aamusedly - Tumblr blog

[aamusedly]

[ DEATHCLAW ] - our muses are caught in a small space. there is an indeterminate amount of deathclaws outside. - hancock <3

A quick pop-over to one of his stashes, he'd said. It'll be easy, he'd said. Well, a pack of fucking Deathclaws had moved in from the edge of the Glowing Sea, and here they were under the floorboards of an old cabin like rats in a trap. Up above, the scrape and clatter of one of those beasts sniffing for them was audible, as was the way the floorboards lurched inches above Hancock's head.

He was a confident guy, sure, especially with his big brutal babe of a bodyguard there. But one Deathclaw would be a danger-- and it sounded like there were more than that.

So the ghoul pressed down as well as he could, dark eyes up above as the ceiling flexed inwards with the weight of a monstrous talon.

It was a good thing Nick had tuned her up at least marginally-- Karlach was still running like a furnace, but at least it wasn't sizzling his poor frock as he pressed close.

"Don't do anything heroic," the ghoul hissed in a quiet whisper. "Maybe they'll just... give up. Find better prey."

[aamusedly]

@asmodcus . From THE DEVIL.

A wealthy benefactor, an assassination target, and above all else a fuckload of cash. The Devil would just call it another day of the week, but from the beginning the stakes of this job felt higher.

Firstly, the 'fuckload of cash' was truly a monumental amount of money-- enough to buy out a new office, which he sorely needed with his current shithole falling apart. Second, perhaps more importantly, he didn't usually take assassination jobs. Call it sentimentality in his old age, but really the Devil just hated the heat it drew.

But thirdly-- thirdly he had a partner for this one. His benefactor clearly didn't trust him on this alone, and a third party made sense to keep an eye for all that it rustled his feathers. So the mercenary waited at the foyer of the art deco abortion that was the meeting place their mutual benefactor had assigned-- a hotel for the wealthy and gouache. At least it was late enough that no one was around to stare at his horns, folded under his hood though they were.

But the click of shoes on the polished floor drew his eyes up... and they widened.

"No fucking way."

Jean Masters.

[aamusedly]

It would've been a damn easy kill if his cough hadn't started acting up. If Cooper didn't know better, he'd have thought he was getting diminishing returns on his medication. Really all that applied to was the high, but what a way to skew his fucking perception.

His rifle had hitched at the first startling cough and his shot had gone wide, then his target was up on his ass before the Ghoul could catch his breath. He wasn't as good hand-to-hand, but this fucker sure as hell was.

By the time Isaac pinned him down, the Ghoul was wheezing in labored breaths... and a low, bitter laugh. "'Cause it... it wouldn't do shit."

"Won't kill me at least--" a wheezing inhale. "Unless you plan on cuttin' off my head with that... that tiny ass knife. And that's... a hell of a lot a' grunt work."

A pause. His hands were at his sides now, palms up. Surrender. But the Ghoul was still laughing.

"Or... you can... you can show an old cowboy some mercy. I ain't got enough skin in this game..."

🔪 for Boone or Cooper!!!

Isaac isn’t sure who put the bounty out on him—the list of possible suspects is long, with The Legion chief among them. Isaac is just petty lost flesh to them, but they hold a hell of a grudge, and they’re some of the only people out here with the caps to afford a bounty hunter of this caliber.

The ghoul had put up a damn good fight. It’s a miracle that Isaac finds himself sitting astride him now with a hunting knife pressed against the marred skin of his throat. Isaac is sporting several new bruises and a long cut on his cheek, but he’s triumphant.

Triumphant and scared.

It’s quiet. The fire crackles merrily beside them. Isaac’s eye glints in the low light.

“Give me one reason why I shouldn’t cut your throat right now.”

[aamusedly]

[aamusedly]

She snapped back, and for a moment Cooper felt himself surprised-- for another moment he felt himself enraged. A momentary flicker of want drifted behind his eyes; sink his teeth into skin, mark his territory--

He needed his fucking meds.

