A Golden Chain

Lex didn’t even hear the end of that sentence, drowned out by the rush of blood in his ears. With a bestial howl, he launched himself at the man, fully intend on bashing the fucker in the side of the head with his makeshift weapon.

Somewhere, deep down in the subconscious part of his brain, he knew he heard a gunshot. But that was before the plank came down, and after that, all he cared about was beating this pervert into submission.  

-

Across the water, on the steps to the monument, Rick had stopped a caravan hand to ask where the fuck the rough-looking kid had gone, since they’d agreed he’d help lug a couple of crates of beer between the warehouse and Savoldi’s bar.

“What do you mean, he stormed off i–…” A distant gunshot cut him off. “Goddammit.”

Fuck! He missed, goddammit, he fucking missed! In instinctively recoiling from that plank, his aim was off – he saw blood, he knew he’d hit, but that kid was still coming at him like a goddamn rabid radstag.

Then the plank hit anyway. At least he managed to catch most of the first blow with his arm, but the second sent his teeth rattling, made him see stars. He reeled back before trying to give him a shove, reaching for whatever makeshift weapon was closest until he could make some room and get another shot -

“I ain’t nobody’s helper, fuckwad!”

Alexander had never been one for calm, thought-out or measured action, and once something got him going, he wasn’t so easily appeased. Fucker must think he was simple. Put the plank down? No fucking way. How long had this asshole been here, spying on people? Because that’s what he must be doing. Yeah, yeah Lex had seen him, too, in Bunker Hill, watching him, like some filthy fucking pervert.

“You watchin’ us or summin’, huh?!” Lex began to walk toward the man with heavy, angry footfalls, like a locomotive building up steam, “You some kinda creep?”

Nope, no negotiating. Not with this wound-up ball of muscle and teenage hormones. Fucking lugheaded shit. Goddammit. The Major would have his balls for this, but it was that or else kiss that plank and swallow all his teeth in the process.

“Yeah, that’s right.” Cliff flashed a yellow grin. “Watched through the windows every night you got skewered by the old man, boytoy.” That was patently false, of course, but he could use this little shit’s anger against him.

It was. It was the fucking door. Specifically, it was the door giving way under the full force of a meaty shoulder, subsequently slamming into the wall. In its opening stood a short, stout teen. Shoulders heaving, breath coming in snorts, like an overexerted horse. Fuming. He’d run all the way from Bunker Hill.  

When people looked at Alexander, they often thought he was a few sandwiches short of a picnic, just because he was built like a brick house and was easily riled, better at chopping wood and slamming pegs into the ground with a sledgehammer than he was at having a conversation. But they were wrong. He wasn’t an idiot, and he recognized a shady fuck when he saw one.

He whipped his head around, scanning the derelict building. No one fucking lived here. That was clear. So the fucker was a liar. Lex had seen him at the Hill several times, pretending to be a scavver taking shelter nearby. No he fucking wasn’t. Didn’t act like one, didn’t look like one. Shifty-eyed motherfucker. He was up to something, the way he’d kept looking at him, as if Lex didn’t notice.

Rraaagh! He tore a board off a window, rusted nails and all, and stormed up the stairs. Eyes wide, blood boiling, he reached the upstairs landing. There, by the old bay window, there he was. That shady motherfucker, with his binoculars, a– a sleeping bag and one of those camping gas burner things…? What the fuck was going on here?

“He-ey!” Alexander’s voice cracked, skipped an octave. It couldn’t take the wind out of his sails. By way of emphasizing his argument, he splintered a moldy old side-table with his nailed plank, “Fucknut!”

“What the fuck - “

For a moment he half-thought there was a goddamn behemoth storming the place, with the clatter that kid made. But large as he was, he still was that kid – the very same he’d been watching these past days, right there in front of him wielding a board studded with nails and now, moldy splinters. And looking non-too-pleased, giving his greeting.

Cliff sidled so his back faced the bay window, both arms raising up. “Woah, cool it, kid!” His handgun sat on the rim of the bay window behind him, alongside his rifle and binoculars. But the boy, while he didn’t look too bright, was more than strong enough to launch himself, clearing the distance of the stairs and bringing those nails straight into his goddamn skull. He needed time.

“You’re Barrow’s helper, right? Seen you around Bunker Hill.” He kept his tone of voice conversational, slowly lowering his hands. “Look, before this gets outta hand, I can explain. Put the plank down, huh?”

