Secrets of Blackhall
By V Ron Strudel
A/N
Originally I was planning a full series of quest novelizations from Fallout 3, starting with the main quest and going from there, but it would have taken a long, long time to do and I didn't quite feel like committing myself to such a project. So in the end I decided to just write the last segment, the one you're about to read, and just add a lot more background information along the way.
This story is a novelization of the Point Lookout quest "Dark Heart of Blackhall." I made a few alterations of my own to make the story more original. Be warned, updates will be rather slow. I just finished the rough draft and I want to make sure that there are no plot holes along the way.
Also, lots of lemons in this, if you're into that kind of stuff.
Chapter One
Pilgrim's Landing
"So I tell him, you know what I told him? I told him, 'go fuck some pre-war goat if you can find one, because I ain't gonna to let your damn dick touch me if you've been with raiders!' You know what I'm saying? You don't go fucking raiders, they got all sorts of diseases!"
The early, humid air was thick with the misty smog that hung like a thick blanket over the river. The smell of soggy bark and dead fish was potent, but the burning engines beneath the ferry deck rumbled and emitted a bitter aroma that almost covered it. The Duchess Gambit chugged along at a steady pace, leaving trails of murky water in its wake, and attracting quite a few hungry stares from the Mirelurks sifting through the sandy shoreline. Charon watched them pass by with little interest, but subconsciously, his hand was ready to whip out his shotgun.
"Anyways, after I kicked his ass outta my life, I realized how boring it was in Rivet City. No adventure, no cute guys, and no future for me! Ma would have had me stay there my whole life, but I had a plan up my sleeve. You see this weirdo was working this old hunk of junk back and forth from the Capital Wasteland to Point Lookout, and I think to myself, you know what I thought? I start to think that if there's anywhere my ma wouldn't go looking for me, it'd be Point Lookout."
The cloudy, overcast sky was a sheet of gray over the ship's roof, threatening rain and miserable weather for the rest of the night. Soon, the sun would set and the river would be as pitch black as the sewers of the Capital Wasteland. The odd, foul smell grew stronger and stronger the closer the old ferry boat got to the docks of Pilgrim's Landing. Charon could see the old Ferris wheel Glenda had told him about towering in the distance, a ghostly sight through the mist.
"But I suppose Glenda told you the rest of the story?" She certainly did. He heard it about once a month. "I got sucked into that weirdo cult of Tribals that think the punga fruit is holy or something. Can you believe that? What whackos! I mean, they make you get flying high as Hell off this super punga plant, or something like that, and then the guy who owned the Duchess before me, finds you unconscious, and takes out a piece of your god damn brain! I met Glenda, and she was the only other one who didn't go crazy, other than me of course, and I tell her, you know what I told her?"
Charon sighed. "What?"
"I say to her, meet me at the riverboat in about two days and we'll have all the answers figured out. So I find out the ferryman is the one cutting out our brains! And I locked him up so I could take the boat, and when Glenda found out, you wanna know what Glenda did when she found out?"
The ghoul glanced up from his brooding and couldn't help but look a tad bit curious. Glenda had never told him anything about a ferryman that cut out her brain. "What'd she do?"
Nadine gave him a terrifyingly wide grin and leaned her elbows on the railing, using her bare foot to steer the boat down river. Her mess of red hair was fluttering lightly in the breeze.
"She goes into the boiler room where Mr. ferryman is locked up, and she takes the knife he used to do all the surgeries and fucking cut his head open like it was a God damn egg or something! I tell you; all sorts of ugly stuff came out that fucker's dome. And the best part of it is she had to jump on his bed to do it! She's so damn short she couldn't reach otherwise! Isn't that something?" She threw her head back and let her bark of a laugh fill the air.
Charon shrugged and resumed his glowering at the water below. The two of them were at the top of the boat, waiting to anchor up at Pilgrim's Landing, which would take another ten minutes or so to reach. Besides him, a grubby Siberian husky was curled up on the damp floorboards, sleeping as the Duchess Gambit swayed over the gentle waves.
Ever since he'd gotten out of Underworld, Charon hated being cooped up, so he'd denied an offer to sleep in Nadine's bed while they were traveling. Unfortunately for him, she took this as an invitation to talk to him the whole way there while her good buddy Glenda, ever so sleep-deprived, spent the entire voyage snoring on her cot.
At first Charon didn't really mind. Glenda herself talked up a storm from time to time. But Nadine never stopped talking.
