Note: I do not own Bethesda or any of its affiliates. Consider this a disclaimer for the characters/ideas presented in this story.
Yet another Fallout fic! And, alas, I've fallen pray to ghoul love. I hope you enjoy.
Considering I feel Lament was relatively successful, I decided to stick to the dual first person method. I think I fare pretty well.
Lady Luck
By Kimmae
Chapter One
Always the same shit, day in, day out. Moriarty never gives me a break. I suppose I couldn't expect any less; I was bought as his slave, but Lucas Simms outlawing that sort of business wouldn't change the fact that that's how Moriarty sees me. That's how everyone sees me, probably. I'm just that sorry sop standing behind the bar, working more hours than I can count on two hands a day to try and "pay back" my room and board, which I owe now that I'm an employee, not a slave. If you thought that set up was shitty, you'd cringe to know that most of my skin has fallen off, along with my nose and most of my hair, and my eyes are glazed over, like I'm already dead. That's how I feel inside: dead. I wish I was sometimes, instead of living out my prolonged life as a ghoul. Then again, there are things in this life that make up for it. It sounds crazy, but I find parts of my day cozy, in a way. I mean, at least I have a roof over my head, and I can listen to Three Dog on Galaxy News Radio everyday, talking about fighting the Good Fight. It's like I can live my fantasies out by listening to his stories of people fighting for their right out in the Wastes. The bombs fell two hundred years ago, but life was still living out there like it was two months ago.
Anyway, it was a Tuesday, or maybe a Wednesday, when the radio as an escape was taken away from me. The weather outside was fucking hot, and a lot of people were in the bar, trying to cool off with Nuka-Cola and whiskey. Dumb fuckers didn't realize they were stifling the place by crowding in there, but I suppose it brought in more caps. I usually made a little bit in tips, so busyness had its upside. I was pouring another couple of drinks, and Three Dog was going up and over in one of his rants again.
"Hot damn, children, it's fierier than Hell outside, and for good reason! I hate to be the bearer of bad news, but it's a dirty job, and someone's gotta do it.
"Last week, the Brotherhood of Steel reported a massive increase in the super mutant population; larger hordes have been spotted all throughout the downtown D.C. area. I guess Christmas came early this year, folks. So, needless to say, the Brotherhood strongly recommends that you do not venture in downtown anytime soon, not unless you've got a death wish, or you want to know how human stew is made.
"But, on a happier note, we've got a sp—"
Three Dog kept talking, but his voice wavered out, a thick layer of static smothering his voice. I was still pouring the drinks, so I was a little distracted, but I eventually looked up from my spot to the radio, giving it the evil eye, as if it would make the radio fix itself. When the thing kept crackling and drowning out the broadcast, I reached out a hand to slap the radio into working order, but it didn't do much.
"C'mon," I grunted, slapping it again. The brief thought came across my mind that I was hitting it the same way Moriarty smacked me around, when he stepped out of the back room.
"Gob, you hit that thing one more time, I'll charge you for it."
"Sorry, Mister Moriarty."
Agh, I really wish someone would stand up to that asshole. I had so many comebacks and insults bouncing around in my head all the time for him, but I never dared say them out loud. I'd practice in front of the mirror once in a while, glowering at myself, but then I'd start to notice the muscles showing on my face, I'd stare up my nasal cavity, and then I'd go back to work. Even I couldn't stand looking at myself for a few minutes at a time.
Anyway, I couldn't tell what would happen to me if I started to bark back at Moriarty. He'd probably beat the crap out of me, but he'd never kill me or kick me out. I was too valuable of an employee for him to get rid of me. Nor would he ever let me leave, not over his dead body. Probably not over his grave, either; he'd find some sort of twisted way to keep me rooted to Moriarty's Saloon.
In any case, Moriarty looked down at the radio, glaring at it like I did, then fiddled with the nob. The static was still there. He turned his eyes to me, but I already started busying myself with the next customer's drink, so I didn't make eye contact with him. I barely made eye contact with anyone, unless I was asking for a swift swipe at my jaw.
"What did you do to the radio?"
"Nothing, sir, the damn thing just started acting up."
"Don't give me that cock and bull story," he snapped, motioning to the radio. "'The fuck did you do?"
"It's true, Mister Moriarty," Billy Creel offered, taking his glass (which he didn't pay for, but he was about to save my ass, so I didn't say anything), "the radio started fading out just a second ago."
