Hello friends. What turned into a brief absence for Christmas ended up being almost three months of silence on my end. I've been mulling over in my head what to say, how to justify it...and then I realised. I do this for free. I shouldn't need to justify anything. And yet worrying about my absence has stopped me from coming back. Easier to ignore it and pretend it's not happening than to deal with it, right?
I've decided from this point onward I'll only be updating on Ao3 and FFnet. Part of the reason for my disappearance was the absolutely tedious process of formatting my chapters for Tumblr. It got to the point where I was actively avoiding updating in order not to update on Tumblr too. So I'm taking the plunge and no longer updating on that site. It's pretty pointless anyway, since all that effort usually garners no response.
I'm back. I'm mostly recovered from shingles and I'm receiving therapy for my depression. I'm drawing again, which is a good sign. Hopefully now I'll stay back and won't get myself stuck in a rut again.
Expect updates every Saturday.
Rot
Decay hung heavy in the enclosed spaces of Mad Mulligan's Minecart ride. Mrs. Bossanova had said the bloodworms seemed to be coming from this place, and that they needed to deal with them, but nothing could have prepared Sarah for the smell. She gagged, retreating a few steps, eyes watering and mingling with the dark until it was impossible to see. She was back in the Disciple's lair, the stench of rotten meat clogging her throat, feet sticking to the dried blood coating the floor. Nisha's face loomed from the depths of her memory, her features obscured by her sharp, rusted metal mask, save the cruel lips twisted into a malicious smile.
Sarah clamped a hand to her mouth, pushing down the urge to vomit, and blinked rapidly until her vision cleared. Mrs. Bossanova was a few feet away, watching her with great concern.
"Are you alr—?" she began, before leaning forward suddenly and heaving. She stayed that way for a few seconds, and then glanced up, shaking her head. "Don't answer," she gasped, looking like she was about to throw up. "It's so much worse."
Sarah took her word for it.
The entrance of the ride was similar to the buildings outside: wooden, with white, red, and blue banners hanging from the ceilings, a mannequin sitting on a barrel next to another set of double doors. The floor was collapsed in places, and on the opposite side to the main door, a set of dirty windows. More mannequins were standing behind the grubby glass, silhouetted against a dim light behind them. To the right of the window was a huge tunnel, an orange glow flickering somewhere within.
Sarah gulped. The tunnel was easily taller than Mrs. Bossanova or Gage. Maybe even taller than Colter in his power armour. An image of a huge molerat burrowing through the earth clawed its way into her mind, its milky eyes rolling in its pink, leathery head, its huge, yellow teeth dripping with saliva as it looked for its prey.
Then another creature wormed its way up through Sarah's imagination: a bloodworm the size of a brahmin, wrapping its thick, spiny body around the molerat and dragging it—squealing and writhing—down into the ground. The picture was so vivid Sarah glanced around, expecting the dirt to start shuddering with the movement of worms. But the wooden floor remained unmoving, and the only noise in the mine came from the entourage of Mr. Handies they'd brought with them.
Mrs. Bossanova seemed unfazed by this strange place. She was at the other set of doors, trying the handle. It rattled but didn't move, even when kicked and pushed. The bangs were loud in the heavy silence, and Sarah wondered if it would attract more of the worms. She shivered and scurried over to the old lady's side.
Mrs. Bossanova glanced at her, quickly working her frown into a smile, and placed a hand on Sarah's shoulder. "Looks like this is locked. If we don't find a key, I'll get one of the robots to cut it open. In the meantime, we'll let them go ahead. First sign of trouble, you run and hide, okay?"
Sarah nodded, her mouth dry, her skin crawling. Choked by the stench of death, she knew this was no place to argue.
As they walked up to the tunnel, Sarah saw the source of light was a lantern, casting shadows on a large, unmoving bloodworm. Mrs. Bossanova held up her hand, letting the Mr. Handies approach first instead. They prodded it at her command, and when it remained still, moved on, leaving Sarah and Mrs. Bossanova behind.
"Come on," Mrs. Bossanova muttered, and together they sidled past the disgusting thing and into the deep darkness of the tunnels.
