You know that kind of writers block where your mind literally thinks of everything else other than writing and it's like 'I don't even care about writing anymore just let me play video games'
And then I fell victim to societal pressures and downloaded some Lana Del Rey, and call it lame as hell but I'm back. Let me know what you think of this part because I know it's getting a little more serious now, and I'd like to see how I'm doing in this whole spectrum. Thank you!
Summertime Sadness, Blue Jeans and Gods and Monsters by Lana Del Rey
In the few milliseconds between when Boone opened the door and when he stepped into the room, Annie's mind fell down the muddy slope to dead brain. Whatever bottle the Garret Twin had given her was not his usual watered down bullshit that he often swung her – it had to be a decent quality, top shelf liquor. It even had a label.
The sniper found his partner dewy-eyed, curled up around her bottle with her boots twisted in each other.
For whatever it was worth, in the half an hour separating their individual arrival in the Wrangler room that night, Annie had thought up a semi-decent plan to get herself around the wasteland without Boone. The idea of her man leaving her left a screaming bleached canyon in her brain, bristling with white noise every time the thought got too serious. She forced it out of her head in fear that her ears would bleed.
First she would get back to Goodsprings and talk to the residents, then head down to Primm to figure out what the hell was happening there. There were no more lurking fears of getting shot under the unstable rollercoaster, and if she decided to loop around and pick up Veronica then she would be set for safety. She would stay out of Legion territory, but attempt to pick at the small towns littered across the wastes.
If the people of the Mojave thought Annie was all they wanted to know about, she would do everything in her power to know just as much about them as they did her. It was not hard to get the information she needed, considering everyone had his or her price. She would find out whatever made that damn desert tick, and use that knowledge to set it up to the best of her ability.
She was coming to terms with the fact that she had been given the one chance at the sword in the stone, finding a halting epiphany halfway through the bottle. It was the only logical explanation, and as Boone had told her only days before; sometimes people have to stand up and take responsibility. It was such a Boone thing to say.
Returning to find the courier glassy-eyed was like walking into the eeriest parts of hell. A quiet Annie was never a good Annie; he had learnt this the hard way. Either she was planning some devious seduction plan (he had seen the way she had been looking at him lately) or was melding into whatever character flaw she had developed in her time of being a gang fiend.
He stood and stared at her for a moment, letting a breath out of his nose as a pressure release. There were so many notions running in his head on how to handle the situation – he had seen how rattled she had gotten about Radio New Vegas. He hadn't thought it an issue; the news stories never too informative just cluey.
Her eyes melted when she registered his colour pallette. "Hey," she purred lazily "thought you'd… be up sooner."
His joints unlocked at her words, springing him back into his before-bed routine. "Figured you wanted some space." He told her as he tugged off his shirt, folding it gently before placing it on a bookshelf. The sniper could feel her eyes on him as he unbuckled his belt, looping the leather carefully around the back of a chair. He caught her gaze as he tucked his thumbs in the waistband. "What?"
She shook her head.
"How long are you leaving me?" She itched her nose with a pinch, slipping over sloppily to her side of the bed. He joined her as soon as he felt decent, turning off the light before dragging his legs under the covers beside hers. She curled towards him, one hand stabilising herself as she wobbled like a trestle in the wind.
"I don't have an exact schedule." He said truthfully, his words not sating the girl one bit. She leant over and placed her free hand in the gap between his legs, straining the dirty sheets over his thighs.
"I think we should meet up- in Novac again… like the last time…" She grinned tiredly at him, the man taking to to the idea of a drunk Annie. She seemed like a healthy pacifist, all warm smiles and no bad vibes. He'd never had the pleasure of seeing her drunk on anything other than adrenalin. "My room… when either one of us is done we- we wait until the other gets back."
"If you say so." He said, reaching for her intrusion.
"Leave it." She shushed him, freeing her foundation to smack his hand away. Her elbow bent and she took his shoulder to steady her dying frame. There was a level of drunk that took Annie to the land of heavy limbs, her head basically an abandoned coconut filled with frothed milk. "Let me- let me do it." She took the other arm and held it around his neck, swinging from him like a jungle child.
