Journal - 10/23/77
Ever fuck up so bad you just want to walk into the Chesapeake river and let the mirelurks take you? Yeah, that's how I feel right now. I haven't been able to look Charon in the eye since I grabbed him and kissed him in that Super-Duper Mart. Fuck. I learned a valuable lesson. Buffout + Psycho = much regret. Or maybe it was all the sugar bombs and fancy lad cakes I scarfed down before that. I don't know.
Watch it just be my poor impulse control. Dad used to say I didn't think ahead before doing things. One thing I can agree with. Ugh. Dad. Why did I bring him up? I need a distraction. I think it's time Charon and I bring some supplies over to Underworld. I know Winthrop will appreciate the scrap metal. Plus, I need to trade samples with Barrows. And bring Carol Gob's letters. And see Snowflake.
Heh, I feel better already. Yeah, sounds like Underworld is our next stop.
Maybe Charon and I can put this all behind us and pretend that IT NEVER HAPPENED.
Leah signed off on her terminal, sipping her steaming cup of coffee as she contemplated breaking the news to her partner. Partner? Sounds better than slave. Or employee. She had decided to stop lounging in her shorts and underwear around the house, instead choosing the comfort of her good ol' Vault Tech jumpsuit. The overwhelming tension in the shack had gone down when she had started covering up more, despite how hot and stifling she felt in the summer heat. She really needed to set up air conditioning in her house. But at least she didn't have to deal with eyes that pointedly turned away from her like she was the blasted sun itself.
She noticed Charon had gone full reactive around her since the... incident. He would straighten his spine, stopping whatever he was in the middle of, to wait for her direction. He merely stood around when she was out of her room, waiting patiently for her to give him orders. No eye contact. No greetings. Just asking what her orders were. When she wouldn't give any, he would remain in silence. She had not seen him practice any agency whatsoever and this irked her, but her humiliation kept her from trying to suggest he start reading or go take a walk around the crater.
She got to her feet and stretched. Her muscles ached from inactivity. Empty Fancy Lad Cake boxes piled up next to her terminal. Three books, freshly read, were piled up on her bed. She had done her best to avoid any forced quality time with the ghoul and hid out with some classics she had scrounged throughout her travels. But her personal time was beginning to get excessive. She braced herself. Then pushed the door open.
Charon was standing right outside, as though he had been waiting for her this entire time. She lost her resolve for a second. "Fucking hell," she muttered under her breath, "Charon, are you seriously just waiting for me to tell you what to do?"
He blinked. "Are you really surprised?" He sounded weary and disgruntled. Fed up. He didn't seem to particularly fond of his duties.
She felt her heart sink deeper, pulled by the vacuum of guilt. "No. I guess not." She covered her face. "Okay. New orders." She folded her arms, carefully mulling her words to ensure she didn't mess this up. "Whenever you find yourself with idle time and I haven't given you something to do at that very moment, you are ordered to sit down. Read a book. Or clean your guns. Or listen to the radio. Or if you ever want to do something like get a beer or go on a personal scavenging trip, please do! Just tell me if you plan on going out. Also, I want you to begin being comfortable doing what you want. I'm paying you for your work. So go spend some of those hard-earned caps! Clear?"
He frowned. "I know what I want. I just don't like being constantly reminded that I need to want things. Does that make sense?"
She raised an eyebrow. "Oh. Yeah. I guess I've been giving you a hard time on it. Sorry." She rubbed her arm. "So... I was thinking about going to Underworld. Want to come with?"
He let out a displeased noise. She backpedaled. "I meant-you know what, fuck it-we're going to Underworld. Pack your bags! Pack some food that you know Underworld doesn't get that often." She waved her hand, trying to adapt to Charon's quirks. "And scrap metal."
"Very well."
(Necro)
Charon doubted she would bring up what happened at the grocery store. He was a little disappointed.
She had fled for two days in her bedroom. It had been painfully boring, waiting for her to come out. He hadn't been standing out her bedroom the entire time-he's not a psychopath-he had simply been about to knock on the door. Ask for something to do. Anything to do.
He couldn't help but think about the kiss when he had nothing to do but stay in that house. He thought of how assertive and aggressive she had been; her small fists wrapped in his armor with a tiny strength he found almost laughable if it didn't cause such heat in his gut when he recalled it.
