#also just now noticing that I made Machete's tail machete shaped

[canisalbus]

I’d invite machete and vasco to my animal crossing village

They're a package deal, you have to take them both.

[grimmseye]

Kill Your Heroes (Chapter 2)

Fandom: Critical Role

Relationships: Mollymauk Tealeaf/Caleb Widogast, Mollymauk Tealeaf & Jester, Mollymauk, Mollymauk Tealeaf & The Mighty Nein

Chapter Characters: Mollymauk Teafleaf, Caleb Widogast, Jester 

Other Tags: Superhero AU, Reporter!Mollymauk, Vigilante!Caleb, 

(Read on Ao3) (Chapter 1)

Mollymauk will never understand those people who hate to see photos of themselves. He can only smirk with pride as he watches the numbers go up, the name he’s made for himself calling out and letting viewers know exactly where to head when they need the up-close source. Several deposits have gone into his account, news stations vying to broadcast his footage. No one gets as close as Mollymauk dares, so no one but the luckiest get the shots he brings to the table.

‘New Hero: Firebird?’ is the approximation of every headline he clicks past. He’s pleased as the cat that got the canary, feet up on the couch as a crockpot roils in the kitchen. A few batches of those will guarantee quick meals for the next few days, save them the money that takeout would cost.

The new villain, now promptly beaten to a pulp with the combined power of four heroes (really by the type Yasha got there it was just to hold the guy down as they cuffed him) had been dubbed Beholder in an instant. Molly’s always had a good sense for names — what sounds dramatic, what gets a glitter in the eyes.

He clicks from site to site, video to video. There’s one that makes him pause as he’s clicking through, eyebrows raising as his head cocks to one side.

‘The Return of Verbrennen?’

He cocks an eyebrow, crunching down on the trail mix he’d deemed to be a good breakfast. A blurry still from his camera is presented on screen: the cat-masked individual. It’s from the moment he was put on his feet, camera still rolling, distant enough from the man to actually get a good shot.

The picture shrinks, two news anchors on the screen now. His tail twitches as he listens, impatient for them to get to the point of it all.

“It’s hard to say is this is him or not,” one anchor is saying. “Fire isn’t exactly an unusual power. The Scourgers were almost indistinguishable from each other — we don’t even know their voices. I think people are jumping the gun with this one.”

“That’s fair. As much as I hope it’s true, the last we say of Verbrennen seemed pretty final.” A new picture comes up. Burning building. Large building. A new picture: collapsed, glass and rubble. A disaster. “We did extend a question to the remaining Scourgers and the Cerberus Assembly, but they have yet to comment on this new arrival.”

“And as far as we know, he’s not associated with any organization. Making him a vigilante — the first Zadash has seen in quite some time. How the sanctioned agencies are going to receive him is still unknown but —”

Mollymauk gets bored. He sets down his phone with a roll of his eyes. Names, names, names. Verbrennon means nothing to him, just names thrown around without explanations. He could look it up, of course, but Molly’s not much of the reading sort. He can blabber just fine into a microphone, but drivelings are to be heard, not read.

He’s reluctantly tapping in the name, unsure how its spelled, when a rapraprap at the door catches his ear. Mollymauk perks up, an amused grin on his face. “Yasha?” He calls. “You forget your keys again?”

She’s only got patrol this morning, could be done early. They’re always amped up after villain attacks, keep the citizens calm. Deal with the idiot criminals who think their petty theft won’t be noticed.

The voice on the other side of the door, though, is not Yasha’s. “Er, no. This is not… Yasha.”

Oh. It’s the neighbor Molly never sees, the one with the Zemnian accent. Lots of those around lately, he muses, a bit of a grin on his face. Old neighbor, new hero. He’s heard a bit of chatter surrounding the man: elusive, seen at odd hours of the night, nervous demeanor. Never clean shaven, allegedly. Molly had always assumed he was on the run from the mob or something of that like.

So of course he cracks the door open to get a look at the complex’s very own cryptid. With such a reputation preceding him, Mollymauk is more than a little disappointed to find someone who is clean-shaven, even handsome standing at the door. And then he remembers that a handsome man at his door isn’t actually anything to be upset about, and he gives a friendly grin as he sweeps open the door and leans against its frame.

