AN: Before anyone says anything, I did get some inspiration for Charon's past employment with Ahzrukhal from another story on here, but if you think about it, it makes a lot of sense. I can't find that story, but regards go to that writer. Sorry, by the way, if there isn't enough action yet, I just want to let you guys become familiar with the two so you'll enjoy future chapters better.
|Chapter Six - It's in His Contract|
Wandering in the general direction of Megaton hadn't been easy. She had almost wanted to smack herself for embarrassing herself in front of her bodyguard. When they left the encampment at Friendship Heights, they had been attacked immediately by a hulking behemoth with green skin and a permanently set, yellow-toothed snarl.
She hadn't fared well in the battle.
Charon had pulled her away from a car she had been crouched behind, telling her it was safer to hide behind a wall or anything that wouldn't explode as soon as the monster riddled the defense with bullets from its assault rifle. In fact, he had done most of the fighting. Her rifle was pitifully uncared-for and in poor condition, jamming up more than once in the fight. Amidst the blasts from Charon's combat shotgun and the staccato of assault rifle fire, she had been busy cursing under her breath and smacking the gun until it jumped back to working condition. She had found herself barely avoiding the metal bits zinging past her head, and had cringed when Charon growled as a bullet snagged itself in his shoulder. Yet, after his methodical and strangely organized assault, the beast was dead, bent over a rusted car and blood pouring to the street.
Alma handed him a stimpak as they approached the monster's territory it had been guarding, and she twisted her lips into a frown as he jabbed it into his shoulder and quickly dosed himself with the medicine, turning her attention to the camp. The area itself was shocking; she couldn't remember seeing anything like it before, even when she was in the Mall, or Germantown. Huge steel girders were ground into the concrete around the beast's camp, blood and bodies decorating the metal with their visceral gore. She couldn't help but cover her mouth, stifling her insistence to gag whenever she caught a whiff of the decay. She wondered, on a partially unrelated note, if the guise of night and darkness in Germantown and the Mall had helped shield her from the horrors super mutants often decorated their encampments with. Then, her eyes caught on something.
It was a man. A man crying to himself and staring down at the bloodstained cement. His arms were tied behind his back, wrapped at the elbow and down to the wrists in tight cording, almost cutting into his flesh. He was clad in rags; a browned white shirt and shoddily sewn, pale gray overalls made of soft leather. He turned his filthy head and looked up at the pair of them, sudden shock sparking to life in his eyes. His face was covered in caked blood and grime, and his blond hair looked close to brown in certain spots from blows across the head.
"Oh, oh god! Thank god, please, please, help me," he pleaded and sat up straighter, looking up to her more fully. Alma noticed he didn't dare take a look at Charon. But maybe he was just too muddled in the mind to notice.
"Yes, of course, I have a knife right here..." She pulled out a combat knife from the weapons pocket of her sport bag; another item she had found from the camp at Friendship Heights. Charon stood ominously still, arms crossed and eyes watching, as she approached the man and knelt down, carefully sawing away at the cording. When the last straining material of the cord snapped, the man swung his arms to his front and rubbed them with his hands, standing up and breathing heavily. They were red and sore, incredibly lesioned; if he had been there any longer, the skin could have grown over the cording. She was glad they had rescued him in time.
"Oh thank you, thank you so much. I don't know what would have happened if you didn't come along..." The man smiled with relief and stepped closer, pulling her hand gently into his own and shaking it. Alma blushed and shook her head.
"Oh no, sir, I hardly did anything. It was my bodyguard, here, who killed the mutant. You should thank him," she said, nodding her head in Charon's direction. She glanced up at the ghoul. He was still stoic, arms still folded, and eyes still staring down at the man they had rescued. He just shook her hand harder, shaking his own head, the smile from before waning distastefully.
"Well, yes, thanks goes to the ghoul for helping you kill that bastard," he said offhandedly, and he smiled at her again. "Yet, out of the kindness in your heart, you released me from whatever hell I was bound to fall into. Thank you." Alma looked up at Charon. He was examining a body impaled through the stomach on a girder, seeming to ignore them completely. "I know where that mutant hid some medical supplies. I'll get them for you, to pay you back for your gratitude." The man turned to search for the supplies, but Alma decided to speak up.
"No thanks, sir. Really, we'll be fine, what with my bodyguard making sure I don't waltz into another firefight with my head in la-la land." She smiled and the man stopped, turning and looking at her quizzically. "Keep those supplies. We're far from any settlements; you'll need all the help you can get if you're going to go out into the wastes."
The man chuckled, shaking his head. "You think I'm going to go out there all by myself? After the shit I've been through? You're heavily mistaken." He strode back up to her, and she saw he had a more mischievous, strange glint in his eyes. Charon cleared his throat loudly as the man came closer, but he didn't seem to notice or care. "Sure, I'll give you all the stimpaks and whatever else is hidden in those med kits. But, you are going to escort me. To Megaton." He grabbed her forcefully by the wrist and leaned in, whispering, "Shit, I've been tied up for so long anyways, maybe, when we get to Megaton, you could do me another favor-"
Alma heard Charon growl, and all of a sudden the man was wrenched away from her, and she watched Charon push him back, his shotgun already out in his hands.