He had never had an employer kiss him before. After all these years, who knew life would still find a way to surprise him.
He was beginning to think she was projecting some deeprooted issues onto him, in a way he wasn't sure if he could-or should-reciprocate. She's a young, pretty smoothskin who has a whole life to live. There are so many humans out there-with all their skin-that could sweep her off her feet in an instant. He was confident once she found one that could handle her eccentricities, he'd be long forgotten. Just her hired mercenary. Nothing more.
She clearly wanted to avoid talking about it. He understood this. Not many humans would be proud to say they tongued a ghoul while riding a psycho-buff high. He would respect her wishes, of course. He didn't have anyone to brag to. Nor did he have any real desire to pursue it. It was a guaranteed way of complicating things. Making his life harder. And life was just starting to get better.
Despite the 'minor' discomforts she put him through, she had so far been a very hands-off kind of employer. She didn't try to control every second of his existence. Or control anything, for that matter. It was completely new and hard for him to get used to. He was used to having to be in view of Ahzrukhal. Being micromanaged.
His last employer would devote his leisure completely to harass and humiliate him. Assign him to tasks that were especially unsavory, like collecting debts from a female ghoul or forcing him to retrieve said female ghouls for Ahzrukhal's fucked perversions.
Compared to Ahzrukhal, Dr. Leah James was a saint.
She still hadn't given him the order to go steal, kill, torture, nothing like that. Those stories on the radio-they started to feel believable. Besides her chem habit, she seemed to be that heroine of the Capital Wasteland. She was generous. Kind. She wanted to help others. She clearly wanted to help him.
He had finished packing and was now waiting on the couch. He heard her shuffling upstairs. Muttering to herself about things to bring. He leaned his head back against the cushion, the act of relaxing still such an unfamiliar gesture that he had to force himself to do so. "Chocolate. Carol loves chocolate," her voice carried through the old metal walls and flooring.
Whenever Ahzrukhal would begin muttering to himself, it was always full of filthy words or poisonous lies. But her words were simple. Straight. And wrapped in good intentions.
"Water. Can't forget that. Oh, and the scrap metal. What... am I forgetting?"
"Gob's letters?" He called out, remembering the night in Moriarty's. She had seemed so eager to reach out to Gobtholomew. Talked about Carol like they were old best friends.
"Thank you!" She called down. "Seriously, you're the best. I can't believe I almost forgot them!"
His face felt warm. She also just made him feel... what was the word? Appreciated?
She hurried down the stairs, sunglasses and a shaggy hat covering her braids. "Oh, my samples." She grabbed a small case by the minifridge under her microscopes, pushing the wooden box into her knapsack. She turned. "Ready? Let's go! I can't wait to see the look on Carol's face!"
To Charon, this vault dweller was the first breath of fresh air he had ever tasted. He breathed in deep.
(Necro)
"Hello, tourist." Willow softly blew out a plume of sweet smoke towards her face. The smell made her eyes water. She wasn't a big cigarette fan, herself. It reminded her too much of DeLoria and the Tunnel Snakes.
"How's it going, Willow?"
"All right. Been slow since you two left. Charon." She nodded towards her fellow ghoul who grunted in acknowledgment. "You look good. How's life working for this smoothskin? Beats The 9th Circle, I bet."
Charon nodded. Leah noticed that he seemed to be smirking at Willow, his body language opening up to her. "Pays the bills. How's guard duty?"
Willow chuckled, her laugh husky and deep. "Makes me almost wish we were back on Capitol Hill. Almost."
Leah was fascinated by their camaraderie and wished she could be a fly on the wall in their conversation. Charon had visibly relaxed, shoulders not so square while his eyes seemed less hostile than usual. "Say, I'm going to head inside. Make the rounds. Come find me whenever, but take your time. I bet you've got plenty of friends you want to catch up with too." She practically moonwalked away, making sure she gave the impression that she was just obliviously doing her own thing. She pushed down the sudden alarming twinge of petty jealousy that blossomed in her skull. Hush. If he has a friend, that's great. Yet her chest tightened. I wonder how close those two are?
As she opened the large wooden doors to the Museum of History, she wondered what adventures Charon and Willow had done together. Maybe they fought, killed, and almost died for each other. She imagined Charon and Willow, crawling through DC trenches while decimating super mutant armies together. Okay, that would be pretty cool. I'll need to get the juice on those two somehow.