Moriarty growled, and I glanced sideways at him to see him roll his eyes. I could tell he had a hate-love relationship with Billy, because he was such a goody-two shoes stand up kind of guy (a bit much for Moriarty's liking), but he was the one that got the good deals from the caravans outside of town, bringing in the cheap booze. I liked Billy, mainly because he cut me a bit more slack than most smoothskins in Megaton did (which was everyone else—I was the only ghoul there), but he could still be an ass from time to time. I kept my head down, but I was still watching him inconspicuously as he took a smug sip of his liquor. Agh, fucker.
A few more people started to complain about the radio, too, when heavy footfalls came down the rickety steps to the side of the bar. I glanced sideways while I wiped down the counter to see a John coming down the steps, buckling up his belt. Gah, it was fucking disgusting. Any guy who didn't have the half decency to finish dressing in the room had less dignity than a handful of dead raiders. I shook my head a little bit at this sight, but drew my attention to Lucy West when she ordered another water. I bent down under the counter, pulled a bottle of somewhat purified water from the cupboard, and placed it on the table top. Lucy put the caps on the counter (every customer did that to avoid accidentally brushing my skin), and as I swiped them up, I glanced back at the stairs to see Nova coming down.
Nova was the saloon's "finest commodity". In Moriarty's words she was, anyway. She was a busy woman; she kept a lot of the men in town satisfied from week to week. As she walked down the steps, though, I could see it wearing her out. Her stockings, which used to be black and sleek, were now a dark grey, and riddled with holes. Even her boots were starting to get worked through at the toes and heels, and her leather jacket and skirt were wrinkled and weathered with age. I didn't know how old Nova was, but judging from how old she was when she first got there (five years ago, ten after me) she would've been in her mid twenties by now. If you were to look into her eyes, though, you'd see someone who looked so tired and worn that you'd think she was catching up in her years. Not that Nova wasn't attractive; quite the opposite, actually. She still had a little bit of that youthfulness she came in with, and her bright red hair was always the most vibrant thing to look at. It was shorter, messier, and a little on the permanently dirty side now, but it never ceased to catch my attention. I think that's where she got the name "Nova" from—the brightness of her hair. It was starting to fade, though, just like the name implied. I always used to wonder what her actual name was, but she dropped it practically on the day she came in through Moriarty's door. She was just a lost kid, then. I still feel bad for her. She's always told me that this sort of life is good for her, but I don't know. I think she deserves better.
"Ah, Nova, just the girl I wanted to see," Moriarty beamed, walking from behind the counter and striding over to her. She was just lighting a cigarette when she stepped off the stairs, the match burning bright, then fading to a small flame after she struck it. She slowly turned herself toward Moriarty as she concentrated on lighting the cigarette, then shook the match out as he threw an arm over her shoulders. "Mind stepping into my office for a minute?" he said, already guiding her there. She smiled slightly to no-one in particular, flicking the match aside and strolling along with him.
"Yeah, why not?"
As they walked past, I couldn't help myself. I looked towards them. If Moriarty saw that, he would've paused to smack me upside the head, but he didn't. I should've been watching the customers, but I wanted to give Nova a little smile, just to gage how she was doing. Sleeping with guys was her job, but sometimes, I could tell she was really bothered by it. As they walked past, her eyes darted to me, and she stretched her smile a little further. I guess that meant she was okay. When I said most people in town gave me shit, she was one of the exclusions from "most". I guess I could go as far as saying she was my friend, but I didn't want to give my hopes up. She was a co-worker for oh so many years, and both of us were always kept so busy that the most we could manage was a "hello" and "how's it going?" before we were whisked back to work. I had a few full blown conversations with her from time to time, but Moriarty would always catch us talking and send us back to work (usually by hitting me on the back of the head). He claimed that was where my Ghoul name came from, my inability to shut the fuck up.
As soon as Nova and Moriarty disappeared into his office, I went back to making drinks. People just kept lining up at the bar, trying to fight the heat off with more booze. It was a little contradictory in my opinion, but hey, whatever brought in the extra caps was fine by me. After making two more Nuka-Colas and whiskeys, there was a lapse in business, and my thoughts returned to the radio. It continued to fuzz, and it never corrected itself. I gritted my teeth and grumbled quietly, refraining from smacking the top of the radio again, in case Moriarty walked out just in time to see me do it (which, with my luck, was highly likely). Over the din of the fuzz, though, I could hear a little bit of Moriarty's and Nova's conversation. I turned down the dial to the volume, which could have been passed as me trying to drown out the annoying white noise, and I listened in as I started wiping down the glass Billy returned. He gave me this shit-eating grin.
