"Hey. Psst..."
Willow's eyes flutter open, and her hand tightens around the switchblade she sleeps with before she realizes that it is MacCready's voice she's hearing. She relaxes and groans as she sits up, squinting at the sunlight which pours into the shipping container she and MacCready had camped out in.
She says nothing as she lets her eyes adjust and does her best to keep them from closing again. She slouches where she sits, and MacCready blows air from his nose. "Well, good morning." he says sarcastically, and then suddenly there is a canteen of water in Willow's hands. She looks down at it, her head flopping gracelessly forward, then lifts it and sloshes it around.
"I boiled some water." he tells her, then moves to sit across from her, arm resting on his knee. "You can let it cool, but it'll probably feel better on your throat while it's hot."
Willow blinks and her fingers tighten around the canteen in her hand. She is shocked by the kind gesture, and she lifts the bottle in thanks with a small smile before she sips at the liquid.
Her face immediately curls in disgust, and she smacks her lips a few times before she croaks, "Tastes like shit."
"Oh, so it does speak." MacCready jabs playfully. After their fight with Pigeon, Willow's throat had been quite sore, and resultingly she and MacCready had spent the entirety of the day prior travelling in a comfortable silence, only speaking when necessary. But Willow's throat feels better today, despite the deep purple and red bruising which has taken up residence where Pigeon's hand had been. MacCready watches Willow as she licks her lips then sniffs the contents of the bottle, and then he chuckles. "You're welcome." he adds flatly.
"Thanks." Willow says, then takes another sip. Because MacCready is right. It does feel good on her throat, despite the taste.
She rubs her eyes and stretches, and then takes another sip of hot river water before screwing the lid onto her canteen. "You sleep okay?" she asks MacCready through a yawn.
"Not bad, all things considered." he replies and checks his watch. "Got up a few hours ago and cleared out some mirelurks by the water."
His tone is prideful – like he believes he is Atom's gift to mankind. This makes Willow giggle. "You're a true hero." she teases, and in turn MacCready rolls his eyes.
"I think I like you better when you can't speak." he jokes.
"Fuck you."
MacCready laughs and raises his hand in feigned offence. "Easy there, shooter." he chirps, before a sly grin spreads across his face. "Or, I guess, you would be a shooter. If you had a gun."
Willow groans, her head falling backward dramatically. "Fuck you again..." she whines. With a snicker, MacCready pulls himself to his feet and offers his hand to Willow to help her up.
"If you weren't so lazy, we could be at Bunker Hill by now." he chastises her as he pulls her to her feet.
"We're not that far away." Willow rolls her eyes and wanders away from MacCready a bit, stretching her legs out. Yesterday she had used Pigeon's submachine gun – but the recoil on it was something she had not been prepared for and so her accuracy had taken quite a hit and in her frustration she abandoned it somewhere along the road. She is much more adept at using energy weapons, and the sooner they get to Bunker Hill, the better.
"Yeah, well," MacCready bends at the waist and grabs Willow's bag off the floor, slinging it over his own shoulder, "We'll be lucky if there's an arms trader in Bunker Hill, double lucky if they have a lazer rifle, and triple lucky if you can afford it." His pessimism is not unfounded, but Willow regards him with a scowl regardless.
Her eyes fall to her bag and she is unsure she wants to let him carry her things for her – but she trusts him enough by now that she feels as though she can relax a bit. "It's fine if I can't afford it," she grins devilishly, "You can just trade your rifle in."
MacCready chuckles. "In your dreams." he says, then meanders toward the open end of the shipping container. He hops out of it and turns back to watch as Willow shuffles to the edge, where her scowl returns as she pauses. MacCready raises an eyebrow as he looks up at her. "What?" he asks.
"It's too bright." Willow complains. She feels as though she is still half asleep and the sunlight is blinding. MacCready rolls his eyes and takes off his hat, then holds it out to her.
"Here." he says. "And you better not have lice."
Willow hesitates a moment. She can feel the acceleration of her heartbeat and the tingling numbness in her legs and fingertips that seems to happen often around MacCready. But then, she scoffs and bites back a grin as she snatches the hat from his hands. "Oh, I'm crawling with lice." she says sarcastically, "Fleas, too."
"I don't doubt that." MacCready turns and takes a few steps away from the shipping container then stops, waiting until he hears Willow's footsteps behind him before he continues on walking.
He casts a look over his shoulder at the woman and notices she quickly looks away from him. He admires her briefly. The hat flattens her already thin hair, which in turn makes her ears stick out even more than they already do. But there's something so... charming about Willow. Her angular features and long neck give her an elegance which contradicts her general grunginess. Her long, black hair flows softly behind her in the breeze, and she seems to carry herself in a way that is somehow both dignified and unrefined all at once. She is a walking paradox – and it is captivating.
