couriertraush

[couriertraush]

One last microdrabble:

Vivian just about groaned when she saw the faded overalls sagging on her girlfriend’s frame. At school, no less. They were an affront to begin with, but now that they’d been shopping to pick out some more ass-appropriate clothing, she felt more than justified chewing her out. “I can’t believe you’re…” The twin turned and met her with a cool look. “... wearing Larkin’s clothes.” Ryker lifted an eyebrow, and Vivian leaned against the adjacent locker. “Nevermind, that’s entirely believable.”

As she turned back to shove another textbook into her open locker, Ryker said, “Thought I’d be doing you a favor, grabbing this off her pile.”

“Oh?”

“You’ll love what she’s wearing instead.” She sounded disinterested, which meant Vivian would either love it or really, really hate it.

Turns out Larkin had two pairs of overalls.

[couriertraush]

I know I’ve mentioned pieces before, but a fun collection of some of Vegas Ryker’s more paranoid traits after taking power:

Behavior

brings her own water bottle everywhere, won’t buy drinks in open containers

sits with her back to the wall and hovers near the edges of room pretty much without thinking at this point

sometimes travels with others, but rarely sleeps in the same vicinity unless it’s a close friend. she’d rather make a discreet camp in a cave or something.

she’s always been a people-watcher, but now it’s less for entertainment and more out of fear of what might be going on just under her nose

has a med floor for anything short of a life threatening emergency so she doesn’t have to recover in the public eye

she has long ‘favors owed’ (in either direction) lists that she used to be able to keep in her head, but after a year or two started having to write down

Logistics

keeps detailed logs of everyone who enters and exits the Lucky 38, has people broadly categorized for where they are and aren’t allowed to go, and restricts who can visit if she’s injured or something seems to be going on

has physically destroyed parts of the stairwell and staircase that go to more sensitive floors. fire hazard? absolutely. but marginally better than being shot while sleeping [citation needed]

has installed camera systems on all the floors of the 38 that people frequent. Yes Man watches over these and can play them on the large monitor in the penthouse. eventually, she makes some of the less sensitive ones motion-activated.

has asked Yes Man to have Securitrons all be able to recognize her own face to watch her back in public (and briefly had him watching Cee/Vee as closely, but they quickly told her how creepy that was)

set up a system of radio wave repeaters around the Mojave, which is probably one of the most useful things she did. the repeaters pick up a wide variety of radio signal frequencies and re-broadcast it, so caravaneers and the followers and such can take advantage of them too.

her own usage of the repeaters is for a public and a private communication channel with Yes Man. Yes Man monitors the public one as a sort of complaints box where someone can attempt to leave a message for Ryker, which may or may not (read: usually not) result in her doing something. she also uses it to coordinate work long-distance.

her private channel is used for ~4-5 handheld walkie talkies with encryption that she salvaged and hoards jealously. anyone who picks up the radio signal will just hear gibberish/noise, the receiver needs to be able to decrypt it. they’re specialized (military or certain industries) equipment even nowadays, and these were already set up to work with each other.

spends a significant amount of time maintaining the Securitrons, her camera systems, and the radio relays

hires various couriers for errands, but for anything really signficant (*cough* like the platinum chip *cough*) she delivers it herself

[couriertraush]

[Ryker is zoning out, and Wyn taps her on the shoulder causing her to jump] Ryker: You scared the shit out of me! Wyn: It’s okay, I’m sure there’s plenty left. You’re full of it. Ryker: Well, I guess we don’t say you have a shit-eating grin for nothing.

[couriertraush]

Six Shooters is a good Vivkin song, so here’s the one that always reminds me of a bad end

She doesn't kiss me on the mouth anymore 'Cause it's more intimate, than she thinks we should get She doesn't look me in the eyes anymore Too scared of what she'll see, somebody holding me

When I wake up all alone And I'm thinking of your skin I remember, I remember what you told me

Said that we're not lovers, we're just strangers With the same damn hunger To be touched, to be loved, to feel anything at all

...

She doesn't call me on the phone anymore She's never listening, she says it's innocent She doesn't let me have control anymore I must've crossed a line, I must've lost my mind

...

I miss the mornings with you laying in my bed I miss the memories replaying in my head I miss the thought of a forever, you and me But all you're missing is my body, oh

[x]

[couriertraush]

I thought I didn’t care about any content on my tumblrs since drawings and actual fic I have backed up in several places, but then I realized there’s a decent amount of meta on this sideblog that only lives here. So I’m gonna go through my drafts and finish or delete them all (it’s only a handful), then back this all up too.

I’m not currently planning on putting any AU fic on AO3 (and wouldn’t do so with Viv or Larkin without permission), but if something gets taken down and you want a copy, hmu.

Also might email fic out in the future...? Haven’t decided yet.

[couriertraush]

was reading a manga and someone had hair like top right so I’m trying to actually settle on a canonical hair for Vegas Ryker

[couriertraush]

GrayEmbersToday at 11:09 PM imagine Veronica scandalized because not only does Ryker not know what date her anniversary for dating Christine is, she also doesn't care AusphinToday at 11:10 PM Ryker, godless heathen who doesn't know what calendars are GrayEmbersToday at 11:10 PM "Vee I don't even know my own birthday" "w HAT" AusphinToday at 11:10 PM tbh wasteland folks probably don't care much for the dates or years or whatever GrayEmbersToday at 11:11 PM Oh shit now the tough question: does she know the date of Larkin's disappearance AusphinToday at 11:11 PM the date is whenever someone asks her the date "It's actually.... today" GrayEmbersToday at 11:11 PM fuck. how is that so in character. it's today, how insensitive of you to bring it up legit I feel like she'd at least be very close to knowing the date since she spent so long looking and telling people "she disappeared x days/weeks/months ago" and would therefore know the rough date AusphinToday at 11:15 PM "this is my mourning month"

[couriertraush]

Pieced together some more RM AU plot over vacation, so I picked the one with dialogue I can’t get out of my head  ¯\_(ツ)_/¯ 

---

Most of the apartments in the complex were dark inside, and her target four floors up was no exception. She entered through the window, stepping off the sill onto worn carpet before carefully replacing the screen behind her. Hoping to disappear in a few minutes on a similar route, she left the window’s hacked lock disengaged.