"Anna." His one-worded sternness generally won her over but this time she just gave the same smashed grin. "I think it's time for bed."
"I know you like the back-… of my hand, Boone, I know you're going to do go do something stupid. It's reeking from your skin." He couldn't see her clearly in the dark, but the light that seeped in from under their door made the courier's eyes wide and shiny. Boone could feel her breath on his chin, her forehead sloppily pressed against his nose. "If you die without me I want to at least know I've touched you."
His torso tensed with the awkward thought and he steadied her by her elbows, allowing her to tighten her arms around his neck. She buried herself in his collarbone, greeted with the rough cotton bedtime singlet. Her quiet words trekked up his jaw; skin prickling happily at her muttering lips under his ear.
"Are you done?" He asked after barely a minute. She shifted and found his gaze again, eyes glazed but still strangely present.
"Why won't you let me touch you?" She asked. "Why does it make you so weird?"
When he didn't answer she leant back, fixing his nose with hers. Their foreheads fell together and they were suddenly quite close. He could smell the strong alcohol on her breath, tinged with guilt at her probable response for the next morning. He was going to leave and she was going to roll around in bed with a hangover – it was like a sad movie in his mind.
"No, really—fuck you." She grunted, pushing away and over-balancing a little. He caught her again, steadying her back onto his shoulder. "You can't be so—so handsome all the time and not-… expect anything from it."
She never really understood how much it pained him to say no to her. There were moments when he wanted to step outside his fears with reckless abandon and destroy her like every man would, but he couldn't. He physically couldn't.
"You made love to me in my dream last night." She told him, her fingers tickling the sensitive spots on the back of his neck. Goosebumps burst at her words, her skin like fire on his own. He wanted so desperately to push her away – to get up and walk away. It was getting too surreal for it to be safe anymore. He was almost glad he was leaving for a while. "You were there and you—you were so nice to me. I'm sorry. I'm really drunk. I shouldn't be saying these things but—but I can't stop talking. It's like my lungs are leaking."
Her arms tightened and her body shuddered as she buried herself closer into him.
"I don't want anything from you because I know I make you miserable." She kept on, muttering only just loud enough for him to hear. In an effort to calm her down he put a stiff arm on her back. "Just come back because I'm going to miss you so much."
And then she planted a small kiss on the soft skin of his neck and he froze for a slight moment – finding every last ounce of strength in his body to attempt to pry her from him. He held her biceps in his hands for a moment as he tried to scrutinize her under the low light, but his tired eyes could only find the sheen of her hair. He finally laid her down on her side of the bed, tucking her head onto the pillow before pulling the sheets up over her chest.
"I'll say goodbye." He promised, reaching over to give her hand a squeeze. "I'll wake you up before I go." She took his grip and stole it for her own, wrapping his fingers between hers like a healthy bed.
"If I wake up and you've left, I'll be just miserable as you." She fought to find his silhouette through her blurry vision. "At least leave a note."
Annie,
Woke you to say goodbye but you were too tired to talk. Told you I'd try. Don't know how long I'll be, don't have an answer why. Sorry.
There are things I haven't told you. Should have. If you find out without me then I'm sorry. Should have told you. I hope you can forgive me.
Never really told you how I feel about you either, don't know myself. Can't write it down - wish I could. Think you sort of understand, though. You're good at that.
Everybody's got a road to walk. Mine's a bit shorter. Hope yours doesn't end.
You don't have to stay in Vegas forever.
Craig.
He wasn't expecting to come out of it alive.
Men lay groaning in the hot summer air, their wounds festering as tiny flies crawled into ugly crevices to make their homes. Whatever blood had seeped from wounds had begun to collect in the sand, pooling into a sick looking lake in the middle of the small cove hideout. It had even begun to drip into the water, stirring up a rogue fleet of lakelurks at the smell of the filthy liquid.
He'd managed to free the family of slaves that were rotting in the holding pen as well, and although their eyes were wide with fear they thanked him for their lives.
