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purkinje-effect · 1 year

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The Anatomy of Melancholy, 95: Come Blow Your Horn

Table of Contents Third Instar, Chapter 26. Go to previous. Go to next. CWs: Food squick, water crisis mention, convalescence after acute radiation poisoning.

Will you wake him? / No, not I, For if I do, / He'll sure to cry.

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In the back room of the GCC’s recently procured upper level lease, across the kitchen card table lay strewn loose Merrick leaves, the MKX Papers, a partial sack of silt flour, a tin with three Mentats, and one of the surviving holotape copies of the Cinema transcript. Oh, and two pull tabs. 'Choly had changed into the officer's summer uniform, omitting his devices, but felt only marginally less indecent for it, without foundations or a bath. Having dug to the bottom, he could check the contents inside Angel’s hidden compartment. He still had Tryasovitsy and his Remembrance poppies, coat devices, holotapes that may or may not have still contained his private writing, and those white round prescription sunglasses. The STAR Core returned to the safety of its coat-swaddling. 'Choly hoped that, on top of repelling moisture and stains, the Quarpel coating of his officer's coat had rendered it resistant to wrinkles, so he could afford not shaking it out and folding it properly as he returned his belongings inside Angel.

It had been three days since the altercation with Haidinger. He hadn’t intended to get away without giving him the circuitboard. His lips rubbed at the film on his teeth at length, as he put on the only glasses he had now. If Haidinger didn’t come himself to retrieve the Core in the next day or two, he’d have to take it to him. Yet, neither keeping it nor handing it over sat well with him.

This was a best case scenario. He'd insisted on that for days. With just the one, and no documentation to support the claims, he could present the Core to no one other than an individual already capable of identifying it. He wasn't about to risk losing access to the amenities Haidinger had promised him, by trying to find any other buyers. He'd just… have to trust that the Children of Atom truly did wish to keep the Concourse safe.

A distinct shift in his alertness drew his posture rigid in the kitchen chair. He glanced around the room, taking in the details of the cabinetry, of the clutter of various tins yet unreturned to food service circulation, of Angel idle aspirations of doing the dishes itself. The sunglasses' anti-ultraviolet coating, remarkably, somehow cut down on the eye strain of the chroma. More bewilderingly, the tint didn’t seem to impact his vision, though he admitted freely to himself that they didn’t see by light here, so it shouldn’t surprise him too much. They might not have been the right prescription strength, but they were much closer than he first believed. At least, that held true here.

He got to righting the loose sheets of the Merrick. Most of it, he’d either handwritten or typed, forming something of an appendix, albeit one still in progress. He appreciated that he only had something of a year’s worth of notes and research to account for, though even then, he’d experienced several prolific episodes in that span. In its jumbled state, he strained to ascertain whether the notes appeared complete. Where he tucked his notes on various Mentats flavors, he walked through the mental image of preparing each.

He favored Berries, but he could appreciate the utility of other varieties.

A drop of blood landed on the open book. He unstuck to reach for his pocket. A tangle of strands trailed between his scalp and knuckles, from where his fingers had carded his hair. He flicked his hand, but only pulling the greasy hairs loose with his other hand did much good. Another drop landed on his uniform pants. Exasperated, he produced the crusty dark handkerchief. He pressed a thumb knuckle under his nose while he wiped at his leg.

He knew he hadn’t been gripping his hair firmly enough to tug that much loose. It hadn’t hurt. The hair had simply come loose. His nuisance melted into a wistfulness as he eyed the kerchief. His fingers traced his still-blistered left wrist lovingly.

Such things come with age. He smiled and wiped at his upper lip, knowing full well that the culprit was anything but.

“If only it were that easy for you to have become a ghoul." Sticks walked in and gave him a shit-eating grin. “Right?”

'Choly's shoulders stiffened.

"It wasn't like that, and you know it."

"Do I?"

