The pelting rain was falling in droves, and after having waited nearly half an hour, both ghoul and girl made their way back into town in search of their standup bounty hunter. The two had the same internal thoughts as to perhaps why he had never returned- Evelyn was always a safe bet to be made.

The mercenary ghoul was found leaning against the wall of Guns n' Nuts, his hands deep inside of his pockets and his hat drawn low over his face. He almost blended into the dark brickwork, and through the pouring rain, he was rather easy to miss.

Charon halted the girl before she made her way to him. They exchanged a look, and she gave a rather disappointed sigh, making the journey alone back to her room instead.

They were out of earshot, and Charon crossed his arms down at the merc.

"I'm partin' ways…she's leavin'," Cross merely drawled, his face hidden away in the shroud of his collar.

A giant stone dropped in the ferryman's gut. "What?"

"Fuck, you know it better than I fuckin' do- she's goin' to get killed 'cause of me, and I can't take it anymore." His voice was so…tired.

"You will not let her go," Charon growled. "You love her."

Cross kept his gaze secluded, and the ferryman continued.

"She can very well die at any point- it does not matter how. If you leave her, she may not want you back, and you will be alone, regardless," Charon rasped flatly.

The merc brusquely rubbed at his eyes with his fingertips; he was crying. Charon stood there awkwardly, he didn't think the man was even capable of such emotion- he himself sure as hell wasn't, not anymore.

"Campbell can take us to Braxton...I will keep her safe."

"Fuck."


"Fuck!"

Crash!

The wooden chair careened against the wall, effectively dismantling itself from the force at which it was thrown. Evelyn slumped against the side of their bed, inhaling deep breaths as she struggled to check her emotions in place; the air had a lingering scent of sweet perfume and woody smoke. The minutes passed as she merely cried into her folded arms; the overwhelming urge to run back to him and simply stay was so strong she found her hand rotating the doorknob. A clenched fist, and she indented the mold of her palm into the bronze metal.

A wave of fury cascaded over the cold wash of her sorrow, and her hands were angrily shoving the remains of her gear inside of her pack. Charon's dampened contract was carefully folded and reinserted into its familiar place among her belongings, and the skin of her fingertips fumbled along the topside of the dresser, lightly grazing over the cover of her notebook. A pause, and she slowly brought it into her lap, gently caressing the sides of the rough-cut yellowed pages that had been ripped out and reinserted over many a time. A flip open, and a few tears stained the inked words of the poem she had written about her bounty hunter. A sniff, and she reached for her pen, scribbling a few more lines beneath the poetry before dogearing the page. With a choked sob, she tucked her most prized possession carefully away, and finally went out the door with her bag shouldered.


The ferryman eventually found her at the edge of town, sitting in a pitiful heap on a slab of concrete in the pouring rain. She didn't even register his presence as he took a knee down before her, and only until his fingertips rested underneath her chin, did she refocus her eyes on his face.

She looked like shit.

"Do you wish to stay out here all day?" Charon rumbled at her. He sincerely hoped not; she would most likely succumb to a cold…and a depressed, mopey, sick Evelyn was something he did not want to deal with in an all-in-one go. "Let us go back inside, you are unwell."

"I have your contract. I want to leave." Her voice was so…disconcerted. "I want to leave now."

Charon knew better than to ask, and so he didn't. There was only a nod. "I will retrieve Campbell…please come out from the rain, you may wait for me at the diner until we are ready." A quiver of her bottom lip, and he sighed. They were both already drenched, as it was. "He will not be there…please, Evelyn."

Slowly, a sad nod of her head, and the ghoul stood and pulled her upright, nearly half-dragging her into the town's gas station-turned-diner. With a slump, her soaked bag fell to her feet, and she was shoved inside of a booth, cradling her head in her hands atop the table. Water began to pool everywhere, dripping in steady streams down to the floor.

"If you do not eat what I order you, we will not be going anywhere…and I will have him make sure of it," Charon warned her, making a turn for the front counter.

"Charon-" Her small voice made him pause. "-tell him he can keep the rifle…not like we use it much, anyways."

A hesitation. "Are you sure?"

"…yeah."

