#my dad did freak out about my skin picking explosion when i was 13 and the stress of moving set me off

[lovesodeepandwideandwell]

oh do you also have elaborate body patterns! mine are mostly triangles! baffled my family greatly until I learned to tap them out invisibly!

Oh yes I do! The complex tics are complex ticcing! Idk it kind of feels like a chakra thing maybe for me? My family never really noticed though (assuming they don't do it themselves)

[quinzelade]

Making One’s Bones (chpt 13)

Chapter List

--

Porter Gage is in a pickle. Nuka-World needed a new boss and some woman just killed her way to the top. But a pre-war Mafia boss on the theme park's throne? Well...at least she'll have experience.

--

Hello, everyone! Welcome to my newest fanfic! While this is technically a ‘sequel’ of By No Constraint, you don’t need to read BNC to read this. It can be read as standalone.

--

Explosive Personalities

--

The world was a warm, comfortable haze of black. Sarah shifted under the heavy blankets, savouring every moment before she had to open her eyes. Even her aches and pains couldn’t take away the peace she felt. Oswald must have found her. Or she’d died. That wasn’t so bad either. Her body wasn’t hurting as much anymore at least, though she couldn’t say why.

A loud clatter across the room made Sarah jump. Her eyes snapped open of their own accord, and she lay in the bed, staring up at the dingy ceiling. The panels were all loose, revealing a dark hidden world above. A sharp, hissing sizzle cut through the sound of pots and pans being moved around, and a delicious smell slowly wafted over. Her stomach rumbled. Deciding she wasn’t in any danger, Sarah sat up.

The room was bright and airy, the tops of the dead trees just visible at the bottom of the wide, broken windows. The walls were a vibrant red, with pictures of cola bottles hanging in crooked, shabby frames. Sarah glanced around to see various bits of battered old furniture, including a creepy mannequin, an old coffee table, and a yellow metal frame with wires hanging off it. Next to the bed was a wooden wall, blocking off her view of the rest of the apartment, but a big, pretty light fixture with lots of bulbs hung over the bed. Sarah admired it for a moment and then got to her feet.

As soon as she stood up, she saw him. Sitting on a sofa, just across from the bedroom nook, was the dirty one-eyed raider with the greasy mohawk and yellow-painted armour.

Gage.

He glared at her as he chewed on something, his arms folded tight across his chest, looking as if he’d love nothing better than to hit her. Sarah’s stomach tightened and she shrank back. But then the images of the other raiders beating her until she couldn’t walk flashed across her mind, and a hot fury prickled across her skin. So what if he hit her? She’d been hit before and she was still alive.

Sarah stepped out from behind the wall, folded her arms, and glared back.

Gage blinked, his expression faltering. The corners of his mouth twitched, his eye lingering on her, before he turned his head and called, “Boss? It’s awake.”

“Don’t call her an ‘it,’” snapped an oddly familiar voice.

“Yeah, yeah. Whatever. She’s awake then.”

Sarah followed Gage’s line of view and saw Mrs. Bossanova wandering over, balancing two plates on one arm and holding a cup in the other. She couldn’t say whether she was pleased to see the older ghoul, as their last meeting had been...strange. But Mrs. Bossanova was a more welcome sight than Gage by far. She set down the two plates and the cup on the coffee table, beckoning Sarah over.

Sarah obeyed, biting back a laugh as Mrs. Bossanova slapped Gage’s hand away when he reached out for the food.

“The fuck?”

Mrs. Bossanova ignored him, pushed the cup and one of the plates towards Sarah as she sat in the closest chair. “There you are, honey. Brahmin bacon and beans, and some warm milk. How are you feeling?”

Both Gage and Sarah gawked at her. Gage recovered first. “The hell are you doing?”

Mrs. Bossanova rolled her eyes and sighed. “Do you have to act like I’ve kicked a puppy every time I make breakfast?”

It was his turn to roll his eye. “Like that’s a big deal.”

“Boy, if I ever catch you kicking a—”

“What, that’s where you draw the line?”

Sarah wasn’t too sure what a puppy was, so she left them to argue and ate her beans. They were very good. Almost as good as her dad’s cooking. The fight became background noise as she slowly made her way through her meal, fear melting away the more Mrs. Bossanova snapped and snarled at Gage. Whatever he thought of Sarah, she wasn’t in any danger while the boss lady was here. As she ate, she noticed a grenade belt on the floor next to Gage’s feet.

