The smoothskin with a brand-new haircut on top of a dirty face and bloodied Vault suit had walked in and shied away from Charon. He was briefly amused by that. A lot of ghouls were downright scared of him, but the smoothskins had the necessary facial elements to provide him with an accurate judge of just how frightening he could be.
It pleased him. Simple things like that.
Being scary was about all he had to do for fun.
Charon watched her walk across the bar and approach Ahzrukhal, who immediately picked up on the girl's fright. Charon narrowed his eyes at his employer, but lost interest after a moment or two. Smoothskins in the Ninth Circle only came for one thing, and that was Ahzrukhal's special inventory.
They were amusing with their scared faces, but when they were high they were the same as every other skell that floated like trash through the bar. Charon could not count how many nights he had spent watching these idiots drink themselves to near-death, or shoot up and inhale the rancid shit that Ahzrukhal was more than willing to overcharge them for.
The girl's voice carried in the bar, though. Charon turned his head back to the counter, watching her speak. She hesitated, frequently. Nervous energy came right off her, her hands trembling and voice low in pitch, eyes glistening like she wanted to cry. Scared of ghouls? Maybe. Brave enough to come into a whole damn town full of them, though.
Charon could respect that. Girl looked tough. Under the bloodied sleeves of her Vault suit, he could tell she was packing guns. It did not make much sense that she would carry a baton, though. Not with that upper body.
He kept his eyes moving. Ahzrukhal never bothered him unless he had something he specifically wanted done, but he could not risk his employer noticing him looking at the girl. If Charon was watching her, it meant she was a concern; which meant she might be ejected from the bar. Given her frightened attitude and what she was asking, Charon did not think she would appreciate her efforts going to waste because he was simply interested in her.
It amused him that Ahzrukhal trusted his judgement when it came to threats. He curled up his mouth in a grimace. There had been plenty of moments when no threat was visible, but Charon was ordered to maim. Or kill. It was not so amusing to have to murder a bar patron or two for the whims of the slimy bartender.
"Charon, get over here," Azhrukhal ordered, his eyes locked onto the smoothskin.
Charon obeyed, pushing himself from the wall and moving to the bar. He stood and watched the other ghoul, waiting for an order. The girl glanced at him and looked down quickly.
"Clara has a proposition and I think it's going to be rather amusing to watch." Ahzrukhal leaned onto his hands on the counter. "Take a seat, Charon."
It was not amusing for him to see the delight that danced across the ghoul's eyes, but he sat. The contract bound him to Ahzrukhal until the bastard decided to sell it off, or Charon died. He kept his gaze leveled on Ahzrukhal.
"Well, Clara?" The bartender looked to her. She nodded, stiffly, and moved behind the bar, laying her elbow on the counter, and holding her hand out flat toward Charon.
An arm-wrestling contest. Charon made no move, watching his employer. Ahzrukhal motioned to him to engage the girl in the feat. Charon grumbled under his breath but leaned his elbow down, and flattened his hand out near to hers.
"Best of three, yes?" Ahzrukhal asked her.
The girl nodded, again stiffly, breathing shallowly and quickly. She had her eyes on Charon's hand, looking for all the world like she wanted to be anywhere but where she was.
"You ready, Charon?" Ahzrukhal looked amused as all hell, his hand on his chin and his face lit up with a nasty smile.
"Yes," he replied. What the point of this was, he could not say. He could only obey.
"Very well. Clara, on you."
The girl breathed out in a gush and grabbed Charon's hand, holding him shakily, then more firmly. Charon did not met her eyes, but moved his gaze to her hand on his. She was trembling, her skin warm against his. Her other hand moved behind her back, as she bent slightly over the counter. She would lose the first round.
Charon's hand gripped hers tighter, squeezing the exposed fingers, bringing a small "eep" from her. She turned her big blue eyes onto him in surprise, and blinked a few times.
"Go," Ahzrukhal said. Charon immediately put her knuckles to the counter, probably slamming them down a little harder than necessary. She made a pained noise and face, staring down at her hand. It went loose in Charon's hand, and he released her for the time being. Moved his elbow back into position for another round.
"You sure about this, Clara?" Ahzrukhal asked. "I'll let you back out, if you want."
The girl wiggled her fingers, flexing her arm, and shot the bartender a stubborn glance. "No, thank you," she said. "I can do this." She set her elbow down, fixed her eyes on Charon's face, and pressed her lips together. "Let's go."
This time, when she grabbed his hand, it was different. She anchored her elbow and gripped his fingers without the trepidation she had shown before. Charon responded in kind, ready for the next round of this inane exercise. The girl might have muscles, but she would undoubtedly lose. She could not hope to stand against Charon, who was more heavily built.
"Go," Ahzrukhal said. Charon tensed his arm but felt the opposing force of her arm against his, pushing him down. He held his own for a second or two before she cracked his hand into the counter top, pressing his knuckles into the decaying surface with impunity.
Charon's eyes stayed on the sight for a moment, before moving to Ahzrukhal. Of course he looked displeased. But he was also wearing a look of anger, which made Charon wonder what he had bet on this display.
Clara removed her hand and made a face. "I'm sorry, I didn't mean to mess up the counter," she said, nervously.
Charon pried his hand from the top of the bar and noticed the impression. ...Perhaps she was stronger than he gave her credit for. His knuckles under the leather gloves were split. He moved his arm back to position for the third round, as the standing order went.