Again, Sarah's eyes adjusted quickly, but there were little bulbs hung over the wooden structures holding the earthen tunnel up, revealing more dead worms. On they walked, until they saw a small alcove with a cardboard cutout of a cartoon man with a big ginger beard and wearing 'cowboy' clothes Mrs. Bossanova had talked about earlier. Then she let out a scream as she spotted a real human face poking out from behind a set of crates.
Pain shot through Sarah's shoulder as Mrs. Bossanova seized her right arm and dragged her back so sharply she bounced off the tunnel wall behind her. The old woman's sword was drawn and ready, her stance tense and low as she stared into the alcove.
"What is it?" Mrs. Bossanova hissed, not turning to look at Sarah as she spoke. "What did you see?"
"That man," Sarah said shakily, before gagging. Mrs. Bossanova was right—talking made the smell a lot worse. It slid across her tongue, infesting her mouth and wriggling down her throat. She coughed and retched, and eventually forced out, "By the crates." Sarah wasn't sure why she screamed. Dead bodies wouldn't hurt her. But the whole place had her on edge, and she hadn't been expecting it.
Mrs. Bossanova edged forward, sword raised, and inspected the body. After a moment, she sheathed it as she said, "Dead. For a while, by the look of him." She crouched down, patting his pockets, and pulled out a few items which she set down behind her: a key, some ammo, and a scrap of paper. The old lady turned the key over in her hands and then stowed it away before turning her attention to the note. Her face hardened as she read, and then she folded it and slipped it beneath the depths of her clothes as she stood up.
Sarah wanted to ask what it said, but the idea of trying to speak again made her want to vomit, so she stayed quiet. She could ask later.
They continued down the main tunnel and into an open area, the Mr. Handies nowhere in sight. There was a small waterfall cascading from a crack in the wall above, and below the walkway they were now on was a little metal shack, a table, and few other signs of an abandoned settlement. A large dead animal lay near the shack, so bloated its legs stuck out at odd angles. Sarah had seen one of these in the marketplace before, near Buttercup's enclosure. It looked like a brahmin, but was grey instead of a reddish brown, and with two long, pointed horns protruding from each of its heads.
There were more dead bloodworms too but nothing recent. Sarah started to relax. Maybe the bloodworms were all dead, and the smell was just the people who'd died in the last fight with them. She hoped that was the case.
Mrs. Bossanova eyed the large animal corpse with unease, and let out a sharp whistle. One of the Mr. Handies ambled around the corner.
"Madam?"
"Check that out," she ordered, barely concealing her gag reflex as she pointed to the body.
Sarah became uneasy as the Mr. Handy approached the horned brahmin. Now she was looking at it properly, she realised what she'd assumed to be a trick of the flickering lights was actually movement. It was dead—most definitely dead—and yet its pitted hide rose up and down, like it was breathing. It pulsed to a steady rhythm, and Sarah shrank away as the Mr. Handy reached it.
Nothing happened.
Sarah let out a slow breath, her hand still clamped over her mouth, but Mrs. Bossanova didn't seem satisfied. She shook her head, waving for Sarah to stay far back, kicked aside an old bit of pipe, and walked down the metal steps to the area below, her footsteps mingled with the low rumble of the waterfall.
"Cut it," Mrs. Bossanova said, slowly drawing her sword and holding aloft, standing a good few feet from the horned brahmin.
The Mr. Handy activated his saw arm and lowered it to the shifting, distending body. "Right away, mada—"
The brahmin corpse exploded. Mrs. Bossanova was knocked straight off her feet by a wave of rancid meat and blood, which splattered to the ground just in front of Sarah. The Mr. Handy went spinning away— "Oh, I say!" —and clanged off the metal shack.
Worms erupted from the red spray, their open maws turned in Mrs. Bossanova's direction. The old lady lashed out blindly with her sword, slicing one in half, the others latching onto her arm and leg.
"Run, Sarah!"
Sarah did not run. She remained rooted to the spot, her mouth open in horror. Mrs. Bossanova's shrieks of pain and fear filled her ears, and she found she could not obey. She picked up the rusted piece of pipe, ran down the stairs, and charged forward, swinging wildly. There was a crunch, and the worm fell off Mrs. Bossanova's arm, writhing on the ground. Sarah continued to hit it, over and over, until it was little more than pink and red paste on the floor.