“Good morning,” he greets, amiable as always.

Mister Cryptid doesn’t say a word. He just stares for a long, long while, eyes wide and jaw slightly slack. Perhaps Molly gets the best of both worlds — handsome and a weirdo. It’s a good day.

And then the man recovers. He clears his throat, shakes his head. “Pardon me,” he gulps. “You just, ah… have I seen you somewhere before?”

“Almost certainly,” Mollymauk laughs. “Though if you have, I think you’d remember it just fine so — actually, maybe not? Doesn’t matter, you have now.”

“That is true,” he murmurs, still blinking as though he were dazed. “Um, my apologies. My name is, ah, Caleb. You haven’t — I do realize that this is against regulations, but he is a perfectly good cat — have you seen Frumpkin — have you seen my cat, Frumpkin, around by any chance?”

“Brown tabby?” Molly asks, remembering the cat from yesterday. “Bushy tail?”

“ Ja, yes, that’s the one.” Caleb gives a smile of sheer relief.

“Haven’t seen ‘em,” he chirps. Unfortunately for him, that soft smile immediately falls into shock, annoyance, and then resignation. He winces, hastily adds, “Ah, don’t look like that. I’m just pulling your tail — so to speak, Mister Caleb. I saw him yesterday afternoon, just hanging around in the hall. Nothing since then.”

“Scheisse.” Caleb sighs. “Well, thank you. Don’t, ah, I will probably be setting some old clothing out to try to lead him back home. Cats are quite good at finding their way around but in case he gets lost…”

“Sure thing.” Molly gives a wry grin. “I promise I won’t report you for dirty laundry in the hall. Might want to let the old lady know, though. Three doors on the left — no, on the right. Definitely the right.” He gives a wave of his hand just to make sure. “She’s a bit of a crotchety old bitch until you get on her good side.Tip? Compliment her nails, she always gets the acrylics with the french tips and you don’t spend that kind of money unless you want to get a compliment.”

The guy is still just blinking at him, slow and baffled. He licks his lips, mumbles, “Okay. I will do that, thank you. And, ah, if you do see my cat, just knock on my door. I am right across the hallway.” And he does point to the door across from Molly’s, room nine on this floor.

“Good to know.” His tail curls behind him. “Good luck in finding your cat then, Mister Caleb. It was nice meeting you!”

“It — it was nice to meet you as well.” Caleb ducks his head, backing up towards his door. Molly gives a little wave before turning around, pulling the door shut with his tail.

He stretches out, a faint smile on his face. A bit disappointing, maybe, that there’s not some rando across the hall with a machete. But Caleb seems nice enough. And, he supposes, he gets enough excitement just from living in Zadash. At least that trouble earns him some coin.

  On Fridays, Mollymauk meets with Sugar-Bomb.

Secret identities can be difficult for tieflings, except that apparently Sugar-Bomb can disguise herself. Different skin tones — he’s seen blue, red, purple, bright pink, neon yellow. Different horn shapes. Different tail structures. Taller, shorter, younger, older — no one can keep track of her, except by her distinctive costume, a cotton-candy pink and blue.

Today, Sugar-Bomb is shade deep shade of violet, her hair buzzed into an undercut. She’s not wearing a mask because she doesn’t need to, Molly wouldn’t be able to recognize her anyway.

Yellow eyes brighten at the sight of him. “Hello, Molly!” She beams, flouncing towards him and scooping him into a hug. He laughs as she lifts him clear off his feet. Her horns are in upward twists today, framing the bun of her hair.

“Hello, Sugar,” he laughs, delighted as she twirls him and then drops him back on his feet. Their tails twine loosely as they stroll into the coffee shop. Not a soul is aware of the hero in their midst.

They order their usual drinks, Sugar’s loaded with sugar, Molly’s just as elaborate. He’s sure the staff would hate them if they didn’t drop an extra copper into the tip jar. The two of them slide into a little booth, Molly saying, “Yasha’s got patrol today. I’m sure Lionheart is trailing after her as usual.”