Willow glances back to MacCready, and her ears redden. "What?" she yaps, "Am I wearing somethin' of yours— wait."
MacCready snorts and turns away again. "Dumbass—" he coughs lightly as he stops and corrects himself, "Idiot."
It doesn't take the two long to reach Bunker Hill, and as they approach the door, they are greeted by an older woman with an uninviting attitude. She has seen MacCready before, recognizes him as a mercenary and figures he is unlikely to be an issue; but she doesn't know this woman who he has arrived with.
"Merc." she says coldly. "Who's this?"
"Willow." MacCready gestures to Willow as he slows to a stop. "She's my... friend. We're just here to do some trading."
"That's fine." the woman says, stepping aside slightly though she still regards them with hardened eyes, "Just don't go causing any trouble."
MacCready chuckles defensively and fights the urge to roll his eyes. "Wasn't planning on it." he says with indignation, then steps around her, Willow in tow.
The marketplace is actually pretty busy today. Willow figures it is because winter is approaching, and soon many caravans will slow or stop for the few short months it actually snows in the Commonwealth. Caravaners, drifters, and locals alike mill about, and the soft sound of live music carries through the settlement with the breeze.
"Alright," MacCready says, eyes drifting around the square. "Keep your eyes peeled for Cricket. Pretty sure this is one of her stops." He glances to Willow, who is pushing his hat back slightly to clear more of her field-of-vision, then nudges her. "You ever meet Cricket?"
"Er..." Willow narrows her eyes and hums in thought. "I think so. She's tiny, right?"
"Yeah. And nuts." MacCready adds, then wanders further in to see if he can't spot the aforementioned weapons dealer.
They only get a few more steps in before a child runs out in front of them and stops, blocking their path. "Welcome to Bunker Hill! The name's Meg." she says enthusiastically with her hand to her chest, "I can tell you're new here, so for 10 caps, I'll—"
"Not interested." MacCready interrupts her and moves to step around her, but Meg hurries in front of him and plants herself directly in his path. He stops and glares down at her, but she is unphased.
"You didn't even let me finish!" she scolds. Willow shifts where she stands, arms crossing as an amused smirk touches her lips. MacCready sighs but says nothing, giving Meg the floor which she takes. "I was saying," she continues, "that for just ten caps, I could give you the tour of Bunker Hill."
"Ten caps? For a tour of this place?" MacCready scoffs. "Sounds like a rip-off."
"What?" Meg grins sardonically, "Can't afford it?"
Willow snorts, and then stifles a laugh when MacCready shoots her a look. He crosses his arms, mean mugging the girl. "Thanks for the offer," he says sarcastically, "but I've been here a million times before—"
"I haven't." Willow says defiantly, and Meg turns her attention to her, stepping away from MacCready and moving to stand in front of Willow instead. MacCready watches Willow with narrowed eyes, entirely unsure of what she's up to – because he refuses to believe that she's going to let this child talk her out of her caps.
"Fine. For ten caps, I'll give you the tour." Meg offers.
"Well how am I supposed to pass up a deal like that?" Willow's gaze flicks to MacCready, and then she reaches into her pocket and hands over ten caps to Meg, all while MacCready watches, unamused and disapproving. Meg counts the caps, slips them into her own pocket, and squares her shoulders.
The little girl makes a big show of clearing her throat, then takes a small step to the side and gestures outward. "The market's in the back, bar's in the corner, and the outhouse is against the wall." she says, then takes another step away as she tries to wrestle a look of triumph from her face. "Bye." With that, she turns and quickly runs off, weaving through the crowd, and Willow stands in place, mouth agape, watching as she disappears.
MacCready stares at Willow with one eyebrow raised, and after a moment, Willow laughs. It is an infectious sound, and MacCready can't help but to smirk though he quickly twists his expression into one which is more derisive. "Well, genius? You just got scammed by a child. How does that make you feel?"
Willow's smile doesn't falter – in fact, she looks fondly out into the crowd and then shakes her head. "I knew she was going to scam me." she says, and MacCready tilts his head.
"Then why did you give her the caps?!" He truly doesn't understand.
"Because," Willow shrugs and turns to MacCready, "she was funny."
With that, she begins walking further into the settlement now, letting MacCready follow her as they search for Cricket. Truthfully, Willow is simply fond of children. She has a soft spot for kids, especially younger teenagers. The Wasteland is a cruel, cruel place to grow up in – but if she can make a positive difference to just one child before their views become as acutely jaded as hers have, then she is happy. She wishes there was more that she could do than entertain a tiny con artist's trickery... But the look of victory on Meg's face had been worth it for her.
