we'll meet again;

He had kept doing as the sniper had taught him, only stopping to get some guidance on targets, so Boone could spot for him— silently relishing in the attention and shattered sounds that came every time he’d made contact with another bottle. It was like he was chipping away at something bigger than just broken glass and shooting practice. He felt satisfied and unlike most days it hadn’t come from his FISTS, nor was it fleeting, at least he hoped it wasn’t.

But good things didn’t last forever, Six knew that much, still when he was done and looking back over at the other man, well; he felt like he hadn’t seen that expression before. It was one he didn’t quite understand, and it was hard to tell if Boone did either. The glass may have all shattered but the sound still remained.

“Think I already have countless times, didn’t really think it mattered much.” Until now. Again words are left unsaid but there’s an expression of something soft there on tired features. He hadn’t had anyone to stop him, there had never been a voice of reason and if his body could be used to feel anything at all and for something good, he’d thrown caution to the wind. Besides, fighting like he did had been the only thing he was actually good at; if he didn’t have that what else did he have? Well he supposed in some strange turn of events he hadn’t expected, he had a FRIEND.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think ya’ were worried about me, ‘fraid I might up and die, well don’t worry— God wouldn’t be so lucky and the Devil don’t want me.” But you do, right? So maybe I’ll listen, he thinks. There’s a playful smile on his lips, like he’d been deflecting anything too serious, only it’s followed up with surprise when Boone tells him they had a long road ahead.

We, as in the two of them, together; and they did— Roy asked him all the way back in Novac to come with him for that journey; killing someone for another man tended to bond folks in one way or another, and while Boone had told him this wouldn’t end well, his words now BETRAYED that.

“I’ve been on this road for a long time I guess, alone mostly and that’s been fine.” It wasn’t. “Never thought twice about how I did things, just did em’ ya’ know? But…” there’s a pause, an unmistakable HITCH of his breath.

Yet here they were, experiencing it anyway.

Boone got to his feet, but didn't move far-- he started digging in a pocket for a pack of smokes, and leaned to light one up. Courtesy had him offering one to the Courier a second later. Still, Boone didn't wait long before he did something significantly strange for him-- he started talking. "You said earlier, over coffee, that people... tend to look at you differently, when they know about Goodsprings. Treat you weird. I, uh... I get it. I really get it."

"...Nobody knew how to talk to me after Carla died. They didn't even look at me most of the time. They were scared. Didn't want to be uncomfortable, I didn't even blame them." He took a long drag of his smoke, frowning into it with a deep concentration. He hadn't talked this long in a long time. It wasn't easy.

Roy quietly nods, QUIET— something he usually wasn’t, but in the silence between them Roy thinks he finds some shred of peace, like he doesn’t have to fill the VOID with endless chatter. The Courier didn’t like to make promises, so maybe that’s why he doesn’t agree out loud; but the look in his eyes almost feels like that unspoken promise is surfacing, peeking in from brown hues to stare long and hard upwards at the other man as he gets up. 

Roy takes the offered cigarette, a filthy habit of the DEVIL his father would have told him— but he smokes them anyway. Part defiance, part addiction, but mostly because Boone offered it. He stays sitting down, holding up the cigarette to be lit up, not bothering pulling his own lighter out. He wonders if the places they’d left behind had been more stained with blood or littered with cigarettes— probably the former because as he’d learned any good sniper doesn’t leave behind evidence of them being there. He takes a long drag once the other man goes to talk. Thinks it’s already the most words he’s heard Boone say in…well, ever. If the subject matter didn’t feel so grim, the notion of that might have made him smile. 

He understood what Boone was saying probably more than the man could ever realize, when his niece had died…folks looked at him like a festering wound—averting eyes away from the shell of a person it had made him, then to only feel that way again after being shot. It was annoying, hearing Boone say he experienced that too— Six hated that for him. “Death sort of does that to people I guess.” He admits once Boone got quiet again. 