Secret identities are also funny things. He doesn’t know who Sugar-Bomb is, and he doesn’t intend to ask. Sugar knows who Yasha is, though, and Yasha knows she knows, because they see each other around so frequently that it’s impossible to not realize that the large civilian human woman who hangs around Molly is the same as the hero with all the same traits.

He thinks it’s only a matter of time before Sugar-Bomb wears her actual face to their litle dates — gods know it was Mollymauk who dissuaded her from outing herself from the get-go. People might not look at her and pin down the cotton candy hero, but Mollymauk is recognizable. Everyone knows his face. It’s the reason he doesn’t get Storm Herald on camera very often, it’s the reason they don’t greet each other with the same familiarity that Sugar does when masks are on. Someone as colorful as Mollymauk knows how to keep attention where he wants it.

“I think they’re cute, don’t you?” Sugar sighs, leaning her chin on her hand. “Do you think she’s ever going to notice?”

“Who, Yash?” Molly snorts. “Hard to say. She’s not oblivious, but at the same time, Lionheart’s kind of…”

“Constipated?”

The two of them dissolve into snickers, Molly hiding his behind a hand, Sugar loud and raucous. “That’s the word,” Molly chuckles. “Yeah — yeah. Uh, I mean… even if Yasha did know, I’m not sure if she’s going to go for it? They get along, like — I mean, you’ve seen the footage.”

“They’re pretty badass together,” Sugar nods.

“Yeah, yeah. I know — I think? — that I’m not either of their slice of pie but I can appreciate. It’s kind of hard to say, gender’s fake.” He and Sugar have had this conversation a dozen times and it always ends in headaches. Molly would freely admit he has some jealousy over her ability to just alter her body at will. “ Regardless, I don’t know if she’s looking for a relationship right now. Between her job and me —”

“And you?” A grin.

“Oh, I’m a handful.”

“She has very big hands though.” Sugar beams as Molly chokes on his drink, covering his mouth laughing. “And I can help! I’m always willing to hold your hand, Molly.”

“You make me blush.” And it’s the truth. There’s a warmth on his cheeks from happiness. Simple zest for living, and loving. He loves Yasha, he loves Sugar-Bomb, he loves being here with them.

And in that moment, of course, Sugar’s phone starts to buzz. They both go quiet, they both know which phone that is. She mumbles something under her breath as she pulls her phone out, eyes flicking over the screen. Her face darkens.

“Shit,” she curses. Her head lifts, lower lip stuck out in apology. “I’m sorry, Molly…”

“Don’t worry, dear,” he waves her off. “You go do your thing. I’ll be right behind you, anyway.” He winks. It’ll be on a phone instead of a camera, but footage is footage. “Actually, would you mind giving me a lift there?” “Oh, yeah, sure!” She smiles. “I gotta get changed first, though.” Sugar-Bomb scoots out of their booth, snagging her drink with her tail to pull it into her hand before heading out. Molly idles a few minutes until the emergency sirens start to wail. Phones go a-buzz, villain alert near the Signet Wall. Then it’s time to go.

Mollymauk keeps an eye out on the rooftops. He sees a flash of red and heads for it, dipping into the alleyways. Sugar-Bomb is there at once, leaping down to meet him, sticking the landing with no apparent trouble. She’s changed to a red tiefling, short horns that curve up and back, a thin, spaded tail. “Ready to go?” She grins, and then promptly throws Mollymauk over her shoulder.

He laughs, trusting her to get a good grip on him as she pushes off and scales the wall, taking them to the rooftop and leaping over the streets of Zadash. Most heroes figure out some form of mobility — those that can’t fly or sprint stick sirens on a motorcycle and gun it.

They head for the far end of the city, flitting around the Tri-Spires that loom over the populace and then further. An attack on Zadash’s sect of the Righteous Brand is a gutsy move. The fact that there’s even an alert, though — that’s concerning. Most villains know better than to stage an attack where the heroes are so clustered together. Most villains would be put down without a thought trying such a thing.

