22nd Century Blues
UnBeta'd
Rated M
Warning: Alcoholism, Child Abuse, and just bad parenting all around
Inspired by the song "Carmen" by Lana Del Rey and the song "20th Century Blues" by Noel Coward
i.
Ellen DeLoria is the type of girl that always gets what she wants. No matter how many times you tell her no, she'll find a way to crawl so deep under your skin that you'll give her anything she demands just so you could bleed her out of your veins. And God forbid she takes an interest in someone, because she'll have them wrapped around her little finger whether they like it or not.
She strides down the hall of the Vault now, knowing everyone is jealous. Only seventeen years old and yet men look her way with want and women give her nasty looks with they're pretty little eyes. She just smiles bright with red painted lips, belly big and full, and a new golden ring wrapped around her dainty finger.
ii.
She gets dolled up in the vanity, pearls dangling from her ears and neck. There's a party and it's one of the few times the Overseer lets people get fancy. It's important, this night in particular. She's the hostess, first time doing it too. That's her job for the Vault, planning parties and events, making people happy. She feels like a queen.
"Just a fancy way of sayin' yer a party planner." Her husband says bitterly as he zips up that red cocktail dress that just sits in the closet for most of the year.
"That's right baby, and I bring home most of the money too." She retorts as she gives him a kiss. She'll get a smack for that later, she knows, but she'll be prepared for it at least.
She coos at the crib, her little bundle of joy sleeping soundly, dreaming big she hopes. Ellen gives the sitter an intimidating look, long lashes hiding her crystal blue eyes. It's a silent threat to keep the most precious thing in her life happy. The sitter smiles, albeit sheepishly and bids the DeLorias a good evening.
Ellen frowns at the girl before her husband escorts her to the atrium, where she'll liven everyone up like she always does. Like she wants.
iii.
She looks up from the kitchen table to find her sweet little baby, staring at her with big blue eyes. She brushes back her hair after she lights a cigarette. He hands her the tumbler of whiskey and she smiles.
"That's a good boy Butchie, you always know what mama wants." She coos at the five year old. He's too young to know what she's doing to herself, otherwise he'd never do it in the first place.
She drinks it like a shot and lets it burn in her throat and set a fire in her stomach. She's presentable once again.
vi.
Butch watches Ellen from the bedroom door, slapping that blood red lipstick on like it was war paint. Her cocktail dress is parted in the back. She notices him in the mirror when she's putting on mascara.
"Butchie baby, come here." She says softly to the ten year old. He strides over hesitantly and she turns around. "Zip up your mama's dress." He does and when she turns towards him in the chair, there's a loud smack that resounds off the walls. When he stumbles back she grabs him by his thick hair and yanks him closer.
"What I tell you 'bout getting into fights with girls?! Huh?! I didn't raise you like that!" Her teeth bared and with that red lipstick, Butch thinks he sees a rabid animal more than his mom.
"You didn't, dad did!" Butch retorts. She gives him one more smack across his little face and walks out of the room, nodding to the sitter.
"Well I'm raisin' you now, kid. So get used to it!" She hollers back.
v.
Things've been tough sense she don't plan parties anymore. And the booze tell her that that job wasn't what it was all cracked up to be anyway. Her eyes gloss over as she looks at the family photo and then to her son. He's thirteen now and already he's growing big and tall and broad. She sees the red mark she left on him this morning, and wonders for a brief moment if there's an opposite to that whole Oedipus complex thing.
"You look like your old man, Butchie." She coos with a slight slur. Butch just shakes his head and leaves the apartment. She throws an empty bottle of vodka at the closed door and it shatters. She likes to think the broken pieces of glass are diamonds.
vi.
Ellen stubs her cigarette out into the crystal ashtray. She gives her son a look with her long, dark lashes and her piercing blue eyes that haven't dulled with age unlike everything else on her body. He gives her one right back.
"A hairdresser?" She says with a frown.
"No ma, a barber." He says defensively, crossing his arms as he does so. He's stubborn, picks fights and challenges anybody with authority.
She smirks and thinks, "Good." She didn't raise no deadbeat wuss.
vii.
"Butchie, stop glarin' at me like that." She says with a cigarette hanging from her red lips. A puff of smoke escapes through her nostrils and into the air where it doesn't dissipate like it normally does. The vents haven't worked for a while now.
"She saved you from radroaches, ma. You can't seriously be on his side?!" He yells. Nineteen and he's still acts like a God damn child she thinks. But he's dreaming big, just like she wanted.
viii.
"Butchie you ain't leavin'!" She screams.
He screams right back, "No ma, I am, and you and everyone in this shit hole can't stop me!"
Her eyes gleam mean and she grabs him by the lapels of his leather jacket. She sneers her wrinkling face like a wild animal that can't be tamed (then again she was never tame). "You ain't leavin' me." She tells him through clenched teeth.
He leans in and says, "Too bad." And easily yanks her grip off of him. He walks out the door with a duffle bag in hand. She screams and throws a chair out the door and it splinters across the floor.
ix.
Some days, she'll sit in front of the vanity, lips painted red and favorite cocktail dress on with no one to zip it up for her. She looks in the cracked mirror with a cigarette hanging from her mouth and a bottle of gin in hand. She's dolled up her old body and no one wants to notice.
Some days she'll sit in front of that large gear 'til late at night when everyone else is home.
"I'm waiting for him to come back." She tells anyone who asks, because they always do. Everyone comes back for Ellen DeLoria, because that's what she wants and that's what she'll get. But for once in her life, Ellen Deloria isn't gonna get what she wants.
Hey! It's been a while, huh? This story is currently unbeta'd and if you see any mistakes please tell me, and if you'd like to beta some of my other Fallout work, drop me a line! Well this story is pretty self explanatory, but I like to talk so...
This particular story explores Ellen DeLoria's character and her relationship with Butch. While I admit that I made Ellen out to be pretty pathetic (especially at the end), I just felt like that would have been the personality she had. I like to think that she dreamed big, but the Vault couldn't provide that kind of dreaming, so she manipulated and fought for the next best thing. She was so wrapped up in her own delusions, that she didn't realize that she hit rock bottom. IDK, it's just what I thought really... I have a few headcanons as well, but I won't bore you with them, If you have any questions though, feel free to drop it in a review or even message me!
Either way I hope everyone likes it and thanks for reading! They'll be more coming soon! Promise!