was already eight. Provided they met no trouble along the way, the suggested route--to Voire, the Northeast Lowell location which Olivia had marked on his Pip-Boy map--wouldn’t take more than two hours each direction. He could be back on base before dark, if all the cards fell in his favor.

Olivia recommended traveling as light as possible, but something about the sentiment unsettled him in a way he couldn’t pinpoint. Was he reluctant to leave his belongings on base? No, it was the paranoia the Rust Devils would attack while he’s gone, and overwhelm Deenwood’s robotic defenses. He set his pen down to gripe at himself. In the event that happened, he should be more worried about Olivia and the base’s equity than his belongings. He’d lost almost everything in the pharmacy fire the week before. Leaving behind his belongings would posit a measure of his stability, an act of faith. There would be something to return to. Still, he insisted upon Angel keeping the history textbook and Merrick Index safe inside itself.

He committed to first aid and ammunition, a clipboard with pencil and paper, holotapes, cash and valuables in the event he had to barter, three MREs with utensils, and some water. ...And some liquor, in the event any of these folks weren’t the type to negotiate sober. He planned to take lunch once he arrived at the Sampas Pavilion, with the optimism to ply Sticks’s favor with the offer of a hot meal.

With his plan mostly cemented, he slipped on his visor and slung his syringer rifle to his back, the Nagant and his cane at his thigh, and the two headed out. No Rust Devils awaited their exit. He kept his .38 at the ready as they zipped down the two-lane street traveling West. Very few abandoned cars dotted the roads. Once they passed a schoolhouse, they turned North onto the residential thoroughfare. A mixture of Federal and Victorian architecture, with modest yard sizes, stretched both sides of the idyllic tree-swept road for some ways.

Demarcating Chelmsford from Lowell proper, they crossed the Route 3 overpass, of which a chunk the full width of one lane had fallen through. Commercial building strips sprang up intermixed with housing. The street dead ended, and they cut left along a street with an apartment complex to one side. Feral ghouls spilled out after them. Angel flew backwards to use its minigun attachment for the first time, and it successfully cut down easily half of them with one wave of bullets while still maintaining speed. The two knocked out enough of the ferals to outrun them by the time they passed the Hester’s Consumer Robotics. A bank lay at the corner of the next dead end, and they turned right to travel North again into another run of apartments and rowhouses.

“Ohh, that was almost too easy,” Angel sighed, still laughing. ‘Choly nearly didn’t hear it, his ears ringing from the rapid gunfire. He’d have to invest in ear protection, if he’d be relying on Angel using these new accessories with him atop it.

A Red Rocket came up on the right, and Lowell’s Super Duper Mart to the left. The memory of Lexington’s SDM jolted him.

“We can’t stop for groceries today,” he choked out. “Not even on the way back.”

“So be it. But don’t complain if dinner’s not to your liking.”

They passed a drugstore on the left before Rourke Bridge began, and ‘Choly absently deliberated if Walden Drugs had owned it. Crossing the bridge, Angel slowed between the two shoulderless high-barrier lanes to maneuver around the handful of vehicles that had rusted out with centuries of exposure directly above the Merrimack. ‘Choly glanced up and down river to either side of them, in awe that the river retained its idyllic beauty despite the scorched trees and demolished buildings which dotted its shores. The bridge dead ended opposite Claypit Brook Bowling Alley. They turned right onto the four-lane Pawtucket Boulevard.

By the time they passed a boathouse, they noticed they were being followed--or rather, chased. ‘Choly’s head whipped around to look behind when Angel fired its lasers at their pursuants, to find five very angry knuckle-walking finned creatures of unknown morphology.

“Angel--”

“I know, Sir--”

‘Choly shot at them, and they shot back--or rather, shot from their backs. One would stop to take aim, spread its arms out for support, and the tumescent growths mounded up from gaping pores in their back would fire off almost like mortar shells, to launch their larvae at the intruders. A larva connected and skittered up ‘Choly’s coat tails to try to chew up his neck, and he couldn’t get the too-many-legged crustaceanoid thing off him before it had gnawed the skin open. Behind them one of the adult creatures shrieked in fury at being lasered in the face.

The sound of glass shattering, and all the Merrilurks shrieking, distracted 'Choly from the pain, and the blood on his hand from the larva bite. He looked ahead of them to find a figure in faded gold longshoreman’s garb, chucking Molotov cocktails. Once the pursuants and pursued closed within range, the longshoreman took up his Flamer by both handles and unloaded a blast of gas-splatter and fire that struck both the chemist and the fish chasing him.