Only a room close to the front door had any lights on, though the ambient light of the Vegas night pooling in front of the two windows was enough for her to make out the outlines of furniture. Her own shadow stretched to the edge of a couch and side table, and in the kitchen, a table stood next to a small kitchenette. Really, small described the entire unit. It had been a long time since Ryker set foot in an apartment outside the Strip, where someone’s penthouse bathroom might be five times bigger than this. As her eyes adjusted, she noted a few dim electronic displays and several stacks of clutter scattered around the living area.

The room near the door held her attention longer. At the threshold, the carpet turned to speckled brown tiles. Faint clacks could be heard, maybe bottles hitting countertop, and a creak from the floor erased any doubt that someone was inside. She wanted to make this quick, but a bathroom would have a mirror and she doubted the occupant’s back would be to the door. She needed to lure her out into the dark. On the couch’s end table, a digital photo frame illuminated a round object. She palmed it; some sort of decoration, fist-sized, liable to shatter when thrown.

She took another step towards the bathroom, but her gaze snapped back to the screen sitting upright on the table. The display projected a photo a half inch above the frame, and despite the stark differences, she recognized Christine immediately. The woman in the picture looked years younger, but for all Ryker knew, it could’ve been only months ago. She had hair - buzzed close to her scalp, but discernibly auburn. Her smile ended in dimples instead of surgical wounds, and even in the calm morning hours they’d spent together, she’d never seen Christine look so relaxed. The other woman in the photo had one arm wrapped around Christine and another holding the camera out. Veronica, based on memories shared. The resident of this apartment.

She glanced toward the open door a few yards away. The noises had quieted, and Ryker’s skin prickled with unease as she crept forward. If there was ever a time she needed a gig to go smoothly, the off-the-clock favor without her usual backup was certainly it.

Her shadow gave her away. The scuff of foot on linoleum barely gave her enough warning to dive away from the right hook that came flying through the door, creating distance between them as Veronica’s momentum carried her a few feet into the room. The bathroom’s bright light silhouetted Veronica, so Ryker couldn’t make out what weapon she might be reaching for on her waist. “Easy,” she said, standing slowly and holding her arms out. “I have a message; I’m not here to fight you.”

Voice falsely sweet, she said, “Awww, do you say that to all the girls you rob, or just the pretty ones?” This time, she reached for the wall behind her, and the sudden flood of light in the main room caused Ryker to squint disagreeably.

Unable to contain her dubious glance at the piles of useless clutter, Ryker asked, “Why would I rob you?” The words seemed to fly past Veronica, and Ryker didn’t like the way she was looking at her. Eyes narrowed, searching. But she wasn’t attacking, so Ryker straightened up and grasped the top corners of her sen glove. “It’s fr -”

The realization flashed across Veronica’s face. “I know you! You’re from Gray Matter, the one that… there was a memo with your face on it.”

Ryker had heard as much from the informants in their network, but hearing it out loud still sat heavy in her stomach; recognition was dangerous, something she strove to prevent during her work, and Veronica pegging her so easily rubbed salt in the wound. Particularly since she’d already failed at stealth, and she’d promised she wouldn’t hurt Veronica, so there was no erasing that mistake.

“Great,” she said with a face that said anything but. “No introductions needed. I have a message for you from Christine.”

The name drew an immediate reaction - first of eagerness, then of fear. She kept up the pretense of humor, but her laugh was weak and her smile faltering. “Oh good. A message about my missing friend from the most feared spy of my employer’s enemy. I feel real good about this one.”

Brow knitting, Ryker assured her, “Christine’s with us by her own choice. Well - by what little choice your employer left her.” The confusion was plain on Veronica’s face, and Ryker had to remind herself that she didn’t know anything yet. Unfortunately, Ryker had neither the time nor the desire to lay it out for her. “And anyway, I’m not here for Gray Matter. Christine asked me to deliver this, so I am. Do you want it or not?”

Her voice grew softer. “Of course I do.”

When Ryker squeezed her sen glove, the strips of light along the metal forearm woke with a soft blue glow. Ryker took a step forward, and Veronica took a matching step back, her eyes glued to the glove. “Woah, hey.” Ryker quirked an eyebrow, and Veronica offered a weak laugh before saying, “Don’t take this the wrong way, but there’s absolutely no way you’re touching my sensen with that.”

Annoyed, she said, “Gonna be awfully hard to give you the message, then.” In case it hadn’t been clear enough, she added, “It’s a memory. And before you ask, I don’t know what it is. Christine locked it down, hard.” If it had been completely unencrypted, Ryker would’ve been nosy enough to peek, but the extent of the encryption made the desire for privacy pretty clear. Even so, Christine had precious few memories intact, and having seen a number of them herself, Ryker had her guesses about which one she was delivering to Veronica.

With a conciliatory grin, Veronica suggested, “Why don’t you put it on yours and I’ll grab -”

“No.”

Even in the face of Ryker’s dead glare, Veronica tried, “Hey, I don’t know any of that fancy manipulation stuff. I can’t do anything other than grab the memory.” The implication being Ryker’s fingers might wander beyond the confines of delivering a single memory.

Which was fair, considering her day job.

Ryker glanced out the window before laying out her ultimatum. “Look, the longer I’m here, the more both of us are in danger. Either I give you this message and leave, or I just leave. Those are your only two options.”

Veronica worried her lower lip, and Ryker turned to leave. “Wait - I’ll do it.” Pleased for having called her bluff, she started across the room as Veronica added, “But if I feel any funny business in there, your face is gonna get well acquainted with my fist.”

Not wanting to scare her away, Ryker resisted the urge to ask if she really thought a punch would be faster than an overload. Would’ve been an interesting experiment; people had funny reflexes, and stranger things had happened. “I’ll be sure to leave all your traumatic childhood memories alone.”

“Good. Remembering every time I ever wet the bed is a very important part of who I am, as a person.” Up close, Veronica towered a good six inches above her. She seemed more uneasy than anything else, clenching and unclenching her fist in anticipation. When Ryker flexed her own fingers, lights danced along her glove.

Then she reached for the back of Veronica’s neck, her gloved fingers cutting through the projected lights to touch the sensen directly. The process only took a few seconds, simple enough that even the cheapest sen gloves could do it, but Veronica spent the duration coiled with her fist aimed for Ryker’s jaw. As she finished, Ryker removed her hand with a flourish and a facetious smile. “There you go.”

As she contemplated the new data, Veronica dropped her gaze to the ground and reached to touch her own sensen, immediately leaving herself open to an attack. “Wow… you weren’t kidding about the encryption.”

