Megaton, 6 yrs after Project Purity...
Inside the rusty shack in the far corner of the room, Charon sat like a rock in the cushioned chair, his eyes narrowed and focused on nothing. His breathing was controlled. Slow, slow even breathing. His heart pounding so slowly, slow blinking. This was a meditative state just on the outside of sleep, one he would ease into when he had nothing else to do but wait. He could not sleep, which he hardly could if he managed to. The shack popped as the metal cooled and expanded in the night and the hiss when it simmered in the wasteland sun, the water pipes rumbling and shaking, he heard the smoothskin preaching outside. He heard children running by and playing with the gnomes outside and he heard the bugs at night and the drunken townsfolk going to their own rusted shacks to sleep away their intoxication. And he stayed waiting. He kept with exercise to keep himself fit and to work out so he wouldn't go completely stir-crazy, he was going to lose it in this boredom. He didn't mind the silence, but it was becoming nerve wracking.
Dogmeat wandered over to nudge his hand, requesting to go outside. Charon slowly pulled himself out of the chair, ignoring dull pain in his joints and followed the excited mutt to the door, thinking about how this was a great excuse to enjoy a quick smoke. He had not smoked this much in ages.
The Lone Wanderer ordered Charon to stay in Megaton. But for how long this time? Erin had a habit of running off into the wasteland for days before returning again, as one does with a moniker of Lone Wanderer. It was something that took Charon a few years to get used to, other than the kid's annoying attempt to be friends with him and everyone he came in contact with. It had been a rocky road for both. Being conditioned to always protect the contract holder had a bit of strain on him when his contract holder was constantly going AWOL, at least in the recent years Erin would finally give him the actual order for him to stay put until he got back. Erin would return, of course, the vault kid wasn't the child that was toss out into the apocalyptic world with a BB gun and broken pistol anymore. Erin was the (painfully kind) Messiah, or at least from the howling of Three-Dog and voices outside the shack that pass by almost reverently in their steps said. Erin, Messiah, Lone Wanderer or whoever, Charon had a job to do and it was to protect the contract holder... He could not defy a direct order. He had been rarely ordered to do much of anything by Erin, other than stay behind like the fucking dog, but the Lone Wanderer would return always, a few days later laden with gear and scavenged parts to be traded for caps and ammo.
However, this time, Erin has been missing over a week now.
Longer than ever before and it made Charon anxious. His new and repeated mantra, "Erin isn't helpless," would echo in his mind in sync with the rushing blood in his veins screaming at him grim possibilities that fate had in store for his contract holder. There were many times Charon found himself standing at the door with his combat shotgun in hand, itching to leave the shack to go find the vaultie. He was always on the verge of leaving Megaton, at times he got as far as the gates before he couldn't will himself to move past the threshold into the Wasteland. He suspected something must have happened to Erin and that he must find him, but he worried if he left now, Erin could return perfectly fine and find Charon gone. Scenarios flashed rapidly through his brain, telling him he should just leave, if anything he should go back to Underworld. They agreed to meet there if separated, but that was five years ago. But if Erin returned while Charon was gone, and Erin would be injured on his way to Underworld? Though Erin could be injured or dead out there right now. Ultimately, Charon would get frustrated and march all the way back to the shack, startling people with his growling, knocking over gnomes Erin has neurotically collected and lined up along the shack patio. He would shove open the thin door and storm all the way to his chair in the far corner.
Charon had hell on the fourth overdue morning of Erin's absence. It was in part of being worried for Erin, that is what he assumed, or it could be his nerves all together. He may be a statue and emotionless vessel of death, but underneath his nerves were wrenching and raw and maybe a bit worried. Erin was a good kid, and maybe, just maybe he thought of Erin was a friend. He was definitely a very lenient contract holder, trustworthy and kind. One doesn't get an employer like that so very often. And maybe he had grown attached to the kid. Despite knowing he must not grow too attached to contract holders. It's a possibility. People tended to exploit Erin's good nature unless Charon was there. Erin even told him that he felt braver having him around, so he definitely needed him for emotional support, but Erin couldn't understand what Charon meant by not being used at full potential. Charon was a guard, a tool, a weapon and he was overall obedient. His potential can be destructive, and he happened to be very efficient at killing others. Erin was a good kid, but Charon needed to stretch his legs and kill something. He's not here for emotional support, damnit, he's here to do his duty.
Charon dropped his cigarette and crushed it with his heel, giving it a good grind for extra measure. He gave those who dared glance his way a nasty scowl and went back into the shack. Another fucking day.