"Nova, dear, you can't keep blowing your earnings on Jet," Moriarty reprimanded gently. I didn't trust his attempts at being caring; I never did once believe he had a sympathetic or gentle bone in his body. I simply thought he didn't want Nova spending her pocket money on drugs so that he could fish more out of her. My bias came from me getting shit from him all the time, but then again, I was a ghoul, and Nova wasn't. For all I knew, Moriarty thought of Nova as a daughter in some sort of sick, twisted way, where sleeping with your "daughter" from time to time was just flowers and daisies.
"Colin—" that was his first name, "—I don't want to get into this right now. I know there are some customers outside willing to pay a hefty amount of caps for all sorts of—"
"Nova," he said more firmly, and my hands slowed in washing the glass. I could hear something in his tone that I heard all the time: warning. I was worried he'd hit her for some reason, even though I knew full well he'd never try anything like that. I was just caught off guard because he smacked me around in that tone of voice on a regular basis, so I suppose it was a natural reaction. "Lay off it a while, would you? You're higher than a kite all the time, and work's hurting for it."
"All right," she said lamely, and I could hear her feet shift against the rusty floor. I could picture her sticking her hip out, resting her hand against it impatiently, darting her eyes around the room in guilt, trying not to look Moriarty in the eye. She did that sometimes, I noticed, when she spoke to him.
"Well, now, best go tend to those customers," Moriarty said, and my hand shot for the volume again. I don't know why; I guess I'm just a paranoid sucker. I let the static come back to normal volume again before picking up another glass to clean, just hoping a customer would stop in and ask for another drink before either of them came out, just to further prove I was kept busy, and didn't hear a thing. Like an answer to my prayers, the shady guy who'd been in our bar for a couple of weeks, Burke, came up and asked for another whiskey on the rocks. The ice cost more than the booze, but his pockets were deep, let me tell you. He never tipped, though. Dick. I could tell from his fancy pin stripe suit that he had a holier than thou attitude too grand for the likes of me, but common courtesy should've at least been in his broad vocabulary.
As Nova opened the door and walked past me, and I started pouring the whiskey, she reached over me from behind to snub out the rest of her cigarette. It was only half used, but I recognized this as her way of getting back to business. I looked over at her (even though I knew I shouldn't have) and she gave me a small smirk without looking at me directly, before she sauntered off around the bar and seductively traced a finger over some trader's shoulders as she walked past his stool. He looked up from his drink, a stupefied expression on his face (laced with exhaustion from the heat), when he caught Nova swaying over to the stairs, while she moved her hips with a bit of emphasis. The guy looked around at the other patrons at the bar, but no-one else seemed to notice the gesture. Giving a slight shrug, he slipped from his stool, then started up the stairs behind her. It was too easy, sometimes.
I was looking too long. I know this because Moriarty gave me a light slap on the back of my skull when he came out behind me, and I swiftly went back to work. He didn't make any rude remarks, though. He just chuckled softly, then muttered, "look at her go."
I'd mentioned that the life I lead was a little easier with the radio, but with that out of commission, and the sounds of the door locking from upstairs paired with Moriarty's laughing made me realize that Nova made everything just a bit brighter, too. I guess I couldn't fully appreciate that fact until I started to hear the springs squeaking again, and I was reminded of just how miserable this place really was.
It was five years ago that I first stepped into Moriarty's. I was just a kid back then, maybe about nineteen or twenty, so it didn't take long for me to fall prey to Moriarty's smooth talking. I was so naïve, so pathetically vulnerable. I'd come up to Megaton, hoping just to stay for a few days, with a caravan from Rivet City that let me join them for a small price. I'd been an orphan since I was a kid (but nowadays, who wasn't an orphan at that age?) and when I'd made enough to high tail it out of that old rust bucket of a boat, I did. I kick myself everyday for that stupid trick. Rivet City is probably the best bet anyone has out in the Wasteland now, and I left it so willingly, looking for the greener grass on the other side of the hill. I found out the hard way that I'd already been on the green side.