"So I haven't asked you yet, where'd you meet Glenda?" The red head asked coyly.
It took Charon a minute to realize the blabbermouth was actually asking him a question, and he glared up at her with confusion on his rotted face. "Huh?"
She cocked an eyebrow. "I asked where you met that crazy bitch Glenda. She came here alone last time."
"D.C." He replied gruffly, turning away from her.
Nadine rolled her eyes. "No shit you met her in D.C. But don't you have a story behind it? Save her from super mutants or something? Or vice versa?" She let out an irritatingly high pitched giggle as she looked him over. "You don't seem like a damsel in distress type."
Charon casted her an irritated look, but answered nonetheless. "I was working for some shit head in a bar in Underworld, and then one day, in walks Glenda with two thousand caps and buys my contract."
"Contract? You some kind of male prostitute or somethin'?" Nadine's face told him she was being one hundred percent serious.
Charon groaned and decided enough was enough. He pushed himself away from the railing and stretched his arms. "I'm going to wake her up," he grunted, taking heavy steps down the stairs.
Nadine frowned and glanced up river. "Why? We aren't there yet."
Like I care, Charon thought irritably. He could only endure so much chatter for so long.
On the bottom level of the Duchess Gambit, two cabins were placed parallel to one another, both equally as small and claustrophobic, though Glenda's didn't have a boiler next to her cot. Charon punched back the squeaky screen door and entered the passenger cabin. There was an array of old pre-war posters pinned up on the wall, as well as a trunk full of nothing in particular. The only thing useful in the room was the cot, which was occupied by Charon's five-foot, two-inch monster.
He prodded her shoulder with the barrel of his gun. "Hey, get up we're almost there."
Glenda didn't move a muscle or open her eyes. "Has the boat stopped yet?"
"Does it feel like it's stopped?"
"Then leave me the fuck alone and let me sleep."
Charon scowled. If there was one thing he hated about Glenda the most, it was her charm.
He cocked his gun and put the barrel against the back of her head, where it sank into her thick, otherworldly tresses of black, curly hair.
Glenda sighed and reached a hand around to shove the gun away from her head. "That's not funny anymore, Charon," she said in a groggy voice.
"It never was meant to be funny." He said without humor.
"Please go away, I don't like being awake on boats."
Charon let his shoulders fall and pinched the bridge of his nose. "Listen, that bitch out there has been talking so much, if she talks anymore, I will honestly cut her tongue off. My ears are about to fall off."
"You don't have any ears," Glenda groaned into her arm, which was substituting as a pillow.
He ignored her and continued. "If I have to keep listening to her, I can't be held accountable for what I do."
Glenda let out a particularly long sigh. It dragged on for so long, Charon was certain she was doing it on purpose.
"Fine." Glenda barked suddenly, breaking her sigh and making Charon jump. She sat up in a wild storm of dark hair and denim, and stretched her short arms out high over her head with a gracious yawn.
Charon grumbled under his breath as he turned on his heel and started for the screen door, but Glenda snapped her arm out and grabbed him by the belt, tugging him backwards.
"Oh no you don't," she said with a queasy glare. "I need you close by in case I collapse."
The ghoul rolled his eyes. "You mean in case you need to throw up and I just happen to be a close target?"
She flashed her sage green eyes at him and whacked him on the shoulder. "I'm not going to throw up on you, Jesus Christ..." She got onto her feet slowly, using him as a support the whole way. Her knees wobbled under her weight, and her fair skin was starting to turn green as the Duchess Gambit swayed in every direction as the river waves pushed it too and fro.
"Oh God I hate boats..." She groaned. She let go of Charon and stood on her own. Glenda was not at all an average looking woman in the wastes. Born and raised in the vault, she had a much better sense of hygiene than the average settler or traveler. She was hardly taller than five feet and two inches, and her soft, heart-shaped face looked strangely mismatched with its gentle shape and her sharp, uncaring eyes. Her thick, inky black hair fell to the middle of her back in swirling curls, and her pale green eyes were wide and almond-shaped. She had arched eyebrows which were thick and uncared for, one of which was pierced twice with two rusted steel rings.
Glenda was a small, round thing. She wasn't skinny or overweight, but her soft curves continued to add to her contradictory look. As of then, she was only wearing her white tank top (which was splattered with old, stained blood) and her jeans, which were tucked into black, knee-high boots that laced up the front. Her size prevented her from wearing more protective clothing, such as any leather or combat equipment she came across in her travels. So she stuck to wearing mercenary clothing, even if she had to custom tailor it with a pair of scissors every now and then so she wasn't tripping over her hem lines.