Erin had one other command before he left: Charon would help defend Megaton while he was away... doing whatever. At first Charon hated the idea of guard duty with civilians, but after a three-day assault from raiders he decided while blasting heads away with that sheriff, it wasn't such a terrible order. Attacks were nonstop and from different ends. The older civilians said it was worse than the Boppo raids because these raiders had some small inkling of strategy other than to just shoot up on psycho and run towards the guns. But then stopped almost abruptly one evening. Perhaps someone lucky had shot the one in charge. The robot deputy had to be repaired, a hole in the walls had to be welded shut after being blasted out, several of the new settlers were injured and a few died, but Megaton proved itself to be a useful fort when it came to it. The small bouts of violence helped remind the townsfolk the Lone Wanderer's ghoul companion wasn't like Daring Dashwood's beloved Argyle. Charon scowled, he remembered Erin laughing incredulously when Moria had mentioned the comparison. The crazy woman may had been joking, but it still annoyed Charon to death.
Dogmeat returned to the shack, passing the ghoul that held the door open for him. Charon marched past his shotgun, still on the book shelf and collecting dust as we went back to the chair. Another fucking day.
Charon had been in the worse of his fits of boredom on the sixth day of waiting for Erin. If there was a sound out of expectation, he was at the shotgun and ready to blast the door away, though in hindsight he didn't know why he had been so paranoid. The whole thing made him confused. So, Charon had all but avoided going near his trusty weapon. That shotgun was his only possession for as long as he could remember, but that day it felt like the end of a fuse and if he were to look at it for too long that he would lose his handle on the situation. He doubted he would go on a rampage, but something needed to be damaged. Last thing Megaton needed was a giant ghoul with an itchy trigger finger on the loose. It wasn't like he was going feral just yet. Shucking off his armor had made him feel an inkling better and also standing out on the balcony more often for fresh air did just as well to calm him. Hell, he was starting to take up alcoholism. It was only temporary of course. Outside, he would watch smoothskins move about, hearing their droning voices and Nathan humming somewhere out there. Dogmeat would run up the platform, his massive paws making a dull thudding until he reached Charon's side. It was a hilarious thought, but Charon swore if it wasn't for the mutt's routines, he would have lost his mind. And as usual, Dogmeat would lean against Charon's leg for attention and he would scratch behind the mutt's ear then open the door to allow him back inside the shack and become alone outside again, listening and waiting on another fucking day.
The eighth day Charon went to the Saloon to drink. He had drained all the alcohol reserves Erin kept. It helped him numb his limbs to keep from trying to find a neck to throttle out of boredom. Charon hated drinking in social environments as it reminded him of the Ninth Circle, but he had made compromises before. His program wouldn't allow him to completely shut out the world. Charon had tried to focus on the present, listening to the slurring smoothskins around him for mostly any chance of hearing gossip that could relate to the Lone Wanderer. Three-Dog on the radio would howl for a length of time, then the next song would play. Still, no news of the Lone Wanderer, Three-Dog's favorite topic. It was unusual. Charon would never admit to being worried for Erin out loud even if it was close to ripping his nerves apart inside. Gob would occasionally ask when he came to refill Charon's glass earning a glare for bringing it up, he knew Gob was being polite, but that ghoul never left the saloon even after Erin had choked the bastard Moriarty to death on the bar top.
Jericho had no qualms about telling everyone around him in his drunken stupor about how Erin was very likely rotting in the wasteland. Gob is always quick to berate the bastard on his outbursts, glancing nervously to Charon while he did, as if he knew Charon was hardly keeping it together. Charon hated Jericho and everyone knew that. Erin's calm voice always echoed in Charon's skull, "not to pick fights in megaton, do not pick fights, do not... do not..." And he obeys, no matter how annoying Jericho got in his drink, "It would not be fair to attack Jericho for his words". Erin always tried to coach Charon on fairness, of course it was often like trying to talk to a wall. Charon could not give a fuck about fairness in a fight and he normally wanted to punch his fist through the man's face every time Jericho opened his foul mouth, but these were orders and Charon would never disobey. No matter any amount of pseudo-freedom Erin attempted to create for him, Charon was bound to that contract. Jericho, as expected often tried provoking Charon if he had enough liquid courage. Not because he knew Charon had orders not harm, only Erin's friendly patrons of the Saloon and Lucas Simms knew of his contact, but because Jericho was simply a bastard. At least Charon knew what to expect. Charon discovered turning his attention to bluff the smoothskin made more affect to shutdown Jericho's pitiful excuse for intimidation then ignoring him.
This afternoon Charon kept himself busy as much as possible, but there's not much to do in a town made of rust held together in horrible welds and a deactivated nuclear warhead in the center with idiotic smoothskins worshiping it. He had spent an hour listening to the jukebox, enduring the overplayed music and Three-Dog's fucking howling. Charon growled in annoyance, why must the man have to howl so much? He hated Three-Dog before, and it got only worse when he and Erin met the radio host in person. In fact, Charon hated a lot of Erin's friends. On the radio, there were no new updates on their Lone Wanderer, the Messiah of the Wasteland. Though in Charon's mind, Erin was still returning to Megaton, having perhaps just traveled further than normal and that had prolonged his adventure? Erin gave Charon liberty to talk if anything were to come up for a conversation, most of it was subtle berating of the smoothskin's careless behavior when Charon did speak, but this time Charon would absolutely give the smoothskin a piece of his damn mind about ditching him in this boring rusted cesspool. He had told him before, he hated this fucking place, how clear can that be? How many days was it already? Two weeks already? He was losing track of time? Whatever didn't matter what time it was. He knew one thing:
It was another fucking day and Erin was very, very late...
