#the courier then had to get the platinum chip out of a sink with a plunger

[fanatic-r3d4ct3d]

im finally forcing myself to animate shit. its ass but wow a first ish attempt that i can say wasnt a project i had to turn in for something. and its the guy id like to punch. the horrible hc from this is if the courier didnt take the chip benny was probably gonna stupidly flip it and manage to land it in a fucking sink drain or a perfectly sized crack for pure damn comedy reasons. i also didnt feel like doing his suit detailing because yeah but look at me go i feel kinda proud of myself for the most basic ugly looking shit of all time.

[randomwordsandstormydays]

A Long Road (WIP)

I’m not sure I’ll ever actually get around to finishing this fic, but I’d love some feedback. It’s going to be a full-length game playthrough of Fallout: New Vegas under my OC Riley Smith.

This is the first “section”, can’t really call it a chapter, but here it is.

///

Her hands are bound.

The ground is hard and cold.

Someone is digging near her feet.

These realizations trickle in slowly, like a sink with a leak that never stops dripping. Each new observation is a piece of a puzzle she’s desperately trying to assemble before the end. But the end of what?

She doesn’t fully remember how she got into this situation. One minute she was on the road, bright lights of the New Vegas Strip filling her vision, only a few steps away from completing her delivery. The next moment she’s being dragged on the ground by her ankles, head thumping against the Mojave dirt with every step the man tugging her along takes. There’s at least three other people leading the way, and a man behind her. A particularly rough bump and she groans at the pain and the whole party stops.

From somewhere up ahead a voice calls “knock her out again, ‘fore she can call for help,” and then a fist comes down to meet her face and everything goes black.

When they knocked her out the first time the sun had been setting, tinting the sky with purples and reds. On the road she could just make out the faintest sliver of light on the horizon. Now, the moon is high in the sky, bright and full. The sight of it makes her head hurt and she knows she’s got a concussion.

The brim of her hat hides her eyes from view and she takes in what she can. The sound of someone digging, the smell of cigarettes, and three pairs of shoes - two dirty and dusty from the road and wear, and one pair that looks nice, almost new by post-war standards. Then, people start talking.

“You got what you were after, so pay up.” The voice is rough, angry sounding.

The response is casual, like whoever says it isn’t afraid of the people around him, even though he’s clearly not one of them. “You’re cryin’ in the rain, pally.”

So this was a job, taking her out, not just a couple guys looking for an easy score. But what did the person who hired them want?

Her? She’s a nobody, just a courier who’s good at her job.

Her delivery? It’s possible, but if that was the case why not just leave her in the dirt outside the Strip, why drag her to wherever they are now?

A realization strikes her: they mean to kill her, bury her out here so no one knows where she is. So that her body can’t be stumbled upon. Something about this whole thing is off, what’s so important about her that her body can’t even be found?

Her mind flashes to Andrew. They’ve been together nearly a year. When she doesn’t come home he might come looking for her, and if he does, he’ll never find her.

Or will he think she left him and not even bother to try and track her down? It wouldn’t surprise her. She’s always been a little flighty, hard to nail to one spot. The only reason she didn’t bounce out of her relationship is that Andy never tried to keep her tied down. Never complained that her job kept her on the road five days a week, only held her a little tighter every time she stumbled through the door, road worn and dusty. He probably won’t even look for her, they love each other, sure- but he’s not a traveler, not a fighter, not an adventurer. She’s positive he’ll miss her, he loves her after all, but she also wonders how long it’ll take him to move on once he realizes she’s never coming back.

Her heart hurts when she thinks of his face. Will he cry? Or has he been waiting this whole time for her to finally leave?

Will he find her mother and brother? Track them down to tell her that she’s missing, that she’s probably dead? Or will the two of them go on forever, watching the door and waiting for her to stop by? And what of her friends? Gunny and Jack, Missy and Elliot, they’ll miss her for sure. Will Andrew find them and tell them that she’ll never show for a monthly poker game again? Will they cry, will she be mourned, or will she fade from their lives as easily as she stepped into them?

Maybe she can make it so no one has to miss her. She still doesn’t know why they dragged out putting her in the ground, but she’s certainly not going to just roll over and let them get away with it. And if she can get free, then no one has to worry for her. Quickly she sits up, grinding her wrists together to try and get the rope around them to loosen up.

“Heh, guess who’s waking up over here?”

It doesn’t work, the knots are good, tight and rough, so she goes to run. Just as she’s rising up a hand clamps down on her shoulder and keeps her kneeling. When she looks up there’s three men right in front of her. Two great Khans and a man in a checkered suit. It’s clear by his relaxed position that he’s in charge and she watches, annoyed, as he puffs on a cigarette. She’s about to die, and he’s getting a nicotine fix?

Then he flicks it aside, crushing it under one nearly pristine shoe. “Time to cash out.” Oh, god, casino talk.

“Will you get it over with?” The Khan on the left looks annoyed, but checkered suit holds up a finger to silence him.

“Maybe Khans kill people without lookin’ ‘em in the face, but I ain’t a Fink. You dig?” Well, shit, that confirms what she already knew: they mean to kill her. It also tells her that this man isn’t a Khan, not that that wasn’t blindingly obvious by the everything about him, but still- it means whoever she pissed off probably isn’t with them either.

He pulls out a poker chip, it’s shiny, definitely different than any one she’s ever seen before. It has to be the platinum chip that was in her package, the one she was supposed to deliver. At least now she knows it was about her job, nothing personal.

“You’ve made your last delivery, kid. Sorry you got twisted up in this scene.” What scene? There was nothing to get twisted up in. She’s just a courier, doesn’t owe anyone money, never ran with a group that made enemies, has never even been on the Strip before. It’s all about who hired her, they’re the ones that should be tied up, kneeling in the dirt. She’s a good person, has friends and family that care about her, there’s no reason for her to be here, on her knees, not even given the chance to say goodbye.

He pulls out a pistol. She knows she should be scared, but the emotion seems far away. All she can get her hands around is annoyance and confusion. 

“From where you’re kneeling must seem like an 18 karat run of bad luck.” God who is this guy? All the poker puns and shit? They live in New Vegas, but doesn’t he have any sort of original thought- or has he really bought into all the hype? He aims the gun at her face, and when she looks up at him, she sees it in his eyes that he’s serious, there’s something there she reads that tells her nothing she can say or do will change her fate.

She’s going to die.

“Truth is, the game was rigged from the start.”

Her last thought is: what an asshole.