*Author's Note: So I've rewritten quite a bit of this story since I first published it to better fit the characterization/ canon, and I've also added some new content in ch.s 2, 6, and 9. For those of you who read this when I first put it out, thank you and I hope you like the changes! For those of you reading for the first time... also thank you, and enjoy the ride! ;)*
Rose grinned as she stepped into the neon glow of the sign hanging above her head. Goodneighbor. She had finally made it. Not an easy place to get to, all things considered. She could definitely stand to pay a visit to the local doc, if they had one. A few tussles with the various wasteland fauna and the ever-violent raiders had taken its toll. Still, she hardly felt the bumps and bruises as she stepped through the door to the makeshift wall guarding the city. It could be that here, she would finally get some answers.
It had been roughly six or seven months since she had fallen out of her cryo tank, gasping for breath and sobbing as she frantically tried to get her husband's tank open. Even with being frozen, it had been too late to save him. The man who had shot him had been precise; the bullet had gone clean through Nate's head. He probably been dead before he'd even heard the crack of the pistol.
Since then, she had made a few friends, and was on her way to discovering who had been responsible for killing him and stealing her son. The wasteland of the Commonwealth was unforgiving, and she had been given little time to grieve. To cope, she burned her grief into anger and kept it bottled up close to her heart, waiting for when she'd be able to unleash it on the bastards who did this to her. She had vented it in bits and pieces along the road, taking out groups of ferals or dealing with strung-out raiders for the settlements she ran into along the way. She hadn't been in the military, like Nate had, but he had made certain she knew how to use a gun… just in case. She never knew she would end up needing that skill so badly.
A bald guy dressed in leathers was guarding the entrance to the Goodneighbor. Rose's eyes narrowed when he turned his attention on her. The guy had a mean, shady look about him that she didn't like. Almost without thinking, her hand drifted to the shotgun she had strapped to her side. She had taken it off a raider, and had modified it throughout her travels using whatever junk she could find along the way. The thing had the range almost of a pistol, and could tear through leather and raider armor like tissue paper. Not bad for a vault-dwelling ex-housewife.
"Hold up there," the drifter said, moving in front of her path. "First time in Goodneighbor? Can't go walking around without insurance."
Rose scowled. She hated that type of shakedown bullshit; had seen more than enough cases about it when she was studying law.
"Unless it's 'keep dumb assholes away from me' insurance, I think I'm good," she replied tersely. She tried to walk past but the thug blocked her way, grinning at her with an expression that was anything but friendly.
"Come on, now, don't be like that. People who walk around Goodneighbor without insurance usually end up in accidents… big, bloody accidents, if you catch my drift." His fingers tapped the pistol in his waistband, like that was supposed to intimidate her. "I usually take caps, but if you can't pay, I'm sure a pretty girl like you and I could figure something out."
Rose wrinkled her nose, disgusted. "I'd sooner let myself be eaten alive by a nest of molerats. Now get the fuck out of my face before I use my shotgun to rearrange yours.
The thug smirked and reached for his pistol. "Suit yourself, vault-dweller."
"Whoa, whoa, time out."
Rose paused with her shotgun already halfway out of its holster, her eyes flickering over to the two figures who had just stepped out of the doorway to her left. The one who had spoken was a ghoul – not a feral, like the ones she had seen scattered throughout the Commonwealth, but one whose brain survived the rads. He was dressed peculiarly, in an old-fashioned military coat and a tricorner hat. Trailing behind him was an intimidating woman decked out in metal armor, toting a big gun. Rose immediately pegged her as the muscle, and made a mental note to avoid pissing her off.
The ghoul continued toward them, giving her a quick wink before glaring at the thug. "Someone steps through the gate the first time, they're a guest. You lay off that extortion crap."
The thug scoffed, turning to face the ghoul. "What d'you care? She ain't one of us."
The ghoul cocked his head. "No love for your mayor, Finn? I said let her go."
So this ghoul was the mayor. Might explain why he was dressed like a revolutionary.
The thug's – apparently Finn's- face soured. "You're soft, Hancock. You keep letting outsiders walk all over us, one day there'll be a new mayor."
"Come on, man, this is me we're talking about," the ghoul replied, stepping in closer and opening his arm in a welcoming gesture. "Hey, let me tell you something."
The instant that Finn leaned in, the ghoul grabbed him and stabbed him with a knife pulled out of nowhere. Rose jerked back slightly, taken aback. Whatever she had expected upon entering this city, it certainly wasn't that.