"It would be in your best interest that you do not come that close to my employer again," he grumbled menacingly, as the man backed up, holding his palms high in the universal language of defeat. Alma felt her face turn hot. He was embarrassing her, now. "You do not have the right to tell my employer what to do. She will not escort you to Megaton." He cocked his shotgun and aimed it at the man's face. He let out a frightened wail, trying to assure Charon he didn't mean any harm, yet still backing up. "Leave now. She has already helped you from the super mutant; she doesn't need to show scum like you any more mercy. The medical equipment will stay here, with her. Go." The man gulped and nodded, turning and sprinting away, dust and debris kicked up in the panic. Alma walked up to Charon, watching the man run, flustered.
"Charon... you didn't need to do that," she muttered, feeling a twinge of guilt for the man who was trying as hard as he could to put as much distance between them as possible, tripping up once, yet getting back to his feet instantly in a mad scramble. "He just wanted us to escort him to Megaton. We had the same destination anyways..."
"Miss, it is in my contract to keep you protected at all times, from all people, and all creatures. That man was threatening you, so I acted," he said gruffly, slinging his shotgun on his back and looking down at her gravely. "You seem to put a good amount of trust in total strangers. I advise you reconsider how you act with the people of the wastes." He was scolding her as if she was a child. It irritated her and made her angrier at him; how did he know if that poor man wasn't just a bit mentally exhausted and was acting the way he was because of it? She silenced, though, and turned to sift through the various crates and med kits scattered around the floor, to set her angered thoughts aside. Amidst the junk even she didn't want to pocket, she found a couple stimpaks and some ammo for both of their guns, and a surprising amount of caps, around two hundred in total, in the bottom of a crate. Alma tossed her findings in her pack, and felt her hair stand on end as she pulled out a bottle of irradiated water from a crate, knowing Charon continued to keep watch over her, "It would be advisable if you keep that water for me. Radiation is like medicine for ghouls."
Alma, though upset at Charon, took the time to wipe the dirt and grime off of the bottle, and went to such lengths as to label it with his name.
The smoothskin was upset. No doubt, she was annoyed at him for kicking the worthless asshole out to the wastes. But he knew the man was manipulative simply by the way he praised her for releasing him from the super mutant. The fucker had been quite aware she was inexperienced and terrible with guns, not to mention kind-hearted and too trustworthy. Charon was surprised the girl managed to keep herself alive for so long, being fresh from a Vault and as wide-eyed and naive as a newborn. His employer was a fool, but, as much as he wanted to, he realized he couldn't really blame her for her childishness.
Charon also realized that whichever Vault she came from, the people inside and her parents had to have raised her with a self-righteous, tolerant, perhaps even pacifist outlook on life from before the war. Her views on ghouls were radically different from the rest of the world, even, dare he say it, Three Dog's. She complained about his contract and the fact she needed to order him to speak freely, and ranted about him being a person too, and instead of spewing bullshit that most bleeding hearts did (he suspected Three Dog of being hypocritical, as all ghouls did), she also treated him as a person. Something about that made him feel less pissed off at her gullibility and inability to use a weapon correctly. Though, how she wasn't disgusted by him, especially since she was raised in a Vault for most of her life and should have been susceptible to his admittedly zombie-like appearance, was baffling. And, for some reason or another, he wanted to know why she was so accepting of his deteriorated body and face. Shocking, since he usually didn't give a shit about his employers. But of course, she never specified he was allowed to ask questions to her whenever he pleased. Fucking contract was very specific on how he handled the orders of his employers.
The trek back to Megaton hadn't been too eventful, save for the super mutant and the asshole back near Friendship Heights. Her route had been amazingly linear, and the pair of them had managed to avoid what he knew were raider hot spots. Seemed like that wrist computer she wore (she called it a Pip-Boy, he remembered) was quite effective in mapping out a way for them to reach the settlement without wading knee-deep in raider bullshit. Not only that, but the thing could play the radio, and Charon had found himself silently fuming at the girl for blasting GNR when they had still been relatively close to the D.C. ruins. They had been lucky enough it didn't attract any wild animals or wild people. Who knows what kind of fuckfest they would have gotten into if a band of raiders had heard them?
The smoothskin had been constantly tinkering with the damned thing, too. When he would accidentally find himself too close behind her because she'd slow down considerably, he would see her glance up from the screen every few moments to make sure she wouldn't run into any rubble, fall into a pothole, or splash into pools of irradiated water. The screen itself was decorated with words, pictures, and symbols. To him, it had looked more like a fancy child's toy than a full-fledged computer. A cartoon representation of the famous Vault Boy advertised across the Capital Wasteland appeared on the main screen and her name was listed underneath it. The cartoon was separated into six parts: the head, torso, arms and legs. Percentage meters seemed to list the condition of her body and limbs individually. The computer was a damn medical instrument too.