The sniper found the spot where the slave-selling platform used to sit, where Carla had once stood, wishing for a packet of matches and a bottle of turpentine to put the heaving cove out of it's dithering misery. Word would spread of his message to Caesar, and the man would cry for his head, but that was all to be expected.
Boone hadn't anticipated finally driving his machete through the plates in the centurion's armour. The realisation hit him like a train. There was a sensation running through his body, better than any chem he had ever come close to trying – better than anything else he had ever felt. All the pent up rage and confusion over his life had turned a once thriving Legion camp into a literal bloodbath, his clothes soaked from beret to boot lace.
The man picked off the recruits first, managing to pile up a decent amount of bodies before they figured out where he was. The sad-souls who died first never even saw him, which was slightly disappointing in his plan for total destruction. Boone ended up sliding down the rock face to take on the bigger men with his beautifully sharpened machete, revelling in the thrill of his enemies gurgling to death under his boot heel. He had gone into an ugly, vengeful massacre and he returned scratched up but alive. The man had to sit down in the sand and think to himself.
He had a final cigarette in his pants pocket, fishing it out to find the rotting cardboard logged with blood. The stick inside lay unharmed, faded caramel paper stuck with tobacco stains. Stale cigarettes didn't do much, but he wasn't fond of the ugly Strip packets Annie would bring home. There was character in the old life.
This wasn't how he imagined his plan to fold out. Even his hands were shaking as he salvaged his last match, striking it on the case to savour the crackle of flames before sadly shaking it out. The sun was going down over the lake and he remembered the glow of Annie's hair in the warm light.
He sighed almost comically. "Well, shit."
Boone,
You havnt come back yet and thats okay because i know youll make it when you can
When i do see you though i will absolutely and definitely beat the shit out of you. Their will be no denying or fighting it because i have all the ground to stand on. i dont care if your half dead when i find you because i will kick you within a inch of your life and than nurse you back to health so i can do it again.
Than we are gonna to talk about what youve supposedly done. We are going to sort this out.
Food in the fridge, water in the medical box.
Annie.
It took all his strength to pull himself up the rickety railing of the Dino-Delite motel stairs. He had only packed enough food for the trip to Cottonwood, and when it came to the whole 'surviving' thing he was stuck raiding the mottled corpses of Legion Soldiers. He wasn't too happy with the idea of healing powder and grubby bandages but they were all he could salvage for the time.
It was an equally as thrilling walk back to Novac from Cottonwood, hounded by a stray gang of geckos that didn't want to attack. He was almost humbled by the trip, although finding slight irony in the fact that the last time he took that trip he returned without a wife or a care. Now he had a clear head, a clear mind – more room to think about the future.
He was sure that if Carla had seen what he had just done, she would have been mortally horrified. There was an ounce of sadness for her probable reaction, but he knew she would have understood why.
Boone returned to Annie's room with a quiet push of key, letting himself in to collapse his knees on the bed. He read her note with sleepy eyes, rolling onto his back to take off his glasses to get the full impact of Annie's handwriting. It was like a child had scrawled a suicide note with his mother's eyebrow pencil.
Past the point of hungry and really just feeling sick to the stomach, Boone chose to lay still for a while, counting the stains on the ceiling to pass the ugly feeling in his stomach. He couldn't be bothered to reach for the fridge or the medicine box, his body zapped of all other energy. He had walked for so long – a nap wouldn't hurt… surely he would survive another few hours...
He woke to a sharp pain in his right arm, a woman's hand pressing down on his bicep to keep him still. His eyes found the hooded face of Veronica, the scribe pushing a stimpack into a slight bullet graze he had previously bandaged. The woman leapt back when she watched his eyes fight themselves open, the man groggy and nauseated as he swayed to sit up.
"Sorry buddy, thought you were out cold." The woman said gingerly, leaning into the desk chair she had pulled up. There was darkness leaking through the boarded windows, the small room lit up with a dying light bulb. "Annie! He's awake."
