#ntzsche dizz

Dust cake in the blood around his nose and mouth. The left side of his face felt stiff, but the pain hadn't caught up to him yet. The girl beneath him coughed, wet and choking. Her dirty face was flushed and vicious, her hands clawing up at him. He had a longer reach than her and reared his head back as he twisted the knife lodged between her ribs. She screamed and fought harder, desperate as an animal in a snare, blood quickly filling her lung. Dizz flinched as he became speckled in it when she coughed harder, blood bubbling up from her mouth and seeping between her teeth. Then she slowed, and as her eyes lost their focus he snatched the blade back to plunge it into her chest again, and again, and again, desperately for it to just be over.

The drunken, roaring applause of more than two dozen people drowned out her last gurgling breath.

Dizz stayed caged over her, chest heaving as he frantically looked around the arena for the next threat. The body of another child laid face-down in the dirt nearby, and after three rounds, no one else was shoved into the ring at him. It was only beginning to dawn on Dizz that he'd won when Sidney snatched him up by the shoulders and hauled him to his feet.

"I knew you had it in you, spitfuck!" the boy shouted over the din. Instinct had Dizz reeling back on him, but Sid caught his wrist before the knife got anywhere near him. Exhaustion was taking hold and slowing him down, and the older boy easily wrenched it from his grasp. Dizz watched him toss it aside - it hadn't been his in the first place. Sid couldn't stop grinning at him, his piercing blue eyes wild with glee as he looped an arm around his chest and dragged him from the makeshift arena.

"Pay up, bitches!" a large, barrel-chest man was reveling at the center of a dense crowd of raiders, few of which looking pleased. "100 from each of you twats!"

He didn't bother to look at the kids as they returned to his side, Sid easing Dizz down on a bench as he finally had the sense to contend with a deep cut across his calf that kept him from walking on his own. It was supposed to have sliced his achilles, and though it had landed too high, he couldn't use the leg. Dizz inspected the bloody, gaping wound with a grimace while Sid took his sweet time fetching a stimpack. He jammed in his thigh with no warning, and called him a pussy when Dizz cried out in surprise. 

There was so much dirt caked into the blood covering his body, drying it into a sticky sludge, making it hard to tell what was his and what wasn't. His adrenaline was still up, but without the momentum and distraction of fighting for his life, the injuries were making themselves known. His cheek was swelling beside a blackened eye, and his nose steadily dripped blood. These things were so common that it was more unusual if he didn't have a black eye or busted nose. The welts and slashes across his lean body were worse, but as the stimpack did its work, the lacerations grew tight and itchy as they worked themselves back together. Dizz gritted his teeth, hating the feeling almost as much as getting stabbed in the first place.

Only once he collected all his earnings did the large man turn to them. He looked Dizz over with a huge grin, making the hook-shaped scar running from one side of his mouth up to his ear crinkle.

Albert Jackson. "Smiling Jack," to his friends and acquaintances, but he was "Uncle Jack" to them. Dizz immediately dropped any hint of pain or discomfort from his face, head bowed slightly as he looked up at Jack from beneath a filthy mop of black curls. He knew a smile didn't make him any less mean. Even after his wins, even with his pockets brimming with caps, Dizz still didn't know if he had been good enough.

"Atta boy," Jack said fondly, giving him a rough shake by the shoulder. Dizz was a kid that didn't smile very often, and he wasn't any good at it. The smirk that dimpled his cheek didn't reach his eyes. "They didn't wanna play fair, sending in two after ya, huh? But I knew you were a demon, so I raised 'em double-or-nothing, and sure as shit you came through! You'll be eatin' good tonight, my boy!"

As he spoke, a stocky teen shouldered his way through the dispersing crowd to stand beside Jack, but didn't so much as look at Dizz. Nearly a man grown, Mutt was the oldest of them, and took post as Jack's bodyguard in case anyone thought about trying to get their losses back. A few moments later, a scrawny little girl with matted orange hair squirmed through the crowd to cackled at Dizz.

"I thought for sure your ass was done when that bitch pulled out that third knife!" Marigold grinned, words whistling through the gap from her missing front teeth.