Before he’s prepared, Sugar-Bomb is coming to a halt. She on the edge of a roof, steps back and sets Molly on his feet. “Whoa,” she blinks, as Molly steps up to get a glimpse at what she’d seen. “The fuck is up with them?”

Molly gets his phone recording immediately. There are figures far below, moving through the streets. “They’re not running, that’s… weird,” he frowns, not even slipping into the right persona. The camera zooms somewhat, only getting a blurry figure on the screen as civilians amble below at a slow pace. “Why the hell aren’t they running? The attack’s at the Wall, right?” He turns the camera, just to catch the plume of dust that marks the disaster zone. It’s not frighteningly close, but enough that any person in their right mind would be moving away, fast.

He pauses the video as Sugar-Bomb starts to speak, her voice low. “That is super weird. I would have gotten a dismissal if, you know, they got the bad guy.” She checks her phone just in case, shakes her head. Her ears tilt down, tail curling in a nervous manner.

“Wanna check it out?” Molly suggests. She looks at him, and then she smiles. Molly gets an arm around her shoulders, letting her carry him down the walls of two buildings and back onto the pavement of the wide alley.

They crouch low. He’s not sure exactly how Sugar-Bomb’s illusions work, but she seems to pull the shadows around them, her form in his peripheral growing dull despite the bright colors she’s donned.

On the main boulevard, just down a block, he can see what looks to be a human shuffling towards them. They move at a slow pace, head hanging down, legs almost shambling. Molly looks to Sugar-Bomb, the two of them exchanging deep frowns. “I’m gonna go check it out,” he whispers. After a beat, she nods, and he slips out of hiding with his video rolling.

He makes sure to capture the person as they trudge down the block, calling out, “Excuse me! Hello, are you doing alright?”

They lift their head, looking to Mollymauk. For a moment, their gaze is distant, and then it sharpens, fixed on him. They keep moving forward.

He turns his head, getting a sweep of the area. They’re not the only person around, two more are further down the block, one walking in the street, all having paused now to look at the source of the noise. “Hello?” He calls again. “What’s — what’s going on? There’s an evac alert, you know.”

They start moving towards him. The one up the block keeps up their pace, the two further down turn around. “Well that’s just weird,” Molly mutters, edging towards the one that’s alone. He can see Sugar-Bomb still crouched low, eyes intent on him. His head turns, looking full in the face of the human. A woman, short hair, older face. Her gaze is distant, but fixed on him at the same time. She keeps moving — definitely towards him now, not just along her path.

“Okay. Well, these people are either on something or are in some kind of a trance, and I’m not sure I like either option,” Molly mutters, more out of habit than anything. He stays still, wary gaze on the woman as she approaches. The other three are still further back, still out of range.

The woman slows. About four paces from Mollymauk, she stops. Her breath swells slow, deep.

Her head rears up. From hanging low, it’s suddenly tilted towards the sky, her jaws parting to reveal yellowed, serrated teeth. And then she shrieks and lunges for him.

“Fuck!” Molly backpedals. Two steps and then Sugar-Bomb is at his side, tail pressing against his stomach, pressing him out of the way as she pulls the hammer from her back and swings. It impacts the woman in the stomach, her breath choking out of her, stumbling back with a horrid gasp.

Sugar-Bomb grabs Molly and bolts, hoisting him into a fireman’s carry that has him fumbling for his phone, gasping out, “Sugar-Bomb saves my ass as usual. Those people look zombified — oh, gods —!”

They round a corner, and stumble into a small hoard. Humans, elves, dragonborn, without discrimination there are sallow, stumbling, sharp-toothed beings that crane their heads around and then immediately swerve around to advance upon them. “Oh, fuck,” Sugar-Bomb gulps, bouncing back and away. “That is a lot of zombies.”

“Up, up, up,” Molly gasps. She reels back, just in time for one of these things to reach out and swipe at her with gnarled, yellow nails. “Down! Put me down, you need your — ”

She dumps him onto the ground without question, Molly landing on his ass. Her hammer is in her grip and she’s swinging hard, planted defensively in front of him. The first one falls with another rattling wheeze of pain. It’s just one among a couple dozen. A hand closes on Molly’s tail, and he jerks back, scrabbling up to his feet only to yelp as a hand gets ahold of his jacket and pulls him back down.