Charon woke in a start, grasping the sides of the chair tightly, his heart pounding against his chest. The sensation of being submerged and unable to swim to the surface for oxygen still clinging to him like a cloud. Charon rarely fell into a deep asleep and for good reason. He sat forward with a sigh, leaning forward with his elbows on his knees and his fingers rubbing his temples. A headache hammered through his skull. His sudden movement had upset Dogmeat from his nap as well, who had gotten up to lick the ghoul's hand. Charon grumbled, scratching the mutt behind the ear. Dogmeat gave him space, going upstairs to go crawl under Erin's bed to go back to sleep without interruption. Once Charon calmed his racing heart, he stood up and stretched out his limbs. His joints popped and he felt sore from lack of exercise. Charon knew if he stood up straight, he could reach the second floor with his fingertips, and so falling into routine again, he hopped up to grasp the edge and began to do half-assed chin ups. He was hardly keeping count, only doing something to keep himself preoccupied to help him forget the haunting wonderings.
Charon heard a familiar sound of soft whirling that had snapped him out of his subconscious. He let go to drop silently down to the floor, his arms were sore. He wasn't sure how long he had been doing chin ups. Exhaustion was usually the only thing tell him to quit moving and rest. Charon walked around the bookshelf, peering upstairs, had he really heard what he thought he had? Perhaps he was starting to hear things now? Hell, in his time at the Ninth Circle had not been so mentally grueling for him than awaiting in this Megaton shack.
Upstairs, the robot's charging station doors have opened, green lights flashing. The whirling had been the motors powering up. Charon was momentarily struck with excitement. Wadsworth only powered up when a registered member of the house was in the vicinity, which meant Erin had made it back after all and making his way to the shack having finally returned to Megaton. Then, Charon got aggravated. There have better be a good goddamn reason Erin left him behind for an extra goddamn week. Wadsworth bobbed and hovered by the ghoul slowly and humming to itself on its way to the foot if the stairs in position in waiting for the door to open. Charon sat down in the cushioned chair in the far corner of the shack, silently fuming. If he listened closely, he could hear footfalls, the steps coming closer then, a pause. For the moment, the door didn't open, instead came knocking.
Charon pushed himself out of the cushioned chair, more knocking from the other side of the door and a bit louder. He took a long look at the shotgun on the book shelf (where Erin ordered him to leave it when present, "This is home, damn it.") Instead he unsheathed his combat knife, holding it to his right closely. No need to waste bullets. He crossed the room quickly. Taking the door knob in his hand, his adrenaline was trying to peak at the surface, instincts warning him of threats. Who the fuck would knock? He was hyper aware of the situation. The door knob was very warm, conducted by the sun from outside, the robot's motor whirling nearby, Dogmeat had arrived at the top of the stairs in curiosity, Charon's blood was rushing. It's not Erin. He opened the door slowly and only a bit to peak out.
The afternoon sun's rays shone down in its hazy yellow, the heat from the wasteland rolled in to the shack to chase off the circulating breeze generated from the hard-working fans inside. The large brim of Lucas Simms' hat caught his eye and Charon calmed down only a bit. He lowered his knife that was poised to strike if needed. Simms gave a polite smile. What did he want? No one does social visits, not even when Erin was in town. Why would the sheriff be here?
"Hello, Charon," Simms greeted. He only received a grunt in response from the ghoul, "I have someone I'd like you to meet, since I know what happens to strangers that come unannounced... May we come in out of the sun?"
Charon almost smiled at the memory of brain matter all over the balcony that past morning. A trio of Talon Company mercenaries had infiltrated the town and made a bee line for the little rusted shack thinking they had the Lone Wanderer in their grasp with no escape. They must have not known that Erin was still out there somewhere in the wastes, but Charon had welcomed them quite warmly when they came barging in. One caught a blast to the face from his shotgun, the second mercenary got over five puncture wounds, (Charon knew all too well over five stabbings the body could not clot up and bled to out) while Dogmeat mauled him further into death when Charon took after the third had tried to escape the town... well Charon curb stomped his face in enough that the man had to be scraped off the walkway. That had been a good day.
Charon took a moment to think about the Sheriff's request, absorbed in the good memory. In the moment Simms must have misinterpreted it as suspicion and Simms offered a silent gesture of peace that brought him back from his thoughts. Charon knew Simms was reliable in the few skirmishes they worked together in, he's never done Erin wrong either. Charon opened the door wider and stepping aside, his eyes gazing boredly to the smoothskin standing next to the sheriff. What was left of Charon's skin raised in goosebumps and his grip on his knife tightened in response.
Charon knew a raider when he saw one.
