The saloon has a single ceiling fan, spinning slow and loud. There’s a counter, and a back room, and a half-dozen rickety tables set up.
“Lara, this girl's just got in from the east. Why don’t you feed her. On my tab.” The doctor pushes Birdy forward a little.
“Sure thing, ma’am,” the woman behind the counter agrees. “What’ll you have, girl? We got omelettes if you don't mind gecko eggs, and brahmin burgers if you do.”
“A--brahmin burger, please.”
“You got it, girl. Why don’t you come sit up here at the counter.” Lara pats the countertop, slides out a glass of clean water. Birdy complies, carefully seats herself on the stool.
“Cute baby,” Lara offers.
“She--” and she looks away.
“Your reason, then.” Lara doesn’t look at her. “Sister ran away from home for the same reasons. Good girl. Wish I knew where she got off to.” She flips the meat patty on the griddle, tosses two halves of a bun on the griddle to toast. “How do you feel about fried potatoes?”
She’s never had fried potatoes, but if she’s from a town east, she would have.
“I like them,” she says.
“Never met someone who didn’t.” Lara sweeps the bun off the griddle and onto a plate, scoops the patty off the griddle next, slides it onto the bun. Uses a tongs to dump some slices of potato into a basket that she sets into a pot of grease. “Have ‘em out for you in just a moment, sweetheart. Sit tight and enjoy your burger.”
They’re both quiet then, while the potatoes fry, silent as they marinate in the heavy, sticky stench of hot oil . Lara eventually tongs the fries onto Birdy’s plate with a question.
“Your girl got a name?”
“Not yet,” Birdy murmurs. Doesn’t look at the baby, who waves her arms and gurgles. Lara leans on the counter, looks down at the baby, eyes soft.
“Not keeping her? Or you waiting for her to get sick?”
“Waiting for her to get sick,” Birdy agrees. That’s reasonable--hold off naming until you know your child will live.
“Mmm,” Lara hums.
***
She ends up bedded down in the woman on the road’s house. She has a sofa in her main room, an extra blanket she offers without a question. The baby lays on what looks like an old dog bed, next to the sofa. The baby doesn’t seem to mind. She’s stayed sleeping for most of this, for most everything, except to poop and nurse. The one time she woke up, Jess joked with her about her baby drawing in deathclaws from the nest ten miles to the northwest.
Jess doesn’t say much, aside from the offer of a place to sleep nad hte joke about deathclaws. Sleeps with her gun close at hand--same as the Boss, same as Dredge, same as Twist and Runner and Burn, makes her a strange sort of familiar.
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (19/?)
The saloon has a single ceiling fan, spinning slow and loud. There’s a counter, and a back room, and a half-dozen rickety tables set up.
“Lara, this girl's just got in from the east. Why don’t you feed her. On my tab.” The doctor pushes Birdy forward a little.
“Sure thing, ma’am,” the woman behind the counter agrees. “What’ll you have, girl? We got omelettes if you don't mind gecko eggs, and brahmin burgers if you do.”
“A--brahmin burger, please.”
“You got it, girl. Why don’t you come sit up here at the counter.” Lara pats the countertop, slides out a glass of clean water. Birdy complies, carefully seats herself on the stool.
“Cute baby,” Lara offers.
“She--” and she looks away.
“Your reason, then.” Lara doesn’t look at her. “Sister ran away from home for the same reasons. Good girl. Wish I knew where she got off to.” She flips the meat patty on the griddle, tosses two halves of a bun on the griddle to toast. “How do you feel about fried potatoes?”
She’s never had fried potatoes, but if she’s from a town east, she would have.
“I like them,” she says.
“Never met someone who didn’t.” Lara sweeps the bun off the griddle and onto a plate, scoops the patty off the griddle next, slides it onto the bun. Uses a tongs to dump some slices of potato into a basket that she sets into a pot of grease. “Have ‘em out for you in just a moment, sweetheart. Sit tight and enjoy your burger.”
They’re both quiet then, while the potatoes fry, silent as they marinate in the heavy, sticky stench of hot oil . Lara eventually tongs the fries onto Birdy’s plate with a question.
“Your girl got a name?”
“Not yet,” Birdy murmurs. Doesn’t look at the baby, who waves her arms and gurgles. Lara leans on the counter, looks down at the baby, eyes soft.
“Not keeping her? Or you waiting for her to get sick?”
“Waiting for her to get sick,” Birdy agrees. That’s reasonable--hold off naming until you know your child will live.
“Mmm,” Lara hums.
She ends up bedded down in the woman on the road’s house. She has a sofa in her main room, an extra blanket she offers without a question. The baby lays on what looks like an old dog bed, next to the sofa. The baby doesn’t seem to mind. She’s stayed sleeping for most of this, for most everything, except to poop and nurse. The one time she woke up, Jess joked with her about her baby drawing in deathclaws from the nest ten miles to the northwest.
Jess doesn’t say much, aside from the offer of a place to sleep nad hte joke about deathclaws. Sleeps with her gun close at hand--same as the Boss, same as Dredge, same as Twist and Runner and Burn, makes her a strange sort of familiar.
Jess snores.