A hot plate of food was set before her, along with a cup of what was assumed to be some form of coffee. She finally raised her head, giving a distasteful glance to it before meeting the crimson ghoul's harsh stare.

"Eat," he ordered, not turning to leave until she had begrudgingly picked up a fork and began to chew on something.

It only took him a few minutes to locate the wiry merc; he had not left Guns n' Nuts, and he was left completely oblivious to the entire situation until Charon came to his side, clamping a hand down on his shoulder. Nobody in the room had heard him approach, and everyone gave a slight startle. How did someone that big move so quietly?

"We are leaving. Retrieve your things immediately, she is waiting for us at the diner," Charon rasped, pointedly avoiding the bounty hunter's stare that was digging into him from the corner. "It would be wise to not ask questions…if I were you," he added, and the sandy-haired mercenary just gave a look to his fellow merc, before blowing out a sigh and turning for the door.

"It's always something, round here," he muttered under his breath, drawing his hood up against the rain with his newly acquired gun strapped snugly to his back.

Charon finally gave a flit of his burning eyes to his now previous employer. "The rifle is yours." A turn of his heel, and he disappeared back into the whirling storm.


A knock.

Lydia opened her door, the small excitement she felt stirring inside immediately crashing into anxiety. Cross had a terribly downcast expression, and he coughed into a fist.

"I'm takin' ya back to Carly's…we'll leave tomorrow."

Lydia gaped her mouth open and closed stupidly for a moment, widening her doorway as she stole a peek down the empty hallway. "Where…are the others? Did something happen?"

"They left for Braxton…we're not goin' with them."

Lydia's face first contorted into confusion, before she broke down and began to sob, hiding her face away from him. The merc inwardly groaned. How did he always give them a reason to cry?!

"Braxton is the last place you should be- there was a reason you couldn't go with." With a heavy thud, he planted a heavy hand on her shoulder and gave her a light shake. "Tryin' to keep you safe, kid."

"I-I don't have- anyone- anymore," she choked out, and he gave her a disheartened glance. "I mean, it's not like Stede and Marshall were family, or-or even friends, but- you know, I never- I never-" The words were lodged in her throat, and she couldn't place them on her tongue. He didn't understand. No one had ever given her a reason to laugh just for the sake of it; no one ever gave a shit, no one ever cared. Her fingers twiddled along the holster strap Cross had outfitted for her just yesterday.

"Jesus kid, c'mere." Cross smooshed her into a bear hug, and she let out an oof as she was crushed against him. There was a moment of hesitation as her arms trembled at the sides, and then they found purchase around him and she gripped him fiercely. "Look, ya got this old man, 'kay? And two hundred years hasn't sought to end me yet…so quit it with the crocodile tears, and I'll see ya in the mornin'…we'll go from there. Capeesh?"

It was a rather poor assurance, but the ghoul was too exhausted to say anything more. Lydia simply nodded, wiping the snot from her nose across the back of her hand, and she left him alone in the hallway.

The ghoul finally made his way outside of his room, and his hand slowly reached for the knob. The fingertips barely grazed the cold metal, before curling into a closed fist and drawing down to his side. He went downstairs instead, and got blackout drunk.


Splash Splash Splash

The streams of water raging through the streets of Braxton soaked through the blue ghoul's boots. The water was cold, but outwardly, he didn't seem to mind. The contracted ghoul had been tasked, and the job was the only thing that mattered in the present moment.

A side door into the Catwalk- the only brothel establishment the city had to offer; run by ghouls, for ghouls, with a very successful and highly illegal smoothskin trafficking operation being discreetly regulated beneath its rotting floorboards.

Roman did not partake in the services, seeing as he had been ordered to oversee the operation, instead. He had no choice, it was what his employer had tasked him with- in order to keep their own identity without risk.

"Roman's here." A female ghoul behind the upper railing called out into the smoky interior of a room behind. Some incoherent muttering wafted forth. "Yeah…yeah, I'll tell him." A whistle. "Hey, blue for brains, might want to see Leaky Joe- apparently something came up with the last shipment."

A single nod, and the ghoul walked down the hallway of garbled cries and stifled air. Everyone avoided his path; everyone knew what the ghoul was capable of, and did not want to be on its receiving end.


