A manly scream erupted.
A chair screeched across the floor. "What the fuck was that?" Gunfire, and shouting. A door slammed open against the wall.
A man in hysterics. "Holy fuck guys! I saw Techy get fucking creamed!"
More shuffling of feet, and a clatter of commotion. Screams, and rapid gunfire. After a few moments, it was deathly silent; the sound of footsteps could be heard down the hallway.
"It's this one!"
Gunshots.
Bullets sprayed along the wall they had taken cover behind; the merc heard the tell-tale of a reload and bent his torso out, with two shots they were clear.
"I'm almost out," Campbell called from his position.
The bounty hunter grumbled through the cigarette in his mouth; rapid pillows of smoke exhaled into the air. He jutted a chin at Evelyn, giving her a judicious look. "How's the nose? Can't have ya lookin' like me so soon."
She blushed, scowling. "It's fine," she said curtly, and he rolled his eyes at her snappy attitude. "I'm sort of used to being hit in the face lately."
"Holy fuckin' hell." The bounty hunter removed his cig and grabbed at her face, kissing her desperately, not caring for the gore she had painted across her lips.
They continued; the ferryman held Evelyn back with his arm, a silent message indicating he would take point.
She opened her mouth to protest, but the merc swiped a palm over and clamped it shut. "You will fuckin' argue over anythin'."
A man camping in a room had successfully managed to gain the drop, his gun aimed at the side of Lydia's head. The bounty hunter quickly shoved her to the side; the shot blew into his bicep. He growled loudly; a large, leathered palm encircled around the back of the man's head, and his blade came out and sunk pleasingly into the underside of the enemy's jaw. He gave it a sickening twist before letting him drop at his feet.
Cross stowed his knife away and gave a warning look to the advancing ghoul. "No, I got it." He settled his cowboy hat atop Evelyn's head and began to strip himself. She inserted a finger and prodded the bullet from his flesh.
"This was much better when you were naked." The merc smirked, ignoring the sudden inquisitive glances from the others in their company.
"Ugh." Evelyn chucked the bullet at his grinning face, injecting him rather forcefully with a stimpak. "You are sometimes just so awful."
"Ow." He rubbed at the site where she had stabbed him, and shoved on his clothes.
"Big baby."
"Are you well? Let us continue," the ferryman aggravatedly sighed. It still irked him to see them so casual with each other; whatever that comment from his employer had meant, he honestly did not want to know.
The merc brought up the rear, and Lydia's head swiveled back to him with a silent mouthing of thank you. Cross just grunted, a return of don't thank me yet, kid.
"What is the situation?" Charon came to stand behind Evelyn, his weapon wrapped steadily in his fingerless gloves. They were suddenly back in the routine of past adventuring, and they both felt at ease with the knowledge of each other.
"I marked seven down the further corridor." She twirled a hand. "No other prisoners- so far."
Whir whir
A turret: its unmistakable figure whirred in place around the bend. Charon instinctively drew a protective arm around her as they peeked around the corner.
"Oh, shit."
The turret halted in its mechanical track, firing away as they jumped back in their spot.
"Maybe we can use Cross as bait," Evelyn jested, craning back to catch the ferryman's amused stare.
"Use me as what now?" The merc was emerging from his cleared sector with Lydia close behind him.
"Nothing."
The merc indicated to a room, and his voice rasped out at them. "There's a terminal in here-"
Lydia scurried away, immediately putting her fingers to the keys. Tappity tappity tappity. "Got it," she sniffed, her dark eyes glowing against the illumination of the screen.
"Stuff, huh…knew you were smart," the merc said gruffly, his eyes roving back to Evelyn. "Bout damn time someone was."
Whir whir. The turret could be heard firing away wildly amidst the screaming; when only the silence remained, they rejoined with Campbell and pushed forward, breaking through to the open sky.
"Okay, okay- stop-" Evelyn was breathing heavily, her palms keeping the merc's mouth at bay from her own. "Can I come up for air?"
He rolled his eyes, moving her hands away to assault her with more kisses.
The ferryman grumbled dejectedly. It was all they had been doing for the past half-hour since they had cleared the slaver den. A loud, raspberry sound drew his head instinctively; the bounty hunter was blowing against her neck as she was attempting to wiggle out from his hold.