Charon scowled at the woman next to Simms. She was dressed in stained scavenger rags to cover her gear beneath. He continued to scowl as he sized her up. This woman had an old scarring that came from her forehead across her eye and freckled cheek, two more following next to the other scarring over the bridge of her nose and over her lips and chin. The raider's eyes narrowed at him as placed her hands on her hips and looked just as annoyed as he was. She titled her head at Charon then looked to Simms, her tuffs of hair on top her head were moussed with motor oil, it bobbed back and forth on her head when she turned to look to Simms. But the sheriff did not break his confident stride as he led her into the metal shack.
Wadsworth seemed to pip up in excitement, or what seemed to be if a robot could be excited and called out a chippy, "Good evening Madame!"
The raider smiled brightly at the machine, showing she had a few broken teeth appearing to be sharpened. She grasped the robot's spherical body, pretending to pinch it's invisible cheeks.
"Wadsworth! You're looking just like new!" The young woman said with a thick southern accent.
"Madame, I have a message for you."
"Oh, save it for later." She said, giving the side of the robot a forceful kiss, letting go of the robot.
Charon heard Dogmeat run down stairs and hopped around the raider, barking happily, she knelt down to ruffle his furry face talking to him like a baby. During the whole raider's warm reunion with the bot and the damn dog, both who clearly knew her well enough to greet her, Charon stared at Simms in expectation. Hoping he wouldn't regret letting the smoothskins in while Erin was away.
"Charon this is Reagan, Reagan this is Charon." Simms explained, "Listen Charon, Reagan is a real good friend of Erin and Megaton. She comes around every now and then to visit and trades quality goods with us. Stuff we can't get here."
Charon gave Simms a dark look. Did Megaton trade with raiders? Was this some sort of trick? Erin would have mentioned a raider ally to him by now, especially one that had been around long enough to be recognized by Dogmeat and Wadsworth but having been escorted in by Simms only made the situation even more undesirable. Erin would not have associated himself with immoral scum. Clearly Erin kept some secrets to himself after all. Charon was sure this was a nice gesture and all by introducing her but what the hell did it have to do with him?
"I know what you're thinking. Reagan doesn't do that kind of stuff anymore, right Reagan?"
Reagan laughed again, "Like what stuff, Simms?"
Simms gave her a scolding glance, the two had a sort of talk before knocking on the door. It had been obvious, though whatever Simms could have told her, it did not take any sort of affect. Or maybe she just didn't respect the sheriff. Charon grits his teeth, she had gone back to sizing him up, standing tall as she could. She was taller than Sheriff Simms, making her a good head taller than Erin. She put her hands back on her hips. Simms rolled his eyes at her. She lifted her scarred chin, looking back to Charon and titled her head. She stares over him, he's just in his pants and undershirt. He wasn't dressed for visitors and he knew he smelled like alcohol and cigarettes. Simms cleared his throat. Charon sheathed the knife on his belt behind him.
"This is awkward, but I have obligation to hold the peace in Megaton, as you know. Reagan has a joint ownership with Erin of the house and like I said, her showing up abruptly without any sorts of introduction would not end well for anyone if this wasn't brought to your attention."
Reagan spoke up, "I even got my own room."
Charon scowled further. That explains why there were clothing and junk lying around in the second room when he traveled to Megaton with Erin half a decade ago. Erin said that was his room now, and Charon had no inclinations someone had claimed it before him. He assumed that the contract holder lived alone, as the two were there for James' death. That just proved further to Charon's doubt of Erin's apparent friendship with this raider scum. No, this wasn't going to do, no matter what Simms said. Charon didn't have to listen to him. That room belonged to him and he wasn't going to give it up.
"Be nice," Simms reminded her. His tone was friendly despite it being a command, touching Reagan on the arm. The sheriff gave a nod at Charon as he left the shack. Charon didn't even acknowledge him. He was angry with Simms for dumping this raider on him like this.
There was an uncomfortable silence that replaced Simms. The raider named Reagan leaned a bit forward, walking around him to slowly spin around the room on her heels, her amber eyes looking about. His eyes followed the curving, jagged trail of the scar from her cheek to rake down the back of her neck that disappeared under the lumpy rags. She had old blood stains on her sleeves and collar and oil stains along the ends. It meant she might not use long range weapons. He saw that Reagan was not currently armed with a gun but armored, to what extent was Reagan armored, he could determine from the rags that covered her. It was bulky but still there could be hiding a weapon there. Though Charon was confident he could over power her effortlessly if she were to try anything unwise. Large and heavy armor made the wearer clumsy and slow. Dogmeat seemed to trust her. The mutt had good sense when it came to humans. But Charon knew a raider when he saw one, no matter how civilized she appeared to be around the sheriff. Raiders cannot be trusted. And this one still had that half-crazed look in her eyes.
"You can leave now." Charon grumbled, "Out."
"Where's Erin?" She asked, dropping her pack at her feet near the bobble head collection.