"Mari," Jack reminded her, a sing-song tone in his voice as he held out his hand. Marigold went stiff, her smile gone, and whipped around.

"Just a little of this and that, Unc," she said in practiced nonchalance as she began emptying her pockets of all the things she had pilfered from raiders in the crowd. Caps, mostly, but a couple of mags of ammunition, a few explosives, a gold watch and a sturdy bowie knife. Marigold was still too little to be of any use in the pits, but she was tenacious and earned her keep in other ways. Despite her young age, she knew that being a wiry, crusty, gap-toothed little kid wouldn't spare her from what became of most girls who were alone in the wasteland, and was keen to never give Uncle Jack a reason to turn her out.

She held her breath as Jack considered the haul thoughtfully, then nodded his head. He wasn't impressed, but his good mood extended unexpected mercy. "Always put business first, baby," he said, and her shoulders relaxed. She turned back to Dizz, looking him over and was about to say something else when Jack declared they were leaving.

Dizz was lucky he turned to lead them away, because when he stood, he nearly blacked out. Sid was quick to catch him under his arms before he hit the ground. Glancing up quickly, Dizz felt only momentary relief before his eyes met Mutt's, the older boy smirking maliciously. Just behind him, Marigold pretended she hadn't seen a thing.

"Next time you oughta keep more blood in your body, dipshit," Sid said cheerfully, steadying him until he found his feet again. "You'll get the hang of it."

That night, in the derelict old house they bunkered down in before heading back home to the half-collapsed block of apartments the rest of Jack's gang inhabited, Jack made good on his word. He used a gemerous portion of the night's earnings to reward Dizz with a huge slab of steak, eggs and tatoes, with a luke warm beer to wash it down with. It was more food than he might see in a week. As ferociously as Dizz jumped on the spread, he was well aware of the target on his back as the other kids looked on - they had been told to fend for themselves, like usual. Jack announced he was going out for a drink, commanded them to stay put, and left.

Mutt was immediately on the other side of the table, staring down at the younger boy. Dizz paused, chewing slowly as he glared right back.

"You hot shit now, huh?" he asked, a mean smile inching across his face. He had a webbing of scars across his cheek and jaw, and his mouth didn't move much to that side. "Just because you didn't die tonight don't mean you won't die next time. They went fucking easy on your virgin ass."

Dizz watched as he plucked up the larger portion of the steak he had only just cut into. Mutt took an exaggerated bite, gnashing with his mouth opened and smirking when Dizz did nothing to stop him. He was at least five years older than him, and while Dizz was unusually tall for his age, Mutt still had at least 50 lbs on him. Even if he weren't exhausted and injured, he couldn't beat him in a fight. Mutt seemed appeased when he didn't rise to the bait, and as Dizz glowered up at him, he laughed and swiped the beer before walking out.

Sidney was more patient. He even smiled in inauthentic surprise and appreciation when Dizz split what he had left. It made Dizz furious to watch his hard-won meal dwindle to almost nothing, but he reminded himself that things would be different now. Dizz knew he hadn't just survived the pits, he had excelled. He had made Uncle Jack happy, and he would be more inclined to favor him now, to train and feed him and give him shelter. Sidney would take credit for his success, but even that would benefit Dizz. They were close in age and equal in size, though Sid was a bit older and sharper while Dizz was cautious and baby-faced, still growing into his increasingly lanky body. Rather than compete with each other, they would form an alliance now. Sid had promised as much - so long as Dizz won his fights. It had been a struggle for him to hide how desperately he wanted the older boy's friendship as they trained. As ravenous as he was after tonight's fights, Dizz would pay his dues.

When the screams finally subsided, the wet crunching of flesh and bone made the swill Lafayette had been throwing back all night roll in his belly. He never thought of himself as someone who was particularly sensitive to violence or gore, with how he grew up hunting and all the other shit he'd been through, but the intimate sounds of an enraged gatorclaw eating a pair of poorly-armed slaves alive had his hair standing on end and stomach beginning to heave. He had to get the fuck out of here, but he had to time it right, play it off. He knew he was being as closely watched as ever.

