CHAPTER 30
Into the Depths.
His nights were usually pretty sound, and quiet- there wasn't much going on his head by that point, the point where the day was ending and he was so tired that he didn't want to think about anything in any way.
Sanford would be so exhausted when the days were over- both physically and mentally- because, like it had been reiterated so many times, it felt like all he and Hancock did on the busiest of weeks was fight and fight and fight some more.
The Commonwealth was a huge place, and, while Sanford would like to praise it for being filled with diverse and tough people... It didn't feel like it lived up to its reputation of- 'One of the most settled post-War areas'.
Sanford heard stories about the other places in the world- D.C. being a primary one. In D.C. people were losing control of everything, and if the tales were accurate, than the constant turf wars in Boston city were child's play compared to the sweeping war taking place in the capital city.
Super Mutants were supposedly running rampant all across Maryland, Virginia and Washington- there was a detachment of the Brotherhood that had trekked down there only to secede from their own faction, and then summarily split in two.
D.C. was also the source of the Enclave- and Sanford didn't know much about them in comparison to the Brotherhood or some of the other issues taking place across the East Coast.
In fact, as Sanford thought of it, the Enclave at that- it kind of started to itch him, get his mind going, and thus sleep came with more difficulty.
The Deathclaw had insisted they use some of the bedding material from the chieftain's previous little pile- and when Sanford outright started to refuse using the filthy mattresses, the Deathclaw got annoyed and had trudged out into the night.
Sanford had become worried, thinking she was having a similar leave like the time they argued a few days ago- but when she came back, she was toting two, albeit, mattresses, and they weren't as horrific as the ones in the work building.
"Oh, score!" Sanford praised, taking one from her grip, and supporting it by his side, two-handed. "Where'd you find these?"
"Old house nearby, monsieur'." She said tiredly, stalking past him, vanished under the door arch to the work building. "Now shut your mouth, go to sleep, and leave me be... Or I'll lock you out."
"You don't have a lock, tootse'." Sanford chuckled.
"I'll block the door."
"Nah, you wouldn't do that to little old me."
"Mmhm, sure."
Sanford had taken all his combat plating off, all the bandoliers and straps, and he piled them all by his side with the submachine gun- as he could never sleep outside the Gas Station without a weapon nearby -and by the time he was prepared to start trying to sleep, the Deathclaw was already curled up and out like a light.
-Now it was hours later, and, Sanford had slept for a good while, but, now he was up and he couldn't stop thinking.
He was splayed on his back, eyes half-open, with a drunken expression about himself. He was caught between the world of rest and the world of the living, and on this scavenged mattress he was beginning to process what exactly he had gotten himself into.
If the Enclave had been looking for her right up until they found her, that meant they still were targeting her- after all, he doubted their military would back down from such a peculiar fight because she got some help from a Wastelander and his robot.
Sanford had made his name fighting all the scum and beasts of the Commonwealth- mercs', Raiders, monsters and mutated shit, the like. But professional soldiers? There certainly hadn't been as many of them.
The Gunners were professional soldiers, and they were good fighters, but, he and Han' had surpassed them with time, and the Gunners weren't nearly as well equipped as Enclave soldiers.
From what Sanford had seen and heard, the Enclave had entire ground divisions of Power Armored soldiers, they had their own air force, they had artillery and a fleet of combat robots... Rumors had been circulating a few years ago that they recovered and were repairing old U.S. Army mainline battle tanks.
It was scary. Those people would come after him if they picked up on her trail again, and something told Sanford that they undoubtedly would.
He lightly chewed his tongue.
...It was a big challenge, and... Really, was this creature, this reptilian being... A DEATHCLAW, something other people feared... Was she worth that challenge?
Sanford had only known her for a week, give or take- and while she seemed good of heart, very much a practitioner of justice in this horrid world... She would attract pretty bad attention from people who normally were out to do the same things and save the day.
Intelligent Deathclaws? Sanford was a pretty informed guy, and even HE had never heard of them before... So he could only imagine just how many other souls were even less open to the idea than he.
Having her with him basically eliminated his conformity of nearby allies- the Minutemen would shoot at her, people and settlers would shoot at her, all the traders and merchant caravans would undoubtedly shoot at her... And what if they ever ran into the Brotherhood? The Brotherhood would shoot at her too.
