Chapter 34: Res-by-the-Res Part 4

She strolled through the bar, the sounds of strangers laughing and the noxious stench of drink and sweat threatening to overwhelm her. Kyra looked again at the note that Hypatia and Delilah provided her. "Customer wearing drab green rainslicker." She crumpled up the note in her palm as she gingerly tiptoed her way past the tables and patrons. Aside from a few leering glances, no one had approached her.

"Hey!" A female soldier in a tanned uniform suddenly cut her off. "You're cute."

"Oh!" Kyra got out, startled. "Ah... thank you…"

"You available?" the female soldier asked, looking Kyra up and down.

Kyra, for her part, looked over the homely-looking woman as she was similarly appraised. She had not expected to end her night in bed with another woman, but considering everything else she had been through, the notion did not repulse her. And despite the rather plain face of the woman, Kyra could not honestly call her ugly. So, if things had to be like this…

"My friend is looking for a little company for tonight," the female soldier explained as she pointed over to her companion, sitting along the western wing of the bar, holding out a drink. Kyra shook her head from the clouds and wondered why her mind even wandered there. Apart from being handsome, Kyra also noticed that he wasn't wearing a drab-green rainslicker. Still, perhaps if she simply couldn't find him, well, at least this night wouldn't be a total waste.

"Oh, Lt. Mullens, I presume!" a breathy voice carried itself over as a raven-haired woman practically glided over to their place on the bar floor. She carried herself with a regal sense of refinement, a parasol of all damn things perched on her shoulder. She glanced at Kyra with a sense of condescending derision before turning her attention to the Lieutenant. "I am Sophia, the woman you were asking around about earlier. I take it that fine gentlemen waiting by the bar is Mr. Wallace himself?"

"That would be correct," Lt. Mullens nodded her head. "As for rates, I believe it best we…"

Sophia wove her hand. "We can discuss that after. I have such faith in my services that I guarantee satisfaction with all my clients."

"Well, would you be so against the notion of us hiring a second girl simultaneously?" Mullens asked as she glanced back over to Kyra. By the bar, Wallace mouthed you're the best to his second-in-command and work spouse.

"…I'm afraid I work best with one-on-ones," Sophia shot a glance at Kyra. "Babysitting amateurs isn't something I'd like to be charged for. Besides, this one has already been spoken for," she said as she brushed Kyra away. "Your paramour for the evening is by the north end of the bar, little girl," Sophia announced as she turned her attention back to Lt. Mullens.

Kyra felt like marching back and slapping the taste out of her mouth, but right now all she wanted to do was get along with going along with plans that were so far out of her control that resisting against the tides of fate seemed insurmountable. Better she just walk away now, meet with the guy, give him two minutes or whatever he needed, and then return back to camp to spend the rest of her life. With the way her fortunes were playing out tonight, it wasn't like there was much left that could go wrong.

The man in the drab-green rainslicker was at the bar, as directed. Kyra looked around once again to see if there was possibly anyone else who could fit that description. Satisfied that she had at least found the customer, Kyra took up an empty stool next to the stranger, sitting beside him.

"…I was told you were looking for company," Kyra stated, flatly and without any seductive pretense. The stranger simply puffed on his cigar. "…Wherever you want to go and… whatever you want to do…" Kyra had to fight back a gulp. "…They said you paid for the whole night, so… yeah."

The stranger continued to ignore her. "…Look, I don't want to be here," Kyra admitted. "If you want someone else, I'd be more than happy to just walk away and…" a hand reached out to grab her wrist as she motioned to get up from the stool. The skin was weathered and rotted, though the grip fastened her down like iron. The face under the hood peered over to look at her. "…I'm not interested in your issues, woman. I came here because I need a break. That won't be a problem for you, will it?"

Hypatia and Delilah laughed as they strolled through the streets of the town, past vendors and curious onlookers. "If only I could see the look on her face!" Delilah cawed.

"Imagine! "Oh, please Mr. Zombie Daddy! Can we keep the lights off?" BWAHAHAHA!" Hypatia slapped her knee as they passed the pavilion. As they did, they passed by and ignored a grey-haired caravaneer fanning a drunk back to consciousness. They almost passed without incident until Silverhair looked out of the corner of her eye after recognizing one of the voices.