Cooper shot up to his feet as her cocktail was flung into his lap, his teeth baring in a beastly scowl. "Oh, what-- you tryin' to hurt my fuckin' feelings now? Oh, boo hoo, princess."

"I don't give a shit what Robert wants-- what about what I want-? You spoiled fuckin'--"

There were guns on him. Cooper felt it like a tingle on the back of his neck, and he felt it too late. A hand slapped down on his shoulder, and reflex came too soon. He spun to land a punch in the guard's stomach, and it was the last move he could make freely.

The Ghoul was swarmed by guards a moment later, his strength easily overwhelmed when three of them threw him to the ground and started dragging him out by the arms.

All Anna would be able to hear from his exit was a series of racking, violent coughs.

It wasn’t the rejection that hurt. It was all the emotions in his eyes and seeing the exact moment he shut her out. Knowing that he could have said yes.

“If it was just some fantasy, I could go to the fucking Atomic Wrangler.” The servers may have been ignoring him, but when they saw her drink had been taken, they promptly brought her a new one. She took the glass and stood up to leave. “The reality is that you’re just a washed up old communist who’s spent so long playing cowboy he thinks he is one.” She leaned down to hiss in his ear while she casually tipped her drink into his lap. “And you’re doing exactly what Robert wants you to.”

[aamusedly]

The Ghoul squinted blearily at the stranger, clocking a few things on instinct alone: he wasn't holding a weapon, he was on his own, and he was clearly some flavor of batshit.

Oh well. Join the fucking party.

"She," he echoed in a low slur. Bloodshot eyes turned up to the moon, glowing with intensity across the desert. He blew a low, soothing sigh through his ruined noise. "I ain't an entertainer. And you ain't right in the head, looks like."

"Come out where I can see ya, kid." He reached down for his bottle, then paused. "And bring me that spoon, if you want your fuckin' music."

Held away from the firelight and into the shadow of night, that thing in their hand looked as close to a gun as anything else. Gabban had taken plenty of risks before in his life, but tonight, with Juno so high, he wasn’t about to be made a fool. So he simply kept to his wedge in the rocks, just out of sight. 

“Why’d you stop playing?” 

Gabban laughed in a low rumble, no more than a scrape at the back of his throat. “You should keep going. It’s a good night for music. I mean, just look at that moon!” 

Had She come closer, or was the excitement messing with his vision a little? 

The sky had cleared and Her eye bore down on them with a strange intensity. Either things would be fine or they’ll be getting ugly soon. “She must have come out for a song.”

[aamusedly]

Lucy's grin was met with a curled upper lip and a sneer capable of leveling a small city. But there were no words with the scowl, perhaps it was some small measure of mercy from the Ghoul; an olive branch after... drowning, dismembering, mocking, those old chestnuts.

But if he felt guilt for how he treated a girl who was clearly going through the ringer on her own, it didn't show a lick on his face. It showed instead in the careful silence as he trudged along... and eventually an answer, sighed through chipped teeth. "Not anymore."

"All ghouls is different. What I experienced ain't what the next asshole experienced. There ain't a manual. I can tell you my perspective, but that's it."

But gosh dang it, she hated she had given him that much satisfaction. It could have been nice to make him smile, had it not been at her expense.

Still, he agreed far more easily than she had expected, and Lucy wanted to pretend she didn't know it was just because they both knew she'd annoy him into agreeing or pester him for days after.

She turned with a triumphant "Ha!" after he gave her his reluctant permission, with her first happy smile since her world had been turned upside down, until she inevitably looked at his hand - and her finger - again and wrinkled her nose. Back to facing the road it was.

"I was going to keep making my case, you are right about that," she informed him lightly, wanting to focus on that now and not on her father and everything that was to come. "Do Ghouls feel the pain from radiation? Before full radiation sickness, I mean, like when you drink a glass of water?"

[aamusedly]

Devil eventually returned to civility, though it wasn't without a pointed look, a reflex to say 'remember, I still bite.' The mercenary was more or less pouting, his upper lip curled and his nose wrinkled as she put pressure on the wound and started cleaning it up.