Add in everything else that ALREADY was shooting at them... And that was a lot of shooting in their direction. Lots of damned shooting. Bullets. Things that killed you dead. It didn't sound good, obviously.
Perhaps this record he had kept, not being shot in his life, would not last much longer with Ms. Deathclaw about.
...But when would Sanford ever, ever, EVER, get another opportunity like this? There were advantages and disadvantages to everything... And Sanford never ran across that many people anyway, and, it was easy for her to hide while he did what he had to do, so... Maybe it wasn't so bad.
-You see? This is what had his mind working, and it prevented him from falling asleep. One moment he'd consider the bad parts, and then reconsider the good.
Scenarios played out in his mind, and at the end of the road he just turned over, and he stared at her spiny back, blankly, without knowing what to think anymore at that moment.
She hadn't even sprawled on the matt in an organized matter- she flopped on her side, head angled over her pressed shoulder, and her scaly back rose and fell with soft rises and falls. Every so often she made a small hissing sound, like a snake, and the weirder part from that in general was that it didn't bother him.
He really had become used to being around her- they were just two tortured sentient beings, and they thrown into the same chamber by fate, and he was pretty certain she saw it that way too, and she didn't want to give up on something like this either.
Sanford tested his stomach and thought deeper on it- he recalled what he said earlier the other night-
'Wanna' disregard all logic and everything we've known and just rush into relations?'
-...What exactly had been in his mind when he said that? Where was the logic? What was he hoping for? Because it wasn't just simple humor, not at all, he wasn't going to try and convince himself of that.
What did he THINK of her? Really, like, think, about her? Of her?
She was a seven-foot tall, apparently biogenetically engineered reptilian creature that had been designed as a living weapon, she had a long crocodilian snout with razor sharp teeth, claws longer than his arm that could tear through metal... And she spoke French, and had yellow eyes, and curling horns.
By normal, human standards, she was hideous.
And to be honest, Sanford really was put off by some of the physical traits that she had, but the disturbing thing for him was, he enjoyed some of her emotional and mental traits, at least the ones she had exposed to him.
Sanford found her interesting, he liked talking with her, and he wanted to talk about more things than they had already.
But what did he call all that? Was it just interest? And what kind of interest?
The fact that the Deathclaw was of the opposite gender made him look at the entire situation differently- if the Deathclaw had been a dude, then, Sanford would probably be seeing it more as a cross-species great friendship, kind of like with Hancock.
But Hancock was a robot, something made by humans... The Deathclaw was another sentient, organic being.
Pre-War activists would have a fit with him comparing his robot to the living Deathclaw like that- and Sanford did admit, that he didn't like to think about Hancock not being a 'Living' thing, whatever that meant in his life anymore...
-Yet between the robot, and the Deathclaw, he didn't know, maybe it was just a weird thinking of his.
"...Why are you still awake, monsieur'?" Came in a tired huff from ahead of him.
Holy crap, she WAS good at detecting stuff. A master predator. Wasn't he just describing this for himself?
"...I can't sleep, suddenly." He mumbled, examining the black spines that ran down her center back towards her thin tail. "...You know what? I never really paid attention to your spines... That's weird."
The Deathclaw shifted with a rustling of her rough hide against the matting- she simply switched to laying on her other shoulder, and soon, she flopped back down again with a light thud that rattled the whole structure.
She had the side of her long head smoothed out against the mattress, one yellow eye visible, and narrowed- she draped her left claw over the side of the matt and gripped it loosely, crossing her legs over each other.
"...My... Spines?" She asked awkwardly. "...What about them?"
"I dunno'... I think they're neat."
"...-'Neat'-?"
"Yeah... Interesting, cool, you know?" He grinned.
"...Not really?"
"Oh, well, too bad I guess."
"..."
"...Seeing as you caught me awake... You mustn't be sleeping very well either."
"...Mm..."
"What're you thinking about?"
"...I never said I was thinking."
"What else do people do when they quietly drift off into space... Doing nothing else?" He reasoned. "They think."
"...I think of nothing."
"I think, you think, of plenty."