MacCready rolls his eyes as he hurries after her. "Whatever, just don't come crying to me when you're short on caps for your gun." he bemoans, but Willow doesn't reply.
As her eyes scan the crowd, she is not only looking out for Cricket – but also anyone who may seem suspicious. Anyone who may be watching her a little too closely, or perhaps anyone vaguely familiar to her. She has been on edge since receiving that parcel two days prior, and though she has an idea on who it had been from she doesn't know – and that, she finds disconcerting. She also realizes that it has been a while since she has seen Maggie, but as soon as she thinks of the girl she appears among the crowd. She locks eyes with her, and Maggie gives her a goofy, exaggerated army salute before she turns and wanders off.
Willow is comforted by her presence but only for a moment before the unwelcome feeling of dread sets in, and she quickly averts her gaze so she no longer has to see that tuft of perfect red hair intermingling with the crowd.
"Well, look at that," MacCready says which steals Willow's attention back, "it's our lucky day."
She follows his gaze and spots Cricket sitting back against a wall, her Brahmin tied up beside her and some of her stock on display on the ground by her feet. She perks when she spots MacCready and Willow looking at her, then scrambles to stand and greet them as they approach.
"You look like two people who like when things go KABOOM!" she exclaims, and Willow blinks a few times. She and MacCready exchange a look, before MacCready steps back and lets Willow take the reigns.
"Um... yeah." Willow nods, then immediately shakes her head, "Or, er, no. I'm actually more partial to weapons that make people go... pshhh..." She wiggles her fingers in a way meant to be representative of ashes in the wind.
Cricket claps and rubs her hands together then licks her lips in excitement. She exudes gremlin energy and it is easy to tell she is high on probably an assortment of chems as she assesses her stock. "Well, I got somethin' for you, then, sister!" she squawks, and Willow turns to look at MacCready over her shoulder. She mouths, 'two out of three,' before turning back to Cricket. MacCready tuts and crosses his arms, but he does take a small step closer to Willow and peers over her shoulder as Cricket pulls out a plasma pistol from her duffle bag.
"Ta-da!" she says, then thrusts it into Willow's hands. "How's that?!" The vendor is basically vibrating with erratic energy, but Willow's mouth twists as she turns the gun over in her hand.
"You got anything lazer?" she asks, then holds the pistol back out to Cricket, "And bigger?"
Cricket's eyes widen and she smiles wildly, then laughs as she takes the pistol back. "Oh, oh. I like you." she says, then scurries off around her Brahmin, cackling the whole way. Willow turns back to MacCready again with raised eyebrows.
"Holy fuck," she whispers, and MacCready snickers.
"I know." he replies. He has dealt with Cricket's brand of crazy several times before.
When Cricket returns, she is holding a modified lazer rifle in her arms, and Willow regards it with keen interest. It looks similar to her old one, but it is in much better condition and features a nicer scope than the one she'd had prior. She leans forward, and Cricket can sense her voracity so she holds the rifle out to Willow.
"That one there is a reeeeeal nice one." Cricket bounces on her feet as she feels a potential sale coming on. "Holds more cells than the standard ones. And look at that scope, that thing is brand new, baby!"
Willow turns the rifle over as Cricket speaks and it feels good in her hands. She lifts it quickly to her eye and looks through the scope. MacCready clears his throat and juts his chin out toward Cricket, grabbing her attention.
"How much for that one?" he asks, and Willow lowers the gun in anticipation, bracing herself.
"That's a great weapon." Cricket says, "It'll cost you 326 caps."
Outwardly, Willow does not react to the price aside from a light frown, but inwardly she is cursing to herself. She had counted her caps the night before, and after paying MacCready she only has 212 caps left over. She can feel MacCready's eyes on her – and he wonders silently to himself if she has the money as he can't seem to get a read on her.
Willow straightens, then quirks an eyebrow. "326?" she challenges, "It's nice, but I'd say 190 is closer to what this thing should be worth."
Cricket laughs out loud at the offer – a shrill, high-pitched sound. "190?! And people say I'm crazy!"
You are, Willow thinks, but she bites her tongue.
"300." Cricket counters, and Willow shifts, her body language opening more as she sees Cricket is willing to barter.
"Mmm..." Willow squints as if to consider. She examines the weapon in her hands again, then wrinkles her nose. "Not worth that." she concludes, though, honestly, it most certainly is. "200." she counter offers.