Silverhair wanted to just let it go and ignore it, wanted to pretend she didn't and hadn't seen Hypatia do anything. She wanted to forget how she had beaten that poor girl and literally rubbed salt in her wounds. She wanted to forget how horrified she was when she learned that the women the Legion hired and trained were every bit as callous and ruthless as the men she had fought all those years ago. She wanted to stay with the kid and try to keep her out of trouble. Not that she was ever a great example to follow.

"W-wha crawled up yer ass?" Rosa asked as she came out of her haze long enough to recognize Silverhair.

"…Nothing," Silverhair lied.

"Buhl-sheet!" Rosa slurred. "Yuh jus saw sammone who pissed ye off. I no da look."

"Funny," Silverhair gritted. "…I just saw this bitchy pantywaist yucking it up with someone equally awful, I'm sure."

"…Oh," Rosa nodded, solemnly. "…Let's fuck'em up."

Silverhair laughed. "Cute."

Rosa picked herself off from the ground and began stumbling towards the direction of the women. "They don't look too tough," Rosa seemed to say as she struggled to keep herself upright.

"Kid, this isn't something you have to get involved it!" Silverhair tried to placate.

"I wanna screw… or I wanna fight," Rosa attempted to explain. "I've been too cooped up for too long, and I neeeeeeed someting, old lady. So, you can eeder take me to bed or give me someting to fight, cuz if you don't give me eeder I'm gonna find Dipshit and cut his head n' dick off," she explained.

"…Let me guess?" Silverhair asked. "Dipshit is a previous hookup?"

"SHADDUP!" Rosa lethargically threw a swing at her, barely keeping her balance. "I dun need you judgin me!"

"I'm not judging," Silverhair shook her head. "Hell, I've been there, myself." She looked down the street where the laughing bitches had just turned a corner. If she could get them isolated, perhaps…

"Tell you what?" Silverhair said as she draped Rosa's arm around her shoulders. "You stay with me and let me take care of something. Afterwards I'll get you somewhere you can sleep this off. It'll beat any jail cell this place has to offer, I can tell you that."

"WEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEEE!" cheered Rosa as the two made their way after the others.

Falco knew he was being followed. It didn't matter whether he quickened his pace or he tried to duck inside a crowd, his pursuers had not been deterred. Around the third time he ducked into an alleyway, Falco had had enough and decided that he was going to have to stand his ground one way or the other. As he made his way to the outer edge of the town, he found a section that had been sealed off with three trailers moved together in a way that a pessimist would call a dead end, but Falco would call a strategic chokepoint.

He turned and waited for the three banditos to round the corner. One with a goatee peered around first before motioning the others to follow. Another with sideburns pulled out a baton while the one with a mustache, the leader Falco assessed, took up center position.

"…Looks like you caught on quick, toro," Mustache said as he pulled out a knife.

Falco looked around him as the occupants slammed their doors shut and shortly afterwards began peeking through the blinders. "…I heard that this shithole city was something of a neutral area," Falco began.

"To an extent," Mustache grinned. "The last thing I want to do here is start a shootout, but if we beat the fuck out of you and carry you back across the border, ain't no one gonna offer much of a fuss. These folk don't take kindly to your kind around here," he added in an unfamiliar accent.

Goatee pulled out a cable with weights at the ends and began swinging it above his head. Reaching behind him, Falco pulled out his gladius as he took up a fighting stance. He took a deep breath as he angled his sword overhead.

"Hey, guys, what the hell?" A fourth voice called out as he finally arrived. This clean-shaven one did not carry himself like the other three. Looking up, he saw the three banditos preparing to jump a stranger.

"Stay out of this, rook," Mustache growled.

Clean-shaven pulled out his revolver. "You're explaining this to me, now!"

"Rook! Walk. Away," Mustache growled.

"Gael! Look out!" Goatee screamed as the grey-haired man charged them, blade at the ready. Gael shoved Tobey down as Toni moved to intercept a sword-strike with his baton. Gael rushed in to join the melee and beat back the centurion.

As Tobey picked himself off the ground, Javier looked down at him as he spun his weapon above his head. "This is none of your business, gringo."

Tobey watched as his drinking buddies continued to assail an otherwise helpless older man. Somewhat, he had to add, because that machete he was weaving and parrying around his attackers did go a long way to explain their hatred for him. A specially made machete, pointed instead of broadened at the tip, like Rosa's. That was a gladius.