The Courier had tried not to take it to heart, how others could be, but… “life is complicated, it’s messy— scary and if ya’ can’t deal with people when they need ya’ without lookin’ down on them or not gettin’ into that uncomfortable mess with em’, well can’t say I have much respect for that way of being, even if I don’t blame em’.” Roy was never one for shying away from the uncomfortable realities that people went through, supposed that’s why he helped Boone in the first place, why he’d ended up inadvertently helping so many others and he hadn’t even had his revenge. 

“I used to think survival was the only thing left when bad things happened, when ya’ think ya’ don’t got nothin’ else to live for— maybe somedays I still think like that, it’s etched in there,” Six knocks at his head lightly, “but…mostly I think ya’ just keep goin’ cause if ya’ die maybe you lose what’s left in this world of the other people that ain’t around…that there’s gotta be somethin’ better to live for than just mullein’ about in your head or for folks to pity. The people we love are gone but doesn’t mean other people gotta lose somethin’ too if ya’ can stop it. If ya’ can actually look at folks instead of being scared…and… it doesn’t mean that the people that did give a shit about us have to have nobody to remember them, you keep livin' cause it keeps them livin'.” 

Roy didn’t like how the world turned a blind eye to him when he suffered, he refused to do the same. Was it harder? Absolutely, when he was in the thick of something to help somebody that put him in harm's way, sure but just saying, yes I’ll help— in that initial moment? There was nothing easier to him. 

“I don’t think you’d fall apart, for what it’s worth. Don't think there's anything wrong with fallin' apart anyway if ya' did. Think you're stronger than that though…hellava’ lot stronger than the people who wouldn’t even look at ya’ cause they didn't get you outta what eatin' you here.” Roy pauses, thumping at his chest. “You got you outta that and here...and If ya’ did fall apart? Well fuck em’ bunch of cowards. I’ll pick ya’ up till you got back on your feet, said yourself— we got a long road ahead.” Roy offers the softest smile he can, it wasn’t a look of pity or sadness directed towards Boone but of something genuine. Maybe the people that didn't know how to talk to Boone should have maybe just listened without fear or pity, maybe just been in the same room without feeling like he was something delicate to be SHATTERED when the glass had already been long BROKEN. Maybe they should have looked at that WRECKAGE and thought there was still something there. Because there was, there always was.

"There is a fountain filled with blood... Drawn from Immanuel's veins; And sinners, plunged beneath that flood, Lose all their guilty stains..."

The Ghoul's voice drifted along, a quiet rasp of baritone in the dry desert heat.

“The dying thief rejoiced to see…probably some fuckin’ bullshit in this wasteland, cause that looks like a fountain pourin’ from that leg of yours.” Unfortunately for Roy he remembers all the hymns he used to have to sing, the familiar words slip off his tongue like a poison he wanted to get out. His father used to sing hymns like that all the time too, wonders if the man is still HOWLING them from HELL, god willing, that’s where he was. Roy stars down at THE GHOUL before him as blood pools into sand— melting it away into a coagulated mess of the earth.

ooc: If you’d like to become affiliated with Roy feel free to LIKE this so I know you’d be comfortable with me coming to you to talk about it.

If we’re affiliated you can expect my undying love and chatter about our characters! Prioritized replies and ask memes, along with more focus on dynamics AND things like duel promos, more aesthetic graphics made and me getting art and graphic commissions of our characters/threads!

Roy hadn’t been the brightest bulb in the bunch, it wasn’t in his nature to think too much on most things, well until he had to in the moment anyway, yet he feels a little silly he hadn’t put two and two together sooner. Roy didn’t know all of the bigger picture of the Minutemen, at least when it came to their past, outside of what he’d learned from Jamie, or elsewise on the fly of just being around its people, he got enough of the jist to, well– know enough. That enough consisted of just how bad the Quincy Massacre must have been and how Preston saved the people that he could, it was commendable, the sort of thing that Roy respected; but… Penelope wasn’t her brother, maybe she’d surpass what people thought of him and maybe she already did for all Roy knew, or maybe she wouldn’t.