"About fucking time." The courier's voice sounded from the kitchenette. His gaze dragged to her small form, up the ripped stockings to find her stern glance. Annie turned to face him, her face darker from the sun and unfortunately pulled into a disappointed look. "Hey there, handsome. Where've you been?"
The woman pushed a bowl of stew at him, curling up at his feet to pull off his shoes. The porcelain was heavy in his hands, arms straining to put it gently onto his thighs to soak up the lukewarm heat seeping from the ceramic. Veronica was already pulling up his pant legs to check for any other damage, sighing unhappily at the plethora of bloody patches.
"Bit sloppy, don't you think?" The courier asked when he didn't respond, tugging the other boot off. "Could have at least cracked open a bottle of whiskey to dull the pain." The man rubbed his eyes, the smell of the stew completely overwhelming him.
"Can we take your pants off?" The scribe asked, earning a grin from the courier. "I promise I won't look."
"Su-" He had to clear his throat of sleepy debris, swallowing awkwardly. "Sure."
Annie looked at him expectantly, waiting for him to unbuckle his belt. Pulling it free of the loops, he passed it to the brunette to fold over the back of her chair.
"When'd you get back?" The older woman asked, tucking at the ankles of his pants as he shifted to free them. The rough cotton slipped over his thighs, bundled up by the courier and abandoned on the floor. Veronica made quick work of his wounds, tsk'ing at the damage.
"This morning." He answered, placing his bowl onto the old sheets to take a small spoonful.
"Well that can't be right considering that's when we got here." Annie slapped his foot with a calming palm. "Guess you've been out for a day or so." She did not sound happy with him, her stern but worried tone reminiscent of Carla's when he used to dip into PTSD. No more of this Craig, please. Please.
"Sorry."
"It's alright." She got up and snatched her pack of cigarettes from the counter, lighting one quietly while she shot a look to her female counterpart.
"I'm out of here." Veronica quickly retreated from his bandages. "I want to check out that dinosaur."
"Seeya." Annie waved her goodbye, the scribe stepping out of the door so Annie could slink back to the bed. She crawled over the tough mattress, slipping down next to him. Watching him suddenly inhale his food, her eyes glossed over with a sick curiosity. "I see you went and had fun without me."
"Not going to beat the shit out of me?" He tested between mouthfuls, suddenly thrown into the situation where he had to explain his cryptic 'goodbye' note.
"Not yet. Where'd you go?"
"Cottonwood."
"Killed them all, huh?"
"Yeah."
"Reckless." She huffed at him, pushing her hair to one shoulder. "Not like you."
"Wasn't expecting to come back."
"Figured as much." Annie rested her hand on his bare thigh. "How many?"
"Thirty-four or so."
"Thirty-four?" Her grip tightened, fear highlighting her eyes.
"I can't explain how." He shook his head. "Don't know myself."
"You feel better now?" Annie asked, eyes flickering to the noise of his spoon clattering in an empty bowl.
"A little." He pushed himself up, staggering to full height on his heavy legs. His head was swimming and his was stomach growling.
"How about physically?"
"Much better." It wasn't a lie, the good-feelings from a fresh stimpack pumping through his veins. He cracked open the lock on the medicine box, screwing the lid free from a clean bottle to chug the sterile water. Leaning his forearm on the little box, he pressed back against the wall to take a look at the girl on the bed.
Her brows were furrowed and her eyes were searching his, hands clasped around each other. She would have been the picture of innocence if he didn't already know what she was capable, doe-eyed like a little girl waiting for him to return to bed.
Boone scratched his nose and headed back towards the bed, sitting stiffly beside her as she pulled herself towards him, wrapping her arms around his shoulders as he took another sip of his water. They sat comfortably as she sucked up his aura, revelling in the fact that he was still alive and well – albeit very scratched up and sore. Her fingers carefully brushed the soft skin on the back of his neck, holding him as close as possible.
"Don't get used to this." Annie mumbled from her spot on his shoulder, kissing the bare skin on his bicep. He looked down at her and gave her a small smile. She returned it sadly. "And don't ever do that again. Please."