#cheatdeaths

[tread-the-bear]

@cheatdeaths .

Something had irrevocably changed after their visit to Caesar's tent. The work became different, more direct and more final, the visage of war on the horizon closer and more real now with a face behind it.

And Boone had been quieter. It wasn't a tortured, brooding silence as much as it was something more sullen and pensive; he'd stared into the face of the devil, and had gotten away with it unscathed.

But Six-- things had changed with Six. The quiet moments of tension between them were fewer, shorter, whether Boone was trying to avoid them or simply staring them down the barrel with more bravery was hard to tell. The work was all frantic; it was hard to tell when they did crop up. Maybe he'd avoided his feelings unscathed, and better for it. Maybe those feelings were just lying in wait for a quiet moment.

But for the time being it wasn't on his mind-- there was something more pressing, taking up that space.

It was the looming canyon spread before them just past the lip of the highway, layers of ancient red rock and signage of NCR make: BITTER SPRINGS CAMP. Six had taken him along for a reason; his experience with the place and his former military was impossible to pass up on a mission like this. But she knew what was lying beneath, the storm behind his glasses as Craig Boone looked over to Coyote Tail Ridge. Silence.

"Let's try and keep this short and sweet."

[bolyde]

❝ It was like I was holding the world when I held you. ❞

Her words are so sweet, and earnest... so why does @cheatdeaths look like she might cry? What sorrows had she locked away in her chest that love, of all things, caused her to tear up.

"You say this like I won't be here when you get back." Halsin smooths some strands of blonde hair away and behind her ear, finger tracing around the shell of it and back down to her jaw. His pointer and thumb gently grips her jaw, more so to draw her attention to him.

The ex-archdruid bows his head, hesitating a moment with just brushing his nose against Dorothy's before he releases her and draws her in for a kiss.

"I will be yours to hold still when you return, this I swear."

[likemosaic]

@spakona / @cheatdeaths : “a fickle heart is the only constant in this world.” for kaj from six <3 prompt: howl's moving castle sentence starters.

"i ain't bein' fickle."

a sudden snap of temper before kaj reins it in. she closes her eyes to gather herself. talking about the future with six feels a little like talking to a brick wall--a really earnest, sweet brick wall with beautiful eyes. saying kaj is tolerating robert house is a stretch, and god, does she feel stretched thin with it. so many opportunities to backstab, to take it all and damn the consequences, all slipped through her fingers for the sake of those eyes. they promise a better future if kaj can just trust them, an easy task for anyone but kaj.

she's been through so much. they've both been through so much. kaj wants nothing more than to just nod her head and agree, like so many others that six has convinced to act against their own interests. but it's hard. maybe impossible. maybe she's just too fucking broken to adhere to anyone's ideas except her own, but damn it, she's trying. kaj cares about six. she likes her. but kaj also wants everything done her way, because she's a control freak.

kaj leans back in her chair, nearly tipping it over, perfectly balanced on the back legs. they're alone in the empty casino floor of the 38, so kaj feels both vulnerable and comfortable. not an unusual feeling, alongside the other woman.

"i'm not being sentimental, either. i don't give a fuck about the brotherhood." a half-truth; it's the people she cares about. whether six knows about kaj's nighttime hours spent with their leader, she can't say. "but don't you think it's suspicious that he wants you--us--to take out a faction that could potentially oppose him? a faction that might want to help us if we turn on him?" kaj isn't stupid. the brotherhood is a threat, and house is right about that. but she's a little in denial, too; she wants six to redirect the need for bloodshed towards caesar and his legion and carefully redirect those she cares for out of danger. "i know you said you tried to figure somethin' out. but maybe we let sleeping dogs lie."

[tricxet]

@cheatdeaths.

Loki had been out on the balcony bickering with a bird for nearly five minutes-- one of his messengers, if the white streaks of a Magpie wasn't obvious. When the Trickster finally returned inside, he carried himself with the resentful posture of a teenager who didn't want to go to class. He hadn't done his homework, clearly.

Hands settled on his hips and he tilted his head to Six, the posture turning again-- I've got to say something that I haven't told you before. You may not like it. "...Honey buns?"

"So... I've got a bit of a business trip to conduct. On Jotunheim."

[aamusedly]

@cheatdeaths is looking for Kotallo.

