"Need a pick me up?" A hand extended outwards ruined hands holding out a small oblong pill within- a drug crafted and used commonly in the commonwealth. At first Anari ignored the offers provided, blocked out the smell of burning ash from the cigarettes or the potent burning sensation in her nose from the smell of alcohol.
The offers faded as her response remained the same never changing. Hancock, mayor of Good neighbor and new-found companion in her travels shoved the drugs back into his pocket, his facial features never letting on if he approved or disapproved of her choices. If anything he kept those opinions to himself, if he had any to begin with.
It was refreshing to say the least. No witty responses, no mocking… it was a touch surreal. 200 years ago someone would have tried to drop a pill into her drink at bars, get her loosened up after work all the while eyeing her like a hawk from a nearby table.
The first time had caught her off guard- rattled her very core when foriegn hands found their way into the front of her pants- slurred words whispering dirty disgusting things as the world spun on a dime. A swift punch to the gut ended that endeavor.
But the memories remained. And as a result drugs had been off the table. Willingly or not- the grey eyed woman wanted nothing to do with them. Alcohol too for they did the same thing- if only a bit slower.
For the longest time the young woman crept away whenever Hancock took a chem break- staying far out of reach, fear and caution bleeding into her mind. Flashes of criminals and civilians lying on the floor, bottles and pills spilled out onto the floor bodies long dead. Glassy eyes staring out into nothingness eerie smiles spreading out from their pale lips. Free. That was what their notes said. Suicide was what the prescient said.
It didn't take long before the ghoul noticed her creeping away every single time they found a safe place to rest. Without fail the moment a tiny inhaler or pill popped into his dull bony hands she was gone. Questions arose as the smoke curled into the air. None of which the ambiguous vault-dweller stayed around to answer.
And it stayed that way until finally a raider had gotten far too close to the wild woman- fingers tearing into the bun of raven black yanking and pulling her from her spot behind a crumbling wall. Bitch rang through the air shortly before blood curdling screaming and swearing ensued.
Ignoring the raiders in the front Hancock eyed the scene to the left of him, getting an eye full of the composed woman completely losing her shit, legs kicking and teeth embedded into the skin of the man's hand which tried to still her kicking legs so he could slide the blade strapped to his belt across her neck.
A crack resounded through the air shortly thereafter, the armored man slumping over her body blood gushing like a torrent from the bullet holes located in his head, chest, and left arm.
There wasn't much time to linger on what happened, grey eyes frozen with fear body still- mind reeling over what had happened moments prior as bullets whizzed by. Scrambling she was up on her feet- shaky hands gripping the stock of her pistol- knuckles white with force as bullets flew from the barrel at the offending scum shouting death threats their way.
Everything about the situation was left alone, forgotten until they found a safe place- unloaded their baggage and breathed. Hancock didn't have to ask what the hell happened as her hands grabbed a bottle of whiskey left behind on a waterlogged table mouth pressed against the lip of it and chugging it as if she hadn't had anything to drink in days. Draining it dry fingers let go of the brown bottle- glass shattering on the floor as a lapse in judgement over where the table was and wasn't in conjunction to the location of her hand.
The ghoul was sure hell had frozen over when another bottle went through her, words slurring and movement sluggish as the alcohol finally hit her system hard.
A veiny pockmarked hand grabbed the bottom of the second bottle pushing it down before it became bone dry like the first. "Now I ain't one to stop someone from drinking themselves under the table," He started off knowing full well this wasn't the party kind of drinking she was doing. This was a desperation induced one binge. "But I am inclined to say you don't need two full bottles of whiskey in your stomach right now, Sister."
He tugged the glass bottle back and she tried to pull it forward a spark of stubbornness flickering across her features. A glimpse of the woman who braved the commonwealth after 200 something years on ice.
"Hancock…" A hoarse growl rippled from within her throat, bleary eyes belaying her drunken stupor kicking in hard and fast. If she had tried to intimidate him into letting go it wasn't working. Not when her head lolled to the side dizzy and unable to sit up straight. The woman had no alcohol tolerance it seem.
Fingers slipped off the bottle as her body crashed against the dirty worn red sofa barely holding it together as springs and bits of frayed thread poked from all sides. When the dark haired woman didn't speak the ghoul sighed, placing the bottle back onto the table but closer to him out of reach from her hands should the confusing woman spring back up and snatch it away for another go.
