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| The Lonesome Road | |
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| Tweet Topic Started: Dec 13 2017, 09:06 AM (170 Views) | |
| azstarael | Dec 13 2017, 09:06 AM Post #1 |
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"Got a light?"
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Compassion is a vulnerability. Vulnerability is a death sentence with an undetermined date. The farm was a good ten miles behind Claw by the time the sun reached its zenith. She’d struck out into the open desert grassland without looking back, repeating a single word to herself every time her thoughts tried to drift back toward the house and its occupants. North. Claw walked at a brisk pace through a whole lot of nothing except grass, the occasional cacti or other succulent, the soft hiss of wind across the desert and the ever-present hum of insects. No drive, no goal, no idle chatter or tuneless whistling to combat the quiet, whispering sounds all around. She couldn't tell which were natural, just the shifting of vegetation in the breeze, and which were her purely in her head, her own guilty, self-accusatory thoughts. North. She was still trying to parse together why every step seemed heavier than usual, why something felt wrong as the miles drug on. Claw had never been one for sentimentality. Even as a child, she’d had no interest in emotional relationships. She had cared for her parents, certainly, but they were the only two of countless people she’d met who received more than a cool, distant demeanor at best. For the most part, it was cold indifference or outright disdain. When she’d struck off on her own, there was no tearful goodbye on her part, and an inability to comprehend why they seemed so sad, her father especially. “Take care of yourself, Emmie,” he’d whispered into her hair, voice thick with unshed tears. “You watch your back, always. Understand?” “Sure, dad,” she’d replied, voice muffled by his chest as the man held her tightly, as though she were about to blow away in the hot grassland breeze. “I can handle myself.” “I know you can, sweetheart.” He finally released her, ruffling her hair with a small, watery smile. “But you’re my little girl, and I’ll always worry.” “Well, stop it,” she told him irritably, smacking at the offending hand. “I’ll be careful, and I’m smarter than any of those dumb-fucks out there, anyway.” She received a sharp smack on the ear in return, offset by the much more cheerful grin that had spread over her father’s face. “And watch that goddamned mouth, young lady. You’ll end up in real trouble if you keep that shit up.” “Wonder where she picked up that habit,” Emily’s mother interjected dryly. The woman, short and thin, dark hair pulled back in a tight, no-nonsense bun, raised an eyebrow at her husband. Her face was equally thin and fine featured, a stark contrast to her husband’s substantial height, broad shoulders, blonde hair and a shaggy beard framing a square, good natured face and easy-going smile. Her expression was cool and collected as ever; ‘She gets it from you, Laura,’ was a recurring statement in regards to their child’s generally distant personality. The woman made her way over and laid a gentle hand on her husband’s arm. “Get the food started, Richard. I’m going to walk with her for a bit.” “Mom,” Emily groused, “I just wanna get going, I’m losing daylight.” “Well,” Laura nodded once, “then let’s get going.” “Goodbye, sweetheart.” Richard didn’t bother trying to keep the break from his voice as the two set off into the open plains. “I love you. Good luck, and stay safe.” “Love you too, dad.” Emily paused briefly to wave back, pointedly ignoring the tears running down his scruffy jawline. “I will. Promise.” Claw was vaguely surprised she remembered that day with such clarity. Most of the time after that was a blur of walking, hunting, more walking, even more walking, and the occasional job from anyone who’d hire her. She remembered very few of their faces- they’d been inconsequential, a means to an end, that end being ‘not dying’. She adjusted the pack on her shoulders, caught a brief glimpse of the yellow blossom tucked into the stitching. A stupid, toothy grin, young angular face marred with scars, an irreparably crooked nose. Long, raven-black braids strung with the odd bead and vertebrae segments. Claw pushed the unbidden mental image back down where it belonged, buried and ignored. North. The women walked in silence for a good half mile, wind hissing through the grass, sun beating down relentlessly as always. Emily had to fight several times to keep from looking back toward the camp, her father, the gentle old Brahmin lovingly named ‘Steaks’, her entire life until now. She wondered why her mother had insisted on coming this far, and was about to ask, when Laura stopped. Emily did the same out of instinct, looking up questioningly. “Sit with me for a minute,” Laura said, not so much a request as an order. Emily rolled her eyes, but plopped into the tall grass, hands up in a ‘yeah, what?’ gesture. “I’m very proud of you,” her mother said softly, taking a seat beside the girl. “I always knew this day would come, you’re too smart, too curious, to live the kind of life your father and I have.” Laura sighed, long and nearly silent. “But some foolish part of me hoped I was wrong. I’m not asking you to stay with us,” she continued, running the back of her hand down Emily’s cheek, “but I am asking that you don’t let those traits, the ones that make you the strong, amazing girl you are, get the better of you.” “What do you mean?” Emily’s brow furrowed. “Being curious means you learn things. Being smart means you can put them to good use. I don’t see how-” “That’s because you’re young,” Laura interrupted, a small smile creeping over her tanned, weathered face and crinkling dark brown eyes. “There’s such a thing as too much curiosity, and as for that brain of yours?” She tapped her daughter lightly on the forehead. “You’re smarter than most people, you know it, and that’s going to land you in serious trouble if you don’t learn some humility.” “What,” this was hardly the conversation Emily’d expected to have, “I should play stupid? Pretend I’m one of those bumbling idiots who couldn’t tell a brahmin’s ass from its heads without sniffing first?” “Most of the time?” Laura shrugged. “Yes. Humans are cruel, petty creatures, Em. They don’t like being made to feel inferior. Especially not from a little girl.” That earned a very sour scowl. “I’ll keep growing,” Emily insisted, not certain who she was trying to convince. “I just got stuck for a little bit, like dad said.” “You’re fourteen,” her mother stared her down flatly, “and haven’t grown an inch since you hit puberty. The fact of the matter is, you’re stuck, period. And that’s another reason I worry so much.” Another soft sigh. “You’re an easy target, honey, or at least that’s going to be the general consensus. Which is another reason I wanted to talk away from your father.” Laura swallowed hard, and Emily felt a seed of unease sprout in her stomach. “Mom, I can handle myself, you remember when that shithead from the water caravan wanted to start something, and I broke his nose so good they had to-” “That,” her mother interrupted again, “was one teenage boy.” Laura unclasped a small pouch attached to her belt and pulled something out. “We keep moving for a reason, we deal with as few people as we can for that same reason.” “Because people are the worst?” Emily guessed, earning a rueful chuckle. “Yes.” The smile was gone in an instant, the look on her mother’s face one Emily had never seen before. Her expression remained stoic, but there was a deep sadness behind her eyes, and a glimmer of moisture that hadn’t been there a moment ago. “Take this, keep it somewhere safe. Make sure you can get to it immediately, no matter the circumstances.” Emily extended her hand automatically. A tiny vial was placed in her palm, the contents a vibrant blue-green with an opalescent tinge. A little nub on one end could be extracted, a minuscule pinprick of a hole on the opposite. The girl stared at it for a moment, then looked up at her mother with no small degree of confusion. Laura ran a palm across her eyes before taking a deep breath. “That’s a very powerful toxin,” she explained, her voice going from its usual calm, no-nonsense tone to thick and strained, as though she was having to force each word out. “Pull the plunger to prep it. Press it back down, the needle shoots out and the poison is injected immediately.” Emily’s brow furrowed as she continued to examine the little device. “Mom, why…I don’t understand.” “And I hope you’ll never need to.” Laura drew her into a crushing embrace, cheek resting on Emily’s head. “It acts almost instantly, and the process doesn’t hurt. You’ll go completely numb, and then your heart will stop.” The girl jerked away, staring at her mother with abject confusion. “What are you talking about?” she demanded. “The neck will be quickest,” Laura went on as though Emily hadn’t spoken. “Anywhere you can reach will do, though.” “Damn it,” Emily spat, losing her already-fragile patience entirely, “why?” “If a time comes when you need to use it,” her mother whispered, “you’ll know.” That did nothing to answer her question, and Emily told her so. “Because,” Laura’s chest hitched briefly, “the world is unfair, people are cruel, and there are some out there that make the word ‘cruel’ a pale comparison.” “I can handle a few assholes, and if I get attacked by a bunch raiders or psychopaths,” Emily shook her head briefly, “what’s the point of killing one and making the rest angrier?” Laura took a slow, measured breath, then exhaled shakily. “It’s not for them, baby.” A tear spilled down each cheek as she cupped Emily’s face gently in both hands. “It’s for you.” The sun was setting to Claw’s left. It was about time to find a campsite and settle down for the night. She’d have to make due with cold food; a fire was too conspicuous, no matter how carefully it was concealed. That meant an equally cold, miserable night, but she’d dealt with it before and would assuredly have to for some time. Steering clear of any beaten paths would make her harder to track. It didn’t negate wild animals or wandering raiding parties. She finally found a decent spot in the form of an ancient cottonwood tree. She’d spotted the goliath from miles away, and from the looks of the massive thing, it had been standing since before the bombs. The dry riverbed it grew beside was nothing but a gulch of puzzle-mud and a few sad weeds, but the tree itself had flourished. From what she knew of the species, the roots ran deep enough to hit the water table despite the arid surroundings, but she had no interest in the ‘how’ of its tenacity. Her only concern was getting up high enough to be out of sight and reach. It took a few circles around the massive trunk, examining the lowest branches, before she finally found a few good handholds in the rough, peeling bark that allowed her to scramble up. It was times like this she didn’t hate being so small quite as much. She found herself a decent-sized crook about halfway up, settled her gear, and curled up as tightly as possible in preparation for a long, uncomfortable night. She really ought to eat, but didn’t have the mental energy to bother. She’d gotten used to having a watch, being able to sleep without every noise jerking her out of a light, fitful doze. Impossible to tell if that sound was approaching footsteps, or two branches tapping together in the breeze. Were those coyotes yammering in the distance, or the screams of a raiding party on the hunt? Distant gunshots, or just her imagination? She missed- No. She’d gotten complacent, comfortable, and now it was biting her in the ass, just as she’d feared. Claw had been more or less on her own for the better part of fourteen years, and done just fine for herself, with a few exceptions… She wasn’t going to think about those, either. Had worked too hard to bury the memories. Perfectly capable on her own. Smart, perceptive, quick, a wide range of knowledge and the means to implement it in the face of adversity. Being cold, sleeping on a knot in the tree branch that was probably going to leave a crick and a bruise, those were minor inconveniences. And yet, for all the unsettling noises, the breeze whispering through leaves and grass, it was too quiet. No low humming, no whispered one-sided conversations, no soft scrape of knives being sharpened for the umpteenth time. She was not lonely, Claw told herself forcibly. Just out of practice. It would pass. She’d forget him, just like she’d forgotten all the others. Something small, glowing dull red, flashed in the outermost range of her peripheral. Her eyes snapped toward the source, hand on her bow, to see… Nothing. A hissing, slithery voice whispered in her ear. Betrayer. Filth. Wind in the leaves, nothing else. She was just tired, her nerves were still shot from the ordeal in the Boneyard. She was not going crazy, had nothing to be ashamed of, he would be fine- Until she finds him. And she will find him. “Just tired,” Claw muttered out loud. She sat up, rubbed her chilled arms briefly, and dug into her pack. The bottle came out, and a good portion vanished in short order. She’d have to hope she came across a settlement or a caravan soon; it wasn’t going to last much longer. The woman curled up again, tucking all the way into her clothes and wrapping her arms around herself. Not her problem. She hadn’t asked for any of it. A cold rock settled into her empty stomach even as the alcohol spread warmth through it. Ignore the rock and sleep. Another long day of walking ahead, she needed to forage, hunt, keep moving, keep surviving. After a long time and plenty of shifting to find the least uncomfortable spot, she finally managed. As Claw dozed off, the whispering leaves began to sound more and more like voices, accusatory, mocking. Ignore them all. It was a cruel, unforgiving world, but she would do whatever was necessary to keep existing in it. If that meant looking over her shoulder constantly, sleeping in trees, cold, cramped and alone, so be it. ‘You’ll make acquaintances,’ her mother had told her, ‘even friends. But if it ever comes down to it, your life is the only one worth saving. Sacrifice is a noble endeavor. Nobility doesn’t keep you alive.’ The night was pitch black. No moon, the boughs and leaves blocked the stars from sight. Claw shivered again, desperately trying to ignore the phantom feeling of a long, scrawny body that was so fond of using her as a heating pad. |
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Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode) S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5 Perks Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant Equipment: Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet Armor: Duster coat (Poor Condition) Reputation Bucket Town (-30) Claw (Companion) S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2 Perks Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman Equipment Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition) Armor Desert Clothing (Poor Condition) Nicholas Stahley, level 1 S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7 Perks Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner Equipment Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun Armor Dirty Pre-war Clothes | |
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| azstarael | Dec 15 2017, 11:27 AM Post #2 |
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"Got a light?"