Porter Gage lounged boredly beside him. He had been making a half-hearted attempt to distract him with some wild account from his youth. Lafayette hadn't been listening. His dad and Mason both stood nearby, their backs to them. Dizz gnawed at the scorched limb of some strange creature the raider gang bred beneath the amphitheater, his appetite unphased, and Mason leaned against the high fence of the cage as he watched his new pet. 

The Overboss had a different tactic for handling the leaders of each gang, but despite how amicable they seemed now, he took particular joy in humiliating Mason. In the most recent of a long series of backhanded transgressions, Dizz had led Porter and Lafayette on a good old fashioned hunting trip, just the three of them, to clear out Safari Adventure. He had been putting pressure on Mason to do some real work himself, but the man had decided to act like the Overboss still needed to prove something to them. The Pack assumed they would receive the larger portion of the park zoo, especially since the Operators had already been granted the Galactic Zone and the Disciples were given Dry Rock Gulch. Instead, the Overboss assigned it to the Operators, and he didn't even give Mason a chance to be angry about it before the three of them returned with perhaps the last surviving gatorclaw as a consolation gift.

Not only was the Pack incapable of clearing the park out themselves, but Mason couldn't have pulled off capturing one of the monsters, much less made it look so easy. Dizz was bigger, fiercer, bolder, even more scarred than the Pack's alpha. He took out the previous Overboss while Mason was only posturing. Porter had been delighted to spread the old rumor to the Pack that the new head hancho's shredded face was from fucking a deathclaw, and they ate the story up. It served to put Mason's claim of biting the paw off a yao guai to shame. Mason dismissed the story as an obvious joke, but when the three of them strolled into the amphitheater that night, Dizz and Lafayette leading a bound and exhausted gatorclaw by its duct taped muzzle, there was no doubt in anyone's mind who the strongest among them was. Even his fresh-faced son stood at a close second, above Mason.

As they partied that night, Mason's amicable demeanor would occasionally slip when he thought the Overboss wasn't looking. Dizz must have felt the daggers glaring into his back, but it made him all the more relaxed, as if encouraging him to try something. They both knew an open confrontation wouldn't end well for Mason, no matter how angry he got. Porter was quick to point out each subtle passive aggression to Lafayette, and was far more entertained by that than the cage fights.

"My girl is still starving, look at her!" Mason loudly announced, words slurred. He had been tempering his rage with alcohol and jet, which left him leaning heavily against the top of the fence and well within reach of the gatorclaw. He was lucky it was still preoccupied with rooting around in the bloody crumbs of its last victim. "She's wasting away. Someone bring 'er another snack!"

"We're all out, boss."

"How the fuck did that happen!?"

"We were running low on captives after last night. You want someone to buy some more from the market?"

"Nah, fuck it," Mason said with a dark grin. He had spotted the red glow of one last collar after all. 

The Pack didn't keep slaves around for long. They might use them for a day or two, however they saw fit, but they always met the same end. Lafayette had heard there were dungeons below the amphitheater where they would handcuff captives to the bars while whatever starved beast they were training to fight ate them alive. No, when the Pack felt like having a party, they would rent a few whores from the brothel in the Parlor, and usually send them back in one piece - the Operators would expect them to pay extra if they didn't. This late in the night, they had all been dragged off to some place or another, all except one. Lafayette had noticed him briefly earlier, the back of his strawberry-blonde head bobbing between the legs of some stupid-looking raider in a horned stag helmet huffing jet in the stands.

Mason sharply whistled for his attention. "C'mere, boy. Yeah, you! Bring your ass, I got a job for you," he grinned. 

The slave was young, heavily freckled but attractive by Nuka-World standards. Even with his messy hair hanging in his face it was clear he was stoned out of his gourd. He hadn't a goddamn clue what was happening, and despite it being obvious that Mason meant him harm, he began to walk over willingly. He even smiled.

"Wait!" Lafayette found himself shouting. Everyone jerked their heads up to look at him after he'd spent half the night sullen and quiet. Dizz glanced over with a look of warning, eyes narrowed as he tore another bite off the large charred bone in his hand.