Ryker pinched the wrist of her sen glove again, shutting the lights off to avoid unwanted attention outside. With a shrug, she assured her, “Christine was confident you could decrypt it. Said you’re one of the best.” The words passed by Veronica without effect, and never one for pleasantries, Ryker turned and headed for the window.

The motion roused Veronica. “Wait!” - Ryker didn’t - “You’ve been talking with Christine? How is she?”

‘Talking’ was an operative word she didn’t care to delve into, but she felt like she owed Veronica something. She removed the window screen again, this time leaning it against the inside wall for Veronica to fix. “She’s…” Ryker tipped her head and pursed her lips as she searched for the right word. “She’s recovering.” Then she was out the window and out of sight, hoping neither company was any the wiser.

Her word choice would haunt Veronica over the next couple days as she spent her free hours picking apart Christine’s tightly wound security.

-

Bonus: Ryker shares the memory of seeing that photo with Christine, who’s like, that’s oddly poetic of you. She motions ‘and then what?’ and Ryker’s like, oh you wanted to actually see your girlfriend? Here you go, and shares just the conversation. When Christine inquires about the part in between the two memories, already having put it together, Ryker’s like ugh fine she was two inches away from knocking me out are you happy?

[couriertraush]

I can’t stop thinking about how perfect a job pyrotechnician is for modern AU Ryker.

Like, in no particular order:

Can apprentice into it without college (though she’d whine about licensing)

Extremely physical and produces something rewarding for the effort

Mechanical/chemical know-how for creating specific fireworks or experimenting with new ones (boy would she love that)

Tons of travel, often outdoors

Flexible amount of work hours depending on how many shows/contracts are happening

Very flashy, creates a spectacle without Ryker having to perform/be known

Jokes about failing high school chemistry (but all the knowledge for her job is tied to tangible outcomes rather than being abstract and therefore boring)

Explosions

Pranks

Easy to brag about

I mean hell, FNV Ryker would probably have a blast if she happened upon some fireworks. She’d never use gunpowder to make her own cuz that’s too valuable to waste, but sparklers or something.

On the other hand, there’s a lot of safety and logistical arrangements to bog down the fun, but presumably she’d work with a crew or company and wouldn’t be constantly dealing with such things.

Kinda neat interview

[couriertraush]

One more RM AU from today, a cute prequel scene.

--

I.

When the door creaked open late in the afternoon, an eddy of sand chased the girl inside before she could shut the door against the rough wind. The duster she shrugged off was too large for the young teen, though it seemed to be shrinking by the month. As she kicked her boots off, she finally heard her sister call across the room, “‘ey. Guess what I got?”

Perched on the edge of a chair across the room, Ryker waved her hand across the projected rings of her sensen by way of explanation. They’d had their sensens since nearly as long as they remembered - their mother insisted - so Larkin took the gesture to mean something stored on the sensen. “Ya know, ’s faster and safer to just throw the money directly into a ditch.” While reputable memory stores had decently safe and regulated, the kind of back alley merchants the twins could afford weren’t going to be sifting through their stock with a fine grained comb to guarantee they were glitch free.

Which never seemed to bother Ryker. “Aw, come on.” Swiveling around on the chair, Ryker folded her arms over its back and grinned enticingly. “Haven’cha always wanted to know what it’s like to rob a corner store and make a great escape?”

Larkin shook her head as she crossed the room. “Can’t say I have that particular hole in my life.” Ryker had pulled her chair a foot away from the kitchen table, so Larkin had to step around her to toss her satchel on top of the table.

Mimicking a deep, energetic voice, Ryker said, “You won’t regret it! All the thrill with none of the risk! And for the low low increase of fifty percent, you can have the memory custom tailored to match your voice.” Larkin turned to fix her with an incredulous look, and Ryker chuckled once. “I’ll do that part myself, of course.”

Which no doubt had been her motivation from the outset. Larkin pulled a water bottle from their small fridge before joining Ryker at the table. “Still at it, huh?”

Pouting, she replied, “Well since someone doesn’t want me rooting around in our memories anymore, I’ve gotta get any old street memories.” Larkin let the familiar gibe slide by because the decision had been mutual; as they grew older, they found the lack of distinct identities and histories made interacting with society far more difficult. And after their mother passed, they had little choice but to strike out in search of work.

“Sorry, ya can’t rewatch me falling into that pond for the hundredth time.”

Larkin reclined in her chair far enough to plop her feet on the table, and Ryker said, “Hmm, that is a good one,” as she leaned onto the table to peek under the flap of the satchel. The loaf of bread failed to interest Ryker, but she pulled at an wrapped bundle in hopes of something fresh.

She told her sister, “Cheese,” ruining the surprise and causing her to slouch onto the table. “Ever considered getting a new hobby.”

Brows knitting, Ryker said, “It’s not a hobby if I’m gonna make a living off it someday.” When Larkin took a sip of water rather than replying, Ryker glanced her way and added, “Maybe I’ll get certified.”

“With what education?” Grumbling indistinctly, Ryker peeled herself off the table and headed for their bedroom. As she passed by, Larkin added, “But I’ll take a look at the memory when you’re through.”

Ryker reached out to ruffle her hair on her way by. “Of course you will. No one can resist the grand larceny.” While Larkin doubted a store robbery would qualify as grand larceny, it was entirely believable that it would by the time Ryker was finished remixing the memory.

[couriertraush]

Gonna plop my two starter drabbles down for Remember Me AU. It’s after the twins have been separate for a long while and before shit really blows up.

----

I.

“Those are some nice gloves.”

As she clipped the strap underneath her wrist, she glanced at the naked woman still reclined across her bed. Grinning, Larkin rolled her fingers into a tilted fist so the dim light caught the iridescent sheen of the alloy wrapped around her forearm. “I’n it? One of the perks of working for Mind over Matter.”

Vivian raised an eyebrow at the casual drop of personal information. Even when they were enjoying drinks at the bar, the other woman danced around conversations about herself with a finesse and charisma that kept Vivian wondering if it was even intentional. “So you work for MoM, huh? Guess that means it’s a sen glove?”

“Stylish and functional,” she confirmed. Only her right glove included the gauntlet casing which protected the electronic components, but both fingerless gloves had a sleek polish about their dark leather. Although she preferred Larkin with no clothes on, Vivian thought the gloves would pair well with her own leather jacket.

