Chapter 18: R n' R
The evening campfires glowed in the still night. The evening was cold, and all those not on watch duty were nestled in for the night. Tobey had volunteered to act as a sentry, leaving his sister to get what he believed would be a good night's sleep alone in her tent. Deep in the Judicial Marshals' section of the camp, Carla brewed her wasteland tea while the strange man in her tent laid down on the cot, his eyes furtively glancing at the sparse décor and shadows on the wall.
"I'm trying to do this from memory. One of my instructors figured out a way to make bitter drink less bitter. Hardly medicinal, but it's great for soothing nerves and calming you down. I've never been able to get it like he did, but I'm getting closer, I like to think," Carla explained as she shifted the herbs once more.
"More of a moonshine guy myself," Larain replied, wondering what the two passing guards outside had been laughing about.
"I couldn't tell, you've all your teeth," Carla snickered.
"Ha-ha," Larain laughed, dryly. "So, I take it you marshal-folk see a lot of action."
"I mean, my brother and I are two junior members," Carla explained as she set down the kettle. "Mostly we assist the more senior members on cases. Though considering who our parents are, we're usually stuck on Founder duty."
"What's that mean?" Larain asked.
"Errands," Carla rolled her eyes. "Mom uses us to help teach the trainees, and dad uses us for shopping. Some of the guys out there think I've had it easy being the kid of two Founders. They don't get that we had to bust our asses twice as hard to live up to our parents' reputation. Heroes of the Mojave, and all," Carla welched.
"Your folk must be hard on you," Larain offered.
"I shouldn't bitch, I guess," Carla sighed. "Not like it couldn't be worse. Rosa's father never made too much time for her, and look what that got us," she sniffed.
Before Larain could interrupt to request changing the subject, Carla turned to him. "So, what about you? Got family?"
Larain thought back to one of his earlier memories. A six-year-old grappling with another on the dirt floor. His uncle watching impassively as a knee was driven into his forehead, the blinding light grounding Larain back to reality. "…Sucked," Larain confessed.
"Sorry to hear that," Carla replied, meekly. "…Still, must've toughened you up something fierce. Mel said you'd been carved up real bad."
"…She exaggerated," Larain muttered, his shoulder starting to tense up.
"So, how's it looking now?" Carla asked.
"I'm fine," Larain tried to press.
"I mean, if you are you are, but do you really want to pass up an opportunity for a cute girl to put her hands on you?" Carla grinned.
"Well…" Larain thought aloud. "When you put it that way…"
Soon enough, his shirt was on his knees, Larain flexing his bare shoulder as he winced. "Well, it's not infected," Carla muttered as she reached into her bag and pulled out a salve. "What did you say you got hit with, again?"
"Uh… Sharpened rebar," Larain groaned as Carla worked her fingers around his wound. She had taken off her helmet, gasmask, and face wrap once they had entered the tent. She was attractive, he admitted to himself. Caramel skin, brown eyes, and an odd hairstyle he'd never really seen before. A bunch of braids that reached her neck, though as he looked, he noticed that each braid was different. Carla peeked up and noticed him staring.
"Like it?" she asked.
"Feels great," Larain said as she began dabbing a cloth against his healing wound.
"No, the dreads," she grinned. "It was a gift from my favorite instructor back at McCarren. Don't tell my folks."
"What, he some kind of hippy?" Larain asked.
Carla snorted out a laugh as she wrung out the rag. "Nope," she giggled. "Tribal, used to run with the Legion but signed on with us. Wilderness survival was his specialty. Had these and I always liked them, had to pester him for years to show me how to do it, but he told me that it wasn't just fashion, it was a story. My story," she explained as she grabbed one. "This one is for the first time I saved a life. Another trainee fell in a ravine and broke his leg. I stayed with him as the medics found him, kept him safe and conscious. This one," she continued, "marks the number of fights I've won. Mostly just spars, though, but hey, I'm undefeated," she grinned.
"What's this one mean?" Larain asked as he touched one just by her eyebrow. Carla slapped his hand away, gently. "Well, that's how many times I've been wounded."
"Uh-huh. How many?" Larain asked.
Carla looked away, blushing a little. "…It was just a stupid training accident. I got hit with a training round and had to spend some time in a medical tent, so technically it counts as a wound. So dumb."
"Can I see it?" Larain asked.