"Remind me to hike back to D.C." She said sullenly, pushing past Charon and gathering her things by the door. A small leather duffle bag contained most of her life possessions, and she pulled from it her denim jacket, which was too long for her and hung around her knees. She belted around her waist a holster for her magnum, and she slung her assault rifle over her shoulder so its strap crossed her torso. She grabbed her shotgun and then tossed the duffle bag to Charon.
"Carry that, will you?" She asked without looking at him.
He grinded his teeth together and pulled it over his shoulder. Charon was the exact opposite of Glenda in almost every way. For one, he was at least six feet and five inches, causing him to tower over her whenever they stood together. Sometimes he enjoyed that fact that he could easily squish her like a bug. His thinning red hair and grotesque, irradiated skin just made her look squeaky clean in comparison, and because he was a Ghoul, he really didn't have much need for anything but ammo and the occasional snack. So he was usually left carrying her fucking bags.
Also, Glenda is a fucking nut job, he thought to himself, no for the first time.
The two of them left the cabin just in time for the docks of Pilgrim's Landing to come in sight through the thinning fog. Dogmeat had awoken from his nap and was running around Glenda in circles as she pulled her mane of black hair into a ponytail. Nadine was coming down the stairs.
"Ah, finally awake are we darling?" She asked, putting her hands on her hips.
Glenda shrugged and tried to keep from looking out at the water. She really couldn't stand being on boats, and the green pastiness of her face was enough to give her away.
"Yeah I remember the first time I took you back to D.C. and you kept hurling over the railings," Nadine threw her head back and let out the same obnoxious laugh from earlier, her shoulders bobbing up and down with some unseen humor. Charon felt the sudden urge to slice them off. "Man, I ain't never seen anybody get that sick."
Charon took a wary step backwards as Glenda suddenly dry heaved and clasped her hand over her mouth in a desperate attempt to hold her sick back. However, the attempt was fruitless, and she charged towards the edge of the boat and vomited over the edge. Nadine laughed even harder, and Charon pressed his palm to his forehead. Sometimes he had serious problems imagining that this girl was really the Capital Wasteland's "Lone Wanderer." She couldn't even control her seasickness.
"So, Gleny-Glen, whatcha doing back in Point Lookout anyways? And who's this handsome male-prostitute you dragged along?"
Glenda stood back up from the railing and held her hand out to stop Charon from gunning the red head down. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve and groaned. "Ugh...Thought I'd meet up with the Tribals and see what I've been missing. Or maybe see if Desmond wants a cup of tea."
Nadine guffawed again, and, to everyone's surprise, stepped forward and slapped Charon on the back with a cheery smile. The Ghoul's eyes popped and Glenda dived to steal his shotgun before he saw red. "You better watch out there Charon, Glenda here has a fondness for Ghouls of all shapes and sizes."
Charon shot her a warning look and stepped away from her so she wasn't touching him. "Really?" He said in mock interest, looking at Glenda was his usual scowl. His companion, however, was too busy dry heaving again to notice the exchange. Or maybe she was faking it. He certainly wouldn't put it past her.
"Yes sir, told me all about her little adventure here at Point Lookout the last time she came. Helped out some old ghoul up by the old mansion kill off some disembodied brain!"
Glenda continued to "dry heave." Charon could see she was definitely faking it.
"Seriously, though" Nadine said, climbing the stairs again to guide the Duchess Gambit to the docks, which were in clear view now. "Why you back, Gleny?"
"Just looking for something to do, Nadine," Glenda said, leaning her back against the railing and closing her eyes. "Call it a vacation from doing everybody favors in D.C."
"You should bring Charon to the mother of all punga fruit and get him high off that shit." Nadine called down jokingly.
Charon crossed his arms, glaring at Glenda, "I'd rather keep my brain, thank you."
"Here we are kiddos," Nadine said, bringing the ferry to a stop in front of the only standing dock. The amusement park creaked eerily with age.
"Oh thank God," Glenda groaned, nearly crawling off the boat and onto the less-than-sturdy dock. At least it was more solid than the boat, which was being rocked back and forth for the shore waves.
With a curt whistle, Charon got Dogmeat off the boat and lugged Glenda's bag off with him. Nadine descended down the stairs to bid them farewell.
