Characters: F!Courier, Arcade, Julie Farkas Pairings: None Kinks: None
If people talked about you in Freeside, it generally meant you’d killed a lot of people or fucked a lot of people. Officially, Valerie was a courier and a gun-for-hire, but everyone knew her name because they said she’d screw anything with a dick, once she got enough alcohol in her system.
Which was an exaggeration, but only slightly.
She kept one hand on her gun and the other on her purse as she walked through the dark streets of Freeside. Once or twice, someone called her name, but she didn’t stop walking and she kept her head down. She had a pounding withdrawal headache and a hundred caps burning a hole in her pocket, and she was on her way to the Atomic Wrangler to kill two birds with one stone.
James Garret set a dirty glass and a mostly-empty bottle the counter as soon as she walked through the door. She took her usual seat at the end of the bar, and she settled comfortably into the shadows to watch Hadrian’s show.
He was telling the same caustic, unfunny jokes he told every night, but she found that it bothered her less than it usually did. A while back, she’d given him thirty caps to keep her name out of his routine, and he had held up his end of the bargain admirably. In the last few weeks, a lot fewer strangers had come up to her, laughing behind their hands, and ask if it was true she’d once gotten so drunk that she ended up in bed with Grecks.
The answer was yes. She didn’t count waking up on a piss-stained mattress next to a ghoul with a lazy eye among her prouder moments, but it had happened. She’d sworn him to secrecy, but everyone had found out anyway.
But it was like she told Arcade. She hadn’t ended up with her throat slit, and in Freeside, that was an accomplishment.
He’d rolled his eyes and told her to go away so he could get some work done. She stuck her tongue out and told him that she knew just as well as he did that he hadn’t done any real work in three months. Julie Farkas had cleared her throat and told her that if she didn’t need anything, she should really be on her way.
She lifted the chipped glass to her lips. Julie was a sweet lady. Bossy as hell, but she did a lot more for Freeside than anyone else, the Kings included. Valerie was pretty sure the slum would have imploded years ago if the Followers hadn’t come in when they had.
Valerie had nothing but good things to say about the Followers. They’d helped her sober up (sort of; she still drank a lot, but a lot less than she used to) and find a job. Carrying packages wasn’t steady work, but when it paid, it paid well.
Like tonight. One hundred caps was more than she’d seen in the seven years since she’d run away from home. If she were smarter, she would be saving some of it, but as it was, she was content to drink it down in a seedy bar in a hole in the bottom of the world. She’d hit rock bottom, and she’d made a life for herself there. Not much of a life, but the world had worn her down and made her complacent. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t so sure she believed in happy any more. She had friends, she had a job, and she had a bottle in one hand, and that was enough for her.
Nice work, if you can get it, she thought, draining her glass and motioning to the nearest Garret for a refill. And you can get it if you try.
Who Could Ask For Anything More? 1/1
Pairings: None
Kinks: None
If people talked about you in Freeside, it generally meant you’d killed a lot of people or fucked a lot of people. Officially, Valerie was a courier and a gun-for-hire, but everyone knew her name because they said she’d screw anything with a dick, once she got enough alcohol in her system.
Which was an exaggeration, but only slightly.
She kept one hand on her gun and the other on her purse as she walked through the dark streets of Freeside. Once or twice, someone called her name, but she didn’t stop walking and she kept her head down. She had a pounding withdrawal headache and a hundred caps burning a hole in her pocket, and she was on her way to the Atomic Wrangler to kill two birds with one stone.
James Garret set a dirty glass and a mostly-empty bottle the counter as soon as she walked through the door. She took her usual seat at the end of the bar, and she settled comfortably into the shadows to watch Hadrian’s show.
He was telling the same caustic, unfunny jokes he told every night, but she found that it bothered her less than it usually did. A while back, she’d given him thirty caps to keep her name out of his routine, and he had held up his end of the bargain admirably. In the last few weeks, a lot fewer strangers had come up to her, laughing behind their hands, and ask if it was true she’d once gotten so drunk that she ended up in bed with Grecks.
The answer was yes. She didn’t count waking up on a piss-stained mattress next to a ghoul with a lazy eye among her prouder moments, but it had happened. She’d sworn him to secrecy, but everyone had found out anyway.
But it was like she told Arcade. She hadn’t ended up with her throat slit, and in Freeside, that was an accomplishment.
He’d rolled his eyes and told her to go away so he could get some work done. She stuck her tongue out and told him that she knew just as well as he did that he hadn’t done any real work in three months. Julie Farkas had cleared her throat and told her that if she didn’t need anything, she should really be on her way.
She lifted the chipped glass to her lips. Julie was a sweet lady. Bossy as hell, but she did a lot more for Freeside than anyone else, the Kings included. Valerie was pretty sure the slum would have imploded years ago if the Followers hadn’t come in when they had.
Valerie had nothing but good things to say about the Followers. They’d helped her sober up (sort of; she still drank a lot, but a lot less than she used to) and find a job. Carrying packages wasn’t steady work, but when it paid, it paid well.
Like tonight. One hundred caps was more than she’d seen in the seven years since she’d run away from home. If she were smarter, she would be saving some of it, but as it was, she was content to drink it down in a seedy bar in a hole in the bottom of the world. She’d hit rock bottom, and she’d made a life for herself there. Not much of a life, but the world had worn her down and made her complacent. She wasn’t happy, but she wasn’t so sure she believed in happy any more. She had friends, she had a job, and she had a bottle in one hand, and that was enough for her.
Nice work, if you can get it, she thought, draining her glass and motioning to the nearest Garret for a refill. And you can get it if you try.