Finally, Mrs. Bossanova turned away from him and settled herself down with the other plate, tucking in.

“Where’s mine?” Gage said, sounding wounded.

Mrs. Bossanova tilted her head and smiled. “What did I say to you the other week?” She gestured to an old, broken plate on the floor, surrounded by moldy food. “Clean up your plate and I’ll make you some more.”

His mouth fell open. He looked from the plate to Mrs. Bossanova, his face slowly turning red, and then spat, “I ain’t picking that shit up.”

“Then you can stay hungry,” Mrs. Bossanova replied primly, cutting her brahmin bacon. “Or make your own food for a change instead of scavenging. You’re a grown man.” She turned away from him and looked at Sarah. “You didn’t answer my question earlier. How are you feeling, honey?”

Sarah blinked. “Um...fine, I guess?” And she did feel fine. That was weird. “Do you know how I got better? I remember hurting a lot, but that’s it.”

“We had some stimpaks to spare.”

Gage opened and closed his mouth a few times, glowering first at Mrs. Bossanova, and then Sarah. He seemed particularly angered by her presence, though Sarah couldn’t understand why. She met his eye and stuffed as much bacon into her mouth as possible. Gage’s stomach rumbled loudly.

“God, fine.” He got to his feet, making a big show of stomping around and cleaning up, flinging the broken plate and its rotting contents out of the window. Below there was a shriek and a splash.

“Thank you,” Mrs. Bossanova said pleasantly. “I’ll just finish up, and then I’ll get started on yours. How do you like your bacon?”

“Cooked,” grumbled Gage, dropping heavily back into his chair and wiping his hands on his pants. Mrs. Bossanova didn’t rush, but ate in her own time, which made Sarah smirk behind her mug of warm milk. Eventually though the boss cleared her plate, took Sarah’s with her, and set about at the stove once again.

Sarah and Gage returned to glaring at each other. She was feeling a little braver with a full stomach, and her collar was sticking uncomfortably to her neck. Tugging at the metal band, she said, “I remember you.”

Gage’s eye trailed lazily over her, his scowl making way for an expression of supreme disinterest. He shrugged. “Can’t say I remember you.”

Sarah’s cheeks burned. “You put the collar on me.��

“I put collars on lots of people.” There was a smile on his lips now, revealing his blackened teeth. He seemed to be enjoying her mounting frustration, the twisted grin telling her he knew who she was, but was pretending otherwise.

Sarah wriggled in her seat, unable to keep still. “You’re a nasty man.”

“Yup.”

She hadn’t been as angry as this in a long time. Now she came to think about it, had she ever been this mad? Sarah clenched her fists, staring into Gage’s hateful hazel eye, barely resisting the urge to jab her finger into it. She wanted to hurt him, wanted to make him mad too. “The big raider had to hit you first though. You were scared of him. I could tell.”

Gage straightened up, red slowly creeping up his neck. But to her surprise, he nodded. “Yeah well, kid, it was obey Colter or get my head blown off." He propped his feet on the coffee table, his eye fixed on her. "I would have given you to the Disciples myself to keep ‘em happy. They'd already threatened to skin me that morning. I didn't know ya, and I still don't know ya. So I don't give a fuck about you."

Sarah’s stomach plummeted at the thought of the Disciples and their long, bloody knives. A cold shiver passed over her body, and Gage smirked. Anger and embarrassment shoved fear aside, and Sarah leaped up from her chair and jumped onto the coffee table, kicking his feet aside. She glared down at the startled raider, her hands on her hips. "You're such a—a—" she paused, glanced around the room, and then leaned forward and whispered, "an asshole."

Gage burst out laughing. Raising one finger to her forehead, he pushed her away so she staggered and fell off the coffee table with a bump. He got to his feet. “Yeah, I am. Now fuck off.”

He walked towards Mrs. Bossanova, who had apparently not heard a word of their argument, and accepted a plate of food. Sarah winced, getting to her hands and knees. As she did, her hand brushed against something heavy. She looked down and a smile spread across her face.

Gage had left his grenade belt behind.

--

It took Gage a whole hour to realise his belt was missing. Sarah was in the bedroom nook, giggling as she listened to him rummaging around and cursing. When she heard his banging footsteps, though, she knew it was time to hide, but before she could get under the bed, Gage came into view.