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Nonsensical, fragmented nightmares filled her sleep. She was haggling for a brahmin, but it had a birth defect, only one head and five tails. The owner staunchly refused her offer of a single mutato, oblivious to the fact it was worth more than his entire herd. They got into a shouting match, the man demanding to know why she’d burned down his barn. Claw was trying to explain that it was full of spiders, and she’d done him a favor, when she saw something moving toward her with incredible speed, a black, roiling wall that some primal part of her knew she had to escape. Her feet told her to run, but were rooted to the ground as a massive wave of water crashed over her head. She spun and whirled out of control, no idea which way the surface was. Drowning, she couldn’t swim, water filling her lungs- through the inky, turbulent depths, something huge was coming for her, indistinguishable except for a maw of sharp teeth the size of her forearm. She had to get away, but she was sinking, down and down and down, until there was nothing but blackness. She hit the bottom, her feet sunk into mud, thick and viscous and impossible to move through. She tried to lift her foot, the leviathan creature was up there, searching, hunting, she had to get away but only sunk down farther. It knew where she was. Claw tried to scream as a massive eye, bigger than she was tall and glowing bright, neon blue, locked onto her as she struggled helplessly against the mud holding her fast. Its snakelike body was too vast to comprehend, stretching out endlessly, winding effortlessly through the water faster than anything that colossal had a right to. The mouth opened, a yawning cave of saw-edged teeth. She tried to shut her eyes, but they refused, she could only watch as the jaws snapped shut, crushing every bone, eating her alive- The monster, the water, were swept away with a blast of hot, putrid air. She stood on an endless, empty expanse, completely naked, surrounded by nothing but perfectly flat, blistering-hot dirt. The wind scorched her bare skin, the sun burned as though she were standing in front of an open furnace. Some part of her knew this place, this awful Nothing of fire and death. Demonic, clicking laughter. Tattered black rags whipped and snapped in the burning air. The demon-woman had no eyes, just puckered skin pulled tight over empty sockets, but she saw. Blades glinted in the dull orange light, and the creature sprinted for Claw. Nowhere to hide. Nothing to protect herself. She would die here, there was no way out, it was forever, but she had to run, nothing to do but run, even as strips of skin blackened, charred, and began peeling off the bottoms of her feet. It spread up her legs, her entire body, she was burning alive. The inhuman laughter echoed all around. Claw reached for her face to find half the flesh gone. Her hand met bone, an empty eye socket, and the hand was missing its pinky finger. The dirt opened beneath her feet, and she fell into blackness. Nothing to grab hold of, she couldn’t see but rather sense the bottom rushing up at her, she was helpless, tried to scream, and the sound stuck fast in her throat. Her voice was gone, stolen by the darkness that pressed on her from all sides, crushing, a living entity of pure malice. Alone in an empty room, no doors or windows. Dull gray, featureless walls formed a perfect square. She pounded against them, kicked, threw her entire body behind trying to break them down, but there was no escape. A small crack broke open in the ground, and tiny, metal insects began spilling out, quickly covering the floor, rushing her in a tide of razor-sharp claws and mandibles. They swarmed up her body, she felt them begin to burrow into her skin even as she frantically tried to brush them away. They were impossible to remove, just dug into her hands as well, all the way to the bone. She fell, was being devoured from the inside out, they were in her throat, behind her eyes, ripping, tearing, shredding. Another room, this one full of old, broken furniture, choked with dust and reeking of decay. Someone was missing, someone more important than anything in the world- her son. Where was Ryan? How could she have forgotten where she’d left him? He would be hungry, cold, someone else would find him, hurt him, she had to remember, he was somewhere in this filthy room. Claw searched frantically, overturning broken sofas, throwing aside tables as ice-cold fear threatened to overwhelm her. A trapdoor in the corner. She needed to run, but there were weights on her feet, she could barely move. She tried to scream, felt the air leave her throat, but she had no voice, heard only one sound. A baby crying, weak and pitiful. He needed her, she had to get to that door, but the floor was behaving strangely, stretching out farther and farther with every step she took. The crying was growing weaker. Fading. She had to run, please run, her baby was in danger and it was her fault, she’d failed him. “Ryan!” Her voice finally returned, and she could move again, sprinting through dust and dry rot to the opening in the floor. She threw back the door, and stared down at the dead, blue-lipped corpse of an infant. His entire body was covered in stab wounds, face shredded almost beyond recognition. Claw knelt down and reached for the body. If she could just hold him, it would be all right, her baby would be all right- The infant’s eyes snapped open, and they were white. Dead. It let out an unearthly, demonic screech, baring rows of teeth like tiny daggers. “It’s okay,” Claw whispered, reaching for him, it was still her son, she just had to hold him and everything would be right again- Her fingers met gooey, decaying flesh, sinking right through to tiny, tiny bones. She picked him up, and he was crying again. A few maggots crawled from sunken, blue-black eye sockets, wriggling across his tiny face and back up his nose. “Shhh, shh shh,” Claw held him to her breast, her son was hungry, she had to care for him, protect him- The razor-sharp teeth latched on, ripping at her flesh, but that was all right, she was holding her baby and he was going to be all right- The infant was whole again. The wounds, decay, were gone. No maggots, no teeth, but he was stiff, unmoving. Cold, as though she were clutching a block of ice. “Ryan!” Claw screamed, pure agony lancing every part of her body as blood spilled from her ruined chest. It dripped on his pale face, stark crimson against the sickly gray pallor of death. She didn’t have to look to know the Watcher stood just behind, red eyes boring through her. She tried to shield the dead baby from view, don’t let it see, if it didn’t know she could bring him back. Sleeping, just sleeping- “Please wake up,” Claw whispered, cradling the cold, stiff body against her. “Please wake up, baby.” The Watcher laughed. Filth. Monster. Failure. A long, black tentacle crept over her shoulder, another wrapping around her throat. It was coming for her child, she had to protect him, run, hide, but her entire body was paralyzed. Claw tried to scream. ‘No, NO! Get away, you can’t have him!’ The cold appendage around her throat squeezed tighter, cutting off any attempts at sound. The other slithered carefully, almost tenderly, around the dead child. She had to hold on, couldn’t let that thing take him, not her baby, not again, please God not again! Everything went pitch black. Her arms were empty. An anguished, tormented scream finally tore from her throat as the darkness, heavy, inky, suffocating, pushed her to the ground. Two glowing red pinpricks were moving away, the only thing she could see besides the all-consuming black. Screams filled her ears. Pleas for mercy, of dying men resisting the inevitable, children sobbing for their parents. Claw was still screaming as well, unable to hear herself over the cacophony of torment. Filth. She stared down at the dying hunter for the barest thread of a second. His face twisted in shock and pain, ribcage collapsed, gurgling weakly as his eyes pleaded for help, for an end to the suffering as the enraged boar closed the distance rapidly. Claw turned and ran, hands over her ears, trying and failing to block the sounds of her companion being gored, torn apart, eaten alive. She didn’t remember his name. Monster. ”I want my mommy!” the scrawny, filthy little girl screamed, high and frantic, as her hands were bound tightly behind her back. “Shut up,” Claw snapped, and struck the child mercilessly across the face. The crying rose in pitch, a chorus of others nearby as the crew finished binding and securing the group. “Good haul,” her fellow slaver said with satisfaction, tying a rope around the sobbing girl’s neck and yanking brutally. “Gonna be a nice paycheck, eh?” She’d never learned their names. Failure. “Wake up,” Emily begged, clutching the tiny boy against her chest, clinging to some nonsensical shred of hope that her own warmth would flow into the cold, stiff body. That his face would go from pale, sickly blue back to its usual rosy hue, that those eyes would open, he couldn’t be gone, not after all she’d been through, he was the one good thing to come from that time in Hell, he was- Dead. She remembered every face, the foul miasma of a tiny prison. Stale liquor, rotting meat, unwashed bodies and a lingering stench of every chem conceivable. Every time her legs were chained akimbo to the cell, the mocking, jeering laughs, the biting, scratching, of being absolutely helpless against the beatings and excruciating pain as she was violated, over and over. That awful pressure, like a hammer was smashing her insides just below her navel. “That’s right, little bitch. Scream for me.” Back in darkness, though a dull, fiery glow was emanating from somewhere. She could see the beast now, surrounded by dull, ethereal tendrils of gray smoke. It continued to glide backward, glowing eyes piercing her very soul, holding her baby, taking him away again. She reached out, and the Watcher vanished. The screams grew louder. She was teetering on the edge of a bottomless pit, losing balance, about to fall, fall forever with nothing but mocking, grating laughter, the shrieks of agony and betrayal, filling her head. Claw woke up flailing, heard herself making high, sharp noises of panic, and barely managed to keep herself from tumbling out of the tree and twenty feet to the ground. She scrambled back against the massive trunk, still half-asleep and filled with blind fear, struggling to breathe as the last of the screaming faded. It was early morning. Light enough to see, though the sun hadn’t cleared the horizon yet. Claw pressed her face into both hands and let out a deep, shuddering breath. The nightmares were already melting away, the panic subsiding, leaving her hollow and exhausted. She had more than a few scrapes where she’d thrashed against the tree, and could feel a few nasty bruises starting to form. ‘Fucking nightmares,’ she thought bitterly, scrubbing the heels of her hands into her eyes. Might as well not have slept at all. Really ought to eat something, but the very thought was disgusting. Instead, she grabbed the bottle from her bag and took a harsh swig. Calories were calories, she told herself, knowing exactly how stupid that was, too mentally exhausted to care. It took a few minutes for her hands to stop shaking enough that she was more or less confident she’d reach the ground on her feet instead of her face. Once the shaking had reduced to a light tremble, she shouldered her gear, made her way back down the way she’d come, muscles protesting every movement from having been cramped in unfortunate positions all night. She dropped the last five feet, took a deep breath, and glanced at the eastern horizon. The sun was just beginning to creep over, a sliver of molten gold against the otherwise dull, dead landscape. ‘North,’ she told herself, staring across the vast, empty expanse of yellow grass. Her feet didn’t want to move, the residual terror and anguish from the nightmares trying to root them as deeply as the ones of the tree she’d slept in. Her feet were not the boss of her. One more long, harsh gulp of alcohol, and she forced herself into motion. She would not think about the recurring nightmares, she would not think about how there’d been no one to shake her awake this time, no scarred face frowning in bewildered concern as it demanded to know if she was all right. ’North.’ |
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Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode) S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5 Perks Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant Equipment: Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet Armor: Duster coat (Poor Condition) Reputation Bucket Town (-30) Claw (Companion) S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2 Perks Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman Equipment Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition) Armor Desert Clothing (Poor Condition) Nicholas Stahley, level 1 S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7 Perks Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner Equipment Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun Armor Dirty Pre-war Clothes | |
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| azstarael | Dec 18 2017, 10:09 PM Post #3 |
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"Got a light?"
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Miles passed beneath her feet as the sun slowly traversed the sky. Claw traveled across hard ground as much as she could, doing her best to avoid soft soil and sand. As few footprints as possible. Detours around particularly thick patches of grass, don’t create a trail of bent stalks. Keep away from plants that might catch on her clothing, leaving fibers or broken branches. Being a tracker herself gave her an advantage in staying discreet, but it did nothing to ease her boredom or paranoia. Claw lit her fifth cigarette of the morning, part of her wondering when she’d come across anything more interesting than plants, rocks, and dirt. The other part desperately hoped ‘not at all’. Being bored was an inevitability, but underlaid with the constant fear she was being followed, instinctively looking over her shoulder every few seconds, was a maddening contrast. She was starting to understand why Spike was so antsy all the time. Claw shook her head, hard and twitchy. North. She needed to focus on her surroundings, not that ganky beanpole of a man-child. It would only make the knot in her stomach last longer. That only set her contemplating why it was there at all. How many times had she wanted to know of herself, ‘why did she care?’ It certainly wasn’t his charming personality or engaging wit. Claw found herself thinking back to some of their all-too-frequent arguments, mostly revolving around eating, basic hygiene, his infatuation with dangerous chems and proclivity for throwing himself head-first into easily avoided trouble. She was self-aware enough to realize that was the most likely reason. Being around him made her useful. Important. She had a purpose other than her own continued survival. He was competent enough in a fight, had managed to scrape by on his own for who only knew how long, but it had taken a heavy toll. She remembered quite clearly the day a filthy, scarred face had poked into her tent, greeting her with a request for chems. That same afternoon, finding him in the middle of an overdose, being ready to kill him herself, talked out of it by an unsettlingly friendly man to whom the emaciated dolt happened to be cousins with. For being so vast, she mused idly, it was a small world. Months later, and he’d gained weight, had an easier time focusing, was more likely to think for a second before launching himself into a fistfight. Unless, of course, it was coming to her defense, or when he’d had enough of her caustic attitude. Even by Wasteland standards, he was a bit of an oddity. Typically good-natured, underlaid with an explosively violent temper, the triggers varying with no rhyme or reason. She knew there was something psychologically wrong with him; the insistence that he was haunted by a dead brother strongly suggested some form of schizophrenia, the dependence on mind-altering substances and his unpredictable mood swings more consistent with bipolar disorder. The aversion to food could be any number of issues; physical or mental, she had no way of figuring out. All in all, he was a mess, but kept on a short chain, had been improving, however slightly. Claw wondered how long it would take for him to devolve back into a self-destructive whirlwind of bad decisions and total lack of common sense. ‘What did I just say?’ Claw mentally chided herself. ‘North.’ She shifted her pack to a more comfortable position, took a long drag off her cigarette, and found herself making another sweep across the area. Still empty. Unless someone was hiding in ambush, of course. The thought was a recurring one, and even though she hadn’t seen a single sign of life apart from a few warrenworms, lizards, and distant brahmin, it had her already-frazzled nerves on the breaking point. A goal, that’s what she needed. Without one, she was just walking, aimless and paranoid. At the moment, it was all she could do. She tried to think of her best bet- Her head snapped over her shoulder yet again, hand on her bow; what was that noise? They’d found her, be ready to hit the dirt and start shooting- A bird squawking in the distance. Claw growled quietly and pressed on. Not that the fear wasn’t warranted, but she was going to give herself a heart attack if she kept this up. Another drink was contemplated, but she finally decided the lack of tremors would have to suffice. This wasn’t the time or place to get properly sloshed; staying on high alert took priority over numbing her buzzing nerves and anxiety. That, and she was starting to run low. Claw wasn’t overly familiar with this part of Texas, but did know of a few larger settlements in the area. Brick was several day’s travel to the east, but much too close. She would bet all her meager belongings that questions were already being asked around town, and Claw knew she was unfortunately easy to pick out of a crowd, unless it was a flock of children. The Crag was quickly dismissed as well. Still too close, and there was probably an informant or three in place long before she’d gotten into this whole mess. So, for the moment, still nothing. Just keep walking. She ground out the dead cigarette butt on the bottom of her shoe before pocketing the filter. No evidence. Keep the trail clean. More hours, more miles, passed as the sun crept across the sky. Her stomach growled insistently, but she wasn’t hungry, or at least in no mood to eat. Remind you of someone? That infuriating knot clenched a bit tighter. ‘Fuck off,’ Claw mentally snarled back. ‘Rationing. Long trip, don’t even know where I’m fucking going, eat when I need to.’ And now she was snapping at her own common sense. She clenched her jaw, glaring at nothing, and quickened her pace slightly. Just focus on the only goal there was. Ignore the hunger, the sensation of sand in her eyes and the muddled feeling in her head that was getting stronger all the time. She’d need more alcohol before long, her legs were starting to get a bit unsteady… Don’t think about the limited amount she had left, either. She’d deal with that problem when the time came. North. *** It was mid-afternoon when the monotony broke in the form of a shallow pond. A mound of raised earth surrounded it on all sides, obviously man-made. It was greener here, more plants, more birds and insects. Thick foliage on all sides took advantage of the standing water, thorny shocks of tangled mesquites, swaths of grass nearly as tall as she was. The perfect place for an ambush. Laying flat, she crawled slowly up the incline, listening for any unusual sounds. It was hard to focus past the buzzing in her skull, but the sounds of nature were promising. Birdcalls from the thickets, insects chirping and humming, typically meant nothing was around to disturb them. All the same, Claw paused at the top of the little hill, squinting down at the mud on the edge of the water. Much less promising. It had recently been churned and agitated by something heavy; several somethings, from the look of things. The occasional hoofprint could be made out through the little hillocks and gouges, a few disturbingly large pawprints, and several human tracks. She spotted the mostly-devoured corpse just a second later. Brahmin, from the looks of it. Claw chewed the inside of her mouth as she contemplated the scenario, trying to replay it in her mind through the evidence left. Stockpond, obviously. The piles of dung all around spoke to it being well-used, meaning there was a herd that frequented the area. The pawprints, the decimated leavings, meant a predator had set up nearby, taking advantage of the water to lay in wait for the inevitable prey drawn to it. She was tempted to get a closer look, natural curiosity demanding to know exactly what kind of predator. It would also be incredibly stupid on her part. Humanity had once risen to the top of the food chain and taken a firm hold. When the world ended, they’d been knocked down a few rungs, and this was not the time or place to tempt a hungry…whatever it was. Unfortunate. It would have been nice to get out of the sun, pick a few of those cattails, get some fresh greens after weeks of dried meat and a few shriveled vegetables. Not worth the risk, though. She made to stand up, picking a decent trail that would give her a wide berth around the pond, when the ground collapsed out from under her. She’d been resting on a lip of hardened dirt, and the shift in weight had caused it to cave. With a yell that was equal parts surprise and anger, she tumbled down toward the pond, landing in a graceless heap amid several large Brahmin pies. She scrambled up, swearing angrily as she swiped at the mud she’d been coated in. “Oh, of all the fucking bullshit,” quite literally, in this case, “of course, great, this is just great, now I get to walk around smelling like a goddamn Swamper, where the hell am I supposed to wash off, gonna chafe goddamned everywhere-” Her one-sided tirade broke off shortly as a sudden realization cut through the indignation. The area had gone silent. The birds, insects, all quiet, nothing but the soft sounds of grass waving and- An almost imperceptible shuffling from a thicker stand of shrubs. The quiet snap of a few branches breaking as something large slunk through the foliage. Claw froze for a moment, her blood turning to ice in her veins, heart leaping into her throat as it skipped a beat. ’Shit.’ The singular thought was all she had time to process before something long, lithe, and much, much too fast leapt from the bushes. A dark tan pelt, spotted with lighter patches, had kept it perfectly camouflaged in the dappled sunlight streaming through the brush. Powerful legs coiled, two-inch razor sharp claws extended as the Hellcat cleared the small pond in a single leap. A bone-shaking, nerve-flaying caterwaul made her ears ring as the beast landed, yellow eyes locked on the meal that had so thoughtfully thrown itself into range. Every rational thought was knocked clean out of Claw’s head, except one. Run. She dropped her pack and bolted. It was a futile effort, and part of her knew it. Her legs refused to listen, had taken her into a dead sprint before she’d even gotten her bow in hand. The small incline out of the pond area suddenly seemed like a mountain. Instinct, years of hunting and hard-learned lessons about becoming the hunted, had her whipping around just before she reached the mounded earth. As feared, the Hellcat was practically on top of her, one massive paw raised, elongated teeth bared. Claw was pretty sure she was screaming as she fired. It was hard to tell past the white noise of pure, blind terror in her head as she literally stared death in the face. The bolt found home in the feline’s shoulder, another ear-splitting roar making her teeth vibrate in her head. It stumbled, swatting furiously at the offending projectile, giving Claw just enough time to scramble up and out of the depression. Run. Run! There wasn’t time to reload. She was as good as dead, but stubbornly refused to accept the inevitable, not yet. She needed a place to hide, somewhere defensible, where she could…do what? Nothing but open desert, no defense, no cover, as though it would have done her any good. The Hellcat would be able to climb anything she could, there was no back-up to distract it, she was going to- Trip over a rock obscured in the grass. She hit hard, knocking the wind out of herself, crossbow flying several feet away as she lost her grip on the weapon. Chest heaving, fighting for air, Claw leapt up, immediately stumbled, and fell again when her left leg refused to hold any weight. She’d sprained her ankle. As though luck hadn’t shat on her enough for one day. At least, she found herself thinking, a hysterical laugh catching in her throat, she wouldn’t live long enough to be bothered by the injury. Another furious, screeching roar. The bolt had slowed her pursuer somewhat, but it was far from done with her, and now angry to boot. Claw whipped out her knife, scuttling backwards through the dirt, prepared to go out fighting. She wondered if it would be quick, or if the Hellcat would toy with her first. Cats were fond of playing with their prey before making the kill, and given the way things were panning out, it seemed the most likely probability. Sure enough, the claws retracted as it loped toward her, one paw dragging slightly. She swung frantically, managing a shallow cut across its chest, before it swatted her in the ribs. The impact was like being hit with a sledgehammer. Awful, crushing pain as the last of the air was driven from her lungs, denying her the tiny solace of a scream. The best she managed was a wet, strangled wheeze, the last of her functional thought wondering if she’d just had a few ribs broken. She lay in a crumpled heap, staring for a moment at the dingy brown sky, before massive jaws latched around her shoulder. She was shaken a few times, teeth sliced through flesh and muscle, before being released back to the ground. She hated being right, sometimes. Pain, terror, as her body instinctively tried to drag itself away. Another swat to the opposite side, throwing her face-down in the dirt. She managed to turn her head just in time to see the claws, another screeching caterwaul making every muscle freeze, before they struck her face. Blood spurted, she was half-blind, the wounds were like white-hot brands. This wasn’t happening. Couldn’t be real. She was having another nightmare, it was the only explanation as time slowed to a crawl, the fanged mouth open in front of one functional eye, she could count the individual strands of saliva as it went for the back of her neck. The knife was still in her hand. She twisted in the dirt, teeth grazed her throat, and she swung upward with every ounce of strength she had left. The blade buried itself deep under the Hellcat’s jaw. It screamed in rage and pain, she lost her grip on the blade, and a paw as big as her face pinned her firmly to the ground. Not dead. Just angrier. Blood pooled in the parched dirt. Yellow, slitted eyes met her own, the woman staring back in a final act of defiance. She was out of options, helpless, but her good arm was still trying to punch the leg holding her, refusing to stop battling the inevitable. She didn’t want to die. Had to fight. God help her, anyone help her, not like this, left as nothing but another nameless scattering of bones in a world choked with them. Couldn’t breathe. Shoulder and face on fire. Putrid breath in her face, or what was left of it, she was scared please, God, saints, anyone- “NOW!” A voice belted out, barely registered through the terror and agony. Several high-caliber shots rang out almost in unison. The Hellcat screeched again, head whipping around; the weight was off her chest, several deep gouges left in its wake as the creature spun toward something on her right. More gunshots. A much weaker, almost pitiful mewl from the massive cat. It stumbled, sagged, and suddenly collapsed on top of her. Shock was setting in quickly. Claw couldn’t feel her extremities, seemed to be watching the world through a strange, blurry lens. Voices, words her brain refused to turn into anything but incomprehensible noise. She ought to be able to understand, something was wrong, why was she so cold? The weight lifted, though she still couldn’t breathe. Her chest felt like it had been crushed, no room for air, lungs hitching feebly. Each futile attempt was a knife twisting deep inside. Air, she needed air, but it hurt. Air wasn’t supposed to hurt. “Goddamn well got you this time, didn’t we, motherfucker?” Another voice. More senseless noise. “Poor kid. The hell you think she was doing out here?” “Like I’d know any better than you. Runaway, probably.” Air. Please, air. “Doesn’t matter now, help me get ‘em on Gracie.” “What should we do with the body?” A noncommittal sound. “Leave it for the buzzards. Got enough to worry about without digging graves for strays.” “Don’t be an ass, Bernie,” snapped a different voice. “Poor thing led Ol’ Sumbitch right to us. Least we can do is give her a proper send-off.” “Then you deal with it. I want to get home before dark, get this thing skinned and gutted.” A loud huff, then a face in front of her own, a woman, frowning sadly. “Sorry, kiddo. Wish we’d been able to-” The frown shifted to perplexed, then the woman’s eyes went wide. “Bernie! Jeff! She’s alive!” “The hell?” Quick footsteps rushing toward her, barely audible over the blood pounding in her ears. “You sure?” “She’s breathing! Get the kit, now!” “Well I’ll be goddamned. Wouldn’t have thought there’d be any way in hell-” “Move, you horses ass!” Blackness spread across Claw’s sight, the pain still radiating from her chest, shoulder, and face, even as the rest of her seemed frozen solid. The sensations were beginning to fade into blissful numbness. More frantic words, distant pressure on her wounds. She was hauled off the ground by a pair of strong arms. “Fucking bullshit,” someone muttered, “probably won’t last the trip,” and then there was nothing but oblivion. |
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Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode) S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5 Perks Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant Equipment: Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet Armor: Duster coat (Poor Condition) Reputation Bucket Town (-30) Claw (Companion) S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2 Perks Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman Equipment Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition) Armor Desert Clothing (Poor Condition) Nicholas Stahley, level 1 S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7 Perks Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner Equipment Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun Armor Dirty Pre-war Clothes | |
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| azstarael | Dec 26 2017, 04:12 PM Post #4 |
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"Got a light?"
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“The tea tastes like shit.” Claw came back to the waking world with a wave of pain crashing over her. She resisted the instinct to groan and lay perfectly still. Where the hell was she, and why did it feel like she’d just been run through a meat grinder? The memories came flooding back. Hellcat. Indescribable, all-consuming fear. Strangers, two of which were talking in the background. “That’s ‘cause it is shit.” A woman’s voice, low and quiet, with a deep Southern drawl. “What’d I tell you ‘bout checkin’ for mold?” “Can it, woman,” a man, the other voice was a man, “it’s too early for this.” “So help me, I will feed your breakfast to Ladybird. Quitcher bitchin’ and get out there, them critters ain’t gonna feed ‘emselves.” The quiet bickering was nearby, overlaid with a soft clanking of metal on metal and a crackling fire. The strong, aromatic tang of creosote and more earthy smell of aloe filled her nose. Claw opened her eyes Eye, only one was opening, oh God- A crack, otherwise staying motionless, trying to get a look around without alerting anyone that she was awake. A small room, dark but for flickering firelight from an undetermined source. A few pieces of sparse furniture, mostly handmade. The rough brick walls were hung with various animal heads, two stuffed Bighorners and a coyote, several large bobcats, and a few Brahmin skulls painted with geometric designs. She was lying on the floor, several thin blankets between her and the dirt, another bunched loosely around her. A loose, oversized dress had replaced her clothing, protecting her modesty if nothing else. Considering other places she’d woken up in without knowing how she’d gotten there, it was actually rather cozy. Claw might have been able to appreciate it, if it didn’t feel like there was a boulder on her chest, fiery knives in her face and shoulder. “Need to go foraging soon,” the man’s voice spoke again. “Running low on scratch.” “Tomorrow,” the woman replied. “Don’t forget t'check the haystack, Bebe’s hidin’ her eggs somewhere again.” “Hey, ma,” a much younger male voice piped up from just behind her, making Claw jerk in surprise. “She’s awake.” A sudden clank of something metal being set down in a hurry, and a second later, a pair of concerned blue eyes, distinctive crows feet in the corners, were right in her face. “Don’t let breakfast burn,” she shooed distractedly in the direction of the young voice. “Miss, can y’hear me?” “Ugh,” Claw grunted eloquently. The woman smiled, squared face framed by mousy, curly brown hair. “Good, Ol’ Sumbitch ain’t knock your senses out. I’d ask how you’re feelin’, but I’m bettin’ that’s a pretty stupid question.” “Where’m’I?” Claw slurred. “Who th’fuck’re you?” “Name’s Lindsey.” A warm hand pressed lightly against her forehead. “You’re at the Double H ranch. Ain’t much to look at, but we got a clean well and enough food to manage.” She turned away for a moment. “Bernie, I said getcher ass out there. I weren’t jokin’ about yours.” A sarcastic “Ma’am, yes ma’am,” in reply. “Sure they’re starvin’ to death as we speak.” Claw couldn’t see anything of him besides a pair of worn, dirty boots as the man passed by and a door creaked open. It slammed shut behind him, making Lindsey roll her eyes. “That’s my good-fer-nothin’ husband Bernie. Ain’t a bad man, but I don’t keep a flame under his ass, he’d waste the whole day sittin’ on it.” Claw blinked a few times, still disoriented, in too much pain to move any more than that. She had a lot of questions, very little thinking power to process them, and settled on the most worrisome. “My eye,” she croaked. “Can’t see. Did…is it-” “Y’still got both,” Lindsey assured gently. “Barely. An inch over, and you’da lost it. Ol’ Sumbitch gave you a proper thrashin’, but if infection don’t set in, you’ll be right as rain soon enough.” Claw let out a shaking sigh of relief, and instantly regretted it when her chest flared with hot knives. Linsey must have seen the grimace, making a soft shushing sound. “Don’t move, much’s you can help it. Far’s we can tell, ain’t nothin’ broken inside, but it’s gonna hurt for a bit. You’re black’n blue from the waist up.” The woman smiled again. “Got damn lucky, all things considerin’.” “Yeah,” Claw ground out, “lucky.” “Eggs’r done, ma,” came the young voice again. “Thank ya, sugar,” Linsdey told him distractedly. “Eat fast, need y’out in the pasture today. My son, Conner,” she explained. “His uncle Jeff’s ‘round here somewhere, I’ll introduce ya when he pokes in for grub.” She tilted her head curiously. “Never got your name, miss.” Claw’s physical discomfort was almost outweighed by the woman’s open, friendly nature. Almost. God, she hurt. “Jane,” she went with the first thing that came to mind. “Well miss Jane, y’did us a helluva favor. ‘Ol Sumbitch’d been pickin’ off our herd for a month, and we weren’t havin’ no luck pinnin’er down.” Lindsey’s smile turned rueful. “Sorry we ain’t take’er down quicker. Thought you were dead already, and ammo ain’t cheap. Already wasted a good ten hide’s worth makin’ potshots.” “Yeah, well,” Claw wheezed, “Can’t really blame you there. I thought I was dead, too.” “Nice bein’ wrong sometimes, ain’it?” Lindsey’s smile refused to fade, making Claw’s natural suspicion flare almost as hot as her wounds. “Why?” She demanded. Lindsey’s expression finally shifted into mild confusion. “Would y’prefer bein’ coyote chow?” “Why…” Claw had to pause, wait for another wave of pain to subside from ‘excruciating’ to ‘awful'. “Why did you help me?” The other woman’s brow smoothed out, and she hummed softly with a short nod. “Because y’needed it.” Now, the look she was getting had turned to one of pity. “Ain’t been ‘round many decent folk of late, have ya?” A wide, mocking grin, green eyes crinkled as Spike cackled at her reaction to the snake she’d ended up spending the night with. Bright red hair. Soft, timid eyes, filled with concern and compassion. A light stutter as quiet reassurances kept her balanced on the brink of sanity. Claw shut her eyes briefly. “I doesn’t…” A woman’s