"Man, if I wasn't getting good pay for this-" Campbell huffed, thrusting the spade of the shovel into the dirt and tossing it over his shoulder.
Charon ignored his gripes; his own trowel going to work.
The two were reassigned to digging the graves; Charon lanced his shovel into an upright position and snagged the water bottle at his side.
"I know it ain't my business-" Campbell began, "-but weren't you two partners or something? I mean, I know Cross-" His eyes had shifted over and the rest of the sentence died in his throat; the ferryman's expression was full of his ire. "Never mind."
They continued to dig, and time stretched on. A grave was soon dug, and a body was placed inside. A grave was dug, a body was placed. A grave was dug, a body was placed.
The sun was low, the orange and purple streaks of sunset water-coloring across the sky.
"Doing a good job, keep at it." Deputy Clara had her hands behind her back, surveying the scene. "Jones and I will rotate out with you guys in the next hour." Her gaze held Charon's for a few moments, and then she pivoted to stride away.
"At this rate, I'm just going to dig my own," Campbell quipped.
Charon gripped the handle of his shovel, thrusting it forcefully into the dirt.
The bounty hunter was busy cleaning his armory at the table, closing one eye to peer through the barrel of the magnum; his hands were stained with gun oil.
Evelyn gave a stretch before lifting herself from the warm bathwater, her time of reprieve finally concluded. Her thoughts were beginning to wander, and a certain red ghoul was clouding her mind. It was entirely too painful to think of their final moments, and she did not want Cross to see her upset.
The sound of water sloshing made his head turn. She was clasping her bra behind her, tossing her long, wet hair over one shoulder as she stepped into her underwear. He couldn't help but stare; he did not think his eyes would ever tire of her. "I'm going to find the bar," she said over her shoulder.
"Am I not invited?"
She pointed at his instrumental array of death spread across the table. "Are you not busy? I didn't want to be rude. You can catch up." She plopped into the chair across from him, her fingers busily lacing up her boots. "If you're lucky, I'll save you a seat." She blew him a wink and a kiss, closing the door behind her before he could respond.
She leisurely made her way downstairs into the lounge and instantly felt a hand grope her lower backside as she was busy conversing with the bartender for drinks. She whirled around, a man about Cross's height stared down at her with a suggestive wink and a white grin.
He was handsome, running a hand through his dark hair. "You have to be the cutest dang thing I've seen. What's your name, darlin'?"
She stared at him blankly. "Evelyn," she answered, extending her hand out.
The stranger reached out to grasp hers, but she swiftly seized the backside of his wrist and twisted his arm around. The man gasped in surprise as he was suddenly laid out on the floor, the pressure she exerted on his body overwhelming. The lounge immediately grew quiet at the unexpected altercation, and the man yelped as she continued to twist his arm back in an unnatural fashion. It was a simple takedown move Charon had taught her a long time ago; it was only due to her unnatural strength that she was able to perform the feat.
"Don't you ever touch me, ever again," she spat at him warningly. She then placed her foot on top of his shoulder blade, pushing her weight down while lifting his arm up. The strain of his ligaments in their socket made him cry out in considerable pain. "Or next time I'll rip your fucking arm off," she growled, releasing him roughly.
The man gasped for air and scuttled away from her across the floor, turning around on his backside to gawk at her in confused fear. He did not understand how someone of her stature was capable of such force.
"You heard the woman. No wandering hands." The bartender gave a loud snort as he snuffed snot up his head, and the spell was broken. The din of the bar continued, and everyone went about their business as usual.
A soft knock at the door echoed in the room.
The bounty hunter had just finished reassembling his pieces together, the smell of gunpowder stifling. Wiping his hands on a stained rag, he opened the door with a frown.
"Cross!" The woman jumped at him, and the doorframe fell away as she tightly embraced him. His towel fell at their feet as she ran her hands over his chest and leaned forward to kiss him.
He immediately grabbed at her shoulders firmly, holding her as far away from himself as the length of his arms would allow. "Whoa whoa- Irene, no."
Irene gave a pouty lip bite, her dark eyes twinkling up at him. She smelled of alcohol, her fingers were roaming over his chest desperately. "You really know how to tug at a girl's heart, you know that?" Her voice had not yet turned raspy as most ghouls eventually do; she still had that sweet tune a man didn't mind listening to.
This is not good. "Go home." He turned her around, her patchy red hair twirling.
