The warm, moist end of her tongue lipped the underside of his jaw. A scarred palm, bloodied and bandaged from a previous altercation, cupped around the side of the young ghoul woman's face and sent her sailing backward in bed.
"Not in the mood," Sinjin muttered. The cigarette he kept poised between his two fingers was slowly waning away into nothing but smoke and ash, drifting into the faint glow of daylight creeping through the slats.
Another attempt was made- the splash of disfigured skin creeping around his waist erupted a growl of warning, and the underling finally committed herself to sit back with a mood mirroring his own.
"What the fuck is your problem?" she rasped. "I'm either not riding your dick enough or you act like you're too fucking good for me. I'll leave."
The ghoul softly snorted, raising his smoke to his mouth for a drag.
She gave a sharp tsk, the sound more akin to a conveyer belt being blasted with a sander. "You pigs are all the same- thinking of another woman while you already got your cock shoved up one's cunt."
Another grunt, this one terse and biting. Sinjin clenched his jaw and grated his teeth. "Get the fuck out."
She crossed her arms over her small breasts, hiding away the rot and scarring of what was once flawless skin. "You are, you fucking dick!"
The raider snarled, flicking his spent cigarette to the side and rubbing his hand irately over his face, as though attempting to wash away the taste and breath of that last moment with her. He rose from the bed, the creaky springs of the frame squeaking in relief. His footsteps thudded loudly along the wooden floorboards- his bloodstained armor and dirt-streaked clothes were still where he had discarded them. A night spent knee-deep in booze and this woman's poon was now nothing more than a wispy memory; the bright ray of day always made things too clear, too outlined to be enjoyed. He couldn't simply smother her face in the sheets and pretend it was her face he was riding.
He was bitter, scorned, and now fused together with the heat of his internal ire, and he had forgotten how to tear it all apart.
The ghoul woman cursed and began spitting hateful slurs at his back. One simple look from his stone-cold expression silenced her words and put a cork in her brewing spite. He hadn't laid his hands on her yet, but that was quickly about to change.
The final piece clicked into place; the leather straps fastened around the curl of his bicep. He unwrapped his injured hand and holstered his gun; the sling of his rifle was set on his shoulder, and he made his way out.
"She could be dead. This could all be for nothing."
Sinjin stopped in his tracks before the door; he slowly turned his head. "What?"
"We find them, and then what? Some fucking cure? You get what you want, I get mine? What if we never get it, huh? She doesn't love you. You said it yourself, you stupid drunk, you fucking-"
The bullet was let off before he had a chance to think rationally. Her brains spewed all over the mattress, the headboard, and some bits sickeningly clung to the ceiling. He would send someone to clean the shit up before he brought back another cock-sucking whore to replace her- just like the good ol' days.
"Finally decided to get your ass out of bed?" Eightball snapped, rubbing a stub of a finger under her eye patch as the skin began to crawl. "You won't let us sleep, and now you're up at noon?"
"Watch it," Sinjin threatened, coming to their war table and studying the moved pieces on the map of the Commonwealth. He pointed to a cracked teapot lid set over Goodneighbor. "When was this?"
"Just last night." The ghoul raider removed her hands from the table to turn around to a ham radio as static began to pour through. "Might've heard about it if you weren't so busy fucking her brains out- whole wharf could hear you."
Sinjin turned to the quiet blue ghoul standing off to the side. "Did Hancock put that out?"
"Yes," Roman rumbled. He offered nothing more on the subject.
Damn. His bounty had doubled in just a week, and no matter how fast he moved, it just wasn't quick enough.
What did I do? he thought irately. He snarled, slapping his bloodied hand on the table. The sharp stab of pain lancing up his wrist was almost synonymous with pleasure. You stubborn bitch, what did I do wrong? What does he have that I don't?!
He now had power. The remnant raider ghouls from Quincy Quarries had made a laughable attempt at setting up shop in Libertaria, which had previously belonged to another failed raider group. With his loyal, and lethal employee, they had made quick work of the ragtag faction in a single day. Sinjin banded together those who were desperate enough to survive back in Nahant Wharf (he wasn't going to set foot on another ship if he could help it). He told them of the cure, a quick, strung-out fantasy that drove a single nail of hope in even the most hardened skeptic. It was enough of something to dangle in front of them to keep them in line; he needed a little more time to instill the fear that kept them under the heel of his boot.
He now had a purpose. That snuffed-out ember was now hotly blazing under his fingertips and behind his eyelids. He had made a mistake before- he had simply overreached when he wasn't ready. They would stay small, small enough they wouldn't attract the attention of the Minutemen or a reputable group of mercenaries looking to cash in his head. No razing settlements or hitting caravans- not yet. This was going to be done discreetly, and quietly.