face, contorted in fury. Gray eyes cold as ice chips, calculating, promising agony beyond her wildest nightmares. “I’m more of a loner.” She tried and failed to find a more comfortable position. Moving in any way just made things hurt more. “Don’t really get along with people.” “Pardon if I’m bein’ overly forward,” Lindsey raised an eyebrow at her, arms crossing over her chest, “but parta yer problem might be that y’seem to take instruction ‘bout as well as my damn husband. Quit movin’, you’ll open my stitchin’.” Now fully awake, Claw was becoming dismally aware of an equally pressing matter. The fog in her head wasn’t just from the pain coursing through her, or hitting it on the ground a few times. Finally able to feel anything other than her injuries, the tremors coursing through her, cold sweat all over her body, and a driving, burning need threatened to outweigh her near-miss with the Hellcat. “Where’s my stuff?” She rasped, completely ignoring the chastisement. “Need my stuff.” “Pack and a bow?” Lindsey stated, more than asked. “Got ‘em over there.” She pointed vaguely with her chin. Claw fought, and failed, to sit up. “Need it,” she groaned through her teeth past a fresh flare of agony. “Backpack.” “Miss Jane,” Lindsey’s eyes had narrowed slightly, “y’need to rest and quit movin’. It ain’t goin’ nowhere.” “I need it!” Claw wanted to scream, but barely managed a strained whisper. “Goddamn it, just- there’s a bottle. Bring it to me. Now!” Lindsey sighed, long and measured. The smile was gone, but the look replacing it was far from reassuring. “Can’t do that, miss.” “Oh God,” panic threatened to overwhelm Claw, “did it break? Please, please don’t tell me-” “All yer things’re in one piece,” she was interrupted. “But ‘sides hooch bein’ the last thing y’need, what with the bleedin’, all I’m bringin’s a few cups of tea. One’ll help with the pain, th’other-” “You bring me my fucking booze-” Claw did scream that time, immediately regretted it, and had to wait a moment for her lungs to cooperate past the white-hot pokers in her chest. Lindsey just stared at her flatly, arms crossed, while Claw wheezed and gasped for breath. “Please,” she finally managed in a strained whisper. “Please.” “Can’t do that,” Lindsey repeated calmly. “Ain’t my place to judge folk on their choices in life, that’s between them’n God almighty. I got an inklin’ of the claws in ya,” she shut her eyes briefly, “lost my pa and brother to the brew. So believe me when I say, ain’t me bein’ cruel. But yer in my house,” a steely edge had come into her otherwise kindly voice, “and there ain’t none of that poison welcome in it.” The panic in Claw’s gut was comparable to staring the Hellcat in the eyes. “You don’t understand,” she pleaded breathlessly. “I need it. Can’t function, head gets…muddy, can’t think, can’t walk right, hands don’t work-” “Feels like yer drunk when yer dry,” the other woman interrupted again, “and vice versa.” She moved as though to lay a hand on Claw’s shoulder, then apparently thought better of it and clasped them in her lap. “I know.” She sighed softly. “And I’m sorry. Truly, I am. But I’ll say again, and until I’m blue in the face, there ain’t no place for that demon under my roof.” “Fuck you,” Claw spat. “Then I’ll go. I didn’t ask for any goddamn charity, and I sure as fuck didn’t ask for a sermon.” Linsdey shrugged, and spread her hands out. “Yer welcome to try, miss.” Claw did. She got all of an inch off the floor before falling back with a strangled cry of pain, more certain than ever she was sporting a broken rib or two. Lindsey just watched silently as she fought to get her breath again. Claw wasn’t sure how much of the hot moisture in her eyes was from pain, and how much was livid frustration. “Goddamn it,” she whispered helplessly. “Goddamn it, please, don’t do this.” “Con,” Lindsey ignored her for a moment, “bring that tea over then get t’work. Don’t forget lunch, be home ‘fore supper. Take a rope, I need Pearl home. Ain’t havin’ her calve in the pasture again.” “Yes, ma,” the boy said quietly. A quick flurry of movement, two mugs were handed to Lindsey, and Claw caught a brief glimpse of the boy before he scurried outside. Blonde and blue-eyed, he looked quite young, rounded face not yet scarred or creased by time and misfortune. He also seemed incredibly nervous as he practically dashed through the door, a .22 rifle over one shoulder and a long coil of rope over the other. “Watch for snakes,” his mother called after him, setting the teas on the floor. A quick, timid “yes’m” in reply before the door shut. “Now,” Lindsey continued, as lightly as though they were discussing the weather, “this’un’s gonna help y’sleep easier.” She tapped one of the mugs, a thin, long, hollow bone resting in the steaming contents. “Other’s for the pain, and it’ll keep them shakes down a bit.” “Shove it all up your ass,” Claw snarled. An eyebrow went up at her. “I’ve half a mind t’wash that mouth out with soap,” there was barely-contained laughter in Lindsey’s tone, only adding fuel to Claw’s fury, “but I ain’t one for wastin’ commodities. Take ‘em or don’t, ain’t no skin off my nose.” She stood up and dusted her knees absentmindedly. “I’ve got work t’tend, holler if ya need somethin’ that ain’t hooch.” With that, she vanished from Claw’s line of sight, humming quietly to herself. The song continued over the quiet clank of dishes being washed. Claw lay in silent ire, mentally cursing her life and everything about it while she watched wisps of steam rise from the mugs. After a while, the pain, the shaking, was too much, and she forced herself to swallow what was left of her shredded ego. She tried to reach for the first drink, giving up almost immediately. Her hand was trembling a mile a minute, fingers clumsy and wooden. She let her arm fall and bit her lip hard, fighting back another shriek of helpless rage. “Can’t get it,” she croaked. The humming, the soft clanking, stopped. Lindsey was beside her again a moment later, expression thankfully blank. Claw didn’t think she could have handled pity or judgment. Without a word, the woman held the mug for her while Claw downed it as quickly as she could. Getting the straw in her mouth hurt her face terribly, and she was pretty sure the claws had gone completely through her cheek. The brew was pungent and unpleasant, confirmed her suspicions about her wounds as it burned like a hot brand inside her mouth, though it was certainly not the worst thing she’d ever drank. Still silent, Lindsey swapped the bone straw, Claw finished the other mug with dour resignation, then let her head drop back to the floor. The mugs were swept up as she closed her eyes, praying to a God she didn’t believe in for the oblivion of sleep. “We’ll be ‘round,” Lindsey’s voice told her. “Me or Jeff’ll check in on ya through the day. Things get real bad, ticker starts goin’ too hard, I got a tranquilizer. It’s for the cattle, but I don’t think hearts much know the difference.” Claw didn’t reply. Her ankle and shoulder throbbed. Every breath filled her chest with fiery knives, her face was being pressed against a hot stove. Cold sweat drenched her, every inch of her shook like she was being electrocuted, her eyes were swollen, pounding in her skull with each overly-rapid beat of her heart. “I truly am sorry, miss.” Lindsey sighed quietly. “Ain’t gonna lie, y’got a few days of hell ahead. We’ll do what we can. Th’worse’ll pass sooner’n ya think. Just rest, an’ remember this ain’t outta spite.” A few choice curses presented themselves, dismissed in favor of keeping the agony in Claw’s chest to a minimum. “Well,” the other woman finally broke the uncomfortable silence, “lots t’do and not half the time t’get it done. If ya think y’can stomach it, there’s a bit of food set aside. Y’just let us know.” With that, Claw was left alone with her misery, staring at the empty-eyed head of a coyote on the wall. They judged each other wordlessly until the mud in her head became a fog, and she felt herself slip into dreamless sleep. |
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Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode) S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5 Perks Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant Equipment: Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet Armor: Duster coat (Poor Condition) Reputation Bucket Town (-30) Claw (Companion) S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2 Perks Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman Equipment Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition) Armor Desert Clothing (Poor Condition) Nicholas Stahley, level 1 S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7 Perks Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner Equipment Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun Armor Dirty Pre-war Clothes | |
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| azstarael | Jan 28 2018, 03:18 PM Post #5 |
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"Got a light?"
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The respite was short-lived and bitter. Awakening to daylight streaming through dirty windows, Claw immediately wished the Hellcat had just killed her and gotten it over with. Her heart was still beating much too quickly, harsh and angry against her ribs, and sent a hammer smashing through her skull with every pulse. She heard herself groan, then a quiet noise of surprise from nearby. “Mornin’, sunshine.” An unfamiliar male voice made her headache worse. “See yer still in the land of th’livin’.” The accent was identical to Lindsey’s, and once Claw built up the motivation to turn her head, saw that his face was similar as well. Same curly brown hair, squared jaw, a rather burly build that spoke to a life of hard manual labor. Rough-spun clothing, skin weathered from the sun, he sat in a crude wooden chair and watched her quizzically. Claw glared back through her uncovered eye. “I need a drink,” she rasped past the sandpaper in her throat. The man rolled his eyes slightly. “Name’s Jeff, thanks fer askin’. Answer’s ‘no’, ‘less y’mean willowbark tea.” A knot of cold anxiety twisted Claw’s stomach. Pain aside, it felt like there was a heavy pressure on the inside of her forehead, and her entire body desperately wanted to shift, to find a more comfortable position. She resisted the urge, remembering very clearly what had happened the last time she tried to move. “I know you have it,” she ground out, “give me my goddamned liquor or I’m going to…I’ll…” She searched frantically for a viable threat, and came up abysmally short. Jeff grinned wryly, apparently following her train of thought. “You’ll what,” he drawled, “bleed on th’floor? Already did a good bit’a that, and we ain’t much worse off fer it.” The tremors that coursed through her were equal parts anger and physical withdrawals. Both burned hot and furious, making Claw choke back a harsh, bitter sob. “What gives you the right?” She demanded, helpless to quell the tremble in her voice. “Who the fuck do you people think you are?” “’Sides the folk that kept ya from endin’ up as Hellcat shit?” Jeff crossed his legs lazily. “Owners a this’ere house. I was you, I’d put them fangs away ‘till ya got the means t’use ‘em.” “Eat every dick,” was the only retort Claw could think of. Jeff chuckled quietly, then rose to his feet. “Already et,” his cheerful tone just made the anger worse, “but that’s a right generous offer. And here Linds was sayin’ ya might be a handful.” Taking a moment to twist a crick from his back, the man stared her down again. “Y’want that tea or not? I got better things t’do than sit’n get my ears salted." Claw ground her teeth a moment before forcing a strained “yes” through them. The feeling of utter helplessness as Jeff helped her get the drinks down was almost as bad as her physical discomfort. Almost. Whatever herbs were in the pungent brews went to work quickly, most likely helped along by her empty stomach. She fell into another fitful doze shortly afterward, never really asleep so much as half-conscious. She was exhausted, wanted nothing more than oblivion, relief from the pain, ever-worsening tremors, and pounding heartbeat. That was a lie. More than anything, she wanted a drink. As the sun moved across the sky, tortuously slow, the anxiousness in her gut grew worse. Bernie made his acquaintance briefly late that morning, seemingly as happy about her presence as Claw was her current state. Deeply tanned, blonde-haired and blue eyed, she would have pegged him as Conner’s father without the introduction. Their interaction was brief and curt. Claw demanded alcohol, he refused, she drank more tea, tried to sleep. There was a small amount of success in the endeavor, disappointingly brief as it was. She came around mid-afternoon, Linsdey kneeling by her side. Claw’s plea was more pitiful this time as desperation gnawed her insides. She was unsurprised, if no less unhappy, at the gentle but stern rejection. “What y’need is food,” Lindsey told her as she checked Claw’s various bandages, “b’fore ya have trouble keepin’ it down.” A brief shake of her head. “Got hardly any meat on yer bones.” “You obviously haven’t seen skinny,” Claw muttered through her teeth. Speaking hurt her face terribly, but she couldn’t hold back. “I’m-” She cut off with a sharp hiss when Lindsey’s fingers brushed her cheek. “—just small.” “Smaller’n my twelve-year-old,” came the matter-of-fact reply. “Ain’t good fer ya.” “I eat when there’s food,” Claw ground out. “It’s not always an option.” “One’d think that’d take priority over-” Lindsey paused. “Never mind.” With a very good idea of what the other woman had been about to say, and every fiber of her being disagreeing wholeheartedly, Claw glared sullenly at the ceiling until Lindsey finally broke the uncomfortable silence. “So that’s a ‘no’ on the food?” “I have to piss,” Claw replied shortly. Lindsey nodded. “Right. Need me t’fetch a bowl, or ya think we can make it to the outhouse?” “The very instant I need a bedpan,” the small woman’s glare cemented the finality of her statement, “I want you to put a bullet in my skull.” A brief chuckle as Lindsey shook her head. “Ain’t that a bit dramatic?” Claw’s scowl intensified. “Try me.” “Ain’t makin’ no promises ‘bout that bullet, but all right.” Lindsey shrugged. “Outhouse it is.” With a good deal of help, Claw got slowly and laboriously to her feet, bad leg held a few inches over the ground. It had been firmly splinted, but still refused to take any weight. She didn’t so much walk as hop, Lindsey supporting her almost entirely, to a small shack thankfully close to the house. Her ribs, though still agonizing, were more manageable than before. She didn’t know whether to attribute it to the bitter herbal remedies, or the injury being less grievous than she’d initially thought. It was a short-lived contemplation, outweighed by the way her good leg was behaving decidedly otherwise. Part of the dizziness, the shaking, how the world seemed to tilt back and forth at random, were probably due to blood loss. Most of the vertigo and the feeling of her head being full of wet sand were an entirely different problem. Rudely dismissing her humanoid crutch at the door, Claw managed to get inside, nearly fell face-first into the seat before getting situated, and forced herself to think past her muddy head and the panic in her stomach. Gripping the uninjured side of her face, she ran through every option, and found herself in a world of hurt no matter which she picked. Leaving was the first, and definitely most appealing. Her analytical side coldly assured her she’d be dead in two days, if that. Her condition left her almost immobile, completely vulnerable. She was likely sporting a concussion on top of the more obvious injuries, so there was a good chance of passing out with no warning. Incapable of hunting, foraging, or defending herself, she was signing her own death sentence by refusing help. Considering the conditions that came with it, Claw was having trouble deciding which was less appealing. A sharp rap on the door, followed by “y’doin’ all right in there?” interrupted her sluggish internal debate. “Fine,” Claw snapped back. She must have been running through the same cycle of thoughts longer than she’d realized. It was so hard to focus, to think of anything but how badly she needed a drink. The way it would knock the fog out of her head, still the shaking in her hands, numb everything. A harsh, bitter revelation hit her as she pulled herself laboriously off the seat. She was essentially a prisoner either way. At the mercy of what seemed like an overly generous family on one hand, a bottle on the other. Claw made a short, strangled noise as she swallowed a sob of helpless fury. For now, she decided, it was better to live another day. Lindsey said something as they made their way back inside, but Claw wasn’t listening, just trying to keep the ever-growing panic at bay, to not think about anything except the goal. ’North.’ She managed a small bit of food, accepted her medicine without comment, and slept fitfully through the rest of the day. There was always some bustle of activity as the family came and went through the house, occasionally checking on her, though she didn’t speak again for fear of losing her composure entirely. She didn’t see the boy until they all convened in the evening for dinner. His appearance was brief and fleeting. Lindsey spared her from all but a few moments of his wide-eyed, awestruck stare as she ushered him to the kitchen, muttering something about being polite to guests as she did. Claw was offered food, declined it with a sharp word, and stared into the empty eye sockets of the coyote on the wall until she finally slipped into another restless, nightmare-plagued sleep. The second day was worse. She woke up completely drenched in sweat, still trying to escape from something unseen even as it slipped back into the shadowy realm of her subconscious. Her body was flailing weakly as someone shook her awake, and she swung at them, missing completely as dull, otherwordly red eyes shifted to pale blue. The boy (whose name she couldn’t remember) looked mildly surprised, but wholly unconcerned. “S’all right, miss,” he whispered, “ain’t no one getcha here.” There were no teeth tearing into her shoulder, only throbbing pain from the healing wound. No Watcher, no monsters, no raiders. Gasping for breath, Claw stared at the boy stupidly for a moment, fumbling blindly for a bottle that wasn’t there. When her waking mind finally caught up, it was barely working. She could hardly form the thought, let alone the words, but still managed to growl “get me my liquor.” He tilted his head at her. “Ma’d tan my hide,” he smiled nervously, “an’ even if I weren’t scared’a bein’ thrashed, I dunno where it is.” His expression shifted, turning more curious than wary. “Who’s Ryan?” Claw’s eyes went wide, her stomach clenched painfully, and before she knew what was happening, she was throwing up on the floor. The child made a noise of surprise and fear, his eyes as big as her own. “Ma?” He called loudly, a slight tremble in his voice. “Jesus, boy,” Bernie’s voice, thick with sleep, muttered from the darkness. “Scared the daylights out of me.” “Conner, what’s…” Lindsey’s equally groggy voice came a second later. “Time is it, sugar?” “She’s pukin’,” Claw heard Conner say, staring blankly at the small puddle by her face. Her insides refused to calm down, full of gnawing worms and painful knots. A hurried shuffle of activity, and a warm hand pressed to her forehead. “Fever,” Lindsey muttered. “Baby, go fetch some rags.” “Don’ fuggin’ touch me,” Claw mumbled at the floor. “’Fraid I have to,” came the calm, measured response. “Y’ain’t layin’ here in yer own sick, and it’s ‘bout time t’change the dressins.” She tried to come up with an angry rebuttal, and found that she didn’t have the mental function for more than a nonsensical noise of indignation. She could only focus enough to realize that it was a pointless effort; the fog in her head had turned into a gray miasma, making her feel as though she were watching herself through a dirty window. Claw couldn’t connect to the present, only lay there helplessly as Lindsey cleaned up around her head, stripped the bandages from her wounds and applied fresh poultices. There were half-heard reassurances that the injuries were starting to heal, the fever likely due to the shock on her system, all of them fading into a white, pointless static. Through the haze, she heard something about more fucking tea, found herself with the straw in her mouth, the familiar bitter warmth doing nothing to calm her nausea. Claw managed a few swallows, focusing all of her remaining willpower on keeping it down. She was throwing up again minutes later. Things continued to go steadily downhill. She was, all at once, beyond exhausted and full of a restless drive to move. The shaking wasn’t letting up; if anything, it was getting worse. Claw’s mind refused to work properly, unable to hold onto a coherent thought more than a few seconds at a time. She found herself snapping at every word spoken to her, and it wasn’t long before the Bothmans gave up any attempt at conversation. Nothing would stay down longer than a few minutes, making the teas a pointless endeavor. Over the day, the pain built back up steadily, until Claw was reduced to forcing short, agonized gasps for air past the knives in her chest, heard herself making soft, pathetic noises with each breath, helpless to stop them. While she lay and prayed for a swift death, the family went about their daily routine. Lindsey would stop every so often to check on her, completely undeterred by the livid, half-comprehensible tirades that had become Claw’s only form of communication. The woman would occasionally wipe cold sweat away with a damp cloth, impervious to the pathetic, if very angry, swatting from her charge. If Claw had been able to think past the next curse word and various creative misfortunes she wished would befall her caretaker, her dignity would have been just as bruised as her black and purple ribs. As it was, the moments of utter indecency as she was cleaned off were just a background annoyance. The bedpan, that was enough to rile her into a state of partial clarity. “I’m not doing it,” she snarled through her teeth. “Just fucking kill me.” “An’ waste all my time and hard work?” Lindsey’s soft, cheerful tone just made Claw even more furious. “Sorry, miss Jane, y’ain’t near bad off enough fer me ta put ya down just yet.” “You think I’m fucking joking, bitch?” What she wouldn’t give for the strength to snatch the battered tin bowl and break the other woman’s nose with it. “I said I’d rather die, and I meant it.” “I think yer in a right state,” Lindsey replied in that calm, infuriating tone, “not that I blame ya one bit. I also think yer head ain’t too clear at th’moment, so let’s hold off drastic measures ‘till ya got it back in order.” “Just get away from me,” Claw snarled. “I’ll manage the outhouse.” Lindsey tilted her head slightly, raising one eyebrow. “Yer welcome t’try.” She did, with everything in her. Claw got her legs under her, pushed herself up, and collapsed in the same movement. Hot, furious tears welled in her eyes, and she was helpless to stop them spilling down her face. She stifled a sob, meeting the now-familiar empty eye sockets of the coyote, refusing to look away. “Let me help you,” Lindsey pleaded quietly. “It’ll be over afore ya know it, an’ we ain’t ever gotta talk ‘bout it again.” Claw wasn’t sure if she meant the absolute humiliation of being an invalid, or the alcohol withdrawals. Something told her it was a bit of both, and her common sense flatly agreed with Lindsey. “I…” She took as deep a breath as she could stand, letting it out slowly. “I will not piss in a bowl.” The following words were bitter and caustic in her mouth. “Help me outside.” Lindsey nodded. “Right, then. C’mon, up we go.” Her good leg simply wouldn’t hold steady. If Lindsey hadn’t had a firm hold on her, Claw would have fallen again. She ended up, despite a nigh-unbearable urge to protest, being carried to the little shack. She refused to look the other woman in the eye as she was situated, handled her business, and subsequently hefted back up. Once in the house, she lay and fumed silently, pretty sure her pride was never going to recover. The rest of the day drug out tortuously. Her mood swung back and forth without warning, from hot, livid rage to crushing depression. The boy, Conner, made a brief effort to talk to her that evening, shooed away again by his mother with an apologetic look. He’d wanted to know where she was from, how she ended up near their home, and Claw had come very close to taking out her appreciable misery on him before Lindsey intervened. “Leave the poor thing be,” she’d chastised gently. “Miss Jane’s havin’ a hard enough time without yer yammerin’.” She shrugged at Claw. “Y’know how they are. No end t’ the questions, an’ no good answers for half a’them.” The woman paused, clasping her hands together absentmindedly. “How’s yer stomach?” “Bad,” Claw snapped shortly. “Ain’t had nothin’ in it all day,” Lindsey remarked idly, “might be parta th’problem. Try t’manage a bit’a willowbark brew?” The very thought was nauseating, but she was also desperately thirsty. Unable to get much down, she managed to keep what little she swallowed, though there were a few tense moments of gagging and one very painful dry heave. She fell back asleep to the quiet sounds of the family’s dinner conversation and her heart thrashing against her ribcage. It was her last coherent observation. Part of her noticed that she’d slept through the night. She didn’t remember how her hunting party had ended up in the strangely decorated shack, only knew that their quarry was getting farther away with every wasted minute. She’d been injured, that much was obvious, and seemed to have misplaced her alcohol. Claw sat up, slow and laborious, and began struggling with a swath of cloth wrapped around her head. It covered a good portion of her face, obscuring her sight, and hurt terribly to mess with. Pain was inconsequential, she had to get up and get back to work. There was no pay in laying around on the ground, even if it was a lot more appealing. Heavy pressure on her chest. Heart beating so hard she could feel it in her fingertips. Burning pain all down her left arm. Didn’t matter, get up and find the others before the trail went cold. “What in tarnation y’think yer doin’?” Claw blinked heavily in the direction of the man’s voice. It was vaguely familiar. Had to be one of the crew. Odd, she didn’t remember him being there when they took the job. “Slept too long,” she muttered. “Losing daylight.” Her fingers were thick and clumsy as she fought to untie the bandages from around her head. “The fuck y’do to my face, asshole? Can’t see.” “Quit that.” A pair of strong hands forced hers down to her side. “Y’ain’t but barely scabbin’ over, gonna open ‘em up again.” Claw glared at the man restraining her. He looked familiar, but she couldn’t put a name to the face. “It’s fine,” she struggled futilely against his grip, “need to see. Not missing out on my share ‘cause Rex’s stupid ass didn’t wake me up.” Something was wrong with her head. Was she concussed? Either way, she needed a drink. “Y’got booze? Hung over. I’ll pay you back.” The man frowned at her. “Girl, the hell are you on about?” “They’ll get away.” She made another attempt to free herself from his grip. “Where’s Rex and Stell? If that bitch took off without me…” Claw paused, and squinted suspiciously at the man she really ought to recognize. “I know you?” His brow furrowed, the frown growing more concerned than annoyed. “More’r less. It’s Jeff. Shit,” he muttered, more to himself than her, “this ain’t good. Can y’tell me where ya are?” “On the ground,” Claw told him irritably. They were losing time, damn it, why couldn’t he get that through his thick head? “Where are the others?” “Linds is out with the cattle, Bernie’s patchin’ a fence,” he told her slowly. “Who on earth’s Rex’n Stell?” Jeff, that seemed right. She didn’t like him, he refused to give her alcohol. “Rex,” she snapped, “son of a bitch who…” she trailed off as her gut clenched painfully. “-died,” she finished in a whisper. “It was too fast,” she spoke to the ground almost inaudibly, “nothing I could do. Just…I ran.” “Then we ain’t need ta worry ‘bout ‘em,” Jeff said firmly. “Y’ain’t thinkin’ straight. Why don’cha lay back down and quit pickin’ at yer bandages?” The fear refused to dissipate. The boar would find her, track her scent, even as she tracked the small group that had somehow managed to escape their master. Had to find Stell before she died, too, but Claw couldn’t think clearly, had only half her vision…Spike. He’d be able to do it. “Where is he?” she demanded, the cold knot in her stomach cinching tighter. “I keep telling him not to run off, but he won’t listen, where the hell is he?” “I weren’t keepin’ track,” Jeff told her firmly. “Lay down, yer gonna hurt yerself worse.” “No, no you don’t understand,” Claw struggled frantically, “he’ll get himself in trouble, I don’t know where he is, you have to help me…I can’t think, goddamn it!” Her voice hitched, threatening to break completely. “It’s not right, I’m not right, I need alcohol, please!” “I’ll go find ‘em,” Jeff said calmly. “Y’just lay down,” he was pushing her back to the floor as he spoke, Claw too weak to resist, “an’ I’ll be right back.” He stood up and made his way quickly for the door. “Linds!” She could still hear him even once it shut behind him. “Need’ja inside, yer house-guest done lost her marbles!” “Get himself hurt,” she muttered at the floor. “Stupid, jackass kid. No end to the fucking grief, hiding chems from me, just wait until you OD and I have to dig another grave.” The words, most of which she hadn’t even meant to speak, kicked something else from the dregs of her addled mind. Someone else was missing, and the fear reached a sharp, ice-cold peak. “Ryan,” she whispered, eye going wide and terrified. “Where is he?” “-don’t recognize me, or know where she is,” Jeff’s voice was back, speaking low and fast. “Askin’ fer strangers an’ hooch.” “She’s been doin’ that since she woke up.” The female voice was, again, familiar. Maddeningly, she couldn’t place it. “Dunno why y’think I’ll be able ta knock it through her head any better’n you.” Claw turned her head, staring pleadingly at the woman who’d followed Jeff inside. “Where’s my baby?” she begged. “Where’s Ryan?” Jeff crossed his arms and gave the woman a very distinctive “I told you so” stare. Her face pinched with worry as she knelt beside Claw. “Well, shit.” She pulled a hand down her face briefly. “Miss Jane, what on earth are y’talkin’ ‘bout?” “My BABY!” Claw screamed, ignoring the knives it sent through her chest. Why she was being called Jane was another puzzle to unravel, entirely unimportant at the moment. “Where’s my baby?!” It hurt to breathe. The panic became all-consuming. “If you hurt him, I’ll kill you, I’ll fucking kill you!” She shot up like a spring, taking a vicious swing. Her fist met an eye socket, and with a cry of surprise and pain, the other woman reeled back. Claw found herself pinned a second later, struggling uselessly as Jeff held her flat. “Son of a bitch!” He shouted. “Lindsey, y’all right?” “Son of a bitch,” Lindsey repeated through her teeth, clutching her eye tenderly. “M’fine. Keep ‘er down, I’m gonna grab a tranq.” “Where’s my baby!?” Claw screamed, over and over, starting to hyperventilate. “What did you do with my baby?!” “Goddamn,” Jeff grunted, “stronger’n ya look, ain’tcha? Jus’ hold still, dammit. Ain’t no one tryin’a hurt ya, but-” “WHERE IS MY SON?!” The shrieking tore her throat, she couldn’t breathe, the room was starting to spin as dark spots flashed in front of her eyes. “Where’s Ryan?! You fucking inbred hicks, motherfucking shitstains,” Claw was losing the feeling in her extremities, a shrill ringing building in her murky head, “I’ll kill you all and burn this hovel to the fucking ground!” Hot shards of glass in her shoulder as something tore. Inconsequential. They’d taken her son. She had to get her son back. “But yer doin’ a right fine job of it yerself!” Jeff yelled back. “Lay still, there ain’t no baby! Linds! Can we get a rush order on that?!” “Sorry ‘bout this,” Lindsey’s voice was barely audible over Claw’s furious ranting, “s’for yer own good, hun.” A sharp jab between her shoulder and neck. Claw snapped her teeth at the offending hand, which had retreated quickly, clutching a large, fat needle. One last wordless scream of fear and anguish, and her body was suddenly unresponsive. A thick, dark fog closed in, trapping her under a heavy blanket. She couldn’t move, couldn’t think, barely heard two sharp exhales. “The hell was that about?” “Gettin’ down to the rough bit. Gonna have to keep a close eye on ‘er the next few days.” Voices speaking nonsense. A sudden wash of exhaustion sweeping over her. She couldn’t sleep. Had to fight it. She was looking for someone. “Ryan,” someone mumbled, thick and pitiful. “Spike. Sorry. M’sorry.” “Jesus, that’s gonna be a hell of a shiner.” A soft hiss. “Don’t you poke at me, I’ll live. Get my kit, she tore some stitchin’ in that shoulder.” “Sorry,” the thick voice choked again. “Sorry.” The last thing she knew before everything went black was a pair of dull, red eyes boring through her and cruel, croaking laughter. Failure. She’d been dragged down to hell. Claw drifted in and out of consciousness, strange voices taunting her, phantoms skulking in the shadows. At times, she was covered in writhing snakes, too terrified to move as they wrapped around her throat, slithered up and down her body, hovered just above her face with jaws open, fangs dripping with bright yellow venom. Other times, there were insects burrowing into her skin, tiny mandibles biting, tearing at flesh, infesting her ears, nose and mouth. Voices, some human, others nothing but gibberish. The latter were harsh, grating, demonic. They taunted, jeered, promised unending torture in a language she didn’t understand, yet somehow knew deep in her subconscious. Nightmares became reality. Memories she’d worked so hard to repress tore through into the waking world. Begging, screaming, pleas for mercy, were relived again and again in perfect clarity. ”I want my mommy!” A brutal backhand across the child’s face. “Shut up.” The stench of filth and rotting flesh. All-encompassing terror and pain. Brutal pangs of starvation and indescribable thirst, festering wounds burning with infection. No hope, only despair, as her primary tormentor’s face leered down. “Scream for me, bitch.” Spike stared at her, mouth open in a silent scream, blood pouring from his face. She was frozen in place, unable to move, to scream, beg. The woman standing beside him, holding the barrel of a massive shotgun to his head, smirked at Claw’s helplessness. Gray eyes, like chips of dirty ice, were filled with malice, devoid of any mercy. ‘Too late,’ she mouthed silently. A roaring blast, and gore splattered in all directions. She was burning alive. Every nerve was on fire, body unresponsive, jerking uncontrollably. Clawed hands held her down. No escape as her eyes swelled in her head, chest filled with crushing pressure, going to burst any second, just let it end, just let her die. “The hell do we do?!” “When’d I turn into a goddamn doctor? I don’t know! Just…hold ‘er steady!” “Ma?” A child’s voice, soft and tremulous. “Is she gonna die?” Please. Please, give her that small mercy. Let it end. “Not if I can help it. Go find yer pa, hurry.” “Her heart’s goin’ too hard, Linds. We gotta tranq ‘er again.” “That’s like ta kill ‘er all th’same!” “Ya got a better idea, damn it?” It burned. Every nerve, every vein on fire. The voices continued, one angry, one frantic, but she couldn’t make the words out anymore. She was dying. The pressure wouldn’t stop, growing worse with every second, but becoming distant as everything faded to absolute darkness. Couldn’t breathe. Had to breathe, had to fight… Why? She was tired. So many years of struggle, anguish, loss. Unforgivable sins. Monster, the Watcher hissed. I know. She was staring down at her physical body through incorporeal eyes. Lindsey and Jeff crouched beside it, shouting at each other, gesturing frantically. Her chest rose. Fell. Rose. Fell. Rose. Fell. Lay still. Emily Kingsman, for the first time, stopped fighting. |
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Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode) S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5 Perks Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant Equipment: Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet Armor: Duster coat (Poor Condition) Reputation Bucket Town (-30) Claw (Companion) S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2 Perks Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman Equipment Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition) Armor Desert Clothing (Poor Condition) Nicholas Stahley, level 1 S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7 Perks Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner Equipment Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun Armor Dirty Pre-war Clothes | |
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| azstarael | Feb 7 2018, 05:51 PM Post #6 |
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"Got a light?"