Kotallo had been sitting at a table at this ruin of a bar for days now.

The owners had offered him a place to sleep, although it wasn't much more than a cot on the floor in the back rooms. They'd offered it out of pity for the still-bandaged and swollen stump on his shoulder, or maybe out of fear from the steely look of cold fury on his face.

His people were duly feared out in the Terminus Systems, considering every time they'd shown face off of their home planet it was with a river of bloodshed coming with it. And he made it no secret that he was Tenakth-- and a Marshall at that. His body was a mural of Tenakth tattoo work and paint, armor of repurposed machine parts, pallid grey skin visible between its seams. At least it earned him the respect of nobody bothering him to pay his mounting bar tab.

Nobody quite bothered him at all, really. It made it all easier to think, as silver eyes fixed on the far wall and he sipped his beer.

But no matter how many drinks he had, or how much he focused inwards, Kotallo had made note of the new face that had entered the bar-- and it seemed like she had clocked him just the same.

Intentional. Instinct had the Marshall bristling, turning his vice of a gaze over to her.

[o-rusted-heart]

@cheatdeaths .

Something had changed after his conversation with Hancock. Nick wanted to say it just had something to do with him saying the quiet part out loud, at least in a private conversation with an old friend. But it was more than that; Six had been notably quiet. Maybe she was feeling embarrassed about her behavior during her illness, but any assuring and affectionate gestures Nick tried to replicate it with seemed to make her shy away.

No poetry, no metaphors. You gotta be crystal clear. But the courage the old synth was working on seemed to deflate with her silence. All that was left instead was the task ahead of them: a trip to a subterranean vault, and the final wish of a long-dead detective. Maybe once that was out of the way, he'd have the heart to tell her the truth.

It felt good to be back on the road again, even if it was carefully weaving through the Boston streets on a cold afternoon to head South. The Prydwen was looming above them like a shadow over the sun, casting a long shadow across their city. It was still enough to make Nick's heart drop. Maybe that's what prompted him to speak.

"...You doin' ok, Sweetheart? You've been... awfully quiet."

[astaricn]

@cheatdeaths liked for a lyric starter

"I've been here for so long that my shadow left an imprint on the wall."

[meadowlarksabove]

what's gabban's favorite song!

Get a look into Gabban's head (Open)

[tread-the-bear]

@cheatdeaths .

The journey up to Jacobstown was notably quiet. It was hard with Rex limping along behind them, occasionally distracted by things only he seemed to be able to see-- sign of a failing brain, and they both knew it. At certain points Boone ended up carrying the dog when he faltered entirely. He wasn't light by any means, but Boone could suffer a sore back for the sake of their favorite cyberdog.

The night on the road was tense. Neither slept much, neither could focus on their ritual of checkers by the fire; a cloud had settled over them, humid and oppressive.

It only started to lift when the lodge was in sight. Marcus greeted them, and Boone carried Rex the rest of the way to Doc Henry's office. He was shivering from the chill that was settling into his bones, but there was relief on his surly face as the doctor took the dog in.

He's got a good chance. I just need to keep him for the night after surgery. Check back in the morning.

And so the night began with tentative optimism, exhaustion, and a familiar fog settling over them. Something thick and tense, oppressive and yet vulnerable.

The back porch on the first floor of the lodge was thankfully unoccupied; the Nightkin were giving them a wide berth. Boone set a fire far enough away to not pose a risk, and returned inside for a blanket. He was cold-- no doubt Six was colder. His voice came quietly as he tracked the Courier down.

"You okay?"

[bolyde]

He doesn't like to be bothered, which is why Six leaves Rolan's present on one of his desks, while Cal and Lia get theirs box of chocolate treats and fancy springtime cloaks hand delivered. For the master of Ramazith's tower, Six has gotten Rolan a nice set of quills and vellum, with some sheets enchanted to send along their messages post haste. Along with these are a soft pillow and warm blanket to be used as he works for more comfortable seating.

He doesn't notice the gifts until late into the night, and he's not even anywhere ready for bed, but his tail curls in curiosity.

When he approaches there's the lingering scent of sweet rosiness that he knows belongs to @cheatdeaths. He hadn't seen her come through the tower between all the reorganizing and cleaning he's set himself to task over throughout the tower, it was no surprise that she had managed to leave something at his desk.