She entered Underworld, greeted by the three-eyed robot, Cerberus. "Go Underworld! Go ghouls! Dr. James! Perhaps now you would consider repairing my combat inhibitor?" The green floating beast levitated towards her, camera orbs zooming in.
"Hey, Cerberus. And your combat inhibitor is programmed exactly the way it should be."
"Curse your sentimental attachment to these cursed zombies." The robot muttered before moving on. The smell of dank basement, rot, and refrigerant brought back pleasant memories. She closed her eyes as she enjoyed the significantly cooler temperature that blew from the air vents around them. Ah, the air conditioning is still running nicely. Excellent.
"Doc," Winthrop called her out from the distance. The blue-tinged face was lit up with a toothy grin as he strode to her. They shook hands, his rough working man's hands like squeezing dry paper. "It's good to see you."
"Likewise. Shall we?" She let him lead the way into his workshop where the smell of solder and burnt plastic wafted up to her nose. She slung her backpack off her shoulders and began digging through her gifts. "Got a ton of scrap for you."
"Excellent. I've got medical supplies to trade." Winthrop gestured to the bucket of stimpack syringes, IV bags, and pill bottles that were piled up in old mop buckets by the corner of the room.
"Sweet! How about some Radaway?" She began stacking the materials onto his workbench. "Also, I found this." She held out a small wristwatch for the man. "I remember last time you were complaining about losing track of the time. It's fusion-powered. Prewar. Still ticking away. Consider it a bonus."
He held it in his hands, admiring the face. The glass was scratched. The numbers were fading. But it worked. "Thanks, Doc. I appreciate it." He placed it on his left wrist, his eyebrows furrowed as he cleared his throat. "Carol was just asking about you. I hope you're going to see her."
"Of course! I've got some letters from Gob to give her." She went to grab her share of Radaway. "So... anything you need help fixing?"
"A few things. Place is always falling apart. Got busy after you left." Winthrop had his hands in his pockets, shifting and fidgeting. His face had a smile but his peeling cheeks and crinkled eyes showed a solemn concern. "So... how is Charon treating you?"
"He's fine. He's out front talking to Willow."
"I mean-how-how is it, being his boss? He's respectful? Not doing anything weird?"
Huh. This is a strange conversation. Winthrop wore a pinched expression. "What's on your mind, Winthrop?"
"Just-" The discomfort was growing like a smog. Winthrop's normally bluish-green face had gone full evergreen forest. "Just that I worry about ya. He's dangerous, Doc. I know he and Ahzurkhal had been together for over half a century. And Ahzrukhal had him do some things I don't think you'd approve of. What I'm trying to say is... look over your shoulder. The way he just disposed of Ahzurkhal like that? I wouldn't put it past him to pull the same thing on you as soon as he can. People like him don't have any loyalty. And I don't want to see you end up like Ahzrukhal. Even though not many people are mourning for that piece of shit, you deserve better."
"I see. I'll stay on my toes." She shuffled her feet. She wasn't sure whether or not he knew the details of Charon's contract. Or if she should relay that information. "So Charon worked with Ahzrukhal for how long?"
"At least sixty years. Ahzrukhal arrived back in '17 and opened up The 9th Circle. Charon had been with him. In fact, Charon was the one who scared off the last business who owned that lot upstairs. It was a couple who opened up an inn, before Carol. They disappeared shortly after. And I know about that 'contract' or whatever he calls it. I think it was just a cover story to justify what everyone knew Charon was doing. That guy is bad news, you hear me?"
She nodded. "I hear you. Believe me, I'm trying to find the best way out of this situation. I'm not very keen being 'in charge' of another person on this level. But I think Charon's not that bad. I'm keeping good care of following the rules, and so long as I do that, I'm not going to end up with a bullet to the head. Hopefully."
Winthrop nodded, clearing his throat. "Well, want to grab a drink?"
"Later. I'm going to head over to Doc Barrows' first, though. While I shoot up." She shook the sack of orange fluid as she waved it in farewell. "Let's have a beer later. Meet me up at Carol's in two hours?"
"Sure thing. Oh, and before you move on, there were some issues with the generators. Maybe you could help take a look? I'll throw in ten stimpacks for you."
"Perfect. I'm in." She walked out, heading straight into the clinic. "Barrows! Nurse Graves!"
