The first time Marla speaks to Cherry, it's only in passing. The dark-haired woman barges right into Dukov's place, fresh out of the Tepid Sewers, trying to avoid the mirelurks that are just across the way, outside the Anchorage War Memorial. She's alone, and covered in gore from the numerous mole rats that exploded thanks to Moira's stupid repellant stick, but she's alive, and she's grateful for that much. Honestly, she isn't expecting anyone to even be in the building – sure, it looks fortified, but she's run across a lot of places that look similar, expecting to find someone willing to help her, only to find that they're abandoned. To say she's a little bit surprised to be met by a drunken, leering Russian and a couple of women who don't really look all that happy to be there. She chats with Cherry and Fantasia for a while before Dukov ever says anything to her, and not long after he does, she hightails it out of there (can you get any creepier than calling someone you've just met 'sweetcheeks', really?).
The second time Marla speaks to Cherry, she doesn't think anything of it. She's running errands for that creep Crowley, fetching keys off people from every goddamn edge of the wasteland. After trying several times to get Dukov to give her his key and failing, she begins drinking from the flask she keeps with her, feeling her frustrations melt away with each swallow of whiskey. It only take a few minutes to convince Cherry to snag the key from that drunken idiot, and it only takes one thing – she just has to get Cherry to Rivet City. Not an issue; Marla knows the way there like the back of her hand. With the key tucked safely into her pocket, she takes the redhead to Rivet City, taking the long way to ensure her safety. They're quiet for the whole walk there, aside from the occasional “go hide” that Marla barks at the other woman when a threat rears its ugly head.
It's the third time that Marla speaks to Cherry that really matters. She's come back to Rivet City for the first time in months because she just needs to get away. She's practically run herself ragged doing things for people all over the wasteland by now: getting the ghouls into Tenpenny Tower; bringing that freak Sierra Petrovita Quantums for caps; getting the slaves at the Temple of Our Union or whatever it was called to a new base at the Lincoln Memorial. It's time for a well-earned vacation, so far as she's concerned. Sure, the vacation ends up with her spending a good portion of her time drinking down at the Muddy Rudder with Butch, but she always slinks off once Butch's words start slurring together – it's best for both of them that way.
One night, when she leaves Butch and is hauling herself up the stairs, stumbling as she heads for her room, she runs into Cherry. She grins broadly at the redhead, tells her that she'll see her tomorrow, and heads to bed. The only problem with that is, once she's in bed, the door to the room she's rented carefully locked behind her, she can't get the other woman out of her head; she sees her smile, sees her look up at her demurely from beneath thick lashes, sees her lick her lips. The woman groans then, shifts beneath the covers to massage her breasts. They're heavy in her hands as she touches them, as she rolls her sensitive nipples between nimble fingers. Her left hand shifts, drifts down over her stomach, brushes against her inner thighs for a few moments before she lets it slip between her legs, brushing against the damp fabric of her panties before slipping inside. When she rubs her thumb over her clit, her hips jerk upward and she whimpers softly. Her fingers move lower, and, god, she's almost embarrassed to find how wet she is already, two fingers easily sliding home.
FLW/Cherry: That's My Desire 1a/1
The second time Marla speaks to Cherry, she doesn't think anything of it. She's running errands for that creep Crowley, fetching keys off people from every goddamn edge of the wasteland. After trying several times to get Dukov to give her his key and failing, she begins drinking from the flask she keeps with her, feeling her frustrations melt away with each swallow of whiskey. It only take a few minutes to convince Cherry to snag the key from that drunken idiot, and it only takes one thing – she just has to get Cherry to Rivet City. Not an issue; Marla knows the way there like the back of her hand. With the key tucked safely into her pocket, she takes the redhead to Rivet City, taking the long way to ensure her safety. They're quiet for the whole walk there, aside from the occasional “go hide” that Marla barks at the other woman when a threat rears its ugly head.
It's the third time that Marla speaks to Cherry that really matters. She's come back to Rivet City for the first time in months because she just needs to get away. She's practically run herself ragged doing things for people all over the wasteland by now: getting the ghouls into Tenpenny Tower; bringing that freak Sierra Petrovita Quantums for caps; getting the slaves at the Temple of Our Union or whatever it was called to a new base at the Lincoln Memorial. It's time for a well-earned vacation, so far as she's concerned. Sure, the vacation ends up with her spending a good portion of her time drinking down at the Muddy Rudder with Butch, but she always slinks off once Butch's words start slurring together – it's best for both of them that way.
One night, when she leaves Butch and is hauling herself up the stairs, stumbling as she heads for her room, she runs into Cherry. She grins broadly at the redhead, tells her that she'll see her tomorrow, and heads to bed. The only problem with that is, once she's in bed, the door to the room she's rented carefully locked behind her, she can't get the other woman out of her head; she sees her smile, sees her look up at her demurely from beneath thick lashes, sees her lick her lips. The woman groans then, shifts beneath the covers to massage her breasts. They're heavy in her hands as she touches them, as she rolls her sensitive nipples between nimble fingers. Her left hand shifts, drifts down over her stomach, brushes against her inner thighs for a few moments before she lets it slip between her legs, brushing against the damp fabric of her panties before slipping inside. When she rubs her thumb over her clit, her hips jerk upward and she whimpers softly. Her fingers move lower, and, god, she's almost embarrassed to find how wet she is already, two fingers easily sliding home.