"Of course I have. But that doesn't mean I like being hit again."

Amber eyes flickered down, then back up, then back down as he debated his next words. "I mean. Not like that, at least."

Oh hush, this was the least painful part.

Bev kept that much to herself, though, instead easing the pressure she'd pressed against his head. Wiped the blood and mess away a little softer, not without sucking her teeth in response.

"You've been hit worse, I bet." She spoke lowly, any bite completely gone from her voice and now slipping into some semblance of bedside manner. More so, staying relatively quiet so this back and forth simmered down.

"Nothing we're not used to."

[aamusedly]

God, but this was humbling. Devil had worked with a lot of freaks in his life, but usually he didn't let them touch him with a ten foot pole. Gabban was, unfortunately, his last option for this information-- so the ten foot pole was discarded.

His teeth were sharp, enough to leave indentations on the bite plate that the mercenary was gripping a little too forcefully. The tail curled up at his side lashed almost purposefully at Gabban in an ineffective sweep. Maybe just to annoy him.

Amber eyes narrowed and followed his eager dentist as he prompted for discomfort. Between the bite plate and the info on the line, Devil didn't exactly find it genuine.

The closer Gabban got, the easier it was to hear the slightest bit of a low rumble in the bottom of Devil's throat, like a growling dog.

Most unfortunately, it looked like the Devil hadn't been keeping up with his check-ups. Between loosened implants and more than one crack in a molar, it was fairly clear the mutant was used to taking hits to the mouth.

Gabban lingered by the office a moment longer, watching Devil’s back while he slipped on a new pair of gloves and donned his mask. They seemed awfully tense for someone who’d come in like a dog hot off the street demanding his scraps. 

“Here, rinse.” He pressed a button beside the spittoon and filled one of the paper cups with mouthwash. “Try to relax.” 

There wasn’t much he needed to prepare for the X-Rays, only that he needed to replace the plastic barriers on the sensor and re-position the emitter closer to the headrest. Everything else was just about maneuvering the sensor inside of their mouth. “Now, I’ll need you to bite on the guard, but not too hard.” 

Slowly, he inserted the sensor toward the midline of the palate once Devil had chosen to open their mouth, just parallel to the roots of the center molar on their right-hand side. “Tell me if you feel any discomfort at any point, alright?” The fabric of Gabban’s mask creased with a grin as he adjusted the aiming ring over their cheek.

[aamusedly]

Hancock waited patiently, having drawn his legs up against his chest and pillowed his cheek against his knees. Something about talking parents made him feel smaller, but not in a bad way.

It was always in a bad way nowadays. This was... refreshing.

He waited a few moments before he reached out to the tin, skipped it between his hands for a moment, and then popped it open to look at what was inside. Muddy dark eyes softened, his brow knitting.

"I see where you get your looks from." His smile was genuine as he slipped the tin back over after a moment-- no doubt she wanted it close.

"...How do you know what the devil's hole is like?"

"Hardly a unique tale of woe. I've heard some horror stories that'd make even the most bloodthirsty raider feel sick." Some from the downright hilarious to the saddest of unfortunates, sadly. It was the way the world worked, whether she liked it or not. "Suppose it had to happen sometime, eh?"

Not like that. Karlach lifted the bottle of vodka to her lips and took a swig, before she offered it back to him. "Fuck, that's rough," she said. "Sorry, man."

Karlach struggled to picture him as a child. Something little and defenceless, because her mind's eye seemed adamant that it would conjure up the image of a ghoul. Toddler sized. Growing through lanky and awkward phases as she had when she shot up like a weed.

She eyed him, for a long moment. "Yeah? They were gooduns. Have a picture, actually. Kept it in a little tin, because by a stroke of luck, I don't seem to burn through metal." Karlach moved to stretch out her legs, lift up her backside enough that she could dig through the pocket of it.

She placed it between them in the dirt. "Give it a few minutes, shit's probably hotter than the devil's hole."