That was her life to live and her decisions to make, not his to judge or mull over. Roy wasn’t going to hold her to some standard that wasn’t hers to live. Much less assume she didn’t earn her way in the world, it was HER hands which toiled over training and HER determination that got her this far, otherwise he wouldn’t be talking to her now. His own mother used to always ask why he couldn’t be more like his brother, Victor– didn’t really think much about the man anymore, was probably long dead by now for all he knew…but he knew he hated that feeling, especially when he was the one who didn’t run away.

“Ya’ out in the Commonwealth all on your own then, after that? That’s impressive.” Leading people was one thing, being alone was another and he’d had a taste of both worlds– suffice to say both outcomes could eat away at the soul, being alone was just a different sort of GNAWING hunger, than say, having to hold people together. “Sounds like your story might be pretty crazy too, followin’ a radio across the wastes to find him. Last time I followed a radio anywhere– I got my hand lopped off.” Roy lets out a laugh, he doesn’t really find it that funny, but he sorta does and it’s the truth.

“Still the fact you found him, that you found each other…s’nice. Glad you got that, somethin’ good outta come outta the bad now and again, and findin’ each other in the wasteland, alive? Yeah, that’s the real crazy story.” Roy smiles, he liked happy endings, which may have come as a surprise to his often brash nature; maybe he was just a sap, a sucker for them, but it was better than the all too common alternative.

He laughs at the mention of thawing out Colonel Lawson, even snorting before his laughter subsides, “Yeah he’s definitely a good man, real warm personality to do that, that’s for sure, s’hard work but thankfully someone is doing it.” He shakes his head laughing a little again, while a fond soft sort of smile splays itself on his face, it doesn't really match his usual features. Maybe it was just because he didn’t think the Colonel was as icy as he liked to lead everyone to believe, or maybe it was because he liked to think he sort of saw the man under the ice, chipped away at it even. Roy had a funny way of doing that whether people liked him or not; he’d always try to bring out the actual person– for better or worse.

"I like to think that because of him, we were able to get the people needed to get where we are now. It's something to be proud of, and the benefits aren't half bad either."

SHE SAYS that with the knowledge that the Minutemen go forth on their own expeditions, she's hoping someday they'll even be able to venture into other wastelands and help anywhere they might be able to. Another pause comes and she stretches out a little.

"Aw I wouldn't say it's impressive though. Commonwealth's my home. I've lived here my whole life, so really surviving through it wasn't exactly anything special, and it helps if you know how to slip into the shadows you know?"

It was nice to know others understood the nature of the Commonwealth though. It didn't take a genius, but even the toughest survivors tried to act like it was a piece of cake when the reality was far less pleasant.

Roy couldn’t help but be passionate, he just didn’t know how to do anything in half measures. Be it love or anger, it's what made him an awful gambler if he was being honest– he was always all in. Which proved itself a double edged sword that he’d fallen on, when the HOUSE always WINS in the end. It was also however what made him for a steadfast friend, unwavering even when others might.

“Well I imagine I wouldn’t be here talkin’ to ya’ today if he didn’t, so I’d say so. Glad that’s the case on account of I actually like talkin’ to ya’. People here are nice enough, part of why I’m here– but I know I’m about as far removed from the usual type of guy people are probably used to here.” Well atleast on the side of the GOOD GUYS. Penelope had been one of the nicer folks around there and while some folks in the Commonwealth required more thawing of the ice and colder weather off, that wasn’t really a problem for Roy; he’d always been warmer in his own way after all. “I’ll have to take your word for it then, and maybe get a few pointers on the slippin’ through the shadows part.” He laughs, Roy could be stealthy when he wanted to be, but it was usually when he was so angry that being loud didn’t work anymore, or if he had to be for someone else. He really was enjoying his time here though, which both surprised and didn’t, surprised him because he had been worried about being welcomed back and now into the fold officially no less— and wasn’t surprised because he liked The Commonwealth. Liked it in the way he might even say that this was his home now, yeah HOME.