He clammed up. Sticks would never let him live that down, would he? The ghoul tossed down his armsful on top of ‘Choly’s papers with a cluttered din. ‘Choly flinched back, wadding up his kerchief in his fist, only to dive after one bottle as it tried to escape by rolling off the table. Eyeing it, he eased himself back off the tabletop. Lugol’s iodine. His mouth parted, cautious to entertain a grin in lieu of context. Mouthwash, toothpaste, two milk bottles, and a fistful of fusion cells.

“Mister Hawthorne, that’s entirely inappropriate. You know none of us asked to be put in that situation!”

“Oh, don’t strip another gasket, chap. Learn to take a joke.” Sticks pulled up a chair to sit backwards on it. “We have got to speak with Liam. If he won’t lend us some of that vampire equipment, I’ll riot. Surely it’s better than with a knife.”

“--Vampire e--"

"--Oh." Orqueida, in a mesh blouse and harem pants, entered cradling a duck cloth sack. She crinkled her nose. "Well, I suppose it's fine. Just invite yourselves in. You'll want a meal, while you're at it?"

"Hi, Orqueida." 'Choly stuffed down into his seat. He smiled in apology as he reached to push aside the Melancholia ingredients to make room for her to set down the sack. "No, thank you. Still no appetite."

Sticks eyed the jars and tins she set out from the sack.

"Well I, for one, won't turn down the chance to eat something besides the prewar junk rations they've been handing out at Steve's. I'll take whatever you're willing to share. You're a doll."

"Pickled sausages." She upturned the lid of the largest tin, and skewered a link to dish atop it. She slid the lid to Sticks, and gave him a wry glance. "There's also plenty of tato."

The pungent bite of meat past its prime curdled in 'Choly's nose. He smiled weakly, and watched Sticks eat with his fingers.

"Do hydrate if nothing else, Sir. Miss Cook, I hate to impose any further, but we can't bother you to share some water, could we?"

"You do need it," Orqueida resigned. She filled the kettle on the camping burner from a canister, and struck a match to coax the pilot. "It's a good kettle, and a fine hot plate. Melancholy, you're sure you can't eat even a little?"

"Positive. I'll-- are those deviled eggs?"

"Unfortunately. There's only so much fresh food to go around right now. The boil notice only makes it harder. We're fortunate to have the stockpile of prewar rations, as grim as it is."

"They're his favorite," Angel beamed. "Surely you'll do for some Yum Yums, Sir?"

"...Fine," He smirked into one hand. "Even when they were fresh, I will admit they're an acquired taste."

"I certainly wasn't going to eat them," she murmured, gathering her plate. "They're all… yours. Ah."

'Choly had opened the carton as she spoke, and half an egg already found itself in his mouth. Everyone at the table could smell its cologne-like bite now that the firm skin of the aged deviled filling had been cleft open.

"Foul as sin," Sticks snipped.

He and Orqueida both gave him a queasy gaze.

"No, no. You're the ones eating sausages made of spoiled meat."

"They're pickled. Fermented. There's a difference."

"Not by much."

“Says the guy who shovels sauerkraut like it’s a salad buffet,” Sticks continued. Orqueida clanked down a tin, surveying her rations. “...You really want to risk your guts over two hundred year old food? We have got to talk to Liam. Get you back on your meds."

Another tin. A third.

"This isn't because I've been off them--"

She slammed down yet another. When conversation trailed off, she straightened with a sharp, bitter exhale. Her polished grip on the Cram tin loosened. She took a seat with her food, and didn't look to them. A terse smile curled at the corners of her mouth, for lack of a more appropriate gesture.

"So you're staying this time, right?"

'Choly and Sticks exchanged glances, chewing slowly.

"...Well," Sticks said, swallowing, "we hadn't really discussed it."

Confusion and hurt tugged at her manicured brow.

"What's to discuss?"

The kettle squealed.

"I was telling you that it wouldn't be awful to stay," 'Choly told him. "We kind of have to, don't we? Until I can… take care of…?"

He gestured at Angel crabbing over to the stove.

"You don't happen to have clean drinkware, do you, Miss Cook?"