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Death was about what she’d been expecting. Pure, absolute darkness. Time was nonexistent. No sensation, no consciousness, only the void. Silence, unlike any she’d ever known. Claw was aware of nothing, except the fact that she was, somehow, still aware. The endless expanse was…comforting. She could finally rest. No more anger, no worry. Finally relieved of guilt, of the pain and strife that coexisted with the living world. Peace. She drifted through nothing, everywhere and nowhere. A nanosecond. An eternity. There was no difference. Not until a speck of light blossomed, bringing an end to the solace, drawing her irresistibly toward the pinprick of something that had the audacity to intrude on her empty sanctum. She tried to push back, resist the ever-growing sphere that pulled her out of darkness, out of oblivion. No, she just wanted to rest, to be done with the world and all the anguish it brought, that she herself had contributed to time and time again. Just let her be done. Enough fighting, enough toil, enough. But the world wasn’t done with her just yet. Claw was dreaming, had to be, as she looked down over a sun-soaked grassland, two figures seated in the gently bobbing waves. She recognized her younger self. Recognized her mother. Emily glared at the older woman, disgusted. Her small fist clenched around a tiny vial, knuckles white from the effort. “I won’t need it,” she snapped, jerking back from the hands cupping her face. “Thanks, though. Go ahead and sell it, get something for dad. Might be worth something to someone without a spine.” “Emily…” Laura spoke softly, hands falling into her lap. “-this is important. I know it seems ridiculous, but you have to trust me.” Another tear fell from each eye, speckling the parched dirt. “There are things worse than death. It might not seem that way-” “You’re the one,” the girl got to her feet swiftly, still glaring furiously at her mother, “who always said I have to fight. No matter what.” She threw the poison on the ground at the woman’s feet. “And that’s what I’m gonna do.” She threw her pack over her shoulders, sidling out of reach when Laura made to grab for her arm. “If I die, I die. It happens to everyone. But there is no way, no way in fucking hell, I’m going out like a coward.” “It isn’t…” Laura brushed another drop impatiently from her cheek, gesturing in frustration with the other hand. “Baby, please. Sometimes…in certain circumstances, there’s nothing to fight. Only suffering. Just please, please, take it. For your father. For me.” From her incorporeal state, Claw saw her old self trembling with anger. She remembered the hot feeling in her chest, the sense of betrayal, that she was thought of as weak. Vulnerable. Incapable of handling what might be thrown her way. The look on her young face was equal parts livid and betrayed. If only that girl had any idea. “No,” she spat. “I’m not afraid.” You don’t know what it means to be afraid, Claw thought helplessly. Oh God, you have no idea what fear is. “It isn’t about being afraid!” Her mother yelled. That gave the girl a brief moment of pause. Laura rarely raised her voice. A split-second was all it took for Emily to turn on her heel and begin walking, back stiff, stride quick, into the seemingly endless expanse of grass. “Emily, listen to me!” the woman pleaded, tone thick and strained. “Bye, mom.” The child’s curt voice was starting to fade, darkness encroaching from all sides. A horrible sensation, distant but ever-increasing pain, crept from nowhere to wrap itself around Claw. She was waking up, wasn’t she? “Have a nice life.” Emily didn’t turn around, and as such, Claw’s view of her mother was swallowed by the void, leaving only the headstrong, overly confident girl to continue toward the unknown. Full of bravado, the sense of invincibility that came with inexperience, and now, self-righteous anger. Idiot. It was dark again, but very different from the absolute Nothing she’d thought was an end to her struggle. That was all right, though, some part of her suddenly realized. Reckless fool though she might have been, some part of her still agreed with that little girl and her fiery, brazen confidence. It had been well tempered over the years, but still glowed somewhere deep inside, an unquenchable drive to fight. Overcome. Live. After all, death came for everyone in the end. It wasn’t as though she expected to change the world, or didn’t recognize her place in it as another nameless, faceless ember in the infinite flame that was life. But she was not weak. She would not bow, she would not break. She would fight, until there was nothing left in her. Claw’s eyes snapped open, a harsh, incredibly painful breath filling lungs that were nearly full to capacity with fire. Her back arched as life flowed back into her limbs. The air was so sweet, never mind how much it hurt. Live. Fight. What else was there? Aside from the unfamiliar mouth clasped over her own, that was. Her functional arm flailed, struck hard muscle as half-formed cursing stuck in her throat. Air. Life. Another chance. More pain. More strife. But that was the human existence for you. “Oh, Christ!” Lindsey. Claw found that she hated the woman less than she’d let her withdrawal-addled mind believe. The sentiment was more gasping sobs than actual words, the few she could pick out edged with terror, but more relieved than anything else. “Ya did it! Oh God almighty, Bernie, ya…” It cut off in quiet sobbing. “Quit that,” a very irritable man’s voice groused. “You’re lucky I love you, I still say we shoulda left her in the pasture to rot.” A loud sniffle, followed immediately by a watery chuckle. “Y’ain’t foolin’ anyone, darlin’. Jane.” Pressure on her shoulder. Claw felt herself blink slowly, vision returning to a pair of red-rimmed brown eyes. “Miss Jane, y’there?” “Ow,” she wheezed. Part of her was still livid over her return to the mortal realm. The rest was struggling to understand what was going on. She knew one thing for certain- she’d been drugged. “Don’ fuggin’ touch me.” “Yep.” Jeff, she recognized him as well, interjected dryly. “She’s alive.” “Well thank God almighty for that,” the annoyed voice hadn’t lost an ounce of ire. Claw’s hazy vision caught a man, blonde haired, blue eyed, as he swiped a forearm across his mouth. “Can I get back to work now? The damn Brahmin ain’t gonna water themselves.” Lindsey laughed again, still jittery, slightly hysterical. “Shut it, ya ornery cuss. God, I love ya.” “You damn well better,” Claw heard him mutter through the haze of pain and a strong tranquilizer. ”Let’s go, boy. Got better things to do than sit and gawp.” “Pa,” the child’s voice was equal parts amazement and glowing admiration, “she was dead, weren’t she?” “Don’t matter, she’s breathing now,” the man replied. “Get the lead out, it’ll be dark in a few hours.” It was already dark on the edges of Claw’s vision. A very different kind of darkness than she’d been suspended in, that feeling already fading from memory. Her eyes slid shut, and she let the wash of whatever she’d been dosed with sweep over her like a heavy blanket. She awoke in a strange, ethereal haze to the coyote’s empty eyes. Standing beside it, leaning against the wall and leisurely smoking a cigarette, was Spike. He was barely recognizable but for his insolent, lazy stance, abnormally tall gangly stature, and mass of braided hair. His face was carved up brutally, nothing but shredded skin, several large patches missing entirely to reveal equally torn muscle tissue. Blood ran freely from the gashes, pattering quietly as it dripped on the floor. His skin, normally a dusky olive, was waxy and corpse-like. He stared down at her, or would have, through the holes where his eyes used to be. Brackish ichor ran, fast and thick, like black tears from the sightless voids. The edges of the sockets were torn, lidless, empty as those of the stuffed head. He cocked his own, grinning, teeth streaked with red. “Hey, boss.” He took a long drag from the cigarette in his bony fingers. “The fuck did you go and leave me with psycho-bitch for? This shit hurts.” “No,” Claw whispered helplessly, one trembling hand raised, as though she’d be able to ward off the specter. “No, oh God, what…how?” Spike snorted derisively. “Don’t you ‘what’ me. What’d you think was gonna go down? Backhand McStabby and me’d sit and have cookies?” The bleeding wouldn’t stop. If anything, it was getting worse. Impossible, she’d been there as the wounds were tended, she’d left him somewhere safe. As though reading her mind (or maybe she’d spoken out loud), Spike shrugged one shoulder offhandedly. “Took like, a day for that crazy bat to track us,” he stated, as flippant as though they were discussing what to have for dinner. “Wasn’t too happy you booked it. Blew off some steam on me and that Edgar guy, though.” He shook his head slightly. Blood poured faster. “Man, you think this is bad? There’s hardly enough of him left to bury.” He exhaled a long, deliberate stream of smoke. “Just thought you’d like to know.” His glib tone vanished, turned scathing, accusatory. “Might’ve stood a chance, if you hadn’t pussied out into the desert.” “I had to…couldn’t…” Claw searched frantically for an explanation, anything to excuse her actions, and found none. A harsh, gasping sob tore itself from her throat. The next words were the barest hint of a whisper. “I was scared. I’m still scared.” Spike flicked ash at her, took another long pull from his smoke. “I was, too. Beyond fucking scared. Man, they don’t even make a word for it.” He paused thoughtfully. “Maybe they do. You know more of ‘em than me. There a good one?” She couldn’t answer, just gasp for every labored breath as the vice in her chest wound tighter and tighter. “You aren’t real,” she finally choked out. “I’m having a bad dream.” She didn’t believe her own words. It felt real. She could feel her own wounds, smell the thick, cloying stench of blood and rot. “Just a bad dream,” she pleaded to no one. “I’m as real as you make me. Ask my dipshit brother.” Spike grinned again, that awful, blood-streaked smirk. “Your kid’s cute. Well, used to be.” He laughed, bitter and humorless. “Don’t have a very good track record, do ya?” The Watcher laughed along with him. Failure. “Guess tentacle-guy’s not real either, huh?” Spike continued, ignoring the quiet sounds of anguish Claw heard herself making. “Don’t hear you telling him to piss off. What, he’s better than me?” Spike frowned in the way that meant he was thinking very hard about something. The expression twisted his wounds, was contorted by the flaps of hanging skin and empty eyes. “Her. It. They. Whatever. You’ll talk to that motherfucker, but I’m not real?” His next words dripped contempt. “Or just that expendable?” “You fucking brought it on yourself!” She found herself yelling, now. “If you hadn’t been an asshole since before sunup, if you’d just stayed with me…!” He shrugged again. “Don’t remember you bein’ a ray of fucking sunshine, yourself.” Drip. Drip. Drip. Blood and whatever foul liquid was streaming from the pits in his skull hit the floor faster. Claw tried to shut her own eyes, if she couldn’t see him he’d go away, but they were stuck open, unable to look away from the carnage that was once a young, objectively handsome, carefree face. “Fact, if I remember right,” he picked absently at his cheek, grabbed one of the loose shreds of skin, peeling it off slowly as he spoke. “-you were a total bitch about the whole thing.” Hot, foul breath on her face, the stench of stale alcohol and rotting gums. The raider’s sneering visage was only partially solid, but she could see, feel his presence in perfect clarity as strong, rough fingers grabbed her by the throat. “Scream for me, bitch,” he hissed. Claw tried to cry out, but she couldn’t breathe, couldn’t even look away, as his free hand groped mercilessly. Nightmare, she was having another nightmare this couldn’t be real she had to wake up not again not again. “Hey,” Spike snapped, “get lost, we’re talking, here.” The phantom faded, leaving Claw gasping for every painful breath, choking on half-formed sobs. Grating laugher still echoed through her head, that of the man who’d stolen the last of her innocence, and the ever-present, otherworldly croak of the Watcher. “So anyway,” Smoke trickled through the gash Spike had opened across his face, a distorted, gaping mockery of his usual grin, “wanna see the finale?” Drip. Drip. Dripdripdripdrip. “I ain’t inviting her to any parties, but I gotta give the gal some credit. She knows her way around a knife.” Cigarette set in his teeth, he started opening the clasps on his jacket, above a dark, wet patch Claw hadn’t noticed before. “No,” she whispered, helpless, anguished. “Please, no.” “Shoulda thought of that before you decided to hoof it,” Spike told her curtly, opening the garment to reveal his protruding ribs, the sharp hatchets of his hips, and a long, almost surgical slice from his sternum that ran just past his navel. Gore and viscera spilled from the opening, more black ichor, organs detached with the careful precision akin to a fresh kill ready for butchering. The cavity gaped, more blood, now a wide puddle at his feet, creeping toward her like a creature with a mind of its own. Beneath the white of his exposed ribs, she could count every beat of his heart. “Took for fucking ever,” Spike told her, still calm and dispassionate. “At least an hour, I think. It got hard to tell once she started yanking stuff out.” His lungs flexed beneath bone. His heart contracted, expanded. Another gush of crimson. Claw tried to scream, but it stuck fast in her throat. “Anyway,” Spike flicked the spent cigarette butt at her with a hand that had only four fingers, “you look like shit. You should probably rest up, get on the mend.” The horrific, blood-streaked grin was back. “I would, but, y’know.” He shrugged vaguely. “I’m dead.” “There was nothing…I couldn’t…” the woman gasped around the vice in her throat. “Would have killed me too. I didn’t mean for...I never wanted…I’m sorry.” “You’re sorry for a lot of things, aint’cha?” Spike shook his head disparagingly. “Glowy-eye dude’s right about you.” He spat more blood and several teeth on the ground. “You’re worse than Razorbitch. At least she doesn’t try to pretend she’s anything other than what she is.” The young man bared his remaining teeth in another mockery of a grin. “A monster. By the way,” he continued offhandedly, “those kids? Two of ‘em lived. The rest?” The gash across his cheek opened fully as the cruel smile spread, revealing part of his jawbone. “They got lucky. Didn’t even make it a week. The others wish they hadn’t.” He stuck a finger in an empty eye socket and picked at something inside idly. “They’ll be, what, around my age now? Time flies, huh? Hey, just curious,” he flicked something slimy and gray on the ground, where it hit the pool of blood with a wet splut, “how many since? I mean, shit, you were just starting out then.” “Go away,” Claw whispered. “Boss, I’m hurt.” Spike’s hands clutched around his beating heart, then he cackled. “In a couple ways. You told him. I thought we had like, a thing goin’.” Seventeen, the Watcher hissed. And that’s just the children. Spike cocked his head before shaking it briefly. “Yikes. No wonder you don’t like to talk about yourself. I wouldn’t, either. Slave hunters ain’t exactly a popular crowd.” “Go away!” Claw screamed. “Go away!” The phantom huffed out a sigh. “Fine, whatever. Not like I can get into much trouble anymore, huh?” The awful grin was back. “Just one thing before I take off, though. Y’know that nothing world? That’s not death.” In a split second, his mangled face was right over her own. Black, hot, caustic fluid ran from his empty eyes, dripped into her own, blinding, burning. “Death is what we deserve. And you? Shit.” She was screaming wordlessly, but couldn’t drown out his voice, couldn’t keep the echoes out of her head. “Put it this way. I ain’t jealous.” Spike faded into nothing. The raider was back. The burning didn’t stop, fingers back around her throat, choking, just enough leeway to keep from crushing her windpipe entirely. Those horrible hands, that awful pain in her lower belly. The memory of a tiny glass vial. Hating herself, even more than her tormentor, for not heeding her mother’s words. There were things in the world far worse than death. ”She dreamin’?” “Nightmares, more like. Poor thing. Pa had visions afore it killed ‘em, she don’t know where she’s at.” Distant voices, inconsequential. Why wouldn’t he just kill her and get it over with? “Why aren’t you screaming?” The raider panted. “I asked nicely, and I hate being ignored.” She couldn’t. She fucking couldn’t, barely able to breathe, wishing she’d at least lose consciousness, but no. This man knew his trade. The sick, gleefully malicious look on his face as she was violated, eyes lolling in her head, arms chained above it, utterly helpless, told her definitively that she wasn’t the first, wouldn’t be the last. She would die, but not yet. Not until there was nothing left inside her to desecrate. Not until she was completely broken, physically and mentally. A baby wailed in the distance. Her son was missing. In trouble. Spike’s empty eyes in a cold, dead face, twisted in agony. The Watcher laughed. |
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Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode) S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5 Perks Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant Equipment: Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet Armor: Duster coat (Poor Condition) Reputation Bucket Town (-30) Claw (Companion) S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2 Perks Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman Equipment Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition) Armor Desert Clothing (Poor Condition) Nicholas Stahley, level 1 S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7 Perks Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner Equipment Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun Armor Dirty Pre-war Clothes | |
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| azstarael | Mar 2 2018, 11:05 PM Post #7 |
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"Got a light?"