“Molly!” Sugar-Bomb’s voice is a rough cry. More hands are grasping at him. He kicks hard, foot cracks one in the jaw. Two hands off, two more holding fast, clawing, pulling. Sugar-Bomb slams them in the side with her hammer, the body a ragdoll tossed into the street.

And in this time, they’ve clustered and advanced, several dozen of these veritable zombies now swarming them. Sugar-Bomb grabs him by the jacket, yanking him up by his coat, ears pinned back, tail lashing, hammer in her grasp, Molly’s eyes darting back and forth searching for a single thing he could use to be more than dead weight to her —

And then a wall of flames erupts in his face.

[purkinje-effect]

The Purkinje Effect, 27

Table of Contents

A few days later, for most of the afternoon Geek toiled over KL-E-O’s workbench, with a cigarette hanging from his mouth. With the belt sander, he sharpened his latest project. His wrench-shiv served as a reverse tang of sorts, atop which he practiced controlling his metallic sweat, building up its blade with whatever his palms would excrete. Occasionally, he would lick his fingers, or the knife directly, to slick down the material into curves. What flowed readily seemed mostly lead and tin, and the approximation of his sweeping, jagged work of art to solder was not lost to his amusement, as he smoothed and added, smoothed and added, time and again picking at it until he felt less dissatisfied than before. The piece ended up something between a machete and a karambit, but both the heft and functional shapes pleased him. A series of stylized keyholes trailed the center, and a pair of exaggerated false edges swept both the tip and base of the spine of the blade. He wondered whether he could control the concentrations of the alloys that his pores eliminated, by means besides mitigating his diet.

The sickle-like curvature of the false edges evoked the notion of Cronus. Lead was associated with Saturn, wasn’t it? Classical mythology had filled one of the books in his collection at the vault. It was decorum, to name a blade such as this, a testament that he could weaponize the trauma and from it forge constructive artifacts. Alchemy, he mused to himself. He’d have to futz with his knuckles, if Cronus could prove itself.

Kill or Be Killed had an open store front right on the plaza. As the pink ghoul honed the forming weapon, he noticed across the way in his peripheral, someone come through the one entry into Goodneighbor: a Mister Handy with a ton of wrong parts. He stopped working to watch, absently intrigued as the pale blue hovering mishmash of robotics paused in the plaza, only to zip down the alley.

“That--”

Geek wrapped up his mostly-finished project in a piece of canvas and tucked it in a thigh pocket, to sprint out after the robot. Somebody had been riding on the domed back of that robot. He hadn’t gotten a good look at the dreg, but he didn’t have to, to know they fit the description.

Did he really manage it? Geek thought to himself, scanning the once Scollay Square to tail the robot-riding idiot. Anybody smart enough would’a taken the chance to skip town without wearin’ Hancock’s crosshairs. Why the hell would he come back?

The Neighborhood Watch ghouls on duty at the front face of the Third Rail noticed Geek’s demeanor and gestured at the double doors with their rifles. He nodded with a slouch and jogged in. Ham, the ghoul bouncer in a black pinstripe suit, started to say something to him, but he patted Ham on the shoulder without stopping on his way down the stairs to the subway loading platform that had transformed into the settlement’s illustrious bar. Now that he knew what Jet smelled like, he recognized the previous elusive sweet-stink to the humid atmosphere down here.

A quick skim of the main hall yielded nothing. Losing interest, he approached Charlie for a drink.

“Ah, it’s you again. Gotta thank you again for taking care of that rat problem before. Sure you’re interested t’hear I’ve added the mineral variety to the spirits I pour out.”

“Very.” He doused a few caps on the counter while the Handy reached under the counter to produce the requested tin of turpentine.

“You might also like t’hear the mayor’s in the VIP Lounge at the moment. Something about a private meetin’.” Charlie began to polish at a glass with its pincer-tipped tentacle-limbs. “Seemed like you were followin’ somebody when you first came in, and the timing suggests to me he’s your man.”

Geek sprinkled a few more caps where the first dozen or so had been, as gratuity, and patted at the counter with endearment.