Lafayette turned his best lecherous grin on the slave as he passed, reaching over to grab his wrist and yank him closer. "Sorry, Mason. I been waiting my turn for this one."

"Hey, no worries, Junior," Mason sneered with an annoyed smile. "Just let me get him when you're done."

"Nah, man. I'm gonna take him back to Fizztop and call it a night," Lafayette said, standing to throw an arm over the guy's shoulders. He took great care to not touch the explosive collar on his neck - even being this close to one made him nervous. "Why don't you try one of your ghoulrillas? There were enough of them living in Adventure Zone that I bet it would make a more interesting fight."

"Shiiiit, that's a goddamn good idea!" The drunk man grinned before he turned sharply to shout after the other raiders, "Steg! Go get Motherfucker! And give him the super sledge!"

"Well now, your boy's finally gettin' laid," Porter chuckled to Dizz, walking over to elbow him in the arm. "Guess all that father-son bonding cheered him up after all."

"About damn time," Dizz chuckled. When he held Lafayette's gaze a beat too long, Lafayette knew he had seen right through him.

Lafayette didn't really give a fuck. He would keep up appearances in front of the gangs because it wasn't just bad for his dad's image, it was dangerous for him, too. They had already demanded he be put through the gauntlet and he had done what he'd needed to to survive, but he was still a target. His father, however, couldn't expect him to become a different fucking person since then.

Lafayette was also pretty pissed at himself again tonight, because their hunting trip in Adventure Zone earlier that day had been fun. It felt like old times. His dad was laid back, less on edge and exhausted as he had always been when Lafayette was a kid. He seemed to trust Lafayette to hold his own now, let him do things his own way. Lafayette still didn't have a high opinion of Gage, but the older men joked and hooted as they worked their way to the basements of the cloning facility, killing everything that moved, and Lafayette got caught up in the thrill of it. He laughed at their banter, and soon any time his dad clapped him on the back or threw an arm around his shoulders, Lafayette had found himself grinning right back.

It was hard to maintain that you were being held against your will when you got happy your goddamn daddy was paying you some attention. Sure, the man he was now was closer to what he always should have been - warmer, more relaxed and agreeable, believably paternal. The years of living on the bare minimum, then the psycho addiction, had done a number on him, but Lafayette would never write off all the awful fucking things he did because of it. He saw enough of his swagger around Nuka-World to know Dizz was still every bit as capable and willing to do all the same things, and more. He was the same man who torched settlements, hung people off overpasses, and collared people into slavery. He was the same man who helped carve Gabe up and beat the brakes off of him just for fun, and would have otherwise put Luvell in a collar without a second thought.

He was at home, here.

Lafayette was relieved when they all just let him walk out of there, for more reasons than one. To his credit, the guy under his arm kept up with his longer stride well for as inebriated as he was. His eyes were as pale as his skin, indiscernible in color, and his pupils blown wide.

"Did you say we were going to the top of the mountain?" he asked with a grin, a hand petting up Lafayette's chest to toy with his nipple through his shirt.

"Uh, yeah," Lafayette said, glancing around before pushing his hand away. He hadn't exactly expected a slave to be so forward, but every inch of this place was crawling with raiders right to Fizztop. There were few places in this whole goddamn park that Lafayette didn't have eyes watching his every move. He would have to keep up with the charade until they were inside.

"What's your name?" Lafayette asked, and this time he let the man's skinny arm wrap around the small of his back, fingertips sneaking into the waist of his jeans.

"Dandy," he said with a stifled laugh, like he was telling a joke.

"Dandy? Like the apples?"

"Dandy like the apples," he grinned. "And they call you Junior, right?"

"They call me that," he scowled. "But my name is Lafayette."

"Mmm, La-fa-yette," he sang softly, both hands now heavily petting Lafayette's torso beneath his shirt. Dandy bit his lower lip and purred, "What are you planning to do to me tonight?"

"Knock it off," Lafayette said quietly, the two still not past the Disciple's lair.