"...I think, that you OVER-think, what other people are thinking."
"Definitely I do."
"...Then there is your explanation."
"I do over-think other people's thoughts, but that doesn't mean I don't know when they're active." Sanford chuckled. "You can't win this one, dearie'."
"...I wasn't about to try..."
"Alright, so, what's on your mind?"
"...The Enclave." She lied.
"Same." He also lied.
"...By traveling with me, monsieur', they will extend efforts to kill you too."
"I'm sure of that."
"...Would you leave because of that?"
"No, I wouldn't."
"Why?"
"Because I don't want to."
"Why, monsieur'?"
"...Because..."
"Yes?"
"...I mean-"
"-Be direct with me, Sanford. I want to know."
"...-Just... Gimme' a second, to, formulate words here..."
"One."
"Oh, really?" He rolled his eyes.
"Hmmhmm." She mused. "Go on."
In the dark of the chamber, her yellow eye shown through to him, a beacon- and he focused on it as he tried to properly word what he wanted to say.
"...You intrigue me."
"What is intriguing about me?" She answered quickly- almost rehearsed.
Blinking in surprise, he shifted on the mattress.
"...Were you expecting that?"
"Sur'. Now what is intriguing about me? Please answer." Both of her yellow eyes were apparent in the dark as she rose her head from the cushioning a bit.
"...It can't be as simple as, you're a Deathclaw and I'm not, huh?"
"Non'."
"...Uhm... You're cultured."
"Cultured?"
"Yes, you really are. There aren't many people in this world that would go for a Greek Mythology book, or a book about biplanes."
"Mmhmm?"
"You're smart. You've struck at things just at the right moments in a fight. You've kept my logical head on, and you've had yours on since the beginning."
"What else then, monsieur'-?"
"AND, you're brave. You're graceful with pretty much everything you do. You analyze things and try to understand them in ways I never could've dreamed of. You're forgiving, because you and me have clashed heads and you're able to see the learning from it instead of the animosity."
"..."
"...Should I keep going?"
"...Y-Yes." She said with excitement- a specific excitement. Her head was fully raised and angled down at him now.
"You have a willingness and ability to adapt to those and everything around you in ways I never had, and many others don't."
"Mmhm?"
"You have a strong heart, a strong spirit... Most people would break under what you have gone through. And in addition to that, you've come out of them better each time."
"...Like you, monsieur'?"
"...Meh, maybe."
"..."
"..."
"...A-And?"
"What?"
"Keep going, mon ami'."
"-Oh, uhm... Ah. Here's one,"
"MMMmm?"
"I just feel like I want to be around you. There is no wording, or thing I could present, that would ever explain it besides me just wanting it."
She was practically sitting up on her matt by this point- her yellow eyes locked down at him, chops curled upwards in a big grin, fists bunched between her knees for support.
"...Do you mean what you said, Sanford? Everything you just said?"
"That I do."
"...Hm." She nodded a bit, after a pause. "Acceptable."
"The female is placated with the foolish mortal's words?"
Her shoulders hopped at his humor- she thrummed quiet laughter, and grinned down at him.
"You're funny." She stated.
"Funny looking?"
"I like it when you tell jokes. I like it when you talk to me."
"I'm glad."
"...And... Pour' ma' prope' deception'... While I am not used to it," Sanford watched as she slowly raised a claw from below, opened her fingers, and held the splayed palm a few inches away from him. "-I like it when you touch me."
The Deathclaw looked her most vulnerable in the dark of the work building- she was thankful it was HER with the night-adapted vision and not him.
If this had been in the past, and she had been observing her own behavior- she would've gagged at the way she was acting right now. It was weak, and it was giving the human a position of power in her old-self's eyes... But she didn't care.
She held her larger hand out to him, and soon, Sanford was adjusting to lean on his elbows- he raised his right hand, arced it over his stomach, and she felt a twitch in her arm from reaction to the warm fingers spreading over her palm.
Sanford held his slightly smaller hand there, he looked at the connection, and then up at her and he smiled.
"...You can see all of that through... Cette tasse'... This mug I call a face, monsieur'?" She asked.
"It's not a 'Mug', it's who you are. I don't have to see past anything." He said. "I would change nothing, granted the power."