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Claw finally woke up. Rain pattered on the roof. The occasional rumble of thunder rolled across the desert. She found herself in a state of clarity she hadn’t experienced for years. No fog, drunken or otherwise. Coherency hurt. She’d all but forgotten how badly. The nightmares, hallucinations, were still with her as she came fully back to the waking world. The gore. The fear, pain, self-loathing, all of it. She immediately wanted a drink, not out of physical need, but to drown the memories she couldn't, no matter how hard she tried, to escape. She lay motionless for a long while, unable to chase the awful images from behind her eyes. The Watcher was right. She’d failed. Again. The thought dragged a low, shuddering breath from her chest. She heard a much softer inhale from her blind side. "Hey there,” Lindsey greeted gently, voice thick with sleep. “How ya feelin’?” Guilty. Shameful. Filthy. “Fine,” she muttered instead, turning her head until the other woman was visible. “How long was I out?” “Depends on whatcha mean by that,” Lindsey shrugged, “two days since ya lost all yer senses.” Had she really lost them, though? The memories that plagued her were all too real. Not dreams, just an acidic reminder of why she’d been loathe to wake up at all. The only thing she cared to say, however, was “oh”. “Seems the worst is past,” Lindsey went on. “Got a bit rough there, but ya pulled through.” She smiled, that gentle, unwarranted look of kindness that made Claw sick to her stomach in its own right. “I was dead, wasn’t I.” It wasn’t so much a question as a statement. Lindsey shrugged. “Y’ain’t now, that’s th’only important part.” “You…” Should have let her die. Should have saved them both the effort. “-didn’t have to save me.” A soft laugh. “We ain’t have ta, that’s true.” A warm hand against her forehead. “Fever’s gone. Looks like y’ain’t caught any infection, neither.” “Then why?” Claw asked, cold, emotionless. “You don’t know me. Why?” “Coz that’s what decent folk do,” the other woman replied simply. “Y’needed help, so we gave it.” “That’s stupid,” Claw muttered. “My husband agrees with ya out loud,” there was a hint of amusement in her tone, now, “but there he were, breathin’ the life back in’t’ya.” Claw changed the subject immediately. “I’m tired.” The understatement of the century. She turned her head again, staring at the now-familiar empty eyes of the coyote head. Spike’s face, twisted in agony, sockets equally empty. “Not surprisin’,” Lindsey’s voice didn’t lose it’s gentle, reassuring tone. “Rest up. We’ll see about food soon, get a bit’a strength back in ya.” “Whatever,” Claw muttered. She didn’t feel like eating, wanted nothing more than dreamless, oblivious sleep. She couldn’t think about him. Had to bury it, keep going, not looking back. There was nothing there but pain, fear, guilt, regret. Forget about him, put that part of her life aside. She’d known better than to get attached, hadn’t meant to let it get half so far as to actually care. It just made it that much harder to move on, but move on she would, as she had so many times before. Alone. With that thought aching dully in her gut, she slept. A week passed. Her wounds were on the mend. She got to know the family better, learned her way around the small ranch. Bernie, the husband, was a local. He was curt and no-nonsense, a personality very similar to her own. That was likely why they didn’t get along. He was, however, a steadfast presence, a loving father and devoted husband, despite his rough edges. Lindsey was a calming influence and the keystone of the family, worked just as long and hard as the men, both in the house and outside with the animals. Jeff, her brother, was easy-going and low-key. He took offense to very little, preferring to let Claw’s verbal jabs slide off as inconsequential. The pair had come from the deep South with their father, and had been ranching nearly twenty years. Bernie and Lindsey’s child, Conner, was carefree, invincible in his own mind. He had his mother’s kind spirit, his father’s looks, and a wide streak of the insatiable curiosity that came with youth. She found herself talking to him more than any of the adults, sharing a few choice hunting stories, little else of her past. She had no doubts that if it came to light, their generosity would dry up faster than a flooded wash after a cloudburst. The ranch was small, but enough to support the family. They had a garden stubbornly clinging to life alongside the house, a single Ugly named Gracie, three cluckers, a dozen or so Brahmin, and a hound-dog called Bitner. A windmill kept an unimpressive stockpond in several inches of muddy, sludgy water. The well nearer the house ran deep, and only slightly murky. She’d all but stopped noticing the smell of the Brahmin pens already, but that could change in short order whenever the wind blew right. It was a very peaceful place, though the occasional gunshot drifted regularly over the grasslands. Occasionally, one would snap very near the house as the Bothmans kept the property free of vermin. Every shot made her heart jump into her throat, sure she’d finally been tracked down, but so far it had been nothing worse than a jackrabbit or overly brave coyote. She hadn’t heard many that day, which did nothing for the cold knot of anxiety that refused to leave her stomach. She was constantly on edge, expecting the worst, but forced to keep it to herself. A decent distraction was telling Conner stories, and the boy made a good audience. “So we’ve got them cornered,” Claw was propped against a wall, her body healing quickly, but still weak, “box canyon, no way out. These javelinas are some big sons of bitches, but we came prepared. More ammo than most of the men knew what do do with, idiots. Just weighing themselves down with bullets they’d never be able to use.” Conner sat across from her, legs akimbo, eyes rapt and attentive. “We open fire,” she went on. “Point blank, but my fucking partner Rex, that asshole couldn’t hit the broad side of a barn with a stone.” “Language,” Lindsey, in front of the stove, chided gently. Claw rolled her eyes, biting back a laugh as Conner’s expression mirrored her own. “The alpha comes right at us,” she went on as though she hadn’t heard, “all tusks, hooves and teeth. Out for blood. So were we, obviously, but I swear, this mother…” She paused briefly, clearing her throat, “of sin,” Conner grinned at her, casting a quick look at his mother, who’d huffed in defeat, “he’s fast.” She cocked her head. “You ever seen an angry javelina, kid?” “Nah.” The boy shook his head. “Seen packs ‘round the stockpond, but Ma’n Pa ain’t let me go huntin’ em yet.” The accusation and disappointment in his tone were thick. “Even ‘tho I’m near grown and a real good shot.” “’Near’ ain’t ‘full’.” Lindsey glanced over from dinner again. “And I’d like t’keep ya livin’ long enough t’see it.” “I agree with your mother.” Claw shrugged. “They’re more dangerous than they look, especially once you’ve got them cornered. I’ve seen more unprepared grown men end up treed than I care enough to remember, and that’s the ones that didn’t get gored. Anyway,” She didn’t miss the slight nod of approval from over the cooking, but ignored it, “they came right for us in one last stand. We’re still shooting, a real ‘hail mary’ at this point.” Spike had used the expression. She only partially understood the meaning, some revered saint. She was still having a difficult time putting him out of her mind, but he would fade into half-remembered nightmares soon enough. They all did, in the end. “One at a time, they’re finally falling. First there’s all seven rushing us, dying but not ready to admit it, then four, then two, before I’m finally staring that alpha down nearly eye-to-eye.” “S’pose it weren’t too harda do,” Conner commented, “what with y’bein right ‘bout as tall as ‘em.” He laughed at the scowl that fell over Claw’s face, trying and failing to dodge a light cuff at his ear. The boy was very pleased to no longer be the shortest person in the house, and it being a sore spot for Claw only made it that much funnier, apparently. “Har har,” she grumbled, “Jane’s small, absolutely hysterical. Just doesn’t get old, does it?” ”Hey boss. Got your crossbow?” The quick stab of melancholy in her gut was ignored. It’d stop soon enough. “Nah,” Conner was practically beaming at his own cleverness, “it don’t.” “Listen, you little shit,” she had to fight to keep her dour expression, resisting the way her face tried to turn up, “do you want to hear the rest or not?” The effort pulled at thick, deep scabs. The Hellcat’s claws had nearly taken her eye, and she felt no small amount of gratitude for being spared her sight. They had, however, left her permanently lopsided, the lower half of her left ear missing, two deep gashes from temple to chin that would either pucker or swell into thick ropes. Either way, she’d completely foregone any chances at winning beauty contests. No great loss, she supposed. It wasn’t as though she’d ever relied on looks, anyway. “Yeah,” the boy nodded excitedly. “How’d ya get ‘em? Did anyone die?” “Conner,” Lindsey began, “that ain’t appropriate talk afore sup-” “Actually,” Claw cut her off, shaking her head slowly, “we all did. It was a real massacre," she said, voice grim. "I tried to jump out of the way, just to find that ‘dying’ and ‘dead’ is a really important distinction. It was horrible. I got my throat ripped out, but it didn't kill me right away. I had to watch the rest move in, tear the crew open like rotten fruit. Guts everywhere. Rex was right next to me, intestines were spread out all over, and two of them started fighting over his liver." Lindsey set a pot down much harder than necessary. “Christ ages, Jane!” she said sharply over Conner’s peal of laughter. “You keep testin’ me, woman, I’m like t’trade yer supper for a batcha soap.” A recurring threat that she had yet to see to fruition. Claw winked at the boy, who was still giggling. “What really happened?” he pressed. “Didja get ‘em?” “In fact, we did.” Claw pulled her shirt partway up, exposing a long scar down her side. Her ribs were still a sickly shade of green and yellow, but healing up along with the rest of her. It didn’t hurt to breathe any more, at least. “But I wasn’t lying about getting a parting gift from that alpha. I’d listen to your mother about any big hunts just yet; things can go horribly wrong very, very quickly.” She tapped the scab under her eye. “Take falling into someone’s stockpond and coming face-to-face with a Hellcat.” “That’s quite enough’a that kinda talk,” Lindsey said firmly. “Supper’s most ready. Get washed up, then water the garden an’ th’dog.” Claw and Conner both stood up and headed outside. She could get herself around without much hassle, though more slowly than she liked. Her ankle was still a bit tender, and hurt like hell if she came down on it wrong, but otherwise held her weight without a problem. It was her shoulder that remained an issue; her arm was bound firmly across her chest, held immobile as she healed. Only time would tell if she’d ever get full range of motion back. For the time being, it was all but useless, badly torn muscles and partially-crushed bone where she’d been bitten making it a constant, throbbing reminder of how lucky she’d been to escape alive. She followed Conner into the soft, dusky orange light of evening, a pale sunset on the western horizon, where he was immediately accosted by a large black and tan hound dog. The animal bounced excitedly around the boy, making an odd, warbling almost-growl, slathering his hands in slobber while Conner laughed, scratching at his ears. “Atta boy, Bitner,” he chuckled, “giddown, I know it’s time fer water.” While he began to heft a small hand-pump, filling the dog’s bowl, Claw made her way to the rain-barrel and went through a perfunctory effort of splashing a bit of water over herself. Having been doing very little apart from eating, sleeping, and sitting around, it was more habit than actual need. She still preferred to stay clean, and having the means was a luxury in and of itself. It wouldn’t be long before she was back to being caked in sweat and dust; she was willing to allow herself a few more days before pressing on, but every day she spent with the Bothmans, the more liability stacked against all of them. She hadn’t said a word about the potential of being tracked by some very rough customers, and could only hope the remote area kept her hidden until she’d put a good deal of distance between them. Drying off with a piece of rough cloth, her mind went habitually to a bottle she still didn’t know the whereabouts of. It was customary for her to drink before eating anything. The physical need was gone- the mental cravings, those were as strong as ever. The clearer her mind, the less so her conscious became. In this instance, she thought bitterly, it would have dulled the twinge of guilt she felt over accepting food from a family that worked so hard for what they had. “Miss Jane?” Conner’s voice pulled her from the introspect. “Doin’ all right?” “Fine, kid,” she muttered. Claw rubbed her eyes briefly. “Give me one of those,” she directed, motioning at the buckets he was holding. The boy beamed at her, immediately passing one over. “Thank ya, ma’am,” he said cheerfully. “Ain’t nothin’, really, but I ‘preciate th’help.” “Yeah, well,” Claw stated flatly, “it’s kind of the least I can do.” They filled both buckets at the pump, then made their way to the garden growing alongside the house. It was nothing impressive, but the plants were hardy, and Claw wasn’t about to complain over the first non-wilted or dried produce she’d eaten in God only knew how long. With Conner at her side, they made short work of dumping the water over corn, beans, coyote melons, and tomatoes. Her gimp arm made the task somewhat difficult, but she didn’t particularly mind. “Y’got more stories?” Conner asked, pouring water slowly over a plant. “I like ‘em.” “Not any your mother would be happy with me telling,” she replied. It was a lie. However, she had to get his face out of her head. Turn him into another dead memory. “And I’d like to stay on her good side.” “Shoot,” the boy said, disappointment heavy in his tone. “I wanna make my own,” his blue eyes were furrowed in frustration, “but ma an’ pa won’t let me. Keep sayin’ I’m too young, hardly let me leave the house but fer chores.” “Good,” Claw told him firmly. “It’s not a kind world out there. You’re lucky to have parents who give a shit.” “I know,” Conner told her with irritation, “but I ain’t a little kid no more. Just don’t think it’s fair, y’know?” Claw shook her head briefly. It wasn’t an argument she was going to win; she knew full and well how the minds of children tended to work. Conner was no exception. He was bright, brave, invincible in his own mind. That wouldn’t change until he had his first terrible experience, which she could only hope would be staved off for at least a few years. “Life isn’t fair,” she decided on. “And as I said, you’re in a small demographic of kids with parents who aren’t just alive, but good folks.” She smiled, then winked. “At least, they’ve done a good job with their son.” “I ‘spose,” Conner grumbled. “Just…get bored. I could help,” he went on, “iff’n they’d only lemmie.” “My only advice,” Claw paused to pop a small tomato in her mouth, relishing the burst of sweet juice, “is to enjoy being young, having someone to take care of you.” She sighed shortly. “Trust me on this, you’ll miss it soon enough.” “Yes’m,” the boy said quietly, dumping his last bit of water onto a final shrub. He perked up at exactly the same time Claw heard incoming footsteps- Bernie and Jeff were back from the field. Bucket bouncing against his leg, Conner bolted for the property line, a wide, beaming smile on his face. “Set us back at least a week,” Claw heard Bernie grumble, pouring the last of her own water onto the ground. “If it isn’t one thing, it’s a whole new pail of bullshit.” “Yer oversellin’ a busted fence,” Jeff retorted. “Ain’t good, but she won’t take but a few days t’mend.” “That’s a few days I don’t have to spare,” Bernie spat back. “The cattle get loose, it’s another week wasted rounding them up.” “Pa! Uncle Jeff!” Conner bolted for the men, throwing his arms around Bernie, who embraced him briefly, surly face curling up in a small smile. “Summat wrong? Heard ya-” “Wrong ain’t the right word,” Jeff told him, ruffling the boy’s hair. “Busted fence on the east line. Gonna take us a good bit’a time-” “Take Conner,” Claw interrupted. Both men stopped short, staring at her incredulously. “Beg pardon?” Jeff demanded. Bernie, it seemed, was completely lost for words, just staring at her silently. “I said,” the woman gave them both an unimpressed frown, “Take Conner. He could use the experience, right?" Conner’s eyes went wide, and he flashed Claw a very brief look, overflowing with gratitude. “Can I, pa?” he begged his father. “We kin fix’er right up, better’n new!” Bernie frowned for a moment, then his face smoothed out, a shoulder raising in resignation. “You sure?” He asked Conner, one hand on the back of his head. “It’s hot, boring work. You aren’t going to have any fun.” "I'm sure," the boy insisted. "And," Bernie pressed, "you won't get bored and go wandering off?" "No sir." “I’ll ask, boy,” he stated. “But if your mother says no, I’m not arguing, and neither are you. Deal?” “Deal!” Conner said immediately. “You do all your chores?” Bernie asked, making his way to the rain barrel. “Sure did,” the boy followed after him, bucket swinging at his side, while Claw hung back and watched them somewhat wistfully. She set her own pail near the pump as Jeff and Bernie washed off the day’s worth of sweat and dust. “Hit a jackrabbit in the garden this mornin’,” the boy went on, “skinned it m’self! Ma says I kin have the hide, I’m gonna make a hat fer winter.” “Not too shabby,” Bernie told him, dry tone betrayed by the look of soft adoration on his face. “Maybe next time, you’ll nail something worth a shit.” “Aw,” Conner scowled at his father, “stuff it! She were eatin’ on the tomatoes, an’ I got ‘er afore Bitner even started barkin’.” “Damn worthless dog,” Jeff muttered. “Better off as a stew, iff’n y’ask me.” “Uncle Jeff, I’d beat ya black n’ blue,” Conner told him, the gravity in his young voice making all three adults laugh. He glared between them heatedly, making his father chuckle and ruffle his hair again. “Keep making that face,” Bernie grinned down at him as they made their way back to the house, “it’s gonna stick that way.” Conner glared. “Bullshit.” His father stared at him for a moment, struck speechless, then threw back his head in a burst of laughter. “Con, you best watch yourself. You ain’t near old enough to be cussing at your pa, understand? Next time,” he raised a brow, “I’m telling your mother.” “Sorry, pa,” Conner grumbled as they made their way inside. Claw found that the smile on her face was stuck. It was…nice, to be around a loving family. Like everything good in life, it wouldn’t last. She’d be back to scraping dirt on her own soon enough. For the moment, though, she might as well enjoy it. |
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Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode) S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5 Perks Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant Equipment: Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet Armor: Duster coat (Poor Condition) Reputation Bucket Town (-30) Claw (Companion) S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2 Perks Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman Equipment Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition) Armor Desert Clothing (Poor Condition) Nicholas Stahley, level 1 S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7 Perks Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner Equipment Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun Armor Dirty Pre-war Clothes | |
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| azstarael | Apr 15 2018, 12:33 PM Post #8 |
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"Got a light?"
