Note: Edited for content, minor. Mostly swears. Mostly.

Part Two

Weep, daughter of a royal line,
A Sire's disgrace, a realm's decay;
Ah! happy if each tear of thine
Could wash a father's fault away!
"Lines to a Lady Weeping" by Lord George Gordon Byron

"Don't know why I fuckin' bother," Jericho muttered, his eyes open but not seeing. He was drooling onto the bar, staring up at the ghoul and wondering why he tried to do anything other than stay alive.

Cheek to the counter again, minding himself, with one hand on the bottle of whiskey and the other somewhere―shit, he didn't know. He snorted and wiggled his fingers. Oh, yeah, that's where it was. He laughed a little. Wouldn't be the first time he'd passed out in a pile of drool with his hand on his dick.

Maybe he should start using again. Little bit of psycho went a long way to keep him awake. Too bad there wasn't anyone to keep him company. Fuckin' Jenny. ...Huh, he'd like to.

Felt his eyes closing to the world, and didn't fight it. Another night, another half-gallon... he snorted out a wad of snot and passed out.

Next thing he knew, someone had a hand on his collar and was picking him up from the bar. Jericho grunted, threw an arm out, and slapped whoever was touching him. "Ge'off, fucker!" he slurred out, his hand connecting with whoever it was.

"Hoooh, shhhhuuuu," the ghoul mumbled, and Jericho blinked. Whoever it was hadn't let go, but held on tighter, shaking him roughly. He slapped out again, catching the arm of the person. The world was swimming and every sound distorted, but one thing rang out in his mind.

"Wakey, wakey," Moriarty was saying. "We're gonna have us a little talk."

"Whu," Jericho groaned. "Ge'off!"

"You haven't paid your tab in over five days, Jericho," the Irish fuck was telling him. "We're gonna discuss your... lack of caps."

"Oh, fer Chriiisss," he moaned, as he passed out again.

He woke up abruptly, face down in the dirt outside Moriarty's back door, when a bucket of water was suddenly upended onto his head. Jerked awake and went for his knife, rolling onto his back and lifting his knees up, elbows inward to cover his head.

Moriarty dropped the bucket to the side and stared down at him with a hand on his hip, squinting at him in the darkness. "I get that you need your beauty sleep," he said, chuckling. "God forbid we have a conversation unaided by your perpetual lushness, though."

"What the fuck!" Jericho yelled, lowering his arms. Fucking tired and half-drunk still.

"Wake up, cocksucker, we're talking here!" Moriarty yelled, leaning down to get closer.

Covered in irradiated water and dusty mud, he stared up at the Irish fuck. Didn't get what the man was up to now. The Irish fuck played all kinds of games, hard ones to win, and he'd never yet. Meeting him behind the bar wasn't an old trick, which meant this was a new game―

Fuck, and he'd just learned the rules of the old one!

"I got a job for you," Moriarty said, sounding as pleasant as he always did. "Need you to do something for me."

The fuck did the bastard think he was doing, treating him like some kind of dog? "No fuckin' thanks," Jericho groaned, turning onto to his side. "I'll pay my bill, alright?!"

He wasn't no goddamn dog, fetching shit for the Irish fuck. Fucking tired of it. Little tastes of the wastes reminding him what he could've had, if he'd just stayed out there―little bits of violence that didn't make him feel any better than the drinking did.

Maybe getting old made him nostalgic, or maybe it just made him stupid. He'd given up on the weird little girl coming back after she never showed up outside of the saloon. Musta ducked out the fuckin' back to get away.

Fuckin' figures. Found a real weird one what'd probably put up with him and she was just playing. Goddamn naive bitches.

"Now, now, you should hear me out." Moriarty waited for him to get himself up off of the ground, and stared him down.

"Hear you out? I don't think so." Jericho spat onto the ground. "Last time, your cocksucking zombie jammed a fuckin' ladle in my ear!"

Moriarty looked thoughtful. "Aye, and you paid your tab right quick, didna?" He smiled in that trademarked Irish fuck way. Jericho looked away, coughing a little, trying to breathe through his nose. Fuckin' mud―

"This one's a wee bit different, mind," Moriarty went on. "Little flower wants some peace of mind."

"Wh―" he grunted, pushing himself up, and cracked his neck. Mud splattered over his face and up his goddamn nose... he coughed and put a thumb to one side of his nose, blowing snot and dirt everywhere. "That fuckin' stupid little girl?"

"Aye, that's the one," Moriarty said, staring him down. "She's looking to hire you."

Jericho blew out the other side of his nose and turned with a wobble to the man. "She told me that, so what?"

"So I want you to go with her," Moriarty said, his eyes cold on Jericho's. "Little flower's got something going, something she's not letting on. You keep an eye on her, keep her alive, and when you find out what she's up to, you tell me."

"Told that bitch I needed paid," Jericho said, rubbing the underside of his chin. "You gonna pay?"

"You'll get paid, alright," Moriarty said, dismissively. "You clear on this? No bullshit promises, now."

"Yeah, I'm clear," he muttered, blinking dust from his eyes.

"Good." Moriarty turned to walk away, leaving him out in the dark and sopping wet. "Ach, one more thing," he said, turning back quickly.

Jericho sniffed and stared at him, wearily. "What?" he snapped.

