christopher turns the tables on butch since i've been thinking about them today. postgame events, i'm not proofreading anything and i'm going to bed !
βHow much farther?β Butch groaned, comically stomping his feet as if they weighed a hundred pounds. No one was laughing. The dog took the lead in this trek across the wasteland, Christopher and his ghoul bodyguard staying close by, while Butch dragged behind. βWatching the flankβ he called it. Christopher had insisted they stay off the roads, less likely to run into raiders, heβd said, wanting to keep his delivery safe. Butch assumed it was actually just to make his life harder, specifically.
βNo one asked you to come.β Christopher said curtly.
βHey, numbnuts, take those plugs outta your ears. I said how much farther.β
Without looking at Butch or his Pip-Boy, Christopher responded flatly, βthirty-six miles,β which elicited an even louder groan from Butch, who turned his attention back to where he was stepping, the terrain felt like it was becoming rockier by the second, and Butch still wasnβt as used to it as Christopher seemed to be. He came to a sudden stop after bumping into the Great Wall of Charon, whom he expected a nasty look from, but the ghoul had his gun trained on something.
The dog, Christopher, and Charon formed a bit of a loose circle around a man, standing in a dip in the rocks.
βOh, itβs youβ¦β The man grinned cheekily at Christopher, barely raising his hands above his shoulders. βI ainβt looking for any trouble today, hero.β
Itβs just one guy, who gives a shit? Butch thought, though the man was heavily armed, he was also majorly outnumbered, unless he had friends hiding in wait. Even more of a reason not to stir shit. Butch scanned their surroundings, waiting for Christopher to finish his friendly chitchat so they could get a move on, until the sound of a gunshot ripping through the air made Butch nearly hop out of his pants. He fumbled for his own weapon, but it was already over. Christopher held out his smoking pistol, and the man lay dead on the grown, along with his brains.
βWhat the fuck?β Butch sputtered.
βHe was too close to Little Lamplight.β Christopher replied flatly, as if he didnβt believe his own words.
Butch looked around to make sure he wasnβt the crazy one, but Charon was about as expressive as the dog. βYou just said it was thirty-six miles away. Man, you just killed that guy, dead!β
Christopher whipped around with a wild look in his eye that made Butch take a step back. Thankfully, he holstered his gun, but started advancing towards Butch, dropping one of the packages at Charonβs feet. Butch stood his ground.
βDo you even know why youβre out here?β Christopher demanded.
Butch blinked. ββCause weβre going to the cavesβ¦ the fuck areββ
Looming over him, Christopher leaned uncomfortably close, enough for Butch to feel his heavy, unsteady breath, his eyes nearly bugging out of his head. βYouβre out here because I knew you wouldnβt fucking make it. So why donβt you do what I brought you out here to do, and fucking DIE!β
Grabbing the collar of Butchβs jacket, they went tumbling to the ground, Butchβs head colliding with the rocks that were nearly breaking his ankles a moment before. His vision blurred, but he could make out Christopherβs silhouette against the overcast sky, and he almost couldnβt believe what he saw: Christy Callahan had a fist raised. Butch would have laughed if he had time to, before he felt knuckles crash into his nose. Eyes welling up with tears, he started swinging blindly, occasionally making contactβ¦ somewhere. Unfortunately for Butch, Christopher was utilizing the half foot height difference between them for the first time, delivering blow after blow with those awkward, spindly, Mr. Handy-esque arms he used to tease him for.
He could no longer hear the nonsense expletives they were slurring at each other over the sound of his heart pounding in his ears, and after a well placed hit to the jaw that made Butch crunch on his own tongue, he finally surrendered, covering his face and head with his arms as heβd watched Christopher do so many times before, but Christopher did not yield.
Suddenly it stopped, and Butch took the opportunity to spit out some of the blood pooling in his mouth. Charon had yanked them apart, in a rare display of free will.
βWho told you to step in?!β Christopher shrieked, stumbling forward to take a swing at the ghoul, who caught the punch and twisted his arm until he cried out. He shuffled backwards, doubled over and nestling his arm close to his chest, whimpering as he drew his pistol, raising a shaking hand to Butch, then to Charon, then back to Butch.
Spitting more blood that he couldnβt tell came from his mouth or nose, Butch rasped, βManβ¦ you lost itβ¦ youβre fucking crazy.β He felt Charonβs heel bump him in the leg, but he wasnβt even trying to be crass anymore, he had to call it like he saw it.
Christopher stood there a few seconds more, his pistol and his wide-eyed, tearful stare still trained on Butch. A few labored breaths later, he holstered it. Butch waited for some kind of closing statement, one last βfuck you,β but Christopher simply turned around, picked up the package, and kept on going.
As he struggled to his feet, his head swimming from the adrenaline crash, he noticed the ghoul following after him. βYouβre seriously still going with that guy?β
βIβve got a contract.β