We came to make peace with them, he heard his mother say in his ear. I know it's distasteful, and I'm asking a lot. We're asking a lot. But you have to drive these guys back and bring him back to camp so we can save a lot of time and blood on our end. Think of how much easier our mission will be.

GO GET HIM! KILL HIM! KILL HIM! His father screamed in his ear. PULL YOUR GUN OUT AND SHOOT HIM! HE'S ON THE ROPES, SHOOT HIM!

Gael and Toni managed to disengage and separate away from the centurion, giving Javier a clean shot with the bola. He threw, and the weights carried the cable straight to Falco's knees, binding his legs together as he fell to the ground. Gael immediately rushed to plant his foot straight on Falco's sword arm while Toni began kicking him, Javier rushing to join him. Tobey stood frozen in place as the beatdown continued.

The ghoul had rented out a room. The sparse décor was punctuated only by a wardrobe, a bathroom surrounded by a curtain, and a large mattress on the metal floor. It reeked, and not of romanticism. Kyra let none of these thoughts bother her. What good would grieving do her here, like it had done her any good before?

The ghoul took a moment to glance outside before shutting the door and closing the blinds. "Could've done without the stares and whispering," he muttered to himself. He glanced to Kyra. "Well, what am I paying you for? Get on the bed."

"Yes, ma- yes sir," Kyra replied as she knelt on the mattress, pleading that the dimly lit room would help hide her disfigured client as he… she buried the revulsion deep inside her. The ghoul hung his rainslicker on a peg by the doorway. He wore civilian garb, mostly cargo pants and a tank top that showed how toned his arm muscles were, like he had anything else going for him like skin. Reaching down to his belt, he pulled out a flask and took a sip. After finishing, he offered it to her. "Take the edge off?" he offered.

"…Let's get this over with," Kyra muttered as she began unbuttoning the remainder of her blouse.

"Not so fast!" the ghoul snapped. "Ground rules, first."

Kyra stopped as she passed her navel, reluctantly pulling her hands away as she folded them back on her lap.

"Rule one, no eye contact. Not that I think you'll have any problem with it," the ghoul began with a derisive snort. "Rule two, I'm not paying you to speak. I need this." Kyra clenched her eyes tighter as he felt the ghoul draw closer, so close she could smell the tobacco on his breath. "And rule three, you can keep your clothes on if you want, that's not what I'm after."

Kyra opened her eyes, wanting to ask if he had really heard what he said, but the ghoul had already gotten started. He climbed on the bed, pushing her back against the wall. He moved his face towards her lap. Kyra fought back a scream as she felt him lay his head on her legs. She waited for what he was going to do next. And she waited. And waited. Hesitantly, she peeked one of her eyes open to see that the ghoul was using her lap as a pillow, his shoulders shaking.

A strange noise began to come from the ghoul, sounding like a cross between a sneeze and a seizure. As it went on, the familiarity began to dawn on Kyra. This was a sound she had heard before, so often and so close to her heart. It was the sound her old tribe made when the Legion butchered and carted them off. It was the sound she had made back at Fort Wrath when she was all alone. It was the sound her mother made when Kyra first told her that she loved her.

As the ghoul sobbed, he felt a gentle hand caress his face. Fighting back his instinct to swat it away, the ghoul began sobbing even harder as the memories came back. That burning camp, his maddened brothers screaming in frenzied slaughter as he took up arms to end the rampage. He remembered sitting alone in a cave, watching and waiting for it all to end as the last of his hair and most of his nose was lost forever. He remembered taking a bullet from behind, the rest of his squadmates lifting him out of that jungle, wishing him good riddance, and telling him through the blood loss that he was lucky they decided not to use a grenade.

That was when the horror dawned on him. He could not remember their faces. He couldn't remember the faces of his first squad, of his parents, of the wife he had. Or was it girlfriend? He began sobbing even harder. A lot of people, mostly ghouls, thought that their condition was a worthy enough trade-off for immortality. What those idiots failed to realize was that they did not escape death, they merely traded one for three.

