VI :: Smokes Breaks and Mirelurk Cakes ::


At 9:15, he smokes a cigarette.

Be it in the a.m. or the p.m., it doesn't matter, it is his set time; he will give Ahzrukhal that much, at least he doesn't make Charon stand in the same spot 24/7. But sometimes, he won't let Charon take that smoke break in the morning and all day, he's jonesing.

For over seventy five years, Charon's life consisted of waiting for that smoke break.

Today is one of those days, when Ahzrukhal is hosting and has Charon keep those hawk eyes on everyone, so by noon his fingertips are thrumming on his thigh and jerking; his mouth is more dry than usual. The excitement is circling around someone who has yet to enter the Ninth Circle of Hell. A young woman in raider armor, calling herself Minion. To Charon, she sounds like a freak show, but he wants that damn smoke break so she turns into background noise.

Its bad enough he has to haul Patchwork out by the scruff of his neck - again. When the slobbering ghoul crumbles to the floor, Charon spares a glance over the balcony, hearing a human laugh. It isn't throaty and hacking, its fluent and almost musical, someone who is truly full of jubilation and not high as a kite.

It that human girl, the one all the buzz is about. She's discussing something with Winthrop while he points up at a vent just under the railing outside of Carol's Place. She has a tool belt around her hips and is now softy chuckling; Charon can't hear over the blaring of Maybe behind him, though it is steadily muffled by the constantly swinging doors.

"Charon."

Winthrop continues to talk but the human looks up, sees Charon, and fucking winks at him. She winked. And then acts like nothing happened, returning her attention to Winthrop and shaking her head before drawing shapes in the air with her fingers.

"Charon!"

The ghoul is snapped to attention by the familiar, gruff pull of his employers voice. Ahzrukhal is lighting a cigarette and Tulip is trying to avoid touching him as she stumbles out of the bar; God, Charon would risk it just to snatch that cigarette away.

Ahzrukhal flicks away the match he had used and blows smoke at Charon, who doesn't even twitch. "Its 9:15."

Yes, yes smoke break.

Ahzrukhal snorts when Charon produces that flimsy, faded green cigarette case and pulls out one with a small pair of scissors. When his employer disappears inside the bar, Charon takes to the steps. Outside the doors, he clips off the filter to his cigarette and lights it, tucking the scissors back into place and sliding the case into a back pocket. He blows smoke up into the cracked teeth of the giant skull above him and relishes the silence of the lobby.

He didn't know if he'd make it through the next stretch between breaks, so he'd suck down as much nicotine as possible in ten minutes.


Underworld smells like ass.

I mean, hot, sweaty, raider ass with a side of Jet fumes.

But, I can't let that show on my face because ghouls have a sense of camaraderie that normal people just don't have. And its just me against a whole city of them and no matter how badass I am, I just know this can go downhill fast.

But, Carol is a real sweetheart and reminds me of Old Lady Palmer in the Vault; she was probably one of few genuinely nice to me. Butch was a douche because of his fuck up of a mom and the Tunnel Snakes followed his lead because of hormones. Suzie Mack and her little gaggle of pretty girls were just too good for a queer like me. And Amata? Well...

"Sassafras!"

Carol and Greta gave me an odd look as I sat at the bench in the corner; Greta was leant over a cooking pot in a rigged, massive hotplate. I ducked my head and continued to nibble on my Mirelurk Cake, a snack from Carol before dinner. I couldn't explain to them that me yelling out odd things was a common way for me to forget her, even if it was only for just a little while.

I wouldn't let her follow me out of the Vault.

I wouldn't let any of them follow me.

"Why are you in Underworld, sweetie," trust Carol to be the one to break the silence.

I perked up then, remembering why I was here for real; it was most definitely not to munch on their food supply. "My friend Gob -"

"Gob?!"

"Ah, shit," Greta murmured as Carol bounced around her counter.

I flinched as she snatched up my hands and stared in true terror at her droopy smile. I was no snob - obviously - but all of my senses said that a persons face was most definitely not supposed to sag at that angle.

"Gob?! You know Gob?! How is he? What is he doing? Did he find his treasure -"

"Carol," I spat out. "Calm down. Yeah, I know Gob and he's...okay, I guess. Owns his own Saloon now," rest in Hell, Moriarty, hope that 5.56 caliber bullet is snug in your chest. "He said I might be able to find...well, I guess a bodyguard would be what I'm looking for," not that I, Minion - Wasteland Badass and part time Explorer - needed a bodyguard.

Greta snorted and I snickered at the scolding look Carol sent her for cutting her off. Greta placed a hand on her hip and looked back at me, still stirring that damnable stew. I liked Greta, she was a tough old broad and if she weren't tied in here with Carol, I'd ask her to be my 'bodyguard'. They were too cute to try and pull apart, ya know? I didn't even think live existed in the Wasteland, I was still stuck that it only remained in old holotapes crooning about broken hearts and the films promoting prince charming.

Fuck prince charming, I can save myself.

"Hate ta disappoint ya kid, but there ain't anyone here that could even be considered a bodyguard."

Carol finally cut in. "There is Charon."

Greta rolled her eyes. "She couldn't pry him out of Ahzrukhal's slimy fingers."

Okay, confusion. I looked to Carol, brow furrowed. "Charon?"

Carol pat the back of my hand. "Charon is one of the oldest ghoul's in Underworld."

"Mercenary too," Greta murmured, lifting her ladle to her lips and humming. "I swear if this stew was a person, I'd get naked and make love to it, I swear..."

"Greta," Carol scolded, but I doubt it was for her remark on the stew; Hell, if it tasted as good as it smelt, I might strip and join her. "Charon is a mercenary, yes, but he has a contract with Ahzrukhal and Greta's right...it'd be hard for him to give his precious Charon up. Charon is the only thing stopping all of Underworld from killing that nasty old man."

I quirked my lips in the corner. "Well, everyone has a price," and I'd find his after I ate.

No sense in bargaining on an empty stomach. And I had to bargain, this shady 'Ahzrukhal' had slaver written all over his shadow. I may be a hateful bitch, but even I don't condone slavery.

"Hey Greta," I murmured slyly after Carol had moved to assist one of the ghouls seated in their common area. "Tell me what you know about Charon and his contract."


"Romeo One this is Romeo Actual, do you have visual on the target?"

"Romeo Actual, this is Romeo One. Target is immobile and detained. We'll be back to base within the day."

"Good work Romeo One. Bring that hardware home."

Dust is kick up as a piercing scream echoes between the walls of the slight canyon they were in. Bright blue eyes flickered up to the two men towering over her, fear in artificial eyes.

They were dressed in traditional army fatigues, dark blue camp and a heavy duty bullet proof vest. They cradled assault rifles, one of them had a Gauss Rifle on his back but it went unused. The female soldier on her back as busy applying the ninth handcuff to her forearms, the exposed wires on her forearm sparking where a bullet had pierced and torn through the fake flesh.

"You're monster," she sobbed with no tears; she could not produce them, she wasn't capable of it. "How can you do this?! I just want to be free!"

"It does mot matter," the female is as robotic as she was made to be, hauling the rogue to her feet. "We have to do this."

"You don't have to do anything," her feet tangle in themselves. "No one makes us do these things - just say you killed me and let me go!"

"Shut up," the female snapped, shoving her into the backseat of the rusty Corvega.