“I was reading about what happened in this place.”
‘Liquor shipment finally came in today - didn't realize working here would be like working in a dry state. Just need to keep it out of sight of security and Sinclair, and ought to take the edge off the day, keep it stashed in the back.’
And then the other, ‘One thing about the liquor they're shipping in, it's making somebody talk - the big man came down today and told us that we have a sweet deal set up, and one slipped word in front of security can bring this all crashing down... for real.’
“Bootlegging?!” Of all the things to put his life in danger for…! This was a good cause – as were many others, but that wasn’t important now! – for Dean Domino to get more than just a bit livid. “You dragged me all over this deathtrap so you could read about a band of morons who thought to profit of Sinclair’s stuck up idiocy?!”
Black helmeted face rose to meet his. “I’ve put you in just about the same amount of danger you put yourself in by staying in Madre,” she cut in calmly. “These were scattered along the way,” she gestured at her loot.
Dean’s jaw tightened. She plucked on a sour note in there somewhere. He had his reasons for staying – some very good reasons – none of which he had to place before her feet. “I don’t need you criticizing my choices. Or are you trying to say that the rest of the world is better off? Mojave? Is it free of mutated monstrosities?”
Black helmet kept staring. Then she snorted, “Far from it. But in its defense, the Mojave at least gives you the opportunity and more space to go around any monstrosity that sees you as lunch. And the lack of Cloud is also a blessing…” and then she went back to strangely well-preserved paper, her voice trailing off. “But, whatever. Have it your way.”
Again they fell into simmering silence. They did that a lot. Two stubborn bighorners vying for the spot at the front of the heard – the lead position in this case. And even if what he was doing currently consisted mostly of following, Dean still liked to think of himself as someone with an upper hand.
“If…” she started slowly, and Dean’s eyebrow arched at the tame tone she had taken. “If these vending machines could create anything out of a single chip,” a prospect which was fascinating her, “why the black market?”
“Why? Because not everyone could get what they needed from those little toy boxes. Or what they wanted.” When her black helmet just kept staring at him like some miniature black monolith, the ghoul deigned to elaborate, “They could only produce things that were hard built into their programing. Chems, for instance, were available only to selected personnel, usually medical. Guns and other weapons were restricted to security here; although, from what I’ve seen, Sinclair’s chefs could do more damage with a single knife than a whole rodeo show of local officers,” he added in afterthought before looking at the sickly colored liquid at the bottom of his glass almost as if memories have pooled down there. “You couldn’t even get bottle of decent wine unless you had special authorization code.”
For which one had to pay heavily in the casino, if she had to take a guess.
“Sinclair made sure all the money went to one place. Called it self-sufficient, or something like that. He favored his little puppet and light show,” his voice trailed off.
She listened to him speak, tell a tale of old world. Dean had a soothing voice… when he wanted. Not comparable to softness of Graham’s, and one had to ignore the constant note of superiority woven across and in-between, but all in all, she could see why people would flock to listen to him sing. His personality certainly didn’t bring in the money.
They sat in silence surrounded by pale light, resting. Recovering. It was a place of safety in a very mad world.
“Don’t you feel very grateful for that puppet show right about now?” She asked, covering her face once more, and the hologram beside them flickered.
“They make for better company than most other people, that’s for sure.”
There was no question about who those other people were. Though, it could not be excluded that in the case of Dean Domino that could easily mean everyone else.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 2b
‘Liquor shipment finally came in today - didn't realize working here would be like working in a dry state. Just need to keep it out of sight of security and Sinclair, and ought to take the edge off the day, keep it stashed in the back.’
And then the other, ‘One thing about the liquor they're shipping in, it's making somebody talk - the big man came down today and told us that we have a sweet deal set up, and one slipped word in front of security can bring this all crashing down... for real.’
“Bootlegging?!” Of all the things to put his life in danger for…! This was a good cause – as were many others, but that wasn’t important now! – for Dean Domino to get more than just a bit livid. “You dragged me all over this deathtrap so you could read about a band of morons who thought to profit of Sinclair’s stuck up idiocy?!”
Black helmeted face rose to meet his. “I’ve put you in just about the same amount of danger you put yourself in by staying in Madre,” she cut in calmly. “These were scattered along the way,” she gestured at her loot.
Dean’s jaw tightened. She plucked on a sour note in there somewhere. He had his reasons for staying – some very good reasons – none of which he had to place before her feet. “I don’t need you criticizing my choices. Or are you trying to say that the rest of the world is better off? Mojave? Is it free of mutated monstrosities?”
Black helmet kept staring. Then she snorted, “Far from it. But in its defense, the Mojave at least gives you the opportunity and more space to go around any monstrosity that sees you as lunch. And the lack of Cloud is also a blessing…” and then she went back to strangely well-preserved paper, her voice trailing off. “But, whatever. Have it your way.”
Again they fell into simmering silence. They did that a lot. Two stubborn bighorners vying for the spot at the front of the heard – the lead position in this case. And even if what he was doing currently consisted mostly of following, Dean still liked to think of himself as someone with an upper hand.
“If…” she started slowly, and Dean’s eyebrow arched at the tame tone she had taken. “If these vending machines could create anything out of a single chip,” a prospect which was fascinating her, “why the black market?”
“Why? Because not everyone could get what they needed from those little toy boxes. Or what they wanted.” When her black helmet just kept staring at him like some miniature black monolith, the ghoul deigned to elaborate, “They could only produce things that were hard built into their programing. Chems, for instance, were available only to selected personnel, usually medical. Guns and other weapons were restricted to security here; although, from what I’ve seen, Sinclair’s chefs could do more damage with a single knife than a whole rodeo show of local officers,” he added in afterthought before looking at the sickly colored liquid at the bottom of his glass almost as if memories have pooled down there. “You couldn’t even get bottle of decent wine unless you had special authorization code.”
For which one had to pay heavily in the casino, if she had to take a guess.
“Sinclair made sure all the money went to one place. Called it self-sufficient, or something like that. He favored his little puppet and light show,” his voice trailed off.
She listened to him speak, tell a tale of old world. Dean had a soothing voice… when he wanted. Not comparable to softness of Graham’s, and one had to ignore the constant note of superiority woven across and in-between, but all in all, she could see why people would flock to listen to him sing. His personality certainly didn’t bring in the money.
They sat in silence surrounded by pale light, resting. Recovering. It was a place of safety in a very mad world.
“Don’t you feel very grateful for that puppet show right about now?” She asked, covering her face once more, and the hologram beside them flickered.
“They make for better company than most other people, that’s for sure.”
There was no question about who those other people were. Though, it could not be excluded that in the case of Dean Domino that could easily mean everyone else.
“Of course they do,” she answered.