Dandy flinched at his tone, his hands withdrawing and his gaze dropping to the ground immediately. "Yes sir, I'm sorry."

Lafayette felt awful. He sighed and squeezed the man's shoulder. "It's alright, just.. wait until we get up there, and alone. Then we'll talk."

Dandy didn't say anything the rest of the way. Lafayette kept an arm around him, holding his body close, and led him through the lobby and up the back elevator. He didn't often have Fizztop to himself - he didn't really get much privacy at all, but once they stepped off the elevator he relaxed.

"You hungry?" he asked, letting the man go.

"I'm fine."

"You sure?" Lafayette lingered. He had seen how the slaves got treated, what they were fed. Being from the brothel he might get a little better than the usual, but he sure didn't look like it. Dandy shook his head, looking around as if he expected someone else to be there. He still wouldn't meet Lafayette's eye.

"Well.. let me know," Lafayette said, unsure himself. "My room is over here, the kitchen is that way down the hall, and the bathroom is over there. The water works, if you need a shower or anything."

That seemed to pique his interest a bit, but still he walked to the bedroom. Lafayette followed him and lingered awkwardly in the doorway. When Dandy started to strip off his shirt he quickly said, "Hey, no. That's not why I brought you here."

Dandy lowered his arms, his thin white shirt taut between them. "What do you want me to do?" he asked carefully, chancing a brief look back at him.

"Fuck if I know," he sighed. "We're not having sex. Just.. hang out, for an hour or two? Or the whole night, whatever. Eat something, take a shower, whatever you want. My dad and Porter will be back before too long, though, and once they do you should stay in here with me."

Dandy stood there, blinking slowly. Lafayette wondered if he was too high to even understand what he was saying, much less shower or eat. "Or you can just sleep. I only got the one bed, so we gotta share but.. No sex."

"Wait, what?"

"You'll be safe if you stay the night here. And you can look at me. Fuck, I hate this fucking place."

Dandy slowly looked up, his hazy expression still baffled. Lafayette huffed in frustration and reached over to hit the light. There was a string of christmas lights along one wall, casting the room in dim but colorful hues. After closing and locking the door with a set of hooks and a chain he had hammered into the wall himself, Lafayette walked to the other side of the bed. He turned away to take off his jeans, and climbed into bed in his shirt and boxers.

"Get some rest, Dandy," he prompted him, dividing his pillows and shifting to one side of the bed to make space. Then he rolled over, facing away from him.

He listened to Dandy breath in the quiet room for a minute or so. Then there was the sound of fabric hitting the floor, and eventually he felt the mattress shift as the other man climbed in next to him.

…….

A few hours later, Dandy woke up, and hadn't the slightest idea where the fuck he was. There was the broad back of a very tall man beside him, and at first he guessed it was the Overboss. He'd blown him once, back when he was first getting to know the gangs and Mags wanted to make a good impression. The man never gave him a second glance, but Dandy distinctly remember that he was fucking hung. His head was pounding, but his body wasn't any more sore than usual. He was only missing his shirt, and the other man looked fully dressed. 

He carefully sat up and slid off the mattress, shifting the bed as little as possible. It was Junior, he realized, getting a better look at him in the dim lights. It still didn't make any sense that he would be in the guy's bed without feeling wrecked, though. Dandy didn't puzzle about it much more, tugging his shirt back on and checking his pockets. 

He only had thirty caps. He couldn't go back without one hundred and fifty. Maybe one-twenty, if he could sweet talk his way out of a beating.

He cursed under his breath and looked around. He still didn't know where he was, though now he assumed it was somewhere above Fizztop. The room was jarringly neat, for a raider. The floors were swept, furniture sparse but uncluttered. It took him a few minutes of creeping around, nearly holding his breath in the quiet space as he slowly eased open footlockers and drawers, making sure to put everything back just right. When he found a small fortune of caps, he grabbed two handfuls before he managed to check himself. If he robbed Junior it would be a goddamn death sentence. No, he would just take one hundred. Maybe one-twenty, just what he needed. He probably wouldn't even notice, right?