The first was a physiological death, a collapse of the formerly human body and separation from humanity proper as the body turned into a literal cancer. The third death was the total physical death, one that came from bullets or just being in the wrong place and time. These he could stomach, but it was the second one that scared him to his core. The death of memory, the loss of self, the destruction of the being that deserved to call itself human. The doctors called it feralization, but to him, it was his single greatest fear as a ghoul, and sparing others from it was the greatest mercy he could possibly offer his kind.

A raindrop broke him from his self-pity. He looked up to see the woman sobbing with him. He could scarcely believe it. A few minutes ago she could barely look him in the eye and keep her understandable disgust of him hidden. Now, these weren't tears of contempt or revulsion. This girl saw he was in pain and was honestly trying to share it. Rathmore closed his eyes as he continued to break.

The two sat at the stand under the awning while the cook inside fried something up. For Larain, this place brought back memories, while for Carla, the aroma had captured her attention. Exotic foods were privileges even the most wealthy wastelanders rarely experienced. Her parents were both founders of the Judicial Marshals, and even they could only afford to go to the Ultra-luxe every other year. So, when a cup full of soggy noodles was placed before her with two sticks resting in the middle, she looked to Larain for an explanation.

Larain took the sticks and began using them to shovel the noodles in his mouth. Carla, watching how he held the sticks, began trying to copy him, taking a handful of attempts until she got the gist. The flavor she tasted was spicy, and she slurped up her noodles as she gasped for air. "What's this called, again?" she asked.

"Raw-man," Larain explained. Carla eyed her cup suspiciously. "It's not what it sounds like," Larain conceded.

"Ok, I'm trusting you. I wouldn't know," Carla said as she began taking another slurp.

"I would," Larain muttered under his breath.

Carla turned to look at him, eyes widened. Larain stared at her before cracking out in a smile, giggling. Carla rolled her eyes as she shook her head, continuing her meal.

A giant made his way into the restaurant, ducking his head under the awning as he glanced around at the two patrons and cook behind the counter. "Has anyone here seen a little girl?"

Larain and Carla both shook their heads while the cook chortled. "Gonna have to be a bit more specific, el kapitan."

The giant snarled as he took a seat next to the two patrons, the stool creaking under his weight. "…Sandy blonde hair, about so high," he motioned with his hand. "…Probably covering her eyes," he added, this time with a hesitation, Carla noted.

"I'm paid to cook, chief, not chit-chat. You want info, buy something from the menu."

The giant seethed as his rage threatened to boil over. Larain felt his hand starting to rest on his holster. Carla motioned that he should hold off. The cook looked amused. "…One cup of your swill," the giant finally rumbled, palming a few caps on the table. The cook began with dumping some noodles in a fryer, boiling them as he turned them over. "…So, kid about yay high, blonde, hiding her eyes, that about right?" the cook asked.

"Yes," the giant said, his voice seeming to calm down. "Have you seen her?"

The cook poured the noodles into a cup, presenting it to the giant. "Now, you might want to wait a bit until…"

The giant gulped down the entire cup, spitting the sticks out of his mouth as he finished. He slammed the paper cup on the counter. "…Where?" he growled.

"I… that doesn't sound like anyone I'd be too familiar with," the cook admitted. The giant lunged his arm over the counter, grabbing the cook between the neck and shoulder as he moved to throttle him.

"Hey, HEY!" Carla called out as she pulled out her revolver. The giant turned to look at the patrons, a palpable sense of dread rising within the two of them. "…I can tell you're a bit on the edge," Carla offered as she held her revolver to the side, pointed upwards. "So why don't we just talk this out like civilized people and we can work together. Is she your daughter?"

"…Sister," the giant corrected, his grip loosening on the cook, who proceeded to duck down under the counter.

"When did you last see her?" Carla asked.

"…Months ago," the giant admitted. "She ran away."

Carla couldn't hide her worry or concern, and the look on her face apparently started to agitate the giant. "This is going nowhere!" the giant finally screamed in frustration. "I know she's here."

"And, ah, how can you be sure?" Carla began to ask.

"…I can sense her," the giant explained.

Larain leaned into Carla's ear. "This guy is fucking nuts," he breathed, putting a hand on her shoulder to pull her away

The giant's head snapped towards the two. "I heard that!" he roared.

Larain winced. "Oh, uh, nothing personal, buddy. I was just thinking maybe we should just be on our way and let you be on yours."