“Exactly what I needed, Charlie. Thanks.”

He took the tin with him to the back room, strung with cage lights, and eavesdropped on the meeting from the corridor that led into the lounge itself. The pale blue Handy idled at one end of the room, while the vault dweller sat on a couch at the far wall, fidgeting with a cane in his lap. Though he couldn’t see around the corner, he could hear that Hancock and Fahrenheit sat opposite the dweller. Yeah, he had a Pipboy, too--but was it his? This frail guy looked in his forties, huge round white-rim glasses, had an undershaven black ponytail that had half-fallen into his face, and wore a tailored single-breasted off-white suit. There seemed to be a high white leather gorget with dark seams beneath the cream dress shirt--no, it was medical gear. It all made sense now. The braces, the cane... and his Frankenstein of a Handy. It doubled as a wheelchair, didn’t it?

“--And you’re lucky I didn’t die,” Fahrenheit seethed. “Still stiff as fuck.”

“I-- I am,” the dreg stuttered out. “I panicked. When I came to town, I didn’t know who to trust, and when it came out Bobbi had played me an’ Mel. I couldn’t make sense of the situation in the moment. Makin’ it look like I’d greased you an’ your guards was the only way I thought I could get away with not killing anybody.” He bit at his lower lip and stared at his Handy as it floated there. “I don’t regret having to take care of Bobbi like that, but I sure am glad I didn’t have to get rid of Mel. He didn’t know who he was working a job on any more than I did.”

Listening to the guy nagged at Geek. It had been carefully groomed over time, but that was unmistakably a Russian accent.

“And what of the caps we negotiated, hm?”

The guy flinched at Hancock’s threat-loaded question.

“Can’t we-- work something else out?”

“Reading my mind. Finn in the dirt, and Bobbi written off, I’m lacking brawn and brains. You were crafty enough to swindle me, and resourceful enough to adjust the playing field in real time--quickly--to compensate for... mistakes. That sounds like the makings of an idea man. Definitely the kind of Nimrod I want even closer, if you catch my meaning.”

Geek spat out a mouthful of spirits. Knowing he’d given himself away, he walked in. Hancock patted at the free spot of the couch beside him opposite Fahr, both of whom were relieved to see it was just him. The mayor threw his arms around both of them once Geek sat.

“Just the ghoul I wanted to see.”

“You gotta be kidding me, Hancock,” he started, taking a fresh swig of turpentine as he gawked back and forth between the dreg and his boyfriend. “This guy blew up your strongroom and drained it dry, and he damn near killed Fahr. An’ ain’t it his fault Finn’s dead?”

Shaken beyond composure, the dreg produced a flask from his waistcoat pocket, and took after Geek. Though the jamjar lenses obscured the exact way he was looking at the pink ghoul, he was sure he could tell exactly what the dreg was thinking. Everyone always reacted badly to his complexion.

“Melancholy, this is Geek. Geek, Melancholy.”

Hancock stopped picking at his fingernails with his hunting knife and pulled out two cigarettes. The ghoul briefly borrowed Fahr’s cigar to stoke them off the cherry before handing it back, then offered Geek one while he took the other for himself. Geek stared, displeased, at this Melancholy dreg and, without breaking eye contact, swallowed his turpentine cap before taking the smoke from Hancock. ‘Choly straightened and tried to stifle an awkward chuckle, the corner of his mouth twitching.

“The pleasure’s all his, I’m sure,” Geek said.

“Oh. Ohh, it is.” ‘Choly sniffed, pushing his glasses up his nose. “I assure you, it is.” Geek’s face soured at this.

“...Ain’t about t’tell you how t’run y’town, but you trust this loon after what he did?”

“I trust the Mayor’s judgment on this, long as 'Choly keeps that damn bloatfly gun holstered in town.” Fahr snarled in disgust, and put out her well-chewed cigar on the arm of the couch before flicking the butt across the room into the cardboard box in the corner. “Never want to see anything like that again in my life. Still having nightmares. Gonna have nightmares for weeks.”

‘Choly couldn’t help but smile and murmur in sly reminiscent pride.