"Unhand her, you rogue!"
Sarah looked up just in time to see the Mr. Handy rejoining the fray, and she stumbled aside as he shot past, his saw whirring menacingly. There was a brief moment where she thought he might cut through Mrs. Bossanova's legs, but then the old lady grabbed the worm, pulled, and it tore cleanly in two.
"Madam," the Mr. Handy said as Mrs. Bossanova got shakily to her feet, "are you alright? I'm so sorry I was not here to protect you to my fullest. I—"
"It's fine," she said, waving his apology down and instead turning to Sarah. "You okay?"
Sarah nodded and smiled. Mrs. Bossanova did not return it, her black eyes narrowing dangerously. "What was the one thing I told you?"
"I wasn't going to leave you," Sarah shot back, knowing what was coming. "You wouldn't leave me."
"What did I tell you?"
"To run."
"And what did you do instead?"
"Saved your life." Sarah stared back defiantly and Mrs. Bossanova's lips twitched.
"Sarah," Mrs. Bossanova said, dragging her expression back to stern, "I am old. I've lived my life three times over. It doesn't matter if I die. But you are young...your life is far more precious than mine."
"Nuh uh." Sarah shook her head. "I've heard Gage talking. If you die, that's the end of Nuka World. The raiders would hurt him."
"You care if Gage gets hurt?"
Sarah hesitated. She didn't know the answer to that. Skirting around the topic, she said, "If you die, and if Nuka World ends, then the raiders won't care what happens to the slaves. A lot of people will get hurt if you die."
Mrs. Bossanova froze. Her hand drifted up to the spot where she'd tucked the dead man's letter away, her face blank but her eyes wide. "I hadn't thought of it like that."
"Well you should," Sarah replied fiercely. She liked the old woman, but there was a lot she apparently didn't think about. "They're getting hurt every day and nobody cares. Nobody does anything about it."
Mrs. Bossanova stared at her for a long time. She looked a mess, covered in foul-stinking blood, her expression rigid, almost angry—Sarah wondered if she'd gone too far. Then her face relaxed and she stood up, barely giving her a backwards glance as she walked away.
"Come out. We still need to clear this place out."
Sarah watched Mrs. Bossanova from one of the upper windows of Jack's brothel. The old lady knelt next to a stream, washing all the gore out of her caked clothes and leaving them to dry on a nearby rock.
Ridding the tunnels of worms had been a long, revolting process. They'd called the other Mr. Handies back and worked their way to the centre of the mine, where the floor had collapsed into a large pit filled with more pulsing brahmin corpses. As Mrs. Bossanova approached, dust swirled up around them and a huge worm burst from the ground—something Mrs. Bossanova called a 'queen.' The Mr. Handies had clustered in, making short work of the queen, before turning on the whole writhing mass exploding from the brahmins.
By the time they'd made it out of the mines, they were both covered head to toe in dirt—and in Mrs. Bossanova's case—blood and meat. The Mr. Handies remained in the mines, cleaning up the gore on Mrs. Bossanova's orders. Before she and Sarah reached the exit though, Mrs. Bossanova found two more bodies in a locked room, opening the door with the key she found on the first body. They'd had notes too and Mrs. Bossanova read them both, turned away from Sarah. On the second note she became very quiet, her head bowed, her jaw clenched tight. Then she'd left the dingy office without another word.
Sarah pestered Mrs. Bossanova about the bodies all the way through Dry Rock Gulch until she finally offered up an explanation.
"Traders," Mrs. Bossanova said, her voice jerky as they'd marched back to Jack's brothel. "They hid in the mines when the raiders took over and became...trapped."
She'd refused to say any more after that, wearing an expression similar to when Tiana died in her arms.
She was a very strange woman, Sarah concluded, continuing to observe as Mrs. Bossanova laid out the last of her clothes to dry, and then got in stream in her underclothes, scrubbing fiercely at her arms, legs, and most particularly her face.