Disoriented and screaming, he fell off Angel. He rolled about the sand to put himself out once confident he was on the ground. He lay there panting for some time before the longshoreman approached and stood over him. The open lattice metal structure of the pavilion loomed behind ‘Choly’s head mere yards away. The longshoreman shoved the nozzle of the Flamer in ‘Choly’s face.

“The fuck is a Rust Devil doing wearing a... US army... uniform...?” The certainty washed from his coarse voice, and he dropped the weapon to the dirt to remove his ushanka and welding goggles. ‘Choly squinted up at the figure silhouetted by the sun directly above them. All ‘Choly could make out was a faint insinuation of a chin-beard. Absolute hurt and confusion came next. “...Mindy?”

Out of reflex, ‘Choly swept the longshoreman ghoul’s legs with a kick and tried to crawl away, but didn’t manage to knock him down. The longshoreman sidestepped around to cut him off, and crouched to grab him by a fistful of shirt to glare at him with a snarl. All the chemist could do was shake his head as his trembling denial sublimated into broken jealousy.

“No... No, you’re Sticks. The river ghoul,” he insisted, labored laughter cracking out of him. Tears streamed down his face as the sunlight seared the edges of his vision. “Jacob Hawthorne is dead. You-- You can’t--”

“This is a new low, even for her.” Sticks choked down sobbing. “How the hell did she-- Did she even know we have history?”

Angel finally unstuck, its tendrils curled tight.

“...Mister Hawthorne? Is it really you...?”

The ghoul clenched his teeth and let go of 'Choly, and stood to collect his flamethrower. He walked across the street opposite the pavilion, toward what once had been an ice cream parlor. He waved them on in invitation.

“You’re going to come inside, and you’re going to tell me what the HELL this is all about.”

“No.” ‘Choly sniveled as he righted himself with his cane and followed, fringes of the Red Rocket in his peripheral as he conflated the two experiences. “No, you can’t be him. I... I saw him beheaded not a week ago!”

Angel remained outside to keep watch, knowing to give them space.

“I have no idea who or what you thought was me in that scenario, but I’m right here. I’m me--”

“--No!” ‘Choly couldn’t hold in his hysterics, and flew to collapse against Sticks’s chest. “No! It’s not fair! It’s not right! Why is everyone I know a ghoul now, except me!”

Sticks made him sit in a booth, then began pacing. After a moment he paused and threw out both hands.

“Carey, how are you standing clear as day in front of me? Where the fuck have you been all this time? Barring whatever happened to you, you don’t look like you’ve aged a day since you vanished down the vault.”

“I... I haven’t.” He sniffed, and tossed his glasses on the cracked linoleum table. “The vault... put me on ice. Cryogenics. The equipment finally failed a few months back. I don’t think I thawed properly...” Uncertainty made his despair-soaked features wander wild. “Jacob... if you’re still alive, why wasn’t there any sign you’d been in Sanctuary?”

“God...” Sticks had to start pacing again. “I took two things. But I couldn’t stay there. Not after what happened. I couldn’t even get my car off its side once the dust settled. You know security turned away the Vault-Tec salesman that signed your residency? He wouldn’t let me loot the neighbors’ houses, the nerd. Not even for first aid or food. We both turned ghoul while traveling together for a few years. But I had to go alone for a ways, just to get away from him. God, he’s annoying.” He flapped the thought process away, and sat beside ‘Choly. “I’ve been a lot of places since then. Here’s the closest to home I’ve found yet. Yeah, I go by Sticks now. I feel like Jacob Hawthorne died in the process of becoming a ghoul. I... hope the man I used to be died.”

“I... I don’t know what to say... None of this feels right... or real... I’m dreaming, right?”

When ‘Choly started at his nervous habit of stroking his chin scar, something inside Sticks cracked, and he ran a finger over the same place on himself.

“Mindy... know that I’m not the man who did that to you, not anymore. I’m not asking you to forgive me. Just. After that night, I realized just how volatile I can be under pressure. That I had a lot of baggage to unpack. That was lifetimes ago. I’ve had a lot of time to wander and sort myself out. I’m alive. I’m a ghoul now, but I’m alive.”

‘Choly could still smell the memory of recoolant and corroded metal around him. His stomach churned.

“No... no, he... The feral called me Mindy. No one else has ever called me that.”

“You think you could make sense of sounds a feral makes? There’s nothing left in the brain pan. Even if they could string together words, they don’t have meaning.” His volume trailed off again, only to pick up. “God, they froze you because I waved you on. Look at you. It’s my fault you’re this bad off.”

His bluntness lurched ‘Choly forward to press his lips to Sticks’ to shut him up. The ghoul stuttered in exasperation when ‘Choly wouldn’t pull away, and grabbed the chemist by the shoulders to force him to stop. Sticks bit his lower lip, overwhelmed.