For the first time in ages, in so many years- she felt a different tornado of emotions storming throughout her body. Normally, this twister would be composed of negative chemicals- anger, sadness, mourning and confusion, but this time it was different.
This time it was, in her own words- 'Tickly' -emotions, things that made her feel lighthearted, made her feel nice. Her stomach was experiencing a feeling she had only read about in cheap romance novels, for the few she'd found- and she had always been under the impression that it was unrealistic to expect something like it in real life.
But from now and onwards, she could confidently say that she was living proof to such feelings being fact- she felt... Really wonderful, hearing Sanford say these things.
She wanted to clench her fingers, to physically hold his hand instead of just touching it, but... The nails prevented her from doing that to any good result. That didn't dampen her mood, though- and it heightened her positivity, because a few days ago she knew it would've been a downer for her.
So she sat up with him, just keeping palms together- and she smiled at him, not with any teeth, not with anything spectacular or special... She just smiled, and he smiled back.
There was a discovery here, neither had the heart or confidence to specifically place what it was yet- but the day was coming, and they were readily patient to see that day arrive on its own time.
This was the only situation in their lives that had no urgency, no need for immediate resolution, or no outstanding mountains to surpass to reach the thing on the other side- this was the one flower in a previously gray and lifeless garden that had all the freedom to grow how it pleased.
The roots would span out, the plant would get bigger, and who knew... It might bloom sooner than any, least of all Sanford and Ms. Deathclaw, thought.
-0-0-0-0-0-
Literally a mere three miles in directional aerospace from the outskirts of Springs Quarry- there was a type VB-02 Vertibird under Enclave colors that was running a scanning patrol throughout the northern sectors of the Commonwealth.
The pilot, and even the secondary communications officer did not pick up the abnormality- and even the radar operators in the rear troop bay didn't see it until the looping wave emitters washed over it again.
"We've got the subject." One reported, snapping fingers- the co-pilot was over his shoulder in an instant. "We have orders to engage?"
"Negative," The co-pilot shook his head. "They want active personnel in armor."
"So we're reporting the location? Won't it be gone by the time someone shows?"
"It's a new order from the Superintendent, he doesn't want us to kill it."
"A little late for that, if you ask me."
"Agreed. No choice though. Send coordinates-"
"-What IS that?"
"-What?"
"THAT, next to the 'Claw's signature."
"...Looks like..."
"Looks like a person."
"Human?"
"Yep. That's not right."
"...It may be. Command said this thing could communicate, right?"
"Intelligent classification, yeah."
"Superintendent Laslar should be interested to hear this."
"Yeah."
"Radio the Commander, tell him the Superintendent's target has a friend, and he's geared up to all hell. Is that a Power Armor sig'?"
"It is."
"Ten credits Laslar comes back with another helmet."
"You're on."
-0-0-0-0-0-
She awoke to the sound of a faint breeze blowing past all the clutter, all the steel construction girders sticking from the earth, all the rusted cars laying about, and all the garbage laying about.
There were no birds, no insect buzzes, no other sounds besides the wind and the occasional shuffling of some lighter object shifting from the force of the weather.
The human bedding she had appropriated last night from outside the camp had been the most comfortable thing she had slept on in months- she had always coveted these things called- 'Mattresses' -for this reason.
Just like she rarely found books, she rarely found mattresses that were large enough, or relatively not absolutely disgusting- that she could rest on. Last night had been a rare occurrence, and with what had been said, maybe it was a sign of sorts to that.
It kind of made her think it was all a dream, and that it didn't really happen- that was why she woke up with slowly opening yellow eyes, and stared glumly at the wall ahead in the gray, dimly lit interior of the building.
She opened her chops in a great, silent, yawn that ended with a dispel of air, and a clap of her fangs closing back around each other.
She flicked her tongue about a few times- testing the air for scents of any other living things, like she always did when she traveled alone, and of course came up only with Sanford's recognition. She looked about with confusion the bare metal floor before her, and she realized she had turned back away from him in her sleep.
Blinking tiredly, she looked over her legs to the empty doorframe nearby, the exit to the chamber- it was lit a dull, light blue- symbolizing that morning was just arriving, and that technically, she still had some time to be lazy and sleep more.