Eventually Sarah grew bored and drew away from the window. She'd had a quick wash in the river when they first got back, clearing out her nasal cavity to banish the stink. Thankfully water didn't seem to trigger the collars, but it grew cold on her neck as she'd washed, its weight suddenly dragging her down harder than ever before. Sarah moved over to her bed and sat down crossed legged, lost in her thoughts. She felt confused and wary, accepted and shunned.
There was more to Mrs. Bossanova, but she couldn't figure out what she was missing, or what it was about the old lady that made her so uncomfortable. She was kind to Sarah, though she didn't extend that courtesy to any of the other slaves. But she did look after Sarah; put her first. She'd made her climb ahead to safety, pushed her out of the way of the worms, and…
Knew where Oswald was.
Sarah's stomach contracted, but the great truth was finally staring her straight in the face: something had happened, and Mrs. Bossanova knew what.
Oswald wouldn't have left without a fight, and this explanation of finding Rachel...it didn't sit well with her. He'd insisted he would wait for her—if he left, how would he find her? The last time she saw him, he was adamant of his place in Nuka World—Kiddie Kingdom belonged to him, and he wouldn't bow to the raiders, even if his life depended on it. He had to be there. Maybe captured? Or maybe Mrs. Bossanova hadn't seen him at all, and she was jealous. But whatever the matter was, Mrs. Bossanova knew and was refusing to tell her. She'd almost said, back at the Gulch, before losing her nerve.
Sarah got to her feet, making her mind up on the spot. If the old lady wasn't going to tell, she'd just have to find it out herself. A quick peek out of the window confirmed Mrs. Bossanova was still cleaning up in the river, though Sarah knew she wouldn't have long. The day was sweltering, and her own clothes dried in minutes. Once she was gone, it wouldn't take a genius to figure out where she was heading—she'd asked too many questions about Oswald for that.
Getting to Kiddie Kingdom was easy enough. Sarah slipped out from the brothel like a radroach in a vault, none of the adults paying her the slightest bit of attention. Only Eddie caught her eye, and he winked before turning his back to her. Sarah grinned. She liked Eddie.
Sarah edged around the back of the building to avoid Mrs. Bossanova. She snuck another peek before she left, and frowned. The old woman was sitting in the water, her eyes shut, her head in her hands. The letters she'd taken from the traders were all laid carefully out not too far from the river's edge and weighed down with rocks, as if she'd been reading them over and over all the time she'd been washing her clothes.
For a moment, Sarah had the greatest urge to go over and read the letters herself, but it disappeared quickly. Finding Oswald was more important than some stupid notes right now, and so Sarah drew away, heading off in the direction of Kiddie Kingdom.
There was a marked change in the atmosphere of the place when Sarah strolled through its front gates. There were no raiders, which was always a good sign, but the ghouls seemed...different. Instead of the keen, curious interest they'd showed her last time, they wandered aimlessly, or otherwise lay on the ground, making strange gurgling sounds in their throats. Were they angry at her for running away? Had Oswald told them not to be her friend anymore?
As she moved through the streets, Sarah spotted Petey and ran over to greet him. Slowly, sluggishly, Petey lifted his head like it was the greatest effort in the world, staring at her with his blank eyes.
Sarah crouched down, beaming at him. "Hi, Petey! Can you take me to Oswald, please?"
Petey blinked, his eyes shutting for a full second before opening them again. He continued to stare, looking past Sarah as if she wasn't there.
"Petey?" Sarah's stomach clenched. "Is...is everything okay? Where's Oswald?" When the ghoul still made no indication that he'd heard her, Sarah repeated loudly and clearly, "Take me to Oswald please."
Petey curled up on the floor and covered his head with his hands. Annoyed, Sarah poked him in the shoulder, and then shrieked and fell back as Petey lunged for her hand, snapping at the offending finger with his teeth. He lay there, rigid on the ground, growling, his eyes fixed on her. Then he deflated, curling back up into a little ball and turning his back to her.
Fear coursed through Sarah. She'd never been attacked by a feral ghoul before—they'd always been nice, gentle creatures to her, more interested in food and head scratches than anything else. Sure, Wiseman told her they attacked humans, but she'd rarely seen it. A little bit of information stored away in her head, forgotten. Until now.
Her worries over Oswald intensified, tightening its hold on her heart. What caused this change?
