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skinnyducky · 3 years

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monsters (pt. 2 to maneater) // v.h.

This part went through so many changes. At one point, it was a backstory and at another it was a twilight fanfic. But I think this is where it should’ve went. Besides that, this is very much inspired by Supernatural and Teen Wolf and those sorts of shows. So, hope you enjoy!

link to part 1

Word Count: 1942, slightly edited

WARNING: language, sexual themes, mentions of blood/gore, partying, and supernatural creatures :)

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Your eyes shot open and sweat trickled down from your forehead. Your chest heaved up and down as you felt around, the feeling of rough leather coming in contact with your palm. Your sight became clear, and you were relieved to find yourself still in Vinnie’s car. You didn’t know what the hell that was about, but you knew something wasn’t right.

“Babe, what’s wrong?” Your boyfriend, Vinnie, asked. He kept his attention on the road, shooting a few worried glances your way. “You look like you just had a nightmare.”

You leaned back in the passenger seat and gazed out the window. “No, no…it wasn’t that. This felt real, like I was actually living it, y’know?”

“What was it then? Was it a vision?”

“I think so,” you sighed, reaching for your water. “It was hard to tell. It was weird.”

Vinnie softly chuckled. “Well, I wouldn’t expect your visions to be normal. What was this one about?”

“You.”

“Me?”

You nodded. “You, and me. We were going into a room and-“

“I think I know where this is headed, Y/n.”

“No, it wasn’t one of those dreams.” You replied. “I was some sort of monster, and I was about to eat you.”

With furrowed eyebrows, Vinnie quickly pulled over and turned to you.

“Why’d you stop?” You asked.

“You know why I stopped, Y/n. You just had a vision, an important one at that.”

You crossed your arms and rolled your eyes at him. Your visions—or “gift” as Vinnie likes to call it—was something that came in handy in your line of work. Being hunters for the supernatural, your visions aided the two of you in finding clues and the whereabouts of monsters or entities. But unlike those visions, this one was different. Never have you been the leading actress in your visions, let alone have Vinnie guest star. That’s why you weren’t taking this as serious as he was.

“You know how they work, Vin. I don’t have visions with me in them. I haven’t even had a vision with you in it.”

Vinnie sighed, “Remember what your grandmother told to you?”

“Yeah, that I’m different from most psychics.”

“And your visions don’t just let you see things before they happen. They actually let you live through the people within them.”

You sat there confused, trying to figure out what he was trying to get at. “I’m having trouble understanding. Are you saying that I can sometimes live through others in my visions?”

“That’s exactly what I’m saying.”

“If that’s the case, why were you in it? You’ve never been in them.”

He shrugged, starting the car back up. “Maybe it’s a sign or something. Maybe the person you were living through had an emotional connection with whoever they attacked. Just like you and me.”

“They didn’t though. It was at a party, and they didn’t know each other. Whoever the woman was lured her prey in.”

He paused. “Did you say it was at a party?”

“Yeah. I don’t know who’s party though. Just that whoever’s party it was, you…or the guy…was very unhappy about being there.”

You heard Vinnie gulp before he did a hard U-turn and sped down the road. You clung to your seat, fearing that this may be the end of your life. “What’s wrong, Vinnie?” You asked, gripping onto your seatbelt tightly.

“Jett.”

“I don’t understand. What about Jett?”

“Jett’s at that party, Y/n. He texted me an hour ago saying that some of the boys dragged him out and he’s bored out of his mind. Y/n, he’s me. Well, not me, but the guy you saw in your vision.”

“That makes sense.” You responded, chewing on your bottom lip. “If Jett’s in trouble, then we have to save him.”

“I’m already two steps ahead of you.”

It didn’t take you that long to figure out that the party was none other than at the D’Amelios’ house. It was a single release for Dixie, and she was throwing a huge party in celebration. Obviously, due to your work you and Vinnie couldn’t make it. But, given the situation…you wished you had shown up earlier.

“So, what do you think we’re dealing with?” You asked, following Vinnie in the house.

“You said she lured him in so…possibly a siren?”

You shook your head. “She didn’t sing to him, though. It was a look.”

“Gorgon maybe?”

“Why would a monster eat a statue?”

“I don’t know? For minerals?”

You ignored his statement and looked around for any sign of your friend. “If not a siren, and definitely not a gorgon…then maybe it’s-“

“A succubus.” Vinnie interrupted. “Look, we need to split up and try and find Jett before he becomes Jett à la carte. You check in the main room, and I’ll check the kitchen and the bathrooms.”

“I don’t think that’s a good idea.” You muttered, fiddling with your thumbs.

“Why not? We’d find the two of them faster that way.”

“We’ve only dealt with one succubus before, and that one alone was a bitch. This one can’t be any different. We need to be cautious.” You huffed, crossing your arms.

“Y/n, we can’t play it safe this time! Our friend’s life is on the line!”

“And I understand that, but if we go into this gung-ho…then we’re more likely to scare her away and lead her to some other poor guy. I know Jett’s life is at stake here, but so is a bunch of other peoples.”

At that moment, a scream rang out through in the crowd and the music came to an abrupt stop. You gasped, dropping to your knees and covering your throbbing ears. Vinnie fell next to you, wrapping his arms around you.

“That wasn’t just your average scream was it?” Vinnie asked.

You kept your hands on your ears. “That was a banshee. While her screams are normal to a human…”

“…for the supernatural, it causes pain.” Vinnie finished.

You nodded, steadily getting back on your feet. everyone stopped dancing and mingling, trying to figure out what the hell happened.

“Jett’s not dead yet, is he? You know, with banshees being walking Geiger counters for death and whatnot.”

“No, Jett’s not dead. Don’t you remember? When banshees scream, it means that someone is about to die, not that they have already passed. It’s a prediction, just like my visions.” You explained.

The two of you saw a wailing Charli being carried out of the room by Noah and Chase. You raised an eyebrow and said, “Would you look at that. I think we found our banshee. Now where’s our succubus?”

You scanned the crowd, finding no sign of anyone feeling the effects of Charli’s scream. The succubus wasn’t there. You then remembered the two leaning up against walls, but surprisingly, there was no one clinging to them. Then, you looked to the stairs where you saw a familiar brunet making his way up them. There was no doubt it was Jett and judging by his state, the demon had him right where she wanted him.

You tapped Vinnie’s shoulder, gaining his attention. “They’re headed upstairs…just like in my vision. Ugh, why didn’t we think to go up there first?”

“It’s fine, Y/n. As long as we know where he is, we can get to him in time.”

Just as you two were about to embark on your quest to save Jett, the music resumed, and a herd of people got back on the dancefloor. You and Vinnie tried your best to push through the sweaty bodies, but it proved to be much more difficult.

“C’mon idiots, move out of the way!” Vinnie yelled, on the verge of decking people in the face. You on the other hand, had a sweeter disposition, nicely excusing yourself. After some time, you had finally got to the stairs and flew up them. Reaching the top, you both were met with no Jett and no succubus. There was, however, an elongated hallway with many doors.

Vinnie groaned, lacing his fingers through his hair in frustration. “Great, we lost them.”

“Maybe not.”

You closed your eyes and tried to remember your vision as vividly as you could. You steadily breathed in and out as it began to replay in your head. In seconds, your eyes shot open revealing nothing but ghostly white orbs. You stepped to the first door on the right. The minute your hand touched the handle, you were back to normal.

“It’s this one!” you spat, bursting through the door.

You and Vinnie ran inside, finding an unconscious Jett on the floor. Vinnie hurried to your shared friend and checked to make sure he was alright. You searched around the room in search of the demon to no avail.

In the midst of walking back over to Vinnie and Jett, you felt some light hit your shoulder. After feeling the spot, you took a look at your finger, seeing it painted with blood. Your breath hitched as you slowly looked up. There the succubus sat, hanging from the wall with a sick grin on her face and blood dripping from the corner of her mouth. She roared and dropped from the ceiling, falling on top of you.

“Vinnie!” You screamed, wrestling on the floor with the demon. Vinnie’s attention shot over to you and without hesitation, he charged at the succubus, punching the beast dead square in it’s jaw. She fell off of you and Vinnie took this chance to straddle her.

“Keep her steady, Y/n!” Vinnie ordered, reaching into his jacket pocket. You did as he said, planting your hands on the demon’s wrist, keeping her from moving too much. She flailed around, speaking in tongues and shouting out profanities.

Finally finding it, Vinnie pulled out his father’s bestiary. As he flipped through the pages, the succubus stopped moving and stared daggers at you.

“I know about you,” she cackled, “Y/n, the youngest psychic of your family.”

“Don’t listen to her, Y/n!” warned Vinnie.

You ignored his warning and responded to the demon. “You don’t know nothing about me.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. Down in hell, we know all about you. And we can’t wait for you to join us and your whore of a mother.”

Tears welled up in your eyes, not from fear…but from rage. You looked to Vinnie, watching as he stopped on a page. He glanced up at you. “You ready?”

“Kill the bitch.”

Vinnie read off a vanquishing spell and upon doing so, the succubus began to cry out in agony. You struggled to contain her but after a few minutes, she stopped squirming. Her cries silenced as her body dissolved into boiling liquid, creating an acid pool of flesh and blood.

You let out a breath of relief. “Well, that was easier than the one in Devil’s Kettle.”

“That’s because we were amateurs then.” Vinnie replied as he stood up, bringing you with him.

You smiled, patting him on the back. “I gotta give you props on that punch. It was actually kind of hot.”

“No one can do it like me.”

“Don’t let my compliment go to your head.”

He pouted and then turned to a frightened Jett. “You okay, buddy?”

Jett softly nodded, shooting the two of you a shaky thumbs up. “N-Never better. How’d you know I was in trouble?”

Vinnie pointed over at you. “Visions. Only, she didn’t actually see you. She saw me.”

“O-Oh,” Jett said. “I guess, t-that’s cool. Thank you, Y/n.”

“You’re welcome.” You laughed, turning to Vinnie. “We did good, babe.”

“We sure did. All in a day’s work.”

“And onto the next adventure.”

#vinnie hacker #vinnie hacker x reader #vinnie x reader #vinnie hacker imagine

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saanphoenix · 4 years

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“Why do so many old-school FFVII fans think that Cloud took Zack’s memories?”

Alright, so first things first. We gotta start from the beginning. We gotta start with Jenova.

Jenova is the name given to the alien entity known as the Calamity. “Heaven’s dark harbinger.” This being, assumed to be female because of the body she was in at the Crater, was basically godlike in her natural abilities. Historically, she was able to shapeshift. She was telepathic. She had a nigh indomitable will. And she used her abilities to infect the race of human(oid)s that happened upon her crash site--the Cetra.

Now, Ifalna, within the English translation of the OG, states that Jenova turned the Cetra into monsters, nearly wiping them all out, and that the wee few that remained basically had to be sacrificed to seal Jenova away before she could do anymore damage to all life on the planet. The notes Sephiroth finds within the Shinra Mansion seem to corroborate this version of events, as he tells Zack that the Cetra chose to fight the Calamity while the other humans “hid”, thus being spared Jenova’s shenanigans, allowing them to become the dominant race on the planet, but ultimately being cowards unworthy to be the shepherds of any star, to quote Emet-Selch from FFXIV. Stay with me now.

We also know that the notes Sephiroth reads within the Shinra Mansion do not, in any way, call Jenova the Calamity. They still refer to her as a Cetra. Meaning that those notes are outdated, before the discovery of a living Cetra, a Cetra who is 2000 years removed from her own people’s history. Right? So.

(’Ah, but what about Genesis point-blank telling Sephiroth the truth? He knew what was up!’ Yes, because Hollander and Hojo found out from Gast’s recordings, and Ifalna herself, what Jenova actually was, and then Hollander told Genesis, who then said some stupid ass shit to trigger Sephiroth into looking into the wrong information, and now Nibelheim is not Nibelheim anymore and Cloud is missing one more family member than he was when he joined Shinra. Also, fuck Genesis. Anyway.)

HOJO, yeah? Hojo, in two separate novels written by Nojima himself, states to Aerith and Tseng separately that Jenova 1) will inevitably infect all life on the planet with her “cells” because of the very nature of the Lifestream and 2) turned the Cetra against each other via subtle manipulation and illusions of their loved ones, dead or alive, conceived from their own memories. She didn’t show up looking like the Eldritch horror with the eyeball nipple, she showed up looking like a run-of-the-mill Cetra. And she would further disguise herself as people a Cetra knew in order to gain their trust. And then, after she had gained that trust, she would say shit like, “Hey. Your friend over there hates you,” or, “Hey. Your friend over there wants to kill you.” And thus the Cetra, at the very least morally but probably also physically, became monsters and tore themselves apart.

You ever wonder why everything the Cetra had was booby-trapped and hidden behind riddles and self-sacrificial bullshit like their Temple? My guess is because Jenova made it so they couldn’t trust anyone, even themselves.

“Why did I read all that? What does that have to do with Cloud voring Zack’s memories?”

Because we gotta understand the mechanics of this bitch first so that we know what to look out for.

Now, we have an alien in stasis--presumed dead but definitely not--and a buncha scientists who really want a coveted spot sucking President Shinra’s dick as head of the Science Dept. who all think that taking the genetic material of a Cetra and splicing it into a modern-day human’s DNA will give them a Geiger counter to the Promised Land. Which they want to use as fuel because only some of them really understand what mako is and the others are just fucking stupid. Anyway, my guess is that they archeology their way to Jenova’s still-kinda-alive corpse and do some DNA testing and go, “Ah! We’ve found a Cetra. It has to be one! She’s by the crater, after all, and that’s where some of them were nuked by a Meteor! :) We’re geniuses!” And Jenova, in the Lifestream, went, “GOTCHA, BITCH!”

And through the power of dino DNA, out pops a lot of nonviable lifeforms, some monsters, and, eventually, a relatively normal kid with a flare for the dramatic who will become wholly obsessed with apples and very boring literature that he will insist on repeating every five goddamn seconds. As he was no Geiger counter to the Promised Land, out pops another relatively normal kid who will grow up to have dreams, and honor, and steal food from his neighbors because he was so damn honorable that he just could not ask for a handout.

With Hollander and Gillian’s experiments not producing anything of note other than children that need love and support, Hojo and Lucrecia decide to take a slightly different sample of Jenova’s cells and just start sticking them everywhere. They’re in Lucrecia. They’re in Lucrecia’s fetus. And...something strange starts to happen.

Lucrecia starts to feel the effects of Jenova. Lucrecia’s mind and body start to kind of deteriorate. Not the way that Genesis’ and Angeal’s do later on, but she is plagued by shit like severe depression and fatigue. She falls out on the floor multiple times. Her bodyguard is a little late on pulling the trigger of the gun aimed at her husband and, instead of doing anything productive about her husband proving he’s an amoral murderous fuckhead, she just decides to play doll with her kinda undead bodyguard, get even sicker, and then, finally, pops out a very strange looking baby. In fact, he looks a little alien.

“No, seriously, what does this have to do with anything?”

Genetics. How Jenova cells work. Whatever clump of cells they injected into Lucrecia, clearly different from those used in Project G, seemed to focus more on the mental fuckery aspect of Jenova than the physical, shapeshifting aspect of Jenova. I would also argue that one of the reasons Lucrecia was so adversely affected by the cells and Gillian was not is their mental well-being. Gillian, even when we meet her, seems very upbeat and doing pretty okay despite her husband having died from exhaustion a coupla years back. Lucrecia was depressed and very subservient even before she married Hojo. Losing her mentor--Vincent’s father--probably exacerbated that. And, later in Advent Children, that sort of mentality--hopelessness and despair--is what Sephiroth’s Geostigma feeds off of. That and thoughts of death/dying. But that is more speculation than anything.

So, Sephiroth’s cells are different from Genesis’ and Angeal’s, and they were all three bred differently, but they’re all kinda chimeras of Jenova’s. And once Genesis learns about his origins, it’s like the lightbulb goes off. This guy’s creating clones by infecting his 2nd and 3rd Class SOLDIERs with his own cells. And when he does that, their physical appearance becomes his own. As does their will. Whatever Genesis wants, the clones also want. And then he just grows a wing for shits and giggles. Once he tells his BFF Angeal the sitch, behold! He’s got monster clones--maybe because he realizes how fucked up overwriting a human being with yourself is--and wings, too. ...Why?

The power to do all of this shit was always there. It was genetically always there. They just had to be made aware of it, to have the puzzle piece put into place. When Sephiroth dies, that puzzle piece is put into place. And then he starts fuckin’ with shit. And turns into monstrous angels. And then dies again. And then comes back and finally grows himself his own wing. He did it, fellas. He’s a big boy now.

But we’re not here to talk about Sephiroth--ignore how much I talked about Sephiroth and his mommies previously--we’re here to talk about ZACK and CLOUD.

“What’s up with Zack and Cloud?”

First, what we must realize is that even though Hojo says that both Zack and Cloud are failed clones because they 1) didn’t take on any physical characteristics of Sephiroth, 2) didn’t seem controlled by Jenova (or Sephiroth) and, 3) didn’t exhibit the other signs of a Reunion impulse like the other clones in Nibelheim that does not mean that Sephiroth’s cells, Jenova’s cells, are not working on them.

As we’ve observed in other 1sts, abilities do not always manifest immediately or even noticeably. Clearly, Sephiroth’s physical appearance is a bit of a hint, but Genesis and Angeal look pretty damn normal and, if it weren’t for their mako injections, they probably wouldn’t be showing that much of an increase in physical capabilities. Theoretically. Maybe 10-year-old Angeal had biceps the size of a man’s head. I mean. Pff.

Zack’s tolerance to Jenova was strong due to his previous exposure in the SOLDIER program. Cloud’s mind broke pretty early on. Neither of these results matter to the fact that they both now have Sephiroth’s cells within them--just as Genesis’ and Angeal’s clones had theirs--and that their very wills are now going to be affected by Sephiroth’s. But they are also going to be a little bit like him in terms of power.

Zack’s hair, when ingested by a Genesis clone, a clone of a Type-G SOLDIER, transforms that clone into a monster. Zack doesn’t even have to do anything. The Jenova/Sephiroth cells within his body can just Do That, cause that change in another life form, of their own accord. I’m honestly shocked that, whenever they gave Zack these S-cells, HE didn’t turn into a monster. But that’s neither here nor there. I wanna talk about Cloud.

Cloud has mako poisoning, which the Remake describes as his spirit/soul being stuck between his body and the Lifestream. Weird. Anyway, he’s not fully aware of his surroundings at all times, and he clearly can’t control his body that much. He somehow has the ability to kinda get his feet shuffling, and I’m going to go on a limb and say he can chew whatever food Zack gives him, but most of the time, he’s a puppet with cut strings.

But he is also still recovering from a mind break caused by Jenova cells. The same cells that are just chilling in his body, like they are in Zack’s. And all the months Zack is dragging his ass across a continent, an ocean, and another continent, they and Cloud are listening to whatever the fuck Zack is saying. Cloud is also constantly in physical contact with Zack.

In The Kids Are Alright: A Turks Side Story, Kadaj has the power to not only read surface thoughts and memories just by being near someone, but he can also read deeper ones by making physical contact with someone. Because Jenova. And Sephiroth, whose cells Cloud and Zack have, in the OG demonstrates that he, too, can glean thoughts and memories from others. Because Jenova.

If this power is a genetic trait, as it is with Genesis and Angeal, then, sitting pretty underneath their skin, Zack and Cloud have this ability. Dormant. Snoozing. Kinda like the 1st Class Trio’s wings.

But Zack has a high tolerance and a high ignorance to Jenova and just what he might be capable of. Cloud’s mind is floating in and out at best. He’s not in control of himself. And when you have a situation like that, it is very, very easy to come to the conclusion that Cloud’s Jenova cells are passively absorbing the memories of Zack’s time in Nibelheim. That they are knitting these memories together with what little remain in Cloud’s head. That when Tifa comes across Cloud at the train station and calls him by name and remembers who he is that Cloud’s Jenova cells latch onto those memories in Tifa--as Sephiroth tells them they did--and they knit those memories with Zack’s and Cloud’s and the end result is the man we get at the beginning of the OG.

Because Cloud has visual memory of shit he never saw. It’s not just a visual medium telling a visual story. You wanna know how I know that for a fact? Because, in the Remake, Cloud remembers Sephiroth walking up to Jenova’s tank in the reactor from Sephiroth’s perspective. He is looking through Sephiroth’s eyes, through his memory, up at “Mother.” In that moment in the Remake, Cloud is Sephiroth. He’s not Cloud anymore.

Cloud sees Sephiroth delivering the speech of being an Ancient. Cloud wasn’t there. Cloud didn’t see that. Zack did. That is Zack’s memory.

The man writing the Remake is the same man who’s been at the head of MOST FFVII writing. He was on the OG, he wrote Advent Children, he wrote the novels, he wrote Crisis Core, he’s writing the Remake. He knows what these cells can do because he’s crafted this world-building for decades.

Cloud didn’t take all of Zack’s memories. He didn’t need to. Kadaj, in the novel, doesn’t glean everything from someone right off the bat. Because he doesn’t need to. Only when he needs to learn something else does he go digging. The same is probably true for what Cloud’s cells most likely did to be able to know what he knows. Hell! Kadaj gets punched in the novel and he ACCIDENTALLY picks up the emotions and memories of the guy who punched him. He didn’t want ‘em but he got ‘em!”

There is evidence within the OG, and even more within the Compilation, that lend weight to the theory that Cloud unintentionally read Zack’s mind when it came to the events of Nibelheim.

For years, people have wondered, “How the hell does Cloud know that if he wasn’t there?” For years, people have wondered, “How can he use the Buster Sword if he was just a little grunt that used a gun all the time?” The logical answer is, “Because of his Jenova cells. They can just do that shit.”

#long post #ffvii #ffvii spoilers #zack fair #cloud strife #jenova #sephiroth #jesus christ i wrote a novel

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sleepysailorghost · 3 years

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flowers in your hair

The flowers are plentiful here, the sunshine warm and the day pleasant. It was serene here.

There was almost nothing like this in the wasteland. Anywhere else, this would be a trap. Just as they started to relax, something would attack, or a thousand rigged explosives would detonate.

Only, not this time. This seemed to be a place hidden from the world, not a fragment of the old world ravaged by nukes. Untouched and timeless.

Tracey breathed softly, threading her fingers through the soft soil. For once her geiger counter was silent. With her enhanced eye, she couldn't see any dangers. A warm, familiar hand settled on top of her own.

"Decorum prohibits it, but I feel like being close to you." her lover said, sitting beside her. She leaned on his shoulder. Neither of them were wearing their heavy armor-there was no need for it here. Power armor had been set aside for flannels. Tracey had put away the majority of her weapons, only her handgun was still on her person.

"I feel the same."She said. Danse raised her hand up to his lips as if to kiss it, only to be interrupted.

"Ugh, get a room!" MacCready whined, as if he wasn't laying half on Tracey's lap.

"Oh, let them be cute and mushy together! It'll make for a good story. i wish we could print pictures in the paper, like they did in old world papers!"She gestured at Tracey and Danse, as if targeting them in a camera. "Because let me tell you, this would sell a million papers!"

"How about no?" Tracey said, looking bemused at the situation. Danse set her hand down, not fond of public displays of affection. He didn't let go off her hand, though.

"Very immature, MacCready." Danse responded gruffly, a little embarrased. Maccready sprung to his feet.

"Noo!" he rejected.

"Yeah, sure." Piper said.

"Aw, whatever. Who needs your approval anyway?" He settled back onto Tracey's lap awkwardly, and somewhat crankily. Tracey ran her fingers through his hair fondly. "Ah stop that, boss! You're getting my hair dirty."

"Fresh round of lemonaid for everyone?"Codsworth floated in, two cups already at the ready.

"Sure, Codsworth. I'm sure everyone would appreciate that." Tracey answered. Codworth busied himself with passing out pre-war cups filled with juice. It was similar to lemonaid-citrus plants were too hardy to die off entirely. Not quite the lemons she remembered, but really, how often did she notice? Still lemons, they just tasted a little different.

She drank the lemonaid slowly, savoring the taste. Her throat was more dry than she thought. The cup clanked gently against her holotags, and she leaned back on her other hand, winding it into the flowers.

The flowers were golden and the stems were such a vibrant green. They were some sort of marrigold, or maybe a yellow daisy. Look, Tracey was a detective, not a florist. It seemed like they were healthier than even pre-war plants.

She remembered the days she and her sister had spent in flower patches like these. Those afternoons spent playing in the farmhouse yard, making daisy chains and memories. Within a few years, her sister and mother would die and her father would abandon her. No one could have predicted any of that, but it didn't stop her from over analyzing, looking for any sign of her sister's illness.

How unlucky did a person have to be to outlive not one, but two families? And their entire world?

Part of her wondered if she would outlive the one she was trying to build. She hoped not, knowing that trying to move on if she lost Danse and MacCready would kill her.

Danse took her hand again, holding it in both of his, pulling her back into the present.

How lucky had she been to be given three different families? Sure, the time she had spent with them was shorter than it should have been, but it was time that she treasured.

Taking her hand back from Danse, she picked up a flower. Then another, piling them on MacCready.

"Stop putting this shi-stuff on me."

"Jusy hold it for a second. I'm doing something." MacCready was a brother to Tracey, sure, but he was whiny sometimes. Taking two in her hands, she bent one under and over. Her hands were clumsy with particular movement-it had been a while since she had made a flower crown.