"Have fun you guys," she said, "have any idea where you're heading? I don't think Desmond is still in the area, so if you were actually thinking of visiting the bastard-"
"Not in my life," Glenda said sincerely, looking repulsed and holding up her hand to stop Nadine from saying anything more. "I only took his side before because I don't trust anything or anyone who doesn't have a body."
Nadine punched Glenda in the shoulder and laughed. "Good thinking, girl. Well have fun. If you're interested, there's another mansion out that way," she pointed in the opposite direction of Desmond's old hideout, which was blown up by his very own failsafe. "Might have some cash hidden away somewhere."
Charon saw the unfortunate spark in Glenda's green eyes, and knew far too easily that, no matter what the odds, she would find that mansion.
She brought a finger to her chin in thought. "Anyone live there anymore?" She asked.
"Not that I know of."
"Then let's go," she barked at Charon, grabbing him by the collar and dragging him behind her. Dogmeat followed with enthusiasm, his tail wagging at amazing speeds. Even he was glad to stretch his legs and get off that awful boat.
The shoreline of Point Lookout was something Glenda had hardly had time to enjoy during her previous visit, which was spent primarily near Desmond's mansion (well, not really his mansion, she thought glumly), and the foal swamps infested with migrating feral ghouls and the filthy locals. She spat on the ground at the thought of them. There wasn't much radiation in Point Lookout, compared to D.C., so Glenda had always figured the ghouls had wandered in from up north.
Now, however, she was surprised to find the soggy sand under her feet and the misty air quite relaxing. The foul stench from the swamps was much less potent near the river. Because of the lack of severe radiation, Mirelurks weren't as common near the water as they were in the Capital Wasteland.
The last time she'd gotten off that blasted ferry, she'd immediately gotten swept up in Desmond's conflict with the Tribals and that strange scientist who had long ago separated his brain from his body. Just thinking about the freak gave Glenda the shivers. This time, however, she wanted to explore and look for anything she could sell back North. Possibly find enough caps to pay off that growing debt she owed Moriarty up in Megaton before the Irish slime ball but a price on her head.
She was walking in front of Charon, watching over Dogmeat, who was running around up further. She didn't want to let him go out of sight, just in case something were to attack him while she wasn't looking. The Siberian husky was probably the closest thing Glenda had to a "love of her life" sort of thing. The thought made her unconsciously glance back at Charon.
"So, you're fond of ghouls of all shapes and sizes?" Charon asked suddenly, when their eyes met.
Glenda raised an eyebrow, surprised. "What's that supposed to mean?" She asked sharply.
Charon shrugged and looked out at the darkening horizon. His sudden display of guarded emotion was rather...awkward. Usually Charon never spoke to her about things like that.
She spun on her heel and stopped him from going any further. She held up her hands defensively and said calmly, although with an irritated tone, "okay, for the love of God, please don't tell me you're actually jealous about what she said on that boat."
He stared down at her for a long moment, his usual scowl deepening as his milky white eyes narrowed. Then, to her amazement, he grumbled, "You fucked Roy Phillips."
Glenda looked at him as if he had slapped her. "Roy? You're honestly bringing up Roy? Did you forget he tried to kill me?"
The Ghoul closed his eyes patiently, as if her rebuttal was nothing but a childish excuse. "You gave Gob a-"
"Oh for fuck- Gob is Moriarty's slave!"
He glared at her. "You fucked Winthrop, Quinn, you even did that druggie Murphy."
Glenda threw her hands into the air and started walking again. "Oh my God, I can't believe you are really talking about this." She walked further ahead of him, mumbling incoherently under her breath as she did so. The sand beneath her feet was clingy as she stomped away, making her stomp look ridiculous. Charon growled incoherently under his breath and followed.
Suddenly, Glenda came to a stop. She went rigid, on guard, and Charon frowned.
"What is it?" He asked quietly.
Glenda nodded at the footprints in the sand, which were side-by-side with Dogmeat's prints. They curved down a small slope of sand up the shore and seemed to turn and follow the canine. Charon narrowed his eyes at them, and then scanned the area.
He tapped her in the shoulder and nodded up a ways on the beach. A figure was bending over and petting Dogmeat, whose tail was wagging furiously. The mist made it difficult to see who it was.
"Hey!" Glenda called, charging forward and cocking her shotgun.
The figure, apparently female, looked up and took a step back from the dog, who followed her with his tongue hanging from his mouth.
