The Courier was certain that she had done something to offend him, the whole poster ordeal notwithstanding because she had a feeling that will come back to bite her eventually. No, this was something bigger, deeper; but she didn’t know what it could be and wasn’t about to press the issue. Not when the street ahead of them had a pack of mutated suits on the hunt.
She signaled him to follow her into the shadows and he did so without a word, which did nothing for the growing unease between them. There was a large patch of Cloud ahead and they could use it as cover until the Ghost People shuffled off to the other end of the building. They rushed through it as fast as they could, balancing trying not to get noticed and not die of poisoning.
Sticking to the wall they crawled along the buildings, always some distance behind the locals who seemed insistent to follow the same path the two of them were heading. Maybe this was the same pack that had tried to corner them in the café. If so, it was good they weren’t persistent enough to have tried and enter through the other entrance.
She constantly kept checking her pip-boy for location. The marker showed they were very close but with twisting streets and more often than not barred doors, finding that path proved more and more frustrating. One would think that it would be accessible from the top but not all roofs were connecting in such a way that would allow them to cross safely, while on the other end, some of the Villa’s balconies have collapsed blocking otherwise direct passageways. She understood now what those messages about Sinclair ignoring all the construction that didn’t involve his darling casino meant. Not even the Cloud, with its strange capacity, could preserve shoddy construction and keep the walls ‘glued with spit’ upright.
“According to this, your spot has to be one of these roofs,” she said zooming in and out her map and turned to the ghoul who was, quite nonchalantly, smoking a cigar with one hand in his pocket –a commercial picture of someone feeling right at home in this place. That alone should be enough to produce ice in anyone’s stomach. “Do you know of any building with an intact staircase, or a ramp or anything that would get us up?”
There was no answer.
“Dean?” She called, fine flat line of her patience not wavering.
“I don’t frequent Puesta del Sol much. As in, at all.” He paused, drawing in smoke like some kind of dragon, and looking over the seemingly empty street. And he knew, as well as she had learned, that standing around idly could only end badly for them. Despite that, he continued leisurely, “I do, however, remember an explosion from a few decades back. A couple of tourists took a wrong turn and headed straight from the front gate here.” His voice had this tone of boredom but it was a ruse, he positively delighted in dispensing these little bits of wisdom and experience. “They were well equipped, for people who crawled out of the wastes, and have blasted through half the town before the dust settled. They died, of course, but the distraction did allow me a clear way to… well, quite a few places actually. They managed to hold against the Ghost People all night, you see.”
“Good on them,” she clicked her tongue. Arrogant ass had to turn something simple as asking for directions into performance and an act of groveling at his feet. “And could you tell me where this explosion might have happened?”
He paused, taking a long, languid drag, letting smoke curl and mix with red cloud. It was the type of pause the Courier herself had on occasion inflicted upon others – although never in combination of a bomb strapped to their throats.
He looked around slowly, taking in the scenery, drinking in the atmosphere. His eyes stuck to the old wooden terraces and perilously dangling blinds that would have fallen off long ago had it not been for the Cloud.
“If I ever had to come here I stuck to the overhangs and roofs – like sidewalks up here.”
“Yes, they’ve certainly been helpful so far,” she answered slowly, a measured response while dancing around gunpowder encrusted eggshells.
“The ghosts don’t crawl up there much and it has a clear view. Clear enough, anyway,” he continued, paying not the slightest bit of attention to her.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4b
She signaled him to follow her into the shadows and he did so without a word, which did nothing for the growing unease between them. There was a large patch of Cloud ahead and they could use it as cover until the Ghost People shuffled off to the other end of the building. They rushed through it as fast as they could, balancing trying not to get noticed and not die of poisoning.
Sticking to the wall they crawled along the buildings, always some distance behind the locals who seemed insistent to follow the same path the two of them were heading. Maybe this was the same pack that had tried to corner them in the café. If so, it was good they weren’t persistent enough to have tried and enter through the other entrance.
She constantly kept checking her pip-boy for location. The marker showed they were very close but with twisting streets and more often than not barred doors, finding that path proved more and more frustrating. One would think that it would be accessible from the top but not all roofs were connecting in such a way that would allow them to cross safely, while on the other end, some of the Villa’s balconies have collapsed blocking otherwise direct passageways. She understood now what those messages about Sinclair ignoring all the construction that didn’t involve his darling casino meant. Not even the Cloud, with its strange capacity, could preserve shoddy construction and keep the walls ‘glued with spit’ upright.
“According to this, your spot has to be one of these roofs,” she said zooming in and out her map and turned to the ghoul who was, quite nonchalantly, smoking a cigar with one hand in his pocket –a commercial picture of someone feeling right at home in this place. That alone should be enough to produce ice in anyone’s stomach. “Do you know of any building with an intact staircase, or a ramp or anything that would get us up?”
There was no answer.
“Dean?” She called, fine flat line of her patience not wavering.
“I don’t frequent Puesta del Sol much. As in, at all.” He paused, drawing in smoke like some kind of dragon, and looking over the seemingly empty street. And he knew, as well as she had learned, that standing around idly could only end badly for them. Despite that, he continued leisurely, “I do, however, remember an explosion from a few decades back. A couple of tourists took a wrong turn and headed straight from the front gate here.” His voice had this tone of boredom but it was a ruse, he positively delighted in dispensing these little bits of wisdom and experience. “They were well equipped, for people who crawled out of the wastes, and have blasted through half the town before the dust settled. They died, of course, but the distraction did allow me a clear way to… well, quite a few places actually. They managed to hold against the Ghost People all night, you see.”
“Good on them,” she clicked her tongue. Arrogant ass had to turn something simple as asking for directions into performance and an act of groveling at his feet. “And could you tell me where this explosion might have happened?”
He paused, taking a long, languid drag, letting smoke curl and mix with red cloud. It was the type of pause the Courier herself had on occasion inflicted upon others – although never in combination of a bomb strapped to their throats.
He looked around slowly, taking in the scenery, drinking in the atmosphere. His eyes stuck to the old wooden terraces and perilously dangling blinds that would have fallen off long ago had it not been for the Cloud.
“If I ever had to come here I stuck to the overhangs and roofs – like sidewalks up here.”
“Yes, they’ve certainly been helpful so far,” she answered slowly, a measured response while dancing around gunpowder encrusted eggshells.
“The ghosts don’t crawl up there much and it has a clear view. Clear enough, anyway,” he continued, paying not the slightest bit of attention to her.