"Cross, I mean it- let go! I'm not dying. I really, really, really just want a shower." She instantly glared at his beseeching look. "No, alone. I'm filthy."
"Me too," he reasoned, and the ferryman couldn't help but roll his eyes.
A whistle to the side. "Goddamn Cazador, you going to let the man be so we can continue on?"
Cross smothered her annoyed exhale with a smile against her lips.
The bounty hunter was busily lighting a smoke, feigning off the cold wind with a cupped hand under his dark cowboy hat.
The sound of the wasteland nightlife called out to him behind a curtain of impenetrable inky darkness. The burning glow from the lamp beside him provided a soft, emanating light as he smoked his cigarette on the back balcony of Emry's. The saloon was hectic; the laughing calls from the scarlet girls and pounding thumps of fists banging on the gambling tables drifted to his ears as he blew out a perfect O ring in the air. Even with lips it was a feat to pull off, but nearly two hundred years of trying paid homage to his skill.
The timestamp for Cross's last visit to the town of Saint Silverton was a wild guess at best; there was a new bartender at this favored establishment- old Michael had finally kicked the can- and his usual girl had apparently run off with a ghoul caravan trader. A puff. His thoughts were taking a stroll down memory lane; there was still a patched-up board along the railing from an odd number of years ago when he had flung a man off the side of the second story for running his fucking mouth at him. He had been quite the hothead, back then.
"So, what's your story, Cowboy?" The sultry voice made him halfway turn.
An entertainer, sparkling in a silver sequin dress, was leaning gingerly against the open frame of the arched French door. Johnny Guitar was cooing from the jukebox downstairs, and the ambient lighting from inside gave her outline a contrasting appearance. The golden braid of her hair was meticulously pinned in an upright twist, giving the merc an appreciative view of her dainty jawline. She was absolutely stunning.
A bright orange tip glowed, illuminating his scrutinized eyes at her. "A damn long one," he rasped, turning back to the cold air of the wastes.
He could feel her presence still behind him; a waft of her perfume mingled with the inhale he made. It was a sweet, flowery smell. There was a creak from the wooden boards as she walked forward, leaning over the edge of the railing beside him.
"Whose isn't?" she replied, arching her back slightly to allow him a full view of the cutout of her dress. She was frail compared to Evelyn, but, she did not have to make a living surviving the harsh wilderness of the wastes, not with those features.
A snort was all he offered in reply, and he took another drag. "Somethin' ya needed?" he questioned her, voice on edge. He had let Evelyn be after her fiftieth complaint of wanting a solo bath, and quite suddenly, he found himself wanting to intrude lest he make a stupid decision.
There was a glint in her emerald eyes as she gracefully turned to him. "Was just making conversation, sorry if I offended you in some way."
"Not in the mood."
"A-ha. Hmm." A small click of her pale fingertips against the railing. "Can I put you in it?"
He gave her a look, momentarily dumbstruck at the unexpected offer. A grunt, and he shook his shoulders. "I've got a woman, not interested."
A chiming chuckle, it was hypnotizing. "I didn't ask you if you did."
She then bit her bottom lip rather suggestively, and he began to feel the well-acquainted hot curling in his stomach. It was an all too familiar sight to him, and it was strangely attractive on another woman. He quickly looked away, flicking his dying cigarette out to the blackness below.
"Excuse me." He made his way back to the room and hastily stripped, ignoring Evelyn's complaints as he splashed soapy bathwater all over the floor. He parted her legs over the edges of the tub. "Think I can make you crack this one too?"
And he did.
A dream filled with wisps of flowery hair and crystallized jades for eyes awoke him from a dead sleep; he found the bed to be cold on her side. A groan, and he blinked wearily and looked around the room. He found Evelyn sitting in the large, cushioned chair in the corner, smoke curling from her lips as she inquisitively stared at the lit cigar he had purchased earlier-they were rare-in her hands. She was wearing his burgundy shirt, and it proved much too large for her frame.
The glow from a wall clock read two o'clock in the morning. A thump as he laid back into the pillow, rubbing his hands over his face; he was very much aware of how erect he was. "Come back to bed."
"Not tired," she responded simply, blowing out a sweet, wood-scented smoke his way. "How do you make that O ring? I can't get it."