"If there's one thing I will not tolerate, tonight," the giant snarled as he stood up, his seven feet towering over the two patrons. "It's having my time wasted."

Carla looked back to Larain, who could only look up to the fearsome beast in front of them. "I sincerely apologize, sir. To show how sorry I am, allow me to give you some of my raw-man."

"If you think I can be bribed with food at this point, you aAARGH!" the giant screamed as a cup full of hot water was tossed into his eyes. Larain grabbed Carla and promptly bolted as far from the giant as they could. By the time Barabbas cleared his eyes, the two patrons were long gone. Screaming, he punched a hole through the counter, missing the head of the cook by inches. Fuming, he stormed away, wiping his eyes as he continued to grapple with the increasingly hopeless mission before him.

As he continued to walk through the town, he began overhearing gossip and other trivial mewlings that stole his attention and marred his focus.

"…real donkeys, not gonna lie, I heard they got a few up north…"

"…Amy chick doesn't put out, try anything fresh and that pimp of hers…"

"…I think that drunk chick got carried away by her mom…"

"…started beating the shit out of this old Legion guy…"

Barabbas came to a halt. "What did you say?" he immediately interrupted. The trader looked up from his conversation, paying the giant little heed. "Some of these cholo regulars singled out this old Legion guy and started kicking the shit out of him. Word is they're gonna take him outside the city limits and put a bullet in his head."

"WHERE?!" Barabbas screamed as he grabbed the trader by the collar.

"GAH! I think somewhere by the northwest, by the water tower!" the trader promptly fell on his back as Barabbas stormed away, kicking up dirt as he tore through the streets.

Silverhair just kept turning herself down alleyways, continuing to follow what had to be the trail those two had left. Not helping matters was the drunk leaning on her shoulders mumbling the words to at least half a dozen different yet equally butchered songs.

"…Blu-moooooon, you know jus wha I want/ Without a care in da world/ Without luv in ma sooooool!"

"Be! Quiet!" Silverhair hissed as they turned another corner. It led to what basically passed for a vacant lot in this town, a scrapyard full of junk even the most ambitious salvagers gave up on. All she could see were a few bonfires dotted around the area, from people on their last rope. How Silverhair wished she couldn't relate, she mulled as she hiked the girl across her shoulder. "Shit," she cursed. "Lost em."

"Who're dey?" Rosa asked.

Silverhair turned just in time for the both of them to be rushed by their quarries. The other woman bowled Rosa over, knocking the unsteady woman from Silverhair's shoulders. She then grabbed Rosa by the hair and yanked her up, forcing her back against a pile of scrap. Silverhair tried to intervene but was stopped by a voice right by her ear.

"Hello, Cassidy."

Cass wheeled around, just in time for a knife to be driven right through her poncho.

"Goodbye, Cassidy," Hypatia grinned as Cass's eyes widened in shock.

Delilah turned to look over to her sister as she gave the signal. No witnesses. She turned to look at the bonfires, the poor souls simply focusing on warming themselves and gave no thought to those even less fortunate. Here, now, would lay the bodies of two women who had no idea what they were up against. Such was life in the wasteland.

Delilah pulled out her pistol, aiming it at the forehead of the little drunk. "Any last words?" she taunted, playfully.

"Oh, I don'ts feels so gud," Rosa muttered.

"I can only imagine," Delilah purred as she moved to squeeze the trigger. Unfortunately for her, Rosa was currently running a different equation. When a person consumes a certain amount of alcohol over a set period of time, and without anything done to curb or limit said alcohol by way of chasers and sleep, compounded by constant movement that churned everything within for the better part of an hour, and capped off by the sudden burst of movement by way of being accosted by a secret society of female warriors, and suddenly a lot of body fluid needs to be expulsed.

A cascade of vomit spewed all over Delilah's shawl. Shocked, the woman could only involuntarily back away in disgust, herself feeling like she was about to dry heave. "Oh, by Caesar himself!" Hypatia wheezed as she covered her mouth and nose.

As Delilah came back into her own, she looked to the dopey-looking smile on Rosa's face, the girl blushing as she swayed on her feet. "Heh-heh, oopsie," she slurred.