Charon growled, furrowing his brows at the muddy duffle bag. Reagan knelt to dig through the pack, Charon moved to the book shelf. He was suspicious of her. After all, she may have a weapon in her bag. Instead she pulled out a small garden gnome. She wiped its grainy face with her thumb, Dogmeat prod it with his cold nose and when she tossed it in the cushion chair, the dog pretended he would fetch it back. The woman stood up. She looked to him with a raised eyebrow. Her hazel eyes noticed his shotgun on the top shelf. She stared to it and he could see the gears turning in her head.
"Erin told me to meet him here," Reagan said. She looked very concerned, "Eh, maybe he'll show up tomorrow. I mean, he's rarely late."
Reagan kicked her bag next to the book shelf causing it to rock. She looked over to the ghoul again. She did not seem intimidated in the slightest, though she was smart enough to not look away for long. Reagan even made eye contact, keeping as intense as she could and walked around him. Charon wanted her gone immediately so he did not try to block her way to the exit as she passed him. Why was she leaving her pack behind? This better not be some trick, leaving it behind so she would have to return. Before he could kick it her way, she took a sharp left up the stairs.
"Stop." He snapped again, his voice raised.
Charon saw her visibly twitch. She must not have liked that. She stopped half way up and turned over her shoulder.
"Get out." He growled.
Reagan's expression snapped in an instant, her face distorted up in a snarl and she visibly seethed at him. Raiders were usually half feral to begin with, if not all chemmed out junkies or psychopaths first. Charon wasn't at all surprised at her reactions. When she saw that he wasn't taken back by her outburst it only made her more annoyed. Then she feigned like she was offended by his words. Great, she thought she was charismatic.
"I live here!"
"Get the fuck out."
Reagan's eyes widen, "Fuck no! I'll be damned if I get kicked out by Erin's goddamn ghoul butler!"
Reagan turned swiftly on her heels to march upstairs, ranting under her breath about him. Reagan had just made it to top of the stairs when she felt cold steel of a gun barrel against her neck. She stood rigid, chills ran down her spine. She had not even heard Charon come up that stairs behind her. Maybe the sound of her metal cleats on the tin had drowned out his steps? She held in her breath, listening to the ghoul growling behind her. She bit her lip nervously.
"I would have painted your brains all over the walls the moment you dared to argue with me... however Simms says you are Erin's friend so for the final time, get the fuck out."
"Okay, yeah..." She mutters lowly, "I'm too exhausted to fight with you anyways."
"Sure, smoothskin."
The barrel is lifted from her neck, she turns slowly around to face him, barrel still at eye level. Charon was fuming in a thinly concealed rage. The ghoul was one step away from pulling the trigger and her brains painting the walls and she knew it, her wide eyes told him that much. Reagan was trying to remain calm, she's seen something this before with junkies, and she knew how junkies acted. Maybe Erin's ghoul was crashing hard off of ultrajet high? Charon decided she was eyeing him for too long, he pumped the shotgun and Reagan nearly jumped out of her skin. Her copper skin seemed to pale.
"I got it!" She cried out.
Reagan walked around Charon to the stairs, making a bee line for the exit. She kept her eyes on him and his finger in the trigger. He was right on her with it, Charon would not even so much as glance away from her.
"This is complete bullshit. Don't you dare think that I ain't going to get you back for this." Reagan growled when she reached the ground floor, "I swear I'll get you back."
Charon was unaffected by such a weak threat. He kicked her pack towards her, silent. Reagan gathered up cans that rolled out, glancing between her belongings and his gun. Reagan turned away from him, opening the door slowly. Dogmeat was by the door, his head tilted. She was roughly shoved out the door to hurry her, he slammed the door closed before she could turn around to yell at him once more.
Charon stood facing the closed door, trying to regulate his breathing. His hands were too tight on his shotgun, he had nearly killed that woman, raider or not he could not break orders, Erin ordered no fighting outside of direct attacks. No matter how badly he wanted to see blood flying and letting out his stifled-up violence. Charon finally calmed himself to breathe normally, placing the shotgun back on the book shelf. He could hear her yelling outside at the shack, but he was not bothered by her noise. He went to the chair, pushing the gnome to the ground and sat down, listening to the little taps of rocks she threw at the tin. Dogmeat whined at the door, Charon grumbled at the dog under his breath. His worry turned back on where Erin could be.
Charon leaves the shack that morning with crate tucked under his arm, holding the door open with his boot heel long enough for Dogmeat to run out to stretch his old legs. The two took a left down the hill, stepping over the garden gnomes some kids moved around. People still give him a wide berth with the occasional glance in his direction. There were more people coming to Megaton every week, soon there would be no room for any more. He could barely avoid anyone on the paths like he used to. He didn't like Megaton, but it was better when there were only thirty people. He spotted Dogmeat running around the Brass Lantern, doing his best tricks for scraps to Andy that brought out a bowl of noodles for a customer at the stools. The damn dog always acted like he was never fed, growing fat from treats and lack of exercise. Hell, he felt the same.
