Evelyn left Craterside Supply with a few anecdotes on avoiding obvious dangers whilst returning with some oversized clothing items for the big guy, a used leather armor set for herself, and a whole new research chapter to endeavor for the both of them. She shouldered her bag and went to step past the saloon when the brief idea of enjoying some actual privacy redirected her feet inside.
It was the typical evening crowd. Gob was busily wiping a spill from Walter's tipped beer while Nova made easy chatter with a dusty caravan trader, coercing him to spend some caps for a little promiscuous company. The ghoul turned to address his newest customer, the usual brightening of his expression turning grim.
Evelyn took her seat at the bar, giving a tiny wave of her fingers. She shuffled around a few pockets in her pack, laying out a bundle of letters to discreetly slide over. "Sorry about the wait. I got kinda busy, lately."
The ghoul snuck a glance behind him as he hid the postage inside his pants. "Hey smoothskin, you, uh, look good. Wasteland hasn't spit you back out yet." Gob set a beer down, his eyes nervously searching around the room for her absent stalker. "I've been hearing some stories about you..."
"Yeah...he's...staying, for awhile."
Gob leaned forward, his rasp coming out as a hiss. "Smoothskin, what the hell are you thinking?!"
She shrugged, entirely unsure herself. "It's like you said, not all chains are visible."
"That didn't mean you had to go around and take ahold of them yourself!" He noticed her visible frustration with the onset of her frown, and he sighed. He shuffled on his feet, wholly uncomfortable. "He...he hasn't hurt you or anything, has he?"
"No," she said a little sadly, refusing to meet his eyes and instead peering inside her glass. "He's not like that, with me, at least." She looked over to the prostitute eyeing her from across the room. Nova winked.
Evelyn set out some caps, and then a few more. "Can I please get a shot? Whatever is safest, thank you."
A glass was poured, and she tipped the rim to her lips, immediately gasping from the liquid fire racing down her throat.
"Thanks, Gobbie," she said with a cheeky grin as his eyes widened. "Yeah, your secrets aren't so safe."
"Just don't go saying it out loud," he rasped quietly. "Nova would never let me live it down."
"No promises." She smacked her boots to the floor, sidling around to whisper to Nova. "I really need to talk to you."
The prostitute took out a cigarette and motioned to a corner table, speaking around her briefly to the future client. "I'll be upstairs in a minute, honey."
They took their seats. Evelyn fiddled with a fraying thread on her jumpsuit, her neck already creeping with an uncomfortable heat.
Nova lit her smoke and eyed her critically for a moment. "So, what's the scoop? Heard about the 'big and ugly' in town." She lifted a hand in apology at the quick scowl on Evelyn's face. "Sorry...I don't know how you do it."
Evelyn pulled her beer to her chest and licked her lips, trying with all her discretion to keep their conversation private. "...I don't know what I'm doing wrong, with...you know." She flamed, too embarrassed to continue any further.
The other woman took a big inhale, raising a brow and quirking a smile as a tease. "Still hurts?"
A shy nod; the tips of her ears burning.
Nova blew a cloud over the table, gazing off to something across the way. She appeared to be in deep thought for a moment. "His thumb should be some good foreplay." She looked back at her. "And try to relax. When you got that figured out, come back and we can talk about the fun stuff. I got to go work now, sugar."
Evelyn turned in her seat to watch her leave and was met with a giant brick wall of leather standing at her back. She looked up, horrified. Charon was preoccupied with staring at his thumb before giving her his full attention.
"You did not return," he merely rasped.
"OhmyGod! How long have you been standing there?!" she squawked. When he opened his mouth to reply, she held up a hand to stop him, hissing, "You know what? Nevermind! I said I was going to be right back!"
He nodded. "Yes."
"Did you take that as fucking literally?!" There was no answer, so she guffawed, "Of course you did. Jesus." She moved around him, making a beeline for the door.
Moriarty whistled at her. "Caps are always welcome at my saloon...but your friend there pays double." He gave Charon a distasteful look, as though he had smelled something rancid. "What the hell you looking at, fucking shuffler?"
"Whatever," she muttered as they continued to leave.