Carla looked up and down her patient's naked torso. "…Well," she hesitated. "I guess fair is fair," she said as she began unbuttoning her blouse. She stopped to glance back up at him. "Behave yourself," she scolded. "And don't get too excited." She only undid the top two, just enough to pull away the fabric covering her collarbone. A faint little scar was imprinted on her skin, the bullet having hit the bone.
"That's all?" Larain asked.
"What?" Carla asked, annoyed. "Not all of us can be so lucky to have rebars to show off!"
"Not what I meant," Larain tried to placate. "I mean, that's pretty good. I've seen too many of the wrong kind of scar, it's nice to see someone cared for so well."
"Yeah," Carla said, dejectedly. "Cared for. That's precisely what I signed up for this damn job to do. Be cared for."
Larain figured that Carla resented her aforementioned duties for her mother the commissioner. One woman's privilege was another's burden, it seemed. He could only imagine how constricting life would be under the thumb of a lawman, or woman in this case.
"…Ever thought of leaving?" Larain asked.
"And go where?" Carla asked in return.
"I don't know. Just saying fuck it and going off into the Unclaimed Wastes? I mean, really, what's stopping you?" he asked.
Carla looked away. "Yeah, sorry. Can't turn my back on home."
"Understood," Larain nodded. Despite major philosophical differences, there wasn't much about that position he couldn't respect.
"I mean," Carla continued. "I wouldn't mind going on a bit of a deep deployment into the east. Other than this, I'm saying. Like the old Desert Rangers, you know?"
Larain fought back a grimace. "I know, an adventure. Righting wrongs, defending the helpless, dashing romances, that sort of thing, right?"
Carla let out a laugh. "Dashing Romances?" That's rich. Where did you hear that from?"
"Well," Larain admitted. "I guess maybe romantic is too strong a term. Maybe you just want to find someone to fool around with?" he shrugged.
"Huh? Really?" Carla replied as a slow smile crept on her face. Somehow the distance between them began to close, little by little. There's no telling where they would have ended up, had Carla's mother not chosen that exact time to enter her daughter's tent.
"Hey, Carla, I just wanted to…" Natalie came to a halt as he saw her daughter kneeling in front of a shirtless man.
"Mom, I was just…" Carla turned around to reveal that the top few buttons on her blouse were undone. Natalie took notice of this and slowly approached the unarmed wastelander.
"…Tell me, Larain, was it? Have you ever been strapped to a table in a cold dark room? Have you ever had a knife carved into your side, splitting you open? Ever had hands reach inside you, and extract two bloody creatures SCREAMING from your body? How does any of that sound, Larain?" Natalie asked as she ominously approached him.
"Ma'am, I swear I wasn't going to…" was all Larain got out while Carla covered her eyes.
"BAM!" Natalie exclaimed as she pulled up a portion of her shirt to show her scar. "I had a cesarean."
"God, mom, gross!" Carla complained as she covered her face.
"Hey!" Natalie called out. "This is how you two got started!"
"I know, mom, you don't have to share it with anyone else!" Carla welched.
"You showed yours, he showed his, I showed mine!" Natalie cheered as she rose her fists in the air. "I win!"
Larain exhaled, collapsing on the cot. He had been bracing for the worst, only to find that Commissioner Natalie Boone was just like every embarrassing parent. He could only wonder how his father would have treated his first date growing up. The thought of a centurion making dad jokes wasn't easy to comprehend.
"What do you want, mom?" Carla asked as she pulled her hands down.
"Just got a call from your father. He's asking if you two figured out how you're going to operate the gun. I didn't think it was my business to tell him about the new guy and thought you'd want to break the news to him," Natalie winked.
Carla rolled her eyes. "He can be so anal," she muttered as Natalie giggled.
"Should I be worried?" Larain asked as he grabbed his shirt.
"He's a state away, so probably not," Carla explained as she headed to the entryway with her mother. "Tobey's sore enough we'll be teaming together as is, but I think I can bring dad around."
"Should I come?" Larain asked.
Carla looked to her mom, who shook her head. "…Probably not. I don't think you're his type," Carla answered.
"Well, have a good talk," Larain conceded as he redressed.
The two marshals left the tent, and shortly afterward the wastelander left in turn. Confident no one was watching; he kicked the dirt and swore. "Damnit," he spat. "You were so close, Larain! Ah well," he shrugged. "Probably for the best, man," he consoled himself, walking away as he passed by Rosa, oblivious to the contempt she eyed him with. She looked at the bottle in her hand, thought against it, and proceeded to finish it before pursuing her mark.
