Now, now, young lady, you're not getting into some sort of trouble, are you?

No, Overseer. Never mind the scraped knee- the bruise on Butch's face. There is nothing here of notice. Not the bloody nose, the sniveled whimpers, the angry eyes. Just me, my little fist, and Butch's right eye.

Hmm. Okay then, just be sure and get back to your rooms, I'm sure your father is looking for you...

The burning in her leg didn't finally soothe into a dull throb for hours. Here she was, waking from some lucid dream about black fire; it was everywhere, scalding her lungs with every inhale and melting her eyelids shut behind a glue made of scaley skin. The folds and lines of her hands were crusted red- water, holy fuck she needed some fucking water.

Drink, slow.

A sound of crinkled plastic was heavenly gospel to her ears when she roved a hand around in the darkness. She held it up close to her face, trying to see amidst her caked eyelashes. Her fingers fumbled with the cap, and she more or less doused herself than hydrated her sandpaper tongue.

You-you heard the Overseer, nosebleed! Run back to Daddy!

Oh, but sweet little Butch, why would I? I was having so much fun using your face as a piñata. I mean, at least I still have a dad...

I'm gonna kill you!

She gasped, groaning aloud as she slowly moved her stiff joints and sore muscles. It felt like she had been run over by a herd of brahmin, what the fuck happened...?

The explosions, her leg, the ghoul-

She gingerly felt around her thigh, clenching her jaw in preparation for the pain to come...but nothing did. A thick rope of scar tissue was inquisitively traced over, it was surreal, feeling the aftermath of something she was sure had killed her.

The light to her Pip-Boy was clicked on, blinding her instantly and emitting a low hiss and garbled fuck. With pings of sharp stars behind her eyes, she rapidly blinked as she timidly roved the light around for better awareness. She almost half-expected a large, shadowed figure in the doorway, pinpricking a chill down her spine. There was nothing. She strained to listen, aware of a low, droning buzz from her left ear...but there was nothing.

She stretched her feet and wiped at her face, finally looking down at herself. Fuck, she was so tired...and ghastly. Ew, horrid. The entire lower right half of her suit was stained black and stiff when she moved. The tearing had grown to a decent size...she would have to have it stitched back together when she got home. With a slow roll onto her side, propping her head to rest against the wall as she took to regathering her scattered things, she was met with the fuzzy recount of her savior...just what the hell had he been doing here? How did he know she was here?! Was he stalking her?

Why did he bother to save her life and then just leave?

The entire interaction was plain fucking weird...and terribly vague. Tried as she might, she couldn't replay the entire thing, and she grew frustrated at the snippets of seeing the grimace on his face and torturing her memory with that God-awful pain she had endured. She was alive because of him. That much she was sure of...or some other stranger had saved her sorry ass and she hallucinated the entire thing while high out of her mind on pain meds. Yeah. That was probably more likely.

Her fingers kept wiggling around in her knapsack for a solid ten minutes as she ruminated over everything until she snapped to attention that she wasn't feeling her cap stash. She opened the bag wide, peered around inside, and then wildly flung the contents out as she dumped it upside down.

No way.

She smacked the bag down and then began to comb around on her hands and knees on the dirty tiled bathroom floor. It wasn't there. It wasn't anywhere. That could only spell one thing...

He had robbed her!

"That asshole!" she barked, throwing the last twenty-four hours of trauma from her mind momentarily as she literally began to cry over her misfortune. She threw the sack, wiping at the hot tears tracking streaks down her grimy cheeks. "I'll-I'll-I'll fucking ki-kill you!"

How long she had saved those Sugar Bombs just for it all to blow up in smoke (quite literally). She sobbed her heart out from nearly dying, to being alone in all of this, and finally being blindsided by some dick that decided nothing in the wasteland was done for free...especially not saving someone's life. Only after her tears were dried and a headache began to pound in her skull, did she wipe a stringy webbing of snot from her chin (ew) and flaked the crusties from her eyes. The taps were turned full blast in the sink; for once, she didn't care for the smelly brown water she splashed her face with.

The bloated corpse in the living room had a putrid stench that made her lightheaded- she dashed out the door, completely forgetting about the sniper nested across town (who was fortunately already dead). Her tummy rumbled and groaned, forcing her to dive on her rations (she was back to being dead broke) and consume them without care as she took in the fallout of the landmine catastrophe.

