Author's Note:
Hello my lovelies. Obviously, I'm back, with a brand new story. For those that read and reviewed on Aizou, I apologize about the lack of update. My life has been quite hectic as of late, and though I do have the chapters written out, twenty two, in fact, I can't find the will to publish them, mainly because I'm so embarassed at what I've written. I don't have a second reader anymore, so my own indecision is crippling me.
However, I have gotten a new muse, and a new obsession, and I'm publishing this before again, crippling indecsion strikes.
I do hope you all like it, I feel I might need to make a real story.
And yes, Fallout 3 is indeed much win. Fallout in general is win.
And there's something about the Lone Wanderer that makes it so easy to write as of late.
Also. Don't own, blah blah. Disclaimers abound.
Warnings are the same. Violence. Language. Yadda yadda.
-icewolf
"It is not light that we need, but fire; it is not the gentle shower, but thunder. We need the storm, the whirlwind, and the earthquake." - Frederick Douglass
"Wake up! Come on, wake up!"
Bright lights. Why were lights always so bright here? Were retinas really not important to health? Seriously, get a dimmer. Oh, look, it was Amata. Wait, why was Amata in her room so early? Sitting up, swinging her legs over the bed, and shaking her head to clear out the sleep, brushing almost too long bangs out of her eyes to no avail.
"Come on, you've got to wake up!"
Hands came up to rub her eyes, and she peered up at her best friend, offering a grin.
"How weird, I was just dreaming about you, Amata."
"Don't be a smartmouth! This is serious!"
That wiped the grin off her face, and she stood up from the bed, slipping on her shoes that rested just under the bed, blinking in confusion at her friend's obvious panic. Amata almost never panicked. That just wasn't her, . "Amata-"
"My father's men are looking for you! They've already killed Jonas, you have to get out of here!"
That woke her up even more completely, rocking an icy chill down her spine, and she stiffened, eyes widening, and grabbing her friend's arm in what was probably a freakishly strong grip, fueled by fearful confusion and dread. Probably exactly what the girl opposite her was feeling.
"What? Jonas is dead? What the hell is going on?"
"It's your dad! He's left the Vault! My dad thinks Jonas helped him escape, so he...he had his men..."
Hesitation. Dread. Ominous feeling growing. "Oh...no...please..."
"They killed him."
She felt her world tilt slightly. Jonas.
Amata sounded close to crying, standing limply, amd she realized that whatever the Overseer's men did, Amata had most likely seen. Amata, who hit a radroach wth a book once, and burst out into tears because she killed it.
"They just beat him and beat him and wouldn't stop."
"Oh...my god. Are...are you okay?"
A stiffening breath, and Amata seemed to try and get her nerve back.
"Y-yeah. Don't worry about me, I'm just...I'm just sorry you had to find out like this. I know Jonas was your friend."
Not a friend. A surrogate uncle. A second dad, when dad was too busy. But now, Jonas was dead. Jonas was dead and Amata said her dad was gone. Gone. Another world tilt. Disbelief filled her. This...this was a sick joke.
"We've got to go now. My father's men will be here any minute."
"But my dad can't have left! The Door's sealed shut!"
Was that her voice? Octaves higher than normal, sounding choked? Hysterical. Amata gripped her hand, and pulled it off her arm. It was probably gonna bruise later, but right now, she...she needed...what did she need? An anchor. She needed an anchor.
"Not anymore, apparently."
Thank you Miss Amata. Queen of Killing Hope with Obvious Statements.
"But, are you honestly telling me you had no idea your dad was leaving? He really didn't tell you?"
Oh, yes, we tell each other everything. Hence the standing here and asking how the hell could he be gone. She just shook her head.
"No. No.I had no idea he was planning to leave."
"Oh, I'm sorry. I'm sure he had his reasons. Maybe Jonas was supposed to explain everything to you?"
Make that Queen Amata. Mistress of Killing Hope with Obvious Statements and Sucktastic Comfort Methods.
"But it doesn't matter! I can help you escape! I have my own plan!"
