2278
It was the uneasy feeling of being watched.
Although he was just enjoying a beer at the bar, he could feel that burning stare itching its way through his irradiated brain. Now, albeit he was a ghoul, and a rather renowned one, at that, he was sort of used to the second glances and hushed whispers behind his back. It didn't really bother him, anymore. Draping an arm across the back of his chair, the ghoul took another wash of dark hops and casually observed the room. There. In the corner. It was an individual, all cloaked with a glass of water on their table. Cross couldn't make out their face, but he could feel those eyes, spying, in that swath of black shadow.
The bar was rowdy that night. Patrons from every walk were there, drunk, smelling of either brahmin shit or stale piss. Cigarette butts littered the floor, tendrils of smoke wafted through the air. Laughter danced with shouts and slurred curses; the jukebox in the corner played softly.
"Pistol packin' Mama, lay that pistol down!"
Fuck it. Cross downed his drink, rising from his seat as the chair screeched against the floor. Bringing down his glass with an audible clink, he set off across the room, homing in on his stalker. The mysterious figure immediately set themselves to leave, but before they could turn to walk out of their booth, his large hand settled on their shoulder and roughly pushed them back down.
"Where in the hell do you think you're goin'?" Cross snarled. Two smaller hands raised in a surrendering fashion as he took the seat across from them. "You don't move until I say so, got it?"
The figure tensed.
Chck
Goddamnit, a fuckin' setup. Cross growled under his breath as he felt the acquaintance of a cold iron dig into the backside of his decayed head. With a sigh of complete irritation, the ghoul took his turn in raising his hands slowly towards the sky.
"Easy, Charon." The hooded individual clasped their hands together on the table, twirling their thumbs in a slow manner. "We're not looking for trouble; just some information."
Definitive feminine voice. It's always the dames. Cross narrowed his eyes at the woman. "Oh yeah? Real friendly way of askin'," he said irately.
The thumbs hesitated in their action.
A harsh shove forced Cross' head forward slightly, and he gave the woman a murderous glare.
"Now," the voice rasped behind him.
"Okay, easy! Don't kill him!" the woman nearly pleaded. Bringing up one hand, the raggedy brown hood slipped away to reveal the anxious face of an attractive smoothskin.
Cross breathed out hotly, "Can you call that thing off my back?"
Her brows knitted together, looking from the shotgun to his face. She nodded, and there was an immediate release. Sitting upright, the bounty hunter took hold of his chin and cracked his neck with sickening snaps.
"What the hell do you want?" he asked gruffly, turning his head a quarter for a view of the cloaked threat behind him. "This ain't no place for a smoothskin like yourself...even if ya got protection."
Damn, he's a fuckin' big guy. Cross quickly assessed Charon in his head, his eye darting across the combat shotgun that was still directed at him.
"I can take care of myself, thanks," the woman retorted, reclining deep in her seat with her back arched against the booth. "I know who you are."
"Hmm. Is that right?" The bounty hunter raised an eyebrow muscle at her, nonchalantly reaching into his leather jacket. A growl from behind gave him a warning. "Listen, kid, this ain't no place for someone like you." A pack of cigarettes was tossed on the table, and he frisked himself for his lighter, silently cursing.
Did I lose it back at Mallia's place?
The woman bristled. "I'm not a kid." Leaning her arms on the table, she tilted forward, licking her lips. The sight held his interest for a moment. "I'll compensate you for your time. Please."
Cross barked out a laugh. "What, ya couldn't start with that before?" He contemplated it, then motioned for her to follow. "Put the hood back on and follow me," he rasped.
When a good distance was put between themselves and the bar, the ghoul stopped in his tracks and turned around, jamming a bony fingertip at her shrouded face. "You're goin' to get yourself killed." He spat to the side. "You're lucky you got fuckin' Grognak over here, girl like you just askin' for some trouble."
"And I said, I don't need protection." Almost out of defiance, her hand ripped away the fabric to show her face to him once more. Her tumble of brown hair fell to the side. "I need to know about Darcy Lackins."