It was rejuvenating being able to sleep like that- as was obvious fact, she didn't get to do that a lot.
But she figured it was bad to break her usual pattern while they were out in the wastes- so, with another drawn-out yawn, she shuffled a few times on the mattress, and started to stand from it with shivering legs.
She bent forwards with a huff, and she stretched her legs up into the air behind her, raising her hindquarters- she kept it going until there was a satisfying few- clkclkcl clkl clkl -clicking sounds from her joints relaxing.
She shook herself briefly, and ran her fingers of each claw down each of her horns on instinct- she always checked them whenever she awoke from rest. Finding no faults, and expecting none to begin with- she sighed, and scratched an itch behind her left protrusion, just above the ear-hole with a probing knuckle.
She glanced down at her side, and pondered at the sleeping human on the other matt besides hers- eyes shut, silent breaths leaving his nostrils, curled on his side and still.
Sanford looked quite different to her outside the Power Armor, and even more so without the padded combat plating he usually wore underneath that- he was just in those bland under-clothes he wore underneath it all.
It was interesting, for all the things he spoke of, he was awfully boring when it came to dress- and she only found that observation because of all the crazy gear she had seen on humans in the past.
Turning from her stance over the matts- she jumped a bit when the standing, hunched over shadow of Sanford's Power Armor suit met her gaze, facing away from her towards the archway to outside. She noted the equipment, and, with a bit of youngling-like mischievous curiosity, she glanced back at Sanford to see if he had woken.
-Which of course, he hadn't.
She shrugged and trotted over to the suit, narrowing her eyes at the back spinal section, which had a crank wheel attached to it, with a hollow tube that she knew he inserted the suit's power source into. He probably had stuffed it in the pile of combat plating and guns he had by his side during the night.
She leaned over the suit's back and started eyeing the helmet's cranium- she noted some dried stains from the roaches they had fought, and a blackened hue on the frontal facing sections of the entire suit- there were scratches and light dings all over it.
A week, and Sanford's armor had seen a beating- it was insane.
She'd gutted the suit's abdominal section, the entire front side was burnt from glancing explosions, there were dried roach guts everywhere, and it was a miracle no other forms of damage were present. Yet the suit still worked perfectly.
Sanford had described to her that this was a different model from what other groups in the wastes were using- and, really, she hadn't known beforehand that there were different variations, she thought the physical differences between suits she'd seen were aesthetic.
But Sanford had been eager to explain what was in usage by who- claiming he'd heard of and seen Brotherhood soldiers in T-45d armor, and that really powerful Raider chiefs had custom-made scrap armor over exoskeletal frames.
She asked him what variants the Enclave was using, seeing as there were a few- and interestingly, Sanford didn't know. He reasoned they might have their own variants of Power Armor.
That was intimidating, the industrial strength that the Enclave sported- they had the ability to mass produce their own guns, their own Power Armor, equipment, and even the flying machines they used, the 'Vertibirds'.
She walked circles for a few moments around the inactive suit, mulling on the Enclave like she had claimed was keeping her awake last night.
Far from it, though, she wouldn't admit to it.
She lightly cuffed the pauldron of the suit with a tiny, metallic brush of her scaled knuckles against the titanium layers of plating- she hummed at it, and turned for the archway out of the building.
The air was still a bit cool from the receding night, and wisps of mist were curling and convulsing slowly about the dusty concrete court that centered the work buildings- the corpses from last night's firefight were still strewn everywhere, motionless, and green bundles against the dark ground.
She swept her vision to and fro about the campsite- she felt a haunting stillness, that probably was always at the site even before the Mutants took it over, whenever that had first happened.
Sanford said that he had a lot to tell her about this place, and that it was part of a larger facility that was just nearby- close enough for them to walk around the main work building and see it. She angled her head to the west and tried to peer around the rounded corner of the main building she stood in.
Snorting, she turned back to the camp, the body-strewn, dead, camp.
Maybe she would look around before even considering this 'Quarry'- that Sanford spoke of.
So she opted for that- she stepped down from the ledge, and started to glumly stroll about the property, eyes with a bored droop to them.