The fires had long extinguished (for how long had she been out?) and the smoke had cleared. She bumbled around with caution, finding a few landmines that had somehow survived the Great Blowup of 2277. Whatever her eyes spotted, her fingers grabbed. Beggars couldn't be choosers, and she needed everything that she could get. She stared at the corpse of an old man; his body having been crushed by concrete debris. She pilfered the sniper rifle, some ammo, and held up a small key that she would go forth to use on the remaining houses to loot.

If she ever saw that ghoul again...she honestly didn't know what she'd do. He did save her life, that much she was sure of.

"Smoothskin, you're alive," Murphy rasped, blinking at the sudden dump of cereal boxes on his desk. "How'd it go? No offense, but you look like you've seen better days."

Evelyn blew a hair from her face- her childhood ballcap had been destroyed in the burnout. "Minefield's going to need a new name."

He raised a brow muscle.

Another hair was blown. "No more mines."

"Ah." The ghoul leaned back in his seat and began to count the caps for her salvage. "Lucky you're here, then. Oh, yeah." He pointed to the far wall where her sledgehammer was lying in wait like a faithful dog. "Forgot your shit."

She felt Barrett's eyes on her from behind as she bent over to securely pack away the bundle of caps. "I honestly completely forgot...I don't use it much."

"You should. You're the only one I can count on to get me these, smoothskin."

She had no snide comment to return with and merely shouldered her gear for the long walk back to Megaton.

By the time the metal high-rise was within spitting distance, her feet were being dragged through the dirt and the sun had nearly fried her retinas (she most definitely needed a new hat). Stockholm looked down from his perch in the sniper's nest, shaking his head at her miraculous survival. Folks stared as she ambled through the gates and stumbled like a drunk to her house- she couldn't imagine her outward appearance at that moment.

Her front door was opened, slammed, shit dumped at the step, Wadsworth ignored, and she fell face first into her mildew-stained mattress without so much as stepping out of her boots. She had a feverish dream of raging infernos licking her skin and popping her eyes from their sockets, the goo squirting into her palms. She woke drenched in sweat, the night already well underway and creeping into every corner of her home.

Her father's final message kept her company for a few hours until she could no longer keep her eyes open, no matter how much she struggled.

You're an adult now. You're ready to be on your own.

The holotape played on repeat, intertwining with her dreams about a dozen needles pinned to her arms and a disfigured face telling her to hush, holdstill.

Goodbye. I love you.

The morning was met with better fortune and clarity. After nearly expending all of the water in Megaton in cleaning her suit and scrubbing her skin, she allowed Wadsworth to trim off the burnt ends that had been caught in the crosshairs of the explosion. It was completely uneven and made her hair now shoulder length, but thankfully it was such a wild, wavy and curly mess it was impossible to notice.

Moira met her return with cheeky smiles and enthusiastic jokes shrugging off her near-imminent death experience. With all the caps she gained from her troubles, she didn't bother asking for another chapter in her research project...at least, not yet. The vault suit, along with Butch's leather jacket, were left for its stitching, and she exited the store scratching at the itch the brahmin-skin fatigues left on her skin.

For the first time in a couple of weeks, her ass took residence in Moriarty's Saloon, her caps laid out and ignorance plain to Jericho's eyes leering at her from the corner. Gob took her money and set out a beer before a word had even been spoken, both staring at the other in mutual silence as she savored the cold hops.

"So...where you been, smoothskin?" he finally rasped after Moriarty had stepped outside, leaving them free to gossip.

"Here...there..." She scratched her chin. "Everywhere."

"A real wanderer, huh?"

"Gob, may I ask you a question?" she sprang out of the blue, and didn't wait for him to answer as she plowed on ahead. "I went to Underworld awhile ago-"

"Underworld? You made it all the way out there?" he interrupted. "Did, did you meet someone named Carol? She's...uh, my mother, kind of."

Evelyn became completely derailed from her train of thought. "Wait, she's your mom? Ghouls can have kids?"

"No, not like that." He waved a hand. "It's a long story. But you met her?"

"I did, she was very sweet. She's doing good."

The ghoul brightened at that and began to wipe the countertop for some mindless busywork. "That's good to hear, thanks. Sorry, I kind of stole your thunder, what were you asking about?"

"Charon." She blinked as he startled at the name. "Did you know him?"

Gob gave her a weird look, and his rasp dropped a few octaves, his manner of whispering. "Are you in some sort of trouble with him, smoothskin?"

"So you do know him."

"I'm serious, and you should be too. He's bad news all the way around."

"He actually saved my life." She waved the tip of her bottle at his shocked expression. "Guessing he doesn't do it often? I'm trying to figure him out. Like, just what the fuck is his problem?"