Carefully casual, Vivian asked, “What do you do there?” Since it was the largest employer in Neo Vegas, “working for” Mind over Matter could be anything from a front desk secretary to a top tier research scientist. Given the pricetag on a sen glove like that, she had to assume the job included interacting with sensens.

Larkin glanced at the city lights through the window before saying, “I’ll tell you some other time.”

Vivian grinned. “Implying you’ll come back for round four?”

Larkin let her gaze drift in an obvious fashion down the length of Vivian’s nude body. “I could be convinced.”

II.

As their breathing evened out, the low hum of the A/C and the distant sounds of Vegas traffic filled the small apartment bedroom. The cool air might’ve chilled Larkin if not for the warm flesh beneath her. Her head rested on Vivian’s chest, and she traced a lazy finger around the darkening bruises left by a combination of lips and teeth. Vivian didn’t seem to mind.

Her dark fingers were laced through Larkin’s short hair, low enough to dip towards her neck but stopping short of the dim glow dancing above the sensen embedded in her neck. Though she never said as much, her line of work added an unusual layer of intimacy to the back of her neck - not that Vivian would know - and it was only recently that she allowed Vivian to pin her down long enough to leave bright hickeys on the sides of her neck.

Even so, she paid attention to the fingertips sifting through her hair. When they wandered below her hairline, the feeling was like -

- fingers that dug into the edge of her implant while she sat on the rotting floorboards of their hut, her small legs gathered to her chest as she twitched every time a slipped finger twisted the machine’s connections to her tender nerves. A voice grumbled if she’d just not fallen in this wouldn’t be necessary, and her own chuckle rocked her shoulders and sent a fresh wave of static across her spine.

The afternoon sun filtered through their opened windows, which let in air heavy with recent rain. Despite the discomfort, she felt light. Unburdened. The fingers worked at the edge of her sensen, but even full contact wouldn’t have been unwelcome.

Then the debris slipped loose, and her own fingers were pressing on the puckered sore where skin met metal. With the success came a relief from her unease, and she was glad to have taken care of it herself; she knew better than to let anyone touch her sensen.

And for a moment, Larkin knew it was a memory. In control of her own movements again, she let her hand fall away from her neck and turned. No one was behind her.

“Larkin?”

Her focus snapped back, but surfacing dragged tendrils of other memories through her peripheral vision and sent a chill down her spine. She flattened her hand against Vivian’s chest and felt the rise and fall of her breath. By the time she rolled her head back to meet Viv’s gaze, Larkin had donned a sleepy smile. “Hmm?”

Concern still pinched her brows as she asked, “You okay? It looked like your sensen glitched.”

A corner of her smile stretched as if amused, and Larkin assured her, “It’s just a visual glitch.” But the aftertaste of the memory fragment lingered, so Larkin slid forward to wrap her lips around the base of Vivian’s throat. She felt a thoughtful rumble begin, but if she’d been planning to say anything, she quickly forgot as Larkin’s lips trailed up the side of her neck.

When Vivian turned her head away, she exposed both her neck and the sensen buried above her spine. Larkin knew the model and the layer of basic encryption it provided; child’s play to a mixer like her, but enough to keep most street thugs out of her memories. She nipped Viv’s neck and ran her tongue over the sensitive skin. The projected ring lit up Larkin’s nose as it swirled lazily, and Larkin should’ve been flattered by the low activity. Viv’s mind was here and now, clearly enjoying the lips working down her neck as she dug her fingers into Larkin’s back.

By the time her attention meandered southward, the lights above Larkin’s neck had slowed as well.

[couriertraush]

On my trawl last night I came across, well, all my courier fics lmao. I never reblogged those here cuz I was considering here to be AU-only, but lbr CF is an AU too at this point, so I wanted to list my favs:

Short:

Ryker no

Giving Larkin a hand

Twin fights

Medium:

Do you ever just get beat up in an alley

I live for radio banter (idk where Larkin is, taking a nap???)

Ryker’s teddy bear, iconic

Sickfic that was honestly over the top but linking it anyway

Not mine but I forgot about this troll twins gem.

[couriertraush]

I went into my oldest courier fic file expecting to find a drabble about clone Larkin and Ryker fighting, but apparently I wrote like. 80% of an entire clone AU? And didn’t finish it? And left a cliffhanger at literally one of my favorite parts/?? I feel so betrayed by 5-years-ago me. Motivational speech of the month is “write what you’ll regret not being able to read in five years.”

Also, I kinda like the writing still. But I don’t feel like I can change it or add to it since this is like... yknow, an artifact. An ancient relic from deep in the vaults of embersownmatt. So I’m adding in italicized plot summary / explanation for all the holes.

uh.. enjoy?

---

[The plot originated from a group of the couriers finding an old vault with a cloning machine. They activate it without realizing what it is, and all of them have exact clones pop out, but naturally it’s the twins who see this as an opportunity to jump on.

The others leave their clones behind, but Ryker and Larkin agree to meet Ryeclone and Larclone later to talk about trading places for a while. There’s a loose agreement about the originals and clones swapping turns doing CF business and package running while the other two explore places they’ve always wanted to go but haven’t had time.

Unfortunately, the clones from the vault’s machines weren’t intended to last long...]

The first sign of trouble occurred long before the twins exhausted the list of four places to be in at once.  While Ryker was dragging her sister through a deserted building Elbow Grease once told a story about, the clones were occupying their place at base.  Ryker’s double was fiddling with ammo casings at the kitchen table, spilling powder on the clean surface that she was sure to be asked to clean up later, and she barely looked up when Nem asked if they’d picked up surgical tubing on the road.  “Think it’s on my bed,” she replied, and then glanced up as Nem headed into the hallway to find it herself.  “Hold on, I’ll grab it!”

Ryker vaulted out of her chair, and in two steps she wobbled and took a nosedive so sharp that Elbow Grease barely managed to swoop her up by the armpits from his own seat at the table, the motion scratching chair legs across the floor and sending his book straight to the floor.  Her eyes fluttered as her feet found weak purchase on the floor again.  “You okay?  Can you stand?”

Recovering enough to fix him with a testy look, she replied, “Not while you’re holding me.”  He pulled his hands away gently, and she managed to keep her posture as straight as her face.  Elbow Grease reached up to feel her forehead, so Ryker insisted, “I just stood up too fast.”

“You don’t look sick,” he admitted.  “Have you eaten?”

