Little thing I whipped up for a tumblr-prompt. Wanted to write something nice and non-heartbreaking for Ms. V since I put her through a ton of crap in my other fills. Still bittersweet, though, darnit. ...Anyway.
The courier— a young farmer’s son from out east that insisted on going by the name ‘TC,’ though he never told anyone what that stood for— was, above all else, a simple fellow. Bright enough to pass as moderately cognizant, and skilled in several areas, he was still something of a space cadet, though he at least made an effort to be polite about it. In fact, the only thing that proved to be his saving grace was the parallels people could draw between his personality and that of an adoring golden retriever.
But a people person he was not. He was fond of them, but more often than not, they made him nervous; he couldn’t read them.
He was better with the inanimate, or the non-sentient, as it were; a whiz-kid with fixing guns, making food and tanning any hide he could get his hands on— preferably from an animal that had already been killed, as he was loathe to do it himself— but his social skills were just shy of null and void. He’d often find himself wishing that people were as solidly based on the logic and reason as a bolt-action rifle, or at least had the simplicity of the local wildlife. A shotgun you could clean, modify, and fine-tune to a state of excellence, an animal you could feed, tend to, show affection for and they asked for little else… but inter-personal relations were trickier. They required a finesse he didn’t have.
There were people he traveled with, sure, people he liked— a gunslinger that thought he was weird, but inoffensive, saw him as her ticket to get out and explore; a Followers medic that thought he was an idiot savant, that he knew had taken pity on him when they’d first spoken— but he’d greatly preferred the company of the dog he’d been given in Freeside; part animal, part machine.
And that was fine. It was an arrangement he could abide by; being thought of as weird, or stupid, was common, and the dog did a splendid job keeping his mind off of his social shortcomings.
But then he met Veronica, someone he quickly took to— a first, in many ways. She was a little like him, more interested in technology and adventuring than she was in etiquette, but smarter, well-spoken, less awkward… while still being awkward enough that she could, and did, relate to him. It was a relief to have her around. She liked to tinker with things, she enjoyed taking lessons from him on how to fix up a standard firearm, she listened to him when he talked about the finer points of cooking a decent meal without poking (too much) fun at him, and she seemed to appreciate his innate ability to walk right up to local wildlife without getting into an all-out fight. When it did come down to a fight, she hit like a ton of bricks. Definitely something he could appreciate.
She was a friend, a good one— first he’d had in years. One he hoped would be more than that, eventually.
“Think she’d like some flowers, maybe?” he’d asked Cass off-handedly, on a night they’d watched Veronica depart to pick up some supplies. “Not sure where I’d get ‘em, just—” Catching sight of the caravaneer’s apparent disbelief, he paused. “What?”
“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, there, Ace,” she’d said, shaking her head slightly. “Seems like she appreciates those gestures but, somethin’ tells me you’re not exactly her type.”
At the time, he’d shrugged it off, figured she was just giving him shit again; wouldn’t have been the first time. But then, on a night where he presented the scribe with a carefully arranged assortment of leaves and other items to mimic some of the plastic flower arrangements he’d seen on the Strip, he learned otherwise. The caraveneer was doing the one thing he could never quite get the hang of: she was being subtle, leaving him to read into her tone.
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timeasmymeasure
[M!Courier+Veronica] - Simple - 1a/1 (tumblr!ficlet)
Date: 2011-12-19 12:16 pm (UTC)Characters: M!Courier, Veronica, Cass
Kinks: none (gen)
Summary: Slow, socially awkward courier meets quick-witted, socially awkward scribe.
The courier— a young farmer’s son from out east that insisted on going by the name ‘TC,’ though he never told anyone what that stood for— was, above all else, a simple fellow. Bright enough to pass as moderately cognizant, and skilled in several areas, he was still something of a space cadet, though he at least made an effort to be polite about it. In fact, the only thing that proved to be his saving grace was the parallels people could draw between his personality and that of an adoring golden retriever.
But a people person he was not. He was fond of them, but more often than not, they made him nervous; he couldn’t read them.
He was better with the inanimate, or the non-sentient, as it were; a whiz-kid with fixing guns, making food and tanning any hide he could get his hands on— preferably from an animal that had already been killed, as he was loathe to do it himself— but his social skills were just shy of null and void. He’d often find himself wishing that people were as solidly based on the logic and reason as a bolt-action rifle, or at least had the simplicity of the local wildlife. A shotgun you could clean, modify, and fine-tune to a state of excellence, an animal you could feed, tend to, show affection for and they asked for little else… but inter-personal relations were trickier. They required a finesse he didn’t have.
There were people he traveled with, sure, people he liked— a gunslinger that thought he was weird, but inoffensive, saw him as her ticket to get out and explore; a Followers medic that thought he was an idiot savant, that he knew had taken pity on him when they’d first spoken— but he’d greatly preferred the company of the dog he’d been given in Freeside; part animal, part machine.
And that was fine. It was an arrangement he could abide by; being thought of as weird, or stupid, was common, and the dog did a splendid job keeping his mind off of his social shortcomings.
But then he met Veronica, someone he quickly took to— a first, in many ways. She was a little like him, more interested in technology and adventuring than she was in etiquette, but smarter, well-spoken, less awkward… while still being awkward enough that she could, and did, relate to him. It was a relief to have her around. She liked to tinker with things, she enjoyed taking lessons from him on how to fix up a standard firearm, she listened to him when he talked about the finer points of cooking a decent meal without poking (too much) fun at him, and she seemed to appreciate his innate ability to walk right up to local wildlife without getting into an all-out fight. When it did come down to a fight, she hit like a ton of bricks. Definitely something he could appreciate.
She was a friend, a good one— first he’d had in years. One he hoped would be more than that, eventually.
“Think she’d like some flowers, maybe?” he’d asked Cass off-handedly, on a night they’d watched Veronica depart to pick up some supplies. “Not sure where I’d get ‘em, just—” Catching sight of the caravaneer’s apparent disbelief, he paused. “What?”
“You’re barkin’ up the wrong tree, there, Ace,” she’d said, shaking her head slightly. “Seems like she appreciates those gestures but, somethin’ tells me you’re not exactly her type.”
At the time, he’d shrugged it off, figured she was just giving him shit again; wouldn’t have been the first time. But then, on a night where he presented the scribe with a carefully arranged assortment of leaves and other items to mimic some of the plastic flower arrangements he’d seen on the Strip, he learned otherwise. The caraveneer was doing the one thing he could never quite get the hang of: she was being subtle, leaving him to read into her tone.