Hello all and this be FloodFeSTeR and TehKinkehWalrus on a brand-spankin-new joint account ;)
drug abuse, evil behavior, perhaps explicit sexual content (but that will be saved for AO3 probably for guidelines here), a shit ton of OC's, ghoul love, synth love (lots of love, okay?) and an evil Sole Survivor.
Please do enjoy, and review. I know you shouldn't beg for reviews and base your writing around it but its nice to see people are enjoying this and we're not just posting to an empty stage, ya know? We like our story, yes, but we wanna know you do as well so show some love folks 3
She remembers just scavenging with her brother, just a small girl following her big brother's footsteps as they looked for copper or aluminum, whatever sold for the most. She remembers being little when her brother had found a boutique with fancy little girls' clothes and he had let her try some on, take what she wanted, despite knowing she'd lose it in the weeks to come.
Now she knows how her brother felt waiting for her to pick the right outfit, only he had more patience and found it endearing.
"Hey, what about this? It just screams me right," Deacon held up a crimson colored dress, bedazzled with sequins to his broad torso.
She peered from beneath her bangs that had fallen loose from her bun, watching him hold it at the tip and sway his hips a bit for effect. His eyebrows bobbed above the rim of his sunglasses as he did so and she couldn't help but chuckle.
"Actually I think the blue one really makes your sunglasses pop, ya know," Rose plopped on the filthy countertop, tugging her caramel strands from their bun to brush against the small of her back. She had a small headache from having such heavy hair up for so long and when the thick strands began to fall, pain pricked at her scalp.
She winced and leaned over, grabbing an old baseball uniform to wipe the blood from her machete; before Deacon and she could begin shopping they first had to take out a squad of raiders who had been taken up in the old clothing store.
The place reeked of Jet fumes and the rot from the bloody boxes upstairs, bodies decorating the front door like morbid welcome mats. It had been quite the little nest, but they had grown swollen with smugness at having so many numbers that they got just a little too fucked up to fight properly and she and Deacon had an easy time with them.
"C'mon, I need your help finding a new jacket. Something farm-y, nothing that stands out too much," Deacon wrinkled his nose.
As he continued to look through heaps of discarded clothing, Rose slid her freshly polished melee weapon into its spot on her belt. She needed to get the caps for a sheath, the thing had already cut through two pairs of pants in the past three days alone. She sputtered when a musty green shirt hit her in the face and swatted it away, glaring at Deacon as she unwound her old hair tie from her wrist.
"We passed at least six dead farmers on our way here, I don't see why those weren't farm-y enough," She mocked as she began tossing clothes across the store that didn't match Deacon's description.
"Oh yes. I often vision myself walking around in a dead-man's jacket. I'm sure it doesn't come with a heaping load of bad juju," he makes his way to a different stack of thrown together fabric.
Before Rose had time to think of something snarky to reply with she heard the pin being pulled from a grenade and tossed down the stair. It bobbed to a stop against the wall and her heart spiked. "Grenade!" She warned, reaching for her machete. Adrenaline immediately began pumping through her veins and began running for her comrade before a vast explosion swept her off of her feet, throwing her into an adjacent bookshelf.
Despite her shoulder taking the majority of the blow, she hit her head hard enough to immediately lose consciousness. Her eyes rolled back in her head and she slumped over, several books coming down on top of her and partially covering her.
"Shit!" Deacon exclaimed, watching as his teammate flew through the air. He rushed to her side, pushing aside the books to search for a pulse in her neck. Once he felt a faint throbbing in her neck he grabbed the nearest t-shirt to wrap around her bleeding head injury before turning to face a lanky man with patchy red hair and thrown together armor holding a gun inches from his face. He had a leer on his face as he swayed on his feet, high on something but Deacon knew he couldn't do shit; his gun was still over by his first box of clothes.
"Hands up asshole," the scum demanded, gesturing with a jerk of his gun towards the ceiling Deacon raised his hands just passed his shoulders, evaluating the extent of the situation and looking for a way out. There wasn't, without leaving Rose and he couldn't do that; he could, he really could, he had in the past. But this was the present.
"One wrong move and I'll put a bullet in her fucking skull," the raider threatened, aiming the gun at the unconscious girl next to him. "Get up now."
Deacon stood up with a nasty look spread across his face, glancing at Rose before returning his gaze back to the drugged out fucker with his gun. He was rotting away on his feet, that much was obvious, probably from radiation; he was turning into a ghoul, how gross.
"Get walking, now," the ginger haired menace held a gun to Deacon's back, forcing him to walk towards the stairs. "And don't worry, I'll be back for your little girlfriend."
"You better watch your ass," Deacon threatened through clenched teeth.
"What? I'm sorry, you might want to be more polite. My finger might just slip," the raider laughed morbidly before pushing the gun deeper into his back, making him speed up.
With each step the two men took the gun seemed to dig deeper and deeper into Deacon's back, bringing adrenaline into his blood and making him slightly wobbly on his feet. Seriously, he could just run, jump out the broken window to his right and be home free. He could make the drop, he had so many times, but no, no he didn't once even glance at the window again.
