flyaway-runaway

[flyaway-runaway]

“You seem to know a lot about the world,” Bon remarked, beginning the descent to the road. “You traveled far as a courier, right?”

A similar feeling crept in, a sort of alienation. Music, specifically the radio, was so common out West. Everyone had a favorite song, and he’d grown used to asking the question, always receiving an answer. Music was unknown to the valley where he’d been raised, and forbidden in Caesar’s Legion. Only now was he beginning to understand its importance to those that lived by it.

The hillside sloped down steeply towards its end, and Bon slid down onto solid ground, then turned back to watch as Vlad followed.

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Bon smiled. “Fancy thing,” he remarked. “Even out here, with all the tech being so common, it seems strange. Out east, you’re lucky if you have electricity.”

Bon had reached the top of the hill and paused to stretch his arms over his head. He glanced over at the courier. Had it been anyone else wearing such an imposing suit of armor, he would have been rightfully intimidated. But there was something serene about Vlad that kept those feelings well at bay.

“You got a favorite song?” Bon asked. Squinting over the horizon, he could see the distant shimmer of water, nestled where the dunes dipped down low into shadow.

“Old folks in a bunker?” Bon asked, looking back. “For all people say about you you’re still very mysterious.” As he grew close to cresting the hill, he began to lean slightly, where the length of his throwing spear had once supported him like a walking stick. Old Legion habits still lingered, buried in muscle memory.

“Don’t listen to the radio much. Didn’t really grow up around music,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t mind. It’s just…how’re you able to play the radio out here?”

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Bon had been happily surprised when the girl opened the tin and began helping herself. Most young people from outside the valley were prickly, already hardened into adult mindsets or mute and reclusive altogether. There was hope for this one; she’d even bothered to ask him a couple questions of her own.

“Born and raised here.” He answered. “My name’s Bon. Same as my dad’s and granddad’s...”

His voice trailed off as a pained expression seemed to cross the girl’s face. For a moment, he wondered if it was something he’d said. But he quickly realized that there was an uncomfortable stiffness in the way she moved. Even in this lighting, it was unmistakable. Reflexively, his hand moved to her leg, but he kept himself from moving too quickly; the last thing he wanted to do was startle her.

“You sure you’re alright?” He asked. “If something’s wrong, I can help.”

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“Old folks in a bunker?” Bon asked, looking back. “For all people say about you you’re still very mysterious.” As he grew close to cresting the hill, he began to lean slightly, where the length of his throwing spear had once supported him like a walking stick. Old Legion habits still lingered, buried in muscle memory.

“Don’t listen to the radio much. Didn’t really grow up around music,” he admitted. “But I wouldn’t mind. It’s just...how’re you able to play the radio out here?”

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“Yes,” Bon nodded, an almost lopsided gesture as he continued to puff on his cigarette. He was puzzled by how quickly the courier had reduced his own to ash.

“We’ll head over this hill here.” He began to walk. “On the other side there’s an old road that turns right by the pond, a ways down. Just, uh...be careful on the sand here.” A half-chuckle as he kicked against the loose earth. “I’ve never used power armor, but it doesn’t look easy. Kinda clunky.”

“Barely two weeks, yeah,” Bon answered. He squinted at the courier’s rifle as he patted it, still unused to the high-tech weaponry that existed outside Legion territory.

“We use a hunting rifle these days. Pretty good condition actually. Plus it’s got a scope that lets you see when it gets dark.” He didn’t know the exact words; being far more familiar with pre war computers and radios than military tech.

“I haven’t had to shoot the thing yet, so at least we’ve been lucky. No deathclaws runnin’ into town for the moment.” Bon smiled. “But thank you. It puts the town at ease when they’re well-equipped.”

[flyaway-runaway]

Reblog this if your muse likes kids.

[flyaway-runaway]

Even as Bon focused on the wound, he could feel the blood draining from his own face at the mention of Legion soldiers. He remained silent as he opened a nearby footlocker and retrieved a metal bowl, full of rags that had been scrubbed almost-white with Abraxo Cleaner. After that came a bottle of scotch, half full. Drenching one of the rags in alcohol, he wiped off his hands and set it back.

“Let me see,” he said, moving quickly over to her as he noticed her moving the rag. The bleeding clearly hadn’t stopped yet, and it would flow freely if left uncovered. As he took a closer look, he knew the injury was serious: too deep, streaked with dust and sand from the wastes. In seconds, he’d retrieved the alcohol-soaked rag and began to pull up the remaining clothing that obscured her wound.

