All Hallow's Eventual
Five fandoms, Five oneshots, Five days.
Happy Hallowe'en
Hold on tight, folks, I went a touch gory here.
It had been pretty quiet in Megaton that day, and Gob was extraordinarily grateful. Moriarty'd gone off to buy new slaves, Wastelanders were a slow trickle if that, and Nova was lounging silently on her wall. He glanced over as she picked a larger hole in her ragged stockings before he cleared his throat. The rasp of it was enough to have her head shooting up in mild alarm.
"Oh, Gob, you startled me. Sorry, just dozing off. Pretty slow around here." She offered him a bit of a lop-sided smile. She looked tired, but not even the slightest bit high. He was glad for that; she was much better company without the Jet. Knowing she was used to his face, he wasn't afraid to toss a grin right back at her.
"What'dya think about closing up early tonight? I saved some of that wine you like, and Moriarty's not gonna be back for a bit..."
"Oh, Gobbie... You know I'd do anything for you, hun." She outright grinned now, a bright delight in her eyes as she sauntered to the door and flicked the lock with a satisfactory click. "I bought us a little something too! Hang on, you get that wine ready while I run upstairs. Don't you let me down! We deserve this!"
He laughed as she managed to pelt upstairs in the ridiculous deathtraps she called shoes. "As you wish, Nova," he muttered quietly. They had made a habit of this, treating each other to small pleasantries whenever the time allowed. She a prostitute in a backwater town and he a ghoul, he figured they deserved it more than most. He heard her pounding her way back down the stairs, so he quickly set about grabbing the wine from a loose floorboard under the bar top. He'd actually gotten his hands on purified water as well, and a reasonably clean rag. With those he polished up the prettiest glasses he could find.
Nova had been darting around to grab plates and the like, humming quietly under her breath. The sultry seductress was gone now, and Gob got to watch a much younger and more carefree version of Nova. He even managed a dry chuckle as she half-leaned over the bar to snag the wet rag out of his hands. "All fine and dandy if we have clean drinking glasses, but I don't want to be sopping up any roach shit with my food." She tossed the rag back and, with a flourish, clattered the two plates onto the bar.
"Don't think I ever seen 'em shine so bright. Nice 'n all, but you actually buy somethin' to go on them?" He leaned forward, grinning teasingly and propping his forearm on the bar as she nearly puffed out her cheeks in agitation.
"No, dipshit. I bought pretty little plates for us to play make pretend. Pour your wine, Gob. Let a woman handle the food." The saucy tone was accompanied by a little wink, just to take some of the edge off the insult. He chortled, but answered with a sharp 'whatever the lady wishes', nearly snapping to attention. She dissolved in a peal of laughter, shaking her head at him. "You're silly, Gobbie."
He laughed as well, turning to grab the old corkscrew from the drawer. Moriarty didn't allow him to keep it out in the open; he was worried someone might try to use it as a weapon, maybe even (heaven forbid) try to rob the place with the rusty old thing. He uncorked the bottle at the drawer before dropping the corkscrew back in out of habit, then turned back to her. She smiled at him, gently pushing a now-full plate forward. He felt the shock stiffen his features. "You found fresh fruit? And sweet rolls! Where'd you- No. Not important. These must've cost a fortune, Nova. You sure you wanna share 'em with a zombie?"
Her smile dropped as she looked up at his face. Gob was certainly far out of the realms of 'looker', but he was... he was a sweet guy, and he was her only friend. It was hard, even, to hear him make a comment like that with such an accepting tone. She gave a sad smile, laying her hand on his lightly. "I already told you, Gobbie. I'd do anything for you. We gotta stick together here in this twisted hellhole."
He lowered his eyes to look at their hands with an almost revered look. A short nod had him slipping his hand from hers before he made his way around the bar and took the seat next to her. He fished a small switchblade out of his back pocket and carefully carved off a slice of apple, handing it to her with a light shoulder bump. She giggled and carefully took the wedge, squealing as juice ran down her arm. He snorted and assaulted her with the cleaning rag, prompting an all-out battle between the two.