“Where the fuck is it, you little freak?”

Sarah squeaked in terror despite herself, trying to push herself out of reach, but Gage grabbed her ankle and dragged her out, throwing her down the wooden ramp so she crashed into the coffee table. He advanced, his teeth bared, his fist raised. “Tell me where it is now, or I’ll wrap your legs around your fucking head.”

“Gage!” Mrs. Bossanova came running into the room, her eyes blazing. “What the hell is going on?”

“Teaching the girl some manners.” He turned his back on her, reaching out for Sarah’s head.

Mrs. Bossanova drew her sword and put it between them, the blade close to his body as she held it steady. “Lay one hand on her and I’ll cut it off, Gage.”

Gage rounded on her, batting the blade aside carelessly and stepping towards her. “That little bitch has taken my grenade belt! I put it down for five fucking seconds and it’s gone!”

“Maybe you shouldn’t just leave things lying around.”

He spluttered at this, but Mrs. Bossanova ignored him, turning to Sarah. “Sweetie, did you take Gage’s belt?”

Sarah shook her head dolefully, pushing herself as far back into the coffee table as she could manage. Gage was turning red as a tato.

Mrs. Bossanova returned her attention to him. “There you go.”

“You’re just going to believe her?”

“What use does a ten year old have with a grenade belt, for God’s sake?” She sheathed her sword. “Although at this moment, I’m having difficulty figuring out who the child is here. If it makes you feel better, I’ll buy you a new belt in the marketplace.”

Gage looked as if he was about to explode, but finally seemed beyond words. Or maybe he just didn’t want to argue with the boss. He shot Sarah a filthy scowl and stormed from the room, slamming the door so hard one of the framed pictures fell off the wall and shattered.

Mrs. Bossanova sighed. She crouched down and touched Sarah’s cheek. “Did he hurt you?”

Sarah shook her head.

“We’re going to be out of town for a day or two. Will you be okay here on your own?”

Sarah nodded, then feeling she should say something, cleared her throat. “I’ll be fine, thank you. No one else will come in, will they?”

“No. You’ll be safe.” Bossanova smiled at her. “Want me to bring you back some cola?”

“Yes please.” Sarah licked her lips, feeling awkward. She wasn’t sure if she wanted Mrs. Bossanova to stay or not. She seemed like a nice lady, but something was...off. Oswald wouldn’t have kept someone as mean as Gage around. Pansy and Petey were much better than Gage. Maybe she would be allowed to go visit him.

Mrs. Bossanova made a move as if she was going to do something, but thought better of it. Instead, she squeezed Sarah’s shoulder and stood up. “I’ll be back soon.”

Sarah waited until Mrs. Bossanova’s footsteps died away and then crawled over to a loose floorboard, pried it up, and took out Gage’s grenade belt. She didn’t know why she stole it, or why she lied. All Sarah knew was it felt good to take something from Gage, even if she wasn’t sure of the reasons.

The belt itself was very heavy, but Sarah liked the cold metal against her thin fingers. She ran it through her hands back and forth, an odd sense of power caught in her chest. If she wanted to, she could pluck each grenade like tarberries from the vine and toss them out of the window, killing whoever lurked below. The idea made Sarah shiver—with anticipation or revulsion, she wasn’t sure.

Sarah stood up and tried to put the belt on. It wrapped twice around her tiny waist, and even then she had to add another notch with a kitchen knife to fasten it. The grenades bunched together over each other as Sarah preened, imagining herself like a raider, tough and strong. No one would ever hurt her again.

“Watch what you’re fucking doing!”

A loud clunk followed by a string of swearwords made Sarah flinch. For one heart-stopping moment, she thought Gage and Mrs. Bossanova had returned, until she heard another voice say, “Haze, be more careful. Don’t want this to explode before we’ve set it all up.”

The raiders must have snuck in below. Sarah had seen the entrance to the Fizztop Grille when Mackenzie pointed it out to her during her first few days in Nuka Town. The boss’ lair, and the last place she should ever go. Now she was here, trapped inside, raiders just beyond the door. Without Mrs. Bossanova, she was easy prey.

Sarah gasped for breath, the hated terror gripping her throat. She glanced around the room, looking for a place to hide. The bed was the obvious choice, but might be the first place they checked. She’d also be stuck there until they left again. The panic was making her sick, and she retched silently, before straightening up. The voices were drawing near.