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The kitchen table was already set by the time everyone made their way back into the house. Lindsey smiled softly at Bernie, a pot in her hand. “Eve’nin, hon.” She kissed him on the cheek, and her husband stroked her hair briefly before taking his seat. “Sure is,” he muttered noncommittally, taking the offered pot and scooping a ladle full of stew onto his plate. “That good?” Lindsey asked dryly, taking her own seat. “We got a busted fence,” Jeff interjected, accepting the offered stewpot and taking his own helping. “Four supports down. Dunno if summat spooked the cattle or Ol’ Sumbitch is makin’ trouble from beyond th’grave, but it’s a right mess.” “Other than that,” Bernie said, “nothing out of the ordinary. But that fence- well, it’ll go a lot quicker with another set of hands.” Lindsey’s expression instantly turned suspicious. “Miss Jane’s only got the one workin’, she ain’t in no shape t’be out fixin’ fenceline.” Claw stayed silent, taking her portion without looking at any of them. Jeff passed the stew to Conner, who had the good sense to do the same. “No, she’s not,” Bernie agreed. “But she could handle Conner’s chores just fine, and he could-” “No chance in hell,” Lindsey said immediately. “Linds,” Jeff interjected, “y’can’t keep th’boy under th’roof ‘till ya croak.” “He’s twelve!” The woman retorted heatedly. “Th’botha y’know damn good and well it ain’t safe in the pasture!” “Normally,” Claw finally spoke up, “I’d agree with you. But with both of them,” she pointed between Jeff and Bernie with her spoon, “he’s about as safe out there as anywhere.” “Ma,” Conner interjected immediately, “please? I ain’t a little kid no more, I kin do it.” “No offense t’ya, miss Jane,” Lindsey’s tone was unusually stern as the pot completed its round, “but it ain’t none of your business how I see fit t’keep my own flesh n’blood safe.” Claw shrugged. “I was completely on my own at fourteen. It wasn’t easy, but I made it this far, because my parents let me learn.” “Honey,” Bernie’s voice was much softer than usual, “he’s growing up. I know you’re worried, but keeping him sheltered is more dangerous in the long run than a few accidents.” “An’ how many ‘accidents’ you’n Jeff had out there?” Lindsey demanded. “More’n once, weren’t no reason y’shoulda made it home at all. S’pose a ganga shitheels happens t’be passin’ through? S’pose Ol’ Sumbitch hadda mate, an’ he’s stalkin’ out there as we speak?” “You’re assuming the worst.” Bernie paused for a large bite, leaving an uncomfortable silence as he chewed. Spoons scraped plates as the rest of the group kept eating as well, apparently unwilling to break the tension. “But,” the man finally spoke again, “what difference would two or three years make, if that were the case? He’s a damn good shot, great eyes and ears, we all know it. I can’t speak for you, but I’d rather he get some field experience under his belt while he’s young. All that aside, we’ve got enough work to do preparing for the winds. I want that damn fence back up yesterday.” “An’ iff’n there’s rustlers?” Lindsey insisted. “Or a ganga psychos just’ lookin’ t’kill summat? I don’t think-” “That I kin handle it?” It was Conner’s turn to interrupt. The look he gave his mother was equally disappointed and betrayed. “That I’ll, what, piss m’pants an’ high-tail it fer home? Jus’ let’em shoot me in th’back?” “Baby,” Lindsey began softly, “I ain’t mean-” “I ain’t a baby!” The boy’s fist came down hard on the table. “I kin shoot, I kin track, I’d do m’self fine out there. Y’just won’t lemmie prove it!” Another long silence fell over the group. Claw forced herself to keep eating, despite the tension across the room being thick enough to cut. In her peripheral, Conner and Lindsey were still staring each other down. After a minute or so, seeming to stretch out into an eternity, Lindsey sighed in defeat. “I’ll think on it,” she finally said. “Yes’m.” Conner’s tone stayed measured, but he was obviously fighting to keep it that way. He and his father shared a very brief smile before going back to their food. “How was yer day, Linds?” Jeff changed the subject. “Anythin’ interestin’?” “Found ‘bout a dozen eggs hid over by the south fence,” she replied. “Damn cluckers. I was afraid they’d quit layin’, but no, jus’ gonna make me walk damn near a quarter mile.” “I’ll fetch ‘em t’morrow mornin,’” Conner immediately offered. Lindsey shrugged, taking a drink of water. “I’ll take y’up on that,” she told him flatly, “but it ain’t gonna sway my mind ‘bout lettin’ you head out. Pass the tomatoes.” “I’m tellin’ ya, ma,” there was a note of pleading in the boy’s voice, “nothin’ bad’d happen!” “Honey, it ain’t nothin’ on yer skill or wits.” Lindsey accepted the bowl of red slop while giving Conner a very stern stare. “It’s a matter’a chance. There’s so damn much that could go wrong, it’s more like t’happen than not.” “We’ll talk about it more later,” Bernie interjected. “Good eatin’ tonight, honey. Who nailed the rabbit?” “Conner,” the woman replied somewhat grudgingly. “All th’way from the stockpen,” Conner muttered quietly into his plate. His mother glared. “Conner Lucas Bothman, I swear on yer granpappy’s grave-” “How ‘bout you, Jane?” Jeff cut his sister off cheerfully. “Yer lookin’ spry, patch job holdin’ up all right?” “I”ll pull through.” Claw raised her good shoulder in a shrug. “Should be out of the sling in a few days.” “Still hard t’believe y’lived through that mess,” Jeff kept chatting idly. “Helluva story. If’n it was me, though, I’d change th’bit where we rescued yer ass ‘bout a second afore she took y’down.” “If you’d gotten her before she took me down,” Claw retorted dryly, “I’d still have all of my face.” “Eh, y’still got all th’ important bits.” He flicked a hand dismissively. “Hardly even notice it anymore.” “Yeah. Right.” She gave him a thoroughly unimpressed stare. “I’ve seen a mirror, Jeff.” “Oh.” He grinned briefly at her. “Then yeah, y’need a better story.” “Horses’ ass,” Lindsey grumbled at him. “Poor girl’s healin’ up ‘bout as well as kin be hoped for.” Claw sighed shortly, flipping Jeff off. “It’s not like I was much to look at before, anyway.” “I ain’t touchin’ that one,” he replied. “We’ll need to hit town soon.” Bernie, doing a very good job of pretending Claw wasn’t there at all, changed the subject again. “I don’t like the sound the pump’s making, and we’re running short on lye.” She didn’t mind. Being forced into idle dinner conversation was making her distinctly uncomfortable. “Sometime next week, y’think?” Lindsey asked. “Just as soon as we get that fence done, more like.” Bernie paused for another bite. “We get hit by a dust storm with a busted pump, someone’s gonna have a damn fine time looting this place once it settles.” Lindsey nodded. “S’pose yer not wrong. Conner, eatcher carrots. We’ll get an inventory t’morrow.” The boy stabbed a soggy vegetable with a sullen “yes’m”. The adults discussed their plans, Claw ate quickly and quietly. “Thank you for the food,” she said shortly, standing up and taking her dishes to the sink. She washed them off in the small amount of water in the bottom, then went directly for the door and stepped outside. The evening was serene, the barest hints of dusk lingering on the western horizon and painting the few dingy, wispy clouds deep purple. A light breeze hissed quietly through the grassland all around, warm with the dry, brittle smell of shrub brush and dead grass. The first few stars had already winked to life overhead, sparkling in the dark gray expanse of the early night sky. She took out a cigarette, lit it with a deep drag, staring at the lighter in her hand for an unusually long time. She’d have to get rid of it, Claw pondered, leaning back against the house and crossing her ankles. A damn shame, really, it had made her life exponentially easier not having to deal with matches. The sentimentality connected to it was unacceptable, however. Cigarette held loosely in the hand strapped to her chest, the woman made a short, irritated noise as she pinched the bridge of her nose. Stupid, reckless, idiot kid. Stupid, weak, vulnerable mistake, taking an interest in him. She took in a sharp breath, held it for a moment, then let it out in a huff. It would fade. The wound would scab over and scar, hidden deep down, another mark on a long list of mistakes. Another addition to the recurring nightmares, another reason to seek oblivion at the bottom of a bottle. But it would fade. He would fade. The door opened, throwing a thick block of light into the yard. Claw glanced over at Lindsey’s shadow in the center of it, then returned to her cigarette. “Nice evening, ain’t it?” The other woman shut the door softly behind her. “Good t’enjoy ‘em while we can, afore the goddamn winds hit.” Claw made a noncommittal noise. Lindsey leaned on the wall next to her, following her gaze up to the stars. “Miss Jane, I need yer advice. I know Conner’s old enough, I jus’…” Another deep breath. “I think ‘bout him gettin’ hurt, or worse, an’ I’m more scared’n I ever been in my life. So shittin’ scared I can’t even breathe no more.” Claw could already see where this was going, and didn’t like it one bit. “What’s that to me?” she demanded curtly. “S’pose I was hopin’ fer a reassurin’ word or two,” Lindsey said dryly, “but that were foolish on my part.” She shrugged. “How do I let him grow up without givin’ m’self a heart attack over it?” “You’re asking the wrong person for advice.” She took a deep pull from her cigarette. “I don’t know the first thing about raising kids.” Failure. Lindsey gave her a long, unreadable look, then shrugged. “All right, how ‘bout this, then?” She took a short, trembling breath. “If somethin’ went wrong, somethin’ bad happened to my baby, how would I-” “You’d never forgive yourself,” Claw interrupted, voice flat and emotionless. “You’d think about it every day for the rest of your life. It would leave a massive hole that will never, ever fill in.” She sighed, long and soft. “You’ll wonder, until the day you die, what you could have done differently. You’ll find ways, so many different things you could have done to stop it, and that guilt will eat you alive from the inside out. Lindsey was quiet for a long moment, more stars winking to life overhead as the clouds faded from purple to gray. A quarter moon was just peeking over the horizon, replacing the velvety shadows of dusk with silver luminescence. Claw smoked silently, refusing to look at Lindsey, picking out a few constellations absentmindedly. “Not exactly comfortin’ words,” the woman finally said. “Though I ‘preciate the honesty.” There was another long pause before she finally asked, “how old?” Claw took a long, deep breath, letting it out slowly. “A week and a half.” “Oh, honey.” Lindsey’s voice was barely above a whisper, a mix of horror and pity. “I’m…I’m so sorry.” “It was a long time ago,” Claw said, more sharply than she’d intended. “I don’t want to talk about it.” “Jus’ answer me this,” Lindsey pressed. “How’d ya go on?” “I just…” Claw shook her head and raised her hand in a ‘who knows’ gesture. “I just did. What else could I do?” “Give up,” Lindsey said flatly. “If I lost my boy…I think I’d lay down an’ die with’im.” “I thought about it.” Claw shrugged. “I almost did. But in the end, I guess it was…” She made a quiet noise of frustration, struggling to explain. “I don’t believe in going out easy. Our ancestors burned the world and left us to scrape the ashes for a living, and I might die tomorrow in any number of ways.” She took another long drag from her cigarette as the night sky continued to darken, the last hints of color fading from the clouds. “So I’m not going to just lay down and cry about it. Bad things happen, I can’t change that. The world’s moved on, we’ve adapted to what we have. All we can do is keep scratching and clawing through the days, try and live to do it all over again, until our luck finally runs out.” “Bituva bleak way a’lookin’ at things,” Lindsey said. “What about hopin’ fer a better t’morrow? Tryin’ t’fix things, ‘steada just makin’ due?” “Why?” Claw wanted to know, dead and emotionless. “So when the world heals, if it even can heal, humans can blow it to hell all over again?” She ground her cigarette out against the wall and flicked the butt into the darkness. “You have your family. It’s a good reason to hope. Me, I don’t have anyone to look out for but myself, so I don’t really give a shit one way or the other what happens tomorrow.” She huffed out a quick chuckle. “It’s a lot easier that way.” “Ain’tcha lonely, Jane?” Lindsey asked softly. “I can’t imagine bein’ all on yer own fer so long.” “You ain’t cutting my hair.” “No.” Claw pushed herself off the wall and headed for the door. “I meet a lot of people. Don’t like many of them, smarter than all of them. I wouldn’t call it lonely, more like peaceful.” Her hand hesitated over the handle. “Conner? Once he hits a certain age, he’s going to start getting into trouble no matter what you do. Better that he’s prepared to handle it. Night.” With that, she left Lindsey in the dark, shut the door behind her, and settled into the corner that had become her bed. The lighter pressed into her leg. Something invisible squeezed her chest. She shut her eyes and took a long, silent breath, wondering which of the countless nightmares she had to look forward to that night. |
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Spike, level 5 (Hardcore Mode) S:4 P:9(-1) E:7 C:2 I:4(-1) A:10(+1) L:5 Perks Finesse | Small Frame | Chem Reliant Equipment: Switchblade | Rudimentary revolver | x5 Throwing Knives (GC) | Scary Terry Knife Gauntlet Armor: Duster coat (Poor Condition) Reputation Bucket Town (-30) Claw (Companion) S:2 P:7 E:9 C:3 I:9 A:8 L:2 Perks Jinxed | Hunter| Marksman Equipment Junk flinger | Kitchen knife (Poor Condition) Armor Desert Clothing (Poor Condition) Nicholas Stahley, level 1 S.4 P.8 E.3 C.6 I.8 A.4 L.7 Perks Improv Artist | Perfectionist | Fast Learner Equipment Homemade Shotgun | Zip Gun Armor Dirty Pre-war Clothes | |
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