In any case, I'd come to Colin looking for work, any way to make a small profit. He had me clean up the place for a couple of days, just skirting around the inevitable. I didn't see it coming, is the sad part. After a while, some John asked how much it took to hire me. I told him how much I was making (which is a little funnier than it should be now) and he handed me the amount and led me upstairs. I tried glancing around for Colin, I even tried to catch the eyes of Gob. At the time, though, I usually avoided him like the plague, because I'd never seen a ghoul before. Especially not up close. He scared the hell out of me, to say the least, looking the way he did. I don't care how good of a person you claim to be; you take an up close look at a ghoul for the first time, and you'd be likely to go screaming for the hills, too.
Anyway, I'm getting off track. Colin was nowhere in sight, and Gob was busy with customers. Back then, I wasn't as tough-as-nails like I am now, so I didn't even dare telling the guy off or even try to scream for help. Even when he peeled my clothes off and fucked me mercilessly, I stayed silent. I spent about five minutes crying to myself after he left before Colin came looking for me, telling me to get back to work. I knew he knew what had happened to me, but neither of us said anything. It was what he had planned all along, probably. Besides, I made an entire days worth of caps from that little incident, and it wasn't excruciating, so why not?
Yeah, it's "staying for a few days", and five years later... well, a girl's gotta do what a girl's gotta do, I guess. I'd say life isn't so bad, really. I'm pretty lucky, even. Not every girl gets a reliable income or source of food. Not to mention, I have a bed to sleep in, I have clients to chat me up, so I'm never lonely, and the town even has running water, so I can get a shower every couple of days. As for the rest of the Wasteland, the skies aren't quite as blue. I would have died out there within a week, I don't doubt that for a second. Colin takes care of me, even seems to give a shit about me from time to time, so I can't complain. I don't take pity from anyone, either. That's why those puppy-eyed looks from Gob get on my nerves once in a while, and I don't give him the time of day.
It's safe to say that I've gotten used to how he looks—you'd expect nothing less after five years, I'd hope—and it's easier to see what a sweetheart he is underneath all that rotting skin. Every now and again, those sympathetic glances at me after finishing up with a customer don't bother me so much. It even brightens my day, I think. We don't talk that much, being as we're busy at every waking hour, but those glances he gives me can be comforting sometimes. But, like I said, other days... ugh, it can make me sick.
After the last John left, Colin asked for the earnings I'd made that night (even though I usually got most of it back in my payroll), and I headed off for bed. He'd stayed up unusually late; most of the time he calls it a day after one in the morning, but he stayed up until closing time that night. Anyway, after I made sure my door was locked, I took the last inhaler of Jet out of my bedside drawer, breathing it in deeply, eating up the euphoria. I was a little put off to know that I wouldn't be able to get anymore Jet for a long time, being that Leo Stahl, my only dealer, had tried to get a piece of ass off of me for free. Big mistake. I chased him down the stairs, then made a fool of him by backhanding him a couple of times in front of the crowd, trying to teach him a lesson. I got my caps out of it, but he was also banned from the bar. Colin rarely gave me a day off, so my chances of crossing town to see Stahl were pretty bleak.
I'd have to hope some passing stranger would have some Jet on him, but if Moriarty found out I took Jet as payment rather than caps... I don't know what he'd do. I never tired. I might end up having a fate like Gob's, and get the crap kicked out of me. Colin wasn't likely to ever strike me, but you never know. I was sprawled across my bed, and I started to feel the high wear off and the crash approach. That's the drawback of drugs, I suppose. Pleasure can't exist without pain.
I woke up like I usually did: Gob's tired shuffling feet would always act like an alarm clock for me. It meant it was eight, and it meant it was time to open. Five hours of sleep a night can really catch up to a girl, but I suppose I became numb to it all after a while. I got up from bed, rubbing the crust from my eyes before I stretched, yawned, and headed downstairs after Gob. I had no idea how important today was going to be, not even after that guy walked in the front door.
I slinked my way down the steps slowly, muffling a "g'morning," to Gob with another yawn. I was sure that I'd be awake in another ten minutes. That's as long as it usually took for the first of my customers to come in. If it weren't my livelihood, I'd be laughing at each of those fools; couldn't a fuck wait 'til at least midday? That was what I was thinking after ten minutes passed and someone walked in through the front door.
Morning light poured through, and I squinted from my usual spot against the wall. I saw Gob pause from cleaning up last night's mess to cover his eyes, too. Eight was simply too early in the morning for this shit. Someone stepped in from the outside, but he (or she, I couldn't tell at the time) was silhouetted. When the door was closed again, I let my eyes readjust and focus properly before I even tried to get a good look at him.