Oh dear god. One of Amata's plans. Okay, trust the girl that was going to help you, that you'd known all your life. Trust the girl, who's plans have had included and resulted in crawling through a vent to get to class, getting lost and ending up near the water purifier, a bucket of cake batter and paint mix that stained a good portion of the Deloria's door, the cherry bomb fragments still stuck in the ceiling of the diner, and the awful smell everyime somebody passes the accidentally chemically sealed third door on the east side of the atrium. But she spoke, and was relieved to find her voice had returned to normal, with her hysteria there, always there, but now overshadowed by curiousity, and the ever burning drive to get out, if what was going on was real. In that moment, she noticed something beyond Amata's voice. The Alert Sirens. Oh dear god.
"Escape the Vault? How?"
"Listen, there's a secret tunnel that leads directly from my father's office to the exit. You'll have to hack the computer in his office to open it."
Oh. Great. Simple as pie, Amata. A walk in the park. Whatever a park was. Pre-war phrase. She liked it immensely. Not the plan though, computers...she was only okay with computers. Hacking could be simple, and she understood a bit, but...it was something she couldn't trust at a crucial time. But she couldn't worry, because Amata was pressing something into her hand, and she looked down at her half closed palm. Bobby pins, about ten of them.
"You can use these to get into my father's office, that's how I always get in."
A quick glance up, and her lip was being bitten in nervous thought.
"How do you know the tunnel isn't gaurded? It could be a trap..."
"We don't have time for this! Trust me, security doesn't know about the tunnel. Just my father...and me."
The bobby pins were tucked in her pocket, and she nodded once, blinking as Amata grabbed something else, and handed it to her. Cold, heavy, and a glance had confirmed it was ineed what she thought it was.
"Maybe this pistol I stole from my father will make you feel better, CL.. Go ahead, and take it, and let's get out of here."
Amata.
Amata.
"Smoothskin?"
Eyes snapped open, and CL was awake, bolting upright in her bed and flailing to the side, legs caught in the sheets, her face hitting the floor, and her torso landing firmly on the large blue heeler sprawled out next to the bed she was in. Said dog grunted, thumped his ail on the floor, and twitched his feet, but otherwise didn't move. Oh. Okay, panic over. If Dogmeat was relaxed, she could be.
"Are you alright dear?"
Oh! Scrambling to untangle her legs, and a hand clamped on the bed, pulling herself up and back into veiw, blinking tired, but wary eyes. Wary, because sleeping was so hard in the wasteland without waking up every hour or so. Between the mole rats, the radscorpions, raiders, giant ants, bloatflies, and heaven help you if you were by the Potomac, because the mirelurks were absolutely vicious. So renting a bed anywhere, or sleeping in her own in Megaton, gave this sense of fragile safety. Easier to sleep, but waking up just as frazzled, coupled with confusion and initial distrust of everything around you. But eyes locked onto the ghoul, Carol, and CL smiled broadly, straightening up to smooth out the thin sheets on the bed again.
"Is it morning, Ms. Carol? Oh, wait, that's silly. Of course it is, why else would you wake me up? Well, now, I guess I better wake up, instead of talking at you, and look, I'm still talking hi how are you Ms. Carol?"
Carol smiled at the girl who had waltzed into her Place three days before with the dog hot on her heels.
In fact, all of Underworld had been buzzing about the 'Smoothskin' and her pooch, walking right into what people seemed to think was Hell itself with an overstuffed bag, a smile on her face, slightly too large leather armor, a headwrap, blood splattered, and obviously tired. Winthrop had greeted her, and she'd been cheery and sweet, from his piont of veiw, before skipping as well as she could to Underworld Outfitters, before leaving for the Chop Shop a good hour later. Quinn had gone to check on the merchant, and found her muttering at her counter 'every last cap...every last cap' with an odd smile on her face, and a plethora of guns, ammo, and odds and ends to give Quinn on his next Caravan trade meet. Other than that, both Nurse Graves and Willow found her pleasant enough, and despite much of the distrust, she had always been very polite and smiling to everyone, even when a random ghoul had marched right up to her and asked her if was blind and had the ability to smell.
It hadn't fazed CL one bit, and Greta told Carol that the smoothskin girl just laughed, and went to go get her hair done by that stylist Snowflake, who was just enthusiastic at having hair to actually work with.
