When she had finally entered his room, he was waiting for her in his usual position. His arms were folded; one leg was drawn up as he leaned against the wall. The rhythmic tapping of his finger against his bicep kept beat with her pounding heart. Those eyes-those damn eyes-stalked her like a hawk would a mouse. The door closed softly behind her with a click.
"So…um-"
"What is it you want, Evelyn?" the ghoul interrupted her; his tone was so aggressively livid she felt the words strike her across the face like a closed fist. "Do you wish to be with him?"
She gaped at his sudden intrusive hostility. "Wh-pf-yes, Charon, I do! I told you-"
"You told him you never wanted to see him again. And yet, here he is, with you." His boots made large thuds across the room as he came to tower over her. "Evelyn, he hurt you."
She made a pained gasp and shrunk away from him. "It's my choice, Charon!" she cried, as a toddler would to their parent. "I just want to be with him, if-if-"
His tone took a complete 180, the gentle words unexpected. "I just want to be with you."
She squeaked as he brought his hands up to her face. The blood pooled in her cheeks and she felt very warm embraced in his touch.
The ferryman stared into her eyes, and he felt her hot breath wash over him. A ruined thumb stroked across her bottom lip, and for a moment, he gazed at her hungrily. Leaning forward, he planted a firm kiss on her forehead, and then released her to stand away. "I wish to remain at your side; no matter the choices you make."
Evelyn slowly backed into the doorframe. A breath hitched in her chest; the ferryman would no longer meet her eyes. She ran a hand angrily across her mouth; the door closing shut behind her.
The bounty hunter was half-naked when she reentered their room; his jacket was draped over a chair and he was sitting on the edge of the bed smoking. "Well? We kiss and make up?"
She grabbed at his jacket and thrust it at him. "Let's go get a drink."
The soft jazz music whispered around the room, enticing patrons with honeyed lyrics and flowing instrumentals.
"Living for you, is easy living-"
Soft murmurs of words were indiscernible to those not directly related in conversation, the clink of glasses adding to the din of the bar.
"It's easy to live, when you're in love-"
The bounty hunter tapped at his glass with the tip of his bony index finger.
"And I'm so in love-"
"So." He took a swig of his drink, the burn of the liquor well acquainted with his throat.
"I never regret the years that I'm giving-"
"So," she repeated, turning her head to look at him. Those cerulean blues implored his milky hazels.
"They're easy to give, when you're in love-"
She released a shuddering breath, and he realized she was struggling not to cry. "Hey, you okay?" He lowered the glass onto the surface of the counter, bringing his free hand around to cup underneath her chin. "Evelyn."
"There's nothing in life, but you."
"I just…I just want to sit here, for a while-I…I need a drink."
He handed her his own, and she swallowed its contents, her face screwing up in disgust. She gasped. "What the fuck is this? Are you drinking gasoline?"
He chuckled, taking the tall bottle at his side and pouring her refill. "Close." He winked at her, the neon lighting of the bar made his eyes glow strangely. "Motor oil."
"I honestly would not be surprised," she muttered into the glass, taking another drink. She breathed sharply through her nose as it burned a hole into the pit of her stomach, and he found her intolerance kind of cute. Her eyes scoped around the room, and she noticed two men staring at them intently. She narrowed her eyes threateningly in return.
The glass was being set back down, but Cross intercepted it. He noticed her lethal stare, and he craned his neck to the side to catch her drift. "Don't mind them." He drained the alcohol. "They just don't like what they're seein'."
"I don't like what I'm seeing," she angrily replied, and he saw her entire body tense like a stalking tiger. With a gruff laugh, he set aside his cup and grabbed at her hand that was now dangerously forming into a fist. Bringing her knuckles to his mouth, he softly kissed them and succeeded in bringing her attention back to him. Her face softened as her eyes met his. "Well, now I like it."
For the first time in over two hundred years, the ghoul felt something akin to a blush. Since he had no skin, there was no visible evidence to it, but the hardened leather of his cheek muscles grew unexpectedly tight and his heart awkwardly skipped a beat. "That's good, 'cause it's all I got."
She laughed, and he didn't realize he had missed the sound so much until now. He leaned over and dug a hand through her hair as he kissed her, and they worked at each other for a few moments until she broke away from him, a coy smile upon her lips.
"I thought we came here to drink." She leaned her elbow on the counter, resting her chin in her palm.
His brain was murmuring happy thoughts to himself as he stared at her under the halo of the neon glow. That wave of tawny hair elegantly rolled down her back in a soft tumble. Her jacket was draped over her chair; the long sleeves of her baby blue shirt complimented her eyes nicely. She was taking in everything around them with a sort of hidden interest, trying to absorb the ways of this new world they had stepped into. There was an innocent sort of nature about her as she bit her bottom lip and gazed around shyly.
The temptation to take her back to the hotel and make love to her was extremely strong; he was about to take a last drink when a face ambled down to their side of the bar counter.
"So, pretty thing, what are we drinking tonight?" Ruby leaned forward on her elbows towards Evelyn, a small wink cast at the ghoul. "I saw you two going at each other over here; you're going to need something strong to wash that taste out."