As she tried to recall her last meal, Ryker could only summon up a morning of manning the radio with a beverage and then her decision to use up looted ammo materials.  She’d been too tired, almost, to consider preparing a meal, but Ryker had slept just fine.  Before she lingered on her thoughts too long, the reason she stood up returned in the sound of Nem calling out a question about the tubing.  “I’ll eat later,” she assured him and wandered back to the pack on her bunk.

The next incident was a veritable red flag.  Not only were the clones late to the rendezvous that evening, but only one turned up as the stars began to peek through the dimming sky.  Ryker’s clone grimaced at them as she climbed up the hill, and she answered before they could ask, “Larks fell asleep reading, and she was pretty out of it when I tried to wake her.  As in, EG-is-now-poking-at-her out of it.”

The twins glanced at each other.  “Did she pick up a bug?”

“I don’t know, but I don’t like leaving her down there.”  Her tone implied what an inconvenience she thought the meet-up to be, and for a moment both Rykers glared at each other.

Larkin rolled her eyes and said, “Alright, go do damage control, Ryker.”  Her sister grumbled, grabbed the hat off her clone’s head, and slid down the hill to make her way to the base.  When the clone settled onto the ground beside her for the wait, Larkin noted, “You’re lookin disgruntled, even by Ryker standards.”

She rubbed the flat of her hand over an eye.  “I’ve had a headache building all day, too.”

With a thin smile, Larkin scooted herself a foot away from the clone.  “No offense,” she said, “In case it’s catching.  I’m plenty familiar with sharing diseases with Ryker.”

The clone huffed a laugh. “Yeah, I remember.”

“Right,” Larkin mumbled. Although her curiosity played with another set of questions about the memories obtained by the clones, she could see Ryker’s clone wasn’t in a talkative mood.  “You could take a nap, too.  I’ll keep watch.”  With a cursory glance and a mumble of thanks, Ryker’s clone kneaded the ground until she found a patch satisfying enough to lay down, her back to Larkin. 

--

Before Ryker finished packing her travel bag, her sister pulled her aside with the grim look that was becoming increasingly common when they discussed the clones.  “Which clone were you planning on taking?  We could split it up so we both take our own…”

Ryker knew what she was hoping to prevent, but she shook her head.  “It doesn’t matter which one I look at, I see you in both of them.”

Although she gave a faint smile in agreement, Larkin said, “Y’need to get your eyes checked, I’m not nearly so scowly as your clone.”  She watched her sister stuff stimpacks from her personal reserves into her bag. “It’s probably better to leave Rye-clone here.  Easier than trying to fool everyone into thinking two Larkins is the pair of us.”

With a murmur of agreement, Ryker clipped her bag shut.  Knowing her own track record with sickness, the clone wouldn’t be up to faking anything if the illness progressed.  Ryker sighed and almost suggested that both sick twins stay at base where the care would be superior anyway, but when she looked up at her sister, she only said, “Lark-clone seems healthier anyway.”

They lingered in the hallway a moment longer, but every minute spent was another that Wyn might wake and see two healthy twins in addition to the ailing clones that had been there half a week.  If the thought of coming clean there and then occurred to any of the twins, no one spoke up. It was just a minor hitch in a practical joke – a joke perhaps evolved into a social experiment, but no one had been harmed thus far in their escapade.  When they looked at the sickly clones huddled on the foot of Ryker’s bed, the tired grimaces hardly seemed life threatening.  The medical jargon Wyn had begun to throw around, on the other hand, set them on edge.

Ryker turned to give her sister a last scowl.  “Call me on our private channel sometimes.  Keep me updated and such.”

“Think I’m more likely to be wanting updates from you,” Larkin replied, imagining her sister’s search through the vault more likely to yield results than her own managing of the base.  With a nod, Ryker returned to her bunk and quietly got the clones moving, one to return to sleeping and the other to accompany her on their ill-fated road trip.

--

[Plot notes here about the first few days having Ryeclone getting antsy about needing to be in bed all the time and whining to Wyn and Larkin. But her health took a pretty quick dive.

Orphan paragraph:]

They poured through old world medical texts as if the name of some obscure doctor might turn up next to a syndrome that matched their ailing friend, bringing with it the promise of some miracle cure.  As she worsened, the dysfunction of one system lead to the damage of others until Wyn could barely tangle out where the trouble started – did the lungs fill before the muscles weakened, did the unresponsive periods cause or stem from the inadequate oxygen absorption, did that haunted look creep into her eyes after she coughed up blood or when she needed help to stand?

[Conversation fragment after Wyn keeps having EG run to towns and medical facilities and vaults to look for harder to find supplies.]

W: “I’m sorry, Noodlehead, I don’t mean to take advantage of you – you’re just fast and you don’t complain –” EG: “It’s okay.  I want to help, and I know what to look for.” W: “Don’t run yourself into the ground.” EG: “Is any of this helping?” W: “I know what’s wrong, just not… how to help.” EG: “I was thinking, for more chemicals – maybe that vault with the clone lab?” L: [Overhearing and knowing Ryker is checking there among other places, she blurts out] “Don’t.”  [The other two give her a funny look, and she has to pull some logic out of her ass.] “It would be a waste of time. Ryker and I looked around for anything valuable while we were there.  With extra pairs of eyes.” W: “Do you usually take chemicals?” L: “We take medicine.” W: “But if it has the capacity to create whole bodies, it must have raw materials and tech to grow organs.” [Trying to lighten the mood with a joke:] “Ha, I should go check it out; I always wanted to make out with my own clone.” Dead look from Larkin. “Sorry.”

[It’s the first time Larkin really considered coming clean, and she does wonder if them going in additon to Ryker might be helpful. But they’re in so deep at this point that there’ll be hell to pay, and she really wants to believe that Ryker will find the answer to curing them in the vault.]

--

[And here we have the absolutely classic WIP half sentence in its own section with no context.]

The call arrived in the

--

[So this is where the fic where Larkin calls her fits into the plot, but it would be a slightly altered version where Larclone is just a bit healthier and Ryker is just a bit more ready to throw in the towel.]

She was Larkin, and she knew Ryker’s tells.  She knew the stretch of her lips, the drop in responsiveness, and the shifting body language preceding a calculated plan.  The venom drained from Ryker’s tone, and Larkin knew the danger that indicated.  She was done arguing; her decision was final.