[aamusedly]

Cooper didn't seem to notice the hand on him until he was through his fit of coughing. An illness, a cancer, but really wasn't that all he was now?

Still, Anna didn't show him mercy-- she pressed her point until he was left staring back into her eyes with a faltering intensity, a roiling chaos between feelings. His lips parted, teeth clicked, mouth closed, eyes searched. Debating it. Goddamn, if he didn't tell himself to keep his shit together here...

"...You..." were willing to give up everything for me? Had he forgotten that too?

Had he forgotten her kindness, the tense red cord pulled between them? No. But he wanted to.

"...You don't always get what you want, sweetheart. You want a man who fried up in the dust cloud two hundred fucking years ago. Open your eyes-- that ain't reality anymore."

"So you can get your fucked up fantasies with some other freak. Or just get your rad poisoning the old fashioned way."

Having a coughing fit wasn’t one of the reactions she had anticipated. Reflexively, she reached out to put a steadying hand on his shoulder. “Are you alright?”

She let him have her drink and waited for the coughing to subside, watching with concern the entire time. It was one hell of a cough and she half expected blood to come up. “I was willing to give up everything for you once already, Cooper. If Robert is going to throw another jealous tantrum, it might as well be over something that actually happened instead of what-ifs.” She put out her cigarette and sighed before meeting his eyes. “I’m also still incredibly attracted to you, if that’s worth more than pissing him off.”

[aamusedly]

Hancock followed, caught his water, and cracked it open to start slugging it down greedily. He was already cooling off, but the ache in his joints was already settling in. He'd resolved to not be a no-good whiner, though.

The ghoul took a seat on one of the old chairs by the kitchen counter and allowed himself to hunch tiredly. "...You're from here, right? Originally?"

He didn't wait for an answer; Hancock already knew. His informants were too good to miss this detail. "It's gotta be kinda weird for you, huh."

It didn't take much for her to realize he was probably baking in the sun; between his coat being tucked away and the blistering heat that beat down on them both, she was quick to start making her way inside, gesturing for him to follow.

" Let me get you a drink. " Nora spoke as she made her way to the fridge - the blast of cold of the working appliance felt great as she grabbed a can of purified water, tossing it over to him over the island.

" Thanks. The Minutemen have been working hard on the wall." Shutting the fridge, she went to the sink to wash her hands, actual clean water pouring from the tap. " It's not...well, it's not what it used to be. Not yet, anyway. "

[aamusedly]

Hancock's inky dark eyes slid from the mercs at the table back to his guest. His rules were clear in Goodneighbor; welcome outsiders, be the refuge.

Now of course that hadn't always been the mantra of this place, but he also hadn't always been the Mayor. Some people here tended to forget that-- which was why the shotgun came in handy. Sign enough that Hancock felt confident in this confrontation, he let Yunae's arm go after a moment. "Let ol' Hancock handle this one, then. I got two barrels for a reason."

The ghoul strode up, silence following in his wake like a bad omen. The men at the table seemed to already know the deal, as did most folks in the bar-- who found safer positions to watch from a distance. Whether he was keeping an eye on the vault-dweller or not, Hancock clearly expected Yunae to stay behind him.

"Howdy, Neighbor. You wouldn't happen to know anything about a roughed up Vaultie outside the gates, huh? One missing that pip-boy right there?" The tip of his shotgun pointed down to the item on the table. "What did I tell you about being nice, Finn."

The merc in charge seemed to only show fear for a moment before it was replaced with anger, a drunken rage filling his face. "Jesus Christ, Hancock. What are you, his fuckin' daddy? Don't you have better shit to do?"

‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒‒ "I don't even remember doing any chems! Wait, is that what that inhaler was?? I didn't think some rando would be offering me free narcotics like in those anti-drug Vault-Tec PSAs!! Aouhh, this is bad." They crouched down, frog-style, scratching at their head.

