And so it continues. Again, apologies for taking a bit longer.
***
Whenever she looked up through the red fog at night, she could see faint glow of the stars. It was the easiest way to know the difference between day and night, pip-boy notwithstanding, because the shade, the tone, the light… everything remained the same. The same dull rust red that threatened to drive you insane.
So it was with eyes firmly set on weakly twinkling stars that the Courier wondered, where was the thunder coming from? On occasion, often when she least expected it, a thunderous clap would crack over her head making her muscles tense for a brief moment. Before Zion she had never experienced rain and storm. Thunder and lightning and storms not made purely of sand were a new experience to her but to her own surprise even, she had adapted to them quickly. Thunder-like sounds in the Madre had nothing in common with the sky cracking open in the canyon.
The moans were a whole different thing altogether. The screeching and something she could only describe as desperate cries of pain filled the air accompanying every twist and turn. She wanted to ask Dean, the oldest living resident of the Sierra Madre, where the hell was it all coming from but one look on the broken down speakers mounted on the walls, flickering and sparking in all directions was the answer enough. It was easy to be thankful that no living thing was letting out those screams. At this point she needed to believe that no living throat was capable of letting out those noises.
Her eyes swept over the street, the narrow terraces and musty, cracked windows. No traps, no Ghost People so far… they had an appropriate name as they seemed to appear just as fast as they have vanished into the fog. It clicked in her brain than that it had to have been Dean who had named them – who else lived in this resort long enough to see them grow from normal people to something only Big MT’s purely scientific imagination could produce. Two centuries in this place and flair for dramatics still hadn’t left him.
They headed forward, faster now as they approached the final terminal. And approaching the final terminal in many a roundabout way meant being one step closer to the Madre. This time around the activation didn’t need the overly complicated procedure the last one endured; only growing mistrust and doubt mingled with the anticipation in the air. There was no sofa for the ex-star to lounge on, and no awkward subjects were being spouted out. It was quick, it was efficient and before long a blue light of security hologram illuminated that corner of the street that led to the already near inaccessible roof with cut wires.
She paused, zooming in the map on her pip-boy and the markers Elijah had sent her. “I still have to escort Christine and God to their place, so you just sit tight and wait for the signal. With the holograms powered up you should be safe enough.” This was one third of the road done and one more thing to cross off of her list of assignments. Guilty rubbed her chin under the smooth surface of her helmet, already in her mind going through the possible routes she’d likely have to employ, abandon or just improvise. It was fortunate that the resort was relatively small, and that she had highly advanced map with trackers built in.
“Christine? Is that her name?” Dean asked – because he had to say something after a lengthy silence between them, or else she might think he was somehow acquiescent to her, and he couldn’t have that! – expertly ignoring any further mentioning of the mutant. “Of course, you can’t see it in posters but…” The helmet gave him the look. He tried to ignore the unsettling feeling that a black helmet succeeding in doing so. “…never mind. But uh… how do I know the power won’t suddenly go out? And… I don’t know, this still sounds risky to me. For me.”
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timeasmymeasure
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 8a
Date: 2013-05-03 09:51 am (UTC)***
Whenever she looked up through the red fog at night, she could see faint glow of the stars. It was the easiest way to know the difference between day and night, pip-boy notwithstanding, because the shade, the tone, the light… everything remained the same. The same dull rust red that threatened to drive you insane.
So it was with eyes firmly set on weakly twinkling stars that the Courier wondered, where was the thunder coming from? On occasion, often when she least expected it, a thunderous clap would crack over her head making her muscles tense for a brief moment. Before Zion she had never experienced rain and storm. Thunder and lightning and storms not made purely of sand were a new experience to her but to her own surprise even, she had adapted to them quickly. Thunder-like sounds in the Madre had nothing in common with the sky cracking open in the canyon.
The moans were a whole different thing altogether. The screeching and something she could only describe as desperate cries of pain filled the air accompanying every twist and turn. She wanted to ask Dean, the oldest living resident of the Sierra Madre, where the hell was it all coming from but one look on the broken down speakers mounted on the walls, flickering and sparking in all directions was the answer enough. It was easy to be thankful that no living thing was letting out those screams. At this point she needed to believe that no living throat was capable of letting out those noises.
Her eyes swept over the street, the narrow terraces and musty, cracked windows. No traps, no Ghost People so far… they had an appropriate name as they seemed to appear just as fast as they have vanished into the fog. It clicked in her brain than that it had to have been Dean who had named them – who else lived in this resort long enough to see them grow from normal people to something only Big MT’s purely scientific imagination could produce. Two centuries in this place and flair for dramatics still hadn’t left him.
They headed forward, faster now as they approached the final terminal. And approaching the final terminal in many a roundabout way meant being one step closer to the Madre. This time around the activation didn’t need the overly complicated procedure the last one endured; only growing mistrust and doubt mingled with the anticipation in the air. There was no sofa for the ex-star to lounge on, and no awkward subjects were being spouted out. It was quick, it was efficient and before long a blue light of security hologram illuminated that corner of the street that led to the already near inaccessible roof with cut wires.
She paused, zooming in the map on her pip-boy and the markers Elijah had sent her. “I still have to escort Christine and God to their place, so you just sit tight and wait for the signal. With the holograms powered up you should be safe enough.” This was one third of the road done and one more thing to cross off of her list of assignments. Guilty rubbed her chin under the smooth surface of her helmet, already in her mind going through the possible routes she’d likely have to employ, abandon or just improvise. It was fortunate that the resort was relatively small, and that she had highly advanced map with trackers built in.
“Christine? Is that her name?” Dean asked – because he had to say something after a lengthy silence between them, or else she might think he was somehow acquiescent to her, and he couldn’t have that! – expertly ignoring any further mentioning of the mutant. “Of course, you can’t see it in posters but…” The helmet gave him the look. He tried to ignore the unsettling feeling that a black helmet succeeding in doing so. “…never mind. But uh… how do I know the power won’t suddenly go out? And… I don’t know, this still sounds risky to me. For me.”