She stomped her foot and dug her heels into the floor. "What the fuck is this? I heard you be in town, and you haven't swung by to get me a drink?" She crossed her arms indignantly over her chest. "You takin' up with Candy tonight?"
An exasperated exhale made his thoughts known. "I'm not lookin' for any company." Cross gripped both sides of her arms, simply picking her up off the floor and setting her back down inside the hallway. He then reached back inside and shut the door behind himself, leaving her as he made his way downstairs.
"You-you can't just leave-"
He spun around. She was tailing directly behind him, her face beseeching. In the past, it would have been enough.
"Irene, I'm with another woman-and no not Candy, don't give me that face-so let's leave it at that," he growled, his large strides shadowed by her smaller ones.
"Another woman?! Who-"
They both entered the smoky, dim-lit lounge together.
"Oh, I get it, you're just so fucking stupid you can't even comprehend your own actions. I'm actually surprised you can breathe without consciously thinking about it, but then again, it would be rude of me to assume."
He turned a corner, and there she was: his living, breathing nuke of a woman. A man was holding his hands up defensively before his chest; a frightened smile attempted at placating her sharp tongue.
"Darlin', I said I was sorry! Holy hell- I didn't mean to offend." His eyes widened as she took a step towards him threateningly.
"Call me darlin' one more fucking time and it'll be that fucking spine I rip out!" she hissed, her eyes absolutely scathing.
The man licked his lips nervously as his brain wracked for something to say until a cough redirected their attention to the side.
"Don't worry; she's like this with everyone." Cross spit to the side, pointing a bony index fingertip to the man's forehead. "I tend to shoot first and make threats later," he growled warningly, coming beside her.
"You couldn't wait all of twenty minutes for me?" the ghoul grumped at her. Evelyn huffed, visibly aggravated.
The stranger gave a tiny tilt of his head to the side in bewilderment. "Is…is this ghoul with you?" He automatically backed up a step when she flared up again. "I-I mean, it's just…surprising, is all. I ain't gotten nothing against your kind, swear by it."
"Heh, your kind," Cross muttered disdainfully. "Watch it, kid. I will shoot you."
"Is this the woman you're talkin' 'bout?" Cross outwardly groaned as Irene butted into their conversation from the side, and she smacked his arm. "I know you ain't with no smoothskin, honey. Candy put you up to this?"
Evelyn had suddenly turned her full fury on the merc, the wave washing up and crashing over him. "I was trying to have a drink in peace." She turned back to her prior offender. "So, what the fuck are you still standing here for?"
"I was just-"
The ghoul prostitute was going on to the side, saying some colorful words that lent to some explicit imagery; Evelyn growled and removed the bounty hunter's hand from creeping around her waist.
"Fuck off," she furiously warned, striding to the bar. "You-" she snapped her fingers at the man frozen in his spot, "-buy me a drink, and I'll forgive you." She glowered at the bounty hunter. "Get your shit together. I mean it."
The merc blew out a breath, rubbing the back of his head as she stormed away with a petrified man in tow behind her.
"She's a real treat," Irene commented offhand, reaching inside Cross's jacket for his carton of cigarettes. The ghoul grumbled irritably at her as she began to wound her hand around for his lighter. "Client?"
"No."
A cigarette was lit, and she handed him back his things. "So, you goin' to buy me a drink or not?"
A darker ghoul came around the side. "Can't bother to tell a girl hi?"
And here we go, he thought sourly. "Hi, Candy."
A glowing cigarette tip was pointed at the merc. "Cross here says he's with another woman-" Irene indicated with a necrotic finger at Evelyn sitting at the bar counter, "-can you believe that?"
The other ghoul woman narrowed her eyes for a moment, and then looked back to their past regular. "Maybe if she wasn't so pretty…"
Irene gave an ugly snort, taking a long drag. "She's way out've your league, Cowboy. Ya know, Carly was pretty upset with us after-"
Cross exhaled angrily, turning both women's attention to his face. "Look, whether you believe it or not, we are together-"
Irene laughed meanly, covering her lower missing teeth with a hand as Candy stood there slightly entertained. "I don't know why you're lyin', but go ahead, go give her a big ol' kiss if she's yours." Irene jabbed a thumb towards the bar. "I have to see this."
"Was plannin' to anyway." The ghoul left his two nightly run-ins and made his way to her seat. He spun her chair to face him and grasped her face with both hands, kissing her fully on the mouth.
When Evelyn began to kiss him back both prostitutes gasped, their hands flying to their stupefied faces.