All the bodies of the Mutants they'd killed were still here, unmoved, un-tampered with. She bent down and examined some of them as she passed, and with each Mutant she saw she felt that they got uglier and uglier.
They were resilient creatures, no doubt- they could survive grievous injuries, and they healed faster than humans- they looked different than the ones in D.C.- who were more yellow-ish' tinged in their skin tone, and arguably they were even UGLIER.
The Mutants in D.C. had a different origin too- they captured live humans to increase their numbers, infecting them with some mysterious chemical that she hadn't stayed long enough to find the origin of. These Mutants were always mysterious to her- they obviously weren't of the same alignment or breed.
She also wondered where they came from- unless these Mutants had another chemical they were using to make more of themselves, she doubted there was some evil, top-secret lab being run by a deranged scientist that was churning them out without anybody noticing.
-She wouldn't doubt that such places DID exist, but usually, it only was so long before humans started to notice things like that, and no rumors were circulating about such a thing for Boston's Mutants.
She had to vary her steps as she covered the varying, beveled terrain of the site- she walked a good few circles through the camp and became bored once more.
She strayed from the outskirts of the campsite, passed the same rotten, blackened brambles that they had hidden behind to prepare their night-based attack- she gathered up the top of the hills that surrounded the quarry.
This was the same hill that she and Sanford had surmounted and descended- she looked ahead at the mostly cleared landscape, and faintly, she could see the thin shadow of the railroad they had followed in the far, far backdrop.
There was no movement anywhere in the rolling, dusty terrain- so she turned back around and examined the campsite from above- it really showed more of the carnage they had wrought, because from this height she could see all the green humanoid specks gridded throughout the grounds. Tens of them.
She noted the beginnings of the concrete rounded base structure of the quarry behind the campsite- it was hidden in another dip of the land, and mist obscured much detail from her eyes. The metal, chipped, yellow painted arm of a mechanical crane was barely audible over the chin of the leveled terrain.
Sanford had said it was called 'Springs Quarry'- she didn't know what to make of it.
Now that she was awake, she had to admit in her conscience state- that it was awfully quiet around this patch of land, like, strangely quiet. There weren't even the common pests around here in the form of Molerats, or bugs.
Thinking jokingly, she smiled at the thought of the quarry being- 'Haunted' -or some other stupid shit that humans had conjured up.
She had read a little bit about the belief in the supernatural- and it all sounded like pompous hogwash to her by the end of it all. Maybe Sanford would have some comment about it.
"-A-HA! Take that! You wrinkly little testicle-licker! -AND THAT! YEAH! C'mon, bitches! THE HAN' HAS ENOUGH FOR EVERYONE!"
...She... KNEW, that voice, didn't she?
...And, Sanford knew that voice too, right?
Oh lord.
The Deathclaw shut her yellow eyes the second the bawling echoed distantly from the hills behind her- she huffed, and gradually, the faint sound of a weapon discharging, the metallic- CLAK CLAK -'s of a specific gun were known.
There was a small part of her that had been hoping the robot had been dismantled- but, as fate would have it, her smaller hopes were crushed. Again. Though, she supposed that was a sign from God- it was better for her to NOT wish harm on her newfound ally's friend.
Still, the dread in her system was palpable.
She turned around on sluggish heels, and started trudging down the other face of the hill, her tail draped behind her in anguish.
"Maudis-moi' vous voulez'?" She mumbled. "This ought to be entertaining."
"BACK OFF YOU INBRED FREAK!"
rrrvvvvmmmmVVMMM
-It sounded like a chainsaw was hacking through a pound of rotten meat- it was the first description that came to mind when the squelching started, following the whining mewls of a dog of some kind, or something similar.
"I'LL TAKE YOU ALL ON! FIIIGHHHTT MEEEE-!"
CLK
"-AH! JESUS CHRIST! YOU BITE LIKE A TOOTHLESS TODDLER WHO JUST GOT KICKED IN THE FACE BY NIXON!"
CLAK CLAK CLAK
-The Deathclaw didn't have to walk much farther, until she stood at the top of a creasing raise in the land, and down a few feet away from her, was a small pack of wrinkly, pink-skinned horrors that encircled a center, metallic being with an engine thruster keeping him afloat.