The first thing I noticed was that he was wearing a stark white lab coat, which was a little out of the ordinary, to be putting it nicely. Underneath that, though, was this blue jumpsuit that looked vaguely familiar. I remembered someone coming through a few years back wearing something like that, but I couldn't remember who, or from where. To boot, there was this thing wrapped around his left forearm with a little green screen, like a small computer. Basically, I was starting to think this guy was seriously lacking in the fashion department until I looked up to his face. I'm not kidding when I say he was the best looking man I'd ever seen; out in the Wasteland, there wasn't much in the pickings for handsome or beautiful. You were lucky if you had all your parts intact and undamaged by radiation, let alone perfect skin without any blisters, burns or scars. This guy looked like he was chiseled by God, if such a thing existed, and his hair was so neatly combed and trimmed. Hell, he probably was God.
I saw Gob look over at me briefly before looking back to the stranger. The guy just kind of stood by the doorway, hands at his sides, his eyes roaming around the room. I saw him look at me once, then Gob. He hesitated a bit, but I saw him walk forward to Gob bravely, barely even repulsed by his already dead look, and he said: "excuse me, might I meet with Mister Moriarty?"
Mm mm, he had the voice of God, too.
"Uh," Gob started, apparently surprised that the guy didn't find him frightening, either, "he's still asleep, but you can wait around for a bit, if you want."
"Thank you," he said with a quick nod, then looked around, seemingly uncomfortable. His eyes darted to a chair at a nearby table, and he sat down heavily, running a hand over his face. He was closer now, and when he pulled his hand away, I could see that he looked stressed, bothered. I'd be on edge, too, if I were him. He looked like a God damned martian, with his all too perfect looks and his way too clean, way out of place clothes. This, however, brought a smile to my lips, and I knew just the words to get what I needed out of him.
I strolled up beside him, tucking the cigarette I was about to light behind my ear, and leanied over, letting my face level right next to his, real up close and personal. I angled myself so that he'd get a perfect view of my tits. "Hey, sugar," I said, running my hand along his shoulders smoothly. He turned his head to look at me, but he didn't offer any sort of face to tell me if he was on board or not. "Looks like you got a lot on your mind. Want to take a load off before you see the Big Bad?"
He didn't even glance down at my cleavage. Not once. He smiled kindly, shaking his head slightly. His eyes still had that haggard look in them, though. "No, thank you," he said in his deep, honey-smooth voice, and I found myself thrown for a loop. Wasn't I supposed to be the one doing the swooning?
"I'll be waiting if you change your mind," I forced quickly, trying not to hesitate, then straightened, heading back to my corner. I was right pissed in my mind, raging silently for all I was worth. I never let a man get to me. It was easy not to, mind you, especially in this town. Like I said, the range of beauty in the Wasteland got pretty minuscule over the years, and no one exactly swept me off my feet. This guy was the first I'd ever met that I was sorry he didn't want to buy a ride. I clawed at myself mentally again when I thought this, and forced myself back into gear when I leaned against the wall again. I took the cigarette from behind my ear, lit it, then took the longest fucking drag I could.
That was when things got awkward. Gob made his way about the bar, tidying up the rest of the place before the others got in, while I leaned against the wall, watching the unbelievably handsome stranger sit patiently in his seat. I could see him staring off into the distance, tapping one foot, letting his emotions play on his face. Whoever this guy was, he wasn't totally separate from the rest of us; he obviously had troubles on his mind. Why else would he come to Colin if not for some sort of crime-related help? I couldn't imagine why else he'd be there.
Well, I was totally off. What was more surprising was that Colin actually knew the guy.
Around eight thirty, after a few more patrons came in (none who wanted to do business with me) Colin came strolling down the stairs. At the bottom, I saw him turn towards the bar. This was the usual point in the morning where he'd grin for me and scowl for Gob, but his eyes immediately fell on the newcomer. It was hard not to look at the guy; he was just so clean, so too-good-to-be-true. The look on Colin's face went from "don't I know you?", to "holy shit", and then to "I'm a smug bastard, watch me grin".
