"What's your poison, smoothskin?"
"Some water, please." The Lone Wanderer pointed to an icetray. "Dude, can I get some of those?
I'm about ready to jump in the Potomac, it's so dang hot."
Gob chuckled, the cubes clacking loudly in the glass as he prepared the drink. After it was set before the overly sweaty smoothskin, he waved a hand as Lone reached for some caps. "It's on me...enjoy it."
The Wanderer tossed a few to clink in the jar labeled 'tips'. "Thanks man, I will." He downed his present salvation, a few drops of water snaking down his salt-crusted throat as an ice cube was loudly crunched to pieces.
"Refill?"
A white grin set on a dirt-streaked face, and the ghoul barkeep fulfilled the request. Gob went to ask of his latest travels when the door suddenly opened to let in a breath of hot wind.
"You mind? The damn A/C only does so much," he grumbled, smacking a dampened, yellowed towel of sweat and condensation over his shoulder.
The ex-raider took a seat one over from the Wanderer's, spinning around and flashing a grimy snap of fingers. "Shut up and get me my fucking drink, shuffler."
"Evening, Jericho," the Wanderer drawled indifferently, tilting his glass back for another piece of ice to chew.
Jericho snuffed something up his nose loudly, wiping at it with the back of his hand. "Where's that fucking pet zombie of yours? Finally come to your senses and fucking ditch that corpse?"
At that present moment, the crimson ghoul was giving a wide berth around Craterside Supply- even though they were no longer pursuing those asinine, suicidal requests, it still made him feel rather uneasy at the thought of running into the screwball woman and her proposal of 'fun' experiments. The ghoul had enough laboratory work done on him to last a few lifetimes...plus, the laser burn etched on the underside of his, already, scorched left nut from that fucking RobCo factory still itched like crazy.
Charon strode up the rickety ramp to the aptly named GOBS SALOON, his palm turning the handle to be welcomed by the sound of tense voices.
"I'm just trying to be friendly, doll." Jericho.
"Piss off, be friendly with your friends." Nova.
"Hey man, she said to let her be." Adam.
The ghoul froze in the open doorway, his hand still gripping the knob as he stood there observing the argument between the three.
Gob sighed loudly from the back. "Shut the damn door!"
Charon complied, slamming it with enough force it startled all the other patrons.
"Don't bring the house down," the smaller ghoul muttered, placing both palms flat on the knife-nicked counter in what was assuming his best bravado display. "Don't make me kick you out, Jericho."
"Fuck you, rotgut." The ex-raider sloppily wiped at his chin; the pheromone of whiskey interlacing with bad breath. Those grimy, nail-bitten fingers grubbily reached over for the former prostitute's arm. "C'mon baby, let a real man show you a good time-"
Two very different sets of hands halted the unwanted encroachment. One tanned, freshly riddled with pink scars; the other decayed, leathery, uncertain.
"I think you should go," Adam spoke up with all the authority a nineteen-year-old kid could muster.
"Get out," Gob reaffirmed, and he pointed a pitted finger to the door.
A violent twist of Jericho's arm displaced their palms; the raider rose from his seat, a sneering grin cocked on his chapped lips. "Oh yeah?" He eyed the new bar owner and let out a sardonic huff from his chest. "You think acting out will get you some pussy? You're both fucking pathetic. I've railed her so hard she had to take the day off. Go back and jack to the fucking memory of it, you fucking prick."
"Fuck you Jericho-" Nova began, but her past client cut her words short as he turned back to her leaning against the counter.
"No, fuck you, bitch, you cheap fucking whore. Just cause Moriarty's gone you think you're too good for this dick? Forget all those nights you screamed nothing but my name? You cun-" Jericho was spun around at the shoulder; he couldn't maneuver his remaining insult around the fist that collided with his mouth, knocking a few rotten teeth down his throat. A horrifying cough racked
his lungs as he rolled along the floor in pain.
Charon unclenched his taut knuckles, turning casually to the slack-jawed ghoul. A rumble cleared his throat, and he sat his massive frame down on the raider's presently empty stool.
"Beer." Was all he rasped, and the two smoothskins flanking his either side just blinked.
Gob grunted out a guttural sound in what was assumed to be surprise at the sudden interaction; the groaning raider on his floor snapped him from his stupefied trance. He quickly reached into a fridge, popped a cap, and slid a new bottle of slick condensation to his fellow man. "Hey, just, not in here, okay? Take it outside."
They all turned their heads to the pitiful moans crying at their feet. Charon snorted, his hint of amusement brief. With a shaky exhale of air, Nova took her seat, not bequeathing a single glance to either man that had made her earlier stand.
"Thanks for that, big boy," she said in that sultry slur that could get a man to thrust his hand down his pants. "A girl really owes you one."
The contracted ghoul didn't reply, or even look at her. He only swallowed the cold brew of hops foaming across his tongue; that thousand-yard stare he was so well-practiced with was sent across the way. It was the only other look he seemed to have to him, if he wasn't throwing a face full of malice around that even a blind man could read.
Don't fuck with me.
The glowering flame of his eyes, coupled with the intimidating power of his stance, always seemed to flare a heat between her thighs.
The prostitute nudged his leg with the toe of her boot, giving all of the past five years her profession experienced her with in the pout of her lips and the bat of her eyes. "I'm happy to repay the favor, sometime."
The Lone Wanderer and the unrequited barkeep exchanged a look- neither of them had so much as gotten a coquettish wink from the vixenish prostitute before. Charon leaned forward, resting an arm on the counter and finally turning to this smoothskin woman meeting his smoldering eyes with bedroom ones.
"He was loud," he grunted, and he turned his stare back to the far wall.
Nova said nothing; her eyes had become so unusually wide they may have left their sockets. His employer went to open his mouth when Charon felt a hand land on his bicep. He turned his head around to Jericho putting up both fists before his chest, his head bobbing everywhere in reaction to the dizziness he felt. The crimson ghoul gave a look to Gob, who only shrugged.
"Don't kill him. He owes a big tab."
Without setting his drink down, Charon reached out and swiped at the ex-raider's collar, yanking him off his feet as he brought him close enough to lay the full brunt of his skull in a smack against his own. Jericho fell limp, and the ghoul dropped him carelessly. He didn't say a single word as he turned back around to tilt the bottle back to finish his beer, and then he rose from his seat.
"It's not nice to keep a girl waiting," Nova pointedly commented, noticing with a mixture of excitement and uneasiness at how this big ghoul towered over her.
Any other irradiated customer wouldn't have drawn this teasing tension from the pit of her abdomen. She couldn't say exactly what it was about the silent and stoic bodyguard that kindled dirty fantasies to keep her up some nights. The heft of his hands, ruined and scarred; the chisel of his chest, broad and defined; the fact that he just didn't seem to fucking care about anyone or anything but the fucking kid he followed beside. No one, fucked with Charon, and the transparent show of dominance he subconsciously subjugated made any other man laughable in contrast.
His large palm reached down, bypassing the exposed skin of her leg for the backside of Jericho's leather jacket.
"What are you doing?"
The ghoul lifted the unconscious man with ease, pausing to glance down at her with a blank expression. "Taking it outside," he stated flatly, and the patrons were once again exposed to the wasteland's soul-sucking heat as they disappeared through the door.