For the duration of the trip, Ryker had called her “just a clone.”  “It.”  Larkin knew, and she let it slide because even though her mind matched that of “the original” perfectly, she knew Ryker was coping.  She was coping mentally with the physical pains ripping through her sister’s body, with the tortured moans and dry heaving and the blood, and Larkin ached with the uncompromising love of her twin written into the pattern of her brain. Sometimes over the trip, their feelings clicked and she felt the dynamic that the twins always relied on, but none of that love or trust was returned in the cold glare Ryker fixed on her now.

“I’m going home.”  The admission of defeat weighed heavy in her voice, but heavier still the leaden emotions that had been boiling in her until this sudden frost. 

Dizzy, ever dizzy, Larkin sunk onto the cot.  “Rye. You can’t leave me here to die.”

“Actually, I can.” Larkin noted the drop of her gaze and the shift toward the door.  She was too distant; something was brewing in her mind, and Larkin feared what that meant for her.

Although a shudder threatened another round of vomiting Larkin gripped her gut and said, “I’m well enough to walk home with you.”  Their wandering might not have turned up any clues, but she had to believe there was help for her hidden in some breakthrough by the faction doctors or just the right dosage -

Her sister fixed a dark look on her.  She didn’t have to say it: you don’t belong there.

She moved to pick up her things, and Larkin dropped her fevered head in her hands.  She’d never known what it meant to be at the other end of Ryker’s indifference.  From the depths of her cluttered mind, a darker thought surfaced.  “What am I supposed to do?  Wait for the end?” 

Larkin looked up, but Ryker barely acknowledged her question as she continued stowing the various supplies, pins and ammo and food knocked out of pouches during desperate grabs for medication.  “You’ll work something out.”  Her fingers hesitated over the stash of stimpacks, and Larkin shuddered.

Lack of anger meant danger. A casual front meant plans to fall back and regroup.  Only it wasn’t the two of them regrouping, it was only Ryker, and the paranoia in the back of her mind whispered that she herself was the only enemy around.  Her sister had settled on tying up loose ends. Maybe she would send a bullet through the window in a few minutes, or maybe she would lace the door with explosives, or maybe…

Larkin watched with nauseating dread as Ryker avoided her gaze.  Despite the progression of her illness, despite the wearying travel and the lack of answers, Larkin desperately wanted to live, and she couldn’t waste away in this shack wondering if Ryker had a trap or a timetable waiting to deliver a “nothing personal” final end to her twin –

– but she wasn’t Ryker’s twin.  The disconnect was easy.  This version of Ryker had never once treated her as such.  Her twin was being treated at the base, and Larkin’s hand inched along the cot’s pitted surface for the pipe that had dug into her side while she tried to sleep because this Ryker was just another person in the Wastes.  Two could play at that game; one already was, and not playing meant losing – dying.

Adrenaline chasing her dizziness away with an intensity the stimpacks had never achieved, Larkin gripped the lead pipe with an iron fist and pushed off the cot, its creaking announcing her presence in enough time for Ryker to spin, in time for Ryker’s eyes to widen as the pipe cracked against her temple and sent her spinning into the wall.

One grunted and the other cried out, and Larkin stepped forward to swing at the disoriented stranger again.  Legs tangled in the litter on the floor, Ryker tumbled onto her back and held up her arms to catch the next blow.  Bones cracked, and she kicked blindly at the clone hovering over her, but Larkin caught the foot and jammed the lead pipe beside Ryker’s head.  “You would kill us just because you came first?”

Larkin stared down at fury and shock etched into clenched jaw and narrowed eyes and dark blood welling from her temple.  She must not have expected the sickened clone could fight back.  Instead of wasting words, she lashed her leg free and twisted to her feet too fast, too unbalanced and she collided with the wall, and her hand was reaching for her belt and Larkin brought the pipe down one last time.

It was just a body; anybody. The disconnect was easy.

The metal pipe clattered to the ground and the disconnect wasn’t easy, it wasn’t easy at all and Larkin teetered with arms wrapped around her own agonized gut.  She’d known Ryker’s tells and the will to live chanted in the back of her mind, but surely Ryker had also known Larkin’s tells. Surely Ryker had seen it coming. Provoked it.

Surely?

  Miles away, where the original Larkin sat hunched in a wooden chair beside the bunk of the other ailing clone, the wind whispered a lonely tune against the base accompanied by the tap of Wyn’s pencil as she scoured through medical texts.  Both twins were nearly asleep when the cracking voice sounded by Larkin’s side.  “Larks?” It was the radio, but Wyn looked up so Larkin leaned over the bunk to grin weakly at Ryker’s clone. 

As she replied, she laid an arm across her lap to deftly push the talk button on the radio.  “It’s okay, Rye, I’m here.”  Afraid to allow Ryker to speak through the radio again, she kept the button pressed and murmured encouragement as Ryker’s clone stirred from her weary sleep.  She hoped that somewhere out there, her words were some measure of comfort to her sister because the Ryker on the bed clearly couldn’t hear her through the drug-induced haze.  

--

Their hands and muscles trembled more than any lips, but the mood flatlined around the couriers as a bitter disbelief accompanied the digging of a grave.  Concern over the communicability of the disease had kept the base eerily empty for two weeks, but now a veritable crowd was gathered outside, their dark eyes filled with memories of Ryker’s lively scowling and, for a few, the fast fading of her vitality.  For the others, they would scarcely believe the sheets covered their friend if not for Larkin’s aggrieved hovering.

It was her shovel, her failure, her domain, but Wyn’s arms quivered as she struggled to dig through the exhaustion from a lack of sleep and of peace.  Finally, Elbow Grease stepped forward and clutched her shoulders, but she barely glanced at him as he relieved her of her position.  The digging took an eternity’s worth of doubts.

A few words over the grave of a comrade seemed the proper thing to do, but there was nothing proper about Larkin standing in the dusk alone, and she offered no guidance as Sterling began to hum a mournful tune.  They all had their private goodbyes, or at least what thoughts could filter in through the gravity of the situation.

As the gritty Mojave earth covered Ryker for the final time, Larkin stirred, fidgeted with her walkie talkie, then cleared her throat.  The eyes that focused on her were accompanies by dark circles or pained looks, and if she ever had occasion to doubt that the couriers cared for one another, it was put to rest alongside the clone. 

“Ryker ain’t dead, guys.”

A kind of mad relief lurked under her tone, and the other couriers looked at each other as if she were yet another stage in the horrifying train wreck.  “It was the clones from the vault,” she tried to explain, “Took ‘em with us, but their organs were no good.  Rye-clone and Lark-clone – they were programmed to die. And Ryker’s on her way home.” 