Evelyn's face turned a light shade of pink, and she pursed her lips together in awkwardness.
Cross pointed at a bottle on the high shelf. "Thanks, Ruby. I think you're swell too."
The bartender flashed them a smirk and brought the selected choice down with another glass, taking his caps and beginning to walk away.
The bounty hunter uncorked the new bottle and poured the liquid, sliding the cup towards her. "Here. I thought you might like this."
She took a precautionary sniff, giving a shrug and taking a sip. Her eyes brightened and she took another. "What is this?"
"It's white wine. You hate hard liquor, and you're always eatin' those damn sweets; figured this was somethin' up your alley." He grabbed his bottle of scotch. "Nice thing about bigger cities, they almost got damn near anythin'."
She was already done with her initial round by the time he was filling his cup. She gingerly pushed the glass towards him in tiny increments with the tips of her fingers; the empty chalice painstakingly making its way across the table to him.
"You want another drink, or you want to fuckin' die of old age before you get it?" he growled at her, and she smiled childishly at him as he refilled her glass. His threats were hollow with her, at this point. He had been reduced to a chained dog, all bark, no bite.
She was on her third glass, now, taking a drink and giving a wide smile to someone approaching them. "Hey there, mutant side dish." She crinkled her nose as the alcohol began to settle.
"Cazador." Campbell tipped an imaginary hat at her, blinking at Cross. "I'm confused- I thought-"
"Mistakes were made." Evelyn echoed from before. With a pat, she indicated to the seat beside herself. "We're friends again, in case you didn't get the memo."
Cross snorted. "Some really good fuckin' friends," he leered at her, ignoring the whack she gave him across the chest. The ghoul turned in his seat, facing the two of them fully. "Surprised you're still alive, Campbell."
"Wouldn't be if it wasn't for your good friend here." Campbell hitched a thumb at Evelyn. "Made it by the skin of our teeth."
Evelyn had reached up and massaged at her left shoulder tenderly. She was awfully sad all of a sudden. "I…I thought we were going to die, honestly." She gave a mournful glance to the blonde mercenary, and he just pat her good shoulder roughly.
"Yeah, well, we didn't. Get to live on and fight for another day."
The bounty hunter was grumbling to himself, placing his packet of cigs on the counter for easy reach. The tone of her voice, coupled with the imagery they had left behind in Serrato; was almost too easy to imagine her death in that clusterfuck of carnage. "Excuse us." The bounty hunter suddenly rose from his seat, grabbing at Evelyn's hand. She nearly dropped her glass back on the counter and gave a confused gawk back at Campbell. "We'll be back," he dismissed over his shoulder.
The night air was chilly, and the smell of fresh rain and clean atmosphere tickled her lungs. "What's wrong?" They strolled down the avenue for a while, until he looked both ways and took an abrupt turn into an empty alleyway. "Hey, what is it?!" She was concerned, and it bled through her voice.
The bounty hunter did not want to think about the potential consequences Serrato could've had. She was finally back in his arms, and she was alive and well and as far as he knew, happy with him. The wasteland was a cold-hearted bitch; it took, and it took, and it took until it had taken everything you didn't even know you had left to give.
There was a small entryway with a door, and he pushed her flush against the frame.
He had been around for almost two hundred years of constant taking; he had finally wizened up and kept things within easy reach, but with a loose enough grip so that he could drop it at a moment's notice.
She whimpered as his hands began to undress her; the cold air pinpricking her bare skin. A billow of white haze blew from her mouth as she gently cried out over his shoulder as he went to work across her exposed body.
He did not think his grip from her would ever give way.
Her hands flew at the buckles of his leather jacket; those pale arms encircling inside the warmth of his body greedily as he flushed their chests together. His pants were shoved down past his thighs, and he supported her with both hands as he lifted her up slightly against the frame. She let off a pleasurably loud sigh into his ear as he entered inside of her and began to fuck her roughly against the side of the building. Her fingers were running down the length of his body and he grabbed her mouth with his own, catching her mind-numbing moans in his throat as they kissed.
When they had both peaked, he set her down and they stood together for a moment, their hefty breathing washing over each other. Evelyn raised her hands up to her face, rubbing at her eyes as the ecstasy still twinged down below. "Is this going to happen often?"
She smiled up at him, her fingers now roving inside the recesses of his open jacket. She tapped a fingernail on the butt of his gun. "I'm actually starting to get sore," she confessed. "Unlike you, I don't do this habitually."
He snorted, his hands pulling up his jeans and shoving his dick back inside. "Good practice."
She chortled. "Until I can't walk."
He raised an eyebrow muscle and shrugged, bending over to pick up her clothes. "Then I'll just carry you."
"The Eastern Cowboy?" Evelyn inquired, poking the merc in the bicep. "I didn't know you had a title and everything." She had heard stories on her earlier travels, but she had not heard them all.
"I don't like to parade it around," Cross groused, his grumpy, old man persona coming to light. The grey, flaking ash from his smoke drifted lazily into the ashtray.