Part of him had maybe been waiting for the DROP of the hat, the part of the conversation that happened so often in his life where he’d get yelled at or told how he couldn’t do anything right. He knew Boone wasn’t like that, but knowing and experiencing had been two very different things for The Courier. Instead he is pleasantly surprised greeted to the other man telling him two words he wasn’t sure if he’d heard right, mostly because he never heard them at all; ‘It’s okay,’. There was that lump in his throat again. Nothing bad could happen from his efforts now, this wasn’t life or death and maybe someday it would be, but for now? It was okay. He hadn’t done anything WRONG.

He has to practically restrain his face muscles to keep himself from grinning wilder than he ever had before, and when Boone squats next to him, closer to him moving Six once more, he’s more comfortable about it after the words still ringing in his ears. ‘Good Job’ ‘It’s okay’ If he had a tail it would have been wagging as they both peered through the scope, normally too close for his comfort outside of a fight. The only fight he had was with himself after all, yeah— ‘You got this’ he repeats it to himself internally like a mantra.

“Thanks.” Six replies taking into what the other man told him to consideration as he looks ahead, letting himself take a breath. The empty his head part was harder, he thinks if the bullet to the head didn’t do that before, well— Roy zones out of his thoughts as he lines up the shot again. Another breath, this one STEADY and he holds it in when he FIRES, the gun kicks back, the scope bucks up but the glass SHATTERS and rings out again. He did it, Boone was right.

The Courier finally can’t contain his grin, giving way to a thump of the other mans back with his hand “You were right! I fuckin’ did it! Didn’t miss that time!” He barks with excitement exuding from every part of him. Roy moves to take the next shot like he can’t wait again, like he hadn’t missed before at all; like with Boone at his side he’d never miss again— and if he did? It was okay because the sniper had his back and he could always try again.

A hand lifted to gesture for the Courier to keep shooting as the sniper watched appraisingly, spotting every now and then to point out different bottles to target.

And only when all the glass had shattered did he look back to Roy, a glimmer of weary but soft green eyes behind the shade of his glasses. "...Seein' how you handled those Legionnaires was..." Boone sniffed derisively, turning his face up to the sun. "You're effective, but you're risky. Put yourself in harm's way too much. You're gonna get hurt like that, sooner or later."

And that scares me, came a silent sentence carried on the dry Mojave wind.

"Figure the least I could do for you is teach you how to handle it from a safer distance. ...We got a long road ahead. I don't want it cut short."

He had kept doing as the sniper had taught him, only stopping to get some guidance on targets, so Boone could spot for him— silently relishing in the attention and shattered sounds that came every time he’d made contact with another bottle. It was like he was chipping away at something bigger than just broken glass and shooting practice. He felt satisfied and unlike most days it hadn’t come from his FISTS, nor was it fleeting, at least he hoped it wasn’t.

But good things didn’t last forever, Six knew that much, still when he was done and looking back over at the other man, well; he felt like he hadn’t seen that expression before. It was one he didn’t quite understand, and it was hard to tell if Boone did either. The glass may have all shattered but the sound still remained.

“Think I already have countless times, didn’t really think it mattered much.” Until now. Again words are left unsaid but there’s an expression of something soft there on tired features. He hadn’t had anyone to stop him, there had never been a voice of reason and if his body could be used to feel anything at all and for something good, he’d thrown caution to the wind. Besides, fighting like he did had been the only thing he was actually good at; if he didn’t have that what else did he have? Well he supposed in some strange turn of events he hadn’t expected, he had a FRIEND.

“If I didn’t know any better I’d think ya’ were worried about me, ‘fraid I might up and die, well don’t worry— God wouldn’t be so lucky and the Devil don’t want me.” But you do, right? So maybe I’ll listen, he thinks. There’s a playful smile on his lips, like he’d been deflecting anything too serious, only it’s followed up with surprise when Boone tells him they had a long road ahead.

We, as in the two of them, together; and they did— Roy asked him all the way back in Novac to come with him for that journey; killing someone for another man tended to bond folks in one way or another, and while Boone had told him this wouldn’t end well, his words now BETRAYED that.

“I’ve been on this road for a long time I guess, alone mostly and that’s been fine.” It wasn’t. “Never thought twice about how I did things, just did em’ ya’ know? But…” there’s a pause, an unmistakable HITCH of his breath.