“This will hurt,” he admitted. “But this way it’ll be sterile and you won’t get sick after. I’ve got to press on it for a while until it’s under control and then we can get you a Stimpak. If you’d rather lie down for this, it’d probably be best.” He gestured toward his bed. “Wounds that deep should be elevated. You won’t lose blood as fast.”

[flyaway-runaway]

"Barely two weeks, yeah," Bon answered. He squinted at the courier's rifle as he patted it, still unused to the high-tech weaponry that existed outside Legion territory.

"We use a hunting rifle these days. Pretty good condition actually. Plus it's got a scope that lets you see when it gets dark." He didn't know the exact words; being far more familiar with pre war computers and radios than military tech.

"I haven't had to shoot the thing yet, so at least we've been lucky. No deathclaws runnin' into town for the moment." Bon smiled. “But thank you. It puts the town at ease when they’re well-equipped.”

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Bon had been dozing with a half-scorched magazine in his hand when he woke up to a voice.

“What?” He called back. The words sank in a second after, and his eyes narrowed at the rude choice of phrase for Jeanie Mae. “What do you want, exactly?”

The magazine slipped from his lap as he stood. Quickly, he reached the door, and unlocked the two bolts that kept it secure. Opening it just a crack, he glanced outside. Just one woman - tall, even despite her slouching posture. Regardless, she was a far cry from the pack of Fiends that’d rolled through the month before. He supposed his luck was finally changing.

As the door swung fully open, his eyes were hooked to a bloodstained rag, clutched against the woman’s side with crimson fingers. Bon could recognize that shade of red anywhere, the violence its presence intimated.

“That looks bad,” he blurted. “Take a seat." A hand flew to the woman’s shoulder as he urged her towards the chair he’d been sitting in. “I have Stimpaks and disinfectant. How deep is the wound?”

Limping into Novac, Sedona clutched at her side, a rag stained red in her fingers. Stupid Legion patrol getting a hit in on her. She must have been getting old. It was a stupid mistake, and now she was paying for it. She’d had worse though, and she could take care of it. Glancing at the piss poor excuse for a doctor by her tent, Sedona resolved to get a room and stitch herself up on her own. Dragging herself into the office of the Dino Dee-Lite Motel, the sight of her earned a gasp from Jeanie-Mae, who was immediately rushing to her side.

“Now now, what happened here?” The woman asks, coming to her quickly.

“Legion. I’m getting too old for this shit.” Sedona responds, swaying slightly.

“Well, you’re in luck. There’s something of a healer staying here.” Jeanie Mae informs her as she pulls away.

“Not that shit show out in the tent I hope.” Sedona scoffs, and Jeanie Mae adjusts her glasses, suddenly debating wether or not to help the woman.

“No, a nice young fella staying here at the Motel.” She responds, and gives Sedona directions to one of the rooms. Sedona drags herself back out the door with barely a weak wave. There was something about that woman that set Sedona’s nerves on edge. Unable to place her finger on it, she decided not to dwell, but to see just how good this new healer was.

Following Jeanie Mae’s directions, she arrives at an old wooden door, and leans herself against the frame before mustering her strength to knock firmly.

“Bitch at the counter says there’s a healer here.” She calls out, unable to keep her feelings about the woman who runs the motel to herself.

@flyaway-runaway

[flyaway-runaway]

“Sure,” Bon accepted the offer, and smiled. The gesture, while mostly sincere, was tinged with nervousness by the courier’s analyzing stare. Even with this being his first encounter with the famed man, part of Bon still worried that his background might somehow be recognized.

“Never thought I’d ever meet you, you know that? Especially not like this.” His smile relaxed as he spoke. “It’s an honor, really. But anyway, about the deathclaws....” He pointed in the same direction as Novac. “Between here in the town. Just a couple of them, but that’s more than trouble enough. Might have eggs too, by now.”

“A light? Sure,” Bon sidestepped to the backpack he’d left by the rocks. “Just…if you mind not looking for a moment, I’d appreciate that.” He chewed his lip as he turned his scarred back to the courier, and began digging through the pockets. First, he pulled out a dry coat, which he quickly slipped on. Then came the lighter. He turned, and stood to offer it to his new acquaintance.