She could see the pity worm its way into their tired faces, and Larkin clenched her jaw as she realized how bizarre that sounded.  A hand cupped her shoulder and someone suggested she go inside and rest, but her stomach hadn’t settled and she doubted anyone wanted long-winded explanations now.  She waved them away until she was alone with the cold earth, and she stooped down to murmur, “You two had a good few weeks there.  Better than nothing,” but she dug her knuckles into her forehead and thought that nothing would have been far preferable to the mess they’d created.

--

Despite the lack of a whimpering clone to wake her – or, she suspected, because of it – Larkin’s fitful sleep yielded little relief from her weariness, but she stayed in bed an extra hour before dragging herself to the kitchen for breakfast.  The mood had scarcely wavered from the previous night’s duties, but Larkin stood over the table and determined to repeat herself. “Ryker’s coming home.  The Ryker we buried was just Ryker’s clone: the one from the vault.” 

Their sympathy melted into a mix of horror and discomfort.  Setting her glass on the table, Wyn spoke in measured tones.  “We all left our clones in the vault, Larkin.”

She shook her head. “Ryker and I took ours to switch places. They were here weeks.”  Sterling dropped his gaze to his hands and Elbow Grease appeared to debate getting up to approach her, and Larkin wondered if it would’ve been easier to wait for Ryker to get home.

“Larkin.  I’m sorry, but your sister is dead.”

“Call her up on the radio!”

“You helped us bury her.”

Larkin pursed her lips. “You’re not listening to me, there’re clones!”  With frustration creeping into the hunch of her shoulders, Larkin paced back to the bedroom to pull out her walkie talkie.  She checked that the dial was set to their private station before she returned to the hushed kitchen, and she stood over the table of couriers as she broadcasted, “Rye, it’s Larkin.  Are you still on your way back?”

Her call was met with a silence, tense as it stretched so far it might snap, and it was Sterling who pushed his chair out and walked up to her, cupping his hands over hers to force the walkie talkie down.  “Larkin, don’t do this to yourself.”  He spoke with such a strained empathy that for a moment, her gut tied itself in knots.

“I’m not going crazy,” she stated.  “There’s a hundred reasons she might not answer immediately.”  Sterling let go of her hands, and no one else volunteered their advice, so Larkin assured them “You’ll see when she gets here” before moving past him to get some fresh air.

They wore her confidence down with poison-coated kindness.  For all her steady tone and consistent reasoning, they thought she was off the deep end and they wanted to drag her out alone, but they didn’t know Ryker was out there too and Larkin could hardly imagine what had her silent for so long when this was their longest separation in years.  One riddled with turmoil and mourning.  She sent out calls on their private channel and then the courier channel until her coworkers asked her to put it away, and she’d all but decided on a route to follow by the time the front door gave way to a form bundled in Ryker’s trademark cloak.

[The end, right? I mean what else would you want to read?? What a good place to end!?

You definitely don’t want to hear about how Larkin rushes to hug the new arrival, but the woman coughs (half awkward, half sick) and Larkin realizes it’s her own clone. The main version of this conversation had both Larkins asking about their sister, and then Larclone says they fought and she acted in self-defense / she left Ryker for dead like Ryker was about to do to her. Larkin demands to know where she left Ryker so she can rush there immediately.

I remember that half the couriers had gathered for the spectacle of Larkin v Larkin, and with the realization that she was telling the truth about the clones, Wyn gets justifiably furious. Through the whole ordeal, she thought she was failing to treat and losing one of her good friends. Wyn takes off for some lone package runs rather than get into an argument.

And there were some versions where Larkin just wants to straight up murder Larclone, but she’s kind enough not to do it in the base. I think there was a version where Ryeclone was still alive and Larkin’s like well hey if you killed my sister, fair’s fair! (Which is like. Spitting on Wyn’s tremendous effort to keep Ryeclone alive lmao)

Anyway, Ryker’s head injury is pretty severe, but she manages to either drag herself outside to look at the stars while she dies (v melodramatic) or all the way to a nearby road where a caravan agrees to deliver her to courier base.

One of the three sentence drabbles was Larkin finding Ryker:

Her sense of security is shattered, but she’s barely able to scrape enough conscious thought together to peel her eyes open at the sound of light footsteps. She blinks, loses focus, but she doesn’t need clear vision to tell it’s Larkin, and her mouth twitches in the ghost of a bitter smile as Ryker asks, “Are you my Larkin… or are you here to finish me off?” Lowering herself to the floor beside the mattress, Larkin says for the second time, but this time to the real Ryker, “It’s just us now.”

I liked the caravan version because Ryker’s just like, hey bring me to the base and passes out in their wagon. On the road they pass either Wyn or Larkin and hand the unconscious body off. Passing her off to Wyn is great because Wyn Suffering Time isn’t over yet (also the possibility of Wyn having left before the clone showed up, so she gets Ryker and is just like whaaaat the fuck?). Also funny to imagine the caravan dude trying to ask Larkin for some payment before telling her what it is that he’s delivering, and then Ryker shakily crawls out of the back.

Twin reunions.

But in the version where Ryker actually is dead, Larkin just kind of plasters a shruggie emotion on her hollow shell and leaves the faction and possibly the region.]

--

[Anyway have this final darling that I removed and gave its own section. I’d been considering having Larclone pretend to be Ryker when she first came back and heard her clone sister was dead. I mean, that’s who they all want to see and would invest more medical effort for.]

They fell asleep together with foreheads touching, two halves of the same whole that would never fit together again.

[This isn’t even my worst AU.jpg]

[couriertraush]

Ay, I did find one clone fic buried in my courierfaction tag that I hadn’t reblogged here. I just mentioned it to Kris earlier so *will smith hands* also I’ve improved as a writer since then...

This came up in courier faction chat, so it’s like 80% Emma’s fault.

Okay, maybe 60% and I approve

You’ve been warned that it’s a tragic AU with excessive angst.  If you wanna see the origins, it’s in chat backlog but this probably makes sense alone.

Keep reading

[couriertraush]

Random characterization tidbit so it doesn’t get lost in a drabble:

If you really wanna convey to Ryker that you’re mad at her, a glare or some other kind of Look is the most effective way to do it. She’s so used to dry humor and trading insults as playful banter that just saying something doesn’t always sink in. Like, you can tell her not to touch your things and sound quite annoyed, and she’ll put it down, but it doesn’t really register that she shouldn’t ever be touching your things if she doesn’t want to make you mad. Some kind of physical gesture like grabbing it away from her with an icy look will get the point across. 

