#aamusedly

It had taken Lucy a couple of days to feel like talking again: seeing her mother as a feral ghoul, learning that her father was behind that and Shady Sands, leaving Maximus behind, and everything else that Moldaver had told her was simply too much to digest. Everything about her life had been one lie after the other, or at least it felt that way. Still, there was a part of her that refused to believe there was only misery in this world: Norm had nothing to do with her father's choices and was waiting for her in the Vault, Maximus was still breathing, and there had to be hope for a better life now that cold fusion was active.

She was still quiet, besides a few words here and there to the Ghoul and to a few merchants they met on the road, but what truly snapped her out of her silent sadness was the dog, finally sitting close to her during a break to eat. It was a rather adorable animal when it wasn't consuming cockroaches, one she had only seen in old movies and journals, and she found herself rubbing his back, at first with caution but then more comfortably as the dog seemed all too happy to receive attention. See, hope.

The subway lights flickered at times, and in those brief moments he saw the people around him as disordered shapes in the fabulous darkness, minds compacted into a single space, just as his life had been before the summoning. The hot, bewildering crowds of this city, both above and below the earth, were the closest thing to home he could hope to experience. Though his “followers” wished to bring the unity of the Flesh into the mortal realm, and promised his return to the collective, he could scarcely believe them capable of either of those things. Not when they were all sealed into these blood mounds, separated from each other as individuals. 

Besides, the horror and loneliness of being birthed had irrevocably changed him. How could something that couldn’t and shouldn’t have existed return to a place that couldn’t, shouldn’t have been opened? Was he even the same thing he’d been before? Gabban looked around himself, perhaps that was the reason he’d left his entourage five stops back. While he mostly enjoyed their company, a handful of people at his beck and call wasn’t enough to fill the gurgling void between his teeth. He needed to see the masses and have a taste of what he missed! 

They told him, often, that it wasn’t safe for him to be alone among the humans. His strangeness was infectious, and too apparent for comfort. Though he clearly knew how to appear human, it wasn’t nearly enough to make up for his behavior. 

But what would they know of safety? None of them had yet to notice the stalker in their midst, or the fact they had been followed all throughout the day. Their senses were nothing compared to his, yet they pretended to be his guardians all the same. 

Gabban felt the tongues inside his midsection wriggle, they were nearing the end of the line and there weren’t as many humans as when he had escaped his party. It would have been right to catch the opposite train and apologize on his return. They must have been so angry at him by now. So he stood up at the last stop and got onto the platform, knowing that all the while he was being watched by someone. He wasn’t sure if to fear this person, or what fearing them actually entailed, so used to being the consumer and never the consumed. It wasn’t in his nature to feel or think like prey. 

But weren’t his human guardians as close to prey as anything else in this weak and frivolous dimension? If he led a hunter back to their den of soft bodied mortals, what would happen exactly?

The lights of the next train rounded the corner of the tunnel, and though Gabban meant to get on it, he felt the urge to step back instead. A few steps then turned into a full walk towards the exit, until he’d altogether changed his plans on a whim. Perhaps having felt protectiveness for the very first time. 

If anyone would have told him forty years ago that he’d be working on the wrong side of the law, Vincent would have passed off the statement as nonsense. That, of course, was before his capture and subsequent imprisonment at the hands of unethical scientists and the lack of any search for him. Enduring that for four decades would jade anybody to the goodwill of official authority.

And now he found himself working with a man who unexpectedly had endured a similar fate. Not that Vincent had asked for many details after Devil had unintentionally freed him from his isolated prison. He didn’t want to talk about what had been done to him; he wasn’t going to ask anyone else to do the same.

So here he was, creeping around what should have been a deserted warehouse to see what was being held inside. Hardly more than a ghost among the shadows, Vincent was often sent on similar stealth missions. His discovery this night was more than he bargained for. The warehouse, empty of people as it should have been, flickered with the dim lights of flashlights and hushed murmurs.

Aborting his mission he retreated before any of the unexpected group could spot him. Outwardly when he returned he looked no different than usual. Inwardly he had to admit to feeling uneasy. He didn’t hesitate as he hunted down the mutant that he strangely enough befriended.

Liriel and Elezar had been awaiting what was likely going to be a very swift execution when it was inexplicably delayed. Night had fallen by the time the door to the prison cell was opened and the warden escorted a much smaller figure in.

That figure turned out to be a particularly small drow, one that Liriel had gambled on arriving.

"I see you've dragged some other innocent victim into your schemes again, Liriel." Earawen placed a hand on her hip, looking over the pair.

"It was a case of mistaken identity on my part." Liriel explained. "And unfortunately the guards were more alert than I expected."