"There's a few cans on the counter there. They're warm, but I do have some Vim, if you'd rather. I know I would."

"Keep them," 'Choly said. "I need the water."

"He's got the right idea. About the choice of beverage, at any rate."

She shrugged and popped open a fermented soda for herself.

"What's such a bad idea about you staying?"

"Oh, it's not like that," Sticks hemmed, fading into thinking aloud. "It's just that we hadn't come to any agreements yet. Doesn’t sound like we can travel right now anyway. The South's blocked off. Not that I think we could cut through there. The way will stay soggy for a while."

"A new raider group?"

"Do be careful, gentlemen."

Angel handed 'Choly and Sticks soup cans of steaming hot water. With an appreciative nod, 'Choly kept quiet, focused on the warmth of the can in his hands.

Sticks finished chewing before replying.

"You could say that. We're not sure what to make of them yet."

"They're not bothering the Furriers, I hope. They do good trade with us, when they come."

'Choly attempted to sip the steaming water. He set it down, and did his best to compose something articulate.

"They, ah. Are the Furriers. They… rebranded. Sided with the General. We think. It's… complicated?"

Her features quirked in disdain.

"Simplify it then. That General isn't some raider, right? I dislike negotiating with raiders."

The pair exchanged gazes as they gauged the topic. ‘Choly pressed his lips together and shifted in his seat, and looked again to Orqueida with twinges of resentment and guilt.

“Sticks and I burned a few bridges in Lowell. Most, figuratively. Some, literally. Even if it so happens that they still conduct themselves with civility--and the river didn’t sweep them away outright--they’re likely to be hostile toward the three of us.” He cleared his throat. “I did hear you’re working with the Custom House now, didn’t I. Are you liking it? Does it feel like a promotion?”

A genuine smile finally crept into the corners of Orqueida's lips.

"I'm one of the only ones roped into it that's excited to do it. I'm hoping to prove myself quickly.” She sectioned more of her sausage with the edge of her fork and sighed. “I have enough on my plate without having to worry about our main Southbound caravan route harrowed by raiders.”

Sticks poured some of his hot water over his sausage, and tilted it in the lid to cool it faster.

“Well,” he started through sips, “I don’t want to head North, either. Children only get more and more plentiful, the closer to Canada you get.”

‘Choly frowned, staring off in thought.

“The last thing I want is to get lost in that Fog again.”

Sticks gave him a conman’s sneer.

“You’ve got that right. Especially since I haven’t got Blue anymore. Even if you could ride Angel the whole way, I don’t think you’d survive a trek through dense woods in one piece. Goes double for Dracut. Teeming with Pelts. The moment I take my eye off you, presto. You’d be gone.”

Orqueida matched Sticks’s jeering.

“I’m not sure he could see past his nose to get astray.”

“Mmh, well. Like we said, the trouble isn’t with staying. It’s about not going. It’s not so bad. We can rebuild our savings and reputation here. And it isn’t winter anymore. It’s some time before we have to worry about more magnetic storms, right?”

Orqueida nodded.

“They’re rare after February, yes.” She craned across the table to pour some of her Vim into Choly's water. “Surely you’ll have just a splash of tonic.”

“--I.” He tried to clap his hand over the top, but wasn’t fast enough. His shoulders loosened in resignation. “All right.”

“That’s the spirits, Sir. I do have a recipe in my memory banks for hot Nuka-Cola. Perhaps Vim can ease your stomach all the same.” Angel stopped pacing to rest on its coiled tendrils. “I don’t know about you, but it certainly soothes me to know we won’t have to anticipate more potent magnetic fields in our immediate future.”

Sticks finished off his sausage and set down the tray in thought. Orqueida tossed him a second one without missing a beat.

“We should be able to tell soon. What the Unfolded do once the land’s all dried back up. Whether they’re a threat.”

Though 'Choly knew it couldn’t be helped, the subject matter had his head ringing.