"Tell me more." Evelyn interlaced her fingers and rested her forearms on the bar counter, her head turning to Campbell expectantly. "It's like pulling teeth when I ask him any personal questions."
I could throw that right back at ya, the bounty hunter thought, deciding on keeping the remark to himself. Slowly, he was learning.
"I mean, I heard about the Calling Card case-"
"What was that one?" she immediately insisted.
Campbell gave a slight chuckle at her hungry desire; her blue eyes were shining, and the corners of her mouth were formed in a minute smile. It was something akin to a child waiting for a present to be bestowed upon them, and he subconsciously rubbed at his jaw as she stared at him openly. A low growl at her side tore his eyes from hers, and he immediately dropped his gaze. It was best not to want the woman that was with a man like that. Any hint of attraction was like painting a huge target onto himself and asking for an open season.
"A woman with a grudge. Heard she was beautiful as the moon, and deadly as a deathclaw. Any man she slept with, wouldn't live to see the next sunrise. Left a small memento behind on the body, what was it-?"
"A dead flower," Cross broke in, stubbing out the burnt end of his cigarette. "She slept with 'em, poisoned 'em, and then left behind some kind of dead flower. I got the job from a widow whose husband was a victim; only reason she cared enough to put out a bounty was the woman had stolen her husband's watch. She wanted it back." He shrugged.
"Oh? And how exactly did you catch her?" Evelyn asked innocently enough, her fingers tapping along the table rhythmically.
"I didn't sleep with her," he gruffly defended himself. "She always went for the ones that were loose with their caps; I finally caught up to her down in Orleans. The mayor didn't appreciate me bargin' in on their business- even after the fact."
"And you just shot her, just like that?" Evelyn pressed, doubt melding over her features.
"I gave her the decency to put her dress back on first."
"Such a gentleman," she jabbed. "Tell me another one."
Campbell took a swig of his beer. "Every merc worth their salt knows about Joe the Boiler."
Cross poured himself a new glass of scotch. "I have a scar on my left thigh from his damn meat hook." He felt Evelyn's eyes shift downward, and he budged uncomfortably in his seat.
"Hmm. I was going to ask how you-" The rest of the sentence died in her throat from the awkward vibe both men gave off, and she realized the implications of her words. Her face burned red, and she coughed while rubbing her hands along her jeans. "So-uh…who's Joe the Boiler?"
Cross was taking a long drink of his poison; she turned her attention back to Campbell.
"He was a cannibal serial killer. Ripped his victims apart with a meat hook; gave plenty of mercs a run for their money. They either ended up dead or lost their nerve and tailed it back home." Campbell leaned forward. "I heard he had a count of over a hundred people before someone came and put a bullet in between his eyes."
"And that was you?" Evelyn laughed at the ghoul, a little meanly. "Eastern Cowboy," she mocked. "Was that all he gave you? A little scar? No shattered arm?"
"Do I finally get to hear that one?"
Evelyn relayed telepathic thoughts with the ghoul; the smoldering expression he gave her consisted of keep talking big, pretty lady, and you'll be on crutches tomorrow.
"I guess since we're survival buddies, I'll tell you about it." She then proceeded to tell the mercenary the events of that night, and the damage report the infamous bounty hunter was constituted.
Campbell flexed his hand; a solitary memory coming forth of their first meeting. "Hot damn, Cazador." He met his eyes with his fellow merc. "Surprised you're still alive, Cross."
"Yeah, me too," he grumbled.
"What did you do before the Great War?"
The question was such a random fastball he had to sit quietly for a few minutes before answering. "I don't like to talk about it," was all he said, continuing on unlacing his boots.
"Why?"
"It's…" He sighed aggravatedly at her seated on the edge of the bed; her shirt was bundled in her hands. "Just no." He was suddenly defensive, and he leaned back in his seat to stare at her. The lighting off the wall cast him in a strange shadow, his eyes glinting eerily. "It's one of those things-"
"You don't care to talk about." She waved a hand dismissively at him. "Yeah, yeah." A troubling thought physically washed over her, and she looked off to the side sorrowfully. "I understand…I'm sorry."
He was grumbling to himself in a foreign language, reaching for the other shoe.
"H-have you ever…loved someone?" she asked him, her eyes taking another drink of him.
His fingers paused at unlacing his second boot, and he closed his eyes. Why did she have to ask the fucking hardest questions? "Yes," he said, resuming his task. It shimmied off to the floor, and he busied himself with his socks and pants.
"Do you now?" She was staring at him emotionlessly.
He didn't answer, and instead, pulled his jeans off. He stood up, rubbing the back of his bald head and exhaling loudly, and then he stumbled inside the bathroom. The sound of the shower came on, and he was left to his thoughts for some time. When he was finally finished, she was in bed asleep; her back was to him as she curled around the edge of the frame. He stayed up for a few hours, burning through a copious number of cigarettes before his nerves finally settled and he came to lay beside her. He reached out and pulled her gently into himself, kissing her face softly until she awoke and began to kiss him back. They had sex, and when they finished his fingers stroked through her hair as he watched her fall back into her dreams, and he briefly thought back to when he was a married young man the year the bombs had fallen.