"Fucking degenerate!" Delilah screamed as she pistol-whipped the drunk across her cheek. As Rosa registered the blow, while she did not sober up any, a part of her woke up. The part of her that fought at bars in the dead of night that ended with her waking up in a drunk tank the afternoon after. Delilah found out about that part the hard way as she was tackled to the ground while her face was pummeled by a now screaming Rosa.

"Delilah, I'm coming!" Hypatia screamed as she moved to help her sister. A hand grabbed her arm before she could leave. "Not so fast, partner," Silverhair growled as she pried the knife out of what should have been her gut. "You need to dance with the partner you chose," she continued as she threw an elbow into Hypatia's jaw, knocking her back as Silverhair took control of the knife.

Then, with deliberate precision, Silverhair went to work slicing and cutting at the woman before she had time to recover. As she did, she counted aloud. "1. 2. 3. 4…" Hypatia threw her arms up as she tried to fend off the strikes, receiving cuts with every swing and jab, however superficial. "…9. 10. 11. 12." Silverhair punctuated the twelfth by slugging Hypatia across the face, dropping her to the ground. As Hypatia struggled to get back to her feet, Silverhair fell upon her, forcing the knife into her mouth. Silverhair stared into the eyes of the Amazon. Cass stared into the eyes of the woman who she watched beat another for the crime of telling the Great Golden Cow the truth. She dragged her knife up, cutting through the cheek until she reached just under the eye. "13."

Silverhair climbed off her prey as Hypatia began clutching her face as she howled in pain and rage. "Kid, let's get out of here," she said as she wiped the knife clean on her poncho. She looked down at the Amazon as she writhed in pain on the ground. Feeling something that could generously be described as mercy, Silverhair reached under her poncho and pulled out a heavy RMX bag, punctured with a tear between the R and M. "There's some gauze and meds in there," she said as she dropped it by Hypatia's impotently kicking feet. Rosa rolled off Delilah as the other Amazon began coughing up blood. "Wow," Rosa murmured. "You musta fuckin hated her gutssss," she began to drift off as she looked at Delilah. Delilah's fingers slowly began to find the handle of her pistol. Rolling over, Delilah pointed her weapon straight at Silverhair.

Rosa, her eyes having not left the woman, had been slowly unsheathing her machete, just waiting, daring her to make a move. The blade arched through the distance between the sheath and Delilah's arm, cutting through the meat and bone. A howling scream echoed throughout the lot, and moments later two women, one older and the other younger, were spotted darting away from the scene, one much less steady than the other.

As Rathmore collected himself, he pulled himself from the stomach of Kyra, where she had begun cradling his head during his… episode. Taking everything in stride, Kyra brushed off her jeans as Rathmore sat at the end of the bed, feeling better despite his age weighing down on him. Some people told him that, thanks to his condition, he'd feel twenty-eight forever. They didn't account for how much time would grind away at him, nonetheless.

"…Thank you," Rathmore finally said, looking over his shoulder. Kyra turned to look away. "Well, you don't have to keep following the ground rules, the session's over!" he explained, exasperated.

"Oh!" Kyra finally said as she realized that she didn't quite know what to say. "Well, I'm… glad I could help."

Rathmore rolled his eyes. "Cut the crap. You're just glad I didn't fuck you."

"I mean… yes," Kyra admitted, blushing.

Rathmore chuckled. "You aren't my type, anyway. I need someone world-weary with the light gone from their eyes. Skin is optional."

"I thought you just weren't after sex at all," Kyra replied. "I thought maybe it just… kind of…"

"…Kind of what?" Rathmore asked, sternly.

"…kind of… rotted off?" Kyra finished, hesitantly.

Rathmore stared at her as he slowly turned around to stand up, facing her. Suddenly, he began fumbling with his belt buckle. "AH!" Kyra screamed as she scrambled off the mattress, falling off. As her butt hit the floor, she heard a cackling laugh. Rathmore was laughing at her, pointing as he covered his forehead with his hand. "Y-you should have s-s-seen the look on your face, a-hahaha!"

As the situation began to register itself to her, Kyra suddenly couldn't help but join in on the laughter, giggling as she pulled herself back up on the mattress, going as far as to take Rathmore's hand to get up there. "You didn't hurt yourself, did you?" Rathmore asked as the laughing began to peter out.

"N-no, I'm fine," Kyra said as she began rebuttoning what she could of her blouse.