“Can’t say I’m as good as the last guy when it comes to guarding the town,” he admitted. “But it matters, so I do it. About that ‘conflict’…” he huffed, not quite a chuckle. “Tangled is a soft way of putting it. Just feels good to be helping folks again.”

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“A light? Sure,” Bon sidestepped to the backpack he’d left by the rocks. “Just...if you mind not looking for a moment, I’d appreciate that.” He chewed his lip as he turned his scarred back to the courier, and began digging through the pockets. First, he pulled out a dry coat, which he quickly slipped on. Then came the lighter. He turned, and stood to offer it to his new acquaintance.

“Can’t say I’m as good as the last guy when it comes to guarding the town,” he admitted. “But it matters, so I do it. About that ‘conflict’...” he huffed, not quite a chuckle. “Tangled is a soft way of putting it. Just feels good to be helping folks again.”

[flyaway-runaway]

“Hate to say it, but I’ve been the one covering some of those late shifts off and on,” Bon almost laughed, but blanched instead at the mention of deathclaws.

“You’re as tough as they say, huh.” He blinked the sand from his lashes as he tried to comprehend the courier’s question. “I mean - if you’re actually hunting them - well there’s a reason I walked all the way out here for the water. Only pond closer than this one was occupied by a few of those monsters not long ago. You want to see for yourself?”

Bon smiled a bit at the stranger’s joke. His amusement was quickly replaced with surprise as the imposing helmet was removed to reveal a worn, almost elderly face. Immediately, he was struck with a spark of recognition.

“Think I’ve heard about you before,” Bon said. “Back in Novac they’ve been talking about this Courier that saved New Vegas. From what I’ve heard, he’s just like you.” He stared openly now, still processing the presence of such an icon. Then he remembered he’d been asked a question.

“I’m Bon,” he stuck out his hand. “Haysey. I’m from the Rockies. I mean, not Legion territory…it was a peaceful settlement. Still miss it sometimes.”

[flyaway-runaway]

Bon smiled a bit at the stranger’s joke. His amusement was quickly replaced with surprise as the imposing helmet was removed to reveal a worn, almost elderly face. Immediately, he was struck with a spark of recognition.

“Think I’ve heard about you before,” Bon said. “Back in Novac they’ve been talking about this Courier that saved New Vegas. From what I’ve heard, he’s just like you.” He stared openly now, still processing the presence of such an icon. Then he remembered he’d been asked a question.

“I’m Bon,” he stuck out his hand. “Haysey. I’m from the Rockies. I mean, not Legion territory...it was a peaceful settlement. Still miss it sometimes.”

[flyaway-runaway]

Bon was ready to give an honest explanation - it had been a quiet day back in Novac and all he’d wanted was to take a bath in peace. The man’s sudden fall jarred him out of his thoughts, however, as his heavy power armor practically shook the ground on impact.

“A-are you okay?” He asked. He lowered his hands briefly to reach and offer his help, but the imposing sight of the securitron so close by made him rethink his decision, and he kept his hands up. “This kinda sand isn’t real easy to march on, believe me, I know.”

Bon swallowed down a dry throat, squinting as he braced himself to move. Part of him wanted to believe that the man speaking to him was really just a wanderer trying to keep himself safe. Still, he had begun to suspect that this stranger was no good - a slaver, most likely.

He stood with his hands at the level of his head, and walked out from behind the rocks. At the sight of two armored figures on the nearest hilltop, he quickly turned so that they were face to face. He hoped the man - helmeted and clutching a rifle - hadn’t seen the heavy scarring on his exposed back; Bon hadn’t needed to mention those marks in a long time, and he preferred it that way.

“Okay,” he grit, staring up at the stranger. “You happy now or what?”

[flyaway-runaway]

Bon swallowed down a dry throat, squinting as he braced himself to move. Part of him wanted to believe that the man speaking to him was really just a wanderer trying to keep himself safe. Still, he had begun to suspect that this stranger was no good - a slaver, most likely.

He stood with his hands at the level of his head, and walked out from behind the rocks. At the sight of two armored figures on the nearest hilltop, he quickly turned so that they were face to face. He hoped the man - helmeted and clutching a rifle - hadn’t seen the heavy scarring on his exposed back; Bon hadn’t needed to mention those marks in a long time, and he preferred it that way.

“Okay,” he grit, staring up at the stranger. “You happy now or what?”