“I’ve spent months blaming myself for what I thought had become of you,” ‘Choly insisted with beseeching affect. “Do you know what I keep trying to tell myself when I think about it? That I couldn’t have possibly known what kind of effect the bombs would have on you.” With a faint pained smile, his hands wandered to caress Sticks’s face. When Sticks grabbed him by the wrists, he relented. “That I would have... changed places gladly...”

“But then you might have bec-- oh.” He recoiled in a sneer, and stood to pace again. “Oh, that makes a fat lotta sense. Your brain’s soup, Mindy. I can’t think of a single ghoul I’ve met that’s happy to be one. It’s miserable, and everyone treats us like we’re infectious.”

“Olivia didn’t seem to mind,” he commented sheepishly.

“Oh, the General minds all right. One of the most self-conscious ghouls I’ve ever known. Doesn’t wanna get with a ghoul, ‘cause then it feels like she’s settling. Doesn’t wanna get with a human, ‘cause then it feels like they pity her. But it doesn’t work like that.”

“You... tried to get with Olivia Francis?” ‘Choly couldn’t shove down the reflex to laugh. “Jacob, she might be general now, but she’s always... been a sergeant. All shirts and trousers.”

The ghoul wilted in place after a moment, feeling very small.

“At one point, I thought I could be an exception.”

‘Choly shook his head pityingly.

“You haven’t changed at all.”

“Neither have you.” A confused smile crossed the ghoul’s face, which melted into concern and impatience. “So you did come from the base, then? She sent you? She needs something from the Furriers again. That’s the only reason anyone ever bothers me up here.”

“She says the Rust Devils are getting more brazen. That they’ve taken Back Central. She was hoping the Furriers would help. Do you think they will?”

Sticks frowned.

“Not for free, they won’t.”

“...Will you help?”

The ghoul softened.

“Only ‘cause it’s you, Mindy.”

The silence lingered a bit too long, and ‘Choly unstuck to hobble over to the front door to get Angel’s attention.

“It’s almost lunch time. I brought food from the base. Enough for two--”

Sticks grabbed him before he could poke his head outside.

“I don’t want Francis’s damn drugged food.”

‘Choly’s face slacked and he stared dumbly up at the ghoul.

“...Her what now?”

“You really are dull as a spoon sometimes. Don’t accept drinks from her. And don’t accept her food, not even stuff she’s dolled up to look prepackaged. She acts a misanthrope, but she’s a needy little thing.” Sticks grinned sarcastically at him. “Everything just felt so right, didn’t it? Like you were finally home.”

The cocktail. ‘Choly’s face burned. No wonder she’d only offered him muddled or opaque drinks. And the Meals Ready to Eat... He looked to his Pip-Boy’s health screen to find he’d been given potent doses of a mood enhancer. A dry swallow couldn’t dislodge the lump in his throat.

“Come on, don’t let the mistake get to you. She duped me first time I met her, too. She didn’t poison you. It’ll work its way out of your system in a few hours tops. Let me cook us both lunch. We’ll need the fuel to get across Howe Bridge and Cox Bridge. Even just cutting through the National Historic Park’s no walk in the park, tch.”

“She... told me to stay Pawtucketville side, and cut across the C.I.T. Lowell campus...” He had to sit again, lost as ever.

“The General either considers you that goddamn expendable, or knew that by sending you to me, I’d set you straight out of sheer self-preservation.” Sticks growled, loathing the position he was in. “The C.I.T. ruins are a hermit crab nest.” He threw his hands in the air and walked off to slap open the double-action swinging door, shouting uncertain expletives in the kitchen.

‘Choly wandered behind the bar counter, to poke his head through the service window with a nervous, tired smile.

“And what secret ingredient do you slip into food you serve people?”

The blond ghoul glanced up at him from the icebox and grinned to himself, shaking his head with a demented resignation.

“Depends on who’s staying for dinner.”

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#fallout 4 #fallout 4 fanfic #fo4 fanfic #fo4 #chelmsford #lowell #pawtucketville #sole survivor #sticks #melancholy #angel #merrilurks #the anatomy of melancholy

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avetthuxley · 7 years ago

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The Once Noble House of Huxley

The earliest accounts of the Huxley family suggest that the first Huxley to arrive in Britain was part of a nomadic group originating out of Northern India in the late 1200′s. This man who went by the name Huxley, gained favour from the English King at the time by saving the King’s son from a Cockatrice. Huxley then served under the king as an advisor and knight. His magic was known to the King, but not widely known amongst the subjects of the Kingdom. The family continued to serve under the King as part of the royal court.