Charon marched over walkway above the clinic when he happened to notice Jericho sitting on the clinic porch. He had a nasty black eye that was swollen shut, and bruises on his neck. Charon glared at him as he passed. There were one too many raiders in Megaton for his tastes. Jericho bitterly drank from his whiskey bottle as he leaned on the railing, even better was the rare sighting of Doc Church outside yelling at Jericho for his carelessness, but the doctor was probably more bitter about having stand out on his own porch than using stimpaks on a what looked to be injured from a good bar fight. A fight sounded nice. Dogmeat caught up with Charon's shadow when he passed Craterside Supply.
Charon pushed open the Saloon door with his shoulder. Gob was cleaning pint glasses, peeking through them to the sickly light bulb above him to find any sign of grime he could have missed before storing them below the bar. The Saloon was nearly empty inside at this hour, nothing out of the ordinary. Charon closed the distance to the counter with a few strides, placing the crate next to the radio. Gob hummed and tossed his dirty rag below the bar, digging through the crate of water and unlabeled glass bottles with curiosity. Gob took one of the bottles out, pulling out the cork. He sniffed loudly and took a sip, coughing. The ghoul knew the drill, Charon always ordered the same things to trade for purified water, moonshine and whatever else he didn't need. Before, Charon quickly got over his own curiosity with the moonshine produced from the homemade distillery Erin made with copper he salvaged. He called it a new hobby, and when Gob found out from Nova of Erin's moonshine, the ghoul personally came to the shack to try it himself. Charon couldn't stand the stuff, Gob and Erin loved it and apparently most of the settlement did too. Gob gave Erin a cut of caps for supplying the Saloon with his moonshine, or at least some trade. Erin was notorious for giving things away for free, even his own shirt off his back. Charon didn't see what was wrong with the choices between beer, whiskey and vodka that Gob normally offered for sale. It was decent and thought it was often watered down from caravans, he had worse served in other places, he never complained. Charon refused to drink any of the moonshine. His first trail sip with Erin months ago was enough to make him loose his breath. It was better to use it as paint thinner than to drink willingly and Charon was honestly surprised no one had died or gone blind because of Erin's moonshine just yet.
While in that moment of Gob going starry-eyed over more moonshine to stock, Charon looked to the loft above the bar when Nova came from her room trying to stifle a laugh, behind her came Reagan hanging on Nova's shoulder with her face in the woman's hair. The apparent ex-raider looked smaller without her gear making her look awkward. Now she only wore the rags and the padded football pants converted into armor pants. He expected malnutrition as a lot of scavengers ended up as they travelled endlessly, but in fact Reagan appeared to have more muscle tone than he could have guessed from what was revealed by the baggy sleeves rolled to her elbows. She definitely looked like she did a lot of manual work outside and even from constant exercise. The two giggling women made their way downstairs, Nova blowing smoke up to the rusty ceiling from her cigarette. She smiled at Charon warmly, wiggling her fingers at him. And Reagan, with dark bags under her amber eyes also raised her hand to wave until she saw Charon at the bar. Her bibulous smile melted away, she squared her shoulders and lifted her chin before marching out the Saloon. Charon waited for Gob to stop laughing at Reagan and finish the trade out.
"Yeah, uh, Reagan is pretty pissed off that you kicked her out of Erin's place," Gob said between a laugh, taking the crate to the fridge, "she's can be pretty intense, huh Charon?"
"Why did you kick her out?" Nova asked, leaning against the bar.
"Trespassing."
"But that house is just as much as hers as it is Erin's. She helped him disarm the nuke outside."
Charon said nothing, he already heard that story from the Sheriff about the miraculous intervention of Erin shooting Mr. Burke and he didn't give two shits about it. He glared at the crate watching it fill up to replace the alcohol with food. Nova flicked her ashes into the tray next to her and shook her head.
"She's his girl you know." Nova mentioned.
Charon huffed. That sounded absolutely unbelievable but also tremendously hilarious to him. He couldn't pin the two as an item, not even once as a drunken one-night stand kind of way. Erin was pretty generous about his sexuality; a lot of his preferences were clean looking with blue eyes. To imagine Erin rolling around with a woman who was possibly twice Erin's size and looked like she could bench press a live rad scorpion without a sweat was pushing it. Charon even looked to Nova to see if she was jerking his chain, but no, Nova was very sincere.
"She saved his life too. Give her a chance, she's real fun."
Gob brought back the crate, setting it in front of him, "Listen, Reagan used to be pretty regular once before you came around. Nova and I love her to death but she's rowdy as hell. I'd keep an eye on her. But she isn't all bad... just don't leave any unattended vodka around her and expect her not to drink it all before you turn around."
"She's a raider, I do not care if you do vouch for her or not," Charon answered, pulling the crate closer, "she is not stepping foot in the shack until Erin gets back."
"My Reagan left that raider life behind long ago."
"Don't worry about it too much. Erin will be back before you know it, the two will fuck and then she'll take off again to who knows where."
