“Boss!” Watch hops down off her rock, reaches for her revolver. “We got a problem.”
“What sort of problem?” Lucinda asks, straightens up to meet Watch’s eyes.
“Problem by the name of ‘lone buck deathclaw, looks hungry enough to eat all twelve of us and your bird for dessert.’”
Lucinda snorts.
“That sort of problem. What’s ETA?”
“If we keep moving, I’d give him four hours. We stop, I’d say two.”
“Where did you sight him?” Lucinda swings the gun down off her shoulder, checks the magazine.
“Top of the last hill, long ways off.”
“How do you know it’s a buck, not a female?”
“Horns are wrong.” Watch taps her forehead with her knuckles.
“You can tell that, from this far away?” Lucinda raises one eyebrow, and around her, the others ready their weapons--Twist’s hand tightens on her repeater; Dredge breaks her shotgun to check both barrels; Tooth taps the magazine of her brush gun, considers for a moment; Runner and Burn swing their hunting rifles around; Drummer digs into her pocket for a handful of ammunition.
“Thought you kept me on watch for how good my eyes were,” Watch replies.
Lucinda smirks and shrugs.
“You got me there. Let’s get somewhere more defensible than this, we can set up a perimeter and keep him off us.”
“Uh, boss, y’know, no offense, but I’m not fighting a deathclaw,” Dredge gestures above her head, flattens her hand, indicates something a solid two feet above her head, “with a fuckin’ shotgun.”
“You’re also, what, nine months pregnant?” Lucinda asks. “You weren't gonna fight him anyway.”
“Well, shit, that wasn't the answer I was hoping for,” Dredge replies, grimaces.
“If it’ll make you feel better, you’ll be in the back, keeping it off Birdy, Photo, and Doc if he breaks our line.”
“With a fuckin’ shotgun?” Dredge asks, lifts said shotgun, her hand around the action.
“If it gets past the rest of us, your fucking shotgun should be able to take care of it. Watch, you’re with them too, since you’re not hunting a deathclaw with a revolver.”
“But, Boss, I heard you killed a deathclaw with a really small pistol,” Photo pipes up. “Why can’t Watch do it?”
“That story is an embellishment of the truth, and I had less to lose than Watch does,” Lucinda sighs, flicks her eyes toward the sky. Her raven is circling.
“Yeah, but--” Photo tries to argue, and Watch punches her in the shoulder.
“You want me around to shoot deathclaws for you, or not?” Watch asks.
“Oh,” Photo replies, goes quiet.
Behind them, Burn giggles.
They continue on in silence, everyone’s hands close to their guns, Watch hopping up a rock every chance she gets to survey the deathclaw’s progress behind them.
Two hours into their walk--Watch amends her estimate at hour one, to three and a half hours if they keep moving, two and a half hours from when she said it and an hour and a half now--Dredge falters, feet dragging in the gravel.
“Hey, Boss, I got another complication for you.”
“Is it what I think it is?” Lucinda asks, catches up to Dredge, glances up at her.
“If you’re thinking ‘Dredge’s baby’s decided it’s his time to escape the womb,’ then yeah, it is what you think it is.”
“Just what we needed to make our day a little more interesting.” Lucinda reaches up, claps Dredge on the shoulder, trots ahead. “Now you’re really staying with Siri. Watch, how do you feel about a shotgun?”
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (27a/?)
“Boss!” Watch hops down off her rock, reaches for her revolver. “We got a problem.”
“What sort of problem?” Lucinda asks, straightens up to meet Watch’s eyes.
“Problem by the name of ‘lone buck deathclaw, looks hungry enough to eat all twelve of us and your bird for dessert.’”
Lucinda snorts.
“That sort of problem. What’s ETA?”
“If we keep moving, I’d give him four hours. We stop, I’d say two.”
“Where did you sight him?” Lucinda swings the gun down off her shoulder, checks the magazine.
“Top of the last hill, long ways off.”
“How do you know it’s a buck, not a female?”
“Horns are wrong.” Watch taps her forehead with her knuckles.
“You can tell that, from this far away?” Lucinda raises one eyebrow, and around her, the others ready their weapons--Twist’s hand tightens on her repeater; Dredge breaks her shotgun to check both barrels; Tooth taps the magazine of her brush gun, considers for a moment; Runner and Burn swing their hunting rifles around; Drummer digs into her pocket for a handful of ammunition.
“Thought you kept me on watch for how good my eyes were,” Watch replies.
Lucinda smirks and shrugs.
“You got me there. Let’s get somewhere more defensible than this, we can set up a perimeter and keep him off us.”
“Uh, boss, y’know, no offense, but I’m not fighting a deathclaw,” Dredge gestures above her head, flattens her hand, indicates something a solid two feet above her head, “with a fuckin’ shotgun.”
“You’re also, what, nine months pregnant?” Lucinda asks. “You weren't gonna fight him anyway.”
“Well, shit, that wasn't the answer I was hoping for,” Dredge replies, grimaces.
“If it’ll make you feel better, you’ll be in the back, keeping it off Birdy, Photo, and Doc if he breaks our line.”
“With a fuckin’ shotgun?” Dredge asks, lifts said shotgun, her hand around the action.
“If it gets past the rest of us, your fucking shotgun should be able to take care of it. Watch, you’re with them too, since you’re not hunting a deathclaw with a revolver.”
“But, Boss, I heard you killed a deathclaw with a really small pistol,” Photo pipes up. “Why can’t Watch do it?”
“That story is an embellishment of the truth, and I had less to lose than Watch does,” Lucinda sighs, flicks her eyes toward the sky. Her raven is circling.
“Yeah, but--” Photo tries to argue, and Watch punches her in the shoulder.
“You want me around to shoot deathclaws for you, or not?” Watch asks.
“Oh,” Photo replies, goes quiet.
Behind them, Burn giggles.
They continue on in silence, everyone’s hands close to their guns, Watch hopping up a rock every chance she gets to survey the deathclaw’s progress behind them.
Two hours into their walk--Watch amends her estimate at hour one, to three and a half hours if they keep moving, two and a half hours from when she said it and an hour and a half now--Dredge falters, feet dragging in the gravel.
“Hey, Boss, I got another complication for you.”
“Is it what I think it is?” Lucinda asks, catches up to Dredge, glances up at her.
“If you’re thinking ‘Dredge’s baby’s decided it’s his time to escape the womb,’ then yeah, it is what you think it is.”
“Just what we needed to make our day a little more interesting.” Lucinda reaches up, claps Dredge on the shoulder, trots ahead. “Now you’re really staying with Siri. Watch, how do you feel about a shotgun?”