First Borderlands story on ! Yay! If you're Rhys and OC trash like me you'll enjoy this! Without further ado, I present to you One Tall Tale.
I don't own Borderlands, or Tales From The Borderlands. Just Eris, and Noah! :)
I'm about to tell you a story. This story... well, I can't promise you a happy ending, but I can promise you something else – a good chance to soak up on your reading skills. I hope you know that I'm kidding because you'll realize soon enough that I'm a shitty writer. In time, you'll know my identity, you'll know my story, and you will definitely know how it ends. And don't fucking skip ahead; do you really want to ruin this for yourself? You might as well sit back and enjoy the ride 'cause once you read this shit, you'll be left sitting in your room, in bed, wondering what could have been.
This story will involve a nice dosage of greed, love – ironic, since I hate people – and puns, so you might as well turn back now because I definitely would. Not to mention, betrayal is something you're going to have to get used to so... have fun, and go wild with your never ending theories on who crosses who. All I'm saying is, if you were to write a play like this with me as the lead role, it would certainly be a tragedy. References aside, this story can be light hearted at times, especially because of me since I'm funny as shit. In fact, this whole journey was a joke from the start.
This joke of mine began right at the heart of Opportunity Square, on a bench that was so hot I found myself wrapping my arms around my knees, pulling them close to my chest. A low, but sound breeze was a godsend to this island, but I found it seeping into the sleeves of my army green jacket; I couldn't help but shiver, wondering why I ever considered the notion of coming to Opportunity in the first place. Then, I remembered my – I can't even believe I'm saying this – friend right next to me. This is where my story begins, and I am warning you now, this is not how it ends: calm, satisfied.
The conversation at hand, one that involved my not settling down because I travel around Pandora for the sole purpose to not do that, wasn't even the object of my attention. The lint on my collar was probably worth more in regards to my attention span. I found it funny that I chose to waste it on the statue over my head of the infamous Handsome Jack, once president of Hyperion, and once the claimed dictator of Pandora. It was nice to know that every Hyperion civilian still idolized him, even when he did almost destroy Pandora... and killed a lot of people. But hey, he was attractive, you had to admit it.
I found it a bit ironic when I saw the statue for the first time, with a hand cradling a baby and the pride of Pandora on the other. Most would agree, Hyperions included, that Jack desired to rise to the top, so much that he was willing to kill in order to succeed. This would have been a lot more justifiable if so many hadn't decided to want to follow in his footsteps as if him awaking the Warrior never happened... You didn't hear that from me.
"And, so, I sniped 'em and buried them by—"
Deciding that what she had to say next was worth listening to, I cut in with a, "You back in business, Eris?"
"Nice try, dumbass, but no," she seemed to pay no mind to the baby bouncing in her lap, further chastising me. "I'm not. Just wanted to get you to listen to me for once."
It took me a minute. "What? I... I listen!" No I don't.
"Okay, then what did I say?" Shit, she lost me. "Yeah, that's what I thought, miss Zer0 wannabe."
Sounds like a great title to introduce myself – Noah, yours truly, Zer0 wannabe. Normally my cheeks would have grown hot, with my fists clenching in protest. My throat, strained with complete embarrassment, would have spent their willpower shushing her, and my finger would be to my lips. I would have told her, "Okay, just please kindly shut the hell up about it!" because Eris had me absolutely whipped and there was no arguing with her when she was around. Instead, I played it cool, grinning cheekily at the older woman because I knew that it was a fact everyone probably knew already.
... Okay, maybe that didn't happen. At least I have a reason for over exaggerating this tall tale, unlike some people, because writing about my old self is almost physically painful. It's like seeing your old yearbook photo from your tween years and then recognizing your quote underneath is from, like, SpongeBob or something. The point is, expect a lot more of the "oh I can't admit that I'm a loser so I'll just hit you and deny it instead" me in the future.
Think of that but the opposite, and add five years onto my name; you would have Eris, a thirty two year old woman who is, without a doubt, everything I am but better. Eris, often addressed by her business name, Iris – one as beautiful as her, might I add – by other bounty hunters, had every trait I wanted to have. You could always count on her to take a deep breath, calm and collected as can be, and go on as if the situation hadn't taken a turn for the worse. Eris was swift in her work, and whenever I had the chance of watching her fight, my eyes couldn't help but light up. Not to mention, she had managed to snag a pretty good life for herself, married and all. I was never envious, however, since I couldn't imagine myself finding anyone that wasn't a total dick on Pandora... or anywhere, for that matter. You could also say that I was married to my work, which was sad no matter how you phrased it.