"Feeling creative today, Miss Tracey?" Codsworth quipped.

"Whatcha doing there, Blue?" Piper asked, looking on in confusion.

"You'll see."

Danse watched the movement of her hands as she added to the crown and weaved more flowers in. She roughly guessed out how large it would need to be and finished it. Gently, partially because she didn't want to jostle MacCready, raised her arms up placed the crown on Danse's head.

"Do you like it?" The paladin was flushed, a healthy pink glowing on his face. It was an intensely beautiful sight. Danse was an exceptionally handsome man, and it was complimented by the golden flower crown.

"Hey, Blue, I think you broke him."

"It's beautiful, Tracey." Danse finally responded. "Thank you."

"Hey, where's mine?" MacCready said, complaining playfully. Danse glares at him for a second, still wearing the flower crown as Tracey gathers more flowers for the craft. Just as she had the first time, she began. Soon enough, she had finished MacCready's crown.

"Sit up,"she nudged him.

"Aw Tracey, you didn't have to. Well, since you already made it..."

Rolling her eyes, she placed the flower crown on his head. Just then, quick hands grabbed it from him.

"Piper!" He shouted, springing to his feet like a Jack in the box. "I'm gonna get you!"

He and Piper ran around, the reporter trying to keep the flower crown from him, and the sniper trying to get it back.

Even Paladin Danse couldn't stifle a small chuckle at the sight.

Clumsily, his own hands retraced the same movements Tracey had used. His technique was unpracticed, but he imagined few people had the luxury to do this sort of thing on a regular basis.

He placed the crown on his lovers head, then caressed her cheek with his hand.

"For you." He almost whispered, drawing close to her. He pressed his lips to hers, pulled her into his arms. "I care very deeply for you."

Tracey cuddled into his arms, drawn to his warmth despite the warm day.

"I care deeply about you as well. I love you." The ways she said was almost like a confession, something she needed to be reprimanded for. "I don't know what I'd do if something happened to you."

He didn't promise that nothing would happen. To do that would he a lie, and he did not want to lie to Tracey.

"You are so beloved, my dear." he said simply, kissing her cheek with chapped lips. Then again, slightly below, and again, dappling her cheek with many kisses. "I love you."

"Ha, look who's laughing now?" MacCready boasted, holding his flower crown up like some sort of trophy. "You're just jealous anyways."

"Jealous of what? Your immaturity?" Piper responded.

"No, my fabulous personality, charming wit, and great hair."

"Oh, yeah, I'm sure you're very popular with the ladies."

"Being popular with women isn't important, Robert." Danse said, like that was some sort of comforting point. "It is more vital to show strong character and good morals."

"Yeah? What peice of Brotherhood propaganda did you get that from?"Piper sniped, another quip readied about how she didn't know Brotherhood soldiers even knew about sex, being that they just assembled new soldiers. Then she thought about how he had been kicked out of the Brotherhood for being a synth, and decided not to.

"Well, actually it's from-"Then Danse came to the realization that the reporter was ridiculing him, and cut off abruptly. "Never mind."

"I'll have you know, Piper, I'm plenty good with women. They can't get enough of me."

"Sure, not everyone digs the whole dirty-rat-mercenary look though."

"Geex, you wake up on the wrong side of the bed or something?"MacCready asked. "Or are you just sore that I caught you earlier?"

"No, I let you win! I was bored of it anyway."

Tracey fiddled with the switches on her pip-boy idily while they argued, flipping from the statistics tab to the equipment tab and back again. She smiled to herself as she poked through the notes on her pip-boy.

Taking Danse's hand, she helped pull him up.

"Ready to go home?"

#i just wanted to write fluff #Tracey love #paladin danse #codworth #piper wright #maccready #rj maccready #fallout 4 #fluff #flower crowns #like blatant overuse of flower crowns #op has never once made a flower crown so make a note of that #i live in a desert and I ain't never seen that many flowers ok cut me some slack

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boarix · 4 years

Text

Wraith in the Ruins: A Fallout 4 Story Part XX

Call My Name

Trigger Warnings: canon violence/gore/language/gun, drug and alcohol use.

......

Deacon and Wraith had finished placing the MILA at the construction site in Cambridge and were taking stock of ammo and equipment before heading back to Railroad HQ. Deacon was especially eager to move along as the building was tall and they were still at the top. Wraith was nonchalantly lounging in a chair with its deposed super mutant owner lying at her feet. She had no idea he was acrophobic, and he wanted to keep it that way.

“You almost ready, boss?” He kept his tone light, “You’ve been staring at you’re Pip-Boy for a few days now.”

She made a circular motion with her right hand, “I’m trying to see if there isn’t a quicker way back then there was to…” She interrupted herself by laughing, “a few days?” She smiled up at him, “You in a particular rush?”

“My rush isn’t so particular, just feels too open here. If I were a sniper I’d be there,” He pointed helpfully, “or there, or there. Isn’t this fun?”

“Okay, okay…” She continued to stare at her screen.

“Whisper, it’ll be dangerous to climb down in the dark. Which is soon…” He shuffled closer to her while purposefully dragging the soles of his sneakers, “I’m also starving. Can we stop at the Fast Food?”

She chuckled, “We have food at home.” She stood and stretched, “I think there’s a way to get over to the freeway from here. I want to go check it out real quick.”

He frowned dramatically at her, “But I’m hungry.”

She reached into her pack, grabbed a small package wrapped in cheese cloth and tossed it to him as she walked, “Here. It’s fruit leather.” She pulled one out for herself but rather than eat it she sniffed and frowned at it, “This batch is too heavy on the carrots. I miss bananas. These would have better with bananas. Or I could make chips! Mmm, banana chips.”

Distracted by her melancholy, for a brief moment he forgot his fear. Balling up the entire strip, he clowned for her by shoving it into his mouth, “Mmfp. Sfo… thereshf im brogdgg nofp wha?”

She snorted and laughed, “If you’re asking me about a bridge… kinda?”

His fear was back.

The gap between the building and the freeway was only about 6 or 7 feet. It was bridged by road sign that looked fairly secure, but to Deacon it might as well have been miles. His arms twitched up reflexively as Wraith skipped across.

“I’ve been meaning to see if there was anything good up here. Since it’s so out of the way I thought there might be an armored truck… Are ya comin’?” She leaned back in to view, eyebrows tented and lip sticking out, “What’s wrong?”

“Nothin’ just… how long do you suppose this has been here?”

“It’s pretty solid, if that’s what you’re asking.”

“You didn’t hardly step on it.”

“You’re just as light on your feet as me. Don’t try to jump it.” When he didn’t immediately move, she offered him an out, “Or, you can just hang tight for a sec, I shouldn’t be long.”

“No, no. We’re partners; I go where you go.”

He tried to take it in two large strides, but with his vision marred by vertigo, his second step landed heavily on a rusted edge and the whole piece gave way. Wraith lunged to grab his hand, yelling his name. Swinging forward, he yelped in pain as his right hip was punctured by exposed rebar. Hearing his cry, Wraith didn’t immediately pull him up for fear of causing further damage.

“Are you hung-up? Can you free yourself?!”

“I’m… going… grragh… to try…” Though he knew it would cause a flash of intense pain, he reached up to hold her hand with both of his. He took a few deep breaths to recover. When he tried to pivot to push off with his left foot, the pain was too intense and he felt a surge of panic. “I can’t!”

“Are you cut?! I can’t … I can’t see.”

Screwing his eyes shut he tried to calm himself, “I got stabbed. It’s not super deep but this… I don’t think I’ll be able to talk my way out of this one. Ha hahaha!”

“Deacon, look up at me. You are going to be okay. I won’t let you fall. Let go with one hand and see if you… don’t shake your head!” She smiled and lowered her voice, “I’m very strong, Deacon. I promise I won’t let you fall. Trust me.”

“I…” He swallowed hard, “believe you.” Bolstered by her smile he let go and set his free hand against the girder. Screaming through the pain he brought his foot up and pushed off with both limbs. “GGGAAAARRRKKKK FREE!”

Wraith yanked him up next to her as if he were a prized catch at the end of a fishing line. He immediately dropped to the asphalt and was very noisily sick off the side of the bridge. Wraith ignored his retching but made assorted unhappy noises at the hole in his hip that was in fact very deep and bleeding a lot.

“You liar, you’re a goddamn shish kebab!” Quickly she gave him a one-two punch of Med-X and a Stimpak. When he made a small noise of protest against the painkiller she growled at him, “You hush! Being in pain slows healing.”

“And being on chemsh makes me shlow everything!” The lightning-fast med already had him stumbling over his words.

In the midst of her tying a temporary bandage, yellow-green lightning split the sky which set the Geiger counter on Wraith’s Pip-Boy to ticking madly. A rad storm was approaching fast. “Oh, for crying out loud!” Glancing around fearfully, she spotted a semi-trailer. Popping Deacon up and over her shoulder she made for the truck and set to work picking the lock.

“No, noooo NO! Danger! DANGER AGENT WHISNMPERS!”

“Yeah, yeah; ‘never open a new can of worms while cleaning up the first’. Look, I need to get you inside someplace!”

Tipped on its side, the trailer’s interior was narrow but devoid of monsters. Wraith gently lay Deacon down atop the scattered shipping tubs and glanced around for an additional light source to supplement her Pip-Boy, “Keep pressure on it, I’m going to hop back and grab some of those lanterns…” Once she returned she pulled shut the truck’s cargo door and got out her knife. However, when she turned back to Deacon he was nowhere to be seen. “Did you just… are you using a Stealth Boy?!”

“I don’t want you t’ cut my jeans!”

Blinking rapidly, she looked down at her combat knife and then back up to where his voice came from, “Deacon… you might bleed out! I’ll make you new pants!”

“Imma try to get out… OW! Huuurrgn… of them…” Failing, he phased back into view with a miserable expression on his face.

“There’s nothing wrong with showing a little leg. Or… a lot… damn, Deacon.” She made an attempt to school the worry from her face as she worked, “Looks like you’ll need to wear skirts for a while.”

“I have the calves for it.”

She couldn’t disagree, “Actually, you have better legs then me. Turn a little more on your side…”

“Why don’t you like the way you look? I think you’re pretty.”

“Well, I think you’re pretty too, Deacon. So I’ll throw that right back at you; why do you want to change your face again? Seems a more… dramatic solution than sticking on a false mustache. What’s th’ matter? Can’t grow facial hair?”

“I grow the best bneards you’d ever shee!”

“I’ll take your word for it. Anyway, I like the face you’re currently wearing.”

He was touched and even with his chem addled brain he knew the conversation was getting dangerously close to things he wasn’t sure he wanted her to know. It was time to change the subject, “What’s that? Brobzzs… Brave… Bavarian… Bob’s Best Moonshine?”

Wraith had pulled what looked like a liquor bottle out of her pack, “Oh, no. Curie gave me a lecture on how terrible alcohol is for wounds. So, I’ve been trying to carry soapy water instead. Buuuut,” She soaked a clean rag and gently wiped at his injury, “I don’t think she realizes that soap is way more rare out here then booze.”

Satisfied that the bleeding had stopped, she helped the now shivering spy into a sleeping bag and made for the door. “I’m going to go see if there is a quicker way down from here. I want to get you back to HQ and Carrington ASAP.”

“Jump down would be fastnerest.”

“You tried that already…” Her spirits sagged as she jogged along the short span of crumbling road. Then, they suddenly skyrocketed when she noticed there was a scaffolding lift on the very edge of the partially destroyed highway, “Sweeeeeeeeeeeeeeet!”

The storm had passed so when Wraith returned she put Deacon’s pack in the sleeping bag with him and cinched the opening until only his face showed. She shouldered her own pack and then bent to pick him up as well. She had thought he was asleep until he started giggling.

“He heee; imma worm.”

“Oh, Deacon, you’re my favorite.”

……

“HANCOCK!” MacCready watched in horror the ghoul dropped to the pavement and writhed about while clutching his head. Fearing he’d been shot, the sniper pushed away from the feral citizen he’d been trying to subdue and rushed to the mayor’s side. “What?! Tell me…”

Hancock gaped; opening and closing his mouth like a fish trying to breathe air. His eyes bulged and were completely unfocused.

“She’s attacking him! Radiance!” Fahrenheit wanted nothing more than to throw herself off the balcony and rush to her father, “Pick him up or drag him if you have to but move him away from the bar!”

MacCready stooped and hooked the ghoul under the armpits while Magnolia grabbed his legs; both calling for the Watch. They only made it a few steps before multiple ferals burst from the Third Rail and charged them. The sniper dropped to a knee and set Hancock down as softly as time would allow. Telling the singer to pull Hancock toward the Memory Den he unholstered his sidearm and started an attack of his own. Aiming for their legs as he dodged their swinging arms, he lured them away. Twisting and turning, he danced just out of their reach and quickly cut them down.

“HELP ME!

Surprised by Magnolia’s desperate cry, MacCready whipped around and then stood frozen by what he saw. Hancock had lifted the singer off the ground to chest height and was viscously shaking her back and forth in the air. Like a terrier with a rat.

Thinking quickly, the young man took aim with the syringer and hit the ghoul in the neck with a dose of Pistol Whipped. The effect was almost instantaneous; Magnolia was released and the two dropped to the pavement. As he jogged toward them past the entryway to the bar, MacCready was hit by a powerful shockwave of radiation that swept him off his feet and hurled him through the window of the offices across the street.

Radiance seemed to almost float above the ground as she moved to where Hancock lay. Determined to claim him as a prize, her blazing eyes were fixed on his face. She was confused why she lost her hold on his mind and curiosity drove her to edit her own plan, act directly and leave the relative safety of the Rail. As she crouched and reached out to touch his brow, a shot rang out and she felt burning pain as a .44 bullet tore through the palm of her clawed hand.

When MacCready stepped back through the shattered glass, he was terrifying to behold: blood steamed down his face from a multitude of lacerations, and his cerulean eyes were a promise of death, “You can’t have him.”

The glowing one rose to her feet, turned up the heat and sent out another blast of energy. MacCready suddenly found himself in the midst of revived, legless ferals. They pulled themselves after him, snarling. Dodging, he continued his assault on their mistress but found that her radiation was both acting as a shield as well as healing any damage he managed to inflict. He was getting dangerously close to cursing loudly.

“MACCREADY, GET OUT OF THE WAY!” Fahrenheit had returned to the balcony, this time armed with a minigun.

Even as the gun began its spin up, Radiance decided to make a tactical retreat. Sending out a psionic call, she dashed back into the Third Rail with her few remaining minions trailing behind.

……

“Hey, Glory; think fast!”

The Railroad heavy easily caught the beer that Wraith tossed to her. “It’s cold! Where’d you get this?”

Wraith set a cooler on the floor and pulled a chair up next to where the synth was sitting, “I’ve a buddy in Goodneighbor.”

“Oh, ha ha.”

Wraith held up another and gently rocked it back and forth in Tinker Tom’s direction, “TT, come have a brewski with us!”

The Railroad engineer’s eyes lit up and he quickly walked over to them, holding both his hands up toward the booze the entire way, “Oooh, presents!” He took a swig and made several, almost inappropriate, noises of appreciation. “Well, don’t that beat all?” He smiled down at her, “Where’ve you been, Whisper? We missed you.”

She did a quick survey of the room, “Doc told me that Deacon needed some time and Hancock had mentioned a friend of his needed work so I’ve been dragging this kid around with me while I do Minutemen stuff. I see my partner isn’t here resting, like he’s supposed to be.”

Glory made an indelicate noise, “Nope. Though if Carrington catches him out, working with that injury…”

“Doc’s just itchin’ for an excuse to holler at our boy D.”

“You called?” With an almost imperceptible limp, Deacon, dressed in Gunner camo, crossed the room from the backdoor tunnel and leaned rather heavily on the center map table. He set down the sniper rifle he’d been carrying and frowned at the three of them, “Doing some day drinking, are we?”

Wraith flashed him a bright smile, “It’s gotta be five o’clock somewhere.”

“Yeah, D! Don’t be such an old lady, man.”

“You know, I briefly was an old-lady man. It worked out pretty well too.”

Glory laughed, “I admit that was a good one. No one ever suspects a little old woman. I’m surprised you didn’t keep her going longer.”

“It was hard on th’ back.”

Wraith popped her chin at his gun, “What have you been up to?”

“Now that I know that lift is stable, it’s a great spot for… observation.”

“I think someone had told me that area was a good spot for a sniper.”

“Well, whoever that mysterious stranger was they sure were brilliant as well as handsome.” He felt a flutter in his chest when Wraith smirked while giving him a toe to crown look of appraisal. She smiled into her beer and blushed slightly when she saw that he caught her and this in turn caused all matter of mental alarm bells to start shrieking at him.

NOT GOOD! VERY BAD! STOP FLIRTING!

“So what brings you in today? You want me back on deck, huh?”

“Are you sure you’re up for it?”

“Yup! Fit as a fiddle.”

Glory rocked her beer back and forth at him, “That’s not what Carrington said.”

“Pfft, Carrington… I’ll have you know that I went to Amari for a second opinion and she said ‘Deacon, please leave. You are underfoot and I am too busy.’”

Wraith laughed, “You were probably in Goodneighbor the same time I was.” She paused for a second when she saw Deacon’s brow twitch. “Actually I came to let you know that I need more time. Desdemona says there’s nothing for us right now and this kid, MacCready, I think he might really need my help.”

“Yeah. Help. Right.” Deacon shouldered his rifle and turned brusquely away, “I’m going to report to Dez. See you ‘round, Whisper.”

Tom patted Wraith on the back, “Don’t take it to heart; he’s just sore he has to share you.”

……

The Minutemen had made it to Goodneighbor in record time. A temporary field hospital had been erected and several of the Dragoons, wielding Gatling guns, were stationed in and around the Third Rail. Hancock was still unconscious and MacCready was holding one of the ghoul’s hands while a medic worked on the lacerations on his face.

“You shouldn’t have to worry about scarring. The derma-fuse works really well on glass cuts like these.”

MacCready mumbled his thanks, his eyes on Hancock.

The medic tried to reassure him, “Dr. Amari says his brain looks no worse than usual… erm… I’ll make sure you have a dose of Radaway…”

“No need,” Magnolia interrupted, “he’s the Mayor’s boyfriend. I’m sure he’s on a suppressive dose of Rad-X.”

MacCready chuckled, “That’s really funny, actually.” Then, when he realized the medic hadn’t gotten the joke he rolled his eyes, “She’s kidding. Yes, I need a bag of Radaway.”

Magnolia was wearing a neck brace and had dark circles under her eyes. She sat on the ghoul’s opposite side and took his other hand in hers.

“You’re not scared of him?”

She frowned at him, “Of course not.” She smiled tenderly down at the sleeping mayor, “I owe Hancock my life. He’s protected me here for years, and I know he would never hurt me willingly.” Her face hardened, “Am I crazy or did that wretched hag go for him specifically?”

“That’s what it looked like to me. I think this whole attack was meant to secure him.”

“Why?” Fahrenheit had ducked under the tent flap and stood at the foot of Hancock’s gurney. She looked tired and worried, and it carried in her voice, “Also, no Wraith? Why would Radiance come here herself without her strongest piece? It’s a move that makes no sense.”

“Not everything is chess.” MacCready had a warning in his voice, “Wraith isn’t a queen and we aren’t all pawns!”

“I never said you were all pawns; Hancock is at the very least a knight.”

“THIS ISN’T A GAME!”

“Uuhhg, MacCready, are you yellin’ some more?” Hancock made a halfhearted attempt to sit up before collapsing back onto his pillow, “Someone catch the brand on the brahmin that stamped my head last night?”

MacCready, all but sobbing in relief, embraced the ghoul and kissed him soundly, “I had to shoot you with the syringer. It scared the sh… crap out of me!”

“You shot me? Why?” He brought a scarred hand to his forehead, massaging it as he tried to remember, “What happened? How long was I out? I remember I was holding Curtis… damn. Everything’s all backwards.”

“You’ve been unconscious for about four hours. Radiance came up through the Blue Line into the Rail. We all seem to agree that she intended to leave with you.”

“I saw Wraith!” Hancock sat up quickly, his headache momentarily forgotten, “It was just a flash but…”

“What do you mean? She was here?!” MacCready stood up and made as if to leave the tent.

Hancock waved him back down, “No. No, I saw her in… she was someplace dark… her eyes… I think I saw her when the glowing one had me.” He shook his head, wincing, “That sounds crazy, even for me.” He gave MacCready a wan smile, “I’m sorry I’m no help…”

“What does she want with you? What does she want with Wraith?” Frustration gave an edge to Fahrenheit’s voice, “If we could figure out what the hell her endgame is, we could make a more efficient counterstrategy. Wraith is in the dark? Well, so are we!”

Hancock nodded, “We need to be proactive and not reactive. Right. Call Curie. She might want adjust the dosage on Pistol Whipped and I want to brainstorm with Nicky so better call him too. Oh, and give me the names of all my people who didn’t make it or are still feral.”

……

“Are you trying to sneak up on me, Whisper?”

“Well, kinda.” Wraith sat cross-legged next to Deacon. She had gone to Railroad HQ in search of him only to find that her partner was once again AWOL. The broken freeway was the next place she checked.

“Trying to impress me?”

She stuck out her lower lip and dipped her chin, “Yeah.”

Her admission surprised him as well as stoked his ego, “Well, I’m sure with a little more practice you’ll be half again as good as me.”

She laughed, “Thanks, teach. I love what you’ve done with the place, by the way.”

Deacon had set up a small lean-to on the upper level, tagged with the railsign for “cash”, “Yeah, I’m glad I found it.” He had brought up a beach lounger and now, in an attempt to appear casual, leaned back with his arms folded behind his head, “So, what’s up?”

“I’ve gotten a really good lead on Shaun…” She paused when Deacon abruptly sat up and leaned toward her, “Hancock and I are going to look for an Institute scientist… in the Glowing Sea…”

“The Glowing…” He didn’t even bother to hide the concern on his face, “You’re taking Hancock?”

“Yeah, well, he’s…” She floundered, looking for the right words, “a ghoul.” she finished, lamely.

“He’s also not exactly Mr. Dependable.”

I should not be this jealous!

“I don’t know, Deacon; he’s been really supportive and helpful. He’s a good friend. Besides, I know how much you hate power armor. I promise I’ll share any information I get with you and Dez.”

“My hip is all healed, Whisper. I want you to know that you can depend on me too.”

Shut up! Shut up, shut up shutyourstupidmouthyoumoron!

Wraith’s forehead creased and she leaned away from him, “Oh, no! It’s not that! Hancock was with Valentine and me… he asked to go. I know I can count on you. Really!”

“Regardless of power armor, I would have gone with you to the end, into the very fires of Mordor.”

Wraith sputtered for a moment before tilting her head back and laughing, “That was just perfect! You know, I think you and Hancock would get along really well if you tried. You both like the same books, apparently.”

……

Infamy watched Radiance leave with an escort of ferals. Having firmly established where the other glowing one’s limit of irresistible influence was, Atom’s Assassin hid in the caves the host was occupying; waiting for just such an opportunity. With most of the ferals left to wander freely throughout the expansive catacombs, Wraith’s guard consisted of only one bloated glowing one and a few reavers.

“If I can pull you away…” At war with themselves, the ghoul couldn’t decide if they were there to try and rescue Wraith, or destroy her. “Hmm, what would Atom do?”

Pushing their will onto the reavers, they caused them to swarm the bloated one until the assassin could put their knife through its eye. As they turned back to Wraith they jumped involuntarily because she had stood up and begun to growl.

“You’ve smelled better, Sister Wraith.” Another choice popped into their head, “Or… you could be mine. Perhaps the Mother has chosen you to be a harbinger for Infamy!” They cackled wildly in excitement, “Ha! Ha haha! Hmm, mustn’t get carried away, now. First things first…” Filled with narcissistic confidence, they sent a blast of psionic energy at Wraith’s mind. Fully expecting her to be knocked off her feet, they were shocked and irritated when they hit a solid mental wall. “What is this? We should be well outside of mommy’s range!”

Wraith flexed her hands menacingly as her growl deepened and grew louder. Then with shocking speed she sprinted for Infamy. When the ghoul tried to sidestep away, she anticipated the movement and hit them with backhand that nearly sent them across the room. Recovering quickly, the glowing one sent their captive reavers to trip her up, giving them time to put more distance between them. Strangely, Wraith didn’t kill the attacking ferals but only pushed them down and away.

“Hmm. Mommy doesn’t want you to kill your siblings, ey? Well, that works for me. Let’s see if we can’t tear down that wall, hmm?”

For several long moments the group danced back and forth across the rocky floor. Wraith seemed tireless and occasionally she would knock the ferals down long enough to attack Infamy. Regretting having destroyed the bloated glowing one, the assassin found that their utter lack of progress was filling them with fear. It dawned on them that without the reavers, they may have already been killed.

“Damn you!” They hissed, “Damn you, you beast!”

Suddenly the ferals and Wraith looked up at the cavern ceiling and froze. They stood motionless for a few moments before they all started snarling. Then, Wraith put her hands up to either side of her helmet and cried out. Still clutching her head, she stepped away from the reavers and began groaning what sounded like a name. Infamy edged closer to try and hear.