“Well, I have faith that everyone here can restore the Lane. There are so many artisans. I imagine many are skilled carpenters and natural engineers. The Concourse will be secure again by next winter storm season without question.”

“You’re withholding something about these Unfolded.” Orqueida narrowed her eyes at ‘Choly. “I must know. It will impact the caravan routes.”

“Withholding many somethings. Lowell went sideways before we came here. I don’t have it in me to explain it all right now. I promise you I’ll--"

She snatched Sticks's water and glared, hurt. Sticks puffed, wide-eyed and impotent.

“--Sticks, tell me! One of you will tell me what’s going on here! Angel!?”

‘Choly sipped at his dilute herbal beverage again. Angel sprang up to resume busying itself looking for things to tidy. Sticks shied into a cough. When none of them would budge, she booed them.

“I need to have my proposed travel outline for the season by the end of the month!” She scowled at ‘Choly, and he shrank. “That’s four days from now, you know!”

“You’d lose your sense of time, too, if you’d come out of a coma, suffering chronic Daytripper withdrawals.”

Liam strolled up and commenced building a plate off another tin’s lid.

“What’s all this now?” he murmured.

Orqueida sat back down to calm herself with her Vim.

“They’re not here to see me. They’re here for you, Love.”

“Sticks and I need to borrow your phlebotomy equipment--"

The ghoul waved ‘Choly off with a plastered grimace.

“--We need to discuss business arrangements again, my friend. I know I can lock in a place for us to stay by helping with repairs, and I can scrape up some pulls running errands for folks, but ‘Choly here? We all know he’s pretty brittle, even with his braces. Brain might be the only strong thing in there.”

‘Choly’s head throbbed with sheepishness and uncertainty.

“I guess I could be volunteered to make some first aid chems again--"

Liam shoved his plate into ‘Choly’s space to sit next to him, shoulder to shoulder, seersucker to cotton.

“--We are most definitely fucking not.” He extinguished his smoke on the edge of the table and put the filter beside his setting. He exhaled through an impatient grin as he commenced slicing up his dinner. “If you’re making yourselves at home again, you’re going to come up with the wicked wildest work order you can. Make me something fun for once, won’t you? Leave procurement to me and Sticks. We’ll make it happen. But, you have to do your part, too. Maybe once you prove yourselves, I could be convinced to let you borrow equipment.”

“Ohh, don’t run them off already,” Orqueida chastised.

‘Choly glanced to Sticks for grounding and reassurance. Sticks gave him an optimistic shrug.

“Really leaving me no other choice than to get creative, then.”

“That’s the idea. Make it more interesting around here. Worth getting invested in somebody liable to flake at the slightest discomfort.” Liam took a few bites, and chewed with a certain mocking lyric in his lungs. His judgmental eyes gave 'Choly's appearance a skeptical bob. “You did mention you’re ex-military, didn’t you.”

‘Choly wilted in a fluttered heartbeat.

“Colonel Alan Carey. Deenwood Pharm Corps…”

Liam tilted back to pat him on the shoulder.

“I have very high expectations.”

At Orqueida’s sharp laugh, Sticks and ‘Choly could only muster tepid chuckles. She sneered graciously.

“Oh, you know you’ve earned some ribbing, after all you’ve got yourselves into. I imagine they'll want to house you at Big Steve’s. Since you’re neither Satellite nor leaseholder, you fall in the tourist category. That won’t do. I might still be mad at you, but you deserve better than cramped quarters with no privacy. Let me pull some strings. Get you a room at the Anchor again. With the state of the Concourse and your lack of funds, there’s not much other choice.”

“We don’t want to impose,” Sticks lied. Heavy-lidded, he took back his drink from her. “Now that the water levels are down, I can try to get back Blue.”

“Absolutely not! I’d sooner lock you in Big Steve’s.”

“Well, we could just sleep in the car, and store our stuff--"

“I won’t have it!” Orqueida figured out he was pushing her buttons and played it up. “You just want to use it for a boat and… float away!!”