"I mean I've taken and even made mentats before, and we had cannabis in the vault, but what the fuck even was in that inhaler???" Did they even want to know, honestly? Post-war chems seemed to be far, far more dubious than brain-enhancing pills and marijuana.

Yu-nae's freak-out came to a calm halt when Hancock gently took their arm. Feeling like they weren't in much use with the state they were in, and also having no better ideas, they allowed the mayor to helplessly lead them around towards the door that read 'The Third Rail' in neon lights. Down into the subway-station-turned-bar they went.

When Hancock spoke to them again and directed them towards the men, the inebriated Yu-nae threw any caution out the window once they saw their Pip-boy on the table, and wordlessly attempted to make a beeline for it, only to be held in place by the arm on their shoulder. They couldn't say for certain that it was theirs until they turned it on and unlocked it, but whose else could it belong to?

"I... I don't really recognise their faces, but I know that bowler hat had a bullet hole on it's side there," they said, pointing at one of the men. They just now noticed the shotgun and blinked in surprise a couple of times.

"Oh shit... that reminds me, they took my weapons too."

[aamusedly]

The cast to Crow's face was distinct, a shade off of human with too-wide eyes and a broad nose; it made them an easy read when their expression shifted. In this case, it was a glimmer of intensity, a focused optimism.

Hope.

He took a step forward, enough so that he was nearly pressing his nose against the glass between them. "I don't know that yet," Crow answered honestly, "but I'll owe a debt to whoever gets me out of here."

"Could you tell me honestly, Echo, that you wouldn't be delivering me from one prison to another?"

"Unfortunately, that is my actual name," she jokes, though she's pleasantly surprised that they want to get to the bottom of why she's here, much less speaking with them. Crow is a means to an end at the end of the day. Jobs are jobs. There's no hard feelings.

"You want out. I want you out."

Crossing her arms over her chest, Echo studies any inflections in their expressions before continuing.

"If I help you, then can I trust you won't run? My people want to talk to you, discuss the cosmos -- all that shit I'm not paid to understand, since I'm not their scribe, but there are a lot of people who think you have value to this world."

She pauses.

"So are you friend to us, or foe?"

[aamusedly]

Despite his good-natured optimism, Crow was still a self-preservationist. He'd been avoiding the Cosmic Chain for years, and knew very well what he stood to lose if he was captured again.

Prison hadn't been kind to him. But apparently this scientist would be even less so.

Crow turned down to look at their hands on the table, long blue fingers absently fiddling with each other. "You're familiar with this character."

"Did he hurt you?"

That was true enough and Sephiroth couldn't deny it. Even as closed off as he kept himself Crow radiated a sense of familiarity that no one else ever had. Perhaps it was that aura that unnerved him in the deep recesses of his mind that he largely ignored.

Finally he let out a small sigh as if in reluctant surrender. "Yes. I did. I can't lie about that." He kept people at a distance out of the sake of self-preservation but it seemed that his "cousin" wasn't about to let him. And in the end it might just be easier to surrender in this case. He had already spared Crow for some reason he still didn't understand, forcing his employers to believe in the death of their target.

The characteristic smirk faded, the cat-like pupils narrowing despite the dim light. "If you insist on such a thing I will give you a warning. Stay out of the sight of a man named Hojo. The Chain knows you are a powerful biotic and are not human or completely. They would only imprison you as a thief and renegade. Hojo will know you for what you are and he'd like nothing more than to have another subject to continue his research. There will be no escape from that hell and even less of a chance of rescue."

[aamusedly]

I too enjoy the jerky man

[aamusedly]

#𝐈𝐍𝐅𝐄𝐑𝐍𝐀𝐋𝐈𝐒𝐂𝐎𝐑. an independent & selective karlach cliffgate from larian's baldur's gate 3. largely canon compliant. multiverse & multiship. due to the nature of the content on this blog, it is 21+. as written & adored by hannah. 30. irish. NON-RP BLOGS & MINORS DNI.

a lazy study in — anger born of worry, being totally awesome but impractical, the bruiser with the soft center, touch starvation & falling in love with life all over again.