#mojavc

        deacon strikes an exaggerated pose, tossing his head as if to re-situate the ginger ( and gray, though he’ll never admit it ) stubble on his scalp.

Geckos were no problem usually-- but a pack of golden ones became a real problem up close. As much as Boone was best at range, he’d made a calculated decision once those geckos had swarmed around Sheila not far outside of Red Rock Canyon.  That decision had of course been to jump in, instead of to hang back and shoot-- too slow, to reload his gun and fire.

Boone had been rewarded with a spray of acidic spit as he clocked the gecko down with the butt of his rifle. Ultimately the beasts were down and tha’ts what mattered.

But there was still a significant burn up his chest and shoulder, one that burned part of his shirt to his sizzled skin. Still, what came out of Boone when they were finally away from the scene was to be expected. 

It’s the first Sunday of the month, which means she gets to enjoy the company of one Lily Bowen. They sit side by side as she dusts blush across Lily’s face. It’s these afternoons that are some of her favorites, where they get to do their faces up all pretty and walk arm in arm for sarsaparillas.

Nick wasn’t entirely used to going to another office rather than interlopers stepping through his door. Especially not lately. He’d taken an unfortunate spill a few days prior, and repairs on his leg were taking... a while. It sapped his motivation to get up and about every time he had to bargain for parts to make his knee work again. 

So he was hobbling when he sidled through her door; a courier, which was unfortunately what he needed, because at the moment he couldn’t do it his damn self. At least it was a dignified limp, if that was possible.

“Do the Minutemen suddenly employ Couriers now?”

THIS WAS certainly news to him, granted he wasn’t one to complain, BUT HE HAS to wonder how they’d navigate the COMMONWEALTH with everything that’s RUNNING AMOK. Especially given how dangerous the FENS were as well as how NOTORIOUSLY easy it was to get lost there. HE RISES from the chair was in, the SETTLER that notified him trotting back off to their business as he approaches.

In a forgotten lounge, a piano --- sun-stained. Lined in dust. 

A note rang out.

Warmth had begun to seep through his chest. He could imagine it: the morning sun, sluggish and drowsy, leaking past the curtains. Cinnamon, sweet, tickling his nose. And if Wallace suddenly stopped shuffling behind him, rummaging for whatever nameless supply or disappearing behind the bar, Ainsworth did not notice, his mind elsewhere for a moment, far beyond reach. 

【🔧】— What the hell kind of Mentats did that ghoul give me? Was her first thought upon being approached by a talking deathclaw. Scared out of her mind at first, managing to climb up the delapidated ranger’s cabin to keep away from it, after a few tests of conversation, she concluded that, hallucination or not, the mutated chameleon would do her no harm, so long as she stay as still as possible and kept herself on the roof of the cabin. 

        “I’m a lot bit than I look, shug, trust me,” she figured she might as well humor the hallucination by continuing to talk to it. Who knew, when she came off her high, maybe it’d turn out to actually be a handsome wild man or something.

        Cybernetic heart still pounding in her chest from the adrenaline, her eyes shifted over to the radstag carcass that was gutted open and hanging from the rack to dry the meat out. She figured, if this was indeed a deathclaw, that the blood dripping out must have attracted it.