"Alright, just shut up about it!" With a sigh, I steered away from the subject to avoid total embarrassment. "Oh yeah, I'm heading off again. Y'know, there's word traveling around that—"
"For fucks sake, can you take note of the advice I'm trying to give you? For once?!"
"— hush, Eris, grown ups are talking," said the girl who fangirls over Zer0 every day of her life. "So, anyway, words travelin' around that the new CEO or whatever of Hyperion's making a deal with this guy for a Vault Key."
Eris couldn't help but close her eyes, a sharp intake of breath permeating her nostrils. She didn't seem to notice my sigh of resignation, rather focusing her attention at the newborn in her arms. Truth be told, I didn't expect any less of her. Ever since she quit the job, she'd been oddly bitter about it, despite her saying that she wanted to settle down and leave the life of bounty hunting. However, it didn't take a genius to figure out that she was angry for an entirely different reason.
"Noah, we've been over this," she whispered, her voice rendered unheard by the hundreds of people passing by.
Even so, I heard her soft voice, an underlying anger and frustration evident in her tone. It didn't stop me from biting my lip, the skin of my fingertips grappling into the holes of the gray and blue bench. As a result, the palms of my hands began to cry as they were stung and made vulnerable under the sunlight. It didn't take me long to jump up to my feet in hopes of ending the conversation, my hands in an awkward shuffle to search for the lint in my pockets.
"It was more like I mentioned it and you shot me down," I said, my finger reaching up to wrap itself around my dirty blonde hair, "if you really wanted to call that as 'having been over this.'"
"C'mon, Noah, let's not talk about this. Not now." She stood up, her newborn cackling at the frown on my face as he was hoisted up on top of her forearm. "I really, really don't need this right now."
Aside from the fact that I knew that baby did not like me from the very beginning, with him laughing at my misfortune definitive proof, it was tiring to hear her like this. Whenever she voiced her disproval, her disappointment, my will dwindled as a result of not wanting to let her down. I trusted her enough, enough that I never bothered to ask why it bothered her so much, with me going out to search for my relatives back at Promethea. Ever since we both left the planet together, I just assumed that she hated my relatives because the lot of them were out of sight for the majority of my life.
I could have argued that I was only barging in on the deal for the tons of cash that came with selling a Vault Key, but she and I knew that I intended to use it for an entirely other reason. Regardless of whether or not I was going to deliver it to the Hyperion who put the bounty up in the first place, I wanted to use the key for my own benefit; hearing that you may have connections to a Vault Hunter gives you ideas. Besides, there was no way I was leaving to Promethea with no cash and absolutely no way of getting there.
I couldn't help it. "Oh, and the world mourns for you. You have so many problems that it gives you an excuse to not give a shit about others!" My lips twisted into a grin, but my hand couldn't help itself, carelessly weaving into my hair in frustration. "Whatever. See you soon, Eris."
I didn't waste any time pivoting to my right, my hands back in the pockets of my green jacket in hopes that no one would see them trembling. It wasn't until I opened the doors to the entrance to Opportunity Square that I snuck a glance over my shoulder, my heart sinking at the sight of her, or rather lack of it. It comforted me a little to recall that Eris had never held a grudge for long; our friendship would be back to normal by the time I came back from my trip.
How wrong I was...
Despite the knowledge of Eris' inability to be and stay angry at me, it didn't stop my foot prodding at the wrinkled, crumpled up paper near my shadow. I watched on as it rolled down the hill, bouncing on the grass below it, and wondered who dared to litter on such a beautiful place like the Highlands. With these fields so close to the capital of Hyperion, you would think that the 'please do not fucking litter' rule would long since be enforced already. Alas, no machine nor robots had the nerve to reveal themselves from the shadows and shoot me mercilessly in the face – seriously, why is it always the face – so I guess that Hyperion had been nice enough to leave the Highlands alone.
What may seem to others was my ambling along the fields, appreciating the clean air and the cool breeze brushing past my ears, was actually a desperate plead to drink my stress away. In my opinion, The Holy Spirits bar was one of the best on Pandora if you looked past the fact that it was situated in Overlook, which was on top of a hill. It could do a lot more if every male in that bar would just stop living, but I wasn't one to complain out loud. All I cared about at that moment was the alcohol that would eventually reach my lips.
My moment of happiness and longing ended rather abruptly upon meeting my destination on top of the hill, a pub already inhabited by loud and obnoxious Irish men, psychos, and rednecks. This is a result of the climax of the Clan War, a pointless but happened anyway battle between the Zaford and Hodunk clans because the latter apparently drowned some kids or something. Now that Mick, owner of The Holy Spirits, is dead, the Hodunks have no problems in letting themselves in, starting a bunch of fights that I have been blessed in being apart of.