Cross was completely intoxicated when she watched him leave the bar. Almost every head turned to stare at her as she passed by.

The merc was stumbling back to his room and accidentally sidelined into the wall. "Ow," he muttered under his breath.

"Hey, Cowboy." A soft whistle.

The ghoul had both palms planted against the flat surface to anchor himself, and he blinked confusedly at the slender shadow approaching him down the hallway. "Whothe-" He was giving a gargled growl, swaying unsteadily on his feet.

Even when she came directly beneath him under the lamp lighting, he had to squint at her face, it was…everywhere.

"You okay?" she asked him with a highly humored tone.

A snarl, and he turned from her, attempting to walk away but careening five feet sideways to the left. His shoulder braced against the opposite wall, and he groaned into his hands. "No."

No comment was further made, and he continued on his way to his room. The key was jammed inside and twisted around fanatically as he gave a loud snort; the door was thrown open and slammed behind him. His clothes found their way to the floor, and he stepped into a cold shower in an attempt to sober himself.

He wasn't entirely sure if what he had seen was real, or not.


Charon had his hands clasped together, the dancing firelight creating harsh contrasting shadows across his face as he leaned forward towards the flames. His faded eyes were trained across the way at her sleeping figure; they were beseeching…and he did not even know what he was searching for. The ferryman shifted his weight in his seat. There were many countless nights that he had spent gazing upon the Lone Wanderer, trying to make sense of the chaos that stormed within him. He had been quite a different man just only a few years ago…he did not like to reflect on just what kind of monster he had been, in the service to that other.

Charon did not care if Cross found his solace or not; if he were completely honest with himself, he hoped the bounty hunter would search for it in someone else. The damn merc had taken so much of her already, and it was frustrating to watch her mope along in thought of him.

Her right hand twitched violently, and she suddenly sat upright with a loud gasp. Both men drew back, slightly startled. Those amber ringlets flew around her shoulders as she spun in every direction, her breathing labored and shirt drenched in sweat. Charon was surprised, he could not remember the last time she had experienced a nightmare; it was sometime relatively early, in their partnership.

"You are safe." Was all he told her, and her breathing began to settle.

A groan, and she closed her eyes and cradled her face into her hands, drawing her knees to her chest. "God, that dream was awful." Her arms were shaking, and she threw the sleeping roll from her frame and stood upright, wobbling a little too close to the fire.

The ferryman made a move to stand, but she already disappeared into the darkness and behind the tree line; there were few things he allowed her privacy for. The sound of vomiting could be heard, and he gave a deep sigh. It must have been a really awful nightmare.

She reentered into the orange illumination, digging for her toothbrush and her half-empty water bottle. Her back was to them as she wildly brushed away, only turning to spit into the fire. A loud fizz cackled from the sizzling embers.

"You okay?" Campbell asked her, and she gave a shrug, stowing away her things. "Do you-"

"No. I don't," she stoically replied, cracking her knuckles together. She then gave Charon a look, and he grumbled.

The ferryman gave a pat beside him, and she very nearly teleported to the spot. They sat side by side, and he allowed her to tuck herself comfortably under the crook of his shoulder. She snugged one leg over the other, turned her head away from the brightness of the fire, and curled her arms over his. Within moments, she was back asleep.


The underlying attraction he had felt towards the blonde smoothskin was now making his spine buzz and heart squeeze painfully. There was a fester brewing under his skin, and he could not scratch at it.

What if he had just simply said, fuck it, one woman isn't worth all this hassle, and continued his life as it were? After all, their initial attraction had happened so fast, and it burned so hot they were just completely blinded to everything else around them…and now that he doused the forge to be left cold- was Charon right, would she even want him back?

The rain was thrumming on the roof, and he was sitting in the cushioned chair in his room, blowing rings from his mouth and remembering the way she looked that night. He was maladaptive daydreaming at this point, and he couldn't seem to find the motivation for anything else. The broken shell of a chair she had destroyed was still left in its crumpled pile against the wall, and he sought to pay a little extra to the innkeeper before he left.