"Ahzrukhal." Gob slowly set the rag to the side and looked around, as though the utterance of his name would draw him forth like some conjured spirit. "Whatever he says, Charon does. No one really knows why...and no one questions it. I wouldn't go around asking, it might get you killed."

"Why would he work for him? I mean, to me, it seemed like he hates it."

"You think I like working here, smoothskin?" Gob said plainly. "Not all chains are visible."

Evelyn looked down at her drink, feeling a mixture of anger and foolishness. Was that true? She knew Gob was indentured to Moriarty, but Charon, too? She downed the rest of her beer, wincing at the burn it left in her throat.

"Nice catching up, I'll see you sometime."

Gob went to reach out to grab at her, but then recoiled his hand back as though she had slapped him. "You're not thinking of doing anything stupid, are you smoothskin?"

"That's my agenda for every day," she tossed over her shoulder. "Wish me luck out there."

"Yeah," Gob rasped quietly as the door swung shut behind her. "You'll need it..."

Her suit took three days to finish. Moira had sewn the torn fabric over her right thigh together wonderfully, and she almost had the inclination to inquire about some research...but the very close memory of the whole ordeal in Minefield left little to be desired. Instead, she repacked her bags with the proper supplies for the journey into D.C., a little ember of curiosity lighting the tinder in her belly.

Gob had met her hopeful smile with a grim one, handing over a few folded parchments of letters he wished for her to impart to his mother.

"Sorry I can't pay you," he started sheepishly, but she waved him off.

"If she has something in return, I'll be sure and bring it back," she offered.

"Thanks, smoothskin," Gob finally relented. "Do me and yourself a favor...don't go asking around about Charon."

She pursed her lips and left without another word.

The roads were familiar enough that she now traveled with better confidence. The tunnels were still cleared from the previous venture...although something had clearly been eating the corpses left behind. It quickened her footsteps and forced her to hold her sledgehammer with a tight grip, and twice she jumped at her own shadow across the wall.

Georgetown was eerily quiet...she didn't believe for a second that it was truly abandoned, so she skittered like a rat to the other metro tunnel that would grant her entrance to the Mall. Once she was down in the dark underground, casually strolling towards the chain link gate, she took a deep sigh and activated the light from her Pip-Boy for better vision.

A person standing with their back to her in a corner scared the absolute shit out of her, and she squeaked and backpedaled. When she realized it was just a ghoul- albeit, a very thin, dirty, strange ghoul- she placed her hand on her chest and blew out some air from her cheeks.

"Thanks, asshole, really gave me a heart attack," she snarked as she made her way past. She kept her eyes on their shaking limbs, were they high on drugs? It was the wasteland, and she had witnessed from afar how raiders behaved when strung out on the latest chem. Did ghouls do something similar...? She hadn't met a hostile one, not really-

The ghoul spun around, his maw hanging open and globs of saliva dripping to his feet. She stared, horrified, as he then hissed and waggled his head around like some disoriented dog shaking water from its ears. She then recognized him- the naked man!

How could she forget?!

The chain link gate was soon met with her fingers, and she yanked it open and slammed it shut back in his face. A wiry arm shot out and scrabbled at her through a decent-sized hole, and she picked up a rock to pelt it at him before hustling up the steps. If there was anything she was good at, it was being fast. She would have to ask someone about the ghoul living in those tunnels, she would really hate having to run into him countless times...he seemed to have literally lost his mind. In a way, she almost felt sorry for him.

The ghoul sentry was busily lighting a smoke, watching a super mutant brawl in the trenches with a bemused twinkle in her eye.

"Hey tourist," she rasped as Evelyn came around the corner. "Couldn't get enough of the sights last time?"

Evelyn looked over to the chiseled stone faces by the entrance, looming, silently judging all who entered. Her last visit had not ended so pleasantly, but she was here, wasn't she? What for...she still didn't exactly know.

"Just..." Evelyn slapped her hands at her sides and shrugged. "Wandering around, I guess," she said lamely.

"Strange place to wander to," Willow commented under her breath. She inhaled on her cigarette, eyeing the smoothskin from head to toe. "I'm surprised you came back alive with Charon, no offense."

"So everyone seems to tell me."

"For good reason," the pink ghoul rasped sagely. She turned her head back to the commotion in the pits. "Don't go around looking for trouble..."

"So everyone seems to tell me," she muttered as she finally dipped inside. Her hand settled on the entrance to Underworld for a good long while...what exactly was she doing here? She had gotten the boot last time, and, oh, God, she had forgotten about Winthr-

The door opened, making her squeak and jump to the side. The ghoul had seemingly been summoned by her trepidation, for he blinked his glowing eyes at her standing awkwardly half-turned away.