The pillow was filled with a a blend of buckwheat and lavender, giving it a gently weighted feeling in his hands, and the blanket was soft beneath his fingers and he could tell that it would insulate from the cold should the air grow chilly coming off the water.

Endlessly thoughtful gifts.

The vellum and quills too. Since childhood Rolan had a terrible habit of not using his finer stationary materials afraid to waste them after so much money had been spent on them... it was the reason that even now his first spell book was barely a third of the way full, spells crammed onto pages to get the most use out of the finely bound leather book that Cal, Lia, and their mother had pooled money together to get for him.

He can feel the magic in the sheaves of paper call out to him, some enchantment akin to that found in Figurines of Wonderous Power. There were only a few of these enchanted sheets though... and Rolan would need to get the courier a gift in return, wouldn't he?

Rolan searched through the store rooms to put together a bundled gift made up of useful scrolls for Six, but tucked within a fine velvet bag was a Silver Raven Figurine.

Certainly all together the courier would find it suitable. He left the gift bag hanging on the door handle of her the room she chose to occupy within the tower, the tip of his tail wagging in satisfaction as he trotted off to work well into the morning.

[atcmbmb]

❝  i don’t want you to be alone tonight and honestly,  i don’t really wanna be alone either.  ❞

(accepting) staying the night prompts:

            IF SHE'D HAVE HAD THE FORESIGHT, Leonie would've thought herself decently prepared for the apocalypse. She'd spent her career being independent, comfortable in solitude, well-acquainted with danger and loss; surely she'd be well-equipped for times like these (or, well... as well-equipped as anyone could be).

And yet, although she'll die before she admits it, Leonie finds herself struggling with the sheer despair and isolation of it all. Loneliness is a far harsher enemy than she'd anticipated, and as a result, she's leaning far more than she'd like onto Six, the unexpected companion she was becoming attached to at a terrifyingly-quick rate.

She hadn't wanted to ask the blonde to stay; this wasn't her fight, and she surely had better things to do than join in on a wild (and frankly dangerous) goosechase. Honestly — she hadn't expected Six to even have stuck with her for as long as she had. There's death and horror around every corner on this journey. Yet here she is, standing at her rickety door instead of her own room, still with her.

So Leonie doesn't put up her walls, doesn't put on a brave face, doesn't mention the waste of paying for two rooms while only using one: she doesn't care. She simply scoots to one side of the mattress, lying back down and lifting the blanket in lieu of an invitation; a rare, unguarded smile full of warmth on her face.

"Okay. Let's not be alone together, then."

[tricxet]

🔮- In a dream ( a treat for later )

Sometimes when he was particularly lonely, Loki would dream of her. He'd dream of soft blonde curls and a wrinkled nose of a mischievous smile and a warm hand waving his playfully while they walked.

He'd dream of a place that had once been familiar to him in an uncomfortable sort of way-- like a human's old high school yearbook, or a recording of one's own voice. It wasn't familiar anymore, though; lavish decorations had collapsed, crumbling and foreboding ruins had finally settled in dust and eroded stone. Grand tapestries of forgotten battles and evil kings had been refitted with Willie Nelson posters and blueprints of spaceships. It was warmer now, in a way that said somehow it had always been there underneath the ice.

A calculating mind of a studied magician told him there were two possibilities to his dreams of this place, because Loki didn't dream like people did.

It was his own mind thinking through what had happened, testing the logic and putting puzzle pieces together to form a picture of reality: the last magic of King Loki had been fueled to bring Dorothy Reed to godhood, burned up like a star. She had fused to him, and him to her, and thusly the Realm he'd created had become hers when he was extinguished.

Or... it was a message. Spoken from beyond the gates of Valhalla, to his ears alone, while he slept in his bed alone.

Neither possibility ultimately mattered-- when Loki found himself sitting on the mossy stone steps that had once led up to a throne, he didn't bother thinking.

Because she was there sitting next to him, her hair done up in pins, lips painted a soft ruby red. She was in a familiar dress, white and flowing like the petals of a rose. A hail Mary from her mother, a debt paid in the form of a wedding dress. Dorothy's face was turned away from him just slightly, just enough so that yet again he couldn't see her eyes clearly. He never could.