Cross peered down at her with slits for eyes. A battered cigarette found its way to his nonexistent lips, being put on standby as the light was still being searched for. "Not interested," he rudely dismissed.
"I was told you're the man to speak to." She crossed her arms, a tad peeved. "Said you were last seen with her."
Fuck, finally. Orange sparks illuminated the space between them as a meager flame from his lighter lit the smoke he was craving. After a few minutes of silence, the ghoul turned and stared out into the twilight. Bringing the glowing cigarette from his lips, he breathed out a stream of white smoke into the night.
Guess her ghost really will follow me.
"She's dead. Died in Braxton. That's all I can say about it." He then reached a hand towards her, pausing at the weight he abruptly received on his shoulder. "Got yourself a good bodyguard," he grumbled. "50 caps. No complaints."
"Wasn't going to." She gave a sigh and slid her pack off, flipping her waterfall of hair behind her shoulders. "Here." The clinking familiarity of post-war currency in a sack was placed into his open palm. "And thanks."
The two then trudged away, the sound of gravel crunching beneath their feet while Cross observed them leave. He took a long drag.
...never got her name...
Darcy, you got no right askin' that of me!
The troubled ghoul quickly sat upright as the last image to bless his awakening was that blonde-haired ghost; pretty features painted with a shade of blue. With a low growl in his throat, he grabbed the flimsy blanket and thrust it over his sleeping partner. The cheap ghoul whore chortled and rolled her back to him, oblivious to her client's movements.
Empty bottles of booze clinked together as the mercenary reached for his possessions: thrusting his reinforced leather pants on, sliding his dark brown jacket over broad shoulders, and equipping his favorite knife back into its satchel. Prostitutes were always trying to rub it off him when he was in a drunken stupor, and yet, somehow (in his good favor), it more than usually ended up in the ashtray. The room was dark and stifling, (something Cross was unfavorably used to), but at that moment he wanted nothing more than a few whiffs of fresh air, so he promptly finished gathering his things and left the dingy shack.
The sun was just about to climb over the horizon, the sky a clean slate for whatever horrors would transpire down below that day. After shaking off his morning piss, the bounty hunter started down the road to his next destination: Earling. Word had been floating around that a gang of marauders had been stalking the shit-hole town for about a month now- a perfect opportunity to make some quick caps when the townsfolk were sure to be desperate for a hired gun. It was only a few hours by foot if he kept a good pace, but certain memories ended up plaguing his thoughts and slowed him down.
The ghoul raged at himself after he woke from his fifth daze down memory lane. Damn you, Darcy! A large pebble was at his foot, and he brutishly booted it into the waterfront he had been caught staring over. The sun was already beginning to creep along the eastern horizon by the time he strolled into town. He kicked himself for wasting a whole day, and then stomped on over into the town's 'diner'. After eating a hot meal of something unrecognizable and washing it down with a cold beer, Cross set his inquiries on the town's problems.
"Oh, yer that ghoul bounty hunter, m'i'right?" A grimy rag was set into an equally grimy glass, twirling around in hopes that both would somehow come out cleaner. "No need. Got sumun on the job."
Cross set down his empty glass, raising a hand at refuse for another. "Mercer, or Handle?"
"Nope, ain't seen them. Twas two folks. Purty gurl and a big ghoul."
Cross' facial expression instantly went from being stoically indifferent to downright aggravated.
WHAT!
So, they not only shook him down for information, but now they're shoeing in on his work! This was his way of living, and for a fucking ghoul, it was a pretty damn good one.
Cross tapped his glass, deciding to take that refill. "Where were these guys headed?"
Evelyn felt the blood ooze between her fingers as she wiped the hot liquid from her Pip-Boy screen. The backlighting of her device was flickering, again, making her jot down a mental note to finally find the time and fix it (but in reality, she knew she would rely on its durability until the day it finally called quits). She lightly smacked the thing a few times until the neon green finally lit up in her face.
