"Okay, now I know you're lying."
"I swear to you it's true. I may be a good liar, but not that good."
Nora snickered as Deacon continued rambling on about various situations he'd been through; only half of them being lies. As they trudged their way through the Commonwealth, rifles strapped to their backs, he told as many stories as he could think of. Deacon always found the trips to be less unbearable when sharing a few stories. And Nora certainly had a few of her own, although his were definitely more far-fetched. Which, when he thought about it, was quite an achievement considering she claimed to be two-hundred years old. He had stories about everything; synths, supermutants, regular everyday assholes, non-regular non-everyday assholes, even deathclaws. She clearly didn't take them all to heart, but she still humored him with a few laughs. Not many people were willing to put up with it.
"Did I ever tell you about my time gambling in the Mojave?" He adjusted his glasses as they walked. "It ended with me waking up in the middle of the desert without any clothes-"
"Maybe another time, Deacon. I think this is the settlement we're looking for."
He blinked, staring at the hobble of a shack Nora had called a settlement. A shanty, crudely built disaster surrounded by what used to be fence that was somehow considered a home. The weirdest thing was that there was no signs of farming, or anything else for that matter. It was as if the place had been abandoned long ago. But, sure enough, an old man stood just outside the shack, waving giddily at the two of them with the cheerfulness of a Mr. Handy.
"Soooo, this is what the Minutemen sent you out here for?"
She gave a half-hearted laugh and teasingly flexed her arm. "Protect the people at a minute's notice. I guess Preston is rubbing off on me."
"Just… be careful what you sign up for."
She raised an eyebrow questioningly, but didn't pressure him into a response. Instead, she made her way over to the now flailing settler. Balding, with bright eyes and a cheerful smile, he greeted them both with an overly optimistic attitude. Deacon glanced at Nora out of the corner of his eye, wondering if she saw the same thing he did.
"You're with the Minutemen right? We could definitely use your help."
Deacon snorted at the word we.
"That's right, what do you need?"
This time he addressed Nora specifically, giving her all the details as to what was wrong, another thing Deacon found humorous considering there was a lot that could be classified in that category. And just like that, they were off again, plowing through the Commonwealth once more. The never-ending process of "protecting the people" was incredibly boring.
As soon as he was out of earshot of the old man, Deacon started up another conversation with Nora.
"Raiders?"
"Yep. Kidnapping."
"Pretty trusting of them huh?" After receiving a strange glance, he explained. "'Oh hi, I'm a random stranger and I'm hear to solve your problems!' No badge, or special hat, or even a certificate to the fan club?"
She pondered it for a moment, then shrugged. "I don't think there's a fan club. But yeah, that's pretty much how it goes. People are pretty desperate already, so they don't give much thought when someone says they can solve their problems."
Deacon stopped, much to her surprise. "See, that is the problem. People don't think, they just trust. Because someone out there has the ability to change things, everyone just goes with it. But what happens when all the problems are done and over with, and all that's left is a few men with a lot of power?"
Nora shook her head, her hair dipping over her eyes. "In a world like this, what are the chances of it running out of problems? And besides, the Minutemen aren't the Brotherhood. They aren't out to control the Commonwealth."
"Maybe not now, but you never know what will happen in the future."
"So you're saying that every organization with any form of power above the average citizen will most likely form into a dictatorial government?"
Deacon sighed. "Look, all I'm saying is that power is evil. People with power almost always abuse it. No matter what the cause. It's a bad idea to just blindly trust someone, like that old man did."
Nora rolled her eyes, apparently done with the conversation. They continued the track in silence, killing the occasional ghoul on the way. Deacon didn't bother to tell any more stories after that, and she didn't bother to ask either. She was clearly offended by the fact that he had insulted the Minutemen.
Finally, after what seemed to be forever, they came across an old, makeshift warehouse, perfect for raiders to hold up in. Quietly, they made their way inside to finish the job. And after shooting, hacking, and biting their way through, they reached their objective.
Tied to a concrete pillar, was a woman. She was obviously older, with graying hair and laugh lines. And she was also obviously terrified, screaming as soon as Deacon entered the room. It was the first time Nora had laughed in awhile.