Carol personally had a soft spot for the smoothskin girl. After all, CL had said the only reason she'd even othered coming to Underworld was to find the innkeeper and give her news about Gob in Megaton, who, in CL's own words, "How dare he not tell me his mother's so cute? What sort of friend is he?" And any friend of Gob? Instant check in Carol's book, expecially if that person was willing and happy to be a courier between the two.
"See ya later Ms. Carol!"
And there she went, bounding out in some old merc outfit from Tulip's shop that fit her a bit better, if still a little large for her, needing hemming, and a slight tuck in on the side. CL had been surprisingly good with a needle and thread. You had to really look to see where all the old tears had been, from patching up the best parts of similar cloth into sturdy, hardwear clothes able to survive the wasteland relatively intact. Not to mention Carl had spotted her doing the same with weapons, taking them apart, salvaging the best peices, and making a much better, trustworthy weapon from the scrap she scavanged.
Carol turned her rhuemy eyes to where CL had been sleeping, and found with amusement, that the dog was now curled around the girl's bag of things. In the last three days, experience taught that the heeler would growl at anybody that came too close to that bag, followed by teeth snapping the air. Dogmeat, that's what the girl had called him. Very smart, very loyal. A good companion in the wastes, the type of dog that would help defend the girl that looked like she'd get knocked over with the kick of any gun larger than a pistol. Sure, she had a hunting rifle in great condition propped up next to her bag, but who knows, that might just be for show, to fire off to keep Raiders away. The girl seemed a bit too perky, too young, too naive, to be hardened quite yet.
More than likely, that smoothskin was just incredibly lucky, or obliviously ignorant.
Probably both.
The Ninth Circle was a place CL had not ventured into yet. Not because she was afraid, but simply because, well, CL didn't drink. She could get food and a place to sleep at Carol's, drink water anywhere, even if it was irradiated, because really, out here, practically everything had radiation, and you couldn't be picky. Purified water was rare, and yes, Wadsworth back home could give her a couple bottles, but CL took one look at the man with radiation sickness outside the gates, and there went her bottle.
In any case, the only reason she was going in now? It was because she'd found a bunch of liqour in Museum's old cafeteria, dusty, but unopened, and Tulip would have bought them, only, well, she had no caps, even with the paid for repairs on things CL couldn't fix because she didn't have spare parts, or the request for ammo. She just sold more than she bought, and boy, could she buy. Practically swimming in caps, collecting them, stocking up ahead, and selling whatever she could wherever she could whenever she could. Caps got you food, doctors that had more than just stimpacks to heal, stimpacks for the road, and ammo.
Ammo was a must, as well as regular upkeep on all weapons.
And Nuka-Cola.
Which is totally another reason she was headed into that bar. Greta and Tulip both didn't have the drink, and while water was nice and all, CL just wanted something with caffine and tasted like, well, not water. Or booze. One shot of vodka on Gob was enough to have her spitting it out all over Jericho, and gagging. Gob and Nova and Billy had thought it was hilarious. CL and Jericho? Not so much, and she'd offered to pay off his tab as an apology. At least he'd accepted and been a bit less sour about that.
So now, here she was in a bar. Somehow, after striding through the doors, she paused, unsure of what to do next.
Okay. What always works in unfamiliar situations? Oh! Scan the area. Right? Right.
Hazel eyes slipped slowly across the bar, the tables the people walking around. Ghoul lady and ghoul man talking at the bar. Ghoul man in a suit behind bar, probably owner. Drunkard in the corner, people in the connecting room, couldn't see all of them. Ghoul lady sipping what looked like scotch or brandy or whisky or something dark enough to look brown in the shadow of the corner and freakishly tall ghoul man with a gun holstered on his back standing in the corner. CL would have sniggered if it didn't look like the man was about to go on a slaughter happy spree at any moment, because he had a gun, and he was in the corner.
Well somebody deserved a time out.
Yes, a snort of laughter left her, and that was enough to get her drive back in gear, a figuartive boot in the figurative ass. And literal ass planted itself on a stool, elbows on the bar, figers laced and under her chin, and a bright smile on her face at the suited ghoul who took notice of her near immedately. Well, that was nice. The only other service this fast was Gob, and that's because he had to be one of her best buddies out here in the big bad world. Dogmeat was the best.