Since I’ve been posting fairly frequently lately, I thought maybe it was time for another notice - if you are at all triggered by fictional mentions of sexual assault/rape/general creepiness/misogyny/homophobia, please don’t follow Vince. I pretty much write him to be the most vile person I can think of, and it shows. There’s absolutely no shame in unfollowing or whatever you need to do to feel safe.

I am a proponent of it being on the reader to safeguard themself to a degree. While there are things even I wouldn’t write, this blog, due to Vince’s character, is inevitably going to be full of horrible things, like those mentioned above. HOWEVER, it is ALSO on the author to provide the TOOLS for readers to safeguard themselves - that is to say, clear warnings and trigger tags. I can’t possibly tag every single time Vince is a creep, however, so I tend to tag the most blatantly awful stuff and simply have a general warning on his profile. I hope it’s enough.

However, his character is built around being terrible. Again, I urge anyone who is outright triggered by that sort of content to safeguard themselves. It’s one thing if Vince makes you uncomfortable - he’s supposed to! He’s supposed to be that gross, slimy fuck that you love to hate. That’s exactly the emotion I want to bring out, because I think a lot of good stories and characters benefit from an antagonist. What I don’t want is for someone to have an anxiety attack or go into flashbacks or something equally awful because of him, or my writing. 

“Ain’t pretendin’ nothin’,” she watched, with some degree of annoyance, as the dirt fell into the hole she’d just been working on. There was a brief moment of hesitation before she began again, fighting against the urge to crack him across the shins with the shovel, “I just ain’t gonna play your games. I got work needs done, so I got no time for your bullshit.”

Holly continued working, trying to figure out what he might want. He was hitting on her to be sure, but by now he had to know that wasn’t getting him anywhere. Though, he didn’t strike her as the sort who would care if she wanted it or not. With the settlement so close, nothing was likely to happen, but it was still unnerving. She shifted her eyes towards the nearest guard post – still a ways off, but not out of sight – and was able to make out three figures standing there. Normally there’d be just one. She decided to hope that meant they’d taken notice of Major Pain In The Ass, and were keeping a close watch on the situation. Once this last block was free she’d have to go back up and get a cart to haul them all back, maybe she could get rid of him by then.

At his question she let out a loud scoff.

“Did some fancy fuckin’ footwork to get there, didn’t you?” she rolled her eyes, “A gal’s got no interest in you so that means she ain’t interested in men at all. ‘Cause you’re a shinin’ example of a man, right? Broke the goddamn mold after you came along?”

“I tell you, if that’s true, then yeah…I’ll be takin’ up with women from here on out.”

Though he was having fun riling up princess here, he hadn’t missed the figures watching. Had there been that many when he first strolled up? Hard to say. Either way, he knew where to draw the line - and just how to toe it. 

A snicker slithered out, eyes lidding, the left, pale eye just a fraction slower than the right. “Now, ain’t that a pretty image. Be a shame to deprive us poor fucks, but I suppose we’ll just have to wonder what you girls get up to in that hippi clubhouse up there.” 

A sigh. He stretched lazily with a pop of his neck. “But I guess I’d better let you finish working, huh? Whole settlement’s depending on you and Red, after all.” He turned - and ‘stumbled’ into the little heap of bricks she’d amassed, sending them tumbling and sliding back into the ditch she’d been digging them out of. 

“Damn. Sorry about that.” An easy grin, half an apology buried under a pile of ooze and insincerity. “Clumsy of me. Don’t worry, I’ll leave ‘em to you. Wouldn’t wanna get my cooties all over your hard work.”

[Vince disliked that.]

Yep, it was the same asshole. She’d have to go up and let Betty now he was out and about. Wouldn’t hurt to run by and give Boyd a heads up too. Assuming that she could get away from this shit any time soon. Somehow she doubted he’d try and follow her beyond the gate, but it was hard to be sure.

His insistence on talking to her like she was some dainty little thing was really grating on her last nerve. However, she was sure that was the whole point. More of him trying to get a rise out of her, and she was determined that he would not get that.

Holly remained silent, once again driving the blade of her shovel under the front edge of the block. This time, it pried right up, dirt crumbling and falling away. She set the shovel aside – purposely on her side furthest from him – and grabbed the block with both hands, lifting it free from the ground. It was tossed onto the ground next to another that she’d already dug out. She paused for a moment, letting out a breath, then took up the shovel again and began working on freeing the last one.