"Wait, now," Ahzrukhal said, laying a hand on the girl's as she moved into her own position. "Are you putting me on, smoothskin?" he asked her, narrowing his eyes.
"I don't know what you mean," she answered, her eyes level with his lapel. Charon waited patiently.
Ahzrukhal scoffed in disgust,moving away. She put her hand back to Charon's. The bartender rubbed his chin, staring at the hands for a moment. Finally he waved his hand and said, dismissively, "Go."
Charon's grip on hers was more fluid this round, for the blood in his glove. He could not stop her from slamming his knuckles into the counter again, even more quickly than the last. A splattering of blood from the fingers of his gloves accompanied the motion, splashing the three of them as she dented the counter top again.
It hurt, but it was no more painful than any minor injury should be. Charon withdrew his hand and removed the glove, examining his knuckles and seeing the damage. It really was more show than it appeared. He replaced his glove as the girl and Ahzrukhal spoke.
"I'm afraid I've lost," the ghoul said, taking a step closer to the girl. "I underestimated you, Clara."
"Okay," she said, staring at him.
"But, well..." Ahzrukhal moved even closer, putting an arm around her far shoulder, shrugging to himself. "I'm afraid I can't pay the agreed-upon price. You lied to me. You said you'd never done this before. And you injured my employee."
"But―" her eyes grew as wide as saucers. "But I haven't! And you promised―"
"Promises in the wasteland, without paper to back them up, are as useless as guns without bullets, my dear." Ahzrukhal's hand on her shoulder tightened. "Charon, remove this person from my bar."
He stood and reached over the bar to grab the girl by one arm, pulling her forward over the counter. She squeaked and her eyes filled up with tears, spilling onto her cheeks as Charon began to drag her over the counter and onto the other side. "But you said you'd give me his contract if I won!" she moaned, one hand moving to Charon's hand on her bicep.
"I did, didn't I?" Ahzrukhal said, examining his hand casually.
Charon paused in his actions. If Ahzrukhal had bet her the contract that Charon would win, and now was attempting to get out of paying that to her―
She was his new owner, regardless of what the slimy bastard said.
He dropped the girl's arm and drew his shotgun, blowing the bartender's head right off his shoulders. Damn. That felt great, taking care of that.
The girl shrieked and covered her ears, leaning away. She lost her balance and slipped over the edge of the counter, falling onto her face and chest as Charon loosed another round into Ahzrukhal's body. For good measure, he told himself. That kind would get up and say hello again unless one put a stake in his heart. Goddamn vampire.
Charon stared at the corpse for a moment, memorizing the detail, before turning to help the girl up from the floor. She jerked away from his outstretched hand, brain matter and blood speckling her brand new haircut and already-dirty face. "No!" she said, recoiling in fear.
"You are my employer," Charon said, "and I will do as you command."
The girl put a hand to her heart, breathing heavily, and stared him down in fright and confusion. Charon stood a little straighter, putting away his shotgun, and stared back at her. It was tense for a moment, the whispers of ghouls around them bringing to their ears a gossip mill in action.
Finally the girl pushed herself upward and wiped her hands on her pants, making a face. She cleaned her cheeks of the lumpier bits of brain, shuddering. Charon waited patiently, until she began to move toward the door.
"Please don't get too close," she said, almost whispering, as they exited the Ninth Circle.
Charon nodded in response, and slowed his stride so that she was about ten feet ahead of him. She walked down the stairs, then turned to go into the store run by Tulip. He followed.
"Do you have any clothes, Tulip?" she called, softly.
Tulip turned to face her customer, and flinched as she saw Charon entering. He was used to that, ignored her. "I-I do," the ghoul woman answered. "Goodne―what happened to you!"
"Um," the girl said. "I won a contest."
"Some contest!" Tulip exclaimed, and showed her the clothes. Charon watched the girl looking over the threadbare garments, fingering the sleeves, before picking up a simple outfit that offered little more protection than she was already wearing.
"I'll trade you this Vault suit," she said, touching her collar. "And a few caps."
"Sure thing," Tulip said. She made a strangled noise as the girl immediately began to undress.
She either had no shame or just did not care. Charon watched her strip out of the Vault suit and shimmy into the tank top and cargo pants, then pull on the boots. Tulip kept her head turned in politeness. Charon did not care what the smoothskin did. Had seen it all before, though not so recently that his memory could not use a refresher.
"Thank you, Tulip," she said, handing over the caps and suit.
Charon followed her as she left the Concourse, navigating the entryway and pausing before the door. She rubbed her shoulder and reached out for the door, slowly. Charon cleared his throat, causing her to jerk in surprise. She looked back at him, wide-eyed.
"If we are to enter combat, should I use a melee weapon?" he asked, deadpan.
She swallowed, and blinked at him. "No," she said, after a second or two. "Please use your shotgun."
Charon nodded, and she turned back to the door. He drew his shotgun and checked the drum, walking behind her.
The girl seemed innocent, acting polite and not understanding the double-cross at the bar. But she had busted his knuckles once she knew his strength, which told to him that she understood more than she let on. He did not know quite what to make of her, yet.
It should, at least, be more amusing than scaring a bunch of jet-addled skells in a dive bar, he thought.
He followed her out of the door, maintaining the distance she desired.