Behind them Fresnel hopped up to sit on the counter, wearing a Vichy check blouse and a full length lace skirt. Liam jerked, not having heard or seen her enter. She smiled wide.

“I doubt that the auto can float at all.” She picked up a can of Vim and looked to Orqueida for permission. Orqueida flustered and nodded. “Mercy.”

Liam picked up his plate to slouch back. His breathing stuttered a bit as he watched his girl make eyes at Fresnel.

“Don’t you have your own meal to sit down to, Rad-eater?”

“I appreciate your offer, but I’ve already eaten.”

“I wasn’t--"

“Do not mind me. I only seek Melancholy and Sticks, and learned they were here.” She set down her soda to lay a hand on Angel’s chassis. The robot stopped pacing and got lost in her genteel demeanor. “I carry two pieces of information.”

“Stay as long as you like,” Orqueida smiled down the bald Atomite’s gingham button-down blouse. “I do rather like your look without the hat.”

“You like only that much?” She patted Angel and sat back up. “A few months ago, I learned that one of the autos in Covered Parking was in running condition. I watched it closely. Such structures typically become architecture. Housing. Fortifications. But this Blue, it was fit to be driven here. No one moved into it all winter. C’est strange, don’t you think? Is it of interest to you as well, that it sold just this morning?”

“What!” Sticks jostled the table, incredulous stopped mid-motion of standing. “Who the hell here wants a running car! Everyone in Covered Parking wanted to get rid of him ASAP!”

A cool smile brightened Fresnel’s concentric-tattooed features. Slowly, she produced a piece of paper from her bra. She unfolded it and turned it to them. Sticks slouched, gutted.

“You wound me.”

She folded the lease back up and tucked it next to her heart again.

“It needs a great deal of work. I tried to hotwire it, but couldn’t get it started. I might be convinced to trade it to you, in exchange for you repairing it and driving me a few places.”

The ghoul couldn’t feel more downtrodden.

“...A few Atomite places, I’m guessing.”

“But of course. I very much need to speak with the Grand Mother. What better way than to be carried by Atom’s grace?”

“Atom’s grace.” Sticks sniveled. “His name’s Little Boy Blue! …You know, even if I wanted to do this for you, I can’t. I might know my way around a car, but I guarantee you that engine’s waterlogged as sin. An engineer I am not. No idea what you paid for him. You just bought the most expensive lease in Covered Parking. Are congratulations in order?”

“Oh, quit the sour talk,” Orqueida snipped with enthusiasm. “If you sold it to leave, it was fair game for anyone to buy. It’s no good as a lease, anyway.”

Fresnel's genteel lyric never once faded.

“Correct. And Sticks. You may not be a nuclear engineer, but I am. You and I will work on this together. I can get the help of all the Children it takes to restore the auto. Like you, we are not injured by Her Glow. I must have your auto working. It would take me weeks to make the necessary circuit on foot. Your auto would cut that to days.”

‘Choly picked up his jaw and nudged Liam to bum a smoke. Without hesitation, the medic lit both and passed one over.

“Wait wait wait. You’re serious about getting it running?” Orqueida stood to pace, wild-eyed with mounting fervor. Fresnel quirked a brow and cradled her chin in her upturned wrists, to watch Orqueida. “Are you both telling me that you’re confident this car can make a trip to Burlington? A car would be a complete game-changer. The Custom House has been stumped sideways how we could possibly make a trip all the way to Montpelier with only one brahmin. We lost any that Kessler’s lot didn’t take with them to the flood.”

“How many people can this auto fit?” Fresnel asked Sticks.

He crossed his arms.

“He’s just a coupe. Only supposed to seat two. But he’s squeezed as many as six a time or two. Orqueida, this is between the Atomite and me.”

“Humor her, undying. You stand to right multiple problems with a single, simple agreement.”

“Oh, no. Noo…” Sticks started to warm to the idea, but continued to pout. “Anything but that… Surely you can… compensate me for all this duress?” His doe eyes perked up to beseech Orqueida. “In something besides mall certificates?”