The ghoul stared at Finn's prone body on the ground, as casual as if they had just shared a conversation about the weather.
"Now why'd ya have to go and say that, huh?" he asked, kicking the body idly with his boot. "Breakin' my heart over here." He looked over at Rose. "You alright, sister?"
She hadn't moved, her hand still on the butt of her shotgun as she evaluated whether or not the ghoul was a threat. He had rescued her from Finn's bullshit- a little overzealously, perhaps- but that didn't mean he was devoid of his own agenda.
"I'm guessing he wasn't a close friend of yours," she said at last.
The ghoul shrugged. "Finn was outta line. Been stomping all over my last nerve for a while now." His dark eyes- completely coal black- gave her a once-over, and he grinned when she crossed her arms and glared. "I know a girl like you probably coulda handled herself, but sometimes you gotta remind everyone who's boss. Name's Hancock, mayor of the great and glorious city of Goodneighbor. I hope this idiot-" he kicked Finn's body a second time "- didn't sour your first impression of our fine little community."
"Assholes are a dime a dozen in the wasteland," Rose replied. Having decided he wasn't about to stab her the same way he had Finn, she extended her hand towards him. "Thanks for the help I guess, Hancock. You can call me Rose."
For a split second Hancock looked surprised by her offer of a handshake, but the moment quickly passed. He gripped her hand firmly in his scarred one, a pleased expression on his face.
"Goodneighbor is of the people, for the people. You stay cool, and you'll fit in just fine. You feel me?"
Rose arched an eyebrow. "'Of the people, for the people?'"
"Everyone here is free to live their own lives, with no judgment or persecution from anyone else," Hancock explained. "So long as they remember who's in charge, that is."
Rose nodded. "Alright, I feel you."
Hancock grinned. "Good. Let me know if I can do anything for our latest resident."
That evening, Hancock leaned in the doorway to his balcony, watching the nearly-empty streets. It was late, and most people were either turning in or getting plastered down in the Third Rail. He was preoccupied with thoughts of the newcomer; he had never seen anyone like her before, and he had seen a lot of folks. That red hair was something he had only seen in old photographs and posters from the pre-war era, and she didn't have the weathered, leathery skin of your average wastelander. That could be due to the fact that she was a vault-dweller; the Pip Boy on her arm had labelled her more clearly than a nametag.
Most vault-dwellers had a pretty negative reaction to ghouls, though, and she didn't so much as do a double-take when she saw him. She had been wary, sure, but he got the feeling she had been more concerned about him stabbing Finn than what he looked like. Most "normal" people treated ghouls like they were subhuman, but she even shook his hand without hesitation. It was unusual, to say the least.
Speak of the devil… Hancock smirked as he noticed the new girl wander into his sightline from a nearby alley. For the moment she was the only one in the street, except for a few drifters doing their antisocial thing in the shadows. He watched as she walked up to the entrance of the Memory Den; she paused, staring up at the sign. He wondered what kind of business she had there.
A couple of drifters stirred on the other side of the street. They moved in on new girl; she had her back turned to them, and didn't seem aware of their approach. Hancock's eyes narrowed; this could be bad.
One of the drifters made some loud comment to her as they came up on her, and new girl spun around, looking pissed. They exchanged words for a few moments, getting steadily more heated; Hancock found himself wondering if he should head over to intervene. He didn't normally like to get too involved in the affairs of the people - kind of went against the whole Goodneighbor way of doing things - but something about this newcomer made him want to rethink his policy. Besides, two big guys against one girl - even a spunky girl with a shotgun- wasn't exactly gonna be a fair fight.
The argument got more escalated; it was hard to make out any specific words, but their raised voices could be heard echoing through the street. One of the drifters moved forward to grab the new girl's shoulder, and in an instant she threw a punch at him. She connected solidly, and he went down; Hancock noticed the glint of metal around her fingers and grinned. She had her own set of brass knuckles. Nice.
Scumbag #2 moved in on her, but he barely got more than a step forward before New Girl swung her shotgun around, the barrel resting inches from his face. She didn't shake or waver as she stared him down; clearly, she had used it before, and not just to injure. It was the same confidence he had seen in her when she dealt with Finn.
The drifter hesitated, but ultimately decided his pride was not worth getting his head blown off. He picked up his friend and moved on, throwing a few colorful insults back as he left.