“Hann… Hn… Han.. Hancock…”

……

“Remember, Wraith’s appearance will most likely have changed and she will undoubtedly attack us. Do your best to evade and aid MacCready in lining up his shot. If injured, fall back immediately! We cannot afford a bottleneck or blockage that may prevent access to the cages.” Danse took a deep breath, “Do not exit your power armor for any reason! Assume the radiation levels to be at lethal levels throughout the vault. You few have been chosen for your exceptional levelheadedness and steady aim. If spotted, you are to shoot the glowing one known as Radiance on sight. Do not hesitate, and shoot to terminate. There isn’t a soul here who hasn’t been saved or comforted by Wraith. Now, ARE YOU READY TO RETURN THE FAVOR? ARE YOU READY TO SAVE THE COMMONWEALTH’S SAVIOUR?!”

“WE ARE READY!”

“COMMONWEALTH HEAVY DRAGOONS, ADVANCE!”

After much deliberation and investigation it had been decided that Vault 88 was the most likely location of Radiance’s stronghold. A large Minutemen battalion, arrow headed by a small taskforce of the Dragoons, MacCready and Strong, led by Danse, stood just beyond the rim of Quincy Quarries finalizing the plan of attack. However, the operation was as much recon as it was rescue, due to the simple fact that there wasn’t a way to enter the vault without one’s presence known to the possible hostel force within.

Hancock had been furious when MacCready had told him to remain in Goodneighbor, “Like hell I’m going to sit at my bar while all of you are out here…”

“If I have to shoot you again, I will!”

A compromise was reached when Hancock agreed to hang back with the main force. Though, he watched the preparations like a hawk and made several of the Minutemen nervous. And he wasn’t the only one. Strong had taken to pacing back and forth through the encampment, swinging his super sledge, Smashy, while muttering murderous things to himself.

Hancock stood next to Preston with his arms crossed, tapping his foot irritably as Danse’s group disappeared into the cave that led to the vault’s entryway, “Not a bad speech. We sure nine of ‘em are going to be enough?”

Preston frowned at him, “Nine? There were only eight assigned including Strong.”

“Well, I know I have fewer brain cells than when I was a smoothskin, but I can still fucking count! There were eight suits!”

……

She could feel something. Something that wasn’t Radiance. Her mistress’s light shown so bright in her mind that normally that’s all that there was. But now, there was a smaller light. It annoyed her. Like the incessant whine of a mosquito just outside your window. You know that it can’t get in, but your skin crawls nonetheless.

She growled at it. It persisted.

She pushed it down and threw it away from her. It persisted.

She could feel something. And there was now a crack in her shield.

……

Infamy was furious.

They had fallen back when it became apparent that Wraith couldn’t be obtained by head-on force and when Radiance returned, they had found themselves a protected nook just outside of the danger zone. There they meditated: focusing all of their will onto one spot in Wraith’s protective barrier. And just when it seemed that they had a breakthrough, Danse’s team came stomping by.

“Never a moment’s peace!” They pulled their hood close and dimmed their light as much as possible to avoid being spotted. “So close. Well, I can’t follow them… we will see how this plays out. Dammit.”

……

The ferals seemed endless as Radiance sent wave after wave at the Dragoons. Because she had sentry ferals posted at the entrance, her response had been almost instantaneous. The group was equipped with rifles rather than Gatling guns to avoid accidentally mistaking Wraith for an enemy and mowing her down. MacCready hung back, spotting for them as much as possible in the near darkness, grinding his teeth in anxious frustration. Strong repeatedly called for Wraith, the desperate cries for his alpha echoed throughout the vault. Though it adding to the bedlam, no one shushed him.

The suits of Danse’s team were modded for melee and with Strong clearing multiple enemies with each great sweep of his hammer, conserving ammunition wasn’t their highest priority. As such they initially pushed forward with relative ease.

Well past the area that had been developed for settlers, the floor’s slope angle pitched sharply and as the taskforce descended their Geiger-counters began to tick with increasing rhythm.

Danse checked the map on his integrated Pip-Boy, “There’s a large, open area coming up. Don’t let them flank you.”

The tunnel banked ahead of them and the group could see an ominous glow from the chamber beyond. Rounding the corner they fanned out across the entrance in the face of a sea of powerful feral ghouls.

“STRONG SMELLS ALPHA!”

As if on cue, a group of charred and bloated glowing ones separated from the main host and rushed the taskforce. All but unseen, Wraith was in the center and using the brutal attack as a screen, she slipped behind the group and started ejecting cores. She got through half of them before they even realized she was there. Once she pulled MacCready’s core she threw it into the middle of the chamber, and as if it was a signal, the rest of the feral mob began its swift advance.

They hit the group hard. Not anticipating the loss of fusion cores was a crippling oversight. Literally. There was some attempt to close ranks as they fought to put a wall at their back. Danse, having more experience maneuvering in depleted cores than most, called out encouragement and direction as he reduced feral after feral into green goo with his plasma rifle.

Strong left the group; foraging ahead in an attempt to locate Radiance. Less concerned about securing Wraith, his goal was to kill the glowing one who had taken her away.

Wraith’s appearance was shocking: her fast-growing hair was already long enough to protrude from her helmet in a filth-ridden fringe and her once silver-grey armor was blackened by blood, offal and fire. Snarling viscously, she turned back to MacCready after throwing his core and hit him in the back of the knee before leaping into the air and double kicking him in the chest. As he crashed to the ground she straddled his breastplate and punched him repeatedly in the helmet.

Bringing his arms up to shield his head was all MacCready could manage, stunned and low-powered as he was. He had no way of engaging the tesla field now that his fusion core had been ejected and no hope of throwing her off let alone righting himself. As she swatted his defense away, his vision blurred and the metallic taste of his own blood blossomed on his tongue, an image of Duncan flashed in his mind.

Suddenly, Wraith was whisked away as a taskforce member grabbed her from behind and lifted her off of him, “MACCREADY, GET UP!” They struggled mightily with her as she braced her feet on their breastplate and tried to kick off. When it became apparent she couldn’t free herself that way she tried slamming the back of her head into their helmet. Shock caused them to loosen their grip enough for her to free her arms and she began pounding on theirs. Realizing that they could potentially kill her if they held on any tighter, they took her to the nearest corner and dropped her in it.

Her retaliation was savage. However, the team member still had their core and so was able to block her lower leg and knee attacks. Even as she rolled between their legs, they turned quickly enough to prevent her from ejecting their core. Adapting quickly, she leaped, grabbed their gorget and used the leverage to pull herself up and onto their shoulders. Hooking her fingers underneath the edge of their helm, she tried to remove it; pulling and twisting as if trying to unscrew the lid on a particularly stubborn jar of pickles. They reached up to grab her but she grabbed their arm instead. Then, throwing herself toward the ground, she was able to pull them off balance enough to cartwheel them over her and send them crashing to the cavern floor in an unceremonious heap.

I’M LOSING! I’M IN POWER ARMOR AND SHE’S GONNA KILL ME! FIGHTING WAS A POOR CHOICE!

“PIPPA,” her name ripped from him in anguished desperation, “PLEASE!”

She stopped mid-charge. She tilted her head slightly then brought her bloodied hands up and briefly rested her fingertips against her temples before slowly lifting her helmet.

“Oh… oh, no.”

Her face was greatly emaciated and she had large, deep scabs where her helm had rubbed her skin away. Her sunken eyes, made all the more pronounced by her now jutting cheekbones, were missing their normal inner light and flickered back in forth as she searched for something recognizable in the armored figure before her.

“Pippa, it’s me. I…” he choked on a sob, “I came back.”

“De… Deac…” Wraith stopped and crumpled to the ground; a syringe of tranquilizer protruding from the back of her neck.

……

Radiance’s self-preservation had won out. Retreating further into the connecting maze of sewer and metro tunnels, she was escorted by a dwindling pack of her ferals. Strong had got her in his sights and was on her like a bloodhound. Taskforce team members had made attempts to call him back but to no avail.

“Leave him be.” Danse waved their concerns away, “Let us hope, for Wraith’s sake, that he is more than up to the task.”

MacCready carried Wraith out of the vault but hesitated when it came to putting her in a cage, “I know I said this was a good idea…”

“If she wakes up and you’re still holding her she’ll tear your head off.” Deacon’s eyes were red rimed and there wasn’t a trace of his normal humor in his voice, “Put her in the cage or give her to me and I’ll do it.”

“You don’t get to touch her.” MacCready stared him down, “You. Left. Her.”

Hancock, unchecked tears streaming down his scarred cheeks, held his arms out, “Let me. I want to hold her first anyway.” He kissed her forehead and gripped her tightly to his chest, “It’s alright now, sunshine. She… she don’t hardly weigh nothin’.” His legs gave out and he collapsed to the earth; rocking her back and forth, sobbing.

Once secured in a cage, they used brahmin and moved Wraith to the basement of the former Peabody home. Now a fully equipped Minutemen safe house, it was far enough from settlements they were somewhat less concerned if Radiance was able to evade Strong and launch a counter assault.

Curie, with Piper acting as nurse, carefully cut Wraith out of her armor and bathed her. All the while making sad little gasps and sighs at her sores and how terribly bony she was.

“Oh, Blue…”

Curie hooked her up to IV fluids and was able to get a few bags into her before she woke up. Naturally, the first thing Wraith did was to pull the catheter from her arm and throw it away from her.

“Oh, Madame! Why must you always pull out my lines?!”

Wraith, her eyes wild and unfocused, snarled at her and rushed the bars. She pulled on them experimentally to the point where the metal groaned in protest, but when they proved immovable she stepped back and stood in the center of her cage. Her eyes dulled and she was motionless except for the occasional owlish blink.

Over the next several days her friends came to see her and each time a new person came into the room she would hiss, snarl and try the bars. The exception seemed to be Hancock. Instead of her usual violence, she tilted her head back and forth as if she was trying to see him better. She wouldn’t move closer to him nor let him touch her and MacCready yelled at him for putting his hand in her cage to try.

The only one who hadn’t been in to see her was Deacon. He had disappeared soon after Wraith was secured. Hancock was surprised and a little disappointed and MacCready felt guilty. The sharpshooter wondered aloud if his outburst had “run him off”.

“I doubt it. He’s gotta be skulking around here someplace. Heh, now he’s back we’re never gonna be fully rid of him, you feel me?”

Deacon hadn’t been by because he was hunting. Harkness’s report had contained a description of Infamy and unfortunately for the ghoul, Deacon placed 90% of Wraith’s condition squarely on their narrow shoulders. He had spotted them in the caverns of Vault 88 and again when they followed the rescue team to the safe house. He lost track of them soon after but now he stalked the haunted ruins of Quincy like a vengeful ghost.

Infamy was torn. They had very much wanted to follow Radiance but knew that, lacking the strength to resist her, they’d end up much the same as Wraith. They had followed the rescue caravan with no clear intention and retreated to the Quincy ruins to meditate. They settled themselves in the church there for some serious introspection. It dawned on them that they may have slipped from Atom’s path and been following the light of their own hubris instead, “Mustn’t stray like Marie did. Oh, no! Who is Wraith to you, hmm? Should I save her? Should I kill her? Hahahahaha!”

“Laugh while you can.” Deacon’s disembodied voice reached the ghoul a half second before his knife did. Although buried to the hilt, the strike pierced their bicep and wasn’t intended to be a killing blow. He wanted them to hurt.

Infamy instantly cranked up the heat and sent out a blast of radiation. This in turn caused Deacon’s Stealth Boy to malfunction and he phased back into view on his next attack which allowed Infamy to dodge. Dressed in a hazmat suit, he pursued them out the doors and into the street, taking several shots at them as they ducked into Guns Guns Guns, and cursing softly when he missed. Fully expecting an ambush, he ran in after them anyway. He blocked their knife attack with his own blade and shot them point blank in the shoulder. They sent out another blast that staggered him backward and pushed him off his feet. Rolling sideways, he tried to shoot them from the ground but his pistol misfired.

“Oh, what’s wrong? A little radiation got you down? Toy doesn’t work? Too bad.” They threw a knife and exalted when it stuck in Deacon’s blocking arm, “Should know better than to bring a gun to a knife fight!”

Their victory was short lived. Deacon pulled their weapon from his forearm as he vaulted to his feet and threw it right back at them. Using it as a distraction, he closed the distance between them. Easily ducking under their knife swing he slammed his fist into their ribs. They flinched backward, bringing a knee up before stomping down toward their opponent’s foot causing him to involuntarily back away.

Deacon knew he only had a few seconds before the glowing one could hit him with another pulse and he wanted to capitalize on the delay by staying close and inflicting as much damage, without killing them, as possible. As such he appeared to step into the ghoul’s roundhouse, but in a blur of fluid motion, blocked their hand down and brought the back of his hand back up and into their chin. Hard. This resulted in two things: one, their teeth to sliced into their tongue and two, they decided they didn’t want to fight him anymore.

“I gggan haave her!” Their irradiated blood flowed freely from their mouth and they could hardly speak around the ruin of their tongue, “I gan ring her ack.”

……

“ABSOLUTLY NOT!”

“NOT ON YOUR LIFE!”

“SHUT THE HELL UP!”

Danse, Preston and MacCready’s protests overlapped as they shouted at Deacon. The Railroad agent sighed and turned to Hancock, his pale blue eyes pleading.

“I think I want to stab them in the neck more than I want to…” he turned to face the glowing one directly, “How many goddamn people have you fucked over to mess with Wraith?!” He pointed at Danse, “You see him? He’s a friend of mine and you shot him in the fuckin’ face!”

Infamy’s mouth had already healed and they pouted like a child being scolded, “Oh, poo. It’s no fun to have your failures thrown back at you. Besides, I didn’t actually pull that trigger…”

Danse leveled his plasma rifle at them, “Yes, well, you damn well better believe I’ll pull this one.”

Deacon held up his hands and boldly stepped between them, “Whoa there, big dragon. We all know how tough you are.” He brought his palms together as if praying, “This could be the only way to undo what Radiance did to her. I want my friend back.” He swept his hands out to either side, including all of them, “Don’t you fellas want her back?”

Danse looked at the bandage on his arm and lowered his gun. “For the last time; it’s ‘Dragoons’. And of course we want her back. The entire commonwealth wants her back, but we have no guarantee that this villain will actually help her. There is no promise they can make that I will trust.”

“I am but a humble servant of Atom. If it is His divine will that Wraith be spared…”

“Stop. I don’t want to hear it.” MacCready put his hand on Hancock’s chest, “I can’t listen to this crap anymore. I’m gonna go and feed her and relieve the girls. Whatever you decide, I’ll follow.” He glared at Infamy as he left the room.

The ensuing argument gained volume when Piper and Curie joined in and lasted for the better part of an hour. Curie’s sticking point centered on whether or not they would be able to get an accurate reading from a memory lounger if Wraith was doped out of her mind on chems.

“We simply must learn the extent of any and all damage to her brain!”

Piper had her face in her hands, “Yeah, doc, but how are we going to do that if she’s trying to kill us the whole time?”

“I don’t want to see her strapped down, but…”

“Hell no, Garvey,” Hancock folded his arms, “the cage is bad enough.”

In the end no real decision was made beyond incarcerating Infamy and shelving the argument until Dr. Amari arrived. They radioed Fahrenheit to ask that the doctor join them and locked Atom’s Assassin in the spare cage in an outbuilding. Afterward each went to their separate corners to stew.

“Shaved th’ beard but you haven’t changed your mug yet.” Determined to not let him sneak away again, Hancock had followed Deacon outside.

“My guy’s in Boston. Hadn’t worked out a new one yet.”

“Sunglasses are off, yet yer still lying.” The ghoul took a long drag on his cigarette and blew an exceptionally large smoke ring at him, “I’m thinking you can’t bring yourself to do it.”

Deacon folded his arms and forced a smile that would have been convincing if it had reached his eyes, “Oh? Is that right? So tell me, oh enlightened one, why that is.”

He brought his hand up, index finger extended, to eye level and then slowly tilted his finger down and out to point at him, “That face belongs to someone that Wraith loves.”

Hancock might as well have shot him in the heart. He stood shocked into speechlessness.

“Now, I see that got ya.” Hancock’s eyes softened, “Things been different… well, they ain’t. You screwed yourself, son. But if she loves ya, there must be something good about ya. I gave Danse a chance and I gotta say I kinda love that kid.” He flicked his cigarette away, buffed his fingernails on his waistcoat and examined them as he continued, “You’re an asshole, but I’ll put up with ya for her sake.” He slowly brought out his knife and started juggling it; rotating and spinning around and through his fingers expertly, “You need to go and see her. Don’t try to run away again. I’ll find ya.”

Deacon stood outside on the small lawn while the sun went down. He remained until the lights in the house had been extinguished and he could hear the various snores and sighs of Wraith’s sleeping friends. He turned to leave but on his third step he stopped.

There was a lantern in the corner of the basement. Its low light cast a warm glow on the cold steel of Wraith’s cage. She had been lying in the nest of blankets she had made on the mattress they gave her, but stood up when she heard Deacon come down the stairs. She didn’t rush the now slightly bent bars, but stood and tilted her head back and forth much the same way that she did for Hancock. The bath and a few days of heartier food and clean water had done her some small amount of good and she no longer looked undead. He stared at her hair; now just long enough to curl, it appeared bronze when a ringlet caught the light.

“It’s almost like it was when you came up…” He stopped and swallowed hard before trying again, “I hate that you love me. I hate that I allowed myself to fall in love with you. I hate that I left the lean-to up on purpose, knowing that you’d find it. Knowing that you were smart enough to know what it meant. So that even though we loved each other, we would never be together. Because, how could you forgive me? But..” His breath caught as he sobbed and tears ran freely down his cheeks, “but… you did. You did. But now things were different. You thought that the tension between us was a lie. You thought that any minor flirting comment I made was just… another kind of lie. That I never imagined kissing you freely or holding you in my arms because, we were ‘just friends’. That I winced when we touched because I had Haphephobia, and not just because that I cannot allow myself to enjoy it.” He sat on the floor next to the cage and reached out to her, “Pippa, please hold my hand.”

She flinched when he said her name. And after blinking rapidly for a few minutes she open and closed her fists and then sat down facing him. She came no closer but her eyes we fixed on the bandage poking out from his sleeve.

“I thought that if I left I would stop thinking about you. But, it turns out I lie to myself more than I lie to anyone else. Harkness told me to retire, but if I can’t have you and I don’t have work then I have nothing.” He sighed deeply, climbed slowly to his feet and headed for the stairs, “Hancock was right; I screwed everything up.”

“De…”

At first he wasn’t sure he had heard her and when he turned back she was still sitting on the floor and staring at where he had been sitting, “Wishful thinking…”

“Don’t… leave...” She lifted her chin and met his eye, “Deacon… don’t… leave… me.”

......

Thank you so much for reading! Like what you read? Looking for more? Please see my master link post: pinned or under the tag Wraith in the Ruins. My ask is open for any questions/concerns/comments and I would love to hear from you. =^..^=

#wraith in the ruins #fallout 4 #fallout companions #fallout fanfic #fallout fan fic #fanfiction #hancock #john hancock #rj maccready #maccready #deacon #danse #curie #preston garvey #strong #piper wright

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ir0n-angel · 4 years

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Five Favorites

I was tagged by @crackinglamb to share five favorite bits of writing. Thank you, dear.🤍

Tagging @st0nergh0ul @madangel19 @the-desert-dancer and anyone else who wants to play.

It’s been a long time since I’ve been able to write, so these are oldies. Hopefully Lamb won’t mind that I copied her format. Mine also got really long, so under the cut it goes.

From War Cry (Fallout 4):

Nora tightened the belt around her waist, making sure that each device was secure. She systematically flipped each ones' switches on and off again, satisfied when each light blinked then cut out.

"It really doesn't seem like a good idea to arm those things when they're wrapped around you like that." The power armor's speaker distorted Deacon's voice to the point of being unrecognizable.

Nora smiled at him, wrapping a long strip of cloth around and over her middle like she'd seen some of the scavver women wear. Wasteland deprivation, for once, had it's perks. The devices were virtually unnoticeable. "Careful, Dee. You almost sounded like you cared for a moment there."

"Absolutely not."

It was probably the worst lie she'd ever heard from him.

--- Trying my hand at telling a story with flashbacks for the first time, this one is a very strong contender for being my favorite to have ever written. Unfortunately, it’s my least popular Completed fic. ---

From Blue (Fallout 4):

On his third circuit of the perimeter, he was startled by the sounds of splashing down by the southerly side of the river. He crouched low and made his way to the crumbled stone wall, laser musket at the ready.

The splashing continued, then "GodDAMNit!", followed by groan of metal and a ba-whoosh of something large hitting the water.

The lady sure had a mouth on her, he thought to himself as he lowered his weapon and stood.

It would have been comical to see Nora sprawled on her ass in the swallows if the half moon's light didn't throw her look of misery into such sharp relief. It worried him more that he could hear the faint clicking of her Pip-Boy's Geiger counter, yet she made no move to stand back up.

--- Before I lost my heart to a certain ghoul, Preston Garvey was (and, really, still is) my sweetheart. I had a lot of plans for him. Sadly, this is the only one that made it to post. ---

From Things We Can’t Say (Fallout 4):

"Hey, Yo Go... Yao Gooey... Yogurt! Sign says don't feed the bears!" he shouted. A second hard hit nearly knocked him off his feet again, causing him to slip and fall with his back against the door.

Regaining her wits, Nora jumped up and threw herself against the door as a third hit nearly had it open, knocking Deacon's glasses askew. She scanned around frantically for anything to fight with when she noticed the bar latches on either side of the door. She managed to slide both into place as the fourth hit rattled the hinges.

Five. The door held, not giving an inch. Six, but less forceful this time. Pause. A growl. Seven, eight... Weaker still.

"I think it's getting tired," Deacon huffed. "Or dying. That'd be nice. Wouldn't get our hopes up. Buckshot does fuck all against You-goo hide."

--- I had way too much fun with parts of this one, even though I eventually had to hand it over to my bestie to help me finish it after it stalled for two years. Deacon as a character is... well. Yet I’ve been given very high compliments that I keep him in character, so that’s nice. ---

From Have A Drink On Me (Fallout 4):

The woman was too stealthy, he thought as without warning her hand was on his arm. "Did I do something wrong?" she whispered when he refused to turn to look at her.

Correction: This was a terrible idea.

"No, but I might," he confessed, running a hand over his tired face. "I should leave."

When he opened his eyes again, he found that she had slid between him and the door. "Do you really want to?"

It'd been well over two hundred years since he'd seen eyes so blue, or so... full of lust? Surely not.

"No."

"I don't want you to, either." She slid her hands up to the buckle of his leather jacket, loosening it and pulling the strap free before moving up to the zipper.

The armor slipped from his grip and clattered to the floor as she pushed the jacket off his shoulders. "Nora, please..." he rasped. "I'm a ghoul, but I'm also just a man. You need to stop."

The jacket joined his armor. "Do you want me to stop?" she asked, her hands going still at the hem of his undershirt as she looked up to meet his gaze. Her eyes were sharp and clear. One beer wouldn't have been enough to impair her judgment like this, and she showed no signs of chem use.

"No." He leaned forward, crowding her against the door, and rested his forearms against the wood at opposite sides of her head, caging her in. A reminder of his size and a show of his strength to scare her off. "But I don't want to stop, either. Nora, look at me. You can't want this."

Her brows knitted and she tilted her chin up defiantly. "Edward Deegan, you and I are both from the old world. I know how this works just as well as you do. I would not have invited you up to my room if I didn't want this."

--- YEARNING. The start of my maddening spiral into Rare Pair Hell that resulted in my epic series Beer and Benefits. Just... *dreamy sighs* ---

From an Untitled WIP (Dragon Age: Inquisition):

It started with a simple, unconscious gesture so subtle that if he had blinked, he would have missed it.

The moment Cassandra had mentioned he was an apostate, the prisoner had angled slightly to put herself between him and the Seeker.

--- Take a wild guess. ---

#tag game #my writing #five favorites #fallout 4 #dragon age inquisition

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eeveevie · 4 years

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Salvation is a Last Minute Business (4/18)

Chapter 4: Bad Luck Can Be a Big Break

Madelyn and Deacon run their first Railroad operation together and find that they get along better than expected. Nick makes similar observations when finally introduced to the enigmatic man whose been following his partner for weeks. Overwhelmed by sudden feelings of guilt, Madelyn decides it’s as good as time as any to activate her last Christmas gift from Nate—a Mister Handy robot named Codsworth.

“Bad luck either makes a man or destroys him. Are you gonna let it destroy you? Depending how you take it, bad luck can be a big break.” - Police Inspector Nakajima as played by Gen Shimizu (Stray Dog, 1949)

x - x

[read on Ao3] ~ [chapter masterpost]

Madelyn devoted the following days to keeping herself from a full-fledged nervous breakdown. That late Friday evening spent in North End bled into early Saturday morning, and it was nearly sunrise by the time she made it back to the safety of her Cambridge apartment. Robby had escorted her back—or should she call him Drummer Boy? She wasn’t sure she’d adjust to codenames or subterfuge, despite the confidence the organization seemed to have in her capabilities. She was a lawyer, who just so happened to be partnered with a talented detective with a penchant for trouble. Maybe the Railroad needed to extend their invitation to Nick instead. And so she spent that Saturday anxiously pacing her tiny living room, Dogmeat at her heels with a worrying whine.

