When Boone died the next day, Six stood at his sad little makeshift funeral with the doctor and the trader. Behind them stood the engineers that had been there when a wild swing, a lucky swing of a machete had scored Boone's neck deep enough to paint sun-bleached concrete with arterial spray. It had been messy and quick; his body dragged away from uncaring kicks by an NCR medic who then fell to a bullet himself.
They watched the flames lick around his pyre, tried not to breath in the scored flesh smell, and thought of something nice to say about the man that had been dead long before he died.
He trusted me with his diary, said the doctor. I mean, he knew I read it anyway and there wasn't anything interesting in it, but he trusted me enough to look after it while he was out. He knuckled away a bit of wet that collected at the edge of his glasses. Don't give me that look, Cass. I enjoyed Craig's company. I'll miss it.
He fixed my necklace when I broke it, said the trader. She laughed, a sad little hiccup of mirth without much joy behind it. When I broke it again he gave it to Raul to fix and even paid for it. Sad fucker didn't even tell me he did that.
He called me a nice name, said Six, and threw a handful of tobacco onto the flames to try and mask the smell of burning meat. She shrugged at Arcade's questioning look and turned back to watch the fire, and in the shadows behind her the engineers looked at each other and wondered who owned the name Carla, knowing they'd never be game to ask.
Boone/F!Courier, 'Do or Don't' 3/3
They watched the flames lick around his pyre, tried not to breath in the scored flesh smell, and thought of something nice to say about the man that had been dead long before he died.
He trusted me with his diary, said the doctor. I mean, he knew I read it anyway and there wasn't anything interesting in it, but he trusted me enough to look after it while he was out. He knuckled away a bit of wet that collected at the edge of his glasses. Don't give me that look, Cass. I enjoyed Craig's company. I'll miss it.
He fixed my necklace when I broke it, said the trader. She laughed, a sad little hiccup of mirth without much joy behind it. When I broke it again he gave it to Raul to fix and even paid for it. Sad fucker didn't even tell me he did that.
He called me a nice name, said Six, and threw a handful of tobacco onto the flames to try and mask the smell of burning meat. She shrugged at Arcade's questioning look and turned back to watch the fire, and in the shadows behind her the engineers looked at each other and wondered who owned the name Carla, knowing they'd never be game to ask.
Do or don't.
Shh.