Characters: F!Courier, Arcade, Rex Pairings: None Relationship: Gen Tags: F!Courier, Arcade, Rex, genfic, crack Summary: Authoranon takes no responsibility for this one! You have been WARNED. F!Courier introduces us to the horrors of Wasteland hygiene. Just don’t get squeamish, or turn away because the Fiends might wipe some snot on you.
She was a hundred miles from nowhere and she really needed to take a number one trip to find a suitable spot for a number two. Only…there was one small problem.
“ARCADE!”
“What?” The doctor turned around from pushing another dead lizard onto a stick. Wasteland cuisine at its finest.
“I can’t find any more toilet paper magazines in my bag, you got some?”
Gannon remembered the last time they had had this discussion, and it had involved her swiping the first few pages of his only copy of War and Peace. She told him there had been so many he wasn’t going to miss the blank ones, but that wasn’t the point.
“Nope.”
“If you stuck more snack cakes in your bag at our last stop instead of toilet paper, I’m going to kill you.”
“Kill away, just do not touch my books.”
“I NEED TOILET PAPER!”
“Well,” Arcade set the iguana-on-a-stick down and looked over at Rex, wondering if he could gather enough loose hair off of the panting dog to throw at her. “How about you use a rock, or something?”
“Are you serious?”
“Well, you know, apparently Caesar’s men use these odd sponges on sticks that they keep in communal buckets and -“
“Jeeze, STOP THAT! I’m gonna hurl before I even find a suitable place to dig a hole!”
The Courier was somewhere off to his right now, hiding behind a group of sagebrush, but he wasn’t sure and didn’t really care at the moment if she was on the moon.
“Or…there’s the Fiends. Ever notice how many dirty dictionary pages were scattered all over Vault 3? Ever really wonder about that?”
“Arcade I. Gannon, I am going to come over there and personally technicolor yawn all over that snarky face of yours.”
“And then there was that department store we visited once…in Freeside, behind the Silver Rush. Remember how that smelled? And the amount of Sears and Roebuck catalogues that were scattered all over with torn-off pages and-”
“ENOUGH!”
“Maize cobs were once utilized.”
The Courier marched in front of Arcade, her hands clenched into small, but determined fists. She was short, but from where he sat, slumped against a rock, she was looking down at him with fire in her eyes.
“So, mister-king-of-the-BATHROOM-HABITS-of-the-ancient-world, answer me THIS!”
“I’m waiting,” Arcade added when she paused.
She stood there for a moment, face screwing into something resembling a cross between a sneer and a scowl, but never quite making it either way because she truly wasn’t very good at looking angry. At least it didn’t appear, from where he sat, to be a thing she did well.
“The Followers go on long pilgrimages out in to the middle of God-forsaken hellholes all the time, and I’m sure they pack light. No Fancy Lad snack cakes and no room for much toilet paper. Now they certainly don’t use up their ‘precious books’ for toiletries…so how exactly do they get along, huh? HUH!”
“Oh simple,” Arcade yawned, “we tear up old shirts and things and use the linen strips. They’re not as bio-degradable, but one and you’re done…well, and they are more common.”
“Hmm,” the Courier stood there a moment, the little mole rat behind her eyes running frantically on its ephemeral wheel into the pit of darkness that was her mind.
“Umhmm,” Arcade leaned back against the rock, eyes closing, wondering if he had enough energy to get up and start a fire. “It’s not so difficult to find old linen as it is to find magazines and newspapers…and there are always leaves, I suppose, in some places.”
The Courier stared at the spiky Joshua trees clustered around them, then down at the spear-edged banana yucca at her feet and shrugged.
“Whatever you say,” she said.
But Arcade didn’t hear her, because he was miles away inside his head and snoring.
Shit Outta Luck: F!Courier+Arcade (crack, gen) 1a/?
Pairings: None
Relationship: Gen
Tags: F!Courier, Arcade, Rex, genfic, crack
Summary: Authoranon takes no responsibility for this one! You have been WARNED. F!Courier introduces us to the horrors of Wasteland hygiene. Just don’t get squeamish, or turn away because the Fiends might wipe some snot on you.
She was a hundred miles from nowhere and she really needed to take a number one trip to find a suitable spot for a number two. Only…there was one small problem.
“ARCADE!”
“What?” The doctor turned around from pushing another dead lizard onto a stick. Wasteland cuisine at its finest.
“I can’t find any more toilet paper magazines in my bag, you got some?”
Gannon remembered the last time they had had this discussion, and it had involved her swiping the first few pages of his only copy of War and Peace. She told him there had been so many he wasn’t going to miss the blank ones, but that wasn’t the point.
“Nope.”
“If you stuck more snack cakes in your bag at our last stop instead of toilet paper, I’m going to kill you.”
“Kill away, just do not touch my books.”
“I NEED TOILET PAPER!”
“Well,” Arcade set the iguana-on-a-stick down and looked over at Rex, wondering if he could gather enough loose hair off of the panting dog to throw at her. “How about you use a rock, or something?”
“Are you serious?”
“Well, you know, apparently Caesar’s men use these odd sponges on sticks that they keep in communal buckets and -“
“Jeeze, STOP THAT! I’m gonna hurl before I even find a suitable place to dig a hole!”
The Courier was somewhere off to his right now, hiding behind a group of sagebrush, but he wasn’t sure and didn’t really care at the moment if she was on the moon.
“Or…there’s the Fiends. Ever notice how many dirty dictionary pages were scattered all over Vault 3? Ever really wonder about that?”
“Arcade I. Gannon, I am going to come over there and personally technicolor yawn all over that snarky face of yours.”
“And then there was that department store we visited once…in Freeside, behind the Silver Rush. Remember how that smelled? And the amount of Sears and Roebuck catalogues that were scattered all over with torn-off pages and-”
“ENOUGH!”
“Maize cobs were once utilized.”
The Courier marched in front of Arcade, her hands clenched into small, but determined fists. She was short, but from where he sat, slumped against a rock, she was looking down at him with fire in her eyes.
“So, mister-king-of-the-BATHROOM-HABITS-of-the-ancient-world, answer me THIS!”
“I’m waiting,” Arcade added when she paused.
She stood there for a moment, face screwing into something resembling a cross between a sneer and a scowl, but never quite making it either way because she truly wasn’t very good at looking angry. At least it didn’t appear, from where he sat, to be a thing she did well.
“The Followers go on long pilgrimages out in to the middle of God-forsaken hellholes all the time, and I’m sure they pack light. No Fancy Lad snack cakes and no room for much toilet paper. Now they certainly don’t use up their ‘precious books’ for toiletries…so how exactly do they get along, huh? HUH!”
“Oh simple,” Arcade yawned, “we tear up old shirts and things and use the linen strips. They’re not as bio-degradable, but one and you’re done…well, and they are more common.”
“Hmm,” the Courier stood there a moment, the little mole rat behind her eyes running frantically on its ephemeral wheel into the pit of darkness that was her mind.
“Umhmm,” Arcade leaned back against the rock, eyes closing, wondering if he had enough energy to get up and start a fire. “It’s not so difficult to find old linen as it is to find magazines and newspapers…and there are always leaves, I suppose, in some places.”
The Courier stared at the spiky Joshua trees clustered around them, then down at the spear-edged banana yucca at her feet and shrugged.
“Whatever you say,” she said.
But Arcade didn’t hear her, because he was miles away inside his head and snoring.