She had scribbled out all her woes on a notepad—listing out the pros and cons of sticking with the mysterious group. For starters, she considered Desdemona a useful ally, even if her tactics were questionable. In the brief meeting underneath the Old North Church, it was clear that the Railroad leader was efficient and would stop at nothing to get the answers she wanted. Madelyn had also met Glory—a tall, silver-haired woman who worked as an intern at the Massachusetts Institute of Technology by day and ran operations for the Railroad by night. She was considered their heavy, taking on the riskier jobs like transporting the ‘disappeared’ where they wanted to go. Well, at least until their base of operations was forced underground. For that, Madelyn etched her name under pros. After careful consideration on having one of their agents as a neighbor, she realized it likely couldn’t hurt to have somebody nearby—and so Drummer Boy was added too.

When Madelyn focused on the cons, her apprehension spiked. All the secrecy and deception was not how she typically operated, even with the Valentine Detective Agency. Nick knew full well she liked to play things clean and by the book as much as possible, seeing as she had the law to uphold. While she enjoyed the thrill of investigating leads and chasing down bad guys, she wasn’t keen on full blown espionage. That being said, she wasn’t blind to the fact that her time with the agency had turned dangerous—Earl Sterling’s case a glowing example. The hunt to corner Eddie Winter would only exacerbate matters. While she carried a pistol in her purse for protection ever since the night Nate died, she prayed she never had to use it. More disadvantages to joining the Railroad: Desdemona had mentioned they were attacked—the deaths swept under the rug by some kind of media conspiracy. So a threat to her life was certainly a possibility. Premature death—con.

Her mind drifted and she thought about their top agent—as Desdemona put it—Deacon. The man who had followed her, tracked her down and ensured she made her way to the Railroad in the first place. Desdemona was now entrusting him to teach Madelyn the ropes, pairing the two as partners, their task to collect more intel on the Railroad’s would-be enemies. When she thought about if this belonged in the pro or con column, she was frustratingly undecided, falling asleep in the corner of her wrap-around couch.

On Sunday, she awoke startled and confused, sure that the last forty-eight hours had all been a dream. The first thing Madelyn did was call Nick, who was on his way out the agency doors to track her down, worried when he hadn’t heard from her after her evening out. Ellie and Jenny had both talked him down from thinking anything horrible had happened to her, and he had stewed behind his desk all, chain-smoking up a storm without getting a moment of work done in the Eddie Winter case—or any other case, for that matter. Nick was relieved to hear she hadn’t been snatched up, but as she expected, had a plethora of questions the moment she mentioned her encounter with the Railroad. Surprisingly, however, the detective was in favor of her newfound alliance, believing the benefits far outweighed the risks. Even if she was reluctant, Madelyn agreed that she would stick to the planned Monday morning meeting with Deacon—whatever that entailed—then rendezvous with Nick to share all the details of her ordeal.

He wished her good luck. Little did she know how much she needed her friend’s good fortune.

January 20th, 1958

Drummer Boy delivered the instructions for the meeting just after sunrise on Monday—a faded parchment not unlike the one she received on New Year’s Eve—neatly typed lettering directing her to Lexington, specifically on a street corner near the Corvega assembly plant. The industrial complex was a short cab ride from her apartment, and despite the cold-front that had swept in overnight, she elected to wait on the sidewalk, bundled up in her thick, dark blue coat and matching gloves. It didn’t take Madelyn very long to start shivering in place as she waited in the designated spot by the fire hydrant along Massachusetts Ave, wishing she had worn thicker stockings. After five minutes, she glanced down at her watch, irritation rising. At ten-past eight, she dug through her purse and pulled free her compact, compelled for some unbeknownst reason to assess her reflection.

“Didn’t have to get all dolled up just for me, Charmer.”

Madelyn snapped the mirror shut at the sound of Deacon’s voice, turning around to face where he had snuck up on her as if he had materialized straight up from the snow-covered sidewalk like some eldritch being. Or at least, she thought it was Deacon—he looked very different from the last time she saw him. He was dressed much more plainly and comfortably for the weather with a long scarf and gloves. There was something off about his hair, but she couldn’t tell—not with the trilby hat in the way. She wouldn’t have recognized him if it weren’t for the reflective shades.

She was about to respond when she remembered Drummer Boy’s directions. As foolish as she felt, she repeated the memorized phrase. “Do you have a Geiger counter?”

Deacon smiled, impressed. “Mine is in the shop,” he replied. “Catching on quick, I see.”

Instead of offering a proper response, she motioned to his glasses. “Do you ever take those off?”

Deacon deflected, as to be expected. “My face?”

Madelyn sighed—she didn’t want to appear impatient, but she had been kept waiting and was on the verge of freezing on what was supposed to be Boston’s coldest day of the month. Realizing, Deacon gestured for the two to walk up the incline towards the assembly plant.

“I would’ve worn different shoes if I knew we were going to be heading into Corvega,” she mused, breath frosting in the air before her face.

“We aren’t going inside the plant,” he started with a shake of his head, diverting them behind a small retainer wall. He tapped his shoe down against a metal surface, bending down to sweep the build-up of snow away to reveal a hidden maintenance door. “We’re going through here.”

He pointed to her blue suede heels. “Hope those aren’t designer.”

“You underestimate the mess Nick has dragged me through,” she countered, watching as he lifted the heavy metal plate to reveal a small shaft and a ladder that led down into what she could only assume was a sewer tunnel system. “Can’t say it’s ever been literal shit, though.”

Deacon let out a loud, belly-aching laugh as he sat on the ground, allowing his legs to dangle over the ledge. “Ladies first, unless you’d rather give me the chance at an up-skirt looky-loo.”

Despite the lewdness, Madelyn found herself amused and struggled to hide her smile—there were still some questions she wanted answered before she crawled her way down a mysterious hole in the ground. The letter he sent that morning wasn’t exactly clear, not that she expected it to be. “Where exactly are we going? What are we doing here?”

“Our old HQ, before we were gassed out was built to be strong, defensible. We thought it was secure. This escape tunnel leads to the base,” he pointed over his shoulder to the Slocum’s Joe in the plaza a few hundred yards away. “Like Dez said, the survivors didn’t have time to grab anything. So we’re getting whatever intel was left behind in the rush.”

Madelyn was held up on secret underground headquarters. “The Railroad had a base under a donut shop?”

“Not every Slocum’s Joe has a massive tunnel complex underneath it,” he grinned, relishing in the fact that he was cluing her in on the big secret. “Used to be a Defense Intelligence Agency research lab during the war—until V-Day, and then some of those spies turned Railroad agents and the rest is history. We called it The Switchboard. Did us good, until more than half of us were snuffed out.”

She frowned, finding the loss of life distressing, compounded by the fact no one outside the organization except their killers and conspirators knew the truth. “What do we hope to find?”

“Something that shows who the sons-of-bitches that did this in the first place,” Deacon responded before flashing a small, grim smile. “I think I left behind some clean underwear, now that you mention it.”

Satisfied on the mission parameters, Madelyn stepped towards the maintenance entrance and began her descent, tightly gripping the metal bars so that she wouldn’t slip. Above her, Deacon watched for a few moments before following, shutting the metal latch closed behind them. Below her there was only a small light to lead her way, and as expected, a large puddle of water that was unavoidable as she approached the bottom. As she stepped through the murky water she groaned, knowing her shoes were now completely ruined—another pair for the damaged by field work box.

“Wet socks, my favorite,” Deacon announced sarcastically as he stepped down next to her, digging through his coat pockets until he produced a small, silver flashlight. He flicked it on, shining it under his chin for dramatic effect before angling it ahead through the tunnel. “Shall we?”

As they crept along the watery path in silence, Madelyn found herself glancing over at her newfound partner, unable to stop her mind from making comparisons to Nick. It wasn’t fair, considering she had known one man for years, and the other for a handful of hours spread across a few days. Deacon was—well he was an enigma, and she was determined to crack the code.

“Desdemona called you her top agent. How does your position differ from Glory’s?” she asked, catching his attention as they walked.

“My job’s mainly intel. So the more places I go, the better I’m doing it,” he turned his head in her direction. “Might have noticed me hanging around if you weren’t so wrapped up in your detective work. What can I say? You’re just one big beautiful distraction,” he beamed. “Plenty of opportunities to learn secrets following you around.”

Madelyn let his overzealous complement slide, focused instead on what he had mentioned. “You weren’t just at the New Year’s gala?”

“Nope.”

“Are you going to tell me?”

“Nope.”

Figured. She had deduced by that point he was at the Memory Den not only to follow her, but because the Railroad had to have an inside agent there too, and that person could only be Irma, given her position and knowledge of Deacon in the first place. She’d keep that nugget of information to herself for now. Madelyn leaned a little closer—a test, to see if invading his personal space would discomfort him. Of course, he wasn’t bothered in the slightest, as she should’ve known, based on their very first encounter.

“Have you had partners before me, Deacon?” she questioned next, resisting the urge to smile. Now she was just being nosy, even if it was a valid question that had run through her mind. “And why use the codename Deacon anyways? Have a fascination with religious symbolism, or something?”

“What is this, twenty questions?” he joked, feigning annoyance. “I feel like I’m being interrogated!”

Madelyn softly snickered at that. “I could cuff you and take you back to the agency, give you the real experience.”

His eyebrows shot up, lips twisted in amusement. “Kinky.”

Halfway through the maintenance tunnel they came upon a locked gate. Again, Deacon patted at his pockets before reaching directly towards her temple. Understandably, she flinched away, blinking at him in surprise. “Excuse me?”

“Have a bobby pin I can borrow?” he explained, gloved fingers still reaching for her hairline and up-do. Madelyn dodged his invasive approach, pressing her body closer to the iron bars. Maybe she deserved that for testing his personal bubble.

“Good lord,” she sighed, exasperated, pulling free a small iron pin from her golden curls herself. “I can pick a lock too, if you’d only ask.”

Deacon was visibly pleased by her declaration, shining the light on the lock so that she might see her work. “And where might a lovely lawyer such as yourself have learned such a reprehensible skill?”

“My um—” she faltered, deciding now was not the time to tell Deacon about her deceased husband, or the little things he had taught her in their life together. She wondered if there ever would be a time—or if he already knew, and she even needed to broach the subject. The pin snagged and she steadied her hand. “Nick taught me.”

He quirked an eyebrow at her as if he could tell she was being dishonest. She knew if she was going to continue working with him, she would need to get better at the art of lying. She didn’t go to law school for years upon years without developing a silver-tongue—now it was time to put it to good use. Deacon drummed his fingers along the torch.

“I’m used to running Railroad ops solo. But being partnered up with you?” Madelyn glanced out of the corner of her eye to catch a glimpse of his smirk—apparently it was the only expression he knew. “Isn’t too bad. Now that we’re a team, we should have a code name. Like Double Indemnity, or White Heat…the Big Sleep?”

She paused to remove her gloves, stuffing them in her coat pocket. Fingers bare, she had an easier time with the metal pin, even with Deacon’s rambling. “I’m partial to Bogart and Bacall—though I wonder if that movie was only half as good because of their off-screen romance.”

“If this plays out anything like a cliché noir film,” Deacon mused. “I can’t promise you won’t fall devastatingly head-over-heels in love with me by the end.”

Madelyn smiled, but she immediately dismissed the words as harmless banter. So he was a flirt—she could manage that. “I can’t guarantee you won’t be the one doing the falling, Mr. Deacon.”

“Oh, Charmer.”

With a resounding snap, the lock broke free and Madelyn pushed the gate open for the two to advance. These tunnels had more lighting, and beyond another unlocked security door was a small maintenance room, filled with tools, supplies, and boxes. Deacon lingered near the bookshelves, scanning for anything he could salvage. Meanwhile, she peered out through the broken windowpanes and into the large room ahead, overwhelmed by what she saw. A long time ago now, Nate had explained that during his time in the military he had seen intelligence bases that looked straight out of a Hollywood spy thriller, but she always thought he was having her for a laugh—until now.

Even abandoned, the area was spacious, rows of desks set up and prepared for spies—rather, Railroad agents—to research intel on whatever information they saw fit. In an overhead, second-story room sat a large, data computer, powered down and out of commission. She was so caught up in taking in the sight of the so-called Switchboard that she hardly realized Deacon had snuck beside her. She figured he would shed more wisdom on the Railroad’s former base of operations, but instead his next words sent her reeling.

“So you’re married.”

Madelyn nearly choked. “What?”

He tilted his chin down at her left hand and reflexively, she covered the ring with her right, twisting it nervously between her fingers. His expression was too hard to read when he wasn’t grinning at her, eyes always covered up with those ridiculous darkened sunglasses. “That shiny rock you’ve got has implications.”

“Then you should already know the answer,” she said in return, unable to hold back her discomfort. “Right?”

Deacon shrugged. “Maybe not. Maybe I wanted to hear it from you instead of reading it in a file. You know what they say about assuming.”

She hesitated several times, opening and closing her mouth when the words wouldn’t come out. This was an emotional wall so few had breached, and she wasn’t sure if Deacon was one that could be added to the list—not yet anyways. Still, she felt as though she owed him some semblance of the truth, a sign of good faith, if their partnership were to continue.

“I—I’m widowed,” she spoke softly, avoiding looking at his face. “That’s all I’m willing to say, right now.”

“Fair enough,” he replied with a nod. She hoped that was the end for his line of questioning, but then he tapped his finger along his chin. “You’re a woman of faith, right? Have you ever been to the church in Quincy?”

“Now I feel like I’m being interrogated,” she muttered, flicking her gaze to him, hoping he caught her sarcasm. “Are you going to pull handcuffs out of your pockets?”

Deacon’s lips twisted into a sideways grin. “No, but I can talk dirty if you’d like. Veux-tu voir mon pantalon?”

Madelyn couldn’t help but laugh—the warmth in her chest a bizarre and foreign feeling—but her amusement was real. Delighted by her reaction, Deacon silently beckoned for her to follow through the double doors into the Switchboard proper. “Come on, Bacall, let’s find some intel.”

She wanted to tease him, say something clever about how she saw Nick Valentine as more of the Humphrey Bogart type instead, but the moment they crossed the threshold, the air was sucked out from her lungs. The attack on the former headquarters had occurred months ago and yet the underground building still reeked of gas and death. Madelyn felt the corners of her eyes prickle—the air quality wasn’t enough to harm her, but it was caustic enough to be unpleasant. She grabbed one glove from her pocket and held it over her nose and mouth. When she glanced over to Deacon, he was doing the same with the edge of his scarf. She followed him through the rows of abandoned desks and toppled over chairs, scanning the wooden surfaces for files or anything that looked important. Then again, she wasn’t entirely sure what would be important. Deacon passed through the area dismissively, brushing aside forgotten paperwork with the sole of his shoe.

“Where are you going?” she asked, coughing a little at the bitter taste in the air.

He silently gestured upstairs and continued on his path. In the console room that overlooked the main floor, the air was clearer, allowing her to inspect the surroundings a little more carefully. On the nearby table was a forgotten notepad, the handwriting barely legible.

“What exactly is a MILA, and what does it have to do with…MIT terraforming the Commonwealth?” she asked, hesitantly. As she flipped through the notes, she was sure she had stumbled upon the rantings of a madman.

Deacon let out a boisterous chuckle. “Bring those with you. Tinker Tom will be forever in your debt.”

“Tinker…” she shook her head, deciding not to ask for clarification. She tucked away the small notepad into her purse. “Another one of your operatives?”

“He’s not a field agent anymore,” he explained as they moved through the back-office corridors, Deacon leading them left towards a few scientific research labs. He seemed to know exactly what he was looking for. She gave him the benefit of the doubt, considering he used to work there. “Tom is—how do I put it—our engineer. He invents things, usually things that are incredibly illegal and likely to get us all blown up and killed, but thirty percent of the time, his inventions are helpful.”

“He’s intelligent but has fallen so far off his rocker it’s hard to tell sometimes,” he described further, in a somber tone. “If you were under all that stress from watching your friends die, it’d be hard not to succumb to madness.”

Madelyn didn’t say anything, her mind switching focus to the pros and cons list she had drawn up over the weekend. With each new grain of information, the negatives were starting to outweigh the positives. Deacon—she was still undecided. For a moment there, she could’ve sworn she had seen a hidden depth of emotion, but it had faded away just as fast as it appeared. He glanced over his shoulder to look at her, as if he had heard her thinking about him, or rather, felt her staring at the back of his head.

“Our good Doctor Carrington kept a vault up ahead. I can guarantee there’s something we need locked away in there,” he explained. Now there were two names—two Railroad agents in which she needed a face to a name. The back-corner room looked more like a medical lab, albeit with a large, metal door that was better suited for a bank than a doctor’s office. “What’s your lucky number?”

It was a rhetorical question at best, Deacon approaching the safe mechanism eagerly as he removed his gloves. Even though he appeared to know the combination, he made a show of it, leaning in to listen to the gradual ticks of the cogs as they clicked into place. Not a moment later, the lock was open, and he was flashing a self-satisfied grin. “Open says me.”

A gush of air filled the room as the vault door creaked open. Inside, an emergency light flickered eerily, forming elusive shadows out of the metal storage shelves that lined the large safe. Whatever Madelyn expected to find she was astounded by medical and technical gadgets, all abandoned from when the Railroad was forced to evacuate. She was half tempted to pick up a metal contraption of sorts when she was reminded of the possible contamination and focused her attention elsewhere.

“Here we are,” Deacon announced, pulling a large, dusty folder from the shelf. He inspected the contents, allowing Madelyn to gander a peek from over his arm. She was surprised to find many, if not all the pages written in code. “Hadn’t gotten around to deciphering this batch yet.”

“How do you know it’s important then?”

“Because ten people died ensuring it didn’t land in the wrong hands, that’s why.”

Madelyn cocked her head aside, seeing the mission for what it was. “This was the target all along, wasn’t it?” When he nodded, she nearly lost her patience. “You could’ve told me instead of stringing me along for kicks. I went through all of that, and I don’t know why.”

Deacon frowned, realizing he had miscalculated her reaction. “Would you believe me if I said that I don’t know either?”

“No.”

“That’s fair,” he nodded with a small pout. He shut the folder and tucked it into his coat for safe keeping. “Dez approved the op. For all I know, these are instructions on how to brew the perfect cup of coffee.”

She had to take his word for it, hoping everything they had just done was worth the effort. Deacon led the pair towards another maintenance shaft and up a metal catwalk that led to a service elevator. After he pressed the button, she peered at him curiously. “Aren’t we going back the way we came?”

“Speaking of. How do you take your coffee?” he avoided the question, motioning for her to enter the small elevator before him as the doors chimed open.

Madelyn sighed, wondering if it wasn’t too late to ask Desdemona to be paired up with someone else. Still, she humored him. “Two sugars and a little bit of cream.”

Even as they crept through the tunnels, she had doubted that the old Railroad Headquarters was beneath the Slocum’s Joe, but as they exited the elevator into a basement storage room, she was faced with boxes of the coffee shop’s paraphernalia, including a very brightly colored donut costume that was folded over the staircase banister.

“Tinker Tom used to wear that on the street corner while on lookout,” Deacon explained, and she couldn’t tell if he was joking. She followed him up the stairs, but instead of a door there was a false panel of thick wood that took some effort to push open. He stuck his head through the small gap, checking the perimeter. “After you. Cars’ out front if you’d like an escort back to your neck of the woods.”

Madelyn flashed him an indignant stare. She gestured to her ruined shoes. “Two entrances and we had to take the long way around?”

“You’ve shown me you can dance,” he answered. “I wanted to know that you could sneak around too.”

She walked ahead of him through the false bookshelf with half-of-mind to hail a cab as soon as she was outside when his hand hooked into her elbow and yanked her back and into the closest booth. She was about to protest when his eyebrows raised high above his shades. “Act natural.”

She flicked her eyes down to where his hand was covering her own across the table. It wasn’t as an alarming of a shock like the one she felt at the Memory Den, but still, her skin tingled at the unfamiliar contact. Given the circumstances, she didn’t pull away and she squashed the thought that wondered if she would’ve done so otherwise. But if he wanted a ruse, they would need to blend in. She took a moment to shrug off her coat, folding the garment into the space beside her before grabbing the menu tucked behind the napkin dispenser.

Deacon caught on, discarding his own coat and scarf to his right. His left hand breached across the linoleum surface, fingers curling around her right hand again. She wasn’t surprised this was the act he wanted to put on. “Do you see the man at the counter?”

Madelyn barely flicked her gaze up and over his shoulder, grinning like he had told her a joke instead. “The man in black? Yes. He’s wearing sunglasses,” she paused to twist a golden curl around her finger with her free hand—she might have been over doing it. “One of yours?”

“Definitely not,” he responded, disguising his vitriol behind a soft laugh. “But he is here for us.”

She took a glance at the man at the main counter again as discreetly as she could, made easier when a passing waitress collected their coffee orders from Deacon who was all too happy to show off how he had remembered hers. At first glance, the dark-skinned man didn’t look threatening—appeared to be just another businessman on a coffee break—but the way he was scanning the diner with purpose sent a chill down her spine. A hunch told her he wasn’t one of Winter’s men—but then who did he work for?

“Who else knew about us coming here today?” Madelyn asked, not meaning to sound so serious. If this man in black was after the forgotten intel that Railroad agents had died to protect, then he had to belong to the same organization that killed them in the first place. Remembering the facade, she smiled.

He squeezed her hand, either in realization or as part of their charade. “Are you implying we have a mole?”

“Mole, rat,” she shrugged, as if he was talking about something else. The waitress returned with their orders and he stared into his coffee for a long moment before taking a sip. “Afraid it’s been poisoned?”

He chuckled, genuinely this time. “Remember, you can’t trust everyone.”

“Even you?”

Deacon’s fingers flexed against hers again and he flashed a smirk behind the rim of his cup. “Especially me.”

Madelyn didn’t have very long to think about if he was bluffing when she realized the well-dressed man was now advancing towards them. The way Deacon’s foot shifted against her heel told her he also knew they were about to be cornered. She started to run through a myriad of scenarios—one of which included throwing hot coffee—but she wondered if there was something a little more dignified she could do.

Her Railroad partner looked to her, eyebrow arched with a devious expression. “Want to lean over the table and—”

“No—”

“Mads?”

It happened simultaneously, the familiar voice echoing out across the diner—their saving grace—but also Madelyn’s absolute horror. Jennifer Lands came striding over, green heels loud against the tile and matching skirt a flutter as she ducked around the booths to stand right next to their table, circumventing the stranger not a moment too soon. For a moment, Madelyn thought he was going to interrupt but he moved on, flashing one last lingering glance over his shoulder at the booth before moving towards the exit. Only then did Madelyn switch her attention to her friend, who appeared overjoyed, grinning like she had won the lottery. Her hands were clasped under her chin as her eyes shifted between the two.

Oh. Oh no.

Madelyn instinctually pulled her hand away, tucking both beneath the table where she nervously fidgeted with her wedding ring. Deacon straightened his posture, looking too self-satisfied with the change in situation.

“Don’t get shy on account of me,” she beamed, winking at Madelyn. “Won’t you introduce me to your…”

Madelyn was going to regret this. She nodded, gesturing to Deacon. “This is—”

“Humphrey Bogart,” he interrupted, extending his arm.

Jenny giggled, indulging him as she grasped his hand in a polite shake. “It’s not every day you meet a dead celebrity.”

“A friend?” Deacon asked. He used his free hand to point up at Jenny. “I like her.”

Madelyn resisted the urge to groan—to slump into the vinyl diner seat until she could slither underneath the table and out the door not unlike a snake. Or maybe, if she closed her eyes hard enough, she’d spontaneously combust, or she’d wake up and this would have all been a fever dream. Was it possible that she’d inhaled some of the trace amounts of gas while traversing the underground tunnels and was now hallucinating?

“I’m her—”

She snapped herself back to reality before he could say anything—be it the truth or some fantastical lie.

“Jenny, this is Deacon,” she paused, crafting a plausible story in her mind. “He’s an informant for the agency.”

It was obvious Jenny didn’t believe her, still looking at the two expectantly. “You aren’t…on a—”

“No!” Madelyn wouldn’t even let the word come from her friend’s mouth. Deacon smiled, his non-offense to her harsh reaction forcing Jenny to second-guess her observations. The red-head looked ready to question them further when another familiar face appeared from someplace in the diner.

“Jenny isn’t bothering you on the job, now is she?” Nick Valentine—intuition as sharp as ever—gave Madelyn a quick nod. She wasn’t wholly decided on if his presence would make things better or worse. His fiancé seemed to be mulling the information in her mind, still unsure.

Madelyn flashed a toothy smile, gesturing across the table. Her patience was wearing thing. “Nick, you remember our informant from the Memory Den, Deacon.”

Deacon offered a wave. “Nick, you old dog. Good to see you again.”

“Likewise,” Nick nodded, playing along.

He glanced to Madelyn, and she was surprised to find him neither suspicious nor annoyed but amused. A small smirk was pulling at his lips and she had to wonder if he had witnessed their donut-shop antics too. At least the detective knew why she was in Lexington that day and had the sense to put two and two together, unlike his lady love. Jenny wasn’t privy to the finer details of their work—better to leave her in the dark, for her own safety—even if it led to awkward situations such as this.

“We were just going over that information we discussed,” Madelyn said, discreetly.

On cue, Deacon lifted the thick file of paperwork they had just smuggled out from the Switchboard. “What Charmer said.”

Nick’s eyes lit up, intrigued. “Is that so?” he rested his hand on Jenny’s back, smiling to his beloved. “Sweetheart, do you mind if I have a private, work-related chat with Madelyn? Shouldn’t take but five minutes.”

“Sure,” the red-head replied, her grin a little too devious as she waved Madelyn out of the diner booth. “I’ll keep Bogie here company.”