She snickered as the woman hurled obscenities at him. "Maybe it's because of your glasses."
"Mom always told me I had the face of a beautiful serial killer."
Rolling her eyes yet again, Nora cautiously approached the woman.
"Hey, hey, it's alright. We aren't here to hurt you."
She scoffed, kicking at Deacon's feet as he got closer. "Yeah, that's what the last assholes said." She narrowed her eyes at Nora. "What do you want?"
"Your husband sent us to help you. We're from the Minutemen."
She blinked, stopping her failed assault on Deacon for just a moment. "Husband? I'm not married…"
Deacon glanced at Nora. She scrunched her eyebrows in response, just as confused.
"A man sent us, Clint?"
She shook her head again, clearly not recognizing the name. Concerned, Nora turned back to Deacon.
"I've heard the old 'I'm not married' line more than a few times, but never in a situation like this one. There's a pretty good chance all this radiation has rotted her brain."
"I'm right here you bastard."
He shrugged, no other ideas in mind. "Let's just ask Clint" He created air quotes with his fingers, "when we get back."
After clawing their way through even more raiders, they trudged back outside again, a process that both Deacon and Nora had learned to hate, and back towards the settlement. The old woman followed with hesitant steps, eyes darting in every direction.
"She's gonna try and run for it." He whispered to Nora, who eyed the woman behind them.
"What? I don't think she-"
Before she could finish her sentence, the woman darted off. Nora blinked, watching as she toppled down a hill and into a puddle of irradiated water. Deacon smiled.
"Told you so."
She sighed. "I can't wait to get this all over with. Maybe we should just let her go for now and tell Clint about it when we get there."
By the time they dragged themselves across the wasteland again, the sun was already fading and Deacon would have killed for food, which was probably where his next meal coming from in the first place. Now that he and Nora had gotten on better terms again, he decided to continue telling his stories. It was good to fill the silence once again; he didn't enjoy the tension in the air.
But his stories were cut short as soon as they arrived back at the settlement. Deacon had just enough time to grab Nora's arm and pull her back behind the building before revealing herself
Her words were muffled as he quickly wrapped a hand around her mouth. "What are you doing?!"
"Shh! Stop shouting, it wont- Ah! Did you just bite me?" He released his grip with a small shout. "Will you just stop and look?"
As he gingerly nursed his new wound, Nora peered around the edges of the shack, gawking at Clint and what Deacon assumed was his "friends". Three angry, heavily armed, and incredibly dangerous looking raiders. And they spoke to Clint, oh whoever it was, in a strangely friendly tone. And Clint, much less smiley than before, chewed them out.
"I want your asses outta sight. The Minutemen's little helpers will be back any second with the woman, you can make some noise then. We don't wanna tip 'em off early, or else we'll never get the girl. Now scram."
They retreated into the house, grumbling curse words before slamming the door. Shaking his head wearily, Clint went back to his inconspicuous farming, waiting the arrival of the so called "little helpers."
Nora sighed, the third time that day, and walked away from the farm in disgust. "This is all a complete mess… I guess it's a good thing that lady ran when she had the chance. I don't think Clint intended to treat her any nicer. Probably worked for a rival gang or something like that."
Deacon nodded. "I hate to be an ass in a situation like this, but this is exactly what I was talking about. You can't trust anyone these days, no matter what they say." She shook her head in response, but he continued anyways. "Everyone is trying to spoon-feed the Brahmin shit, even the goody-two-shoes organizations like the Minutemen. Everyone lies, so no one can be trusted."
"That's a sad way to live Deacon."
"A sad, but safe way." He smiled half heartedly, "Trust me when I say it's much better like this. I think your friend 'Clint' is the proof."
"Yeah… guess so." She let out a deep breath, gazing back at the farm. "Preston is gonna love hearing about this one. I can't say this has been a golden day for me."
"Well…" Deacon smiled, adjusting his shades. "Know what always cheers me up?" He laughed at Nora's blank stare. Reaching for the rifle on his back, he started making his way back to the Settlement, loading a new round in the chamber.
"Kicking some Raider ass."
