It felt like she had docked at a foreign port upon waking to an empty room. These were not her spices in the air; she didn't recognize the language being murmured. The previous day came rushing behind her eyes like a deep drink of something rich and dry, somehow sating and parching her thirst at the same time. She rubbed at the crusts over her eyes and tried her best not to smell herself as she opened the door with an obnoxious creak, her first encounter for the new day being a young woman strapped in dusty leathers with a gun at her hip.
"About time you woke up," the woman snarked. She had to be no older than herself, despite the aggressive assertion. "So, you're the Vault dweller." She crossed her arms. "Or I guess you wouldn't be wearing that stupid outfit."
"I guess you're not the town barber," Evelyn replied with a dry tone, meeting her eyes dead on. "Otherwise, you wouldn't be walking around with hair like that."
The young woman growled with a stamp of her foot. "The fuck you just say to me?"
A toilet flushing the entire Nile down the drain turned their attention to a figure striding out of the head. Charon took in the situation within milliseconds as he clinked his belt together…and then he just strode on back inside their room, ignoring the bubbling hostility in the air. (That was a first). Something changed behind the girl's eyes- a cog began to spin the other way. She gave Evelyn a dirty look before marching off.
"Don't go walking around with a big head," she threw over her shoulder. "We could've handled it our way."
It's not so bad here...what do you think?
These merchants bit her coins and spat at her passing. These were not her waters. Evelyn boarded her ship and pulled in the gangplank back for home, her map unfurled on the table and her compass forever spinning in circles. She checked in on her first mate and single crew member; the only one to weather a storm for her. He was down on one knee and organizing some inventory away in his pack. Her entrance lifted his heavyweight stare; she was going to ride him straight out to pasture. His eyes followed the slow journey of her fingers bringing the zipper of her suit down; he seemed mildly unimpressed by the show of extra skin, and she at once became hesitant. The ghoul stood, shouldered his bag, and held over her own. He didn't say a single word.
With a dark flush of shame at being rejected, she took the offered pack after tidying up her decency, feeling at once silly and stupid when he suddenly came up behind her as she turned for the door, murmuring lowly in her ear, "When there is no one listening."
She looked up, confused, until the sound of not-so-stealthy footsteps scampered off, the crack under the door betraying the shadows of their escape. Evelyn quickly snapped it open to the sight of the hostile woman (and her awful mop of hair) dashing around the corner in haste.
"This place is full of weirdos," she mumbled under her breath as they went to leave.
Charon followed her outside to the open streets before he tapped her on the shoulder. She blinked in surprise at the unexpected touch.
"I wish to take care of something," he requested rather politely. It was very unlike him, to ask, much less without a snarl on his lips.
She stumbled, "Uh, yeah, sure, you-you know you don't have to ask." She parked her ass against a leaning mailbox. "I'll, um…wait here."
He took straight off for the diner where they had previously enjoyed a meal together. Curiosity made her watch him engage in conversation with the man behind the culinary magic; Charon was given a rather strange-looking fruit and pointing to a pot on the stove while asking questions that were just out of earshot…he was always so serious in everything he inquired about. He must have really liked that dish.
He returned with the fruit now pocketed away and gave a nod of his head. "I am ready."
She kicked off and they set out straight back to Megaton, bypassing around Minefield as though it were once again plagued with explosives. She decided to try her luck in getting Charon to divulge the mysteries of the bygone wastes since he seemed to be in something of a good mood.
"What are those things?" she asked, pointing up a hill to a row of steel structures.
His eyes only had to flit over for a second to look at what she referred to. "Pylons."
Minutes later, and then, "And that?"
"Monorail."
More time passed. A giant statue far out in the distance was pointed to. "That?"
This time, his answer was preceded by an annoyed growl. "Not safe."
"Oh." Evelyn kept her lips shut at the emergence of his grumpy disposition- it would seem her happy-ghoul tokens had all been spent.
They finally arrived at home with the setting of the sun. She happily sighed at the sight of the bathtub, (how delicious of a soak she was going to have) until Charon began spinning the taps for himself. She knew she could hardly complain, for at least he was somewhat back to normal, now. The vault suit was tossed in its rightful bin to be replaced by her favorite green jumpsuit (her only jumpsuit). A couple of hours passed while she lazily lounged in her bed, her time occupied by the turning of a page in a book as she waited for a chance to enjoy some hot water luxury. A knock on the partly closed door to her room made her startle. Charon, knocked?!
He may be human after all.
She sat upright and tucked her loose hair behind an ear. "Uh, come in?"
Charon slammed the frame into the wall by how violently he widened it. "Are you hungry?"
What the fuck-
She tried to hide the shock she felt. "I, I guess-" Her stomach interrupted her sentence with a loud whine of affirmation.
He announced, "I have made dinner."
She stared at him. There was no appropriate response to be had except, "…sure?"
He then just as abruptly left.