Sarah glanced up to the castle. She remembered the safe way up at least, around all the traps. Petey and Oswald had showed her them all the last time she was here, and the memory was fresh. Dread weighed on her shoulders as she made her way to King Cola's Court, pushing her down into the dirt and making each footstep heavier than the last.
Sarah called to Oswald as she crossed the castle's threshold. Her voice echoed through the empty room, throwing his name mockingly back at her. She shivered and moved on, his name falling from her lips over and over as she climbed higher through the castle. Finally she reached the top, using the hidden stairs Oswald had shown her. Sarah threw open the door and rushed in, hoping— praying —Oswald was there.
He was.
Sarah's breath caught in her throat as she gazed at his crumpled body, hat discarded next to him on the floor. Her heart thundered in her ears, drowning away all thought and feeling and noise, leaving her an empty shell.
How long she stood there, she didn't know. Oswald lay so quiet and terribly still, left arm thrown above his head, his right draped across his body, as if carrying an absent child. Sarah walked towards him in a trance, the horrific details sharpening into focus with every step she took.
His mouth was a silent scream, deep lacerations covered his neck and chest—the work of a knife or...or a sword. One eye was half open, the other completely blasted away by a bullet wound. Shards of skin and bone littered the back of his head, a large, dark green stain pooled around his shrunken body, the faintest of glows illuminating the floor. Sarah dropped to her knees, the cruel shard of hope piercing her heart. If he glowed, if the magic was here, he might be alive.
She knew the moment she touched him it was far too late. He was cold, his swollen flesh spongy underneath her fingers, and for the first time she saw his belly was bloated, straining against the buttons of his shirt. She gave him a desperate little shake and the rancid smell of death rose like toxic fumes, forcing her to reel back, retching.
When she returned to him, Sarah bowed her head, biting back a sob.
"Promise me you'll stay."
"I promise."
"Cross your heart and hope to die?"
"Stick a needle in my eye."
She glanced up, bile rising in her throat as her gaze fell on Oswald's remaining eye, staring accusingly at her. She'd broken the promise.
It was too much. Sarah lurched away, vomiting uncontrollably to the side, tears stinging her eyes as she heaved and choked. This was her fault. Whatever had happened, she was the cause—the breaker of the promise; a needle in the eye.
Sarah panted on all fours, spitting wretchedly into the growing puddle of sick, and looked back at Oswald. What had his last thoughts been? He would have known what was coming—what the magic would do when the promise was broken. Was that why he'd screamed for her when she ran? Because he was scared for her, or for himself too? He must have really believed she'd stay— trusted her to stay—and oh God, she had killed him.
Tears flowed freely down Sarah's cheeks as she gasped, bent double over her knees, the pain indescribable. Oswald was gone. Mr. Glass too. Her father, dead. Her mother, a bitter memory. Her chest ached with the force of her sobs, her breaths drawn ragged through her closing throat, the room spinning as she gripped at her head with her hateful hands.
A bang made her sit up straight, and Sarah saw Mrs. Bossanova in the secret doorway, her face stricken. Oswald must have shown her it before he died. Before she murdered him.
"Sarah," Mrs. Bossanova said, standing rigid as their eyes met.
"Why?" Sarah whispered. It was the only thing she could manage.
The old lady took a deep breath, as if steeling herself, but did not approach. Her face became set. "He tried to kill Gage. I couldn't allow that."
This revelation hit Sarah like a sledgehammer. Gage. Gage. Such a good and wonderful person dead and cold on the floor for someone like Gage? Sarah's lips trembled as rage swept through her like wildfire, consuming every rational thought until all she could see was the evil woman standing before her.
"You picked... over…?" The words refused to form. She couldn't say them.
Mrs. Bossanova closed her eyes and nodded.
Sarah staggered to her feet and backed away. Mrs. Bossanova's eyes snapped open and she stepped forward to follow, but Sarah held up her hands and shrieked, "No!"
Mrs. Bossanova stopped, every inch of her tense, ready to pounce.
Sarah swayed on the spot, cheeks slick with tears. The world was hard and cruel, but she'd always kept going, always tried, because good people survived. The man at her feet said otherwise. And suddenly Sarah found she'd had enough. She reached up, curling her fingers around her collar. She couldn't keep going, knowing what her broken promise had cost.