He now had her brother…he knew just where that lab was.
He was going to get there first.
"Another one," Charon gasped after he clinked the glass down. It was filled to the brim, just as he liked it to be, and it was downed without a feeling of guilt or remorse.
"Haven't seen you in here awhile now," a raspy drawl slurred from his side. Charon turned his head to the ghoul that was drowning in his own choice of poison. The drifter raised his glass in a mock toast. "Cheers."
Magnolia had taken to the stage; it was the usual crowd casually shooting themselves up in the corner or conducting shady deals over their drinks. He had never paid much attention to those around him before, when the world was gray and nothing really seemed to matter outside the contract. Now there was color in his eyes again, but they were all muddled and boiling and stirred together to create this thick, chaotic shade of shit.
This was entirely too much for him to process all at once. He had barely accepted the fact that she was even alive, much less-
"You going to drink that?" The sour breath wafted over to him.
Charon had just been staring at his own reflection in his refilled drink. He hadn't really focused on his outward appearance for many years- it was something he just happened to glance over, to blur out when chance had given him a cruel opportunity to remind him what the rest of the world saw. There were permanent fissures around his eyes and forehead from the scowl he wore as a second face. The rot hadn't crept along his cheeks and jaw for decades now, but it was still something nightmare worthy- the exposed sinew, a hint of back molars, the thick ropes of leathered muscle, and a few creeping, pulsing veins. Charon wasn't ignorant- he knew this disfigured mask of a corpse was his own, and he understood why people shied away from it. He never understood why she didn't, of all people.
His beautiful little smoothskin…his stupid smoothskin.
Giving him everything he never dared to dream for.
The self-proclaimed mayor sauntered from inside the neon-red 'VIP'room with a bottle of whiskey in one hand, and a tin of mentats in the other. He drunkenly wavered for a moment, before catching his balance on the bar counter and taking a seat beside him.
"You're probably the meanest sonofabitch I've ever seen," Hancock half-joked, curling the edges of his mouth in an attempt at a casual smirk. "Now, this town would really suit your style, you follow?"
It would have- in another time, another place, another life. Charon was very good at what he did: cracking skulls, wringing out names, putting lead in just about anything. At one period in his life, it's all he really had been good for…and he had hated it. It had made him sick. He had been cooped up for too long as somebody's pet, chained to a corner and told to sit and fetch and there's a good boy, go fuck yourself as a well-deserved treat.
"Do not talk to me," Charon growled, resting his elbow on the counter in an attempt to shoulder the smaller ghoul away.
Hancock reached inside a pocket in his red frock coat, pulled out a canister of jet, and inhaled it almost desperately. He leaned forward, tilting his hat back by the tip with a necrotic finger.
"Now, that little ray of sunshine that was here a few days ago-" He didn't have to finish his implication for Charon to realize who he was speaking of. The mayor drew back a choke down his throat from the sheer evil that Charon turned on him with.
The ferryman leaned forward. "She is nothing to you."
He rose from his chair, leaving his full tumbler behind as he marched up the steps. A quick piss in the urinal and a few minutes of standing under the rain did nothing to clear his head. Drifters passed him by as though he were a carved statue, a simple homage to the lifestyle of those that lived these streets. Survival and violence.
Maybe…that lifestyle didn't have to be his anymore. Maybe...he wanted to be good at other things besides destruction and killing. It was all he did know, and anything beyond that scope was terrifying with all of its uncertainties.
"I'm sorry, but I think you're looking to do business with Kleo next door."
"I am not," he rumbled to the ghoul merchant (that he had not once ever conducted trade with). She wasn't wrong, he usually did frequent the shop harboring the wacky assaultron vendor that tended to comment on his more...physical attributes. Now he stood in Daisy's Discounts, awkwardly, and tried to think of what to say. "...may I see everything you have?"
"Everything?" Daisy rasped with a laugh. "That's a lot of stock we're talking about. Anything in particular? That might help narrow it down."
"Children's toys…" he added quickly as an afterthought, "they are not for me."
"I wasn't in the mind to ask," she said with some amusement. A few items were dredged out of boxes and set on the counter between them. "Any of this catch your fancy?"
He gave her a sharp look, and she just chuckled in jest. He hesitantly picked up a small, scraggly, half-singed grey stuffed cat that had one eye and a nub for a missing paw. He rubbed his thumb over the melted whiskers.
"Not even the kiddos around here were interested in that thing." Daisy turned around to pull out some more stuffed animals. "Let's see…I think I still got some decent teddies somewhere around here..."
"I will take this," Charon said firmly. He then looked over the rest of the items: wooden blocks, small stuffed animals...a baby mobile.