In the silence his fingers procured a cigarette from his pocket, placing it in his mouth and lighting the end with a flip-lighter filled with only a small amount of gas left over. Swirls of smoke curled out from his mouth. A creek of the sofa drew his eyes to the drunken woman. Disgust marred her face, lips curving downwards in a harsh disapproving grimace.
It was then he got the answers he wanted out of her, slurring words expressing her disdain for drugs and what it did to people. Alcohol and cigarettes were of course added to the list. The smell of smoke, she admitted, made her feel nauseous and wanting to throw up. The lit cigarette was snuffed right then and there in a dirty unwashed ashtray laying on the table nearby. Words kept coming out of her mouth in a drunken stupor, mentioning a time before the war back when she worked as a police officer- drugs slipped into her drinks while off duty and people getting in her personal space putting their hands on her where they didn't belong.
It was during this revelation she mentioned how she got her scar running down her right eye. "I… I told him to fuck off. D-dinst like that.. Blade," she made a mock gesture from her belt to her face hands clumsily trying to stay steady, "Right acrosas mah eye." Those were the last things she said before eventually she fell into silence. Her eyes stared at the crumbling ceiling, mute.
Hancock listened from where he stood- frowning when she spoke again, mentioning losing her job over being unable to disarm a criminal and ending up with another scar. The ghoul had to grab her hands when she tried to lift her shirt up to show him, knowing full well she was going to regret in the morning or whenever the alcohol decided to vacate her system. But the attempt was fruitless as black eyes noticed an ugly angry scar poking out from her left hip. The majority of it was hidden but it didn't take much to imagine how bad it looked under her jeans if the top of it was anything to go by. How it came about The Mayor had a pretty good idea. And it wasn't a pleasent thought.
Shrugging it off he tried playing it off as a joke, "Sister I am all for girls taking off their clothes, but I prefer em coherent." The joke was in poor taste he realized. But Anari didn't seem to care. She was too drunk to give a shit anymore.
Shoving the coarse material of her shirt down against her stomach she spoke again. This time it was a whisper, "Got married soon after…. had a kid- Shawn, out of necessity. Both families pressuring us to have at least one… Fucking torture." Eyes closed for but a brief moment before they opened- blank and devoid of feeling. "Wasn't any fun being married. Sex was make a child nothing more."
Suddenly the golden stories about how the world seemed so pristine and perfect before the bombs hit felt more like horseshit the more the woman talked. Everyone had it bad, there was no doubt about it.
But to see someone drunk off their ass spilling out their guts over something like this? Hancock could only feel remorse and a touch of anger. Her job explained so much about how damned good she was with any gun handed to her. Her lack of close combat skills now suddenly making sense. Losing it over a raider dragging her down against the ground, blade ready and waiting… it made sense.
Part of him wished this wasn't the way he found out about it. But it was bound to happen one way or the other. A ticking time bomb lodged itself in her head, counting down until it finally exploded. The raider was the trigger. His chem breaks digging the dagger hard and fast into her chest, reminding her of a time she didn't want to remember.
"Look sister," Her eyes wandered over to him as he cleared his throat, finding the words to help the situation, "Life ain't pretty I'll be the first to tell you that. But neither am I going to tell you to suck it up, deal with the crap however you please just don't let me be the one carrying your corpse back to wherever you want me to bury you." He resisted the urge to light another cigarrete as his nerves became increasingly more ragged.
"All those jackasses? They are dead if that helps. 200 years will do that to a person, you feel me? And if a shithead gives you shit, you let me know," It was the best sort of comfort he could provide without overstepping his bounds. Or her's for that matter.
Eyelids slowly drooped low, grey eyes staring at the ceiling once again. "…Thanks." With that they didn't speak about it again. Preferring the silence to needless words.
It wasn't as if she was going to remember it after waking up to a hangover. And yet something compelled the cocksure ghoul to say something to the surefire woman he'd been traveling with for nearly two months. People had always spilled their guts out to him. And he was used to it. Rehearsing speeches as if he was John Hancock flooded out to those lost and fleeing from the shit fest that was the commonwealth.
Her confession- heart beating and bleeding on a table… that was a whole 'nother thing altogether. Damned if he knew the reason.