With careful steps down the staircase as though the house was boobied with traps, she eventually came to Charon standing in the tiny alcove of the kitchen. He directed a knife hand to a chipped bowl and bent spoon set on the small table that had accommodation for one. She reluctantly took a seat and politely folded her hands in her lap, watching him turn around to grab at her only pot off the stove. A ladle was dipped inside, and something…seemingly crawled onto her plate. She looked down at the creation. It smelled awful.
She blinked at it. "What is it?"
"You like it," he answered matter-of-factly. (She would've thought he sounded somewhat smug).
She dipped the spoon in; sludge slowly dripped off. "I do?"
He stood there, waiting for her to taste it. She didn't know if she'd be able to take a single sip without gagging, but he did make it, for her. It was a start to...something, she supposed, even if she wasn't sure what that exactly was. The utensil was brought past her lips, and she felt a crunch as she swallowed. It was the fucking worst thing she'd ever been forced to try. Greta was pardoned for every past sin made in the name of cooking- dear God-
She immediately set her spoon down. "Wow, that's, um…strong." She blinked back tears, forcing herself not to reach for the bottle of water she so desperately craved.
Charon took a taste test for himself from her own bowl. She waited for him to realize that he nearly burned her tastebuds from her mouth, but he merely gave her the spoon back.
"It is the same," was all he replied with.
She looked back down at her fate. Fuck. When every last bit was gone (and her stomach felt like the repercussion of an atomic warzone), he gave a nod of approval and grabbed at her dish, filling it to the brim once more before she could vomit in protest. It was clinked back down on the table, and then he left to climb the stairs to his workshop. Once he was out of sight, Evelyn went to make a dash for the sink to toss the hazardous waste, but the sound of him coming back down made her panic and nab at Wadsworth's back panel, her entire bowl of slop being dumped inside and shut away to (please God) not be seen. She awkwardly leaned against the fridge, inspecting her dirty fingernails as he rounded back to the kitchen, his eyes critically inspecting the suspiciously empty table.
"You have finished," he rasped more as an accusation than a question.
She gave him two thumbs up, fighting the rising, sentient bile in her throat. She couldn't verbally answer for fear that it would end up on the floor.
Charon motioned to the stove. "There is more-"
"Wow! Would you look at the time!?" She diverted quickly with a phony façade of utter shock. She held up her Pip-Boy; the screen was blank. "It's past midnight already?!" She widely yawned in her hand, (tempting a gag), and pointed to her room just above her head. "I think I'm good for bed. You go ahead and finish it, big guy."
A comical pat of her hand on his arm made him raise a brow muscle down at her, but he didn't comment as she went to her room and shut the door.
Charon placed the remains of the soup inside the fridge; it would be free for her craving come the morning. He'd considered it a suitable rendition of the recipe back from Canterbury Commons, even if more than a few ingredients had been substituted due to the lack of. It had been his first real attempt at any sort of cooking. She seemed to have enjoyed it. He checked the inventory of food. He was out of key items and would have to request them if he were to make more.
The robot was held at the end of his index finger- the tip as sharp as any refined blade. "Watch the door. Do not let anyone but myself inside, or I will rip your circuits out."
He then noticed a slow drip of something gooey leak from inside the Mister Handy's components…he'd pop him open later. He predicted his employer to grow upset if the robot was left in further disrepair. After the threat of dismemberment was well ingrained, he left for the saloon with his share of the caps nestled nice and snug against the thigh holster of his pistol. He came to a locked door. He banged on it until the end of a baseball bat was shaking in his face.
"What-what d'ya want? We're closed!" Gob shouted with a tremble, his teeth clattering in his skull. He squinted through the dark, his weapon only slightly lowered. "O-oh, it's you. Uh…is everything-"
Charon directed the bat out of his way, stepping past the smaller ghoul to welcome himself inside. "I require a few items."
Gob rubbed at his eyes, apparently woken from sleep. "Jeez, it couldn't wait until morning?" he groused. When he properly opened them to take note of the glower on Charon's face, he immediately set himself behind the bar. "Sorry. What can I get for you?"
Everything in his inventory was laid out on the counter. Charon remained standing as he assessed each and every item. It wasn't what he needed, so he would have to make further improvements. Gob unsuccessfully hid a yawn behind one hand, his mouth beginning to mutter utter drivel about Charon's pariah status in Underworld.
"They had the bar redone-ergh, 'scuse me-" Gob scratched at his elbow- scritch scritch. He continued to gab, abusing the stoic ghoul's trademark silence; he then took a shot. Charon blatantly ignored him. "-then Winthrop finally came out of his coma."
Gob took another shot as Charon placed caps onto the counter, his eyes not raising from his counting until the total had been piled. Charon finally looked over…the bartender was missing. He heard some slurred mumbles rising from the depths over the side, and so he slightly leaned forward to peer down. Gob was sprawled out, simmering in a drunken haze with an amber bottle keeping company in one hand.