Why can't I make this world work for us?
The merc held up two fingers to the waitress bustling around the packed bar house.
"Just water…or a soda." Evelyn tucked her damp hair behind her ears. "Doctor's orders."
The critical roving of his eye became distracted by the visible outline of skin through her damp shirt. He tapped his fingers on the table, and then stood from his seat. Evelyn blinked at a plate of food and a nuka cola set down before her. The smell from the fried tato's and crispy squirrel bits punched a nauseous fist right through her gut, and she immediately thrust the plate as far as she could to the other side of the table. She took a drink of the bubbling soda and committed all of her focus to not puking in public.
"You have it," she said with disgust. "I'm still a little put off from earlier."
The merc shrugged his shoulders and dove in, finishing the meal with another beer and a light of a smoke.
"No-!" Evelyn paused in reaching over the table to stop him. He was looking at her with the most incredulous fuck is it now?!
"Uh." She lowered her hands back to her lap, feeling very silly and quite embarrassed at her outburst. "Stock said no smoking, either."
The ghoul rolled his eyes, but discarded his unspent smoke in a tray regardless. "He better get those fuckin' meds."
Evelyn twisted her hands together. Charon was right- this was not going well. She scratched at the tip of her nose and looked around at the bustling activity in the room. It seemed the entire town took refuge from the pelting rain with a bit of alcohol and the lively music from the jukebox.
The merc nudged her leg with his boot. "Ya want to play some pool?" He hitched a thumb over to the rambunctious, drunken crowd gathered around the billiards table.
Evelyn smiled. "I'm really bad."
"I'll teach ya some tricks." He winked.
He bought a round for the group so they could enjoy the table all to themselves. He set up a game and began to tell her the secret tips he had learned over the years.
Cross scratched at his nonexistent brow after pocketing his shot. Evelyn was perhaps the worst pool player he had ever seen, and all of his pointers were like throwing a brick at a wall and hoping it would stick. It didn't help she was becoming increasingly aggravated and her temper was derailing any form of concentration she had.
He held out the pool stick, and she begrudgingly took ownership. "Break it."
She leaned over the table, closing one eye with the tip of her tongue poking out. A thrust forward, and she ended up scraping the table. Cross covered his mouth with a fist before a full-blown laugh could erupt.
"Your stance is all wrong," the merc chuckled lowly in her ear as he bent over her to reposition her with his hands. "And don't close your eye…you damn need all the help you can get."
"Pool is stupid," she breathed out, but she took another shot, and the cue ball flew over the set rack to bounce along the floor. She stood upright and angrily set the pool stick down. "Fuck this game."
"Want to try some darts?" He waggled his brow muscles, and then immediately raised his hands in a jesting surrender from the toasty glare she gave him. "Just kiddin'…we don't want to get kicked out of the place."
He briskly followed her out into the rain as she stomped off under a dark cloud that mirrored those above. She trudged up into the stands of the stadium, took a seat on a rusty fold-down chair, and just stared at the dim lights lost in the swirling haze.
Cross plopped down beside her. "…this doctor's orders too?" They were both soaked to the bone.
Evelyn wiped the dripping rain from her nose and mouth with little results.
The smell from Takahashi's noodle stand was faint, almost washed away completely under the purge of the storm. Small children splashed in puddles while dogs shook their fleas and mangy coats over whoever was unfortunate enough to be in radius. A cold gale whistled by, bringing with it the scents of the bay and the salt that lined its shores.
She placed his hand in her lap, and looked at him.
The words were carried on the breath of the wind.
He didn't say anything.
When he looked back over the hive of a city, so full of life despite the harshness of the world surrounding it, she continued in a flurry of terror. Her hand waved in the air as she tried to make sense of it all, but nothing ever did, and what did it matter, in the end? When he stood from his seat and began to leave, she reached out for him and called his name. He continued on down the stands without a single glance back, and she wailed into her hands and sat there under that cold storm.
A thick, musty jacket swallowed over her. His hands were shaking erratically.
"Got me buyin' ya beer and smokin' a pack...lettin' ya take the piss out of a fuckin' deathclaw," his voice wobbled. "And now you're fuckin' sittin' out here in the damn rain. Fuckin' Christ. I'm gettin' real tired of this fuckin' shit weather."
The ghoul fell to his knees, buried his face in her lap, and cried.
Evelyn felt a heavy pressure of air at her side. For a moment, she saw a cloaked figure with a faded cowboy hat in her peripherals, but when she turned her head, there was nothing there.
"Come on, you big goon," she said thickly. "...let's go home."
A/N:
Aaaaand this concludes the end of Part 1! I will be going on hiatus for a good while (and will return with another double-post to kick off PT2, more than likely.)