Author's Note: HOOZZAH! I'm not dead everybody! Infact, to celibrate my liveliness, I shall bring you....GHOUL FIC! Honestly, I feel really good about this one, cause it's short and it's sweet. Somethings might need a bit of tweaking, but that can easily be resolved with some con crit (plz&thnx) Oh, and one more thing: This will be my first time writing about Willow and/or Charon, so they might seem a bit OOC. It's just my thoughts on a 'what if...' situation. Besides, I think they'd make a kick-ass couple. Read and review, tell me what you think! Oh, and don't forget to ENJOY!
He's surprised to see her saunter in to The Ninth Circle, though he doesn't show it.
It's only once in a blue moon Willow takes a day off.
She sits close to him, tucked away in the dark corner of the seedy bar. The Laser Rifle she keeps strapped to her back is laid carefully across her lap. Her back, like his, is facing the wall. Covering the blindspot.
A heady cloud of smoke rises in the air as Willow puffs out another long drag from her cigarette. She offers him one, but as usual, only receives silence. He doesn't smoke. His profession never gave a need for the relaxing buzz of tobacco and nicotine, and he's simply never been very interested in starting. She shrugs and mutters something along the lines of 'more for me' before falling back into silence once again.
Keeping one of his filmy blue eyes on the bar, Charon takes the opportunity to study her unabashedly from the corner of the other.
It's at about the time when he's admiring the cinch of bullets strapped around her trim little waist that she notices his wandering gaze. He's not even watching the bar anymore. Simply leaning against the wall, arms crossed over his chest, blatantly ogling her without an ounce of shame in his eyes. They hold one another's stares for a moment before Willow finally closes her eyes and lets out a sigh, returning to watching the bar's patrons.
"I'm guessing you can look but you can't touch, huh?" Another drag from the cigarette. "At least, not without permission." She spits out the word like a particularly bad piece of radroach.
Almost everyone knows by now the relationship between Charon and Ahzrukhal was less than mutual. Even Willow—the ghoul who spent eighty five percent of her days outside taking potshots at Talon mercs—knew the slimy bastard was abusing his control over the bouncer.
Said bouncer merely grunts in reply.
Finished with her cigarette, the self-proclaimed sentry of Underworld begins to idly twirl a remaining wisp of cherry red hair between her gloved fingers. "You might not have to worry about that for much longer. We got a new tourist in today. Weird little thing." The corners of her mouth tilt upward into an almost shrewd smirk. "She took out a company of Talons without even blinking. I watched her raid the corpses afterwards. Then she walked right up to me and asked if I could give her directions. Politely."
A smoothskin asking a ghoul for directions? And being civil about it?
She continues on, not waiting for Charon to (not)jump in to the one-sided conversation. "Said she was looking for Carol. Apparently Gob wound up somewhere in Megaton."
The bouncer checks to see if his master is anywhere within earshot before scooting further into the bar's corner, and closer to Willow. He's not disobeying any orders; he was told to watch for any suspicious characters. And, as far as his ability of interpretation went, anyone who freely chooses to talk to him is most certainly suspicious.
"She'll probably be trouble." Willow lets forth in a guttural shadow of a giggle. "The good kind though."
She stands suddenly, readjusting her rifle between her shoulders once more before whipping out another cigarette. A long tendril of smoke furls into the air soon after. Willow turns to him then, and the look in her eyes burn holes in his remaining patchwork skin. She gives him a sweeping glance of appraisal. A cheeky smile graces her mangled features.
She likes what she sees.
With one final glance in his direction, Willow heads for the door of The Ninth Circle. "I've got to get back out there."
He jumps at the sound of his own voice, coarse and roughened by lack of use, as well as radiation. "I thought that you had the day off?"
He's not the only one surprised by the outburst. Slip of the programmed tongue really. Willow stops, turns towards him once more, the ridge where her eyebrows would have been is raised in surprise. But she's smiling, so Charon deems the slip up acceptable. "Ah, so the wall can speak." A gloved fist balances on her hip as she leans all her weight on one leg, tilting her head as she waits for his response.
If he had possessed the ability to, Charon knows he would be blushing. Instead, he folds his arms tighter across his chest while grumbling to himself in embarrassment. The marble designs in the bar's counter suddenly become very interesting.
He hears her raspy chuckle again before she continues. "I let Quinn take the watch today. And don't get me wrong, he's a nice guy," Charon finds himself quietly grinding his teeth together. "But he's good at trading with the caravans, and that's about it." The grinding promptly stops.
She turns for the door for the final time, lifting her hand in farewell. "And hey, Charon, if old Ass-rukhal ever decides to kick the bucket, come look me up sometime. Maybe you and I can talk more."
"Why?" He's honestly baffled by why she wants to talk to him anymore than she has to.
Without missing a beat, she opens the doors of the bar while throwing over her shoulder. "Cause with the way things are right now, I can look but I can't touch." And then she's gone.