She was mid-swat, wrists locked in his grasp, when the door burst open.
Maybe it could be blamed on Gob's cowardice, but his hands- still wrapped around her wrists- instinctively tugged her closer, nearly against him. And maybe it could be blamed on Moriarty's greed, his rage at seeing his whore being tarnished by a fucking zombie.
Blame didn't stop the bullet from nailing Nova square in the temple, though.
Gob couldn't make a sound, arms tightening on the slacking form. He paid no heed to Moriarty's words, nor him moving closer. He just watched her remaining blue eye staring at him. The other one, and a good chunk of brain matter as well, was still dripping down the bar, the fruit, his chest.
He made a sound, maybe he thought when Moriarty clubbed him across the face. His jaw popped, clicking like the pin on a gun like her heels on floor like the sound in his head. A Mirelurk clicking, broken by the solid thud of his body hitting the ground. She was there, beside him, and he reached a hand for her, her perfect face. Pushed her head lightly so the destroyed side was pressed into the floor. The solid thuds were repeating, his ribcage maybe. Was he being kicked? He couldn't feel it... There was just an icy ball sinking lower in his stomach. It was freezing him, numbing everything. Surroundings were turning white, everything around her halo of fiery hair dissolving away. Blue eye that was glazed and empty but he could still see life as he reached, reached just a bit farther as something tore at his body. He couldn't look away, not when his destroyed hand finally caressed her cheek.
Smooth...
A booted foot smashed down on his extended arm, and his focus bubble snapped. White flipped to black so quickly and her beauty was blocked from his view.
He didn't think.
Didn't care.
His other arm came up too fast for Moriarty to register, smashing into his calf with enough force to send him staggering. Gob stood, too fluid for someone with busted ribs and a shattered arm. His jaw was offset and hanging awkwardly on one side as he started toward Moriarty. He was shattered and broken and yet his eyes burned with a feverish hate.
Injuries didn't seem to apply as he went from standing to crouching to jumping with no time for the Scotsman to run. Broken fingers entwined in his hair and the ghoul smashed his head once, twice, three times into the shitty paneled wall. He was too strong to push away, so Moriarty fired. Emptied the clip into him, bullet after bullet, and yet he didn't go down.
Blood streamed from him, bright red rivulets staining the piss-soaked floor. The room filled with the smell of copper, filled his mouth with bile, and yet Gob still came walking. His leg was dragging, convulsing violently whenever it left the floor, and there was a clean bullet hole through his cheek that showed the blood pouring over muscle and yellowed teeth. The ghoul moved towards him, stopping abruptly when his dragging foot nearly slipped on the slickness he'd braced his weight on.
Slowly, like a man waking, he swung his head down and regarded the body of the young hooker. He remained for what felt like eons to Moriarty, who was still plastered against the stairwell wall, but couldn't have been more than twenty seconds. With the same exaggerated movement, his head turned back. All that escaped his broken jaw was a rasp, deep and growling and a hardly-there word, carrying so much blame, sadness, heartbreak. Head tilting back, left then right, his neck made a series of pops before he forced his mouth open and let his jaw fully unhinge with an ethereal shriek. Like sand falling into a crevasse, the skin along his jaw tore and shredded under the strain, leaving wisps of dried flesh to dangle over molars. Eyes centered on Moriarty as he suddenly moved, a lurching, hunching run.
Moriarty tried to run. He did.
But what Simms found that night, the blood steadily dripping from the second floor, proved that he did not get far.
Strangely, not one drop of Scots blood dare touch the body of young Nova, lifted gently onto the bar with a bright red apple clasped in rigor-set hands, juice still seeping out of the wedge-shaped recess.
One down, four to go! Rules of the game will be that I post one story every day until Hallowe'en, at least before midnight hits. Gonna be fun! Read, review, rant. Do as you wish, lovelies.