"Oh no. Is that who I think it is?" Graves pulled away from her terminal, brow raised, and smirk playing on her mouth. "Ah, Leah. Barrows is going to be so disappointed."
She smirked back. "Well, tell him that I'm here for a sample trade. Plus, I've come to donate personally."
"So you're really going solo? Doc was griping earlier about how it would be better if you were closer to Underworld. You two could collaborate easier. He hasn't had any fresh human samples to analyze since you and Reilly left."
"I know. As soon as real estate opens up in Underworld, I'll make a down payment. But 'til then, we'll just have to make do with my coming and going. Plus, I'm not too keen on Barrows' methods of collection. They're kind of invasive. And painful." She rubbed her left tricep, the phantom pain of his last skin tissue extraction a sharp thorn in her memory. She strode in, holding her hand out to the nurse to squeeze. The nurse looked tired, her eyes half-lidded while the whites of her pale cornea were more bloodshot pink than she remembered. "How are Meat and Ethyl?" She watched the two ferals as their glowing bodies illuminated their holding cell. They seemed to know she was talking about them. They ran toward the window and let out hisses while pressing their foreheads against the glass. Meat had begun biting the surface.
"Still feral. But alive." Graves got up and stretched, a great big yawn breaking past her chapped, peeling lips. "They did not respond to the Radaway Therapy that Barrows was trying. As you can still see, they're glowing as bright as ever."
"Hm. Do you have holotapes of his notes?" Her eyes flashed hungrily over the x-rays that hung on the white view box. True, Barrows had already devoted decades in his research on ghoulification as he tried to find a way to reverse it. It was tempting to consider moving closer and devoting all her time to assisting him. But she liked doing things on her own. And she didn't like getting tunnel vision. She believed branching out independently would get both of them closer to the answer faster than if they stayed neck-deep in the same localized area.
"We have made backups for you. Do you have anything for us?"
She turned on her heel, a big smile on her face. "Oh, do I." She pulled out her sampling kit and went to put it in Barrows' fridge. "I hope you like these various samples from the generous donors of Megaton. They should still be good. I took them out of my cooler about 5 hours ago. All from non-ghouls. I've kept them chilled and they're not older than a week old. Oh, mind if I take some Radaway?" She held out her IV bag. "My levels are a little high. Also, I've compiled my notes on my observations on a pack of ferals down south. I never realized that they exhibit routine-like behaviors."
"Routine?" Graves gestured toward the spare bed. "I'll administer your detox."
"Thanks. Oh, can you throw in some fixer?" She winked. "And yes, like consistently repeating the same habits from what I'm assuming is their prewar behaviors. One checked his watch every morning at around 0700. Another would pick up an old rag and hold it out like a book. This was over at Warrington Trainyard. I counted twenty-two feral ghouls that roamed the area."
"Fixer, huh?" Graves hung the Radaway on an IV pole, turning to dig through a cabinet for the little blue box. "Jet again?"
"No. Psycho." Graves paused at this, turning to her with a flash in her eye.
"Psycho? Just intellectual curiosity, Leah?" She brought out a needle, soaking in sterile fluid. "You know, it's not good on the body. Your chem habits will catch up to you sooner than later."
"It's not like living a long life is likely for us displaced vault dwellers. Besides. I was in a bind. I'd argue that taking psycho prolonged my life in that situation." She watched as the needle was pushed into her inner elbow, the bright amber juice seeping into her body. Within seconds, nausea ran its cold fingers up her neck. She leaned back onto the stiff pillow, taking a deep breath to help chase the urge to gag away. She never liked this part.
"Playing it safe helps your chances. So... storytime?" They sat in silence as Leah lowered her rem levels.
"It was a bright and sunny day. Charon and I went for a stroll. We were on a mission to get some food for a friend. We were at that Super-Duper Mart northeast of Megaton. We cleared the place. I had taken some buffout to help carry more weight-" She was interrupted by a disapproving snort from the nurse, "and then the raiders entered. There was this one guy who was right over me. I'm trash with a gun. Already feeling pretty powerful with the buffout. I may not have thought things through, but figured why not throw in a quick injection of psycho? So I shot myself with a dose to get that extra pep I needed." She closed her eyes as she remembered the overwhelming godlike euphoria she had felt.