A crash of glass and a shout made the room grow quiet.
Moriarty shoved Gob aside, the ghoul tripping over his lack of balance in a heap on the floor. Everyone stared as the proprietor stalked up to his bartender.
"That's coming out of your pocket, you hearing me, zombie?" He punted the tip of his boot into the ghoul's side, earning a loud groan. "Eh, what the hell is that?"
It was the first instance Evelyn had witnessed physical abuse towards the ghoul, and as she involuntarily took a step forward to say something, Moriarty bent over to swipe at the stack of letters she had just delivered.
"Fuck are these? Letters? From whom?" he spat, and ripped the sheets into pieces, each tear drawing a pained whine from the ghoul. "You trying to pull one over on me?"
Evelyn came around the side, her pent-up anger from the past few days finally bursting the carefully crafted dam she had built. She failed to notice the entire stillness of the room; the lack of intervention from the others who simply watched with tight mouths and passive eyes.
"That wasn't your business!" she snapped, and the room seemed to fall on her. "You don't have to-!"
"Was this your doing, kid?" Moriarty interrupted, encroaching on her and completely ignoring Gob still sniffling about on the floor. He came uncomfortably close to give a snarling threat, and then he was gone. "Hrk!" Moriarty was smashed into the bar counter, erupting a scream from across the room. Charon had simply grabbed the entire side of the man's face with one palm and brusquely applied pressure until Moriarty's head swelled like an overripe mutfruit.
Patrons rose from their seats and Gob scrabbled away. Evelyn couldn't help but stare. The big ghoul wasn't looking to release the crushing force without some form of word from her lips, and for the very first time...she considered not saying anything at all. Moriarty struggled, his arms flailing uselessly and eyes bulging from their sockets. The entire color of his skin darkened a deep shade, the veins on his forehead protruding until they seemed ready to pop.
Her hand gently rested on the ghoul's bicep that was holding the man down at her unspoken command. The amount of power surging beneath her palm was frightening and awe-inspiring all at once.
"Let him go," she said softly. Charon turned his head to her, showing no exertion whatsoever. She nodded, and he released.
Moriarty immediately crashed to the floor as his knees buckled, a strange croaking sound emitting from his throat as he struggled, globs of drool dripping to the floorboards.
She looked around the room. They all stared, afraid, of her. Without a word, they left the bar, everyone in their path quickly darting from their way. After the door had closed behind them, a buzzing drone came alive from the inside, and she simply stared at the railing that the bar owner had perched on many a time to oversee the hive of activity in the town below. It made her think of Alphonse, high up in his Overseer's office, looking down on his subjects as they went about their lives.
"Would you have killed him?" she asked quietly.
He nodded.
"Okay...let's go home."
She had sat there at the table, far too silent to not be unnerving. He had locked the door and taken his position to blow the first intruder into chunky mist. A knock had come calling, and he tried to dissuade her from answering it first with no success.
"It's Simms," a voice muffled through.
She opened it- they spoke. Charon eyed the town sheriff with a very clear challenge if he so thought of using more than just words. Their conversation was succinct and brief. She retook her seat, looking far into the distance at something he was too blind to see. He patiently waited, keeping as reserved as she was until she came to stand before him.
"May I use your knife?" she asked.
Without thought, he unsheathed it and held it out by the tip. She carefully took it, so very tender and delicate with its lethal nature.
"I'll be right back," she said.
Almost immediately, he stood. If he had any hair left on the back of his neck, he was sure it would be electrified. "I will come."
"You'll stay here."
It was a clear command. His hands curled into tight fists. "I advise I do not."
"It's alright..." She turned for the door. "I won't go too far."
The absence of her presence concluded after ten minutes. He had waited in the doorway, staring out into the dark without actually being able to leave, listening for any distant screams or muffled cries that she may be in danger. She returned with the knife in hand and no sign of injury.
"Thank you," she said after bequeathing his blade to him. "I know it's late...but there's someplace I want to go. It's for a job. Do you want to come?"
She was inane. Of course he would.