"Smoothskin?" he rasped. "What the hell are you doing standing out here for?"

Evelyn refused to meet his eyes- she was now bombarded with every moment she had secretly fingered herself to him, and, whew, she really hoped he couldn't read the lewd thoughts she had about him.

She thrust a knife hand at the woolly mammoth. "I'm admiring the exhibit. It's a free wasteland, so I'm told. What are you doing here?"

He chuckled at her eccentric behavior and widened the doorway. "Busy keeping this place up and running, you...you want to come inside?"

She tapped her fingers together shyly. "S-sure, thank you." She squeezed past, almost annoyed he didn't move out of the way completely. Her nose had to take an inhale of the grease he was lathered in, and her tongue could taste the hint of solder on his clothes.

The multitude of strange eyes were on her once again, and she forced herself not to stand so straight and rigid. She felt like an iguana on a stick being flourished around a pack of hungry dogs, just waiting to take a bite. She was here for business- she was here for business. That big, red idiot was going to answer for himself. She nearly cringed from embarrassment as Winthrop just stood off to the side, waiting. He's clearly very interested, that much she can tell. His eyes won't leave her tits alone for longer than five seconds. Did nobody have basic decorum when it came to dating out here?

...did wastelanders even date?

"So, uh," he garbled, flustered as they both stood in the corner, expectant of the other to make the first move. "You're back."

She rocked on her heels, holding the straps of her pack with white-knuckled fists. "I am."

"You...you want that drink?"

Minefield was child's play compared to this. She'd have better luck taking a piece of shrapnel to the face before-

"I have some in my office," Winthrop rasped. "It's a little bit quieter than upstairs."

Her face was on fire. She may be inexperienced, but she wasn't dumb.

"Uh," she croaked. Pleasant. Astounding. Applause all around. So full of beauty, timeless grace. She cleared her throat and tried again. "I'm here for something else, uh, first."

"Oh, yeah, sorry smoothskin, I didn't realize," he began with a huge one-breath rush of apology, but she waved a hand before her with an easy smile.

"No, no! It's all good, I'll just get this sorted and...um...see you around?"

The ghoul made a strange popping noise with his tongue and seemed more spurned than he did hopeful. "Hope you don't mind me asking, smoothskin, but, uh...you ain't here to do business with Ahzrukhal, are you?"

All at once, her shy unease became stamped under a hot iron of irritation. What was her business to anyone else?

He scrambled to continue at the sight of her stern browline. "It's just that, we all heard what happened last time. Barrows and myself had a talk with Ahzrukhal, we figured you weren't at fault. We know what kind of a sleaze he can be...so it just kind of surprised me you came back, is all. Don't get me wrong, I'm happy you did."

Evelyn bit her tongue, unsure of whether to thank him for coming to her defense or berate him for getting involved. It made her feel slightly demeaned, having someone fight her battles for her...but it also felt nice knowing someone cared enough to step in on her behalf.

He set a hand on her shoulder, the grip warm and ohsoawkward.

"I'll be in my office if you need to find me," he rasped, "and if you still want that drink." He finally strode over to his workspace, glancing over his shoulder as though to ensure she was still there.

Evelyn glanced around at the peeping eyes that had caught the show, and she hurried up the steps towards The Ninth Circle. She came to the handle, half-flinching from the anticipation that it would be flung open to dump out some poor soul and smack her in the face, but her fingers pushed the frame, and she was welcomed inside the dingy bar...

...and he wasn't there.

No hulking form, no seething mass, no glaring juggernaut. Just herself and the ghoul that she had no intention of talking to, frowning at her appearance.

Ahzrukhal drew his eyes to slits. "Well, smoothskin, I didn't expect to see you back so soon."

Evelyn glanced to the corner again- the room felt large, empty, without his presence.

Ahzrukhal noticed her attention focused elsewhere. "My employee is unavailable, at the moment. I might be inclined to pass on a message for him." He watched her approach the bar. "For a fee, of course."

Oh, of course. She highly doubted he would relay any sort of word regardless. Her butt took a seat, her peripherals noting some other guests slouched in the far corner, a few hits of Ultrajet being sucked down their skeletal throats. They didn't even acknowledge her entrance. A soft melody was playing on the radio, the reception staticky. Reluctantly, she pointed to a beer bottle on the wall.

"Ten caps," he rasped.

Ten?! Robbery!