At Nick’s confusion, Madelyn shook her head, pulling on her coat as the two moved outside. She gave one last fleeting glance to Deacon, who only grinned. Leaving him alone with Jenny was about as bad as the two of them getting caught by the strange man—she only prayed nothing nefarious came of their conversation. In front of the Slocum’s Joe, she busied herself with pulling her gloves back on while Nick watched.

“So that’s Deacon,” he said—a statement, rather than a question. His eyebrows were raised, expression one of mild disbelief. “Not what I expected.”

“Kind of hard to describe a walking question mark, Nick,” Madelyn replied with a low laugh. “He could also qualify as an asterisk. Maybe one of those squiggly accent lines.”

Nick smiled, the mirth in his expression worrying her a little. “I take it the job went well?”

Madelyn hesitated, wondering how much he had seen inside the donut shop. “Very.”

“Suppose there’s competition for being your partner then,” he responded in a playful tone.

“Hardly,” she sighed, rolling her eyes. “I work for the agency. The Railroad isn’t paying me. Unless you count vague lessons on the importance of trust and intuition as currency.” She patted Nick on the shoulder and flashed an over-zealous smile. “Deacon has got nothin’ compared to you.”

The detective laughed, shaking his head. “So that’s why he calls you Charmer.”

Madelyn balked at what Nick was insinuating. “It’s a codename. Mysterious, don’t you think?”

“Fitting,” he countered, looking like she had told him some hilarious joke. “The two of you are getting along then?”

She realized that perhaps Nick had brought her outside for ulterior motives. Shouldn’t they be discussing what her and Deacon found rather than their rapport? She sighed, deflecting with a shrug. “I can get along with anybody. He’s tolerable, I suppose. He’s incredibly strange, and talks in riddles, and I really need to explain that he doesn’t have to try so hard to get me to laugh—”

Why’d she say that last part for? She broke off, feeling unnerved by the way Nick was looking at her, expression soft with a knowing smile. Madelyn felt her face grow hot despite the chill of the Boston winter air. She avoided his eyes, glancing towards the glass windowpane of the diner where she could just make out Deacon and Jenny sitting, laughing over something. Her thoughts betrayed her—but he’s pretty good at making me laugh, and he isn’t that bad to look at—she shook her head sharply, chasing the idea away.

“If I could make an observation,” Nick started, hesitantly. His hand rested on her shoulder, catching her attention. “I haven’t seen you so chatty and bright in a long time. Not since—”

Madelyn’s mood shifted dramatically, and she frowned up at her friend. “Since what, Nick?”

He winced, knowing he misspoke. In true Valentine fashion, he rebounded as well as he could. “It’s a good look, Madelyn.”

This is why she didn’t get close to new people—it only caused a myriad of confusing emotions. In spite of the turbulence she felt, deep down she knew Nick had a point. One she didn’t feel like admitting to yet, but a point, nonetheless. Her newfound partnership with Deacon—one she had resisted at first—had been surprisingly natural. Too natural, apparently. Now, she felt even more conflicted, and the guilt she’d been carrying around for more than a year threatened to flood her senses.

She put on a brave face, like she always did. “Thank you.”

Nick grimaced, breathing out in defeat. She knew he meant well, but the timing still wasn’t right for her. Her happiness was important, yes, but so was the job. They had bigger proverbial fish to fry. Just when she thought to speak on what they’d found beneath the Slocum’s Joe, Jenny’s jovial laugher echoed out into the Boston streets. Deacon followed behind her, boisterous as he retold some wild tale about spying for the agency in Scollay Square. They approached, unaware of the lingering tension in the air.

“I like him,” Jenny mused, nuzzling herself up to Nick’s side as she grasped his hand.

Madelyn found Deacon beside her, but showed some restraint and did not reach out to touch her in any way. She wasn’t sure how to feel about it—pushing the fleeting thoughts away as he flashed her a smirk. “Everybody likes me. Isn’t that right, Charmer?”

“Careful,” she chided in a playful tone, if only to keep the atmosphere light. “You’ll start to sound like a jelly-filled donut.”

The group laughed, and with a quick glance to the detective, he took the cue from Madelyn. “Are you heading home? I can drive you there on the way to Jenny’s hospital shift.”

If she had to guess, if only for a moment, Deacon looked disappointed as he dug for his own keys from the never-ending void that was his coat pockets. No doubt he knew where she lived, but a little voice in her head was telling her that it was time to depart for today and regroup later. Much later—after she’d had some time to think and recharge—and go over that hastily scribbled list of pros and cons again.

“Yes, thank you,” she agreed, turning to face her Railroad companion as Nick escorted Jenny to his parked Cadillac nearby. Madelyn hoped to end their interaction on a positive note. “Would you call today successful?”

Deacon smiled as he nodded, patting his coat where he had tucked the documents away. “We got what we came for. Its best we split up and meet back at the church.”

She silently agreed but didn’t move right away to catch up with the others. Even though she had just mentally reprimanded herself, she couldn’t let herself walk away without speaking the truth. “We make a good team.”

“The best,” he replied, delighted by her comment. He nodded, tipping his hat slightly. “See you soon, Charmer.”

Back in the comfort of her apartment, Madelyn spent most of the evening the same way she had spent the weekend—pacing in a nervous line from her kitchen to her couch, from her couch to the hallway and everywhere in between. She had added more notes, scribbled thoughts and emotions to her Railroad List, reading them over and over as she poured generously from her whiskey bottle with each refill. Even with all the new additions after her escapade at the Switchboard, there was one glaring omission.

Deacon.

Just thinking of the man made her feel uneasy, and not for the paranoid reasons she once held. No, that would be far easier. Instead, she was frustrated by how easily he had gotten past her defenses, knocking down the perfectly built walls she had put up around her heart and mind ever since Christmas 1956. She was capable of being a bubbly, charming person—but it wasn’t supposed to happen so quickly, especially with a practical stranger. Especially with somebody she wasn’t sure she could trust. Wasn’t that what he had been trying to teach her in the first place?

Nick and Jenny’s observations only made matters worse. In the end, Madelyn only felt conflicted and a compounding amount of guilt—like she had somehow betrayed Nate by letting somebody, anybody get under her skin. Regardless of what Nick, or any of her friends said, she was sure that she didn’t deserve that kind of happiness—not when her late husband’s murderer was still free.

Dogmeat whined, intuitive to her emotions, and she sought comfort in petting the dog, beckoning him to follow her down the hallway so they could get some sleep after a long day. As she passed through the hall, she double backed to the open storage closet, peering inside, just as she had done on Christmas day. Instead of continuing on however, a strange compulsion to inspect the large, dusty box in the corner came over her. The last present she’d ever received from Nate, left unwrapped and hidden for her discover in the garage of the home they once shared. A General Atomics logo was plastered atop the box and below it in white cursive letters read, Mister Handy. Dogmeat shuffled between her legs to get a better look.

“What do you think, boy?” she asked. “Should we open the box?”

He barked, signifying his approval. After the weekend she’d had, perhaps it was time to activate the robot. Maybe it wouldn’t be so bad to have a Mister Handy around to help, as her husband had intended. If anything, the extra company—even one built on artificial intelligence—would do her some good. Still, the action would prove to be a large step in the so-called grieving process. Dogmeat barked again, and she focused, steadying herself as she began lifting the flaps.

Curiously, the manufacturers seal had already been broken. As soon as the box was opened, Madelyn knew why—atop the shiny surface of the robot was an envelope. In Nate’s distantly familiar handwriting were two words: Hi Honey! Her entire body seized up as she let out a quiet sob, suddenly overwhelmed. Through clouded eyes, she pulled the box out of the closet and into the hallway, carefully tipping it over so she could extract the heavy metal frame of the deactivated Mister Handy unit. She sat on the carpet next to the robot, Dogmeat sniffing at the metallic surface as she carefully opened the letter from Nate.

Maddie,

I’ve been thinking a lot about our future, thinking about the possibility of welcoming a child into our lives. Lord knows I’ve been having fun trying for one—practice makes perfect, right? I’ve also been thinking about all the preparations we’ve made for building our family: the crib, the tiny clothes, even joking about potential names. It sounds foolish but even one child, one little life created with you would be enough, no matter how long it takes.

I know you’re a fiercely independent and modern woman who likes to take care of herself, but with our plans to grow our family, I was thinking we could use an extra hand. Or three. Regardless of ol’ Codsworth here, I know you will be an amazing mother.

I love you so much. You are my best friend and my saving grace. The first and last thing I think about in the morning and at night. You have made me so incredibly happy. If I should die tomorrow, I’d die a happy man.

-Nate

PS: Did you know twins run in my family?

Reading his words left a new kind of pain in her heart, a fresh reminder of the plans they had before his life had been cut short. How prophetic of him, to leave such a statement about his assumed death. Madelyn wasn’t sure when the note was written, but it had to have been shortly before that fateful night in Boston Common. With his letter were the General Atomic factory instructions, along with more of Nate’s handwritten scribbles indicating which steps she could skip and simple hacks—a cheat sheet from beyond the pale.

After twisting the upper chassis, she found and pressed the activation button until the robot whirled back to life with a series of beeps and garbled words. Almost immediately it was floating midair, eye-sensors adjusting to its environment. Madelyn stood to be as level as she could with the unit, the way it hovered allowed the machinery to tower over her. Her reflection was distorted in the shiny surface of the Mister Handy as she stared at it, suddenly wondering if this had been a good idea after all.

“You must be Mrs. James,” the robot declared joyously, his three metal arms spinning as if to express that delight, barely missing her body. “I am Codsworth. Your new butler. Oh, how wonderful it is to finally meet you. Sir has spoken so much—”

She couldn’t help the strangled gasp of a cry that escaped her, snapping a hand over her mouth to prevent further disruptions. Hearing this robot—Codsworth—speak so casually as if nothing was amiss made reality come crashing down around her all over again. He floated a little closer.

“Have I upset you, mum?” Codsworth asked in a sullen tone.

Madelyn shook her head in earnest, wiping away her tears on the sleeve of her dress. “No, of course not. Codsworth honey,” she sniffled, baffled by her own term of endearment for the Mister Handy unit. Perhaps the overly posh British accent had gotten to her. But now came the awkward explanation of telling a robot that his master was long dead. “It isn’t you. You should know that…Mr. James is no longer with us.”

“Oh, where has he gone off to?”

She closed her eyes, hoping she wouldn’t have to be so blunt. “He’s dead, Codsworth. Died before he could gift you to me.”

Expressionless, mechanical eyes ‘blinked’ back at her, processing what she had just said. “Well, I’m here now, mum,” he spoke. “I’m terribly sorry for your loss. Sir was so kind when activating me and said so many lovely things about you,” his tone shifted to one of determination. “I look forward to fulfilling the duties I was meant to, if you’ll allow.”

As silly as Madelyn felt to be comforted by a floating Mister Handy unit, she couldn’t help but smile at his words. In a gesture of kindness, she placed her hand against his metal frame, wondering if he—or the wires in his mainframe that made up his personality—understood. It would take some adjustment, but she could get used to having a disembodied voice in her home—the thought made her smile even more.

“Of course, Codsworth,” she agreed. Madelyn released a breath and felt like a weight had been lifted off her chest. This had been a long time coming. “It’s wonderful to finally meet you too.”

#fallout 4 #fallout au #deacon x f!solesurvivor #madelyn hardy #deacon #nick valentine #jennifer lands #and an undercover appearance by X688?#dogmeat #also cosdworth is here now!#this chapter is filled with glorious banter #and the start of the SLOW BURN #I almost didn't post this today but here I am

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lookbluesoup · 5 years

Text

Fallout OC Interview

@robobrainmurdermysterytheatre and @quinndecker214 tagged me to do this LITERAL AGES ago! Thanks for this and IM SORRY IT TOOK SO LONG it got lost in my drafts I hope it was worth the wait //shot I TAG @nuclearvessel @ronqueesha @tarberrymentats @wild-w4steland-snip3r @daddyfuckinlonglegs @saltsealed @thewookieruns No pressure!!

Choose an OC.

Answer them as that OC.

Tag 5 people to do the same.

1. What is your name? Nathaniel Christian Wright. Maiden name Ronan, if, aha, you like fun-facts.

2. How old are you? You know I lost count somewhere after 240?

3. What do you look like?

4. Where are you from? Where do you live now? I was born a good ways South of here, spent most of my childhood there. Moved to Boston... before the War. Now I stay with Piper in Diamond City between work, got an infield view and everything! Never would have bet on that the day I woke up in the Vault. I guess life’s funny, hunh? I - ...I’m glad to be there.

5. What was your childhood like? Oh, nothing special, really. My Pa was ex-military, a chaplain. Ma stayed home to tend the house, and raise rambunctious sons. She was - good. I wonder sometimes whether she’d be proud of me, out here.

6. What groups are you friendly with? Are you allied with any factions? Well, I am K i n g of the Castle - a-hem, I mean, General. Yeah, just General. (//Ronnie distantly yells something about the joke not being funny the 80th time)

[[There are rumors of Nate being a leading Railroad Agent, but he absolutely would not admit to that in a casual interview xD]]

7. Tell me about your best friend. Deacon? Hah! What can’t I tell you about him! He’s got a two-dozen kids. Twelve wives. One’s a ghoul. He’s also a synth, but you didn’t hear that from me. Has an extra toe on his left foot. Those sunglasses aren’t a fashion statement, they’re glued to his face. Horrible accident, really. Inoperable. He can speak five languages, including Zetan. I swear, it’s all true! But, ah. He’s a good friend. Better than he knows.

8. Do you have a family? Tell me about them! My son, Shaun, lives here at the Castle. I wish I could bring him to Diamond City, let him make friends with the other kids, try to give him something of the life he might’ve had before the War. But I’ve got enemies. The Minutemen have enemies. Comes with the job. It’s safer for Shaun to be here, out of the limelight. And also, you know, with a barracks full of guns ready at a minute’s notice if there’s trouble. My men are family, too. Hell, I feel closer to the people here than I did most of my own blood in the old world. There’s also my butler, Codsworth. And Natalie, Piper’s little sister - well, she may as well be my little sister, too. But hey, keep that one off the record. Nat’d never forgive me.

9. What about a partner or partners? I’m a happily tethered man, bound for life to one kickass reporter, Mrs. Wright. You may have heard of her.

10. Have you ever heard of The Brotherhood of Steel? What do you think about them? [Nate seems more guarded] Yeah, I know them. That graveyard across the channel used to be their airship. I wish it had ended differently, but... well, war never changes.

11. Who are your enemies, and why? I suppose that’s a natural follow-up question. Well, most of the Raider gangs will attack on sight. Gunners, too. But we’ve managed to clear a pretty safe stretch between major towns over the past year. Since the Minutemen have established a pro-synth stance, more than a few settlements shut their doors on us. Lost a fair number of volunteers. But no violence so far. Other than that... the remnants of Brotherhood here aren’t fond of me, personally. Why? We parted on bad terms. Lets just - leave it at that. Anyone else out here can tell you the story. There are Institute survivors, too. We tried to get as many noncombatants out as we could the day it fell, but it was a battle. It was messy. A lot haven’t forgiven me for turning on them. [sighs] ...Can you blame them? The Minutemen have kept a running list of Courser sightings since then. So many still aren’t accounted for. Keeps me up at night, sometimes.

12. What about The Enclave? I’ve heard rumors. None of them good. 13. How do you feel about Super Mutants? Tough bastards. I wish we could help them. I know they don’t all go crazy, and Virgil was making progress on a cure. But I haven’t seen him in years. We’re not - really on speaking terms.

14. Have you ever fought a Deathclaw? More than once, and never unscathed. Not bragging! It’s the truth. Take a look at this, [he rolls back his sleeve to show a massive scar running over his upper arm] Piper and I got pinned down, lizard gutted me and nearly lost me an arm. Also? Ruined my best flannel shirt.

15. What’s the craziest fight you’ve ever been in? Bunker Hill. What a hellscape. Between the Railroad and the Institute, things were hot enough. But somehow the Brotherhood found out, too. It’s a wonder Bunker Hill wasn’t razed to the ground. My Courser escort was killed in a Railroad ambush and the synths we were after escaped. I barely got out alive.

[[Nate actually killed X4-18 and helped the synths escape, but that’s another Railroad secret :’D]] 16. Do you like fighting? No. But I’ll do what I have to to stay alive and protect the people I care about. 17. What’s your weapon of choice? A modified radium rifle. I was a sniper back in my army days, it’s what I’m trained in. But if the fight does get close, this gun’s versatile enough to still be useful. Wish my loadout back in Anchorage did that. I’m fond of the laser musket, too - but you only get one shot, and then everyone will know exactly where you are. Strategically it’s too limited.

18. How do you survive? Your wits, your charm, your skills, brute force, some combination? (a.k.a. what’s your S.P.E.C.I.A.L?) My winning charm, of course! [winks] And trekking all over the Commonwealth keeps me fit for when folks aren’t so interested in talking. Piper keeps the luck for both of us. I’m - pretty sure I’m cursed, actually.

S(6) P(7) E(8) C(11) I(7) A(5) L(2)

19. Have you ever been in a vault? What do you think about them? I suppose I should be grateful, really. If not for the Vaults, I’d have died two centuries ago. I’d never have met Piper, or taught Shaun to play baseball. None of this... none of this at all would have happened. [grimaces] Don’t get me wrong. Vault-tec was fucking insane. The things they did to people in some of those Vaults-? I was uncharacteristically lucky. There’s a reason they call me the Sole Survivor, and it’s not from winning some tv game show about living on an island.

20. How do you beat all the radiation around here? Has it affected you? My Pip-Boy has a Geiger counter built in so I can avoid the worst of it. But sometimes it can’t be helped. I always keep Rad-Away and Rad-X on hand. Other than that, I bring the old vault suit to wear under my clothes if I know exposure’s inevitable. It helps a little. Piper likes to tease me about that, but somehow I think she prefers me with hair and less than six limbs. Plus, my ass looks great in blue. Her words. Not mine. Yes, you can quote that.

21. What’s your favorite wasteland critter? The radstags, no doubt! [motions to Legs Washington] Look at those little extra arms wiggling around. Adorable.

22. What’s your least favorite wasteland critter? Yao guais. They are way too stealthy for something that big. I dunno what they’re eating up in Maine, but Far Harbor was full of them. Big, grumpy ones. And look, have you ever tried to outrun a bear? Don’t.

23. How do you feel about robots? I like the ones that aren’t shooting at me! Codsworth and Ada are friends. Isabel’s eyebot, Sparks? Adorable. I even got this hat from an old Sentry named Ironsides. Those Rust Devils and their junk bots though? I try not to fight them without a lot of backup. Got ambushed by a Succubus once. Not a good time. At all.

24. How many caps do you have on you right now? Why, you planning to rob me? Kidding. About 200, which is a lot for me generally speaking.

25. Nuka Cola or Sunset Sarsaparilla? [Suddenly excited] Wait, does Sunset Sarsaparilla still exist?

26. Do you do chems? Aside from Med-X when I’ve been shot? Not if I can help it.

27. Do you ever think about the Pre-War world? Not as often as in the beginning, but it does happen sometimes. I’ll have dreams where I’m back in my old life, and it’s always... disorienting.

28. What’s your deepest regret? What would you do differently? There are - a lot. I’ll admit it. Sometimes I wonder, if I’d only just - hm... Well. To be honest, I’ve been trying not to linger so much on what I’ve done wrong, and focus on what I can do right for the future instead. Piper taught me that.

29. What’s your biggest achievement? Or what do you hope to achieve? I’ll always be proud to call myself Mr. Wright. If I can be half the man Piper tells me I am, I’ll consider it a life well lived.

30. What do you want for the future? For yourself? Your friends? The world? Geeze, you could give my wife a run for her money with a loaded question like that! I want... a future where folks don’t have to be afraid of monsters coming after them in the night. I want synths to have a fair chance at living their own lives, as who they are, without pretending. I want Shaun to - be able to grow up. For myself? Everything I need is right here already.

#text #long post #fallout #fallout 4 #fallout oc interview #nate ronan #screenshot

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oldmanatom · 4 years

Text

Fallout OC seven day S.P.E.C.I.A.L.

so i saw this post cross my dash with a bunch of questions based on S.P.E.C.I.A.L stats, and i thought it was neat so i filled it out! and also stole the idea from @quickscribe to just do all the prompts at once and put it in a single post, so thank you for that. check it out below the cut:

this is all for Trinidad, my F4 PC who i haven’t talked about since 2016 so if you’re like “who the fuck is that” that’s 100% valid.

Day 1 - Strength

How physically strong is your OC? strong enough to haul her smallish pack of stuff around the wasteland, but not much stronger. she’d be able to pull herself up off a ledge, depending on how far off it she was and the angle she was hanging at, but she’s not doing pullups on the reg.

How good are they in melee or hand to hand combat? she’s competent enough to be able to defend herself if pressed, but typically prefers working with guns, not her hands. even CQC with pistols is preferable to a knife fight.

Do they just punch things or are they trained in martial arts? lord knows the Shady Pre-War Paramilitary Organization that she ran with threw just about every martial art form at her they could, but nothing’s been able to break her of the brawler fighting style she learned from her younger days. there’s little finesse but a lot of fast, hard punches and dirty fighting.

Can they carry very heavy guns around easily or carry loads of supplies, or are they not that strong? she only carries two guns—a pistol and a hunting rifle, to give her some flexibility with range—plus a fairly straightforward set of gear: food, water, whatever limited medical supplies she can scrape up, bedding, miscellaneous light survival tools (flint/steel, etc.). she’s not a pack mule, but her pre-War days gave her enough experience trekking around geared up to where she can handle her relatively light loadout with some flexibility if she finds something worth taking with her.

Day 2 - Perception

How good is your OC’s eyesight? Can they see well in low light conditions? very good. low light can be touchy, depending on the situation, but she’s got stellar eyesight overall.

How quickly or slowly do they notice anything suspicious? if something weird is happening, chances are she already knows about it. she’s been around the block enough to know to keep her eyes open always, not to mention the times that her perceptiveness and paranoia has been the only thing that made certain bad situations turn out in her favor.

How good is their aim? with a gun, very good. not surprising, since her pre-War job was being good at shooting, but while it’s something she’s been extensively trained on she also has something of a natural proficiency for it. (this combined with her eyesight made her pre-War employer try and tap her for their sniper training/positions, but she doesn’t quite have the patience or head for numbers that snipers need.)

How do they see the world around them? suspiciously at best. she was very-shellshocked once she came out of stasis, then disappointed once she started to get her feet under her and saw how much things have changed, and how much they haven’t. she holds things at a distance from her and tries to look at things objectively, though the line between “objective” and “dissociating to avoid having emotions” is a blurry one for her.

Day 3 - Endurance

What is your OC’s overall fitness level? is anyone really “fit” in a wasteland...? she’s fed, though not well most of the time, and with enough rest and resource management she’s generally able to do the physically demanding things that her journey through Boston demands of her.

How long can they exert themselves before tiring? depends on the activity. regular walking and traversing through ruins she can do for a good chunk of the day, though not at a breakneck pace and with some breaks. her age + extended sleep are starting to wear down on how well she can handle short bursts of frenzied activity and how long she needs to recover after them. she’s not pulling all-nighters except when absolutely necessary, and even then she’s feeling the effects far more than she remembers feeling them before the freeze.

Are they good at swimming, sprinting, running or climbing? aerobic exercise is Trinidad’s mortal enemy.

How well can they adapt to environmental pressures? she can grit her teeth and bear a lot of things, to an extent, but the toll they take on her once she’s through it is high. she’s not getting through a blizzard, sleeping for the night, and popping up the next day right as rain. the radiation also hits her harder than it does for the folks who were born post-War, and any higher-than-(post-War)-normal exposure to it tends to make her sick for days. (her initial days out of stasis actually were mostly spent dealing with lowish-grade radiation sickness until she finally adjusted, but even now she generally feels worse than normal if she spends too long in Boston proper.)

Day 4 - Charisma

How persuasive is your OC? about as persuasive as a brick wall. she’s never been particularly charismatic, and her line of work relied on her ability to be tough, quick, accurate, and quiet, not charming. to say her persuasion skills are rusty would be generous. outside of that, she’s blunt as a bat and hates verbal subterfuge—she just wants to ask a question and get a straightforward answer, not get run around in circles.

How easily can they obtain information that others may be less willing or inclined to share? well, if threats, intimidation, and a moderate amount of physical violence are on the table, than somewhat easily. otherwise, not easily at all.

How much verbal charm do they have? zippo. she makes up for it by not talking much.

Can they carry themselves with confidence? now this? she can absolutely do. partially it’s because she doesn’t talk much and had good posture drilled into her from said Shady Paramilitary Org, but she also has the air of someone who can’t be fucked with, because, well, she’s spent a lot of her life becoming someone who can’t be fucked with, for better and worse.

Day 5 - Intelligence

Can your OC read, write and do basic math? yes, though she’s never been a big math person. reading and writing are kind of whatever for her—she wasn’t much into reading before the War, but now that there’s precious little else to do to relax, she’s gotten more into it, and writing letters is about the only writing she really does much of.

What was the basis of their education i.e. were they formally educated or did they have to learn as they went? she dropped out of high school her senior year, though the two to three years preceding that she wasn’t exactly going very often, doing very well, or participating in the process much when she did show up. most of the knowledge she uses day-to-day has come from her growing up mostly unsupervised in the rougher areas of her neighborhood, training through Shady Paramilitary Org, and experience going to sketchy places and doing dangerous things.