"Ya gotta tell me," he rasped in between a nasty burp ('xcuse me). "How'd ya do it?"
His eyes were wet and shimmering. Charon had never seen something so utterly pathetic. Nevertheless, he shook his head.
"I do not understand," he simply replied.
Gob took hold of a shelf and braced himself upright by a few inches, his face one of complete amazement and lustful inebriation. "How'd you get Evelyn?"
Here Charon raised a brow. "Get?"
He sluggishly nodded. "Yeah, how'd ya do it?"
Charon didn't understand. He again shook his head.
Gob took a drink, wiped the dribbled mess from his chin with a forearm, and licked his lips. "Why'd she say yes, to you? You know? A ghoul." He motioned a hand at himself. "I didn't think it were possible, for us. But then you come along…" He stared at something down the neck of his bottle. "And here we are."
Charon straightened himself and gave his focus back to his chosen wares, stowing them away in his bag. "She had asked me for it."
Absolute silence.
Gob's head was suddenly on the counter, his eyes wider than jumbo dinner plates. "…she did?"
Charon nodded.
"…you're not messing with me, are you?"
Charon shook his head, throwing his bag over his shoulder. His business was concluded.
Gob blew out a breath. "You…you think Nova would ever ask me?"
Charon was at the door, but he paused. His hand was on the knob. He looked back to the ghoul who stared up at him as though he were the only light in a very bleak, very dark tunnel. Evelyn's previous statement about the prostitute came to him.
With absolute seriousness, Charon rasped, "Nova does not take ghouls." And then he left.
The great bowl of Many Unappealing Flavors was on the table by morning.
It was a different color.
It was still boiling.
There was an eyeball. It swam like a disconnected gyroscope until it landed on her face to glare at her.
Charon watched her watching it watching her. He only said, "It will get cold."
It'll get cold, oh my God, what happens then? Does it evolve? Declare itself a man? Sharpen sticks and build fires and-
Charon leaned over and plucked the eyeball out with his bare fingers. "It should have melted."
It should have melted.
"Um," Evelyn finally spoke, albeit very small. She twirled her utensil around inside, an oily surface following her every stroke. "Do…did I ask you to cook, by accident, or something-?"
When she glanced up to gauge his response, she couldn't believe it. Charon had something on his face she never thought she would ever come to witness in her short lifetime. A barely susceptible frown. She could have rubbed at her eyes, disbelieving of this mirage before her.
"You did not," he affirmed. He then looked down at her bowl as though it were ready to jump up and latch onto his face. "Do you not enjoy it?"
Oh no. She had hurt his feelings. She had offended the big guy.
"What?!" she guffawed, tightly crossing her legs under the table and clenching her free hand under her thigh. "No! I do! I do! It's, just, uh, you never did it before…so, you know…"
He nodded. "I did not know you had liked it."
Oh, Jesus. She was so fucked. Now she had to force herself to somehow eat (or cleverly hide) this shit until the angel Gabriel blew his horn and unleashed the day of Judgment upon the land. The joke was on her in the end, though, for Hell was just an entire river of Charon's soup with the Devil wiggling her spoon between his hooves.
She plunked her head on a fist and accepted the bereavement of her breakfast. "Thanks, big guy."
The majority was crammed down her throat like a turkey being stuffed- with nonconsenting force. Her toes curled and her skin grew green with every swallow, and she quickly learned to plug her nose and screw her eyes shut to help ease each passing. Charon had returned to her nearly expired in her seat, her eyes hollow and lips pale.
He only took notice of the empty serving. "There is more."
She could cry.
"That's okay," she insisted, covering a wet belch into her hand. (Ugh) She quickly got off to a kickstart of a topic to derail his new hobby. "Have you ever been to Rivet City?"
When he didn't answer right away, she glanced up.
"I have," he rasped slowly. "They do not allow ghouls."
"Hmm." She leaned back in her seat in an attempt to force the room to stop spinning. "I'm sure we can figure something out."
"I do not think so."
Well, if that wasn't a confidence booster, she wasn't sure what was.
She stood, wavering from a belly full of lead. "If Three Dog is right and my dad is there, then it won't be an issue." There was a whir of her Pip-Boy being flicked through as she scrolled for a map. "It's just so far…how long of a walk do you think it'll be?"
Charon seemed to seriously consider her question, and then said, "It will depend." She waited for him to elaborate, but he didn't. Charon the Vague-As-Fuck Mystique, doling out wisdom in the form of few-syllable words. He instead continued with, "When do you wish to leave?"
With a fold of her arms, she longingly gazed upon the empty bathtub. "I would like to at least finally scrub down..."
He turned his back to her. "I will cook as you-"
"But what's the point when I'm just going to smell like a brahmin's ass anyway?!" she quickly exclaimed, nabbing at her things around the house. "Fuck it, let's go now! Dad, here we come!"