"You goin' to take up smokin'?"
A shake of her head, and a light giggle. "No. I'm just bored, at the moment; I was going to wander around town, but the weather is trying to kill us."
The constant rattle against the windows and battering of rain along the rooftop attested to her claim. A cough, and she turned her head away and pounded her chest with a fist.
A raspy chuckle. "You don't inhale it."
"I know that-" she shakily rattled, drawing in clean air through her lungs, "-was an accident."
The bed frame creaked under his weight as he lumbered over to her, and she raised an eyebrow at his erection. "You were muttering in your sleep." She watched him from behind her veil of hazy smoke. "Nice dream?"
A downcast of his eyes; he could not trust himself to give away his straying thoughts. Instead, he threw on some clothes, garnering another mused expression.
"Going somewhere?"
"Just cold," he partly lied, scooting her to sit over the arm of the chair so he could settle in her seat. He took the cigar, drawing in some tobacco-filtered air and allowing the flavor to settle over his tongue, before he drew the smoke back and let loose a perfect ring.
"How?" Her feet burrowed between his thighs.
"Practice," he said vaguely, taking in another hit and grabbing at her face. He openly kissed her, letting the smoke curl into her mouth, and he grinned as she sputtered and pulled away. "I'm tryin' to show you."
She coughed dramatically, and he gave a shake of his head. He drew in a long breath, then allowed the smoke to sit for a few moments, before opening his mouth slightly and inhaling it through his cavernous nostrils like a milky waterfall.
"I thought you don't inhale cigar smoke-"
"You don't," he agreed, blowing out a long, extended breath, "if you're human- you know what I mean, damn- but doesn't have the same effect on me. But don't you try it."
He handed her back the cigar. A wavered ring blew from her mouth, and she crinkled her nose at the failure.
"That was actually pretty good, for a beginner," he rasped.
Evelyn leaned forward and kissed him softly. "Tell me your mannequin story."
He groaned, crooking his elbow against the other arm of the chair and burying his head into his palm. His words were muffled. "Anythin' else but that-"
"Pleasssssse-" A dangerously cute look.
"Alrightalrightalright- I'll swap stories with ya…I want to know how you got that scar on your back-" He drew a hand over her right shoulder, rubbing at the site. "-and then you can hear it."
"Is it too personal?"
A gruff laugh, awash in shame. "Too damn embarrassin'."
A tap of her fingers against his jaw, and she tilted her head back to stare at the ceiling. The cigar was returned to his rough hand. "I think it was…four, five years ago? Obviously way before I met Charon, and I was traveling on my own-" The merc propped his chin in one hand and gave a loud snort, observing the features on her face as she talked. She always had animated expressions and waved her hands around intricately during her storytelling. "-I was wandering through the Mojave at the time-"
"You've been to the fuckin' west coast?" He blinked at her.
"Haven't you? Is that why they call you the Eastern Cowboy?" she mused.
"I mean, I have, plenty a times," he grumbled, "always too damn hot."
"Been to New Vegas?"
A smirk set on his face, but faded just as quickly. He nudged her with his free elbow. "Go on with your story."
"Well, anyways-" She irritably huffed. "-I ran across some legionaries, I fucking hate those guys-"
"Who doesn't?"
"-and they were actually just hightailing it from some NCR rangers about a mile or so out; they were pretty fucked up, but I was also really high on jet-"
"Jet?" he rasped in disbelief. "I didn't know you took that shit."
Her eyebrows disappeared into her wavy ringlets of hair. "Why is everything coming out of my mouth so surprising to you? And yeah…I experimented- with stuff, but I haven't touched it in years."
He snapped his jaw shut, realizing he really didn't know Evelyn that well after all. "Sorry," he muttered.
"Do you want me to continue?"
"Yeah, I do." He rocked her with his elbow again. "I won't interrupt again, promise."
"O-kay, so, I slugged one guy in the chest, and he sorta…exploded, you know- the other two just kinda stood there, and I don't think they really understood what sort of happened. One guy got shot in the back of the head, thanks to a ranger wayyyy out in the distance, and I had stupidly turned to spot the sniper, and the last fuck had a fucking spear- a spear- and he stuck me in the back with it. I think he was just in shock, or something, cause it obviously wasn't enough to kill me, but it hurt like fuck. I pulled it out and just battered him to death with it…and, yeah."
