The Double Agent

Tom: I am okay with this

@rydccr

“You go to those places, Ryder. You go to them.”

#look if you want im sure me and tom are ok with making this a group effort

Tycho chuckled and knocked back the rest of his drink. “Takes a helluva lowlife t’pull some brahminshit like that; kickin’ a girl while she’s down” He stood and stretched, several bones and joints popping and cracking under his armored vest. Slapping a handful of caps on the bar, he offered his massive hand to the girl “how’s a bout ya take yer bottle an’ I’ll help ya over to th’ medic to get those wounds cleaned up at least?” He asked,feeling genuine concern for the battered stranger.

“Naw, not flattery… plain ol’ truth,” he shrugged congenially. “Pretty face and one HELL of a pretty arm,” he added as he let himself gaze upon her metal appendage; it really didn’t bother him in the slightest to see when he found its very mechanics a wonder. It was rough at the edges, but it appeared to work smoothly in movement. Fine piece of craftsmanship right there.

He didn’t linger though, in case it made her feel insecure. “I could thrill you with PLENTY stories, Ryder, buuuuuut that’d be me braggin’, wouldn’t it? I don’t like to brag… that much. All you gotta know is I stole the tank and… well, it wasn’t that hard to do. Considerin’ I was technically still an… employee.” Mysterious, but let it be. He liked to keep people guessing, and he liked teasing their imagination too.

Catching the cap she flicked to him in a quick palming action, he laughed gently. “Hey, I AM a raider nuisance, kinda, but I’m DEFINITELY a tease. So? I can’t help it if I was BLESSED with this fiiiiiiine body, can I?” he grinned, a hand now teasingly trailing down over his chest and stomach, right to his belt, lingering, before pulling away.

He watched her hop on up to peek inside the hatch and down in to the cockpit - and by watching, he checked her out, just as soon as she wasn’t looking at him. Small but comfortable down there, neat, but reeking of his taste. There was worn leopard-print covering the chair at the control board for example, and little metal shards he had crafted in to bobble-heads. Evidence he certainly lived in there while travelling, folded blankets and distressed pillows lain beneath the tattered remains of the Commonwealth flag.

“Oh, you mean that thing that passed over, say… when was that? Maybe a few weeks back?” he thought aloud as he sipped his beer. He shrugged. “Looked like one big bitch of a thing, one big MEAN bitch, from what I saw anyway… I could be lucky and get a shot in, but like that would do any real damage; naw, I reckon if I fancied dyin’, findin’ that blimp would do the trick.” He wasn’t so arrogant that he would claim his tank could overcome anything. That was how you got stupid and dead, overestimating yourself and your arsenal.

“She’s got a name, yeah… bad luck not to have one,” he answered slowly then. As though his refusal to be specific was not incriminating enough, his sudden need to do something was worse. He set down his beer a moment, and felt the sudden urge to go over and check on the perfectly-working generator.