She clutched her chest like death.

“Abandon help me, you can’t have my certs.”

“Keep them. What, do you want mine? I’ll give them to you.”

‘Choly could only sit and marinate himself in the cigarette, at a loss. It wasn’t a menthol, but he needed the nicotine then far in excess of the comforts of its taste.

“...Sticks… I thought you said you hated the idea of heading further North.”

“Do you have any idea how long it’s been since I could take a road trip, Mindy! So what if it involves a couple errands? Just to make sure, Fresnel: Once you’re wherever you need to go, we don’t have to stick together? I can just drop you off, right?”

“Non-Children are not allowed at Five Sisters.”

“Beautiful. And you, Orqueida?”

“I’m going to need someone to carry packages from the car, and to bring packages back to it. I cannot carry it all myself. Oh, please tell me you’ll do this caravan escort for the Custom House.”

“I presume Mister Carey will join the three of you. Will it be safe enough for me to accompany you all?”

‘Choly stared at Angel with utmost determination.

“I refuse to leave you behind.”

“So Mindy’s on board, too. Love it. Bledsoe, you’ve been so quiet over there. Speak up.”

Liam shut his eyes and shook his daze. He took a drag off his cigarette and stared off into space, sprawled out in his seat but clearly feeling so very small.

“How long do you suppose you’ll be gone?”

Orqueida rounded the table to grab him by both wrists. She kissed his forehead repeatedly.

“Oh, Love, come with us. The Lane will be fine without you for a week or so!”

“A much needed vacation, Mister Bledsoe. With you, we’d have a full entourage.”

Smirking at Liam, ‘Choly swirled his tin of water in his other hand.

“I know you take a half-day off from time to time, but have you ever really taken a vacation, Bledsoe?”

Wilding concern bleared Liam’s eyes. Sticks grabbed him around the shoulder and grinned at ‘Choly.

“Stop tormenting this poor man with your strange prewar sensibilities and ancient nonsense words. It’s settled. We’re not taking no for an answer, either.”

Liam’s eyes followed a quick and intricate mental track. Minute bobs of his head punctuated his itinerary.

“I… I suppose Nancy and the others can hold down the fort. It’s gotten quiet again, with the flood survivors convalescing.”

“Sticks, you can manage those repairs in a week’s time, can’t you?”

He nodded.

“Blindfolded.” He nodded again. “One-handed.”

“Hopefully you won’t be without your prosthetics much longer, Sir.”

“Blindfolded. One-handed. And sitting down. That’s m’boy we’re talking about. No clown car arrangement, either! Just you wait and see. Nothing beats a Corvega. You’ll all be riding in the lap of luxury.” He offered to shake on it, and Fresnel agreed with aplomb. “You’ve got yourself a deal, Sister. I’ll patch up my car and drive you wherever it is you need. Then, once everything’s said and done, Blue’s mine again.”

"One week sounds like a splendid deadline. I have several things to wrap up here myself before we head out.”

‘Choly’s humor trailed off as he eyed her.

“...As do I.”

Sticks turned to shake hands with Orqueida as well. She gripped his hand in both hers, and smiled with a brightness uncharacteristic of her.

“Say, Fresnel," Orqueida started, "this has been such a to-do of a delivery. You said you had two topics of business with us. What else did you have?”

Fresnel straightened to lace her arms behind her back. She squared up her posture to ‘Choly.

“I mostly procured the auto for my own devices. I also may have done it out of restlessness. But I had to make sure you knew, Melancholy: I’m not kicking my heels. Our arrangement has simply… taken arranging, he tells me. I do still have your word you’re here until matters are attended? Given the circumstances, I’d say we all have only one week.”

Liam stood to start clearing the table.

“Whatever you’ve got going on with my chemist,” he muttered, “don’t think you can just nab him for a whole week without him making good on his skills.”

“Two obligations, then. Wouldn’t have it any other way.” ‘Choly stood with a broad smile to help Angel and Liam collect the dishes. “Seems we all have some work cut out for us.”

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