“Got lotsa folks livin’ up yonder. Couple redheads. Handful of mercs,” she paused, changing position to get a better angle with her shovel, “And plenty who don’t like Gunner filth stinkin’ up the commonwealth.”

Christ. What a tedious way to spend your afternoon, digging up fucking cinderblocks. Thank god he had people for that sort of shit, now. He didn’t look down on that sort of work - it had to get done, and he’d done plenty of grunt work himself back when he was green - but he didn’t miss it.

She looked at his hand, but ignored it, and instead used her own to wipe the sweat from her forehead.

A Major, huh? If they were out west she might have took him for NCR, but not here. No, he’d probably be a Gunner. She thought of Andy, and her stomach gave a twist. Her thoughts then shifted to Betty, wondering if this was the son of a bitch who’d hassled her some months back. If so, she’d not be happy to hear about this.

“Ain’t heard no compliments to take. And you can’t swing a stick without hittin’ a dozen folks who’ve had a rough life. Findin’ one that ain’t is like searchin’ for a needle in a haystack,” she scoffed. He’d be wanting her name in return, and she did not want to give it to him. Aside from the pasty faced shit, it had been quite a long time since she’d run into someone and didn’t want them to know her real name. Two years at least. Still, might be worth it to give him something if it meant he might stop calling her Princess.

“You can call me Annie Oakley,” she replied brusquely, still keeping her eyes on her work rather than Major Shitstain. It was always a gamble using that name. Some folks recognized it, others didn’t bat an eye  – the names of Old World sharpshooters weren’t common knowledge as far as she could tell – and there was no telling which one he’d be, “I been workin’ since I could walk, so I don’t need no help from no boy.

Vince weathered the lecture gamely, though the name she gave perked his interest. Now, he was no fucking historian, but he was a lot more well-read than most Gunners. He made a point of it - listening to old holotapes, perusing half-intact books in his downtime. Boring, but necessary. Kept him sharp, except these days his memory just wasn’t what it was, especially long term.

“Annie Oakley.” A creeping grin split his lips, showed that glint of gold towards the back of his teeth. “Now, where’ve I heard that...? Anyway, Annie, I get it.” He raised his hands in mock surrendur. “Don’t wanna risk cooties from the boys. Big, brave girl, taking care of the settlement all on her lonesome.” His gaze drifted back to the distant wall, to the shapes patrolling it. This wasn’t his first dealing with Sunshine Tidings. He pushed the cigarette from one side of his mouth to the other with a chuckle and a trickle of smoke.

As much as she might have wanted him to go, she hadn’t really expected him to. No, he’d stand around and badger her until he got bored. He wanted to get a reaction from her. Something to give him an excuse to do more than just stand there and make comments and call her stupid names.

“Ain’t never judged anyone on how they look,” she shook her head, now breaking up the dirt with the shovel blade, “I do judge the bullshit that spills outta their mouths, and yours reeks all to hell.”

There was a clink as the metal of the shovel struck a rock, and she paused to  pick it up and toss it over her shoulder, “I don’t like folks I don’t know. ‘Specially ones that don’t know what the word ‘no’ means.”

“Must’ve lived a rough life, ‘darlin, t’not even be able to take a compliment from a stranger.” He ignored the rock that bounces off to the side, cocking his head and watching her continue to work. “But if it’s strangers you don’t like, maybe we ought t’get to know each other, huh?”

His comments made her skin crawl and stomach churn. Holly instantly regretted having even left the house that day. Hell, getting out of bed now seemed like it had been a shit choice. She ground her teeth, still refusing to look at him. To her frustration, the cinder block remained firmly in the ground. Holly pulled the shovel free, and began digging some of the dirt away from the side, hoping that might loosen it some.

“Nope,” she tossed a shovel full of dirt to the side, putting just enough effort in that most of it landed on his boots, “And if you take a step towards me I’ll be swingin’ this shovel at your fuckin’ head.”

Oh, it was tempting to test that. A snicker left him as the dirt collided with his feet, as he made the bare minimum of effort to kick it back off. See just how quick he could get that shovel out of her hands, and -

But, no. Not so far away patrolled settlers, within easy sniping range of him, and he had no doubt they’d protest. This wasn’t some nameless, gullible little plaything he could neatly vanish. Certainly not in broad daylight, anyway. He didn’t step closer but didn’t seem particularly intent on moving, lighting a cigarette.