Charon grumbled. When Erin gets back, he's going to demand answers. Nova stumped out the cigarette as several people came in, greeting them happily. Charon ignored a conversation that sparked up next to him. He was trying to focus on the radio. He held his breath when Three-Dog made an announcement about Erin, but it was only a recording of a previous adventure he couldn't quite recall. Charon ordered a shot of whiskey, it would help. Gob happily delivered.
Charon leaves the saloon once more people began to fill the seats. Too many bodies in one place all trying to drink more than the other while all trying to talk over one another, and it was all too much for Charon to linger around. The hot air outside was slightly refreshing, as refreshing as a wasteland could be for the lungs whether you are a ghoul or not. Charon shook the crate to settle the loose boxes of dried foods to keep them from shifting their weight and continued down the platform to the lower levels, anxious to get back to the shack in case Nova started to try again to engage in conversation with him. As one sided as the conversations were with him, she would eventually end up talking to Gob or a customer and glance to Charon as if he had been contributing the whole time. Small victories, she would say. Charon quit trying to scare her away years ago. Nova was a sweetheart, she had sass but very sweat. She held no grudges, Gob openly praised her for that. She would say she did not hate Charon for hurting Gob in the past, as they were all good friends now. Charon sometimes wished she wasn't so forgiving. She had no idea the things he's done in the past, but Gob knew things. Neither tried to correct her and Charon wasn't about to apologize for only following orders.
Halfway off the ramp over the clinic Charon spotted Simms in the door way of his home, it seems he had been stopped at the door by Reagan. His duster wasn't even on yet, and he was holding a mug of coffee despite it being almost midday. Must be the end of another week, another week Erin was missing. Charon only ambled in the direction of Simms' shack out of curiosity, a bad trait he recently picked up thanks to Erin's adventurous lifestyle. When he got close enough to eavesdrop, the two were having a bit of a disagreement. Reagan was waving her hands dramatically, her tone was low in in a forced whisper, sounding more like a hissing fit than a sound rebuttal to Simms' calmer statements. The sheriff looked very drained by the way his eyes kept focusing on his mug with more interest than what Reagan wanted. By now Charon had approached the two, looking between the both of them as if Simms would ask Charon to kick Reagan out of Megaton. Which he would definitely do, if asked. Simms smiled to Charon, politely greeting him. Reagan's shoulders tensed up and she gave the ghoul a sneer.
"Oh, what do you want?" Reagan hissed, forgetting she didn't need to whisper now.
"Is there a problem?"
"Not at all, Charon, me and Reagan are just talking about how lovely the glow is off the puddle around the bomb looks." Simms replied with a sarcastic smile sent Reagan's way.
She let out a loud humph, marching away behind the Sherriff's shack. Simms swirled his black coffee and sighed heavily, one attached to bad news. Charon narrowed his eyes, he didn't mean to be a nosey parker, he couldn't care much for problems of others. He only came this way incase Simms needed backup if the raider got out of control.
"Have you heard anything from Erin?" Simms asked.
"No."
Simms nodded, looking back to his mug, "Yeah, I was afraid of that."
"What do you know?"
"Not a thing more than you. But, you gotta wonder if he's alright."
Charon wanted to wring his neck. As if Charon wasn't already stressed out enough already.
"Do you think Erin is alright?"
Charon walked by Simms. He didn't need to hear this. The sheriff didn't mean any harm by asking aloud what Charon was wondering constantly himself, but it still annoyed the hell out of him, nonetheless. Charon had decided that morning he would not leave Megaton. He couldn't leave now. Erin could literally be back any moment now and the stress would be over, he wouldn't have to go out and find his corpse and start all over again by finding a new contract holder. That was the last thing he wanted to do. Charon shook his head at the memory of Erin's sunburned hands holding his contract out to him, saying it was his mistake for thinking this was an easy contract to resolve. As if simply handing it back to Charon would just erase the whole purpose of his existence. Erin was such a naïve, sunburned little idiot. But the easiest to work for by far, no one came close to comparison. It was a bit unnerving at first with Erin's generosity, Charon wasn't sure if Erin would be those sadistic types to give with one hand and snatch away with the other. Five and a half years later, a long time for a good-natured employer. Good things never lasted long out here in Capital Wasteland. Charon scowled. No. Erin was coming back. He wasn't dead in some damn ditch, any moment now that little vault bastard will be dragging a bag of junk to ask Charon to help him carry it to trade it off at the Craterside Supply. Any moment-
Charon was shocked from his thoughts when he rounded the corner to the shack, finding himself apart of a growing crowd gathered around Jericho and Reagan in the middle of a fist fight on the front porch. He scoffed loudly at their sloppy swings at one another, becoming increasingly amused by their tantrums, like two disorderly teenagers pretending to be hard-ass punks. Jericho got in a lot of good slugs at Reagan, her nose was so bloody, no one could tell if there was any serious damage to her already scarred face. Jericho's black eye had swelled close again, and Reagan landed some pretty powerful hits to the man's kidneys to the point of no doubt the man would be pissing blood for a while for sure. Reagan couldn't dodge for shit. Actually, the more Charon observed, he discovered Reagan didn't even bother blocking Jericho's fist. The crowd thought Reagan was through when Jericho tripped Reagan, shoving her back onto her ass.