A thought suddenly struck her and she looked up. The ceiling panels she’d seen this morning—they were still loose! But would she be able to reach them?

Sarah made her mind up in an instant. Wiping her sweat-slicked hands on her shirt, she clambered on top of the rickety bedside table against the wall and reached up, taking hold of the wood trim and pulling herself up. The holes in the wall became footholds, and despite her body’s protests, Sarah managed to drag herself up to the ceiling and out of sight. She held her breath as seconds later the door banged open and several sets of heavy footsteps entered the room.

“Not a bad setup this,” said a rough-voiced woman.

“Who cares?” There was a heavy thud of something being placed on the ground.

“Haze, how many times? Be careful or you’ll blow us up, you fucking idiot.”

“Yeah yeah,” said Haze. “When that bitch and Gage get back, the whole place will be fucked.”

Sarah poked her head out from the gap in the ceiling. Below her were five raiders—two women and three men. The women looked much meaner than the men, even though all of them wore bright clothes and body paint. The one Sarah thought might be Haze—with purple hair and a blue vest—gave a large package on the floor a little kick. “Now let’s set this baby up—”

One of the raiders—a woman with a green mohawk—punched Haze in the face.

“How—many—times? Stop—manhandling—the—bomb!” She punctuated every word with a strike until Haze submitted, raising his hands in defeat. She snorted and kicked him away. “Get out. We’ll deal with this.”

“But—”

The woman punched him again and Haze scrambled to his feet and bailed. She watched him go, sneering. “Mason won’t give him the credit for this. Not if I have anything to say about it.”

“To be fair, it was his idea,” cut in the other female raider.

“Not anymore. We can handle this without him.”

Sarah ducked out of sight again. She waited a moment, letting her eyes adjust to the dark. In the far corner she could see a sliver of light that looked like it led to the outer corridor the raiders had come in from. If she was quick and quiet—and most importantly of all—lucky, she might escape without being spotted. But the raiders were clearly trying to kill Mrs. Bossanova and Gage. Sarah didn’t much care what happened to Gage, but Mrs. Bossanova had made her breakfast. She had been nice.

Sarah shifted in her spot, glancing down as the grenades at her waist gently clinked together. An idea blossomed, unhindered by the fact she only vaguely knew how grenades worked. Sarah tugged one free with difficulty and crawled over to where the voices below were loudest. Carefully she pried away one of the panels, paused to make sure no one had heard her, and then moved to observe.

The raiders were setting up their bomb. Even if they hadn’t been talking loudly about it for the past ten minutes, she knew what a bomb looked like. The comics Wiseman had given her contained everything she needed to know about bombs and how to disarm them. All you had to do was cut a wire...except she wasn’t too sure which wire to cut. Maybe instead…? Sarah glanced at the grenade in her hand and then to the light at the far end of the crawl space. She’d have to be fast.

Sarah shuffled back closer towards her escape route, as close as she dared. Then she took a deep breath, and with some difficulty, pulled the pin from the grenade.

Terror erupted through her as she froze. What was she doing?

Sense kicked in at the last second. With a squeak, Sarah flung the grenade away from herself, watching it bounce and disappear down through the ceiling, before whipping around and scurrying away.

“Did you hear that?”

Her sweaty hands slipped as she crawled, her breath escaping in panicked pants. The exit was just within reach.

“Is that a fucking grena—?”

There was a split second where Sarah realised she hadn’t made it. The panels ceiling rumbled as a deafening noise ripped through her eardrums. She felt the heat, saw the lights, and then the floor surged from beneath her, sending her flying forward. Her head hit something hard, and she knew no more.

--

A/N: So, gonna be totally honest with you. I have zero motivation to keep posting these chapters.

I am going to, because they're done and NOT posting them would feel like a massive waste of the two years it took to write them.

But yeah. My motivation comes from the enjoyment of my readers. And from what I can see, very few people are enjoying this, let alone actually reading it. It doesn't help I'm in the middle of a depressive episode right now, and mustering up the energy to format these chapters on Ao3, FFnet, and tumblr when I know I'm essentially throwing my words into the void is just...eh.What's the point?

I'll be making sure this story is updated to completion. After that though, I'm going to have a long think about whether or not I'm going to bother finishing writing the sequels. It seems like a pointless exercise at the moment, and I'm too tired and too sad to keep banging my head against a wall for nothing.