James and Israel begin traveling again at Israel’s insistence. Israel doesn’t want to be the one to keep James behind. He can push these old bones forward for the chance to make James happy.
They stop in Novac, and James chuckles to himself.
“I’ll be damned,” he says, craning his head to look up at the dinosaur. “That old thing is still here.” Israel scoffs. James shakes his head. “Let’s get a room for the night.”
“I can keep going,” Israel offers.
“You can, but I can’t. These old bones need to rest,” James says, flashing him a grin. “You know how I can get without my beauty sleep.” Israel barks a laugh and they head to the shop inside the dinosaur. The man behind the counter is busy helping two young women pick out supplies. Israel crinkles his nose in disgust. They smell like they haven’t bathed, and he stops himself from thinking what he and James must smell like, an old man and a rotting ghoul.
While the shop owner goes to retrieve their ammo, food, whiskey and various books, the woman in the cowboy hat elbows the woman in the hood.
“Chin up, soldier,” she says. “She’ll be fine. It’s like she said-it’s just a fever. Look at how far she’s gotten already.” The other woman nods sadly, and the woman in the cowboy hat flings an arm around her. “Come on. We’ll spend the night here and get plastered, and head back to Jacobstown in the morning.” The woman in the hood forces a smile, and James watches the shop owner come back with his arms full of their supplies. He drops a few of the books.
“Darn it,” he says. James bends over to help him, picking up a weathered book. The shop owner thanks him, and James nods, smiling softly in reply.
“Ah,” he says. “Rousseau. This is heavy reading for a night of heavy drinking.”
“We have friends who are into books,” the woman in the cowboy hat says, taking it from him. “Including this cute little number here,” and at that, she nudges the other woman. “Personally, I could never get into books. Too much fucking work.”
“Same,” Israel grunts.
“They’re get well presents,” the woman in the hood says.
“Oh?” James says, and Israel has always loved and hated his friendliness. “The friend with a fever? I’ve always found that hot Bramhim stew and cold Nuka Cola makes me feel better.” He holds his hand out. “James.” With a grin, the cowgirl takes it.
“Cass. “
“Veronica.” James nudges Israel, and he reluctantly answers,
“Israel.” Cass grins, motioning to the copious amounts of whiskey the two had bought.
“Would you fellas like to drink with us?” James smiles, and Israel grudgingly nods.
“We would love to.”
The four of them make their way to the motel room at the top of the stairs, and Israel grabs James’ arm.
“What are you doing?” he hisses. James just smiles serenely, and reassuringly pats his hand.
“It’s good to make friends,” he says. “Besides, I haven’t had a decent drink in God knows how long, and I’m sure you haven’t either. And if the booze is free, then who am I to complain?” Israel stares at him incredulously, and James leans in to murmur against his ear. “The one in the hood is Brotherhood. I can see her holotags around her neck. I want to see if they know my daughter.” Israel suppresses a shudder at the hot air ghosting across his ear, and nods.
“Your daughter is Brotherhood?’ he asks, trying to quell the sudden surge of hate. She's just a child you haven't met yet.
“Back east she is. But at Forlorn Hope, they said one of her traveling companions is a Brotherhood scribe, remember?”
“Yeah,” he answers slowly. The truth is, he doesn’t, but he’ll be damned before he lets James know that. Hazy memories are better than no memories, and he doesn’t want James to worry about him any more than he already does. James nods to himself, and Israel watches an old woman exit from her room to smoke a cigarette, leaning over the railing as she watches the smoke drift up to blend into the fading Mojave sky.
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timeasmymeasure
no subject
Date: 2011-12-23 02:21 am (UTC)James and Israel begin traveling again at Israel’s insistence. Israel doesn’t want to be the one to keep James behind. He can push these old bones forward for the chance
to make James happy.
They stop in Novac, and James chuckles to himself.
“I’ll be damned,” he says, craning his head to look up at the dinosaur. “That old thing is still here.” Israel scoffs. James shakes his head. “Let’s get a room for the night.”
“I can keep going,” Israel offers.
“You can, but I can’t. These old bones need to rest,” James says, flashing him a grin. “You know how I can get without my beauty sleep.” Israel barks a laugh and they head to the shop inside the dinosaur. The man behind the counter is busy helping two young women pick out supplies. Israel crinkles his nose in disgust. They smell like they haven’t bathed, and he stops himself from thinking what he and James must smell like, an old man and a rotting ghoul.
While the shop owner goes to retrieve their ammo, food, whiskey and various books, the woman in the cowboy hat elbows the woman in the hood.
“Chin up, soldier,” she says. “She’ll be fine. It’s like she said-it’s just a fever. Look at how far she’s gotten already.” The other woman nods sadly, and the woman in the cowboy hat flings an arm around her. “Come on. We’ll spend the night here and get plastered, and head back to Jacobstown in the morning.” The woman in the hood forces a smile, and James watches the shop owner come back with his arms full of their supplies. He drops a few of the books.
“Darn it,” he says. James bends over to help him, picking up a weathered book. The shop owner thanks him, and James nods, smiling softly in reply.
“Ah,” he says. “Rousseau. This is heavy reading for a night of heavy drinking.”
“We have friends who are into books,” the woman in the cowboy hat says, taking it from him. “Including this cute little number here,” and at that, she nudges the other woman. “Personally, I could never get into books. Too much fucking work.”
“Same,” Israel grunts.
“They’re get well presents,” the woman in the hood says.
“Oh?” James says, and Israel has always loved and hated his friendliness. “The friend with a fever? I’ve always found that hot Bramhim stew and cold Nuka Cola makes me feel better.” He holds his hand out. “James.” With a grin, the cowgirl takes it.
“Cass. “
“Veronica.” James nudges Israel, and he reluctantly answers,
“Israel.” Cass grins, motioning to the copious amounts of whiskey the two had bought.
“Would you fellas like to drink with us?” James smiles, and Israel grudgingly nods.
“We would love to.”
The four of them make their way to the motel room at the top of the stairs, and Israel grabs James’ arm.
“What are you doing?” he hisses. James just smiles serenely, and reassuringly pats his hand.
“It’s good to make friends,” he says. “Besides, I haven’t had a decent drink in God knows how long, and I’m sure you haven’t either. And if the booze is free, then who am I to complain?” Israel stares at him incredulously, and James leans in to murmur against his ear. “The one in the hood is Brotherhood. I can see her holotags around her neck. I want to see if they know my daughter.” Israel suppresses a shudder at the hot air ghosting across his ear, and nods.
“Your daughter is Brotherhood?’ he asks, trying to quell the sudden surge of hate. She's just a child you haven't met yet.
“Back east she is. But at Forlorn Hope, they said one of her traveling companions is a Brotherhood scribe, remember?”
“Yeah,” he answers slowly. The truth is, he doesn’t, but he’ll be damned before he lets James know that. Hazy memories are better than no memories, and he doesn’t want James to worry about him any more than he already does. James nods to himself, and Israel watches an old woman exit from her room to smoke a cigarette, leaning over the railing as she watches the smoke drift up to blend into the fading Mojave sky.