Once they reached the top of the stairs, the raider guided him into a small room, with a couple of floor mattresses, broken beer bottles, and a barely functioning ham radio; Travis stuttered on the other end, saying something about the Brotherhood being attacked.
"Knees. Now," the raider spoke roughly pressing the gun to the side of Deacon's head, slightly skewing his wig.
"Yes daddy," he flirted, not being able to pass up the chance to turn a bad situation into a dirty joke. Before he could smirk the raider's fist came flying down, colliding with his jaw, nearly cracking it open. He gasped and hit the floor, bracing his hands against beer scented wood. He shook his head softly, trying to get rid of some of the pain splintering and dying in the base of his skull. His vision swam for a moment, eyes blinking away the haze easily.
"Don't tempt me, boy," the raider huffed.
"Shit," Deacon mumbled under his breath, moving around his jaw to make sure it was still intact. "Worth it," he whispered quietly so his captor couldn't hear.
As the raider continued to glare and hold the rusty 10mm pistol to Deacon's head, he picked up the mic to the orange HAM radio on the desk. His eyes didn't leave Deacon, pupils so large they swallowed almost all of the color in his eyes.
"This is Clinton, anyone there," as static filled the air as Deacon began to chuckle, catching Clinton's eye.
"Something funny asshole?"
"Yeah actually, what the hell kind of name is Clinton? You totally just lost the fear factor dude," as another laugh escaped his lips Clinton's face turned red with rage.
"Last mistake-" The red headed raider was cut off when Deacon grabbed his ankle and pulled it out from under him, causing him to fall back and drop the gun.
Deacon scrambled to his feet, helping when he felt fat fingers grasping at his legs and then he was the one to hit the floor. His fingers brushed just shy of the gun and he dug his nails into the wood, kicking back with his free leg. He made contact with flesh enough to feel good and ten kicked against the floor, pushing enough to reach the gun at last.
"Not binding my hands? Rookie mistake," Deacon snapped before he twisted back and fired three times into the man's head.
"Huh," he murmured as the room fell silent, the body slumping with it. "That was anti-climactic," he spoke to himself with a bored tone before pulling himself off the ground.
Before Deacon could think of anything else he began running at full speed to get to his unconscious friend, finding her in the same position they had left her. He kicked off the rest of the books that covered her, cradling her head softly in his hand as he tucked the gun into the back of his jeans. "Rose," he brushed the stray brown hair out of her face as he coddled her head.
Despite the dangers of her head injury, Deacon couldn't help but notice how peaceful the young woman looked, her long lashes resting, the perfect pattern of her light freckles; unnoticeable unless you were really paying attention, the way her long curly hair fell perfectly around her heart shaped face. Why was he thinking now about how pretty she was? Like...Rose was perfect for the Railroad, that was all he could attribute it to. When she joined, he knew she was special, blowing kisses at a couple of traffickers hauling two synths across the Wasteland and getting them free of charge. Before she blew the traffickers fucking brains everywhere, of course she hadn't known what she was doing at the time but...
Deacon contemplated just letting her rest but decided against it. "You gotta wake up," he gave her face a gentle slap, earning a groan in response.
"Alright good, c'mon let's get you back to headquarters so Carrington can get you checked out." He sat her up right against a wall as he noticed her shoulder completely out of its socket, his face flushed white at the brutal sight.
She crinkled her nose in discomfort as Deacon shuffled back a little, it really wasn't pretty even with clothed covering it partially.
"What," she questioned, her voice still groggy from coming to as she looked down to see her out of place shoulder. "Well that's going to hurt like a bitch," she sighed. "Pop it back in will ya," she looked up at Deacon who was avoiding the injury.
"Nu huh."
"Why not," a slightly annoyed look covered her face.
"Looks gross."
"Deacon, c'mon."
"Nope," he took a step back still avoiding looking at her.
"Don't be such a pussy," she scolded.
"Calling me names won't make me want to do it anymore," he crossed his arms defensively. "Deacon," she glared at him beginning to stand up, holding onto the wall for support.
"Fine," he gave in walking over to his injured friend. "Do you want something to bite onto or...?"
"Just do it," she rushed. Without giving a countdown Deacon popped her shoulder back into it socket, the sound of bones cracking and the blood curdling scream was enough to make him cringe and almost lose his lunch.
He never did like this kind of stuff; another reason he never usually traveled with a partner. If he was alone, he stayed hidden, or just booked it to a safe place. There were never his own injuries to tend to, he always came back with everything intact.
"You didn't give me a warning asshole," Rose used her good arm to slap Deacon.
"It hurts less when you don't see it coming," he held his hands up defensively.
"I feel light headed," Rose's knees went weak and gave out from under her, Deacon caught her just in time before she hit the floor.
"Rose?"
"I'm okay," she said weakly.
"You lost a lot of blood, we need to get going," Deacon sat her gently on the floor as he began piling clothes into a rusty shopping cart before placing her on top.
"The most convenient way to get your dying friend through the Commonwealth: an old shopping cart." Deacon spoke to himself, almost sounding proud.
"Shut up and get me home," she scolded wearily.
"Sorry. Didn't know you were still conscious. I'll shut up now," he pushed the shopping cart out of the store and began making their way back to headquarters.