Charlie flicks a button on the Pip-Boy and slithers loose of him, staying at his feet for a brief second before she's back on her own, grinning. She chuckles and presses the pad of her thumb against her tongue before reaching out to smooth it over his little mustache; first left, then right. "Slick as sarsaparilla. That was way more fun than what I had planned for you tonight."
He sits there dumbstruck as she picks up all her discarded clothes and shrugs back into them, replaits her braid and tucks it up under her hat, turning lean curves and burnished hair into lines about as appealing as a weathered board with a blackened crossbeam. That's what she should look like, and it shocks him back into sense.
"Planned? What do you mean, planned?"
"Well, I wanted to tell you-"
"What was this, a game to you? Am I?"
"No! No, I-" Her face is burning, and it's not entirely from the drink. "So. Where do you reckon we go from here?"
Raul looks at her, really looks and sees.
Suddenly she's not a woman with no letters or a run-down itinerant on borrowed time, she's something more, something hot that's gotten stuck in his chest and suddenly he feels so, so angry. Not angry with her, but angry that he feels. It's like a betrayal. An ambush. He doesn't let himself look any farther than that.
"Up to you, boss." Raul stands up. "Yeah. I think I'm done playing around for the night."
"Raul, wait! Raul!" He doesn't stop and Charlie doesn't follow. She stands there for a moment, then sits back down at the table to wait to complain and explain to whatever employee walks in first, picking up the scattered cards.
She looks towards the door again after she has them all, then starts laying out a game of Solitare, which she knows she only has half a chance of not screwing up on her own. She puts her fingers on the stock pile, gives the empty doorway one last, lingering glance, and shuts her eyes.
"Black Jack for that Red Queen. Neat as you please, please." She flips the card, opens her eyes. Joker. Of course."Fucking-" Everything left on the table goes flying. "Damn the deck, and damn my rusted heart-"
Charlie scrambles up and starts putting the deck back together, picking her way through the blood and broken glass. It's his deck and he'll need it if she wants to get good at playing again, if he'll show her how to get good. She isn't good at this anymore. She hasn't been good at it for so long. Hasn't needed to be.
Down in Mexico 6/6
He sits there dumbstruck as she picks up all her discarded clothes and shrugs back into them, replaits her braid and tucks it up under her hat, turning lean curves and burnished hair into lines about as appealing as a weathered board with a blackened crossbeam. That's what she should look like, and it shocks him back into sense.
"Planned? What do you mean, planned?"
"Well, I wanted to tell you-"
"What was this, a game to you? Am I?"
"No! No, I-" Her face is burning, and it's not entirely from the drink. "So. Where do you reckon we go from here?"
Raul looks at her, really looks and sees.
Suddenly she's not a woman with no letters or a run-down itinerant on borrowed time, she's something more, something hot that's gotten stuck in his chest and suddenly he feels so, so angry. Not angry with her, but angry that he feels. It's like a betrayal. An ambush. He doesn't let himself look any farther than that.
"Up to you, boss." Raul stands up. "Yeah. I think I'm done playing around for the night."
"Raul, wait! Raul!" He doesn't stop and Charlie doesn't follow. She stands there for a moment, then sits back down at the table to wait to complain and explain to whatever employee walks in first, picking up the scattered cards.
She looks towards the door again after she has them all, then starts laying out a game of Solitare, which she knows she only has half a chance of not screwing up on her own. She puts her fingers on the stock pile, gives the empty doorway one last, lingering glance, and shuts her eyes.
"Black Jack for that Red Queen. Neat as you please, please." She flips the card, opens her eyes. Joker. Of course."Fucking-" Everything left on the table goes flying. "Damn the deck, and damn my rusted heart-"
Charlie scrambles up and starts putting the deck back together, picking her way through the blood and broken glass. It's his deck and he'll need it if she wants to get good at playing again, if he'll show her how to get good. She isn't good at this anymore. She hasn't been good at it for so long. Hasn't needed to be.
Everything feels so clumsy without him.