Lt. Baxter watched as the wretch on the cot continued to giggle even as he curled up and shut out the world around him. He'd been like this for hours, and even the Follower transplants from Fort Abandon couldn't quite figure out how to deal with a complete mental shutdown like this. With the local MASH handling the wounded from the Battle of the Arizona Scraplands, it was advised against having a "complete headcase" there to damage morale. So, he was stuck here, in the "mobile garage" of the AEG, where the technicians and operators of the 5th Heavy Armor were relegated, that housed the documentarian's breakdown.
Kim had seen people break down before. Sudden onsets of stress and pressure effected all kinds of mentalities different. Even an excitable civilian could, in some situations, perform their duty better under adversity than many battle-hardened soldiers. Just whatever had happened to Mr. Frost, on the other hand, had completely shut him down.
"Talk… talking…" he giggled.
"Uh-huh," Baxter nodded as her attendant whispered something in her ear. "Don't really buy it, but it's worth a shot at this point. Send em in."
The two entered, one a medical professional, the other not. "Lt. Baxter, we came as soon as we heard. I hope we can offer you some assistance where…" Melody stopped as she got a good look at Lt. Baxter's casual wear.
It was well known that power armor users endured a lot of strain on their bodies the longer they were accustomed to their suits. Despite the usage of stabilizers, spending hours in power armor was largely a full-body workout. So, it stood to no ones surprise just how solid and developed Lt. Baxter's generous body was. What did surprise Melody was that, having spent so long compacted in power armor, Lt. Baxter's sum total of her casual wear was a pair of panties and an unzipped military jacket.
"Allow us to see him, Lieutenant," Joseph bowed his head. Kim nodded and beckoned both towards the cot. Joseph turned to admonish his wife. "Don't stare, it's rude," he gently scolded.
"I'm just… wow," Melody admitted. "That's… some body." Joseph lightly cracked her toe with his cane.
The three approached the documentarian as he began making smashing noises. "In the bag, got it all in the bag!" he laughed.
"Got any idea how to handle this, doc?" Kim asked.
"This is actually more his department," Melody admitted as Joseph approached, leaning down over Frost as he imagined a four-headed dragon breaking into the tents and devouring the whole army. The giggling began to stop as Joseph began brushing Frost's temples with his fingertips. "You've seen Hell, my friend," Joseph bowed his head. "Don't worry, I'll walk you through."
Melody watched as Frost finally began to pass out, his eyes rolling up in his head as Joseph began to focus. Kim watched intently as Joseph began quoting something from the Old Testament. The context involved something in Proverbs, but she suspected that it was just a focusing mechanism for… whatever Joseph was doing. She wasn't sure she believed in whatever power Joseph was trying to channel, but her lack of better alternatives stayed her tongue.
This ritual whatever continued for twenty or so minutes. Melody kept peeking over her husband to see if anything had improved or at least changed. Relenting, she instead pulled up a chair and sat beside the Lieutenant, folding her arms as her foot tapped out some half-remembered hymnal.
"I mean, I get it," Lt. Baxter began to explain, causing Melody to jump. "Look I was expecting to go to bed when I got back, I wasn't expecting company."
"Oh, uh, it's nothing, really," Melody tried to placate.
"I just don't want you thinking I'm some kind of…," Lt. Baxter explained as she looked away. "It's just that power armor is so restricting, so when I'm out I really just want my body to breathe. I used to have a chest-wrap, but it became so obnoxious applying it every time I was out I just left it at home, and it's impossible finding a bra my size anyway, so…"
"I get it, I get it," Melody tried to interrupt. "I wasn't judging, I just wasn't expecting someone so… fit, I guess."
Lt. Baxter let out a rare smile. "And I'm surprised the wife spent so much ogling me when usually it's the other way around."
Melody let out a grin. "I'd be surprised if he did, with or without his eyes." The two women shared a laugh when Joseph snapped out of his trance. Frost bolted upright, his head narrowly missing Joseph's chin while he gasped for air. He looked around and saw who was surrounding him. "What happened?" he asked.
Joseph gently placed a hand on his shoulder and began to explain. "You experienced a traumatic event during the battle. It almost cost you your life, but providence saw fit to see you survive."