Whoever she was, she was tall, with tan, grubby skin and dark brown hair that was slicked back and greasy. Seeing as how everyone in the world nowadays had dreadful hygiene, Glenda wasn't very turned off by this. What she was turned off by, however, was that she wasn't acting hostile. This always bothered her, because you can trust a raider, feral ghoul, or super-mutant to always charge and attack. Morally conscious people, however, Glenda actually had to try and figure out.
"Please don't shoot me," the woman said, holding her hands up in surrender. "I was just petting him."
Glenda marched right up to her and made sure the woman knew her finger was still on the trigger, but she lowered her weapon. "Don't you know it's dangerous to pet animals you don't know?"
The woman seemed confused. "He was friendly to me. He saw that I meant him no harm."
Charon and Glenda exchanged raised eyebrows and then turned back to her. "Are you a pacifist?" Glenda asked.
"I am, unless the situation calls for me to be aggressive," the woman said with a kind smile. "I do my best to make a place my home, and not a bad memory."
"You live around here then?"
"Temporarily, yes," she said kindly, showing no signs of hostility. "I'm a missionary from the west. I came to spread my faith respectfully."
Glenda gave her a skeptical look. "I've never heard of a missionary around here before," she said with a cynical expression. "Probably because the East Coast doesn't have any sort of faith left, except, of course, faith in a gun." She patted her shotgun affectionately.
The woman held out her hand. "Marcella," she said. Glenda took hold of it and shook it.
"I'm Glenda, and this corpse here" she nodded her head towards her solemn-looking companion, "is Charon."
Marcella turned to the Ghoul and offered her hand. He looked at it suspiciously, but took hold of it when he caught Glenda's eye. The woman seemed to be completely comfortable around ghouls, and neither pitied or feared them.
"So, Marcella," Glenda said, giving up the tough-girl ruse and relaxing her hand on her gun. "What...faith do you belong to?"
"I long ago gave up the pretense of naming my faith," she replied, with a spiritual glow in her eyes. "I look to the lord for the salvation of the world, praying each day and hoping my faith will spread and perhaps change some part of this desolate place we live in."
Glenda raised an eyebrow as if she were impressed, nodding in understanding. Charon could see she obviously was not. "You really think the world can change because of faith?"
"Nothing can change all at once." Marcella said, her smile falling ever so slightly. "I'm only one person, but with every man, woman, and child I can help achieve enlightenment, we are one step closer to bringing peace back to our wastelands."
"I guess I'm just not into the idea of religion in general," Glenda said with a heavy sigh. She looked up at Charon, whose towering figure cast a shadow over her tiny frame. "What do you think, Charon?" She asked.
Charon glared at her, still angry from their small fight a few moments earlier. He was never a very open person, and Glenda knew this. The question made him tense up, and when Marcella looked at him eagerly, he scowled and grew curt.
"I don't have any opinion on the matter," he said blandly.
Marcella frowned at him. "It's impossible not to have an opinion."
He grunted and shrugged his shoulders. "That's just how it is."
Glenda frowned at him, and then looked back to Marcella. "I don't suppose you've got any food or ammo we could swipe?"
"Of course," the missionary said with a smile, "not much, but I'm currently residing in the old disaster relief outpost upriver." She turned and pointed through the fog, where a cluster of three or four tents was silhouetted against the mist. She looked over her shoulder and gestured for them to follow with her head. "Come on, I'll lead you there." She started walking, and Charon and Glenda followed suit, with Dogmeat bounding around the three of them excitedly.
The relief outpost was defiantly old, and obviously had been out of business for a long time. Marcella explained to them on the short walk up the grimy beach that it had been set up before the war to help those infected with the New Plague. An old terminal had files and journal entries explaining the "social disease" in a rather eccentric and nonsensical way, and Marcella claimed that the only useful information stored on it was the hostility of the locals in the swamps, and that anybody who lived in Point Lookout prior to the outbreak was safe from their violent natures.
Glenda, upon hearing this, was quite concerned for her well being. She figured Charon was fine because of his irradiated DNA. "Are you saying there's some two hundred year-old disease floating around out there?" She asked as Marcella held open the flap of the center tent for them to enter.
"It's a possibility. But you say you've been here before, right? For a long period of time?"
"Yeah," Glenda said, thinking about her wacky adventures with Desmond and the Tribals, "for about a week."
She smiled and brushed it aside. "You should be fine, then. It's probably harmless now anyways, what with all the bombs dropping when it was at its peak." Marcella spread her arms wide and presented them her abode. "This is where I live, for now."