"James, is that you?" Colin said, folding his arms over his chest and smiling down at the guy. I shot a glance over at Gob, who returned it, then I looked back at the scene in front of me. The guy—James, apparently—got up out of his chair and stuck a hand out for Colin to take. He gave James's hand an unsure glance before he took it and shook it. I could tell Colin wasn't tickled pink by this guy, but he didn't seem to have a grudge against him, either.
"I didn't think I'd see you around again!" he said cheerfully, but it was fake, and I knew it was his way of covering his tracks, just in case he wanted to try and play the guy out later. "Thought you crawled into Vault 101 for good. How long's it been? Twenty years?"
"Almost," said James. Huh, so that's where I remembered his jumpsuit from. It was one of those brainwashing suits from those vaults built before the war. I'd thought everyone escaped by now; two hundred years of being holed up in a tiny cave would send anyone reeling. No wonder this guy crawled back out. I was still having a hard time wrapping my head around the idea that this unimaginable god-like man was here to see someone like Colin. Not that I thought lowly of Colin, but it was like comparing dirt to sunshine, those two.
"Well, to what do I owe this pleasant visit?"
James looked around the bar, but the only ones that seemed interested in what was going on was me and Gob. Everyone else was busy pouring their souls out over their drinks. James didn't seem to like the possibility of anyone listening, though, because he said: "do you mind if I speak with you in private?"
"Absolutely; I'm much more agreeable on a personal basis," Colin said with his hearty chuckle, motioning towards his office door behind the bar, "please, follow me."
Gob and I both watched the two of them walk off towards Colin's office. As they passed, though, Colin gave me this look that I couldn't read. It was sort of cautious, but not angry. There was... worry, maybe? I guess their last meeting wasn't exactly one Colin was favourable of. James didn't look at anyone, though. His eyes were downcast, worry still written all over his face. I started to guess that the root of his troubles had something to do with the fact he'd left that hole in the ground. Once they were inside the room, Colin closed the door behind them, and Gob flicked on the radio out of habit. The fuzz from yesterday was still there, and Three Dog's voice was foggy and jagged, almost impossible to hear.
"Ah, fuck!" Gob growled, moving to pound the thing again, but he stopped. Poor guy; I knew he loved that radio station.
"Try Enclave," I offered, taking another drag from my smoke. Gob just grumbled to himself, and kept the volume relatively low.
"Stupid piece of junk," he practically moped. It made me want to scrap my caps together just to get him a new radio. I was pretty sure the radio had nothing to do with it, but I just felt like taking the sour out of his mood. I think it made me realize that Gob was my rock, even if I wanted to deny it. I suppose I took for granted his ability to cheer me up, even when I didn't realize he was doing it. Kind of funny, I guess, since I used to have nightmares about his face.
I barely noticed the time go by, but eventually Colin and James came back out, and all James did was wave a hand towards him before he started for the saloon door. This time, everyone who was in the bar watched him go. I felt that nudge in my brain again that wished he'd wanted a tumble, and I forced it back down, squishing the cigarette between my fingers angrily.
"Well, fuck me sideways," Colin sang, letting out a low whistle. "I could go the rest of my life without seeing that guy again."
"Gave you trouble?" I asked. It was these sort of questions I could get away with asking. If Gob dared something like that, he'd earn a few swift kicks in the ass.
"Nah, he's just a smoother talker than me, and it bugs the shit out of me."
I suppose that would bug me, too. I used to think Colin was the master of words, but I suppose there's a first for everything. It made my thoughts linger on that James character a bit more than I would have liked.
Just then, another customer came in through the front door, and as soon as her eyes landed on me, she shot this nod in my direction, starting over toward me. "You available?" she asked.
"Well, lookin's free," I said, smoking the last of my squished cigarette, "the rest'll cost ya."
"Fine by me," the trader said, walking across the bar towards me, and handing me a small bag of caps. Colin turned on his heel and went into his little office almost immediately, and I led the gal towards the stairs. As I started to go up, though, I caught a glimpse of Gob's face, and I'd never seen him look more miserable. You'd think a corpse-like face would always look on the sad side, but I could see him seething silently, rubbing the counter fiercely. The radio must've really been bothering him. I don't know why, but I started to feel guilty. I thought at first that it was because I'd considered pretending that this woman was somehow that handsome silver haired stranger, which I never allowed myself to do anything like that, but it was actually seeing Gob look so deflated that got me. At that moment, I only wanted to make him feel better, like he always seemed to do for me, just with a small, rotted lip smile. But I kept walking up those stairs instead, feeling the weight of the caps in my hand.