Of course, Dogmeat could also rip a leg right off a raider, and help her hunt down some mole rats for dinner. Gob just served her Nuka-Cola and told her stories and jokes and made her laugh.
Besides, Dogmeat was fluffy. And cuddly. And liked to snuggle.
Anyway. Back to the ghoul that was staring at her, who she was smiling at, and winked.
The silver tounge was wagging now, on both ends. Did he sell and buy? Yes he did, because human or ghoul, caps were all the same to him, a little bargaining on price and he took those bottles of whiskey off her hands for five caps each, the bottle of vodka for twelve, and a Nuka-Cola was set infront of her, after another breif exchange, which took her half the bottle before she was spinning round and round on the stool, giggling madly at the horrible, sleazy man that was giving her sly jokes and compliments.
She didn't like him, but the caffine made her beyond giddy, and CL was positively affable when giddy. A radroach biting her leg would have sent her into peals of laughter and using the bug as a soccer ball.
Not that she ever had. But just saying.
"You know, for a smoothskin, you're tolerable to talk to. Which makes you so much easier on the eyes. Sometimes I think so many women turn to ghouls because they were toxic on the inside."
Hazel eyes flashed, and the barstool stopped spinning, hands on the counder, and leaning up, and forward, before CL was smiling like a fox oh so close to the man's torn and ruined face.
"So what does that say 'bout you, Az-ru-khal?"
Boredom.
That's all Charon really felt now, mainly, interrupted by bouts of irritation at the drunks that stumbled out at closing time, and burning hate for his current employer. If that man did not have his contract, Charon would have already disposed of him years upon years ago.
In fact, just imagining how the disposal would go were the pleasant and relaxing thoughts that Charon used to help him go to sleep. When Azrukhal let him sleep that was. Bastard. Evil prick. Fuckwad. Shitdick. Making him stand in the shadowy corner in this cesspool of self rot. But nothing could be done, and so the routine continued.
Charon had of course heard about the smoothskin that had found her way into Underworld days before. It was a bit of a hot topic, as was Crowley's arrival nearly a year before, and every other new visitor or settler. Just the fact it was a human that apparently had Willow's okay to pass through... Not that Charon really cared, he hadn't seen hide nor hoof end of the supposed visitor during that entire time. Had somebody not been slurring to their neighbor that the smoothskin was bunking at Carol's and ventured out into the Museum's offices and lower halls for hours at an end, Charon would have figured that she'd left on the day she came. Either way, there hadn't been an appearance of her here so it really couldn't affect him.
Oh, how the Universe loved to screw with people's lives, because not ten minutes later, she walked in like she was about to take the world on by storm and riding into such on a Deathclaw with a smile on her face. And then the pausing, the faltering, and Charon got good look at her, assessing threats, and in his head, comparing her to the rumours. After all, boredom makes you do silly things.
She was...small. Not rediculously so, but the way her clothes didn't fit just right, a little too baggy, even with the not so obvious work done to make sure that they did fit. Not a big deal in itself, but Charon had sort of been expecting somebody taller, or with larger curves. A woman, not a girl probably scared out of her wits and definately out of her depths.
Then again, the Universe was up for more surprises and screwing, because Charon did not expect the smoothskin kid to look right at him, back around, and smile before prancing right up to the bar like it was her every right.
Apparently, Azrukhal didn't either, but while Charon just continued to scowl no matter how surprised he had been, his employer looked dumbfounded for a second, before throwing on a smile as the girl perched at the bar, and went to assist.
Charon was disgusted with that shitdick of an employer. He probably thought he could charm the girl into his bed, more that likely, while there was caps changing hands, and bottles of liqour drawn out from her bag, and set on the counter. Ah. That was why she was in here. And probably that bottle that was set in front of her. A cola.
What happened later was both confusing, slightly amusing, and almost panic inducing.