Jericho soaked up the victory, grabbing his crotch at her. Charon rolled his eyes, he didn't have to hear what was said to know it was disgusting. Charon sat the crate down at the doorway, reaching in his pocket for the shack keys when he saw the flash of steel. Reagan had rolled to her feet, a knife in her grasp. Jericho's grin was wiped from his face when she grabbed his own hand that had a hold of privates, the other with the knife poised to slice. Reagan's head collided with Jericho's nose and blood splashed out of his face into her hair like a broken hose. Charon had stepped in at that time, grabbing her wrist before she could slice down and publicly castrate Jericho in front of all of Megaton, including children. As much as he would have enjoyed watching Jericho get his ass beat, this was definitely not the place to do this. Simms had raced to the scene by now, his hat half way on his head, his rifle in the other. He stared at the three like an angry father catching his kids with cherry bombs and the plumbing. His face darkened with the rush of blood to his face, it was rare Lucas Simms raised his voice.
"Clear out people!" He hollered, causing the crowd to quickly disburse.
Reagan let go of Jericho's nuts and jerked her hand from Charon's grasp, not before he took her weapon away.
"I literally just spoke with you an hour ago," Simms snapped at Jericho, "and you two a couple of minutes ago, what the fuck do you three think you are doing? I ought to lock all three of you up for fighting in town!"
"That fucking scum right there, Simms!" Jericho hollered out, "that bitch should be banned from Megaton!"
"You're the bitch!" Reagan cried out at him, "you deserve every bit of this shit!"
"Shut up, both of you, I don't care who started it. You know the laws here." Simms snapped, his tone slowly calming down to normal, "You're already on your last strike Reagan. Charon, I'm disappointed you got involved-"
"He didn't do anything." Reagan said quickly.
Simms waved his hands to shut her up, passing her to grab Jericho by the arm, escorting him away. He was certainly getting an earful of Jericho's side of the story. Charon glowered at Reagan.
"I was gunna kill him." Reagan said, matter of factly, like discussing the weather.
"Do you usually do for the genitals, or the throat, like a damn dog?"
"Oh, only you get to kill in this town because you live with Erin? I didn't know being in cohorts with the good ol' fuckin Messiah of the Wasteland leaves you diplomatic immunity! You have the audacity to stop me from a little attempted castration..." Reagan let out a loud dry laugh, "Yeah I heard bout them Talon Mercs you curb stomped in front of everybody."
"Remember that."
Reagan smirked, a lopsided smile and her cracked teeth poked out. She looked like some cartoony cannibal with her face covered in blood and jagged teeth. She nodded, lifting her chin, widening her stance to bounce on her heels. Charon furrowed his brow, was she about to swing at him now?
"Alright. Charon." Reagan said, saying his name with such a weird emphasis that made him even more annoyed, "I'll see you soon. We gotta talk, like I talked with Lucas."
Charon scowled at her.
Reagan leaned towards him, he turned a shoulder away from her to stay out of arms reach. She pointed to his hand, "You can keep that. Made it this morning."
"Do not let me catch you here again."
Reagan didn't seem to hear him, or perhaps chose to ignore him. She spun on the heel of her cleats and headed back towards the other side of Megaton. The little metal spikes made her steps sound like Dogmeat's claws on the tin. Charon looked down at his hand, opening his palm to look at the rusty shiv with a duct tape handle. The blade was long with a barb at the end to really do some serious damage if she had stabbed Jericho instead, that is if Charon hadn't stepped in and if Jericho had survived Reagan's attempted maiming, Jericho would probably die from blood poisoning from all the rust on the makeshift blade. Charon held the tip of the shiv between his thumb and index finger, chucking it high and as far as he could over the walls into the Wastes out of her reach if she came back for it. Content with his throw, he found the shack key finally in his pocket, only to discover the door had already been unlocked and Dogmeat was happily waiting for him inside. Charon let the door swing open wide, pushing the crate in with his boot going inside the shack. A quick glance upstairs on the balcony and he fumed. Erin was still gone, and he had locked the shack door behind him before he left to go to the saloon, and he was sure of it. Reagan was the obvious suspect, after all she was just outside the shack while he was away, and she was the only one trying to get into it. Charon slammed the shack door close, causing the makeshift picture frames on the walls tilt. Another fucking day.
...
Hello. Yeah, I keep rewriting this damn chapter. I'm posting and writing via mobile, so there are going to be mistakes. Grammar isn't too swell, so just over look that, please haha... I think I figured out the editing system on this site... oh, a lot of NPCs are going to make appearance like Megaton population. Enjoy, I'll try to remember to post often.