He had packed his things and went to set foot out the door, he needed to get his life back together and escape that suffocating prison of memories, but when he turned in the doorway, his bag was still nestled at the bedside, and he realized he wasn't even fully dressed.

That night there was a soft voice singing heartfelt lulls from down below, and he couldn't help but answer its alluring call.


Evelyn was suddenly being…smothered.

The crimson ghoul wouldn't let her interact in any confrontation, whatsoever. In a tiny dive bar in a town off the beaten path, a man had approached her when she was sitting at the table beside him, and the ghoul simply placed his shotgun on the table as a warning.

She was already weary, and nearly falling asleep while walking upright. Charon took notice.

"You are not well." There was pressure on her forearm, and she blinked down at how his large hand easily engulfed over her. "We should stop until you are better."

A sniff as she wiped at her nose; she looked just as shitty as she felt. "It's not going to help. Traveling isn't the issue."

Campbell squinted at her, then surveyed the open forest they were voyaging through. He, too, had noticed her decline. "He's right. Braxton ain't going anywhere, Cazador."

Charon gave an exasperated sigh, his thumb stroking long circles on her wrist. "You have to tell me how to help you, then."

She was quiet, grinding her jaw and staring through the void of his hand. A shrug.

His hand traveled up her arm, resting on the underside of her face. "Do you wish to go back?"

Those blue eyes faded slightly, and it twisted his gut. "…a little." She gently removed him, stifling a yawn. "Let's just get to the next town…"

They continued, and by the time they had arrived, she was nearly asleep on her feet. The ferryman hawked over her agitatedly, but she was too exhausted to notice. She disappeared into her room, leaving both men to their own devices. Campbell retired, and the ferryman was left to pace outside of her door. He was left so wound up over her wellbeing he did not care to think about his own personal needs.

It was midnight, and she thrust open the door and barreled into him, shaking and wide-eyed. Her nightly shirt was soaked, and she merely clung to his side, intertwining her fingers through his gear and sobbing quietly. Charon was so initially shocked at the display he froze, tensing as she huddled into him. He had only seen her reduced to such a state once before, and the thought of Serrato made his mouth go dry.

"Can-can you sleep with me, just for tonight?" she asked him quietly, and he only nodded and shuffled her back into her room.

The soft glow of the lamp illuminated the room, and he stood stock still as she left him to shower away the sweat she had soiled herself in. It was nearly an hour later before she finally emerged, dripping water in a dark nightgown. He watched her crawl into bed, and the frame of her body racked under the covers. Charon felt internally distraught over her rapid regression; he didn't know what to do anymore. She answered his trepidations; her hands called out to him rather shyly, and he hesitated as his fingers automatically went to remove his armor.

"It's fine." She held his eyes with her own, and he gave another nod.

His breathing was almost shaky, and he felt more nervous than when he had asked the ghoul prostitute to share his bed with him. He did not understand his inner turmoil; she was not asking him for sex, and yet her call to him felt extremely intimate. They had slept side by side before, but never in such a…close, state. His fingers were unbuckling at the numerous satchels over his pants; he was left in his shirt and undergarments, and he shifted in place awkwardly before joining her.

"Do you not want to?" she breathed at him as he sidled close to her. "I'm sorry, I just-"

"It is fine," he lied. Internally, his thoughts were a muddled mess, trying to comprehend the confusion that was the situation. "Are you…okay?"

A half-hearted shrug, and she chewed on her already chapped lower lip. "I'm just so tired."

He nodded in agreement. There were dark circles under her eyes, and her voice was sluggish. Her pitiful state was heart-wrenching for him, and before he realized the extent of his actions, he had cuddled her wet body against him. Every one of his muscles tensed as she cautiously explored him with her positioning; the calf of her leg intercepted between his, an arm wound under his own and her fingers gingerly rested against his spine.

The ghoul was well aware he was breathing heavily, but he felt no inclination to move or act out in any way. She was actually quite cold; the sopping water had now saturated through his own clothing, but he paid it no mind. The shivering she was producing made him instinctively tuck her closer to himself, and the overwhelming heat of his body warmed pleasingly through to her bones.

She gave a contented sigh, nuzzling her face into his chest, and within moments, was asleep.