"You're so damn…violent," Cross finally said, tilting his head slightly back from her.
A sigh, and her eyes were swimming through her past memories. "The NCR ranger who took the shot had come up to me, asking if I was okay and yada yada…he let me come back to the outpost he was stationed at, and he gave me a sweet jacket- was my favorite- and then we fucked."
The merc was in the prepping stage of drawing out another O ring, but he gave a sharp inhale and spewed out a choked gasp.
Evelyn toothily smiled down from her perch. "He said something like- I don't think I've ever seen a woman hit someone hard enough to make them burst like that before. Apparently, it was a huge turn-on- NCR rangers are fucking weird- I ended up seeing him again, in some small town I was passing through, and we-umpf!"
A rugged, grey palm cupped over her mouth, immediately shoving her unspoken words back down her throat. "I really don't want to hear the rest."
Her eyes grew wide and she scrabbled a hand at his arm; he had accidentally smothered her nose, too. He instantly released her, and she gave a chest-racking cough as she breathed in copious amounts of air. She slapped at his outstretched hand viciously.
"Fuck you," she snarled at him, a layer of frost resting on her shoulders. "I've had to hear all your shit; you have no room to fucking gripe."
"I don't want to hear how some other guy…just, no," he growled, clearly irritated. The cigar was deposited into its tray.
"Jealous?"
"What the fuck do you think?"
She visibly cooled a little and chewed on her lower lip in thought. "Okay, question: do you normally get spooled up over your other lady friends fucking other people? Cause it's their job, and-"
"Exactly. It's their damn job."
"So what if I decided-"
He cracked his knuckles by forming a solitary fist. "No way in hell are you takin' that kind of profession."
A disbelieving laugh. "I'm sorry, who are you?"
"I'm yours, and you're mine…and that's that," he said lowly, fully self-conscious of his hypocrisy and unable to meet her eyes as they widened at him. When he finally mustered the courage to steal a glance at her, she had grown as dark as his shirt, and she drew it up over her head to hide away inside its spacious fittings. "You good in there?"
A mass of clothing folded upright in a shrug.
"…I do not understand you, sometimes." A small voice from within the tenting of his shirt. "You are…complicated."
A shaky breath, oh, how right she was…but then again- "You ain't so straight-wire yourself."
A few moments passed in silence between them, each lost in the dark recess of their secret mayhem's. Cross suddenly felt a wave of complete exhaustion overcome him, and he lifted himself from his seat. His fingers tugged at the collar of her makeshift hideaway.
"C'mon."
"Not tired." Her voice was extremely shaky; she was secretly crying.
The merc blew out a breath, unsure of what to say or do. "Look, I'm not really in the fuckin' mood right now for this shit. Tell me what's wrong, and we can go back to bed."
A strangled cry from within. "Easy words coming from someone like you."
"What the fuck is it you want to hear?" he rasped angrily. She halfway appeared from her hiding place with a passive look, her tumble of long, wavy hair beginning to fall forward. The merc continued. "You want to hear how fuckin' scared I am, for you? Never mind that damn stunt you pulled, or those fuckin' slavers."
"I don't want your concern."
A harsh laugh at her ignorant wish. "Well you're goin' to fuckin' get it, you ain't got much of a choice."
Those icy eyes narrowed. "Actually, I do…and I think you do too."
The knowing look in her raven stare slapped him across the face. He gnashed his teeth together and turned away. "Fuck you talkin' 'bout?" he edged her.
Her voice grew tight. "I think you know exactly what…don't you fucking tell me you're mine when you're thinking of someone else, you make it so obvious."
His eyes snapped to her bruised face; the light purpling from her broken nose gave a shadowed hue under her seething blue eyes. He had been so fucking hot that he couldn't see straight, when that slaver was wailing on her…he tried to dredge up those same emotions for something to hold onto, but he only discovered a cold, dark pit instead.
They said nothing more, and she stood and raised the shirt over her head to toss back at him. She then locked herself behind the bathroom door, the sound of the faucet turning on, and he finished getting himself dressed.
The saloon nightlife summoned him from down below.