"285. Come on, that's a steal." Cricket places her hands on her hips now.
Willow leans in toward Cricket, glancing briefly back to MacCready before she whispers, "Don't you think us girls ought to stick together out here?" Over the noise in the market, MacCready can't hear what Willow is saying, but he watches as Cricket narrows her eyes and grins. "210. Help a lady out." Willow adds with a wink, then leans back again and watches Cricket hopefully.
Cricket laughs again. "You're cute. Got spunk, I like it. Tell you what," she says, and Willow perks, "For you, I'd do 250 caps."
Willow's shoulders drop a little and she frowns. Still too much for her. "You sure you won't take 210?" she tries, and Cricket shakes her head.
"250. Take it or leave it!"
Willow looks down to the rifle in her hand, then sighs and hands it back to Cricket. "I'll... think about it." she says, then steps back, nods a farewell, and turns.
MacCready falls into step at her side. "You got her down to 250 caps for that gun and you're walking away?!" he asks in shock. He's just impressed she had managed to get her to go so low. Willow swallows and chews her cheek, which elicits a smug grin from MacCready. "Oh, I see. You can't afford it, can you?"
Willow groans and finds a nice patch of wall to lean against. She bends at the waist, puts her hands on her knees and whines lowly. "I'm gonna have to take that pistol..." She is not fond of this idea, but she sees no other choice. MacCready notes how she doesn't answer his question directly and assumes quickly that he was right, so he lifts her bag slightly.
"You have anything in here you could sell?" he suggests, and Willow shakes her head but does not lift it to look up at MacCready. She is content to wallow in self pity behind her wall of hair.
"No..." she grumbles, then sighs. MacCready 'hmph's and crosses his arms and watches Willow, who eventually turns her head to observe as a street performer keeps a small crowd of onlookers entertained by playing lively songs on a wind instrument of some sort. MacCready drops his arms and follows her gaze, then also spots the woman.
She is animated, spry as she dances about and interacts with the audience. Some people clap, some dance along with her. One steps forward and drops a few caps into a hat guarded by a man with a sour expression, and that's when MacCready and Willow both snap to attention and look at each other, as if they had both just had the same thought. Perhaps because they had.
"We gotta get that hat." Willow says quietly but with conviction, and MacCready nods in enthusiastic agreement at first, then seems to gradually become more reserved about the idea.
"I don't know..." he says, turning back to the scene and watching for a moment, "That guy's got a pretty close eye on those tips. We'd be caught and thrown out of here faster than you could bat an eye if we went for the hat."
Willow purses her lips – but he's right. It's far too risky. She watches the crowd a moment longer, before she stands up straight again. "How's your sleight of hand?" she asks, and MacCready shuffles his feet.
"Fine." he says, "Why?"
"Because," Willow rubs her hands together, "If they're paying attention to the performer, then they're probably paying a little less attention to themselves."
MacCready's eyes widen and he smiles as he realizes what she is saying. "Ahh, yeah. Nice thinking." he compliments her, but before she can feel too good about his praise, he adds, "Guess this makes up for you getting duped by that kid earlier."
"I let her!"
"Uh-huh." MacCready quips, then takes a step toward the crowd. He holds Willow's gaze a moment, and she gives him an impish little smile before she too hurries along.
They split as they step into the pond of onlookers and begin their mass pick-pocketing scheme. Some of the people in the back make for easy targets, but many of them have their hands in their pockets or are not as engaged with the music as the people a little further forward. Willow works her way inward, deft fingers making easy work of pockets and bags. She manages to get around 16 caps, a hit of Jet and a pack of Mentats before too long, and she looks through the audience to try and spot MacCready.
The two lock eyes, and he smirks: an encouraging indication that it is going as well for him as it is for Willow.
She moves in closer to the centre, searching for her next feasible target, but she is caught off guard when suddenly the crowd seems to part around her and then there is a tiny, Asian, flute-toting musician dancing about in her face.
Willow stays rooted in place with wide eyes as the performer twists around her gracefully, and it is a wonder she doesn't seem to miss or stutter a single note. She holds eye contact with Willow, too, which almost makes her wonder if she had seen her pick-pocketing and this was her bid to stop her.
She smiles nervously, uncomfortably as she becomes a part of the spectacle, and she casts a desperate look toward MacCready who responds with a shit-eating grin. When he is sure no one is looking at him, he lifts a small, wrapped bundle of caps up to Willow's sight-line, waves it lightly, then nods encouragingly. And Willow stifles a groan. Fine, she muses, if they want a show...