The tent was spacious and wide, with a high peak and a hard, dirt floor. There was a bed cot on one side, besides a desk containing a recently rebooted terminal that was grimy with age. Underneath the terminal desk, a safe was hidden from view.
"Never been fond of tents," Glenda said, looking around analytically. "They don't feel very secure." Marcella was bending over to unlock the safe, where she pulled a pack of ammo for Glenda's assault rifle, and two old boxes of sugar bombs.
"This is all I can spare," she said humbly, tossing them. Charon was just about to rip open the box of cereal, when Glenda snatched it out of his hand and stuffed it in her bag. When he glared at her, she shrugged and said, "Murph."
The ghoul glared daggers at her. He made a mental note to kill Murphy while he and his fucking bodyguard were high.
Marcella gave Glenda an analytical look as she zipped the bag up again, and then sat down on the edge of the bed.
"So, Marcella, you spend your life traveling and trying to enlighten people, am I right?" Glenda slapped a hand on her hip and raised her eyebrows inquiringly. "Is it the life you want?"
Marcella nodded, a look of gentle happiness spreading across of her face. "Yes, I find a great deal of happiness when I change a person's life."
"Then what do you feel when you don't change a person's life?" Asked Glenda.
For a moment, Marcella considered the question, and then she said slowly, "I feel like I let them down."
Glenda shrugged and looked outside, watching the murky water wash up on the gritty sand. "Maybe they just didn't want to be changed."
"Why are you not interested in faith, Glenda?" Marcella asked, leaning forward and briefly glancing at Charon, as if he might provide some insight. He, however, was standing stone still in the corner, sulking over his stolen snack, among other things.
Glenda stood up and slung her back over her shoulder, in a gesture of parting ways. It was obvious she had not intended to stay for a philosophical discussion. "After all I've seen in my years, Marcella," she said matter-of-factly, "I don't think God really plays a part in all of it."
Without breaking eye contact, Marcella leaned closer, her grimy hair falling in clumps around her shoulder. There was a worried glint in her eyes. "People like you are the most vulnerable to darker faiths."
Glenda narrowed her eyes, not missing the warning in Marcella's soft voice. "What are you talking about?"
Marcella suddenly looked very grave, almost hateful. "These swamps aren't only swarming with ghouls, locals, and Tribals. It has been home to a far more sinister thing for many years now, centuries, to be precise. When you leave this tent, you should tread carefully."
Charon exchanged a confused look with Glenda, who was becoming very uncomfortable. He sensed her desire to leave, and awkwardly cleared his throat, drawing Marcella's intense eyes away from her and onto him. The woman snapped out of her sudden attitude changed and returned to her kind demeanor. Although she still looked worried.
"We should probably get going," he said to both of them.
Marcella stood to see them off, and Glenda happily stepped out into the cool air to greet an excited Dogmeat, who had been happily sniffing a dead, rotting Mirelurk that had washed up on shore in the recent week or two.
As Glenda walked ahead, Marcella hurriedly grabbed Charon by the arm and looked at him earnestly.
"I have a strong insight, Charon," she said kindly, as if they had been friends for years, "and a strong instinct to see when trouble is coming. I could tell the two of you will be bringing trouble soon when I first saw you walking down the beach…"
The Ghoul gave her hand a sharp look, where she still held tightly onto him. She did not let go, however, and continued. "I can tell that you are stronger than Glenda in many ways, and that's why you stay with her, to protect her."
He glared at her, "I stay with Glenda because I have to stay with Glenda." He said defensively.
She smiled, "I think you stay for other reasons," she said softly. Then she frowned sadly. "A terrible struggle is coming your way, Charon, for both you and Glenda. She'll need you more than ever to survive it, and I don't mean physically."
Charon narrowed his eyes.
"I know who both of you are," she said quietly. "Glenda is the Lone Wandered. And you are the Ghoul has been with her since the very beginning. I've heard many of your stories, but none of them will be like this."
"I'll keep that in mind." Charon said sharply, and she finally let him go. Without even lingering to glare at her longer, he swiftly walked away to rejoin Glenda, who was impatiently waiting for him out on the beach.
"What was that about?" She demanded as he passed her.
"Nothing." He said in his usual growl. "She was just telling us to take care."
"She's a nut job," Glenda said under her breath, looking back at the tents as they shrank in the distance,
Charon did not verbally agree with her, but he defiantly wasn't Marcella's biggest fan. The area on his arm where she grabbed him would bruise by the end of the day.