She had been invincible. She remembered how good the man's blood had felt on her face. It had been like a cooling shower on her burning skin as she had begun to overheat. "I felt like God. Like I could bend steel with my bare hands. And I didn't have much self-control. Nor did I care to have any at the time." She turned to one of the few women she could trust. Pausing but then taking the plunge. "I kissed him."
"The raider?"
"Charon."
Graves froze hunched over, eying her carefully. "What did Charon do?"
"Pushed me off. We've been pretending it hasn't happened since."
"...And how do you feel about it?"
"I don't know. No, I do. I like him." She let out a forced laugh. "Is that weird? Ever see a ghoul-smoothskin couple before?"
"It's not common, I'll promise you that. Can't say I have seen a smoothskin and a ghoul romantically involved. We barely have any positive relations with you humans. Still, anything is possible. Though I'd ask one of the older ghouls to be sure. I am one of the youngest in Underworld, so I'm no expert on the topic. But who knows?"
"I think I do. This is probably a bad idea. A Greek tragedy waiting to happen." Leah pressed her palm to her forehead, sighing as more disruptive shards of nausea poked into her stomach and skull.
"Though I look forward to watching this Greek tragedy unfold, as a medical professional I have to recommend that you avoid mixing chems from now on. You could have poisoned yourself. And I doubt Charon is experienced with dealing with you overdosing." Graves held out a box of Fixer. "It's probably best if you don't take this for another hour. Unless you want to stay close to a toilet. Especially with how sensitive you are with just the side effects of Radaway."
She nodded, waves of discomfort rolling in her stomach. She kept her eyes shut tight, trying to keep her mind off the pain. "So what've I been missing out here?"
"It's been quiet. Plenty of rumors going on since you and Charon left. Which reminds me. Is it true you ordered Charon to shoot Ahzrukhal?"
Her eyes popped open. "No. He did that on his own. Is that what people here think?"
"Some. I was skeptical, figuring Charon always hated Ahzrukhal and the worst you did was enable him to. I'll be honest, people have been talking all sorts since you purchased his contract. People knew of Charon's situation but everyone likes to fill in the blanks with their own imagination with the details. It doesn't look good when a smoothskin comes through, throws their money around, and buys an enslaved ghoul to do her bidding. That's what people see, at least."
"Christ." She sighed and went to squeeze the trickling fluid bag, to speed up the process. She had a sudden urge to get on her feet and take a walk. "I was planning on just handing him his contract."
"And going your merry way? If only it was ever that easy, sweetie."
The door swung open and Doc Barrows appeared. "Oh, Leah, you're back."
"Barrows!" Leah snuck the box of fixer behind her. "Did you miss me?"
(Necro)
Charon stood in silence, not knowing how to respond.
Willow leaned against a crackled stone banister with her arms crossed and her cherry red lips pouting angrily. "If you just tell her I'm sure she would be willing to give me your contract. Ahzrukhal wouldn't sell it to me regardless of the price but I almost have the two thousand that she paid. You could stay with us. Your kind. And you can do as you please."
Their short reunion was rapidly deteriorating into a discussion he'd rather not have. Willow had this habit of always jumping to conclusions. "That is up to Leah."
"Don't you want this?"
"I wanted to be free of Ahzrukhal. Now, I am. Leah is an acceptable employer."
"For now. But you're the one who told me that all your employers ended up abusing their power over you. Before Ahzrukhal ordered you to never speak to me again, that is."
"You confronted him. What did you expect?" That had been twenty years ago. It had been hard to get used to, no longer speaking to anyone in Underworld. It had been an especially painful form of mental torture he had learned to tolerate. "I told you to not bring it up. You did, anyway."
"He made you kill a kid, Charon. You think I'd just stand around and let it happen?"
"Well, that's exactly what you did. That's what you all did. You all just let Ahzrukhal be. The entire time. You let him keep The 9th Circle running forever. Do you think that was the only kid, Willow? In over sixty years?" He couldn't stand looking at her anymore. He stomped off, ignoring the guard as he went to find his current employer.
He entered Underworld and was greeted with turned heads and nervous glances all directed at him. Nothing had changed. They all just looked at him with that wary disdain that was half-heartedly masked out of a fearful need of self-preservation. He looked for the short smoothskin with the glowing screen on her left wrist. She wasn't visible.
He knew she was likely to be either at the clinic or at the mechanic's. When he knocked and entered both, he was greeted by awkward silence and deadpan stares.