"How did he accomplish that?" Irene miffed, angrily smoking the last of her cig. She was about to begin her interrogation when a smaller hand laid over her shoulder gently.
"Let's let him be, hon," Candy softly requested. She gave a glance back at the two unsuspecting lovers; they were now seated together and the merc had his arm around her waist; Evelyn was telling a story animatedly to the bartender. "He looks different."
"He looks happy…and completely sober," Irene growled, not bothering to hide her scorn. "Course she's a smoothskin. Lucky bastard."
The women went about their usual evening tirade; Cross was amusedly watching Evelyn berate the man beside them for buying her hard alcohol.
The rain and wind rattled angrily against the windowpanes. The ghoul had made to close the shutters, but Evelyn had protested and he grumbled at her request.
"I like to watch the rainfall," she defended herself, scratching away in a small notebook.
There were torn pages, and he assumed it was where she had supplied her notes. After a few moments, she then snapped her scribbles away; he had only seen her pull the thing out twice in their entirety together, he did not know what she jotted down. In a way, he was afraid to ask- it reminded him of her.
"If you stand outside you can see it plenty," he joked, and she stuck her tongue out at him in a rude manner. "Is that supposed to offend or entice me? Right now, I'm gettin' the latter."
This was their third day at the outpost. The weather took its fury out on the wasteland, and they were lucky to have been squirreled away in decent lodgings while they waited for it to pass. She had denied him intimate pleasures for the entirety of their time; he was beginning to go stir-crazy from having her so close but unattainable. Deliberately, he crawled into bed beside her, wrapping his arm around her waist and sinking his head into her side. He groaned, and she gave him a childish pat on his shoulder.
"You'll live," she simply said.
"At what cost?" He muffled into her.
She gave him a light shove. "Wasn't there a job requiring someone of your expertise? Go do that, go do something."
It was true. A request had been put out for the disposal of a small gang of bandits that had decidedly holed up in the sewer tunnels a few miles out. Cross was given a missive from the front desk.
A guttural sound resonated in the back of his throat. "I want to do you."
She smiled coyly at him. "Get back fast enough and you might get lucky."
A single eye opened to stare at her.
Crinkle crinkle
The folds of the letter were becoming increasingly worn; the ferryman did not have to recite the words to know what she had written; he had reread the passages so many times he had them memorized.
The cleanup team had relieved them of their post in Serrato, and he was sitting over the edge of the wharf back in Lake Capers. The murky waters lapped below at his feet like eager dogs with their lolling tongues. The sky was gray, and there was a chill that warranted warming clothing. He did not mind the cold; it seemed to suit him.
He sighed through his nostrils, rubbing at his jaw as his eyes scanned the page almost religiously; it was as if he was hoping there would be a sentence he had missed, something else from her that he could devour. But the words remained the same, and she still had not come back for him.
'I'm sorry, Charon. I suppose that sounds a little harsh, after everything- just a simple sorry. I don't know how else, or what else to say-'
A rumble of thunder; it was going to rain soon.
'I will be back for you, I will. I told you I want you with me…but it will have to be after Braxton. I know you'll be mad, but you're always mad, so I guess it won't be contributing to much-'
He snorted.
'When I come back, and if you still want to travel with me- I mean, I won't force you to, if it's not what you want- but I hope you'll be there, for who else is going to ferry me through?'
His thumbs traced over the last passage; a poem she had written; she was always good with words. He closed his eyes and felt her lips upon his; the way her eyes had intertwined with the hot flames of his own. Before, his only concern with her mouth was the sharp words she would bite out and reap the trouble for. Now-
He had not been intimate with a woman in a very long time; he did not even remember her features, just a nameless face that hovered against his as they exchanged carnal pleasures. Evelyn was no longer his employer, so he did not have to withhold himself about thinking sensual thoughts of her…and yet, he couldn't. She was just simply Evelyn; she was violent, witty, stupid, brave…and beautiful. She was his Evelyn; he was her ferryman.
He did not think he could love her in the way the bounty hunter did..but did he simply just love her?
A brief flash to all of their past altercations; being shot at, receiving the biting end of a bullet, crying over the heartlessness of the wasteland, laughing at a crude joke from the bartender, carrying her through an irradiated swamp as she complained about the smell-
The Lone Wanderer suddenly spoke into his mind.
Charon, you're my best friend…actually, you're my brother. It's been a long year with you, and I'm glad I had you through it all. Thank you, for everything.
His light blue eyes had a soft smolder as he mouthed the words of her poem.
Yes, yes he did.