I’m not sure if it’s just funny that she likes to talk a lot but doesn’t put much stock in conversation or if it’s because she talks a lot that all of it just kind of loses meaning for her. Anyway, nonverbal communication, thanks for coming to my ted talk

[couriertraush]

Here we go my definitive Lucky 38 reference guide for Reasons. Almost all of this is headcanon, except the massive lasers on the roof are a true story and a lot of wasted potential. The building is taller than 38 floors since some “floors” span multiple stories (notably the penthouse) and between some floors there’s extra machinery built in. I also have to figure most floors have a lot more space than the footprint of the rooms ingame, and other than the ground floor and penthouse, none of the floors are only one room.

Generic:

Basement: Storage, Securitron storage and workshop, demonstration pit and cages Floor 1: Casino Floor 2-20: Middle upper class hotel rooms and suites plus a few restaurants, lounges, conference rooms, and stages Floor 21-31: Upper class hotel rooms plus a few high end restaurants, lounges, conference rooms, and stages Floor 32: Full service spa and sauna Floor 33: Gourmet restaurant with stage, large kitchen and staff/maintenance areas Floor 34: Conference/ballroom/large event rooms (think weddings or galas) and luxury hotel rooms Floor 35: Presidential Suite (ingame) and other luxury suites Floor 36: High roller casinos Floor 37: Cocktail Lounge (ingame) and other lounges, conference rooms, and stage Floor 38: Penthouse (ingame) Above: you can get higher with service routes to do maintenance on massive computers, machinery, and the lasers Roof: laser cannons don’t leave much room for anything romantic up here

And Ryker’s modifications (unlisted floors are untouched or not notable):

Basement: Still does Securitron maintenance and tweaking down here. Floor 1: Years ago she used to sometimes open the ground floor for citizens to come in with concerns/grievances to talk to Yes Man or, even more rarely, herself. It wasn’t enjoyable and it didn’t help. Floor 2: Sometimes used as hotel rooms for guests she doesn’t know well, such as groups of visiting Khans. Usually part of a political favor. Floor 3: Spillover if floor 2 is full Floor 4: Abandoned attempt to strip rooms of anything like circuitry and network cables and general access to the building for more secure housing of “guests.” Floor 6: One restaurant with large windows has been repurposed as a lookout/people watching venue. The kitchen was merged with the restaurant with the help of a sledgehammer. Floor 12: An emergency medical unit converted from a kitchen. Generally she would go to the Mormon Fort for medical help, but if she needs to hole up or something, she has a variety of supplies here. She’s more likely to do sensitive chemical mixing here than in her workshop. Floor 16: Abandoned workshop. Floor 24: Longterm storage to avoid clutter in the workshop. Also gun storage. Floor 25: Workshop converted from a lot of hotel rooms. Lots of walls torn down and power equipment installed. A huge mess really, tons of hoarded supplies and tables with half-finished projects. Some of the materials from this floor were used in projects on other floors. Floor 29: Given to Veronica a year or so after the battle since she was the most frequent visitor to the presidential suite. She keeps a mini library of sensitive materials here, but other than that it’s mostly a place to sleep and store some belongings. Floor 32: ( ͡° ͜ʖ ͡°) Floor 34: Hypothetically reserved for Larkin. Floor 35: Presidential suite is still open to people she’s on very good terms with. Usually Cass or Arcade. Julie or Joana might stay if they really need a break from Freeside business. Floor 37: Very occasionally, she uses the cocktail lounge as a formal business meeting place, usually if she’s trying to impress someone. She’s been known to have drinks with friends here as well. Floor 38: Penthouse where Ryker lives, and Vee and Cee more or less move in once the poly starts. She’s made adjustments, like adding a ladder from the kitchen to the bedroom and seating by some of the windows.

The elevator won’t take guests to floors they aren’t supposed visit, and the staircases are electronically locked. Yes Man generally has autonomous control of the locks and systems, but there are a few steadfast rules Ryker’s put down as well as lockdown scenarios where he won’t let anyone in the building at all.

She’s also done at least a once-over of all the floors and rooms for valuables and caps. Took a while but she’s been there more than a decade so.

[couriertraush]

Since we’ve been touching on grieving and emotional instability lately, I’ve been thinking more about whether Larkin might actually be able to come back into Ryker’s life in Vegas AU without it being a complete trainwreck. Older Ryker has mellowed out a bit, she has other significant relationships in her life, and by the end of the Kylie arc, she’s actually kinda addressed some of her grieving. But then the train of thought went more or less “well she’d still be hurt that seeing her doesn’t jog Larkin’s memory, and she’d be upset that Larkin doesn’t want to drop everything in her life to rekindle their relationship, and she’d be unfairly pissed at Larkin for losing her memory and not doing any sort of searching for her lost past, and subconsciously she’d feel guilty that she hadn’t looked hard enough to actually find Larkin back then, and she wouldn’t want to acknowledge that her prior relationship with Larkin was unhealthy, and...”

yeah that’s why I don’t very far into Larkin Returns plot for OT3 verse. Like, the drama of a return is fun, but then it’s just Ryker being upset and pissy with both Larkin and her girlfriends. I can’t imagine that a relatively untroubled Larkin would want to stick her hand in that cazadore’s nest. And if/when Ryker realized that having a casual friendship with her was better than pushing her away by demanding more commitment, she could probably reign her emotions in whenever they were grabbing drinks or something, but it’d come out in other places.

I think the main improvement in Vegas Ryker’s emotional regulation compared to normal Ryker is just, being able to pick her battles. To some extent. Minor things that might’ve pissed her younger self off register as “that’s just how the world is.” She spent the better part of three years angry, and she didn’t really have a revelation so much as gradually learning that anger wasn’t getting her anywhere and it was exhausting. And she’s still not introspective by a longshot, but she has an inkling of where some of her emotions come from now. Like, younger Ryker getting injured would just be angry that she’s cooped up and in pain, but older Ryker understands the undertone of being afraid of the injury being permanent. She still gets mad about it tho. It’s “I’m mad who cares why” vs “I have this negative emotion and I’m mad about it.”

And yet, it’s still cute to imagine aunt Larkin and aunt Viv visiting her family in the city every once in a while.  :V  And Rye would probly offer an unused floor of the 38 for her to come and go as she pleased.