"Ah, Megaton," the smoothskin yawned as they walked past the giant metal gates, the settlement's Protectron greeting them in a programmed accent. Charon had been to the place quite a few times before. Often sent to do what Ahzrukhal called 'shotgun diplomacy' with the various schmucks in the town. Of course, he was damn sure half of the people Ahzrukhal had sicked him on were innocent and didn't deserve to lose half of their skulls. But it wasn't as if he could do anything now. In some sense, even when Charon had to come and meet with the town's crime lord Moriarty, he knew the man, though a slimy bastard, didn't deserve the black eyes and broken noses he was often instructed to give if the man didn't have Ahzrukhal's caps. Charon was quite aware he was infamous among the lesser people of Megaton, and was well known in general for being the only ghoul besides Moriarty's slave to be seen doing business in the place. He was wrenched from his thoughts when the inner gates opened wide, his eyes being greeted with the somewhat familiar hole in the ground known as Megaton.
"Alma Adler! What a surprise to see you back, little lady." A deep, authoritative-yet-friendly voice rang out from the stairs leading to the crater. The sheriff of the town, Simms, as far as Charon could remember, reared up his head and smiled at the girl, before his eyes shifted sharply to Charon, his pistol soon out of its holster and pointing at the ghoul too. "Now I gotta ask; why is Ahzrukhal's guard dog here with you, Alma?" He could feel the discontent in the sheriff's eyes.
The man was quite aware of the deeds he had done every time he visited the town. Sometimes, Charon would come into town to find its residents, paranoid as they were, running up to threaten him with their measly little pistols and close-to-broken rifles for entering the town. The only reason he hadn't plowed through the settlers was that Simms would bark at the assholes to leave the ghoul alone. He knew, as long as Ahzrukhal and Moriarty had a general contract for supplying each other, Simms couldn't stop Charon from injuring Moriarty if the slime didn't have the caps to keep the shipments going. He was also aware the two men hated the fuck out of each other, so Charon stepping in occasionally to possibly rip Moriarty a new one was a way of keeping a grip over the Irishman.
"Funny story, actually, Mister Simms." His employer smiled at the man and he lowered his gun only slightly. Charon stayed stoic and overall threatening, staring down at the shorter man. As 'nice' as Simms had been to Charon when he did his rounds for Ahzrukhal, he was aware the asshole wanted to lay a beating on him just as much as everyone else in the damned town did. "You see, Ahzrukhal gave me his contract. So Charon is my bodyguard now." Simms let out a deep chuckle, holstering the weapon and turning back to the smoothskin.
"Bodyguard? Ahzrukhal's dog belongs to you now? Well I'll be... how in the hell did you manage to pry the ghoul's contract out of that asshole's hands?" Charon could tell the sheriff was genuinely bewildered by the fact the girl had managed to become his new employer. Then again, he was just as amazed she had managed to do it, too.
"It, well, it cost a lot... of caps..." She faltered a bit, and Charon could see the girl blushing. He already knew that the smoothskin had paid a lot just to get him in her hands. Of course she was embarrassed as she related the story; she had managed to severely diminish, what he guessed was already small, her reserve of caps, looking like a naive fool in the process. "I had managed to wheedle the price down to a thousand caps, but I still didn't have much afterward... I have Moira to thank for paying me to help with that book of hers. If I hadn't helped, I wouldn't have had the bulk of my money to coincidentally get Charon's contract." Simms sighed and looked hard at the girl.
"Listen, Miss Adler. You need to be stingy with your money out here in the wastes." Charon could tell the man was about to scold her. But he didn't give a fuck; she deserved to be put in her place for being so careless with her money. Anyways, as long as the man didn't break the boundaries, he didn't need to step in. "People like Ahzrukhal may have some useful... assets," Simms looked at Charon, sizing him up, "but you need to realize to get those, they'll do their damnedest to sap you of your caps. I'm glad for you that you have an experienced, hired hand to help protect you in the wasteland, but next time, try not to do as much impulsive buying. It'll save you some money," his eyes diverted back to the girl, "and some sense."
His employer had reddened during the whole speech, and he caught a sight of her ears, even, turning pink. Fucking ears. "Thanks for that, Mister Simms..." she mumbled, kicking a rock near her boot and smiling that sheepish, embarrassed smile of hers. "Next time I'll keep your words in mind. I'm going to Moriarty's, ok?" The sheriff nodded and stepped aside. As they began walking, Simms spoke up from behind them.
"Be careful there, Missy. I don't have to tell you twice about that Irishman." The smoothskin turned her head and nodded, before leading them on to Moriarty's.