Mongrels.
She blinked at the scene slowly- seeing several of the mutated dogs lying dead about the ground, one missing its head- and green bolts were flying out and boiling away holes bigger than her fist in the scattering survivors.
She thought that the pack was circling Hancock, but in reality, they were panicking because they were too confused to find a quicker way of getting away from the deranged Mr. Gutsy robot.
"HA-HA HAHA! HA! AHA! HAAAA! TAKE THAT! YEAAAHHH! YOU LITTLE SHITS!"
Green bolts flew out a few more times, the flamethrower on one of his arms belched out a cone of illuminated magma into the air- and two of the Mongrels that had tried a last-ditch run for him scrambled and rolled onto the earth alight, like roman candles.
Hancock slaughtered the entire group by himself- something that impressed her, she watched silently as the last of the dogs collapsed down the hill she stood on, unable to run up it fast enough before plasma wads ate into their bodies and killed them.
Watching the pile of pink corpses briefly, Hancock let out a cackle, gleefully flew over to one of the cadavers- and emptied the rest of his rechargeable battery into its head. She grimaced at the horrible popping noise the splitting skull made.
"I'll see ya' in hell, baby-cakes!" Hancock proclaimed. "For LIBERTY! U.S.A! U.S.A! U.S.-fuckin'-A.! Yeah! Yeah-ha-"
The robot must have noticed her, because he spun around with a blast from his central thruster- glaring up at her height with all three of his ocu-lenses.
The robot had acquired a whole bunch more scuffs and burn marks since she had last seen him- and now, that he was silently glaring in her direction, she frowned blandly and raised a claw in splayed fingers for greeting.
"Bonjour'?" She offered.
"...Holy garden squirrels!" Hancock barked. "Iguana-Face! Boy am I glad to see YOU! And that's amazing in and of itself! HA!"
"...Touching."
"Now that pleasantries are over," Hancock aimed one of his three arms at her- the flamethrower/missile launcher attachment one- she heard a warhead chamber from her distance. "Tell me where the San', of the 'ford- is... AND CLARICE WON'T RECTICALLY DEMOLISH YOUR SWEET TUCKOUS!"
"...I can't even comprehend what you just said, you screaming pile of bolts."
"BIGOT!"
"Sanford will be THRILLED to see you again..."
"So... He ain't dead?"
"Of course not. I took good care of him."
"HA! At least someone besides, ME, did it right! You got moxy', alligator-constipator!"
"...Mm."
"Where is he?!"
"In the Mutant camp. We cleared it."
"...So... The fight's over?"
"Yep."
"DAMN! CURSES! FOILED!" Hancock screamed as he lowly flew up to her position. "-And, SHIT, I don't have a fancy monocle to dramatically tear off my face to make the statement more powerful!"
"You're very confused, usiner'."
"DID YOU JUST CALL ME A URINAL?!"
"...Usiner', you babbling freak. Usiner'. Francais' for 'Machine'."
"...Oh... Formal terms? From you, Gecko-Butt? This must be hell. I'm dead aren't I?!"
"If that's what you have to tell yourself to feel better." She turned around when the robot got close enough, not even bothering to look him in the ocu-lense. "Let's go, he's still asleep last I saw."
"ASLEEP?! Heresy! There's no sleep permitted here!" Hancock ranted, zooming up beside her with a whoosh of his central thruster. "He ain't hurt is he?"
"Not at all, quite the contrary." She rolled her eyes, starting back across the beveling land with dry footfalls. "I have no desire to hurt monsieur', you freak."
"Oh, GOD, you and you're- ESCARGO terms and shit... BAH!" Hancock snapped, gazing at her with one ocu-lense as he floated beside her. "You killed all those Mutants? Even the big ooga-booga bitch who took my frikkin' gun?"
"Sanford got him."
"AH-HA! That's my monkey!"
"...Speaking of your gun, how...?" She gestured for the basically brand new Plasma gun on his arm attachment with a nod.
Hancock zoomed his center ocu-lense down on it, and looked at her with all three.
"Never attempt to unravel the mystery of, THE HAN'." He stated factually.
The Deathclaw sighed.
-0-0-0-0-0-