The cantina was new, built over the bones of a prewar store from the brick, wood, and concrete of its fallen neighbors. A wooden sign with Sagebrush painted in letters hung up front. There wasn't any electricity yet but that didn't keep it from having relatively good business as raiders, caravans, and mere travelers traded goods and filled their stomachs with food and liquor. It was a neutral ground of sorts, allowing various parties to meet for business or even find some new work as long as the rules were followed.

"Butter my ass and call me a biscuit," Faye exclaimed as a large grin broke across her face like wildfire. "Devil." She continued her path to the table the man was seated at and leaned forward, her right arm propped on the table as her left hand rested on her hip. A thrill coursed through her as she recognized the peculiar man as a raider she had had several exchanges with.

"How the hell are ya? Mind if I join ya?" She asked, already taking the seat across from him. He looked different in a way she couldn't put her finger on. He still sported the deathclaw horns his gang had been known for but noted he was no longer sporting the usual Chimera attire. "Don't tell me those idiots kicked you out."

the   wasteland   was   a   cruel,   inhumane   place   —   though   of   course   she   didn’t   know   any   better.   this   was   the   way   of   the   post   war   america   —   kill   or   be   killed,   or   at   least   have   the   caps   to   buy   your   own   life   back.   sure,   she   should   have   been   more   careful,   should   have   kept   her   sticky   fingers   to   herself   and   been   more   subtle   about   selling   what   was   taken.   but no   use   in   dwelling   on   should   have,   could   have,   would   have.   

so   she   followed   the   ghoul,   most   curious   company.   there   was   something   fierce   about   him   and   she   knew   if   she   didn’t   bribe   him   then   maybe   she   was   just   another   victim   to   the   wasteland.           

‘   cozy.   ’         she   says   as   they   enter   the   old   house,   dust   invading   her   sinuses.   she   finds   an   old   sofa,   quickly   dusting   it   off   with   her   sleeve   and   plopping   down,   throwing   her   pack   on   the   floor   and   blowing   her   dust-covered   frizzy   hair   out   of   her   face.   

‘   yeah   starting with   —   what   the   hell?   ’

eliana ignores all those signs. the exhaustion, the hollow ache in her belly --they're secondary to the mission ahead. she can practically hear her father chiding her for it, even though she knows he skipped a fair few meals in his life in pursuit of his goals.

she puffs out a sigh, squinting as an indistinct shape appears up ahead. she recognizes the busted up outline of a caravan cart, the lifeless mound of a brahmin and smaller, unmoving shapes that must belong to the owner and their guards.

it's nothing new, and still the sight only deepens the empty feeling in her chest. she approaches the remains of the caravan, noting with a sigh of relief that she doesn't recognize any of the pallid faces strewn about the ground. everything is picked clean. pockets out-turned, bags and wooden chests open, their less valuable belongings strewn about the dirt.

except ... except for a coffin, half in, half out of the caravan. marks on the side prove that someone tried and failed to pry it open. unable to stave off her curiosity, eliana approaches the casket.

she brushes her fingers over the lock. whatever's inside, someone wanted to keep it that way.

instinctively, she goes for the set of bobby pins in her jacket pocket and the screwdriver in her bag.

she works at the lock for several minutes before the telltale click! tells of her success. she rises back to her feet and flips open the lid, her expression contorting with confusion at what she finds inside.

@aamusedly (for Boone)

❝S’alot of Legion fucks supposed to be here, I can stir em’ up— like a cazadors nest, they’ll all come out. You could shoot em’ pretty easy that way and I could distract them. Well, unless you want to do things more quietly…I think balls to the walls gunfire would be pretty fun.❞ Roy grins, there’s a playful tone mixed into the seriousness of it all. He knows they need to get those soldiers out of the Techatticup Mine, he knows they will, get them out of there, alive. Promised Renolds they would, and Roy may have been many things but a lia-okay, so MAYBE a liar was also one but only sometimes, he was usually painfully honest.

He wasn’t lying though, he meant it when he said he’d do something, that much he always followed through with. ❝I see a couple outside now, we should probably take em’ out first.❞ He finally adds, eyes scanning the distance and the opening to the mines, the big wooden door was closed– which was good because it’d cover up some of the gunfire if need be. Roy hated The Legion, felt like they exuded a lack of personal freedoms he couldn’t abide by– sure to some degree the NCR could be like that but…that was a personal choice to take up the mantle of a soldier, not a slave. Roy would be neither, the difference between his allegiance laid in the fact he could respect the soldier and not the slaver. He supposed that’s why he liked traveling with Boone, respect. Roy honestly didn’t respect a whole lot of people, trusted even fewer but the sniper had proven time and time again to have his back even from a mile away– as long as he stayed on course, revenge.