Do they favour brains over brawn? a mix of both, with a little more emphasis on brawn, or at least on physical skills. she’s learned better than to go in firing, and typically likes to hang back and gather intel before acting, but she’s the kind of person where, if tasked with finding out about some illicit cover up, would break in and steal documents about it, not try and trick the target into giving info up. she likes the informed-but-straightforward solution to a situation, even if it’s not the one that looks the prettiest at the end of the day.

How good are they with technology? she’s good at figuring out how things work, as well as general repairs, especially things that are mechanical (versus electronics). as for using technology, she has basic knowledge of enough tech to get a sense for how something works and how to use it, but doesn’t necessarily rely on it much in her day-to-day life. the Pip-Boy she’s kept from Vault 111 is about the most advanced thing she uses daily, and even then, she mostly uses it for the map and the built-in Geiger counter.

Day 6 - Agility

How fast can your OC react to sudden changes? she’s quick to react to them physically—her life has very often depended on her reacting first to something—but her mind and emotions typically take a bit to catch up.

How good are they in combat situations where they are constantly moving? good enough to have survived 15 years worth of combat situations where she has to move quickly.

Are they quick on the draw with their weapons or not? very quick. though she’s more experienced with longer range weapons that can’t exactly be “stowed” quickly or easily, her time in Boston is really refining her CQC skills, quick-drawing being one of them.

Can they manoeuvre quickly around a slower assailant? for the most part! but she’s not particularly well-versed in judo-like movement redirection—she’s the kind of person that would likely try to deflect a blow or take it in a way that doesn’t stagger/hurt as much versus try to use the striker’s momentum against them. (she’s not the largest, most physically sturdy person, either, so this instinct has fucked her over more than once.) she’s not the fastest footed fighter, but she knows how to use what speed she might have to her advantage, and she’s perceptive and quick enough on her feet to use the environment against her attacker as well.

Day 7 - Luck

How fortunate (or not) overall is your OC? middle of the road. she’s not blessed, but not cursed, either.

Do they seem to stumble upon necessary supplies easily or never seem to find what they need? kind of a crapshoot, but middle of the road as well, for the most part.

Have they survived an injury that, had it been someone else, would have been fatal? not yet...

Do good things or bad things happen more around them? i would say she tends to find herself in bad situations and dealing with bad things more often than not, but i don’t know if it’s a matter of luck, necessarily—before the War, it was because that was just the kind of life she lived, and post-War she’s not exactly keeping herself out of the way of bad situations, though she’s not getting sent straight into them anymore, either.

#fallout oc seven day special #poor mutants down on their luck #shoot straight and run #did NOT see OP's note that the questions are more for guidance vs actually being. the things to answer lmao #and now that i've done it like this i'm like...hm...don't really want to go back and add more...love leaving gaps in my stuff...#idk if i'm going to write anything with trinidad but i like thinking abt what she'd be like if i actually. y'know. did something with her

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siribear · 4 years

Text

whisper confines deacon to bed rest. she sets him up in the general’s - her - quarters, propped up in one of the few mattresses not covered in mud and mirelurk slime. he grumbles the entire time, protests that he’s fine or that he’s bored, but when he spikes a fever in the middle of the night, it shuts him up.

any medicine she knows that would help him fight the infection has likely long since been scavenged; two hundred years too late to find antibiotics. instead, she stays by his side, ready with a stimpak and a cold rag. whisper doesn’t sleep, busy monitoring his breathing and his temperature. at one point, she attaches her pip boy to his arm and uses it to check on him throughout the night.

thankfully, his fever breaks by morning, his breathing even and the cut across his stomach no longer red and angry. outside the room, sunlight creeps along the halls, peeking in the open doorway to her quarters - and so does preston, looking just as tired and wan as she feels. bruises have formed under his eyes, warm brown now far and away.

they’re going to bury devin’s body today. she only just learned his name last night, overheard from the other minutemen. the one that charred the mirelurk that attacked her before they reached the castle. and now he’s dead. unrecognizable but for the put together minuteman uniform.

‘how’s he doing?’

whisper pulls her hands away from the edge of the bed and deacon’s hand. ‘his fever’s gone down now. he’ll be fine.’ she looks back to preston. ‘how did you sleep?’

not well, judging by his heavy sigh. ‘i’m ready whenever you are.’ a non-answer. surprisingly indirect, for him.

‘yeah. okay. give me a moment to put myself together, here.’ preston nods and leaves her to it.

she rubs at her eyes and stands, straightening out invisible wrinkles in her shirt. deacon still hasn’t woken by the time she combs out her hair and changes into his jeans. they fit, if barely. but they’re clean, and that’s what matters. whisper rests the back of her hand against his forehead. warm, but not burning up. with a quick kiss to his temple, whisper joins preston outside.

unfortunately for maccready, deacon does eventually wake up. after snagging as much ammo lying around as he can, maccready enters the boss’s office in time to see the idiot trying to get out of bed. guy’s been sleeping for half a day, though, so he can’t really blame him. but the boss would be mad if anything happened to her - partner? - though. no need for her to go through two funerals.

and he distinctly remembers what she did to kellogg’s head, so there’s that.

‘you need to stay in bed,’ maccready tells him, leaning against the doorframe.

‘aww, that’s sweet, mac. didn’t know you cared.’ he manages to swing his legs over the edge with a heavy grunt. maccready easily swings him back over. ‘hey, now.’

he sits in the boss’s seat and kicks his legs up onto the bed. ‘look, i’m more scared of her than i am of your sh-crappy come-ons. save ‘em for her.’ and that shuts deacon up, like he thought. grants him at least two minutes of silence before deacon grows bored again.

‘where’s whisper?’

maccready sighs. too much to ask that the guy just keeps silent until she gets back. ‘she’s with the minutemen. they’re burying the guy who got his face melted off yesterday. last i saw they were still digging the grave.’

deacon starts to swing his legs the other way, but maccready stops him again, yanking him back onto the bed probably a little more forceful than necessary. he’s not exactly being paid to be kind, here. and deacon isn’t even the one paying him. ‘your girlfriend is off doing her job as the general or whatever. help her by not keeling over in her room.’

deacon mutters something under his breath, but maccready doesn’t much care to listen. once more, he slouches in the chair and pulls his hat over his eyes. not often he’s allowed a mid-day nap, but he’s sure going to taken advantage while he can.

covered in dirt and sweat, whisper helps preston carry devin’s body to the grave dug outside the walls of the castle. preston speaks over the dead, as do the other minutemen, but all she can offer is a promise that his death isn’t in vain.

‘i didn’t know him,’ she says, ‘and he didn’t know me. but he died believing in the minutemen.’ and he still tried to put down the mirelurk queen even as his face was - ‘and we’re not going to let him down.’

thunder rumbles in the distance, cutting any further eulogies short. she orders the other minutemen to take the rest of the night off. the radio can wait until the storm has passed and everyone has properly rested. it’s her and preston that stay behind to bury the body; with no proper casket, she watches as every pile of dirt covers the body - legs, arms, chest all disappear beneath the earth. then, the face - the suggestion of what used to be a nose, mouth worn away to bone, eyes with only sockets left -

‘- don’t look,’ preston tells her when she stops. ‘you don’t have to look. i’ll finish this.’

she shakes her head and continues to shovel. ‘it’s not that. i - ’ she sighs. ‘later. let’s not get caught in whatever’s brewing out there.’

they finish in silence and mark the grave with a make-shift cairn, topped with a spent microfusion cell. the wind blows harder and colder, chilling the sweat on her skin. waves crash into shore as the sea comes alive. clouds billow over the ocean, brief flashes of lightning illuminating the layers of grey. the light crackle of her geiger counter sends them under the entrance arch for shelter just as rain begins to pour.

whisper stares outside as the rain blankets the castle, pattering against the stones. her geiger counter clicks with every flash of lightning, only to be drowned out by the following thunder. but it’s calm. serene. surreal. like when she used to sit in the living room, curled against nate while rain ran poured outside.

‘are you all right, general?’

she runs a hand through her hair, pulling apart her ponytail in the process. ‘i am.’ she wrings out her hair onto the pavement. ‘wish the rain had held out though.’

preston chuckles softly before his expression turns grim. ‘you can’t blame yourself for his death.’ he sighs at her raised eyebrow. ‘i know, but i’m learning. from you, actually.’

‘from me?’

‘you keep - you haven’t stopped moving forward.’ he shakes his head, gathers himself. ‘everything you’ve done in this past month - you’ve made so much progress for us. for the minutemen. and this?’ he gestures wide toward the castle. ‘a month ago i never expected to be here. i hardly thought we’d make it out of the museum alive. but we are, and we did, and it’s because of you.’ preston takes her hands in his, and it freezes her on the spot. ‘general - alice - you’re amazing.’

she looks up at him, watches his gaze drift down to her lips as he leans in -

and she could let him kiss her. close her eyes and feel something. but it’s so soon, still. she’s done so much for the minutemen, made progress in finding her son, but her husband is still down in that vault and she’s not buried him. so, instead, she allows herself to be distracted by the sound of footsteps - and a familiar pair of sunglasses - approaching in the rain.

‘what are you doing out of bed?’ whisper pulls deacon into the archway. ‘you’re just going to make yourself sicker.’

‘that’s what i told him!’ maccready yells from across the courtyard. he’s leaned against one of the open doorways, arms crossed.

deacon shrugs. he glances at preston but addresses her. ‘thought you’d decided to have a swim without me.’ when he turns to her, even now, he looks slightly winded. lower, he adds, ‘hey, can’t i be worried about my partner?’ he nudges her in the arm. ‘you didn’t come back even after it started raining.’

'and here you couldn’t even rescue us with an umbrella?’

‘you’re the ones that decided to get caught out here. i was just checking in. and you know your little widget there has been going off.’

‘we should head inside,’ preston finally speaks. ‘the others are likely waiting as well. and there’s the matter of food...’

whisper sighs. ‘we have enough for tonight, but we’ll have to clear another supply line down here.’

deacon puts his hands on his hips and grins at the both of them. ‘we’ve got plenty of mirelurk to go around. and whisper’s an excellent cook.’

dinner is a quiet, though not somber, affair. with some help from her fellow minutemen, whisper learns, somewhat reluctantly, how to cook mirelurk. in a cleared out kitchen, they eat surrounded by walls overtaken by seaweed. the castle will take time to clear out. they’ll certainly need more people manning it, building it up, establishing the surrounding area -

whisper doesn’t taste the food she eats; doesn’t hear the conversation when it finally begins as plates empty; doesn’t see as her gaze begins to glaze over. but she doesn’t let it show, smiling and responding when prompted.

‘go to bed, partner,’ deacon whispers in her ear when one nod goes on too long. ‘i even kept your bed warm for you.’

she rolls her eyes. ‘so considerate.’ to the others, she says good night, and for the first time in a long time, she has a room to herself. stripping herself of more borrowed clothes, whisper crawls into bed. so far from the others, she can’t hear conversation die down or if they’ve gone to sleep. but though her own eyes threaten to close, her mind whirls. when she does close them? she sees devin’s face - and then she sees kellogg’s. both smeared unrecognizably. one from a monster, and the other...

whisper gives up on sleep. she pulls on the jacket she’d been using as a blanket and a pair of pants and walks the halls. her pipboy reads two in the morning. not the latest she’s stayed up, or earliest hour she’s seen, between law school and her first days in the commonwealth post-war. the cool after rain air helps her clear her head, no matter the year.

she isn’t alone, however. cigarette smoke trails out from one doorway, followed by a long, steady smoke cloud. deacon smokes, but there’s no sunglasses that faces her when she approaches.

‘you’re up late, general,’ greets a woman with a strong, southern twang. ‘not for the first time.’

whisper joins her, a minuteman named penny, in the doorway. she leans against the doorway across from her, arms crossed but amused. ‘have you been watching me?’

‘no, ma’am.’ she brings the cigarette back up to her lips and takes a long drag. ‘i just smoke enough to know you haven’t slept in two days.’

whisper exhales a laugh. ‘hard to sleep when everything smells like fish.’

penny shrugs. ‘i’ve smelled worse, ma’am. smoke?’

whisper waves her off. though she’s older, penny reminds her of her old roommate from college, cigarette smell included. ‘no, thank you. i quit a... long time ago.’ she cants her head. ‘i do have a question for you, though.’

‘yes, ma’am.’

‘what made you join the minutemen?’

penny taps her cigarette, ash flying with the wind. ‘used to be a drifter. saw too much shit, got tired of drifting, and now i’m here.’

‘and that’s it?’

‘some things really are that simple, general. y’all made quite the impression on some kid in diamond city, though. thought that was real interesting.’ some kid. she doesn’t think nat would go around promoting the minutemen in person or in the paper. at her look of confusion, penny laughs. ‘girl from up north, she said. uh, lacy? said the general was a good person. helped her out with her late sister’s necklace or some such. thought that was mighty good of you, considering your position.’

lacy... with a necklace. ‘lucy’s parents let her go to diamond city,’ whisper says with a smile.

penny snaps her fingers. ‘lucy. that was it. you remember her?’

‘i do. she’s a sweet kid. she helped us out when we were first rebuilding.’

‘don’t lose that. caring, y’know?’ another flick of her cigarette. ‘devin’s death messed you up, but i get the feeling you won’t forget. and we all signed up for this, ma’am. we’re here because we want the same things you do.’ she flicks her cigarette into a small puddle. ‘you gotta get some sleep if you’re gonna lead us, though, ma’am. get.’

whisper snorts. definitely like rachel watching over her after she tried to burn through two days on nothing but coffee in the middle of exams. so she gets. ‘thank you, penny. i appreciate you talking to me.’

penny grins and lights another cigarette.

#siri drabbles #oc: alice ward #series: we will all go together when we go

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daddyfuckinlonglegs · 5 years

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Fallout OC Interview

So @lookbluesoup tagged me to do this, and I… well I did it my own way, as ever. It’s long, so I hope you wanna stick with it. If you wanna do it, I’ll list the questions as a comment. I dunno, I don’t tag people really, do it if you want to. Particularly @bagheera-is-back and @wasteland-mama, and @saltsealed, but really, I’m enjoying reading them, so do it if you haven’t already. Nate ducked through the doorway, shaking the dirt from his shoes before stepping inside. Piper grinned and gestured to the chair opposite her, and untucked a small, stubby pencil from behind her ear. “Thanks for doing this, Blue. I’m sure they’ll get sick of hearing about you soon enough, but for now, we gotta give the people what they want.” Nate nodded, settling quietly into the chair, the leather of his jacket creaking as he lowered himself down. He hitched up his trousers at the knee, sniffed, cleared his throat. Piper smiled at him, and nodded to the table next to him. “There’s a beer, if you want it. Help you relax a little.” Nate raised an eyebrow. “You tryin’ to get me drunk, Wright? Liquor me up and hope I spill something good? Not very ethical.” He smiled, a little curl at the corner of his mouth, and Piper looked alarmed. “Oh, no! No, nothing like, that, I mean, there’s… there’s some water too, just, y'know, thought…” She cleared her throat nervously. “Shall we get started?”

She regained her composure, pulling up a chair in front of Nate, backward, and leaning her notepad on the back of it, legs straddling the seat. “So, first up, tell us some basics; what’s your full name?” “Uhm, Nathan Christopher Stahl.” “Mmhmm, and how old are you?” Nate shrugged, that little smile playing at his mouth. “Old enough to know better? I dunno, I was thirty-seven when the bombs dropped. So, give or take 200 years…” Piper flashed him a small smile. “Okay, give the readers some idea of what you look like; defining features, as you see them, what do people notice about you first?” Nate shuffled, leaning his elbows on his knees. “Uhhh, I dunno, I’m…tall, sorta gangly? Black hair, sideburns. My… my nose is kinda…” He pressed his finger to the tip, pushing it up and exaggerating his nostrils. They both laughed, and he looked away to the ceiling. “What is this, anyway, a personal ad? You tell ‘em what I look like.” “Oh don’t worry, I intend to.” She laughed. He winked at her, and she dropped her eyes to the notepad, blushing slightly. Dammit he made her nervous. “Okay, so tell us a bit about where you’re from? You a Boston native, or…” He nodded. “I was. Been here my whole life, except for, y'know, deployment. I grew up pretty near where Goodneighbor is, right by the Common. Moved over to Newton when I was about eight, nine. It was a nice place.” Piper nodded enthusiastically. “I bet it was! Things must be so different now… What was it like, growing up before the war? Can you tell us a little bit about you as a kid, what kind of things you’d get up to?” Nate sat back on the sofa, slinging his arm across the back. “Well, my dad wasn’t around so much, he was a SEAL, so he - a SEAL was like a really, uh, highly trained soldier, best of the best – so he wasn’t around all that much, me and my mom used to spend most of our weekends with my Grandpa, over in Roslindale. He was a good guy, let me pretty much do what I wanted to do, helped me build campfires and we used to go fishing sometimes. I never had the patience for fishing, so it always turned into a sorta… life lessons in a boat. Let me have a beer, smoke a cigarette, talked to me about girls, y'know, the stuff your parents wouldn’t like. My mom found out once, when I came home with beer spilled all across my pants, and boy she was mad. He was, uh, sneakier, after that. I got a lot of good memories with him.” “My mom, well, she had a temper, but she always did her best. I think all the time alone must have really gotten to her, especially with me, being a mischievous little bastard so much of the time. I didn’t exactly make it easy for her, but I think she was dealing with more than I really understood, at the time. My dad…” He paused, cleared his throat. “My dad and I never saw eye to eye.” Piper let him sit a moment, just in case he’d pick up the thread, but he stayed silent, looking off into the corner of the room, over his shoulder. He turned back to face her. “What’s next?” Piper nodded, licked her thumb and flicked the pages of her notepad. “Uhm… lemme see. Why don’t you tell us a little more about your association with the Minutemen? Rumour has it you’ve been promoted.” Nate laughed. “Nice to hear the Boston rumour mill is still in tip top condition. Yeah, I’ve been… requested to take on a more directorial role. The Minutmen are certainly growing again, there’s more and more settlements being established as a network across the commonwealth, more and more people signing up to watch each others’ backs and have more folks to rely on in a crisis. Lieutenant Garvey has been hard at work, rebuilding the Castle and the ranks are looking stronger than ever, even got a team modding power armour.” He smiled, leaning forward. “For any raiders out there reading this, that’s a real gentle way of saying don’t fuck with us.” Piper grinned. “Might have to censor that one, Blue. Don’t want to offend the delicate sensibilities of the commonwealth’s finest, y'understand. What about the Institute? There’s some, uh, talk that you’ve been inside, some questions about who you’re working with?” Nate sucked his teeth, shuffling his feet uncomfortably. “I’m not in a position to address that.” He leaned forward. “Between you and me, my Geiger counter is in the shop, and this is a bigger shit show than anyone thought. You can say I avoided the question, say I said no, whatever. I can’t talk about it.” She wriggled in her seat, flipping a fresh page, her eyes flashing inquisitively. “Okay, gotcha. So… back to Lieutenant Garvey, he’s one of the people you’re often seen travelling with, and you two seem to have a pretty good chemistry. Is he a squeeze, or is it purely professional?” Nate rolled his eyes. “Wright, this is gossip mag territory. I thought you were better than that.” She shrugged, her cheeks colouring a little. “Hey, not my fault, the people wanna know.” Nate sighed. “No, he’s not a “squeeze”. We’re close, for sure, he’s someone I trust, and we’ve saved each other’s assses plenty of times. But the same goes for Nick, and for Bobby MacCr- sorry, RJ MacCready. Honestly, Valentine is… I don’t think I’d have made it without him. He really kept me in line when I was trying to go off the rails. I owe him a lot.” Piper smiled sincerely. “Yeah, Nicky’s a real good guy. Lotta heart, for a synthetic man, huh?” He nodded. Piper took a deep breath. “So, to press the question a little, is there anyone you’re involved with, currently? Romantically involved with?” Nate chuckled under his breath. “Not exactly. There’s… I’ve got, shall we say, interests.” “C'mon Blue, spill it.” She prodded. “Give us lonely commonwealth folks some hope.” He laughed. “Well, there’s… a little guy, from out of town, he knows who he is. And, well, Diamond city certainly has it’s fair share of pretty girls. Pretty girls with plenty of attitude, girls that make the authorities a little uncomfortable. I’m a sucker for a girl who knows how to get what she wants.” He met her eyes, and Piper’s stomach leapt. He’s kidding, he’s just a goddamn flirt. “Okay, so to move on… Enemies. You gotta have a fair few of them, being in your position?” Nate nodded, drawing his lips tight. “Yeah, unfortunately. The gunners, predictably, are not exactly looking to pat me on the back. The Brotherhood, we don’t see eye to eye either, I blew them off a while back and they’re not exactly pleased that we’re establishing a force of our own with the Minutemen. I spent enough time taking orders before the bombs, I’m really not looking to join up again. I’ve seen enough combat on other people’s terms.” “Do you enjoy the fighting? What’s the wildest combat story you’ve got for us? Spin us a yarn.” Nate considered, tugging a cigarette from his pocket. “Well, there’s… Do you mind?” He gestured at the cigarette, Piper shook her head. He lit up. “There’s a few, to be honest, taking out a deathclaw inside a museum, that was a traumatising experience. That’s where, y'see the scar here?” He tapped beneath his right eye. “Those things are lethal, even when you’re out of arms reach. Threw a big fucking chunk of ceiling tile at me, busted my nose pretty good, but made it out alive.” Piper whistled. “Lucky.” Nate shook his head. “Nah, I don’t believe in luck. I’m just grateful MacCready managed to do more than just shit his pants. Can’t blame him.” He inhaled and blew the smoke away quickly. “Don’t print that, he’ll kill me. There was the Castle, too. Big bastard Mirelurk, Garvey said it was a Queen, that was a close call. If I live my whole life and never have to smell another…” He shuddered, Piper laughed. “Not a fan of the aquatic life then?” “Not particularly. Bloodbugs though, they’re the… fuck those things. Can’t stand them. Bloatflies too, disgusting.” “Any critters you don’t hate?” She smiled. “Plenty. From a distance, Yao Guai are some majestic looking things, aren’t they? And mole rats, when they’re just going about their business…” He held his hands up like paws and stuck his teeth out, imitating the rats’ snuffling sound, and Piper laughed out loud. He grinned, and took another drag. “I don’t know about you, I’ve got a bit of a soft spot for them. And, maybe this is pre-war hagover, but protectrons, y'know, I kinda love the big stupid things. I used to work for RobCo, before I was in the Navy, and I always liked 'em the best.” Piper sat forward. “Used to work for RobCo? So you’re a bit of a whizz with electronics huh?” Nate shook his head, sucking the cigarette. “Not really. I was sales, I can do a bit of maintenance, and shut things down in a pinch, but I never had the flair for that stuff. My speciality was convincing people to buy stuff.” “Ahh, more of a sweet talker, huh?” “Takes one to know one, sugar.” He winked. “Yeah, I’ve always been more a lover than a fighter, and my mouth has gotten me into, and out of, plenty of trouble. Good with my hands, too, for what it’s worth.” He flicked his eyebrows in a quick arc, a half smile curling the corner of his mouth. Piper blushed again, laughing. “I can see why. You’re a rouge, aren’t you? What other tricks have you got up your sleeve?” “Well, I’m not a bad swimmer, my aim’s pretty good, I’m pretty light on my feet, make a good steak.” he laughed. “And I might not be a brute-force kinda guy, but I can hold my own.” Piper nodded. “And how was it, adjusting to the world out here? The radiation? You must’ve been pretty shocked at the mutants, and ghouls…” Nate nodded. “For sure, it was a shock. Coming out of the vault was… I was already in a bad place, freezing and alone and… y'know, everything. When I got up to the surface, I just… my knees just went out, and honestly, I sat and cried, I don’t know how long.” He stubbed out his cigarette. “The next… I dunno, month or two, it was hard. Even just getting up, just walking around, it felt like all my bones were made of lead, my head full of water, y'know? I made it to Goodneighbor, but I was so sick, all the food I’d been scavving was poisoning me, and I didn’t know what the hell was happening. John – Mayor Hancock – got Amari to fix me up, but we, uh… he and I had some pretty serious misunderstandings back then, so I didn’t stick around to rest like I was supposed to. Nick really looked out for me around then, but… in the midst of it all he ended up being out of action, and Mayor Hancock ended up trekking into the glowing sea with me.” Piper’s face dropped. “I know. Crazy. Trust me, it was more crazy than it sounds. But he kept me alive, and we held up pretty well considering. I’ve never seen one man soak up so many chems before, but then, I wasn’t far behind.” Piper tilted her head quizically. “Are you a fan of… recreational substances, then?” Nate looked at the ceiling and chewed his lip. “Uhhh, I dunno, I have a bit of a love/hate relationship there. I’ve… been known to enjoy myself at a party, in the past, y'know, before the bombs. Sometimes a little too much. But things are different out here, and some can really change the tide of a fight. I’m not saying you should, I’m saying it’s an option, in a pinch.” Piper nodded. “D'you ever think about life before the war?” “All the time. All the time. So many places here have bits of my life attached, sometimes it’s like a little niggle in my stomach - “gee, I could really go for an ice cream right now!” - other times it’s like the floor falling out under you.” She sidestepped the obvious sore point, instead asking; “What’s ice cream?” Nate furrowed his brow. “It was… so it’s milk, like a thick cream, and they froze it, but not like a block of ice, it was… it was more like snow, I guess, like thick, sugary snow. All different flavours, you put it on a… a kinda waffle cone, and it just melted in your mouth, or you could put it in a soda and…” He paused, laughing. “It’s a lot harder to explain than I thought. But you’d have liked it. Sometimes couples went out for ice cream, like on a date, before a movie or something. I bet you’d have liked that too. I might even have offered to take you.” She laughed, smiling wistfully, eyes bright. “Sounds… tasty. You a soda kind of guy? I can’t get enough of the stuff.” “Well, I wasn’t,” he gestured, “before the war. But the fact that Nuka Cola is practically the same as it was then… it blows my mind, and it’s a nice little slice of memory. I heard some people are trying to find the formula, want to get the bottling plant up and running again. How’s that for an achievement?” He laughed, and Piper wanted to reach out and touch him, smooth her fingers across the little lines at the corners of his eyes, put her hand on his chest and feel his voice under her palm… She smiled at him. “Speaking of achievements, what would you say is the biggest one for you?” “Uhh, not being dead yet? I dunno, helping Preston re-establish the Minutemen is… it’s a huge thing, and I wouldn’t take credit for it all, but joining them, really making things better for people and really… instigating change. That’s something I’ve always wanted. I’m glad to be a part of it.” Piper nodded, scribbling frantically. “Any regrets?” Nate swept his hand through his hair, looking away again. “I dunno, that’s a big question. Yeah. I have some. I can’t really say more. Sorry.” “That’s okay. Would… would you say you have goals?” She leaned forward. “Things you’ve learned from those regrets? What do you want, what’re you working towards for the future?” He rubbed the corners of his mouth and thought for a moment. “I… guess I want to make a home again. Not just for myself, but for… for everyone out here. Just to make people feel safe, to bring a little bit of the lightness that life used to have. To give people back that… hope.” He looked at Piper, his eyes flicking from deep thought to a mischievous gleam. “Short term, I’d like that beer, and maybe to get laid. I dunno if you want to publish that though.” She laughed, blushing, closing her notebook and hopping to her feet. “I think that’s the perfect ending; giving the people hope, just like you said.” She stepped close to him, extending her hand, and he shook it warmly. “Thanks for being such a good sport, Blue. And… if you ever want to hit the road with someone, you just remember where to find me, 'kay? I’m always on the prowl for a new story, and you seem to just… scoop 'em up, by accident. I think it’d be a lot of fun, travelling with you, and I’m not too terrible with a pistol either. You gimme a shout, y'hear?” He stood, tugging his jacket down over his stomach, and nodded, smiling. “I’ll be sure to do that.”