The girl'd been spinning around on her barstool, obviously drunk on a sugar or caffine rush, which was amusing, and dizzying to watch after a while. Even Patchwork had stumbled out after watching her, which was a relief to Charon. He didn't want to throw out the other ghoul tonight, and have the high chance of being puked on.
Azrukhal had said something that made her stop.
And she leaned over the bar. Leaned over the bar.
Azrukhal's orders in his head. Stop anybody from leaning over the bar. Stop anybody getting too close to Azrukhal. Which she was horribly close to the other ghoul. He would be failing his orders if he didn't act, and Charon crossed the bar quickly, clasping a leather gloved hand on her shoulder, and yanking her back into the seat. Not roughly, but purposefully.
She looked smaller up close, and under his hand, Charon was sure his grip was going to snap her bones. This girl wasn't small, she was fragile.
But his hand remained, and filmy eyes were locked on the girl who looked up at him with wide eyes, discolored by the shitty lighting in this place. Shit. She had fantasic bone structure. No wonder Azrukhal was trying so hard to charm her. Bone structure to ghouls was important, it was the last remaining trait for them to judge beauty on.
"Hi?"
Charon ignored her. Instead, he looked at Azrukhal, who looked oddly furious, but was trying to hide it.
"Charon, you can let my young lady friend go."
The tone in Azrukhal's voice was clear. It was an order, and Charon removed his hand, stepping back, and crossing his arms, face blankly scowling. He already figured that he'd be berated for this action later, even if it had been standing orders.
Fucking Azrukhal.
A breif glace down at the girl, who he expected to see rubbing her shoulder and wincing. Instead, she was sipping her Nuka-Cola, and smiling at him.
Smiling.
At him.
Well, Universe. Are you having a good 'Screw with Charon' day?
To say CL hadn't been expecting somebody to come out of the woodwork and haul her back in her seat would have been right on the money. She hadn't. And she hadn't expected said somebody to be the ghoul from the time out corner, though now that she thought about it, it would only make sense that horrible men felt like they needed muscle. And boy, was this new ghoul nothing but muscle. Hell, his hand had nearly jerked her shoulder out of it's socket with the wrenching back, and the grip that remained was very...well...just strong. No doubt she would bruise.
But it wasn't hostile, just purposeful. Bouncer in a mar, though the man looked more like a mercenary.
Wheels were turning in her head. Just that morning, she'd waltzed into The Chop Shop, and apparently, some blond lady...leader of a band of merc, Reily's Rangers or something, had asked for her help in getting her crew home, simply because CL was able and willing.
Vernon Square though, according to everyone, was a deathtrap. Almost worse that Old Olney. Full of Super Mutants. And boy, did CL hate Super Mutants. All large and smelly and bellowing about smelling blood and eating arms and all that. And absolutely fucking hard to kill. You had to cripple them before anything, really, and run away and hope to heaven that they left you alone, or you could sneak up and kill one and then run away really fast and hope to heaven that the others were too stupid to come and find you.
There was a lot of hoping to heaven, though.
Dogmeat was great, growling softly to let her know of danger, helping her when she needed it most. CL was very lucky to have found the dog so early in her life in the wasteland, because there was nobody more reliable and helpful, she was sure.
But even Dogmeat, while much tougher than CL could hope to be, would not be enough, and so she sipped her soda oce she was let go, and smiled, a plan forming in her head. The ghoul...Charon...had backed off at Azrukhal's words, and she spun to talk to the business man.
"Azrukhal, you look like a man of wealth and knowledge, somebody that knows what's what."
Flattery. No matter what, a ghoul was still a person, and people had pride. People like Azrukhal? Huge pride in themselves. Judging by the way he straightened his tie, he was indeed flattered.
"Why, yes, I do believe I know 'what's what', as you so charmingly put it. What do you need to know?"
A smile was spreading on her face, a wide, cheeky grin, directed and full force on the ghoul.
"I'm heading into D.C. Have a bit of business closer to the inner city, but you see..." A wave of her hand, and a sip of her soda, before another bright smile. "...With all the Super Mutants in D.C.'s inner realm, and all that, just me on my own, I fear I wouldn't survive. I need, ah, somebody to watch my back, you know? A little extra protection, a little bit of muscle. You see, look at me?" Leaning back, gesturing to her body, and toning down her smile. "How am I supposed to survive by my lonesome? Surely, you, and your worldlyness, can assist me with knowledge on where I can get help?"