No more.
Mrs. Bossanova leaped forward to grab her a second too slow. Sarah ducked under her outstretched arm and sprinted for the closest set of stairs, racing up to the large hole in the roof as heavy footsteps thundered after her.
"Sarah!"
Sarah scrambled into the rafters and clambered down onto the orange roof tiles. They were smooth, and difficult to hold, and within a second Mrs. Bossanova's hand was clamped around her ankle. She kicked out, catching the old bitch in the mouth, but she clung on desperately.
"Sarah, you'll fall!"
Sarah struggled harder, and suddenly the tiles were sliding, an entire section of the roof coming away and ripping Sarah out of Mrs. Bossanova's grasp, sending her hurtling to the edge. Then she was airborne, before slamming through another roof below. Sarah screamed, but it was cut short as she hit a wooden beam, breaking it clean in two. On and on she tumbled, various structures taking their shot at her battered body, until she finally hit the floor with a brutal thud and a snap. Pain shot through her left arm.
It took her a moment to find her bearings, hurt consuming all her thoughts. But the distant, frantic yells of, "Sarah!" drove her back to her senses. She let out a wail as she tried to move her arm and was rewarded with splintering agony.
She bit her lip, pushing herself to her feet without using her injured limb, and staggered out of the door and into the courtyard. The collar rubbed uncomfortably against her neck. Sarah didn't know where she was going—she just knew she needed to get away from here.
And so she ran, tears of grief and pain mingling together until the world was a murky blur. She felt her legs catch tripwires and pressure plates, guns and explosives firing up around her, her only saving grace being that she was running away from the castle. Sarah wiped her eyes impatiently, finding the main gate for Kiddie Kingdom and tearing through it, none of the ghouls so much as throwing her a second glance.
On and on she went, her lungs struggling for air as she wept, legs aching with each step. Her collar bounced heavily against her shoulders, and as she sprinted for the distant horizon, it began to let out a slow, steady beep.
Sarah barely noticed it, her eyes fixed on the unexplored, her mind preoccupied with Oswald. He'd begged her to stay, and just like last time, she was running. The beeps increased in speed, picking up faster and faster, and Sarah finally understood what the noise meant. Her first night in Nuka Town rose into the chaotic mix of her thoughts, the image of the raider holding up a charred head with a wicked grin.
"We caught this one trying to leave. Thought he could beat our collars."
Sarah pressed on. The tears still flowed, and yet they were no longer mingled with grief and anger, but relief. She'd defied Jack's prediction—a few seconds of pain and her enslavement would be over. Sarah was escaping on her own terms.
"Sarah!"
The familiar voice cut through the haze. She didn't have to turn around to know who it was. But the old lady was far away. Too far. Sarah sobbed through a shaking smile, wondering if she'd see Oswald again. And Mr. Glass. She deserved this, but maybe when she met them they'd forgive her.
Her legs were at the point of collapse, but soon she wouldn't be running anymore. She pushed them harder. One last effort.
"Sarah, stop!"
The voice was closer. She could hear furious footsteps trying to catch up to her. Faster and faster the beeping grew, until it was almost one continuous sound. Sarah closed her eyes and stretched out her good arm. Any second now. Any se—
Rough hands grabbed her by the shoulders and pulled her back.
"No!" Sarah shrieked, struggling hard, but Mrs. Bossanova's grip was like steel. Fire raced up her injured arm, and her screams of defiance turned into wails of pain. "Let me go! No!"
"I'm sorry," Mrs. Bossanova shouted, drowning out Sarah's pleas. "I'm sorry. I'm sorry. I'm sorry."
The urge to bite, to maul, reared like a vicious animal, and Sarah bared her teeth. Then she looked up into Mrs. Bossanova's desperate, anguished face, and all the fight drained away. Sarah had nothing left to give; no more pain to endure. She hung limply in Mrs. Bossanova's arms and allowed herself to be dragged back.
"I'm sorry," Mrs. Bossanova whispered, sounding choked. "I'm sorry."
Sarah said nothing, the beeping knell of her collar slowing until it ceased altogether.