#fallout 4 #fo4 #oc #piper wright #sole survivor #fanfic #I wrote this

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quinzelade · 5 years

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Making One’s Bones (Chpt 11)

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.

Needle

“I’ve almost forgotten what it feels like to be young.”

Gage turned to Bossanova, frowning. She was staring at the towers of Kiddie Kingdom, reminiscence clouding her eyes, as if it were a castle made of gold.

He surveyed the crumbling walls and chipped, plastic lollipops and said, “Must have been a shit childhood if this junk makes you nostalgic.”

She shot him a sharp look and then grinned. “I was in my fifties by the time they built this place. But I did organise a hit here.”

“Bet the kids loved that.”

“I know my guys did. They spent all day stuffing their faces and going on the park rides before the mark showed up with his family. I was told Joey threw up in a trash can from too much cotton candy.”

Gage didn’t know why anyone would eat the putrid solid mess he'd found festering all over Nuka World, but chuckled anyway. He supposed it must have been different back in the day. A scuffling noise made him whip around, just in time to see the ghoul leap at him. It knocked Gage clean off his feet. He hit the ground with a thud and a grunt of pain, holding the thing back with his rifle. It shrieked and snapped its teeth, tearing at every inch of him it could reach. In the distance, echoing cries of more ghouls sounded back.

There was a flash of metal, and the ghoul’s head fell off, smacking Gage painfully in the face. He pushed the body away, when Bossanova dragged him to his feet and shoved him into a nearby bush.

“Shut up and stay still,” she hissed.

“Boss, you can’t take on all of them by your—” he began, trying to get back up.

She grabbed him by the shoulders and forced him down. He always forgot how strong she was. “Shut up,” she said again, “and trust me.”

Gritting his teeth, Gage obeyed, ducking lower into his hiding place.

Bossanova straightened, opening her arms wide as she faced the hoard of approaching ghouls. Now that he wasn’t preventing his nose from being bitten off, Gage had time to study them. They were painted in a horrible mix of clashing colours, the paint peeling off their rotting bodies. The effect reminded him of the stupid getups of Mason’s Pack.

Gage tensed, his rifle at the ready. She was fucking insane. They would eat her.

His mouth dropped open as the ghouls slowed, sniffing Bossanova’s feet, and then butting her with their heads like dogs begging for food and ear scratches. Bossanova laughed and petted the nearest one, and the other ghouls clamored around her for attention, ignoring the corpse on the ground.

“Alright, go on. Shoo,” she said, flapping her hands at them. They clicked their teeth mournfully, but obeyed, slinking off towards Kiddie Kingdom.

Bossanova waited until they were out of sight, then hurried back to Gage. “You okay?”

“Yeah, fine.” He picked twigs out of his hair and stared at her. “What the hell was that?”

She shrugged. “Ferals don’t attack other ghouls. I thought you knew.”

“How? Do I look like I’ve been cooked by radiation?”

“Clearly you’re not as worldly as I imagined.”

Gage was left trying to figure out what this meant while she directed her attention back to the park.

“Judging by how many came out for a little tussle like that, the whole place will be infested. She glanced at him. “Did you bring the stealth boys?”

Gage nodded and patted the satchel he’d grabbed back in Nuka Town. “Enough for a few hours.”

“Good. I’ll walk ahead, you use one of them. If it’s just ghouls, we can clear them out easily. But if it’s more than that…”

“Boss,” Gage said, unable to contain himself. “Why didn’t they try to eat you?”

“I don’t know how it works. I’m one of them. That’s all that matters. Same as raiders really.”

The conversation died as they drew near to the entrance, and Gage fired up the stealth boy. A cold rush passed over him, followed by an odd, rippling warmth that seemed to hover just above the surface of his skin. He held up his now seemingly transparent hand to his face, studying it. Good enough.

They crossed the threshold, and Gage halted, the green haze in the air causing his salvaged Geiger counter to crackle. It wasn’t the best—in fact, it was an inaccurate piece of shit. But it was enough to tell him when the air was thick with radiation. Before he could say anything to Bossanova, a rasping voice crackled over the intercom.

“Well now friends, it seems we have another uninvited guest to...the…” The voice trailed away. “One of us?”

Bossanova tilted her head, searching for the speaker.

“Oh, you won’t find me out here. But…” The voice hesitated, and then continued, the tone harsher and clipped. “She said there was a new leader. A leader like us. So that’s you, is it? A traitor. A killer. You think you have me fooled, bitch, but I know. Oswald the Outrageous always knows.”

“I’m sure you do,” Bossanova called out cheerily. Gage wondered if this Ozward—or whatever his name was—could actually hear her. One of the ghouls shuffled over, and she patted it gently on the head. “Your friends seem to like me, though, so why don’t we have a chat instead? I’m sure we can come to an agreement.”

“Steve, get away from her!” barked Osbald. The ghoul paused and then slunk off. Gage was sure if it had a tail it would be between its legs. “So where are you going to shuffle to, little overboss? The tunnels, maybe? The funhouse?” He let out a maniacal cackle. “Plenty to see and do here. Plenty of treats in store. Be seeing you…”

The speaker cut out, filling the park with silence. The ghouls milling around seemed indifferent.

“Loves the sound of his own fucking voice, that one,” muttered Gage. “Boss, hang on. Need to deal with the rads.”

Bossanova crouched down next to him. “Got enough medicine?”

He opened a bottle of rad-x and took a few pills as he nodded. Then he remembered the stealth boy and said, “Yeah, it’ll last a little while.”

“I think we need to have a proper chat with this Oswald.”

“Oh, so that’s his name.”

“What did you think it was?”

Gage’s cheeks suddenly felt hot. “I, uh...nevermind. What’s important is he sounds deranged. We need to kill him and quick.”

“Half the people in this park are deranged. What we need to do is speak with him, give him a chance to talk. Might be he can offer us valuable resources. At the very least it seems he’s in control of the ghouls—if we can find a way to take over his ownership of them, we’ll have an army of ferals at our disposal. If not, we convince him to leave.”

“Why are you so goddamn determined just to let people walk away?”

“Because it’s cleaner than killing.”

Gage scowled, though he knew she couldn’t see him. Again she was trying to make friends rather than doing what was practical, though he had to admit it worked last time. Still, he felt uneasy. This seemed a little too much, but if anyone was going to convince a mad ghoul to work for them, it would be her. “You better know what you’re fucking doing.”

Bossanova grinned. “Always.”

They pressed on. Whatever Kiddie Kingdom had been in its prime, it was now a walking deathtrap. There were runaway carts on hidden tracks, hurtling past at breakneck speed. There was an arena filled with giant, spinning teacups the size of brahmins. The sprinkler system was pumping out constant radiation. And the place was teeming with ghouls. Gage found the remains of what looked like two raiders near an old trash can, scraps of meat still clinging to the gnawed bones.

He shivered. It was lucky the ghouls seemed to like Bossanova, otherwise they might not have got very far. They milled around her vying for attention, only drifting away when Oswald’s angry voice told them to move on. The one called Steve kept coming back, and in the end the speaker stopped bothering to shoo him. Bossanova looked delighted.

They walked on for a few minutes, when there was a loud snap and a shriek of pain. Gage whirled around to see Bossanova on the floor, clutching her leg. He crept forward as quickly as he dared, and saw the old, rusted bear trap buried deep into her calf.

Ah shit.

Oswald’s laugh rang out over the speakers. “Hurts, doesn’t it?” He continued to chuckle. “Good. You deserve a bit of pain. Your raiders hurt people. Beat them to a pulp. Even children.” His voice broke for a moment, and then he hissed, “Tell me, do you think you’ll bleed out before the infection gets you?”

“Ghouls don’t get infections,” Bossanova called, trying to prise open the trap. Her blood-slicked hands lost their grip, and the trap snapped shut again, tearing another scream from her throat. Steve the ghoul sniffed her head, clearly agitated, but not knowing how to help.

Gage snuck over, carefully avoided the ghoul, and crouched down next to her. “Together, boss,” he whispered, taking hold of the trap. “One. Two. Three.”

The trap opened with grinding metallic noise, and Bossanova yanked her leg out quick. It snapped shut again. She pulled herself to her feet, batting his hands away as he tried to help. A second later, Gage realised why.

“Oh, got out of it yourself, did you?” Oswald said, clearly disappointed. “Well hurry up and die. I have places to be.”

“Radiation heals ghouls,” Bossanova shouted back, a look of inspiration flickering across her face. She grinned. “Sorry. Looks like your little trap won’t do much good.”

“Oh yeah? We’ll see about that.”

The sprinklers suddenly cut. Gage’s Geiger counter went silent. Bossanova turned in his general direction and winked. Then she pulled out a handful of stimpaks and set to work mending her leg, leaning against the wall for support. Two stimpaks would have probably done the job for Gage, but she needed four. Finally, she bound her leg up, using a broken fence post as a splint, and gingerly tested her weight on it. The leg held.

“Come on, Steve,” she said loudly. “We’ve a lot of work ahead.”

She hobbled away, using the wall for support. Gage quickly caught up with her, tucking his arm under hers so she could discreetly lean on him. Bossanova shot him a quick smile. “Thanks,” she whispered.

“Don’t mention it.”

The Funhouse loomed over them, looking oddly menacing considering it was brightly painted and decorated in lollipops. Gage held the door open for Bossanova as she limped her way inside, and Steve followed. Two more ghouls were waiting, but they took one look at Steve and went back to lying on the floor.

Holding his breath against the smell, Gage followed them. The walls were plastered with blue and pink peeling wallpaper, the floor so covered with filth it was impossible to tell what the original colour had been.

Oswald was quick to greet them. “Welcome boys and girls to...the Funhouse!”

“How long are you going to keep this up?” Bossanova replied, wincing with every step. She pushed open a double set of doors, which revealed a strange hall full of tarnished mirrors.

“Until you are dead!”

“Steve likes me. Isn’t that good enough for you?”

“No! Steve’s an idiot! Always chasing after girls…”

Gage trailed behind Bossanova as she wound her way through the maze of mirrors. Though he couldn’t see his own reflection, he could see hers, multiplied into the great beyond. The effect was quite nauseating. Steve suddenly pounced on a nearby radroach, biting its head off and chewing noisily.

“I still think we should have a nice, grown-up talk,” Bossanova went on pleasantly while Steve let out a loud burp. “I think I have more to offer you than you know, and can grant you protection. Who knows the interests of ghouls better than a ghoul?”

“You didn’t look after Sarah,” snapped Oswald. “Came to me black and blue she did. Your raiders beat her, near killed her by the looks of it. And she still went back to them. Where was your protection then?”

Bossanova’s thousand images frowned. “Sarah? I don’t know a Sarah.”

“She’s one of us! And if you gave a damn, you’d know that!”

Her face lit up in recognition. “Ah, the ghoul girl. I’ve only been the boss for about...a week or so? And I’ve been out on the field, not playing meet and greet. If the raiders are abusing my people, I’ll put a stop to it. But I’ll need someone to help me. I think you’re the perfect man for the job.”

“Liar!” howled Oswald. “You’re a liar! A goddamn liar!”

The speaker cut out.

“Nice try,” murmured Gage.

Bossanova sighed.

The rest of the mirror maze passed without incident, and they made their way to what looked like a corridor on top of a long conveyor belt. There was no way Bossanova was out-hobbling that.

“Let me go ahead and just fucking shoot him,” Gage hissed, indicating the glass observation room where a figure in a top hat could be clearly seen. There was a strange glow surrounding the person, but he didn’t pay it much mind. Glowing or not, they could still be shot.

“I said no,” Bossanova snarled.

Gage grumbled with frustration, but stopped as Steve looked around sharply. After a few seconds, the ghoul relaxed and resumed sniffing Bossanova’s feet. She looked down at it, then back to the conveyor belt.

“Steve, do you think you can help me?”

Steve showed no sign it had heard her. Bossanova shifted her stance, lifted her bad leg up, and swung it over Steve’s back. She landed heavily on him, and Steve flinched, letting out a disgruntled growl. Gage gripped his weapon tight, ready to fire, but after a few seconds of looking like the highest treachery had been committed against it, Steve settled. Now Gage thought about it, the ghoul was very tall, despite being so emaciated, and held Bossanova’s weight with ease.

Bossanova pulled a Fancy Lad snack cake from her pocket and waved it in front of Steve. The ghoul perked up immediately, eyes rolling in its head trying to follow the cake. “Steve, fetch!” She threw it with all her might, and it sailed down the corridor, bouncing off the wall and disappearing out of sight.

Steve bolted.

Bossanova had time to let out a surprised shriek, clinging to Steve’s neck for dear life, before the ghoul was off, charging unsteadily on all fours down the corridor, Bossanova’s legs trailing out behind them.

Gage clung to the wall in silent laughter, while Oswald’s furious yells of, “Steve, no! What are you doing? Steeeve!” crackled over the intercom. The figure in the observation room banged their fists down on a console as Bossanova and Steve flew around the corner from sight. Several panels in the ceiling opened, sending grenades bouncing down the conveyor belt towards Gage. He just had enough time to sprint back down the way he came, running straight into a mirror wall, before they exploded.

Gage groaned, putting a hand to his aching forehead. Had he knocked himself out? He blinked and realised he could see his hand. The stealth boy was dead. Gage fumbled for another one and activated it.The familiar cold then rippling warmth engulfed him, and he got unsteadily to his feet.

Two left.

They needed to hurry up here or he was going to be in a lot of trouble.

Gage staggered back into the conveyor belt hallway to find the observation room empty and the floor mercifully still. He jogged down it and found Bossanova in the next room, flat on her back while Steve was playing with the snack cake wrapper in the corner.

“You alright, boss?” he said quietly as he reached her.

“Remind me never to do that again,” she replied, clutching her leg, her face tinged green.

“Never do that again,” Gage said. Bossanova picked up a stone and threw it at him. It missed, sailing clean over his shoulder. He looked around at this new area, and shook his head. Pre-war people were crazy.

The room consisted of a large pit, half full of stagnant water. In the centre were two giant Nuka Cola bottles, one red, the other a patchy blue, with a little platforms jutting out on one side. They were spinning fast, the platforms only being within reach for seconds. A single false move would mean falling into the water, and who knew what was lurking in there.

Gage glanced around. There were no cameras he could see, and the observation window was empty in here. Making up his mind, he scooped Bossanova into his arms.

“Gage!” she hissed, gripping his shoulder and looking around, panicked, for any sign of Oswald. “What are you doing?”

“Shut up and keep a tight hold on me.”

“What—?”

Gage turned around, waited for the nearest bottle to complete its revolution, and then sprinted towards the gap. He heard Bossanova let out a squeak as he leapt, and then a grunt of pain as they crashed haphazardly onto the walkway. They rolled, nearly sliding off the edge, but Gage managed to hook his arm around the metal barrier, and kept them in place.

Slowly, Gage stood up. The momentum was making him feel sick, but he ignored it, picking Bossanova up again and aiming for the next bottle. This one was even worse. He staggered as they hit the platform, lost his balance completely, and went barrelling forward. At the last second he managed to steady himself, teetering on the edge, and then made the final jump. They hit the deck with a thud, and Gage lay on solid, unmoving ground, panting and resisting the urge to vomit.

“Well done,” Bossanova wheezed, looking as bad as he felt. “I think I just need a moment to—”

There was a horrible, ear-splitting shriek. Gage glanced up to see Steve charging towards them, tongue lolling out of its mouth. It bounded across the spinning platforms with ease, landed untidily next to Bossanova, and began licking her face.

“Steve!” she spluttered, trying to push the ghoul away. “Alright, alright!”

Gage bit back a snicker and slowly sat up, massaging his stomach. With any luck, the next area wouldn’t be too bad. He wandered over to the door and opened it.

Bright, spinning green lights and revolving spiral patterns greeted him. Gage took one look at it, gripped his stomach, and ran back to the pit to stick his head over the side.

The Hypno Room—or as Gage liked to call it, the ‘Spinny Fuck Off Room’ was an absolute nightmare. Swirling images dominated every corner, the tunnels revolving, sending him staggering everywhere, and some even with glass blocking the way. More than once he felt the urge to just smash through, but thought better of it. Sick as he was, he didn’t want to attract the attention of the ghouls.

Finally, they made their way to a room that looked as if it was upside-down, the furniture nailed to the ceilings and walls. Gage ignored it. After the previous shit he’d just been through, this was nothing. At least the furniture was staying in place.

However, they quickly returned to the nausea-inducing hellscape. As Gage threw open the last door, ready to just start shooting everything up if it meant escaping the Funhouse, he stepped forward and found his feet pulled out from underneath him. He caught a brief glimpse of a circular room filled with ghouls, the floor one big, spinning green and black spiral, before he was flat on his back whirling around. Gage rolled over to see Bossanova and Steve jump in after him. The door slammed shut, and suddenly he had no idea where the exit was, let alone where they’d even come from.

His stomach was churning, the smell of the ghouls forcing him to clamp his hands over his mouth, trying to keep everything down. God, people used to come to this shit for fun?

“Round and round and round!” screamed Oswald, laughing at them. The doors lining the walls were opening and shutting, more ghouls piling into the room, flashing lights flaring and dying. “I couldn’t save Sarah! I couldn’t make Rachel stay! I couldn’t stop my people’s illness! But I can—kill—you!”

Gage groaned and covered his head, trying to block everything out. Bossanova told him not to use his gun. But he just couldn’t take this shit anymore.

“Steve, no!”

Gage glanced up. Steve had approached one of the open doors, activating a tripwire. A grenade bounced down, while Steve simply stared at it. Then Bossanova grabbed hold of the ghoul as she kicked the grenade back into the room and dragged Steve away. The grenade went off, blowing the door off its hinges.

The spinning stopped.

Slowly, Bossanova sat up, staring up at the ceiling as if waiting for Oswald to throw his next trick at them. Instead, silence reigned for a good minute before his strained voice filtered out over the speakers.

“You...you saved Steve? Why?”

“Why?” Bossanova scowled, petting Steve’s head, who was huddled up against her lap and trembling. “Why? What have I been telling you for the last hour, boy? Or don’t you know how to listen? I am not here to hurt ghouls!”

Again, Oswald didn’t speak. The other ghouls were pawing the smouldering door, while Steve remained by Bossanova’s side.

“Okay. We’ll talk.”

Like the rest of Kiddie Kingdom, the castle had seen better days. Though the walls were still white, they were stained with the centuries of strife. Dead plantlife hung from the signs, and even the candy decorating the turrets and towers looked washed out and stale.

Steve walked ahead, helping Bossanova navigate around the traps, and Gage kept close to her heels.

They walked up stairs and over bridges and through grand, decaying courtyards, until finally they made it to the front door. Inside was an immense theater, light cutting through the gloom to reveal a dusty old stage. Oswald sat waiting for them, a faint green glow lighting up his top hat and black and red jacket, revealing a sword strapped to his side. Gage’s stomach turned. Glowing ones were dangerous. The fact this one seemed to have kept all his marbles meant they were in for a rough time if things went south.

Oswald looked up as Bossanova approached, and gave a curt nod.

“Follow me,” he rasped, standing up and walking away without waiting. Bossanova stumped after him, face screwed up in pain. Gage wondered how well her wounds had healed.

Oswald led them up high through the building, past dressing rooms, a kitchen, and even a rec room, breaking the illusion somewhat. Finally they made their way to the very top, an open, spacious attic with most of the roof missing, where natural light filled every corner. Barrels of radioactive waste littered the edges, their warning labels peeling away. Gage’s Geiger counter started to crackle again, but thankfully Oswald didn’t seem to notice.

“Here,” said Oswald. He took hold of Bossanova and his skin glowed brightly, filling the room with green. Gage’s Geiger counter got louder, more frantic, and he pressed his hands over it trying to drown out the noise.

Bossanova stared at Oswald, then reached down and pulled away the bindings holding her splint in place. Gage’s mouth fell open. Her leg was fully healed. Even her fancy gun hadn’t managed that.

Oswald let go of her, glaring. “Right. Down to business. You say the raiders are under your control, but they’ve done nothing but hunt us, torture us, and kill us. Even if you are in charge, why the hell should I join you?”

“How long do you really think you’ll be able to hold off against the raiders?” Bossanova replied, her hands on her hips. “And be honest with yourself.”

“I’ve lasted two hundred years,” he snarled. “I’ll last another two hundred more.”

Already, Gage didn’t like Oswald’s tone. He stuck by his earlier assessment—the ghoul was batshit crazy. How long had he been holed up here alone with only ferals for company? Gage made a split second decision. If this went tits up, he was gonna have the ghoul in his sights no matter what. Throwing a careful glance at Oswald and Steve, Gage inched his way over to the stairs and crept up to the walkways above. It was the wisest decision he’d ever made, because as he reached the shadows, his stealth boy died.

“This isn’t just about you,” Bossanova retorted, equally sharp. “It’s about what’s best for everyone.”

“Everyone? You mean raiders.”

“I mean your friends. You think you can stay safe forever? The people outside are multiplying. Sooner or later, they’ll outnumber you. And when they do, they’ll take this from you in a heartbeat, radiation or not. I’m giving you the chance to join forces with me. To keep the raiders in their place. Because once I have them under my thumb, I’m going to crush them.”

Oswald stared at her. So did Gage. She must know he could hear her. So this had to be a lie. But she said it with such conviction, for a moment he was thrown. No. Of course it was a lie. Don’t be so fucking stupid.

Oswald opened and closed his mouth a few times, then swallowed. “I don’t believe you.”

“I could have brought them all here. Wiped you out.” Bossanova smiled faintly, tilting her head to the side. “Instead I came to you alone. Right from the very beginning, all I’ve tried to do is speak to you.” She patted Steve on the head again, who was nuzzling her legs. “If you really thought I was a threat, you wouldn’t have me here.”

The ghoul watched her petting Steve for a moment and licked his lips. “No...I guess not.” He sighed. “I’m too old to start again. This is all I know anymore.”

“Take it from this old lady—you can always start again.”

Gage inched forward, resting his sights on Oswald. Sooner or later he would figure out the boss was lying, the game she was playing. Or at least Gage hoped she was playing a game. The alternative was uncomfortable—not at least she was stupid enough to announce her plans of betrayal in front of him. He shuffled to the side a little, and reached down to his satchel to get out another stealth boy.

Crack.

Gage’s foot went straight through a rotten plank, and he yelled as he sunk into the walkway up to his thigh. His rifle slipped from his hands and clattered down to the floor below.

Oswald glanced from Bossanova to Gage, his face twisted with fury, but Steve was already on the case. The feral raced up the stairs, shrieking and hissing, and launched himself at Gage. Gage grabbed the thing’s arms, twisted sharply, and the ghoul plummeted, landing on its head with a sickening thud.

“Raiders!” Oswald roared, drawing his sword. He raised his hand as Gage scrabbled for his sidearm, but it was pinned against the hole he was stuck in. Try as he might, he couldn’t get to it. He was utterly helpless.