Once I pushed my hands against the doors, I found myself stepping aside, eyes blinking at the Irish man meeting the ground. I expected him to say valiant words of defeat or explicit terms at the men inside, but no words could escape from his lips. My guess was that his lack of reply resulted from his overwhelming loss, but it could also mean that he could no longer talk, for he stopped breathing. He did not seem to react when I jabbed at him with a twig I found near my feet, skin sinking as I did it.
Before my brown, laced boots could collide with his leg, he coughed out his last words: "You... You shoulda seen the other guy!"
"Sure, buddy," I said, eyes wandering to the wound in his chest before stepping over his corpse.
As the doors behind me shut out the town of Overlook, including the crisp air and blinding sunlight, I was thrust into a new environment that was all but foreign. My blue eyes blinked a few times to adjust, pupils widening at the lights dimming inside the pub. Scents mixing from bitter and pungent resulted in my nose crinkling in disgust. Grimacing at the smell, I kept on with my mission, sliding into the first chair I saw. Cheek resting on my right fist, I stared at my left hand tapping its nails on the counter. Not even a few moments later, my attention was directed towards a familiar yet repetitive cry nearby.
"Hey, Steve." His only reply to me was, and always will be: "Heyoo!" "I'll have the usual."
The thing about Steve becoming the owner was that, since Mick died, no one was there to replace him. After a while of him running the business everyone just went with it and allowed him to step in and take control. He, in my opinion, was more efficient than Mick when the guy was alive, considering that he was unable to speak in any other sentence besides that one word phrase. At least my orders ended up right.
When my eyes caught sight of a glass sliding towards my hand, I left no sign of hesitation, raising it up to my lips so I can feel the burn slide down my throat. Regardless of whether or not I liked the taste – it tasted gross but I had long since gotten used to it – the shot of glass clinking when it met the countertop left me satisfied. As you can see, my satisfaction is rare, and only lasts for a moment because as soon as I flipped that glass over, I could tell that I was no longer drinking alone. You would think that he would take a hint, since I practically oozed a strong dislike for others from my very being.
Perhaps I would have not have judged his black, shaggy hair, or his leather vest, or his lips tugged in a preying smirk so quickly if he hadn't attempted to order a drink for me. A sigh sounded out my vexation, brown eyes in a narrow as my tongue picked at the filled cavity in my back tooth. I met his gaze with hesitation – not like I wanted to look at his face anyway – averting mine only moments after to catch what was strapped onto his belt: guns. If things ever got hairy he would know what exactly to use, but so would I.
"Refill, Steve." Looking directly into the sinful glint in his eyes, I said, "This guy too. Same bottle."
As if sensing the tension, he complied with a small "Heyoo...?" but my attention was on the man who seemed amused, at most. The next thing he said happened to be: "How'd you know I wanted that one?"
What an asshole. "Same reason you asked for my refill. You didn't." Clocking this guy in the jaw would definitely be the highlight of my day.
"Fair enough." Stop talking to me. "Say, girl, what you got there?"
His foot nudged at the sheathed sword near my foot, paying no mind to me but the prize at hand. I would have held more pride over what he couldn't have, but knowing that me using that sword was a result of Zer0 looking cool usingd his own was embarrassing. Also, if I indulged that information, there would be a chance that I would not stop talking about how great Zer0 is, and I absolutely fucking loathed this guy enough to not take that risk. Inflicting little pain on him as a result of the 'oh I can't admit that I'm a loser so I'll just hit you and deny it instead' rule did not sit well for me, considering I was seconds away from wiping that stupid smirk off his face.
"Ayo, Rodrick, lookit here!" At his call, a man approached the two of us, clothes dirty and his walk in a strut. I immediately foretold that I would hate this guy as well. What could I say, I was psychic. "Girls got a sword!"
"You a Vault Hunter?" Fun fact: apparently, if you carry a sword on you, that automatically makes you a Vault Hunter.
I thought that guy crossed the line when he ordered a refill for me, but he just had to, he said, he just had to reach out and attempt to grab my possession. In my terms, that meant that I had to punch him in the face, and there wasn't any shame in having to kill him either. With that thought in mind, my foot happened to accidentally block it from him, my hair tie between my teeth as I bunched up my hair in my hands.
"Yo, Steve!" I called out, nails tracing the marks left from my hair tie on my left wrist.
"Heyoo...!" He shook his head feverishly, for Steve is not too fond of violence.
"Sorry, Steve," I told him, grinning, before I kneed the guy right where it hurt.