The performer is taken by surprise by Willow's lithe movements as she spins herself out from her little circle. But this move is all Willow really has up her sleeve in terms of dance experience, and now there are eyes on her which is good because it shifts the focus off of MacCready, but truthfully, she is panicking...
Though she cannot see her, Willow hears her: Maggie. Maggie, and her sweet little voice in her ear. "Do something." she urges, and so Willow swallows and does all she can think to do. She dances.
Terribly.
She jerks around arrhythmically, her head flopping back and forth which sends her choppy hair flying out every which way, some sticking to her cheeks, some thwapping nearby onlookers in their faces which causes them to step away. Her limbs flail out erratically, and she attempts to do a roll of her body but she ends up looking less like a dancer and more like a cat who has just found the perfect carpet to puke on.
She tries not to look at anyone, but she imagines that onlookers are watching her with expressions of shock and disgust. Parents are shielding the eyes of their children, she's sure. Maybe someone is even throwing up from the trauma of it all. It's okay, just a little longer, she tells herself. Soon, MacCready will have picked the crowd over and they can both get out of there and maybe they'll have enough caps left over to buy something hard enough to make this all feel like a really, really bad dream.
But then, something happens. Perhaps she is taking pity on Willow, or perhaps she is just having entirely too much fun watching the woman – but regardless, the musician segues into a new, improvised tune. Instead of making Willow try to dance to her rhythm, she plays skilfully to the rhythm Willow has set with her movements. Staccato notes accompany Willow's awkward, jerky dancing, and then, even more surprisingly, the crowd begins to clap along as the music starts to build, and build, and build, until Willow is hit with a wave of euphoria and the flutist goes absolutely wild. The energy among the crowd is unlike anything Willow has ever experienced before, and she finds herself smiling the most genuine smile as she continues to flail about in tandem with this wonderful, fae-like virtuoso.
MacCready looks up then, and for a moment, he is frozen where he stands. He can't look away from Willow; he can only admire her and the way she moves about so awkwardly that it has become undeniably adorable. Her smile lights up her face, and her energy, coupled with the performer's, is contagious enough that MacCready catches himself laughing under his breath. Willow looks so free, so joyful, so good – even if her dance skills are below par. And MacCready can't will himself to avert his gaze, because there is something so intoxicating about her in that moment.
As the song draws to a close, the musician makes her way to Willow's side and plays a final note, to which Willow strikes a pose. The applause is thunderous, and the performer lowers her flute, then bumps Willow with her hip.
"Did you get what you needed?" she whispers knowingly as Willow catches her breath. Her smile falters slightly, and she regards the woman beside her with wide eyes, but the musician only responds by laughing, then winking, then turning back to the crowd. She grabs Willow's hand, lifts it, and makes her bow with her. Willow looks over in time to see MacCready, watching her fondly and clapping along with the others.
She turns to the musician and gives her a nod of gratitude. "That was fun." she says, and the performer laughs and gives her a light shove back toward the crowd.
"'Til next time!" she calls out, then lifts her instrument back to her mouth and starts immediately into a new song.
Willow weaves through the crowd toward MacCready, who has done his best to hide the reverence on his face by masking it with a slightly ridiculing look. "Slick moves." he teases, and Willow laughs.
"Shut up!" she replies, "Like you could have done any better!"
"You got me." MacCready snickers, "I could never humiliate myself as well as you just did."
Willow can see through his badgering, and she smiles softly; a look which makes MacCready's heart skip a beat for some reason. She places a hand on his chest and shoves him backward playfully, though her touch is far softer than it has been previously. "Did you do what you were suppose to?" she asks, and MacCready nods proudly then reaches into the pocket of his duster. He pulls out a small pile of caps and dumps them into Willow's waiting hands. Looking at the pile, she can easily see there are at least 30 caps. Combined with what she had snagged, she reckons she's got enough to make a decent deal with the... eccentric arms dealer.
When they return to Cricket, she watches them expectantly. "I knew you'd be back!" she says with glee, and Willow watches her for a moment, before she smiles then digs the Jet and Mentats from her pocket.
"230." she says, then holds out the chems, "And these."
Cricket's eyes fall excitedly upon the chems, and she rocks back and forth on her heels before finally smiling and conceding. "Alright." she cheers, "You've got a deal!"
Willow hands over the caps and chems and receives her brand new lazer rifle in return. Once again, she bids Cricket farewell, then looks giddily to MacCready, holding her new gun like a kid on Christmas. He chuckles, shakes his head, and gestures back toward the front entrance.
"Let's go." he urges, "Before that kid comes back and talks you out of that, too."
Willow rolls her eyes but her smile remains. "You're such an asshole."