"She just left," Winthrop had muttered.
"You just missed her," Graves had gestured up to the ceiling with her fingers, suggesting Carol's Place. He didn't bother staying for small talk. No one here wanted to have a conversation with him. He didn't feel particularly interested in faking niceties.
He went up the stairs and found her, a sheet draped over her shoulders while the 'stylist' Snowflake handled her locks. Brown curled waterfalls cascaded down each side of her head. She had an inhaler to her lips which she abruptly coughed into and pulled her hand underneath her barber cape to try to hide it when she locked eyes with him. He scowled at this. He knew Snowflake had been one of Ahzrukhal's favorite customers. Reliable. Consistent. Always jonesing for another hit.
He had hoped the fucker would have had to quit once his supply had been shot in the face. Apparently, the fucker was resourceful.
"Charon, hey," She responded in a lame voice, trying to play it off cool. But her words came out fast. Rapid. Her eyes were bright pink while her pupils were more black than grey. "You and Willow have a good time catching up?"
He didn't care about the repercussions. He didn't care if she would order him to never speak unless spoken to again. He walked up to her. "You should not be using that."
Her eyes were wide. "Well, I'm not hurting anyone. And we're not in a dangerous situation. I think I can do what I please." Snowflake had been brushing her mane lovingly. It was like he was standing in front of a queen who was being attended to by her handmaid. He crossed his arms and let out a growl. She sighed, holding it out to him. "You want a hit? Maybe it'll mellow you out."
"No. And you shouldn't be enabling her," Charon redirected his frustration out on the haircutter.
"Hey, I'm just using to pass the time. Shit barely affects me compared to when I had all my skin." Snowflake was braiding her hair. "God, Leah. I love your hair." Charon saw in the corner of his eye how the man fondled her hair with a lusting smile that made him want to grab the dandy by the neck and throw him down the stairs.
"I was thinking about cutting it. It's starting to get annoying." Leah shamelessly squeezed the jet dispenser into her mouth, the hissing of the pressurized tank releasing into her mouth. She held her breath in, slowly allowing the toxic vapors to smoke out of her like a fire breathing dragon.
"No. I forbid it," Snowflake whispered into her ear and she giggled, high pitched and giddy. Charon narrowed his eyes at this. Forbid it? You think you can make her do anything?
"Wow." She sighed as the hairdresser began massaging her shoulders, putting his dirty hands on her bare skin and rubbing her neck and trapezius. "This feels amazing." He felt his neck burn hot like magma. He couldn't stand watching this anymore. He muttered, "I'll be around, when you're done." He stormed off, trying to ignore the twisting rage that was coiling in his gut.
(Necro)
She watched Charon's back as he shrank away with his loud footsteps as he went down the stairs. She wondered why he was so upset. She was up in the clouds. Everything felt so... real and detailed. And beautiful. Color was complex and a spectrum of shades she never experienced sober. The air glowed with a decadence that made her feel ethereal and spiritual. She was divine. The floor had geometric patterns that cascaded outward across her vision, dancing and filling her with a tingling pleasure she felt crossed the senses of touch, taste, and sight. Every deep breath was like the longest-running orgasm that brought a completeness she felt comparable to true love.
She was no longer on this plane of reality. She was beyond and within. She was no longer Doctor Leah James. She was Charon. She was Snowflake. She was the very Museum of History itself. The entire planet and she were identical. There was no separation. There was no self.
Feeling the strong and comforting hands push into her tight muscles brought extra sparks of absolute ecstasy through her spine. His hands were hot and firm. She sighed as he continued to rub her scalp and back.
Eventually that familiar come down finally reared its unwelcome face. She felt herself beginning to sink. Her head was beginning to feel a dull ache from in her brain stem. As brilliant and overwhelmingly grandiose the jet high was, the return back to earth was always a melancholy gravity that made her feel sluggish and slow.
"Thanks, Snowflake." She admired her appearance in the dirty mirror, her hair pulled into an elaborate up-do reminiscent of some old-world magazines she would see lying around the ruins of Chevy Chase. She looked ready to dance at the ball. "Love it."
"Anytime. Come back whenever. You know my price." Snowflake lowered his shades and winked at her. His eyes were so dark and electric for a ghoul's, having not yet gone milky white from inevitable glaucoma. "But uh, maybe not with Charon. The guy's got it in for me. And I like not having any broken bones."