She dressed in an entirely new outfit of some badly-needing-oiled leathers, shouldering her gear and leading him underway of a moonless sky. She didn't seem to make any particular effort in scouting for dangers- twice he halted her pilgrimage to deal with some radscorpions. She simply buried her nose in the green glow of her Pip-Boy, fiddling with the knobs and dials on a detailed map she used as a guide.
A crumbling overpass engulfed her in shadow; one moment, there, the next, gone. He followed, his boots crunching some gravel beneath his heel and shotgun readily propped at his chest. The pack from her shoulders was removed and set down, the eerie glow of her wrist computer providing the only source of illumination. His eyes adjusted- he watched her as she began to undress.
"What are you doing?" he rasped, swiveling his head around on a dime for possible dangers. There was no answer.
The Pip-Boy was set on her bag; her shoes unlaced and stepped out of. A wiggle from her leathers; the underwear cast aside. He stared, simply because he couldn't help in doing so. The buckle of his belt was met with certainty and all lack of awareness to the precarious position it put them in as her fingers undid the leather strap, before coming down to unzip his steadfast erection. The words of caution were translated as a terse sigh through his nostrils, and she bent down to put her lips to it.
His shotgun was nearly dropped from his hands, but he quickly snapped back upright and gave a poor attempt at scanning the empty, dark wastes around them as he tried not to let the sensation of her hot, wet mouth muddle his thoughts. A swirl of her tongue over the tip released a backward tilt of his head and a stifled groan. He then felt his shaft slowly being worked down her throat, and he had to harness every ounce of will not to plunge himself completely when she stopped almost halfway.
A loud, gagging sound made him glance down, his jaw tight and knuckles bone-white as he gripped his gun so fiercely he could have snapped it. Her lips were stretched, a web of drool swaying down her chin. The tip of her teeth abrasively stroked at the scarred skin of his cock as she pulled up and away, her mouth widening as she gasped for air. His eyes became slits as she turned around and leaned over a giant slab of concrete rubble, the look on her face becoming all the invitation he needed for some semblance of regaining sanity.
Her legs widened as he rested his shotgun over one shoulder, his freed hand coming down to squeeze a handful of plump white flesh that faintly glowed in the absence of light. He was throbbing, painfully so, but he remembered the words the prostitute had given and reached underneath to cork his thumb in her. He gave no warning or gentle entry, and she clawed at the rock with a stuttered moan.
"Fuck-fuck, go easy, please," she panted, closing her eyes and kissing her forehead to the cool slab of stone.
He nodded, forcing himself to tear his eyes away to charade the role of protector as he fingered her with unrhythmic, rough thrusts. The desperate little breaths and fevered whisperings of fuck and yes scratched at the composed psyche behind his eyes. He felt the hot, slippery mess trace around his wrist and soak his glove, could feel the silky flesh tighten around his thumb. He curled it inward, and listened to the most amazing sound leave her lips that he'd never heard a woman make before. He considered stroking himself just as she reached around and grabbed at him, the touch magnetizing his cock straight to her pussy. He came as soon as she had mounted, and he tightened his fingers around her ass to stop her from further riding him. She turned her head slightly, her hair falling over her face.
"I am done," he managed to croak out, withdrawing himself slowly and shuddering at the sensitivity. He tucked his chin to his chest, the urge to take a piss retreating his steps a few feet away while he listened to the sounds of her outfit being put back together.
After his own decency had been cobbled with one hand and his neck cracked to the side, he turned around to the sight of her perched atop the boulder, staring down at the little screen with hooded eyes. She still had not braided her hair, and she scooped the entirety of it over one shoulder, a tidal of waves and curls framing one side of her face. He lowered his shotgun to his side, having never parted from it.
"Does it bother you...killing people?" she asked quietly, and when he remained silent, she looked at him.
"No," he finally replied, his guttural rasp still tinged with husk.
"Did it ever?"
His answer came a little slower. "Yes."
"What changed?"
He didn't know. Or maybe cared not to. She blinked at him, owlishly. Waiting. He resisted the urge to look away. He redirected his gaze to her lips; the cupid's bow an emerald shade.
"Everything," he grumbled.
"Everything..." She looked around at their surroundings, as though she was noticing where they were for the first time. "Yeah. I can see that."
He didn't further the conversation, and she led them on.