“No more!” the ghoul screamed, swinging the sword wildly around as he strode towards Gage. “No more slaves! No more terror!” His skin glowed a bright, venomous green, building and building at the palm pointed up to the walkway. “I’ll make your skin bubble and crack! I’ll make your eyes melt! I’ll—”

Bossanova appeared from nowhere. Gage had a split second to register the knife in her hand, before she buried it in Oswald’s neck. He jerked, trying to pull away from her, and the green light engulfed the two ghouls. Gage’s Geiger counter went ballistic, and he could just see the darkened silhouettes in the centre, one of them plunging a knife over and over into the other’s chest and head. The light flickered and died. Oswald was still struggling, but he could no longer sustain his only lifeline. His gargled screams filled the air as the gleaming knife bit into his flesh, blood spraying in wide arcs with every brutal thrust, until finally he collapsed to the floor.

Bossanova fell with him, dropping to her knees as her knife clattered away. She bent over Oswald’s twitching body for a moment, her fingers digging into the floor as she panted. She raised a trembling hand and grasped momentarily at her own face, before her head snapped up in Gage’s direction. “Are you hurt? Did he get you?”

There was a definite tremor to her voice, but Gage ignored it. She had just saved his life from a situation that was entirely his fault.

“I’m fine,” he croaked, struggling to free himself. “Just...stuck. You okay, boss? The green shit didn’t hurt you none?”

“Radiation doesn’t hurt me. How many times?” she snapped, getting unsteadily to her feet. She deliberately avoided both of the ghoul bodies, running up the stairs to Gage and offering her hand. He took it, though it was so slick with blood she still struggled to pull him out. Eventually she managed and together they made their way back to the lower floor.

“Boss.” Gage picked up his gun and studied her closely. “You sure you okay?”

“Yeah, I…” She dropped her gaze, wiping the blood from her pale face. Her voice was the merest whisper. “I didn’t think he’d...he struggled so much. Made it so much worse. I…”

Her words were cut off as Oswald groaned. He raised a bloodied hand in the air and she shied away, looking terrified. Gage stared at her for a moment, and then felt his immediate annoyance dissipate. He wasn’t angry. He couldn’t be. Not after this.

Gage strode over to Oswald, slamming his foot into his chest, and shot him in the head. Bossanova flinched. “There,” he said. “My fault. Not yours. Come on.” He grabbed her arm and steered her away.

“Gage, I—”

“Guy was a fucking nutjob,” Gage said firmly. “Let’s find you a drink.”

#porter gage #nuka world #fallout 4 #fallout #gage #mob #Making One's Bones

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virtual-crisis · 5 years

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⭐Alpha Centauri⭐, Part Twelve

What better way to kick off Raccoon Appreciation Day than coming out with fursuits?

...That came out wrong.

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A few months passed. I had another class to completely dissociate in and somehow still succeed at, a rare mortal I could discuss very not-human things with, and the looming dread of the day Lucifer would pluck me out of human society like Mister Miyagi snatching a fly. Slowly getting closer, day by day.

...Yes, my mind was still drifting to weeb shit now and then.

Mom made some off-handed remark about Scape sounding familiar to her, and to stay cautious about the yokai duo. Nebb and Polly were business as usual, with Polly seeing Scape as a delight of a demon and both skeptically warning me to not randomly summon fellow demons. Scape agreed on their notions, and apparently knew about Monty from the start—in fact, Monty was in Careme’s class, just a different period than me. Chialer, meanwhile, was tenser by the day.

As this last thought registered to me, we were heading out of the boys’ locker room to cheer practice. The school board demanded anyone with Chialer’s ‘trouser contents’ stay in the lane they started in as far as bathrooms went, though I was riding the median on that road.

Since the coach and squad already knew this [go Team Progressive flow, eh], I decided to embarrass Ty in a different way as we stepped onto the astroturf. “Hey how come you’ve been so pissy lately, Ty?”

The other girls cut their gossiping short. One of the few guys spat his sports drink.

“Shiiiit, her own roomie.”

Chai groaned in frustration, walking forward after having stopped for a moment. “I’m not ‘pissy’, I’m anxious. We’re running against the mitts next week.”

“Wait, really?” “You hadn’t heard?” “I thought that wasn’t until next quarter.”

I started to jog back to Chai until the coach sounded feedback on his megaphone. “Great timing to bring that up, actually, the Terriers are going up against the M.I.T. Dragons next week. And better yet? They’re competing for a place at SB fifty-one.”

Super Bowl LI? Okay, sure. M.I.T.? Makes sense. But, uh…

“I thought it was the Beavers?”

I sidled up to Ty, leaning our arms together and tugging her around to face the coach with me as he nodded. “Yeah, was. Some rich frat boy on their football team yanked some strings and got it changed.”

I yelped as Chialer gripped the back of my hand tightly with hers, digging her nails in.

“Hell, they’ve already got a suit for that mascot. My wife’s one of their department chairs, so she’d sent me pictures.”

My knees buckled together as Chai crumpled my fingers over eachother, probably clenching the other hand tightly as a fist. “Yeah, so what if they put together a stupid fursuit? We’ll just kick their asses and show them it was a waste of money!” she spat. I was stamping my heel on the field, wheezing from her vice grip.

The coach clapped, grinning. “That’s the spirit! Let’s practice our routines and lead the team to victory!”

Almost everyone shouted agreement as the coach pumped a fist in the air—but I was a little preoccupied, Chialer wasn’t in the mood, and one of the other girls…

“Oh my God, Ally, how is your blood black?!”

Chai and I both seized up. Chai’s grip loosened reflexively, and I quickly covered my right hand with the left.

“B-b-b-bad tattoo....” I sputtered out, briefly glancing down at the damage. Damn Chai cut her nails into sharp tips… Again.

The coach put a hand to his face, shaking his head. “Goddamnit…” both of us winced in pain. The power of Christ does, in fact, compel us. “Tyler, what’ve I said about cutting your nails like that?! You’re NOT getting me sued by scratching people with those on the field again.”

Ty coughed. “...I scheduled to trim them down this week.”

Coach just sighed as the other guys started whispering to eachother. “Ugh… Tyler, you go do that, I’ll be writing you up later. Alyssa, go get bandaged up, you know your parts in the routine.”

I nodded shakily, grabbing Chai by the elbow as I turned to run back to the main campus.

“Ow…” I whined after slowing to walk normally in the halls.

Chai gripped a hand on her upper arm, rolling her eyes. “...Puncture wound or wordplay?”

I glared at her, rubbing my head for a moment. “Which one do you think, asshole?”

She sighed in frustration. “Yeah, sorry. He just pisses me the home off.”

“Who, Coach Dickinson?”

“My brother. He’s the one the coach mentioned!” she spat.

“You… Have a brother…”

“That I never mentioned, yeah whatever, it’s because I fuckin’ hate him. I have a lot of siblings, but he’s the only one in my generation, ‘cause he’s my twin.”

“Oh, so he’s a pride demon,” I remarked, lowering my voice.

“You mean a smug cockhead? Because he’s a smug cockhead.”

The temptation to confront Chai with how rich that was coming from her was unbearable.

“Sooooooo, you guys are twins, pride and envy… Dunno why I never suspected that.”

“Only time E’n’P aren’t born in pairs like that is when they’re straight spawned out of the ether,” Chialer said, glancing over her shoulder. Nobody in the hall but us. “...Why are we going through the offices?”

I stopped at a door, putting up a finger after letting go of her, and knocking six times on the wood. “Goat dad’s. Nebb gave me directions.”

Chai nodded as we stood there for an awkward minute. There was eventually a deep, muffled yawn, before the door opened, with the culinary professor rubbing one of his eyes. “Alyssa…? Tyler? Not the best timing, I had locked up to take a nap…”

I put up my right hand. “She cut me with her nails.”

Scape perked up, and quickly ushered us in. “Come in then, I’ll get you some bandages…”

Chai started biting her nails down flat as I took the liberty of settling into his cushy office chair. The office’s lights and camera had been tampered with, leaving it dim and unmonitored for Scape to set up a couple soft LED candelabras. The walls looked smooth as carved stone, so black they seemed to drain any excess light. It was very comfy, and definitely very against regulations.

Scape grunted, loosening his belt as his body morphed into its more caprine form, reddish-brown fur showing around and through his clothes, and horns curling around the back then sides of his head to widely straddle his chin.

“...Just like in that dream.” I muttered to myself as he opened and rifled through a first-aid kit. He chortled heartily, smiling when he brought a roll of gauze and a scrap of some sort of dark fabric over.

“I get that a lot from your type. Very in tune with subconsciousness,” he remarked, wrapping the fabric in two layers around my hand, then binding it with the gauze like sports tape. “Now keep that on like a cast. Ichor doesn’t belong in the sewage system, trust me.”

I nodded affirmatively, but Chai raised her brows in amusement. “So you’re gonna eat it later?” she quipped.

“Best way to dispose of it,” Scape replied, seemingly oblivious to Chai’s teasing of him.

I glanced at the door. “Sooooo, Chai got mad because we’re gonna be running across her twin at a football game next week.”

“That so? She’s never mentioned her,” Scape mused, looking to her.

“...Him,” Chai corrected. “I’m… Y’know.”

Scape blinked, then shrugged and nodded. “Right, him then. I suppose it’d befit a pride demon—entering a ‘fancier’ establishment than their envy counterpart to incite jealousy…”

“Yeah, and it fuckin’ works. Bastard accomplished my goal with the sports mascots before I even started on it.”

I jumped at the opportunity to lean against Scape. “She means getting the mascot changed to her likeness, which I’m gonna do here.”

“Your mom said it’d be a competition!” Chai spat.

Scape chuckled, stepping away from me to lounge on a couch that definitely wouldn’t have fit through the door by normal means. “Well either way, that’s going to engorge his ego and power, so watch out,” he quipped.

“What?” I took on a look of confusion, now leaning awkwardly over the side of the chair. Chai smacked her fists against her thighs, breathing out harshly as her outfit shifted into her hazmat suit (she’d finished with her human form’s nails by now).

Scape gestured a hand in the air. “Pride demons live for idolatry. Even something like football mascots can greatly empower them. After all, football is adored nationwide, and ‘rugby’ across many parts of the planet.”

Chai crossed her arms as she went to sit on an open part of the couch. “So we definitely need to take him down a peg. If his team wins the superbowl, the whole world’s fucked.”

“Is that a problem?” Scape quipped.

“Ooh yeah, she can’t have someone outdo her!” I teased. Chai gave me a foul look, but Scape just laughed.

“Sure, we’re here to spread chaos, but I don’t want HIM doing that in MY home.”

“You could always work together.”

“Hell to the no!? I dunno what you’ve seen in your time, but envy and pride are like—”

“A very fragile A and B point bridged by a need for superiority?” Scape said, patting Chai on the back coyly. “There’re two kinds of twins, kiddo: those who hate eachother, and those who value one another’s strengths and help eachother’s weaknesses.”

I giggled, while the lenses of Chai’s mask glowed a bright green.

“Yikes, mind the Geiger counter,” I joked.

#alpha centauri #All I'm gonna say is if you've got a problem with paragraph 4 then kindly fuck off

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drwnng-ophelia · 6 years

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I’ll Come Back For You | Michael Langdon x Reader

Chapter 4

Find the first three chapters on my masterlist! ♥️

Pairing: Michael Langdon / Female Reader

Genre/Warnings: Rated M for smut

Summary: Not even your wildest imagination, your impossible dreamscapes, could have prepared you for finding your savior in the man who was none other but the spawn of Satan. Michael Langdon. [this is based on a prompt where the reader, ultimately, will go back in time to fight Mallory and to save Michael]

Falling Action

Scene 1 There would be no way of salvaging the delicate fabric of your dress. It was filthy from you laying in the mud for the entire time you had spoken with your mother. Michael had explained to you that you hadn’t been gone, so whatever time and space you had accessed had merely been in your head. As you looked down, you saw that the wounds on your hands had already healed completely, only two pale pink lines were hinting at the cut that had been there moments earlier.

“Let’s get you cleaned up,” Michael suggested, his tone and touch surprisingly gentle now that you had chosen to stand by his side. He had known so little love and affection throughout his life that he was willing to hold on to any kindness instantaneously, without any second thoughts. It emphasized how painfully young he still was.

“We need to sneak past Miss Venable, I really don’t need her attitude right now,” you sighed, exhausted from what you had just experienced, “And why exactly does your own robot not obey you? She’ll tell us her mind, too, when she sees us.” Michael scowled at you, “Your mother has told you too much. Miss Mead will answer me when I need her to. The rest is—” “Let me guess, classified,” you snorted. His pale blue eyes narrowed and you knew you had gone a little too far. You waved dismissively, signaling that you would drop the discussion. To be fair, after what you had just seen, you didn’t want to argue with him. Instead, you wanted to enjoy these very limited moments you still had with him. With this Michael. An epitome of power, pain, and pleasure.

When you entered the elevator, you rubbed your neck, feeling sore from the ritual. “And how do you intend to punish my mother for telling me too much? Will you try to kill a goddess?” you noted drily, ignoring his disapproving gaze, “If it is of any consolation…my mother likes you.” A bitter smile tugged at his lips, clearly indicating that he didn’t believe you. “She is sincere and just, Michael. She wanted to help you, desperately, but she couldn’t. I saw you through her eyes, felt her pain pulse through my veins.”

“W-what did you see?” Michael’s voice trembled and he suddenly looked so much like the young, lost boy from your mother’s memories. “She showed me everything that I needed to see. Showed me everything I needed to know to understand that you have been treated wrongfully in the past.” His handsome features softened and he lifted his hand, as if he wanted to reach out to touch you, but you both froze when the doors slid away to reveal Miss Mead and her incredibly tall auxiliary, both clad in the black suits that were supposed to protect them from radiation. The plague masks always made you grimace. This place had been designed with too many dramatic elements — by Michael, as you had now learned.

“You need to go to the decontamination room,” Miss Mead snapped at you, “That includes you, Mr. Langdon. Being with the Cooperative does not make you immune to radiation or any illnesses. I cannot let you reenter without guaranteeing that you’re both clean.” At her words you turned to your companion, brows pulled up with a clear look on your face that said ‘I told you so’.

“Use your Geiger counter, go on,” Michael’s tone was razor-sharp and defiant. He was back to being completely collected and authoritative. You would be lying if you were to say that this side of him did not affect you. As he straightened his spine and rested his hands behind his back, desire started to coil in your gut. You wanted those hands on you again. Even if it was just one last time before Cordelia would come for you all.

The Geiger counter confirmed what Michael had promised you; no radiation, you were clean and untouched. While you had trusted him, it was still a relief to know that he hadn’t lied to you. “I’m sure you didn’t get all suited up just to welcome us back,” Michael noted, taking your hand and leading you out of the elevator. Miss Mead shook her head, “No. There was a security breach.” A knowing smile spread on Michael’s face, “Then check for any intrusion. As for us, please tell Miss Venable that Miss [L/N] and I wish not to be disturbed for the remaining day. We have important issues to discuss.”

“Which are classified,” you couldn’t stop yourself from saying the words, a slight mockery resonating in your voice. Michael gave your hand a warning squeeze, a silent command to keep your mouth shut. Without another word, he pulled you away from the suits and guided you into the labyrinthine halls of the Outpost. “You’ll pay for that comment, my dear. Your skin will bear the signs of your faux pas,” he hissed and excitement started to flutter in your gut.

Yes, you had to use your remaining time with him wisely and the sweet promise that his threat denoted was exactly how you wished this time to play out.

Michael lead you into his room and didn’t bother to lock the door; if someone were to walk in on you two, you knew that he wouldn’t stop. No, he didn’t care who would witness how he would defile you, didn’t care who would hear the screams of pleasure that would sound through the door.

“How shall I punish you?” he sounded challenging as his fingers traced over the neckline of your dress, his touch leaving goosebumps on your skin. “Whatever way you see fit,” you got out, your gaze glued to his as he easily tore through the wispy fabric, exposing you to him. “Now you choose to be a good girl? Don’t hold back with me, I felt your desire. Tell me what you want.” His eyes drifted down, admiring your breasts for a moment before he ripped open the rest of the dress. Michael sucked his teeth appreciatively at your nakedness.

“I want you to clean me up like you promised. Only to get me dirty again,” your voice was barely more than a whisper as his fingers found your nipples, pinching them tenderly and rolling them between his fingers. You bit your lip to keep a moan from slipping over your lips. “Then get into the shower,” he instructed, retreating his hands.

The warm water felt nice against your icy skin. You had only just realized how cold you had been from lying in the mud. While you savored the heat, you watched Michael peel himself out of his wet clothing, your mouth turning dry at the sight of his impressive erection. Every fiber of your body wanted him, so much it consumed you. A part of you tried to capture every image, every sensation, every detail of him, to store it away for the future — when things would be so different from how they were now.

When he joined you in the shower, you took a step back, making room for him. Without uttering a single word, Michael started to wash you up. His hands were diligent, freeing you from all the dirt and mud until every single inch of you had been cleaned to perfection. To your disappointment, there had been nothing sensuous about his touch. This was all work, no play. “Was this all?” you couldn’t stop yourself from asking as it was pure agony that he touched you like this when it was evident that he, too, was hungry for something else, something more.

“Patience is a virtue, [Y/N],” he chuckled and ran his thumb over your bottom lip lazily. “You’re the Antichrist, fuck virtue.” You didn’t wait for him to retort something, but stood on your tiptoes to pull him into a demanding kiss. “Ravish me, Mr. Langdon,” you breathed your wish against his lips. You could feel him smile before he answered the kiss, deepening it, while he maneuvered you against the wall. His hand dipped between your thighs and you gasped as he slid a finger through your wetness. “So ready for me. Where did your thoughts go?” he asked, surprised that so little was needed to make your body throb with desire, “Tell me.”

You almost whimpered when he pulled his hand back, only so he could taste you on his fingers. The sight of him licking off your glaze made the heat that pounded between your legs almost unbearable. “I thought about your authoritative persona. Your tone that is cold enough to give people frostbite. Your hands resting behind your back and how I want them all over me,” you admitted, pressing your thighs against each other so you’d have some sort of friction. He chuckled darkly and lust clouded his pale eyes. Tantalizing you like this, denying to give you what you needed, brought him pleasure. It made him feel in charge.

Michael leaned in and you felt his lips brush against your neck before he nipped at your earlobe. “Open your legs for me,” he whispered the instruction into your ear, his breath hot against your skin. But instead of rewarding you with his hand, he reached for the handheld showerhead and adjusted the fitting to increase the pressure. With a wicked smile, he aimed the shower head at your entrance, the water thrumming against your bundle of nerves so deliciously that it drew a moan from your mouth. With this pressure, you wouldn’t last long and you allowed yourself to relax against the cold tiles. Michael observed you with lecherous fascination, how you palmed your breasts, kneading them gently, desperate for more, more, more.

You felt a well-known sensation building inside of you and your eyes rolled back, your body bracing itself for your climax. But just when you were about to go over the edge, ready to call out his name in sweet ecstasy, the pressure vanished and left you panting. Your eyes flew open and you saw the vicious grin on Michael’s face, “I won’t let you cum just yet. And don’t you dare to finish yourself. I will decide when you’re ready.” He granted you to have your fantasy; him being dominating, cold, and controlling. Your knees buckled slightly at this realization. It wasn’t just Michael who would take his sweet time with you. It was the Antichrist.

Before you could completely recover, he turned the water on you again, making you yelp when it hit your already oversensitive sex. You could feel your body react intuitively, the orgasm building anew. Just when you were on the cusp, hungry for your release, the pleasure stopped immediately. “Michael, please,” you begged huskily, the sexual frustration almost too much to bear. But he only shook his head, “I’m not done with you yet.”

He did this a few more times, driving your body towards its near-eclipse, almost letting you go all the way. Whenever the water would hit you, you would tremble, your nerves incredibly responsive after having been provoked and stimulated so much already. You were starved for your climax, your body aching with an inconceivable hunger. Seeing how Michael touched himself languidly, pleasuring himself at the sight of your lustful desperation, only added to your craving. “Please, Michael. I can’t do this anymore,” you pleaded, your knees weak and breathing hitched as you felt yourself approaching the edge, yet again. “Then come for me, [Y/N].”

His permission alone was almost enough to let you fall apart and when you finally found your release, it ripped through you violently. You were unable to hold yourself up, but Michael pinned you against the wall, letting you relish the depth and length of your shattering orgasm. Shocks were still surging through you when you put your arms around his neck, your head resting on his shoulder as you caught your breath. You were deliciously drained. “Was this my punishment?” you asked after he had turned off the water and pulled you close to him. “No, we’re not done yet. I still need to get you dirty. Was that not your wish? I still need to leave some marks on you.” A shiver of anticipation danced down your spine and you knew you had hours of bliss still ahead of you.

Scene 2 Michael had excused himself to conduct the last interviews and while he was gone, you decided to freshen up. Your knees were still wobbly as you padded to your room clad in nothing but one of his black shirts. A sigh of relief escaped you when you closed the door behind yourself, grateful for having gotten here unnoticed. You could only imagine the drama it would cause if someone found you wandering the corridors half-naked. Granted, it was painfully obvious that Michael was intimate with you, but after all the fantastic sex you had just gotten, you were not exactly in the mood to discuss that relationship with anyone — especially not Coco or Miss Venable.

You pulled some underwear and your nicest nightgown out of the wardrobe and slipped into the silky garments when a knock suddenly called your attention. Before opening the door, you wrapped yourself in the robe that had still been lying on the bed from earlier. It couldn’t be Michael as you would have felt his presence pulsating through the door.

“Miss Venable. What can I do for you?” you asked with a frown, folding your arms protectively in front of your body. The mistress of Outpost 3 looked at you with distaste, her narrow eyes filled with spite as they looked you over. “You missed dinner,” she said pointedly to which you just shrugged. You had been satisfied generously and your contentment left no room for actual hunger. “I hope someone else could enjoy my cube,” you noted coldly. “Drop the attitude, young lady,” she muttered through gritted teeth.

“Why are you here?” you demanded and held up your chin, meeting her venomous stare unfalteringly. “The Cooperative has sent us a treat. Considering that you’ve already been granted entry to the Sanctuary, you should join the rest of us for a small celebration tomorrow.” A knowing smile played on her lips, clearly indicating that there was more to the celebration than she was leading on. She was nothing if not a scheming bitch. “I’ll see if I can fit it into my schedule,” you answered drily after understanding what she was up to.

Suddenly, you felt the iciness of the silver bird skull that adorned her cane biting into your cheek. Venable hadn’t struck you, but just tilted your head slightly to get a better look at you, “I honestly cannot understand his infatuation with you. You are nothing special. In fact, I’ve never paid you any attention in all your time here.” You could feel the beast inside of you extending its claws as it reacted to Venable’s insult…and something else. Snap your fingers, snap her neck. Snap your fingers, snap her neck, it hummed, but you ignored it and took a deep breath instead. This would be over soon, there was no need to waste any of your energy on this woman. With a sharp movement, you batted the cane away, “Maybe you should have. But I bet it’s difficult for you to look past the end of your own nose. Consider your delusion of grandeur one of your many weaknesses, Miss Venable.”

“Weakness,” she hissed the word as if tasting it on her tongue for the first time. Slowly, she rose her cane, ready to strike you. “I wouldn’t do that if I were you. Mr. Langdon certainly wouldn’t appreciate me to be blemished with a blooming bruise.” “I could just strike you somewhere else,” she suggested maliciously. You angled your head predatorily, a movement you had observed Michael do many times, “Oh, please do. I’m certain that he would be livid when he sees his lover’s body defiled like that. That would be your certain expulsion from the Sanctuary. Maybe even this place, depending on how hard you strike me.” She didn’t have to know that your skin was already adorned with lovebites and bruises, that your bottom was still sore from his spanking.

“You’re his lover,” she finally realized and lowered her cane, “Copulation is strictly forbidden!” You raised your eyebrows in an unspoken challenge. “I’m in charge here,” Miss Venable breathed, reassuring herself rather than arguing against you. “A royal mistress is often more powerful than the queen. I’d advise you to leave me be or I will mention this indiscretion during pillow talk.” The woman clenched her jaw at your words, but took a step back, realizing that she had to fall in line.

You gave Venable a small, victorious smile as you stepped out of your room and started towards Michael’s room. Dark power surged through your veins and you knew that it was something the Antichrist had awoken in you. But you wouldn’t let it consume you. You would channel and use this power for the task ahead. Saving Michael was your priority. Especially because you understood why your inner beast had unexpectedly started to roam up and down its cage nervously: Cordelia, Myrtle, and Madison had awoken. They were on their way here and as they were already prepared to fight, you started to gather your power, the scythe a constant, warm comfort against your skin.

You knew that the festivities would take place without you, knew that Michael would excuse you both from joining the celebration so you wouldn’t have to witness how everyone would perish after eating poisoned apples. Miss Venable’s mind had practically screamed this plan at you when she had extended the invitation. Slipping into someone’s thoughts was new to you, but it wouldn’t surprise you if it had been Ananke who had opened that door temporarily. Your mother wanted you to know that Miss Venable and Miss Mead would try to kill all other inhabitants in order to secure their own survival. You also knew that Venable’s megalomania would, ultimately, result in her death. Once she had taken her last breath, Michael would want to lead his robot and you to the Sanctuary where he could continue remodeling the world in his image.

But before that, Cordelia would intervene. And when she did, you had to make a choice. Whose side should you stand on before going back in time?

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