As the world left the middle ages behind, and the Statute of Secrecy was born, those magical families like the Huxley’s that entertained favour in the British courts began to fade from muggle view and hid themselves away. These are the families integrated themselves into Magical High Society and left their muggle roots behind. As part of the Huxley family’s favour with the court, they had been awarded a parcel of land in the areas of Chelmsford and Colchester. The original manor still exists within the Huxley family, but the lands have since been sold off and developed. Today the family holds very little power, only controlling a few businesses and rent a few parcels of land to the surrounding cities. The family also owns stock in a few companies, but not nearly enough to have any control or power. The majority of the land and stock that they own is muggle, a fact that the entire family refuses to speak on, and one that most in the family would deny to their last breath.

The Huxley family was not always anti-muggle, and were at one point considered to be muggle sympathizers by those who sought to preserve the Wizarding bloodlines. In the 1830′s, the Huxley family had amassed money coming out of the Industrial Revolution and into the modern age. The Huxley family owned and managed manufacturing and steel factories. When Ottaline Gambol decided to undertake one of the Ministries largest operations and create the Hogwarts Express and eventually the rest of the Magical train system, the Huxley factories were on a short list of suppliers for that project. This was a decision that wasn’t supported by all in Magical Society, and the Huxley’s involvement caused them to lose favour amongst those who didn’t support it.

The problem is that within the Huxley family, there was those who did support the Railway Project and the subsequent involvement within Muggle society, and those who did not. It was particularly divided amongst the Huxley brothers, the two heirs to the Huxley line. Nathaniel and Nicholas Huxley were twins, and in competition to become the official heir to the Huxley family. Nathaniel was the family favourite and the one who supported the Railway Project. Nicholas had been the social climber, married a witch from one of the other powerful families and wanted to “reclaim” the family’s honor and standing. They were complete opposites, and Nicholas felt pushed into the sidelines of the family. Nicholas became a favourite amongst the Purebloods of High Society, proof that even people from Blood traitor families can “see the light” about muggles. There was an unfortunate accident one day, killing both Nathaniel, his wife, eldest son and the current patriarch of the Huxley family. The accident was convenient for Nicholas. Perhaps too convenient, but the aurors were never able to convict Nicholas of the murder of everyone ahead of him in the line of succession for the family fortune. With the death of his twin brother and sister-in-law, the care of their two remaining children fell to Nicholas and his wife. The couple raised the children to see the world as they did, to see muggles as bad and something lesser. The Huxley family began to withdraw their holdings in muggle factories and businesses, drawing back into the Wizarding World and sucking up to the higher up families.

The death of the Nathaniel and everyone seemed to herald in a string of bad luck for the family. Factory fires in factories they were selling, causing the value to go down. This bad luck over the course of year almost halved the Huxley fortune. As the years went by everyone in the family began to experience this bad luck in some for or another. As the generations passed, this bad luck spread out to infect every branch of the family tree. While it wasn’t as bad as you travelled further and further from the heir of the family, it was still there. This string of bad luck was dubbed The Curse by a few members of the family, and word began to spread to other Pureblood families of its existence. The other families began to ostracize the Huxley family, and they began to lose power and influence in the Wizarding World. The extended family members began marrying our of the family to attempt to escape the curse. Over the years, the curse has lessened, but it still very much present in the direct heirs to the Huxley name and their immediate family.

The Huxley family is humored among the pureblood circle. They are but a remnant of what they once were, and only invited to pureblood functions out of an honor to tradition and not out of an actual desire to associate with them. In fact at these pureblood functions anyone from the Huxley family is barely acknowledged at these functions. To the point where they only attend the bare minimum because of the ice cold shoulders, which is honestly preferable to everyone. To this day the Huxley’s are a shadow of what they used to be. A meager salary that their patriarch spends on gambling and “entertainment”, and a derelict manor that only served to remind them all of what they once were. Not that there are any alive who even remember what the Huxleys were. It’s like living in a shadow, only having remnants and hints of the glory that once was.

The fate and continuation of the Huxley family lies with Avett and Ardell, both of whom do not have an interest in continuing the line of the family. Avett feels a sense of obligation to the family, as that was what he was raised to do, but at the first chance of an escape Avett would take it. Regardless of their futures, the twins are fine with letting the family die off. Hopefully it would end the curse on the family, but definitely end the curse of the family. Avett and Ardell want the freedom and ability to chose their own future, not tied down by the ghosts of their family’s past.

#avett #family #character development #the curse #huxley #i got bit by an inspiration bug and so this happened

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