Boone was awake she got home, but asked no inconvenient questions. In a way, it was a shame- seeing him sitting by the bed, cleaning his gun for the third time that day, was more depressing than any amount of jealous rage. He didn't give any indication that he'd seen her, and somehow this indifference galled the Courier. She'd invited him to travel with her for a number of reasons (some of which she couldn't clearly articulate,) but acting like a piece of bedroom furniture wasn't one.
"You look lost in thought, Boone."
"Something funny about that?"
She could have made a joke about his intellect and just how lost one could get within it, but that would have been cruel even for a tease. Instead she kicked her heels off and began to wipe off her makeup, conversing with him from a safe distance.
"Nothing's funny. I just wish sometimes that you'd share what you think."
In the mirror, she saw Boone's reflection shrug.
"Nothing you need to know. You don't tell me much, either. I don't even really know who you are."
She turned about to face him.
"I can tell you that. If you really want to know. I was born in Freeside, grew up in New Vegas. No family left to speak of, except a brother I don't talk to. A couple boyfriends, but never anything serious. I always wanted to be a singer, but singing alone wouldn't pay my hotel bills. Being a Courier was an honest job that kept me off my back or my knees, even if it could be tiring. Then one night I got jumped by a group of men. Bound, gagged, pushed into a grave and shot in the head. And when I wake up, I'm suddenly important."
Boone's eyes darted to her forehead, looking at her scar. She wasn't sure if the look he gave her was pitying or not, but at least it wasn't indifferent.
"You know about Bitter Springs?" he asked her.
"I recall you refusing to answer my questions about it in the past."
"Been thinking about it. I want to go back there. You can come if you want."
The Courier crossed over to her sniper- a man who had once held her down and fucked her at gunpoint, a man who followed at her heels in search of forgiveness he wouldn't accept, a man she knew almost as little about as the day she met him. A man who wanted to be strong, but who could be "made" to do bad things, and who never seemed to know what he wanted to do with himself.
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timeasmymeasure
Torch Songs 9/?
Date: 2011-11-29 11:33 pm (UTC)"You look lost in thought, Boone."
"Something funny about that?"
She could have made a joke about his intellect and just how lost one could get within it, but that would have been cruel even for a tease. Instead she kicked her heels off and began to wipe off her makeup, conversing with him from a safe distance.
"Nothing's funny. I just wish sometimes that you'd share what you think."
In the mirror, she saw Boone's reflection shrug.
"Nothing you need to know. You don't tell me much, either. I don't even really know who you are."
She turned about to face him.
"I can tell you that. If you really want to know. I was born in Freeside, grew up in New Vegas. No family left to speak of, except a brother I don't talk to. A couple boyfriends, but never anything serious. I always wanted to be a singer, but singing alone wouldn't pay my hotel bills. Being a Courier was an honest job that kept me off my back or my knees, even if it could be tiring. Then one night I got jumped by a group of men. Bound, gagged, pushed into a grave and shot in the head. And when I wake up, I'm suddenly important."
Boone's eyes darted to her forehead, looking at her scar. She wasn't sure if the look he gave her was pitying or not, but at least it wasn't indifferent.
"You know about Bitter Springs?" he asked her.
"I recall you refusing to answer my questions about it in the past."
"Been thinking about it. I want to go back there. You can come if you want."
The Courier crossed over to her sniper- a man who had once held her down and fucked her at gunpoint, a man who followed at her heels in search of forgiveness he wouldn't accept, a man she knew almost as little about as the day she met him. A man who wanted to be strong, but who could be "made" to do bad things, and who never seemed to know what he wanted to do with himself.
"Tomorrow night, Bitter Springs. It's a date."