The smack from her companion bumping the refilled stock into his shotgun made her turn her head around to frown at him. "You think that was all of them?" she asked, blinking in the ever-growing darkness that was encapsulating them.
The big ghoul only grunted in reply, and she pondered on whether it was a no or a yes.
"Soooo..." She waited, turning back to her screen and flicking the knob a few times. "I'm going to take that as a yes."
The sudden sensation of hot breathing down her spine made her slightly jump in place. Even after the months they had been traveling together, she still was not used to him quite literally being at her heel. "Jesus Charon, you always scare me when you do that!"
He only grumbled at her, taking a small step back to allow her more personal space.
"Well, let's pocket the goods and get the hell outta here." The Pip-Boy screen was flicked off with an unusual whir, and a concern formed in her belly that it may not turn back on.
The rusted-out doorframe they had entered from was now riddled with bullet holes. Evelyn kicked it open with the heel of her boot, banging it against the corrugated metal with a wobbling shudder. As soon as she was clear of the archway, the door came slamming back and hit her companion in full force.
"Charon!" she shouted, her feet moving of their own accord back towards the ghoul. A large figure seemingly stepped out of the shadow to the side and made a move for her.
To Cross, he was lucky. He had managed to surprise the bigger ghoul.
For Cross, he was unlucky, in that he had surprised the wrong one.
He brought up an arm to deflect the kick that was aimed at his chest, intent on grabbing her upper thigh and body-slamming her into the dirt. What he didn't expect was to get punted into the side of the building like a ragdoll with an arm that screamed I'm shattered in a million fucking places right now!
"Gah!" Cross grunted, his head lolling to his chest as he struggled to stay conscious. His vision was swimming with stars, and it felt as though his right arm had been dipped in Hell's fire. What the fuck kinda person-
"Wait, Charon, wait-!" Evelyn immediately grounded herself between the incapacitated bounty hunter and her recovered stalwart companion, whose face screamed his intent to kill. His shotgun froze in the air at her command. A bright light was then flashed on and directed toward the other ghoul. "What the fuck are you trying to pull?!"
Her voice barely registered in his brain as Cross realized he was going to pass out at any moment. Shitshitshitshit-
Some other words were muffled down to him, and he was out.
"Shall I kill him?"
"No...no, just- ugh."
Charon's finger ghosted the trigger; his instincts screamed at him to pull it. The unconscious ghoul slumped at his feet twitched, and it was a good enough excuse to send the barrel of his shotgun down the mercenary's throat. His pride was stung, but that was something he could shake off once the assailant's brains became wet mulch for the grass. His heavy boots began to crunch forward.
"Charon, no." His employer laid a hand on his exposed bicep, staring up at him with a face masked by shadow. "He's out. We'll figure out what he wants when he wakes up."
No need to kill 'em, man. Maybe it was just a misunderstanding! Talking never hurt anybody! The Lone Wanderer's voice chattered away casually in his thoughts, intermingling with those of his current employer's. He inwardly snarled at the memory ghosting his present situation, and with an outward sigh, fastened his weapon to its rightful place.
"Shall I carry him back?" he asked dully.
She had a thick strand of hair between her lips, gently chewing it in contemplation. "Yeah, let's take him down to the clinic," she mumbled, giving him an anxious once-over. "Are you hurt at all? I can manage him."
A low growl oscillated in his throat, and she raised her hands up in a comical fashion, spitting out her hair to give birth to a wide smile. "Okay, okay. Thank you."
He didn't reply as he reached down with a practiced motion to place the subdued bounty hunter across his back. He paid no mind to be gentle and was rewarded with a few moans of discomfort. It almost brought a smile to his ruined face.
"I think I should give him a Med-X or something-" The sentiment died on her lips at the glare she earned from her employee. "Well sorry, I don't want him to die on us before we get back."
"Do not waste it. He intended harm." Charon secured his grip on the other, waiting on Evelyn to take point. "Shall we go?"
A curt nod was inclined, and he dutifully followed behind her under the cover of night.