“I-- am not gonna ask.” Geek rubbed at his forehead a minute with his smoke hand, already wearing conversational exhaustion on his face. “Y’wanted t’see me, though?”

“Sure you heard most of our conversation up to now,” Hancock mumbled warmly, pulling him closer by the shoulder. “I’m filling recently... vacated positions. If he’s the brains, you’d certainly make great brawn, love.”

Geek slipped out of the mayor’s arm and sat next to ‘Choly, and squeezed his knee with sustained eye contact. He noted that he could feel the hinges of leg braces, as he’d suspected, beneath the slacks. Up close, he could see white splotches mottled the right side of the dreg’s face, and a scar slashed his lower lip.

“What vault you say you was from again?”

‘Choly pushed Geek’s hand off his knee with both hands, squirming in discomfort, then looked back up at him and clasped his cane firmly.

“I-- I’m from Concord. One-eleven. Why?”

The cigarette twitched in Geek’s lips.

“It’s just I don’t get it. Who fucked up and let a Commie in a vault?” ‘Choly wrung at his cane, put on the spot. “Who’d you kill for that Pipboy, mh?”

‘Choly stared at him from over the top of his glasses, cataracted eyes glazed and jaundiced.

“--I could ask you the same thing, you... you pink Plymouth. You’re from a functional vault, I’m guessing?”

Geek swallowed his lit cigarette, incredulous, and barely kept himself from decking the dreg.

“Gentlemen!” the Handy interjected, unnerved. “There’s no use in being contrary. Isn’t that right, Sir?”

“It’s all right, Angel.” Indignity softening, he looked Geek up and down as he adjusted his glasses again, more for emphasis than need. “He’s easy on the eyes, even if his belfry’s not all in order.”

“Now--” Hancock bolted up before he crossed his arms and cooled himself into a chuckle. “Geek’s one thing you aren’t gonna get away with stealing from me.”

Geek sputtered a laugh and leaned onto his knees, cradling his face into one hand. ‘Choly glanced between them, overtaken by a deep flush. Fahr rolled her eyes, and decided to kick her feet up across the couch since Hancock had begun to pace.

“If you’re interested in sticking around town, you might do well to go speak to Clair in the Rexford,” the mayor urged. “All I’m asking is you think about my proposition, ‘Choly.”

“Oh, he’ll proposition you,” Fahr grunted. “Damn sleaze.”

‘Choly ignored her and looked expectantly to Hancock.

“So you’re... you’re not running me out of town, then?”

“Long as you’re good for business, rather than disrupting it.” The mayor grinned. “Fred tells me you make some mean Mentats. Gonna have to prove it.”

“I, yes. Definitely. Definitely!” ‘Choly put up his flask and patted his chest where he’d put it, then leveraged his cane to stand. Approaching Hancock, he offered a gloved handshake and took the mayor’s in both of his. “Let me sleep on it, Mayor. I’ll... I’ll tell you tomorrow.”

“All right, now.” Hancock grinned and patted him on the shoulder with his free hand. “Shoo. Mingle. And try not to put both feet in your mouth?”

As 'Choly and his Handy exited shrewdly, the sound of his cane-gait shadowed their departure. Hancock walked over to Geek, who’d stood with the transparent intent to follow the newcomer again.

“Y’really trust a Red to finance Goodneighbor?” Geek asked him, the three of them leaving the lounge as well. “A Red who ripped you off?”

“It’s been two centuries since one’s nationality was a reliable measure of their credibility, Geek. My sources tell me that lil’ Ruski dismantled an entire raider operation just a few months back. The survivors aren’t even confident they’ve got an accurate account of what happened, it happened so fast. He might not look like anything, but he’s a whip.” Hancock glanced to him with a stern pleasantry. “Nobody’s stoppin’ ya from keeping an eye on him, if your gut feeling is strong. But try not to run him off before he gives me his answer, okay?”

The pink ghoul finished off his turpentine, and watched as ‘Choly mounted the cloth stirrups of his Handy, and the two scaled the stairs and vanished rounding up to street level.

“You bet your ass I’m keepin’ my eye on him.”