Hancock had to hand it to her: she was a scrappy thing. Most women in Goodneighbor were pretty tough, but not all of them were willing to take on two men in a fistfight… and it wasn't exactly like she had been around all that long. He was liking this chick more and more every minute.
She stood for a moment and watched the two drifters leave, and then - almost as if she could feel his gaze - she looked right up at him on the balcony. He was in shadow, but he didn't doubt she could see him. Neither of them moved for several seconds; she was so far away that it was difficult for him to get a read on what she was thinking. Then, just as quickly as she had noticed him, she walked off, heading into Hotel Rexford.
Interesting. He took a long drag on his cigarette, lost in thought. Maybe he could find some work for this newcomer… she was someone he wouldn't mind keeping an eye on.
Rose strode back into the main street of Goodneighbor, having just picked the brains of a few locals about the Institute and their suspected activities in the area. Not much to go on… it seemed that the Institute didn't much care to tangle with the folks of this town. She didn't exactly blame them. Goodneighbor residents weren't for the faint-hearted; for many of them, morality was fluid and vague, and they weren't afraid to defend themselves… or attack others, if they felt that there was a good enough reason. Hard living did that to people, Rose supposed. But with the exception of that first now-dead thug, everyone she spoke to seemed willing to help as much as they could. She had that effect on people… she had always been charismatic, and it was easy for her to worm her way past a person's guard.
She passed by the entrance to the Memory Lounge, and stopped to look up at the sign. She had heard Nick mention it once or twice, and wondered what it would be like to relive the memories she had before she went into the vault. Already she could feel details fading… what color the carpet was in their home, the scent of her husband's clothes, the song that Shaun's mobile played. How long would it be until it all vanished?
"Hey, vault-dweller! Why don't you bring that sweet little ass over here?"
Rose whirled around, eyes narrowed. Two men approached her from across the street; both were dressed in jeans and leather jackets, like the hoods from back before the war. She didn't see any obvious weaponry, but she didn't doubt that they each had some kind of blade on them, possibly more.
"Get lost," she said firmly, slipping her hand into her pocket to weave her fingers through her brass knuckles.
"That's not very friendly," one of the men said. He was a swarthy guy, big with dirty brown hair and a few missing teeth. Charming.
"Not looking to make friends," Rose replied tartly. Her instinct was to back up as they approached, but she forced herself to hold her ground. Men like this would take that as a sign of weakness, of submission.
"Really? 'Cuz you seemed pretty damn chummy with ole Daisy and Hancock," the other thug challenged. By now they had drawn level with her, and were only about a foot or so away. "You got a thing for ghouls or something? Guess even a vault-dweller like you can be a freak."
"Walk away," Rose intoned, putting as much steel into her voice as she could. "There's no reason why this has to get ugly."
"But hey, being a freak ain't such a bad thing," thug #2 continued, a lascivious grin on his face. "I bet you're into all kinds of kinky shit, aren't you? Little vault-dweller just dyin' to be tied up and taught a lesson…"
He reached out to grab her shoulder, and Rose snapped. She swung at his face, connecting with a hard thwack as metal met flesh and teeth. The drifter dropped like some many bricks, knocked out cold. His friend immediately moved forward to retaliate, but she jumped back and raised her shotgun at the same time, the barrel inches from his face.
"I already warned you twice," she said icily, ignoring the throbbing from the punch in her hand. "Now get the fuck out of my face before I blow yours off."
He hesitated, weighing his chances, but ultimately decided she wasn't bluffing… or that it wasn't worth the risk. He reluctantly hefted his friend up and shuffled away, spouting off every colorful insult in the book as he did so. Rose didn't care. She didn't have to waste a shell on him, so that was a win in her book. She'd need to use part of a stimpak to treat the bruises that were forming on her knuckles, though.
As she watched the thugs limp away, Rose felt the hair prickle on the back of her neck. Her eyes were drawn to the shadows in the balcony of the statehouse, and she was a little surprised to notice a figure standing there. She noted the fancy hat and raised her eyebrows; it was Hancock. Was he watching her? Did he just see that entire exchange? She kind of hoped not. He defended her when she first walked through the gates, but she doubted he'd be super thrilled with her continuing to rough up his citizens (no matter how unsavory they might be).
She stared at him a moment longer, waiting for some kind of movement or acknowledgement. When none came, she simply holstered her shotgun and headed off for her room in Hotel Rexford. She needed some rest badly… and maybe a drink or two.