The look on his face? Perfect. Maybe gesturing to her body had been a good move in this, even if it was getting her looks she wasn't comfortable with, it was enough, because Azrukhal was leaning over the bar, and talking in a voice that CL guessed was supposed to be smooth.
"Why, yes, as a matter of fact. A look at you is able to confirm you might just be in need of a little extra help. Though, I'm sorry to say, you won't find many down here that would help you. Quinn is busy trading. Willow is our self proclaimed gatekeeper. Charon here would be perfect, but alas, he's needed with me."
Charon grit his teeth. They both knew Azrukhal didn't need him around. Just wanted.
Apparently, the smoothskin saw through that as well.
"Needed? But, Azrukhal, I'm pretty sure there's not much to do down here, besides kicking people out of a bar where, please, face it Azrukhal, they'll be back five hours later, because that's how you make your money. I however, need somebody, and you did say 'Charon would be perfect.' And so, I would gladly pay for his services. What good is somebody who just watches over the bar and keeps the drunks in line, when they're scary enough to keep people from drinking here in the first place. And you wonder why Carol's does so much better? Maybe Charon lurking in the corner is the reason."
The girl had a mouth on her, Charon had to admit, and eyes locked on his employer, he could see the words rocketing around in his head, jumbling, unjumbling, and working to make sense. Oh, yes, it looked like that girl had a gift of speech.
"Well. When you put it that way, Miss, I do think you have a point."
"Damn right I have a point." She was leaning on the bar again, smiling brightly. "And you know it's perfectly valid. You're a businessman, Azrukhal, and me taking Charon off your hands would be a lucrative choice in the long run."
The gears were turning now in Azrukhal's head, Charon and CL could both see it.
"Suppose I take you up on your offer, Miss, what would you pay for his contract."
"Five hundred."
"No deal. He's worth far more than..."
"Seven fifty."
"Now see here, Smooth-..."
"One thousand."
Pause. A thousand caps for Charon's contract.
"Make it two thousand."
It was CL's turn to laugh, and lean forward again.
"No deal. Two thousand caps? Rediculous. One thousand, and think of all the caps you'll make once he's out of what's left of your hair, sweets. I'm offering one thousand, flat, right here. You can take it, or you can go back to wondering what could have been."
She was reaching into her bag, and pulling out something. Charon reached for his shotgun warily, but paused at the leather drawstring pouch she plopped on the counter, and pushed to Azrukhal, as if tempting him. "Go ahead, Azrukhal. Say no to all this wealth sitting right infront of you."
The girl could definately barter, Charon was sure. And somewhere in his head, he was hoping that Azrukhal would take it, because his finger was twitching for that trigger on his gun, so close to blowing off the man's head.
"You have yourself a deal."
The bag of caps was pushed towards him, and Azrukhal went to the safe in the wall, pulling out a yellowed, laminated sheet of paper, and held it in the air to the girl, which she snagged, and peered at.
Charon was thrilled when the girl spun on the stool to face him, holding up the contract like it was the cure for radiation.
"Woohoo! Guess what! I'mma boss, yeah, baby!"
Charon felt a sense of calm dtermination sweep through him. From Master to Mistress, and he spoke to her for the first time.
"That is good news. Please wait while I take care of something."
CL blinked, but nodded, slipping off her stool to head to the door, hearing voices behind her, but jumping and whirling around at the blast of a shotgun, face spattered with blood as Charon shot the headless form of his former employer a second time, before turning and headed towards her, despite the screams of 'He shot Azrukhal!' Oh, no, that wasn't a shooting. That was an execution, and she looked up at him.
"What the fuck was that?"
"Azrukhal was an evil bastard. So long as he held my contract, I was honor bound to do as he commanded."
Oh. CL wiped some blood off her face, and stared at it on her hand, before looking back at the very...very large man infront of her.
"But now you are my employer, which freed me to rid the world of that disgusting rat."
Well, note to self. Be a good girl or Charon was coming to get you.
"And now, for good or ill, I serve you."