I'm not done baking yet.

Loki said nothing as he looked over to her in the still quiet of a realm no longer his-- a realm he had never wanted. He could hear the distant chirp of chickadees scratching through the ruins, the bellowing of frogs, the rustle of wind in the trees somewhere so far up ahead he couldn't see them. An echo of summer eclipsing an endless winter.

Yet again she didn't look at him, but she offered a hand, palm open in the moss between them. Yet again Loki took it.

And the sound of rustling fabric filled his ears as he turned into her. Her legs stretched out so that he could rest his head in her lap, pillowed in her skirt like a bed of fresh snow. Six's other hand came around to rest on his temple, lithe fingers playing through dark hair.

As his chest ached with longing, as his hand tightened in hers, Loki heard her humming.

You and I, By and by And I, I miss summertime...

The tears burned, but it didn't last. It was cleansing. It was hopeful, maybe, under the aching scars that resonated soul-deep.

"I miss you, my love."

And he felt sheets again, a bed, the sound of rain pattering outside. But despite satin on his cheek instead of the silk of her dress, Loki heard something else distant in his ears.

"I miss you too, Loki. ...I'll see you soon."

[aamusedly]

@cheatdeaths. From KOTALLO.

The landing zone Kotallo had picked for them in the foothills of the great mountains wasn't entirely unoccupied: it was a tribe he called the Oseram, or at least a small camp of them. They were running a scrapping camp, as they called it, littered with massive pieces of strange machinery they toiled away at to put to better use-- an illegal operation, Kotallo specified, as it was within Tenakth lands.

So in return for a Marshal's secrecy for the Oseram clearly very frightened of him, they would watch the ship. It was a dangerous land they were in full of plenty who would scrap it-- best to get scrappers themselves to guard it.

Both of them were given a wide berth, and it was hard to tell why: Kotallo's intimidation tactic to interlopers in his clanlands, or a human woman clearly none of them had seen before.

But they were supplied, thankfully, with enough food and gear to get them up the foothills. As they started off through walked trails and vibrant green underbrush, Kotallo was sure to specify. "Tenakth scouts leave drop points on these trails up and through the mountain pass. We'll need to find one of them if we want to resupply. I believe there is at least one on our way-- hopefully it won't be... defended."

And he glanced over his shoulder to Six as they reached a clearing in thinning woods; trees seemed to reach up into the clouds themselves. The sky was bluer than any ocean, the air crisp and cleaner than imaginable.

There was a soft smile on Kotallo's painted lips. "...How do you like it?"

[o-rusted-heart]

@cheatdeaths .

Nick had gone to work cleaning up once Six got to bed back at their room in the Rexford; she'd been suddenly exhausted enough that the old synth was starting to worry. But he took care of getting their clothes washed and his leg re-aligned, out in the darkened lobby of the old hotel.

By the next morning Six was still sleeping, and later than usual. The snow outside was turning to a gentle rain, washing away the ice covering Boston. It took a few long minutes of debate outside the door for Nick to finally open it up after a polite knock.

"You okay, Doll?"

[astaricn]

❛ there is no good, there is no evil. there is only “goovil”. ❜

"..." HIS LIPS PART, AS IF HE WAS CONSIDERING REPLYING but he falls silent once more. Brows furrow, revealing his CONFUSION at the statement. "What in the HELLS are you babbling on about?"

[whalefelled]

There was a warm melancholy that settled into Garrus’ body… or it was the brandy. Thane’s funeral had brought people together in a way that Garrus felt fuzzy about.

Even Six was here.

He kept looking over at her when he thought she might not see. She looked like she was doing well… she might’ve even done something different with her hair. Picking at the label of the beer that had been put into his claws at some point, he finally looked up again and tried to sneak not her glance, but what he found was her staring back at him.

He didn’t pull his gaze away… caught he made the drunkenly brave decision to face that knot that settled over his heart. He grabbed a fresh glass of champagne before wandering over. 

It was no olive branch, but he held it out with a cautious reverence anyway. It was his fault anyway she’d left, right?

“Hey—“ his subharmonics drew out the syllables with a nervous metallic tone, and he swallowed thickly, “You want a fresh glass?” He wondered.

@cheatdeaths