"You put your hands on this one," Moriarty said, seriously, "and you'll have as much chance as a wax cat in hell of surviving it." He nodded to Jericho and opened the back door, slamming it behind him.

Jericho shook off sleep and patted his pockets, finding his smokes and lighting one up as he walked down the crater toward his house. Went the long way 'round, to think about some things.

Something she's not letting on... yeah, he got that feeling, too. Something important like, that she wasn't about to share with the hicks in some random wasteland town. Moriarty would want that info, damn sure of it. Could be something worth real money, like―

Jericho spat into the water where the Confessor always stood, watching the water ripple. He couldn't think what. Lots of weird shit happened out in the wastes, most of it beyond his level of thought.

Shit, and he'd just given up on the stupid girl, too. He stretched out his arms, tossing his lit cigarette onto the roof of the Brass Lantern to join the hundreds more he'd flicked there. Well, fuck. Whatever was going on, he'd figure it out.

Best to go sleep off the rest of the booze, so he could listen better. Jericho ambled to his house, slamming the door behind him.

Morning found him waiting up by the saloon again, wondering what the hell was going on. Went looking 'round town for the little bitch, and she was nowhere to be found. Last option was to ask the Irish fuck if he knew.

He didn't have the goddamn patience for that one. Jericho smoked and watched people running around town for a little while. Thinking about getting outside... he snorted, smoke billowing around his face. Made him actually kind of miss the place, already.

After another half hour or so, he went inside. As dead as a limping dog. Gob was messing with the radio again, and Nova glared at Jericho as he moved to a stool, knocking on the bar. "Hey, zombie," he said. "C'mere."

Gob made a face―like you could tell with half the shit gone―and moved over. "What do you want?" he asked, carefully neutral.

"Where the fuck's the little girl?" he asked, curling up his lip at the ghoul.

"What?" Gob frowned. "The―the one from the other night?"

"Yeah, that one." Jericho slapped his hand down. "She asked me to go with her, and I ain't see her in two fuckin' days."

"Sleeping, still," Nova said, sliding onto a stool beside him. She put her elbow down and her face in her chin. "Moriarty put her to bed, and she hasn't woke up yet."

"What? Put her to bed?" Gob said, looking up at the second floor. "The hell?"

"What the fuck," Jericho muttered. "Put her to bed"―protectin' his investment, more like. If she was hiding something that important, that Moriarty would be giving her a free room―

Jericho suddenly felt uneasy. Maybe he ought to have fought it a little harder. Moriarty―he could argue with the man until he couldn't breathe, and the man would always have his way. But, hell, he coulda had his say at least. Coulda put in a few more words.

"Girl was half-asleep when she came in," Nova said. Jericho's jawed worked as he watched the whore blow a smoke ring. Wished he had the time and money... he kicked his own ass, doing that shit. No woman was worth paying money for, when he could get it free. All he needed was one more chance.

"No one got paid, neither. Something strange going on with that one." Nova blew smoke into Jericho's face. "Why are you so hot on the little one, Jericho? Get a taste for something fresher?"

"You'd better believe it," Jericho muttered, pushing himself up and moving toward the stairs. "Which room?"

Nova directed him to the one on the far end. Jericho entered the room, closed the door, and stared down at the little girl. She was sleeping like some idiot kid, curled in on herself and facing the door.

Why the fuck he had to keep waking the bitch up―like she was some kind of fucking Sleeping Beauty―he rolled his eyes and moved over to the bed, putting a foot up onto the edge, and leaned down.

"Hey, time to get up!" he yelled, shaking her shoulder.

She stirred, turning her head. Them scars on her head... Jericho squinted down at her. Like someone took a chunk outta her, or something. He leaned an elbow onto his raised knee, and poked her hard on the scars.

Shit, she moved fast! A hand whipped around, pulling his hand down. She was up and applying an elbow to the back of his neck in a second, knocking him down onto the floor and taking his foot off of the bed with a sweep of her arm. His entire body made contact with the floor all at once, and the metal shuddered from the impact―

"Oh," she said, sleepily. "The blackguard."

"Jesus Christ!" he yelled, pushing himself up. "What in the fuck!"

"You should know better than to wake someone up like that," she said, putting her legs onto the edge of the mattress. "I could've shot you."

"Fuck," he hissed, rubbing his nose and pulling away blood. "What the fuck?!"

Lillie stared at him for a moment, her face impassive, then she pulled out her pistol and held it on him. "Maybe I ought to shoot you," she said, frowning. "I don't think it's right for a man to be in a woman's room without permission."

Jericho backed up a step, frowning and wiping his face messily. "Shit," he said, after a moment of staring at her. He ran the back of his hand along his chin, smearing blood everywhere. "Like I give a shit, whatever. Go on, then."

Lillie lowered her pistol and stared at him. Then she smiled. The one from before, like she really did like him. Shit, he was in trouble, he was gonna get himself killed for this stupid little bitch―no one just smiled at him like that without him getting in trouble―

"To what do I owe the pleasure of your company, today?" she asked, putting the pistol away.

"Said you needed an extra gun," Jericho said, flicking blood onto the floor. Fucking nosebleeds, never wanting to stop.

"Oh," she said, and her face lit up. "Oh, good!"

Yeah... yeah, he was in trouble with this one. Watching Lillie climb out of the bed, seeing how skinny she actually was, realizing she was a lot quicker and stronger than she seemed...

Fuck him, he was definitely gonna get himself killed.