"I saw… I saw…" Frost was about to explain, bracing for the ridicule that would come his way.
"Something that is far away from us and you at this moment," Joseph placed his other hand on the other shoulder. "Now is the time to eat and rest. You are safe and among friends. I advise you to call your sponsor as soon as you can, she will be interested to know about what transpired. I'm sure she can relate."
"Excuse me, Elder Young?" Lt. Baxter interrupted. "But I believe it would be prudent for Frost to give a proper debriefing on what just transpired. I would like to have all our threats accounted for."
Frost imagined how quick his tenure with the AEG would end if he were to be honest with them. He'd lose all his credibility in one fell swoop, dismissed as a fraud and lunatic by the men, another crackpot with a radio program to sponsor. Only the societal fringes of broadcasting would ever give him the time of day.
"…Some of the junkyard raiders must have seen me isolated and thought they could ransom me. He must have jumped me, put me in the sack, and got into an argument with his partners over how to proceed some time later. I cut my way out and escaped, and they must have figured I wasn't worth the trouble."
Lt. Baxter looked at him skeptically while Melody looked at her husband. "…He's telling enough of the truth," Joseph admitted.
"Well, if it is all the same to everyone," Frost said as he picked himself up and dusted off his mud-encrusted (and urine-stained) pants, "I would like to get back to my equipment and figure out how to make sense of this whole rotten ordeal. If you will excuse me, I've some work to return to."
Melody went to her husband to help him up while Mr. Frost was escorted to the entrance by Baxter, passing racks of power armor and busy technicians as they did. Frost, now able to compartmentalize the reptilian incident, was finally in a state of mind where he could fully appreciate the 5th Heavy Armor's modular tent/garage, an example of their logistical prowess he now finally couldn't wait to talk to their CO about.
"Lt. Baxter, I for one cannot even begin to tell you how grateful I am about your assistance," he opened with. "Now, I was wondering if sometime in the near future I could perhaps convince you to arrange time for an interview? Perhaps starting with this marvelous example of engineering that you call home, which I just find-" he stopped as he turned around to look Lt. Baxter in the eyes. He tried to, he really did, but her half-naked torso, once again, captured the wrong kind of attention. He was brusquely shoved out of the 5th's HQ, and he returned to his own tent kicking himself for his lapse in judgment and wondering how best to handle his laundry situation.
Tobey laid in watch in his foxhole, rifle trained on the under-reconned and over hostile wasteland before him. Carla was busy at the moment with the new guy, and after hearing reports of deathclaws in the area, Tobey figured now was the time to get some kills under his belt and reassess who deserved to use Dad in the upcoming weeks. Having Larain be the first to hit his father's mark didn't discourage him, rather it encouraged his innate competitiveness to show up that dirt rat and put him back in his place.
He shook his head as he cleared out the unhelpful thoughts from his mind. It wasn't the guy's fault his sister got comfortable around him. Not really, he thought. The job never really left time or opportunity for Carla to get to know unrelated guys her own age. It was just some dumb flirting, there was no way it was like that jackass was Carla's type.
Once again, he shook his head. Why was he having such a hard time focusing? He had miles upon miles of unspoiled wasteland in front of him, and instead of keeping track of even the slightest movement, he was here daydreaming about his sister's relationship dramas. Not that it even deserved to be called that, all that happened was that she volunteered to work beside a basically complete stranger instead of her own flesh and blood. He wasn't upset by that, not even remotely! It was her life, she could do with it what she wished.
Not that he had that much for a life, to be honest. He was still married to the job as much as she was. Still, he had given the whole "relationship" thing an attempt, such as it was, he grimaced. The less said about it the better, and he hoped that despite everything between them, they could just continue forward as mutual friends and just learn to focus more on what was around them, to be aware of the broader picture without interrup-
"WHAZZUP, TOBSTER!" Rosa slurred as she slapped his rear, causing him to jump.
Tobey looked beside him to see Rosa collapse, back first, into his foxhole. He had seen Rosa in this condition many times before. The slight glaze in her eyes, the loopy smile on her lips, and the stench of alcohol on her breath. Rosa was sloshed, again. And he already dreaded the upcoming experience.
"Nice to see you this evening, Rosa," Tobey began, neutrally.
"Wanna fool around?" Rosa immediately propositioned.
"We agreed to this, Rosa, not until you are sober," Tobey recited, eyes focused back on his scope.