Rathmore took another sip of his flask as Kyra straightened out her clothes, checking for any residues and whatnot. "…You must have been in a lot of pain," Kyra said, absentmindedly.

Rathmore looked over his shoulder. His first instinct was to snap at her to mind her business. However, seeing as he had just exposed his vulnerabilities to her in such a way that the usual civvie treatment just wouldn't have the effect it would usually have, he realized that he needed to reconsider. So, conceding defeat, he just nodded his head. "Yeah."

"…I mean… is it because… you know?" Kyra tried to find the right way to approach the subject.

"…Say it," Rathmore glared over his shoulder, clearly annoyed.

"…Does being a ghoul… hurt?" Kyra finally asked. She had known about people who had the condition, but had rarely ever seen it, and never for long. Never in her wildest imagination did she imagine being so close to one, let alone in such an… intimate, she supposed, way.

"…Kind of," Rathmore admitted. "But I was always going to be a miserable bastard, no matter what."

"…Want to talk about it?" Kyra asked.

Rathmore snorted out a laugh. "Funny. Like you don't have better things and clients to be doing right about now."

"I really don't," Kyra shook her head. "And you paid for the whole night with me, remember?"

Rathmore had remembered that old adage from before he lost his skin. You never pay hookers for sex, you pay for them to leave. He pinched the bridge of what had once been his nose. Perhaps if he actually whipped it out, that would get her to clear out for good. Then again, maybe she'd turn into one of those sad, depraved "ghoul fetishists" like the current air marshal of the Mojave was rumored to be. The thought sent a shiver down his spine.

"I mean," Kyra continued. "Is venting to a pretty girl the worst way to spend your time?"

Rathmore mulled the idea over. "…OK, fine. You asked for it. Let's start by talking about the biggest living hemorrhoid I'm dealing with these days. His name is Captain Ethan Wallace…"

Ethan grabbed the towel to wipe his face as Sophia lounged on the bed, naked. She had been precisely as she advertised, the finest lay in Arizona. Ethan made a mental note to thank Sandra after he left, probably by way of a nice cash bonus come the next pay cycle. Already, he felt like more of the man he had been before, the life of the party, the cream of the crop, the biggest stud on the ranch.

Sophia stretched her body as she pulled herself up to his shoulders. "So, how was I?"

"Sweet as honey, hotter than whiskey," Ethan grinned as he placed his hand on hers. "And you work your ass great."

Sophia giggled as she threw a feathered boa around Ethan's neck. "Aren't you a naughty boy? Maybe a little extra would treat you right?"

"Hey, I'm more than eager," Ethan smiled as Sophia snaked her way to his front. "But give my body a minute, will ya?"

Sophia giggled. "…So, that other woman, she's…"

"Not my girlfriend," Ethan shook his head. "So it's not awkward."

Sophia laughed. "I meant to say "Lieutenant." Not every day I… service a member of the armed forces. She… reports to you, so… wouldn't that make you a… captain, right?" Sophia purred.

Ethan playfully saluted. "At your service, ma'am."

Sophia grinned wider. "I have a personal little message for such… brave and heroic men such as yourselves," she cooed as she further wrapped the boa around his neck. She craned her neck to lean closer to his ear. Licking her lips, she whispered her message. "…Hail…Caesar…"

She snapped the boa around his neck, forcing her body behind his as he suddenly began to struggle. Putting all her weight behind the boa, Sophia grinned as she felt him start to go limp, his flailing arms beginning to drop as he gurgled.

Wallace, confused by what was happening, struggled against the woman as she affixed the wire around his neck. As he felt himself becoming evermore lightheaded, he forced himself to hold on. He just had to wait a bit longer, fight just a bit harder, just long enough for…

Mullens shot the lock off the door as she stormed inside the cabin. Sophia, shocked at her sudden arrival, released Wallace as he fell forward, gasping for air as he scrambled to his subordinate. "Mul… mul… ow," he wheezed as he reached his lieutenant. Training her gun towards the tavern turncoat, Mullens indicated that she throw something on.

"…How?" was all Sophia managed to ask.

"…I like to watch," Mullens confessed, indicating the heavily condensed window nearby.

Wallace nodded his head. "…You're so fucking weird, Sandy. I love you, LT."