My grin only widened as his glass shattered into small pieces, scattering along the floor near his writhing body. Watching him, in his pathetic glory, cupping that useless spot in between his thighs was arguably the most entertaining sight in my life. I had come to the conclusion that there is no sight greater than the sight of karma fucking over your worst enemy. Similarly, it looked like my bout of victory wouldn't last long, since burly men ranging from angered, amused, and slightly turned on stood from their tables. From my wonderful observations alone, I have found that karma rolls around full circle; I probably pissed off the majority of the people in this pub.
"So, um... who wants to go first?" I asked, swallowing up the fear that threatened to surface.
With a cry, the man sitting next to me – who bounced back rather fast for the irreversible damage I must have done to his jewels – had already charged forward with clenched fists. By the time his right fist was two inches from my face, my feet already slid to the left and away from the attack. Who knew that sliding to the left like you're doing the cha cha slide would reward you with zero punches to the face? Wow!
Seeing him, whose name I still haven't found out and never will, sprawled over the counter and drowning in humiliation would have been so much better if someone else hadn't joined the fight. I could practically hear the grinding of his teeth in comparison to the many stools and chairs in their conquest to emit the most grating, loud noises upon moving. Perhaps it was a decoy, a deception to keep one sound hidden. Wasn't until a few seconds later that I realized: the people shuffling around in their stools and chairs only wanted to get a piece of the action.
The next noise I struggled to hear because of people resorting to fighting for seats was something akin to a dagger sliding out of its sheath, metal brushing against metal, and I had roughly two seconds to think about my next course of action. This meant making a grab at my sword located snugly underneath the bar, and accidentally shoving the handle right in the guys face upon taking it out of its sheath. It wasn't as if I had been using this sword for almost ten years and that I should long be adept at using it by now, not at all...
As he fell, ultimately bringing the table near him down in the process, all I could say was: "Oops?"
You would think that after so many years of actively participating in bar fights I eventually would have dug myself to an early grave, if I was lucky enough to even have one. I knew sooner or later my life would inevitably lead up to that, regardless of whether or not my final breath reached the creases of wooden, stained with alcohol floors, but the likeliness of that happening slowly dwindled over the next few months. A death such as that didn't seem too likely when you were caught up in a race to find a vault.
The thought of it never crossed my mind, not while I was busy kicking some serious ass at pubs or fulfilling countless bounties. Hunting for a vault was a serious business, one I was sure to stay far away from. The life of bounty hunting wasn't as bad as everyone thought it was. Only if you got caught up in something you shouldn't have was it bad. I found it hard to figure out whether or not my demise was inevitable because I never put much thought in the notion of actually crossing a Hyperion.
There was no time to dwell on that, however, since that didn't come until much later. With my sword tucked in the crook of my left arm, my ears relished in the sound of the bones in my knuckles cracking, my fingers trembling with the feeling. Two more men rushed at me under the illusion that I was vulnerable, but it took a simple smack, hands grasping at the swords' hilt like it was a lifeline as the handle had collided with their face. It took that, and the hilt accidentally crashing into my left side, but that wasn't something we had to talk about ever again.
Within the span of about five seconds, food, bodies, and – because of some redneck not leaving his house without them – darts were thrown across the bar. Truly, there was never an act of chaos such as one in bar fights. It was as if no one participated for any reason other than the fact that it was fun. You could beat the shit out of anyone, and not get any repercussions for it. The only rule being that there were no rules, everyone was free to do anything they wanted. As you were fighting, you could hear the booming guffaws of joy, the sound of metal clashing against metal. If the death of your enemy was included, then that was just fine.
Just moments later, my hand was waving at Steve in a nonchalant farewell, as if I hadn't destroyed everyone and everything inside. I kept on despite knowing this, floors creaking under my weight as I stepped over bodies of men who just couldn't catch a break. A grin, one so wide I'd have easily mistaken for the start of boisterous laughter, broke out on my face. My hands trembled, an act that never seemed to wear off even when my once high expectations slowly began to lessen.
To me, this was my life: hopping in between bars for a decent drink, bounty hunting, and spending the rest of my time with Eris. Many consider that a shitty life because why live a shit life when you could live a better one and sell your soul to the devil for it? In regards to whether or not I actually believed in that, I was content with where my life was going. I lived a life of no luxury, yet I had the greatest one there was: freedom to explore. I thought that freedom, and my best friend were all I ever needed in life. I was sure of that, even when I met those two Pandoran con artists and those two asshats from Helios – which was a planet founded by Hyperion, mind you – but like all good things, the sweet life I dreamed of would turn just as sour the moment I said...
"Ten million dollars, you say? Fuck it. I'm in."
Did you like Noah so far? Please review and give me constructive criticism! I'm always open to opinions! :)