Rosa tried to pout, but her heart wasn't into it. "When did you get *hic* so boring?" she muttered.
"Rosa, I would love to talk about US," Tobey emphasized. "Not my sister, not my parents, not your exes, and not your fa-"
"Don't you fucking say it!" Rosa hissed.
"Your DAAAAAAAA-Da!" Tobey stressed, drawing two syllables out.
"Fucker," Rosa winced, her ears almost stinging from the word. "Just call him old man like I *hic* do."
"Have you ever considered, you know, just talking to him instead of going behind his back to piss him off?" Tobey asked.
"Shuddup," Rosa glared at him. "I just came to see if you wan-ned a screw, but you still just piss me off."
"…Look, Rosa," Tobey relented. "I… I like you. A lot. I'm more than willing to give US another shot. US. You and me. But if this is about sticking something to Carla, I'm not entertaining this conversation anymore," Tobey stated, firmly.
"Heh, Carla almost got stuck with something," Rosa giggled. "While you was out here in the cold, your dear sissy was making goo-goo eyes at Mr. Six-outta-ten."
"Mr. Six-… you known what, I didn't need to know that," Tobey looked away, grimacing. "Your business is yours and hers is hers."
"Tried to give her his business," Rosa snickered, quietly.
"What do you want?" Tobey snapped.
"Wanted a screw, but *hic* you have to be such a spoilsport. Juss wanted you to know that when dipshit breaks your sister's heart, you know where to plug him *hic*," Rosa slurred.
"Don't make this something this isn't. If you hate him, just say you hate him and leave it at that," Tobey advised. "Don't talk to him, don't even think about him at all. Just leave him to his business, whatever and whoever that is," Tobey reiterated.
"Well geez, when you put it like that," Rosa muttered. "Why don't you just go fool around with him if you dig him so much?"
"Hell no," Tobey scoffed. "I can blast a guy a lot further than I trust him. I don't buy his story in the slightest, and if he does pull a fast one with Carla, I'll end him."
"Love it when you talk dirty," Rosa purred.
"…So… what's my score?" Tobey asked, curious despite himself.
"Eight-outta-ten," Rosa yawned.
Tobey was miffed. "And what does it take to get a ten?"
"Wouldn't you like to know," Rosa snickered.
Tobey went back to focusing on his sightline for the next few minutes in silence. Even in the dark, his optic lenses could spot movement at one thousand yards. With the reports of deathclaws in the area, Tobey felt like he had a fairly good idea as to the culprit behind the death of Pvt. Eckman. He felt something of a special kinship with 1st Recon, being fellow marksmen, although that was probably just genetics talking.
"…I wouldn't really mind trying again, you know," Tobey finally admitted. "I… like you. Care for you. But if we're going through with this, I need a guarantee that this is more than some fling. I'm in this for the long haul, Rosa. This isn't a night thing for me, I think we can stick together for years. Just tone down the bullshit, please, I beg of you. I don't care about whatever is between you and your dad or my sister or anyone else you've hooked up with, I just want it to be between you and me. You feel me?"
Rosa had passed out next to him, her mouth open as she snored, drool spilling from the side of her lips. Tobey was annoyed, but not entirely unsurprised. He figured Jimmy would be out soon, wondering what kind of trouble Rosa had stumbled into once again. But it was getting late, and he figured a few hours rest wouldn't hurt anyone, hangover or not.
He pulled out his weather tarp and draped it across her body. Then he took off his helmet and placed it under her head. As Rosa snored, Tobey kept watch for both their sakes. Perhaps in the morning, he would have a chat with Jimmy, seeing as the KEEP ROSA PEREZ FROM DRINKING HERSELF TO DEATH COMMITTEE was always looking for new members. Maybe making some personal time with her could go a long way to mellow her out, now that she was finally away from Vegas and all. Maybe all she really needed was a camping trip, after all.
An arm draped around his shoulders. A passed-out Rosa leaned into him, involuntarily from what Tobey could tell. She hadn't nudged into his gun, and he wasn't too disturbed by the encounter, so he opted to ignore it and leave her to her rest. Besides, it was nice being this close to her, again. At least it was until minutes later she began heaving. It would appear, Tobey thought as he leaned Rosa out of the foxhole, stroking her hair as she vomited, that even unconscious, Rosa could still find a way to sabotage a moment.
I would really like to see some feedback outside of the usual suspects for this chapter, please and thank you!