She shook her head and shrugged. "I'm not sure what his deal is. But I'll talk to him."
"Yeah. Talk." Snowflake was fiddling with his tools. Scissors polished and unused on his table. Combs and brushes perfectly aligned and organized.
"Yes, talk. Got something to say, Snowflake?"
"Well, I've heard all you have to do is tell Charon to jump. He'll ask how high. I figured that's what you mean by talk."
She furrowed her eyebrows, not knowing how to reply. She looked to the door of Carol's Place, the distraction a welcoming sight. "I got to go, Snow. See you next time."
"Sure thing, Leah."
She entered the restaurant, the sweet smell of steamed mirelurk and fried tato making her stomach growl. The place was warm and alive with multiple voices resonating in the room. The buzz calmed into a dull murmur as she walked across the eating area. The tables all had parties of ghouls who stopped their meals to ogle at her. There were significantly more patrons here than before. It seems The 9th Circle's customers have migrated across Snowflake's salon to the superior dining establishment.
"Leah!" Carol greeted her with a warmth that pushed all her inner turmoil aside. "You've just made my day. I was just thinking about you."
"Carol," Leah sat at the bar right in front of her. "I've missed you. And guess what?"
"What, my dear?"
"I've got some letters with your name on it. Literally." She pulled out the folded papers, her heart skipping out of excitement for the woman.
She watched Carol's eyes light up as she recognized the handwriting. She took the parcel with shaky hands and began reading through the pages. As her eyes wandered across the lines, her eyes began to water. "Oh, thank you for bringing these to me." Carol turned her head and began wiping her tears. "This is more than I could have asked for."
"What's wrong, Carol?" Greta stepped forward, eyes sharp with concern.
"Nothing bad, my love. Letters from Gob. Leah just brought them over."
"Oh." Greta's voice was despondent. "That's nice." And she went to begin sweeping the floor, eyes focused at the dirt on the floor.
Leah always wondered what had gone wrong between Gob and Greta. Carol thought it was jealousy, but Leah always figured it was something more. She waited patiently while Carol absorbed the many pages. Halfway through, she paused to look at Leah. "My dear, let me get you something to eat. Are you thirsty? You must think I'm so rude."
"It's fine, I understand. It's been years since you've heard from him. Don't worry. And I'll bring Gob whatever letters you want to. I plan on going back and forth between you guys for a while. Just keep me stocked with some of your mirelurk stew." She cradled her cheek in her hand. "And whenever you're ready, tell me more stories about what life was like before the war."
(Necro)
"W-what are you looking for?" The store clerk, Tulip, was trembling below him. He tried to keep his face straight, despite the fury that was steaming under his skin from his employer.
"Weapons. Armor. Ammo." Charon dumped his bag of caps onto her counter, showing he meant business. Her eyes bugged out at the heaping sack.
"Oh. Well, let me show you all I have right now. Well, we have some new combat armor. Military-grade, traded in by one of the merchants who had stopped by Paradise Falls. And plenty of shotgun shells." Her eyes were glued to his shoulder, hypnotized by the large weapon strapped to his back. "Also I have schematics if you're interested in some... unconventional weapons. Like a Rock-It Launcher." She began placing various high-quality supplies out for Charon to examine. Her arms shook while she hurriedly stacked her products out.
Before Leah, he had never been paid. He was given ammunition and had his equipment maintained for the benefit of his employer at the time. Being given the choice to decide what he wanted and having the ability to purchase whatever he desired was something he used to fantasize about. Sometimes, during one of his mercenary assignments, he'd come across travelers with energy weapons that would vaporize with blinding hot lasers or liquefy with a sudden burst of green energy. He had hoped Tulip would have at least one of those kinds of weapons. She did not.
He purchased some heavier armor, out of spiteful planning ahead that his current boss would have him in situations where he'd need the extra protection. Thinking about her with her glazed eyes staring through him while she let that creep put his hands on her returned that frustrating irritability he had been trying to avoid.
"Oh no." Tulip softly whispered. Charon turned from the inventory, following her gaze at her shop's doorway. Smoothskins in black armor, at least seven of them, strolled in like they owned the place. They had their weapons in hand. The white claw painted sloppily on their chests captured his attention. Talon Company.
