Empty Words
Any idiot could fire a pistol. At least, that's what Butch told himself when he watched the Doc's kid gun down a handful of mercs without breaking a sweat. He probably would have teased her about how she used her dad's pistol to do it if she wasn't so fucking terrifying.
It became painfully apparent to him later that humans were the easy part of the Lame Wanderer's job. All too soon Super Mutants came into the picture, and with them came the mini-guns.
His mind was blown that she could even pick up one of those things, let alone fire it like the ammo was not flying everywhere. Whatever picture he'd he painted of the little nosebleed hiding out in a ditch was gone when she massacred a Deathclaw and its Enclave masters.
But then she'd stop, sets the giant, metal sonofabitch down and look to her wrist. The image was shattered with the simple touch of a button as the GNR broadcast filled the air. She would love that old world music, wouldn't she?
To himself, it was really not the extensive knowledge of large firearms that made Butch want to run back to Rivet City, it was that she knew every static-y word crooned over the crap speakers.
Maybe it was cool for five seconds, and that's a pretty fucking big maybe, but after that, Butch began to actively seek out fights. As far as he could tell, that was the only time she'd shut the stupid thing off, when she'd stop singing.
He guessed she was just as sick of the song choice as he was, because sometimes she would tune into Enclave Radio. It was a tolerable five second break, Butch could admit that, even if what they were saying was completely shit. It was fine, until she started punching the nearest wall.
The only thing worse than hearing her sing the same stupid songs over and over was hearing her cry.
He would stand there like an idiot until she pulled herself together and walked off, not even bothering to check if he was trailing along behind. He always was.
One day, it just stopped. He didn't know what changed her mind, but she shut it off to deal with some ferals, and didn't turn it back on.
"Hey." He said to her when the subway was far behind. "What happened to the music?" She didn't stop walking, she hardly even turned around. The smallest sliver he saw of her face was pale and hollow.
"I don't know, Butch." She said, stepping over a pile of rubble. "You want it back?"
His mind was screaming at him to say no, to finally put a bullet in the damn thing.
"Yeah." Now he wanted to punch a wall. Still, he hadn't prepared for the little smile that tugged at the corner of her mouth.
"Thought so." She said, and just like that, Three Dog was back like he'd never left.
It was misery, no, worse than that, but he'd bear with it. She began to hum a bit to something Butch wouldn't remember in a few minutes, her gun hanging lazily from her hand. She tensed however, when her eyes landed on a group of raiders a distance away.
"Hold up." She said, ducking behind a wall. Butch rolled his eyes and slumped down next to her.
"What the hell?" He asked, more than ready for the music to end, despite the fact that it had just began. She rolled her eyes, leaning her head back against the crumbling brick.
"I love this song." She mumbled. Butch would be lying if he said he did too, but he let it play.