She laid them out anyway, inwardly seething at him. She hated him, and although he had japed her out of money and kicked her ass to the curb, she was willing to play nice. Just long enough. The bartender didn't notice the animosity shimmering around her stiffened shoulders, her crossed brow, her clenched jaw.

"It seems you have taken quite an interest in Charon." He dealt the first blow, all smiles, no teeth...none recognizable, anyway. "Were you impressed with a man of his...talents? He's very good, as I'm sure you know."

Yep, my ass still hurts, thanks.

She licked her lips after the first sip, ran her tongue over her teeth, and looked him dead in the eye. "Why does he work for you?"

A dark chuckle, like dust from a crack of rotting wood. Musty, wet, hint of mold. "Has Charon been telling you stories of me? I'm surprised."

"No...just curious."

He raised a brow, leaned an elbow on the counter until he was practically swamped over her, and held out a flat palm. "Ten caps."

She didn't even argue.

He slid them into the register with a practiced motion and then went about restocking the shelf, his entire performance like some Shakespearean soliloquy. "Charon is...special. He is bound to anyone who is owner to his contract."

"Contract? What, like a slave?" She felt her insides squirm and grow cold. This wasn't a conversation she was sure she should be having.

Stay as far away as you can.

Do me and yourself a favor...don't go asking around about Charon.

Don't go around looking for trouble...

Perhaps their warnings had some merit after all.

Ahzrukhal seemed genuinely upset over the accusation. "No, he is not a slave. He will tell you so himself. Charon put himself in his place many years ago...I just happen to accommodate him for it." He again leaned over her, his breath disturbing the fine hairs on the top of her head. "Are you inquiring me about Charon's contract? He is a very valuable asset."

This wasn't what she had intended at all when she woke up this morning.

No.

"I am."

Shit.

"And what sort of proposal are you entertaining me with?" he asked, and she had to forcibly breathe through her mouth to not gag at the smell of his breath.

"Uh," she started stupidly. What the fuck was she even thinking?! She wasn't this sort of person! What a disgusting notion, to own someone! But her mouth fished out the number of caps she had on her person. "Two hundred?"

He stared at her, and then barked a crude laugh in her face, a mist of spittle dampening her cheek. Disgusting. That alone was grounds for murder. "Come back when you have a serious offer."

Her brows scrunched, her naivety speaking for her and burning any bridge for barter. "I honestly have no idea."

Maybe five hundred caps-?

He pondered for a moment, and then stood back. "Two thousand. Give me two thousand caps, and Charon's contract is all yours."

She was sure her jaw smashed into the marble. Two thousand?! Who the fuck had that kind of money to spend?! She would be toiling weeks, no, months for that amount of cold, hard caps.

He must have read the ludicrous disbelief on her face. "I am willing to negotiate such a price... for, other propositions..." He slowly crept a hand over the counter to her.

Sex sells, kid, and you got a nice face with huge tits.

He'd clear the place, the only form of foreplay being a shot of something dirty and a scrupulous stare of beady eyes as she shyly stripped. He'd be impatient- hadn't had the privilege to touch a woman in however many years...too many to count. The front of his suit would be unbuttoned, touch me here, slapping her pale hands to his chest, she'd be hesitant and withdrawn.

She wouldn't enjoy it. He wouldn't care.

It'd be dry, painful. Much too fast and much too rough. Her eyes would be screwed shut, picturing a different face, something to make this bearable. It wouldn't be how she'd imagine her first to go...she'd cry about it later.

Nope, no way. She would rather eat sand.

Evelyn stood from her seat, grabbing her pack. "Two thousand...I'll come back when I have it."

His eyes leisurely crept from her groin to her face, the disappointment not withheld. "I'll expect you then, smoothskin..."

As soon as the doors closed behind her, she felt like a sticky sheen had licked her skin. It made her want to take a shower, a very long, hot, shower.

Carol's Place was much more receptive...at least, from one host, that is. Gob's mother was grateful for the news and letters from her son, whereas Greta appeared more than ready to lance a crusted fork in her throat. A bundle of caps and an offer for a free night was shoved in her mouth, swelling her cheeks.

"Oh, that's okay, I told Gob I wouldn't-"

Carol waved her refusal away. "I am more than happy to compensate you for it."

Evelyn glanced at the other ghoul woman throwing daggers at her face, and chopping something on a board vigorously. She gulped. "I-I mean-"

"You're very sweet, dearie. But I insist." Carol closed her fingers around the currency in her hands.

Two thousand caps...well, she had to start somewhere.