Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.

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Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1b

[(Anonymous)]

“That was too close for my comfort,” he said and rested his hands on the counter. It was the only place in the building with some decent light in it. It was also a small comfort that those creatures outside were afraid, or venerated or some other nonsense like that; of holograms enough not to check which were the ones to actually shot lasers out of their heads.

“Why fret?” the Courier called from her place by the door, her voice muffled by that darn helmet and her head bowed over her pip-boy as she tapped one button after the other. “You know better than anyone of us how blind they are.”

“Yes. I also know that they outnumber us like a wasp hive outnumbers a tarantula…” he paused, sarcasm losing its speed a bit, for the lack of a better analogy, “Or whatever that prey may be. This is not the first time your nose poking into every corner had me almost killed.” He turned, glaring behind his sunglasses at the nigh invisible hunched figure in the black suit of armor.

In truth, she had managed to snuck up to more than a few lone locals and disable them in a rather gory manner which would insure them never rising up again; and thus ensuring his own increasing survival rate – but still! Dean would not even be in this situation had she not insisted to take the long way around, passing through every door not nailed shut or taped down, crossing every roof that looked marginally capable of holding her weight, making the damn collar beep by going on into the parts unknown, perusing her useless scavenger hunt… Oh, she had singlehandedly invited death by explosion, the Ghost People dragging him away and heart attack. The way things were going he just had to pick the lottery ticket and pray it would be a painless one.

But Dean Domino had not survived as long as he did in the Villa by taking the long way around if it happened to be littered with undying monstrosities from the depths of whatever place that cooked up the Cloud. Or by letting some tourist yank his explosive leash left and right at her suicidal whim in search of… paper scraps.

“And you act like you’ve never went scavenged before,” she said quickly pushing one such small scrap of paper she had found earlier back into her pocket. Dean noticed immediately, both it and how she slipped past his question and he was not pleased in the least. The tourist was up to something. He didn’t know if it involved him – and for the sake of his own hide he decided to presume that it did – but he would not let it come that far.

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1c

[(Anonymous)]

“Puesta del Sol isn’t in the top five list of my choices I’d go to even if I had to.” He pointed at her accusingly, “It was your insisting on sticking out like a sour thumb that has us boxed in here.”

The Courier waved her hand dismissively and settled on the opposite side of the counter, sliding through the silent dealer. The holographic head played shadows and left quickly diminishing imprints on smooth surface of her black helmet – like a fake, always smiling face. It was needlessly creepy, and Dean had the guts to admit it to himself. “We’ll use the rooftops,” she said, “I’ll get you to your stage in time for the main event. It’s not like Elijah can start the show without you.” Black helmet tilted to the side as she leaned over the counter and watched him.

“I suppose don’t have anything to worry about then, do I? Oh, except several hundreds of Ghost People swarming this roof in droves once the band starts playing,” he snapped spitefully but when he looked up she was not there at the receiving end of his complaint.

“I hardly doubt there are hundreds of Ghost People out there,” her voice, muffled as it was, came from bellow. She was, in long respected tradition of any wastelander, rummaging through the cupboards under the counter. “They can’t reproduce, and from what you’ve told me more people die a safe death out here,” one hand peeped up, gesturing vaguely at the front door, “than get dragged away by them.”

“Now there’s optimistic for you.”

Some junk food along with something else was plopped on the counter, interrupting him.

“So unless the empty suits have mutated to the point they can breed I don’t think you have too much to worry about.”

“Is that so? Sure glad one of us knows what you’re doing.” ‘Thick with sarcasm’ didn’t even begin to cover the tone of his voice. He knew she was deluding herself because experience had taught him otherwise. What she had said might make sense – or indeed, would make sense, were they in any other place but here. But they weren’t. They were in Sierra Madre. And Sierra Madre had a life of her own, a rhythm one had to follow or die. The tourist had better learned to tap-dance to it fast or his head will be up for grabs along with hers.

“Now, how about making some of that famous martini of yours?” She shook a foul smelling jug and there was something of a grin in her voice. He assumed so since he couldn’t see it. With a downturn of his lips he pulled a cigar hanging from the corner and snuffed it out in a nearby ashtray, before taking the offered pitcher.

“I’ll have you know, I don’t make a habit of serving drinks to others,” he said in a flat tone.

“I won’t cross the line and try to abuse your generosity.” Courier’s voice, tingling as it did, didn’t exclude the possibility of a ‘much’ following that statement. One exposed muscle under his right eye took a moment to tic. This was already the longest heist of his life, and Dean was confident that he could endure a little more of this tag-along game, before the vault laid sprawled open before him.

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1c

[(Anonymous)]

Loving this so far anon! Moar!

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1c

[(Anonymous)]

OP here, and OH MY GOD SOMEONE IS FINALLY FILLING THIS. YOU ARE THE BEST. THE ACTUAL BEST. THIS IS AMAZING. I CAN'T WAIT FOR MORE. THANK YOU. THANK YOU. YOUR DEAN IS THE BEST EVER.

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 2a

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you guys, I’m glad some are enjoying it. Just a word of warning – this is going to be a long one (because Dean is too much fun and I have way too many ideas about him that demand being put onto paper), and also a slow one. I’m not the fastest writer in these parts :(

I’ll also try to stay on course for the OP’s prompt, but Dean does what Dean wants to do. He might just run off chasing the ladies at the Tops when I’m not looking :P

*-*-*

It was a welcomed break. Tense as all hell, but still welcome. Sierra Madre didn’t offer much opportunity for rest outside of that safe haven Dean had cultivated over the years. Not that ‘safe’ and ‘Madre’ could possibly exist in the same sentence, or the same universe for that matter, Dean pondered while mixing drinks, a foul-smelling concoction that it was.

As he pulled out couple of glasses he glanced at where she had leaned against the bar and under the light of the hologram spread out all the paper and holotapes she had found so far. It wasn’t too bad to have someone watch his back, he mused; and having a partner was, for a heist of this size, a must for him to pull it through. The potential bother that she was roped into being his partner didn’t even begin to make a step across his mind. After all, charm and a bit of persuasion here and there were required to get his previous partner to commit fully to the heist. What he hadn’t counted on was the old man, who had shackled him into such a demeaning position as well.

Dean didn’t consider himself particularly fussy. He would take what he could get. Until the opportunity presented itself and he could get something better. One step at the time, and a patience of a veteran safari hunter was how he worked.

She raised her helmet a bit so she could take a drink. He took notice of it instantly. He could see her lips, dried and cracked but nicely shaped, and there was a thin scar snaking around her chin. She still had all her teeth – that he could see – and that surprised him. He wouldn’t think that anything like dental hygiene still existed, never mind the constant dangers of living involved. Thick shadow covering upper part of her face left quite a lot to the imagination. For all he knew she could have a peeled off and cleanly polished skull from her nose up.

It was a fleeting glance, but at least he knew she didn’t appear to be like him. A ghoul. It took some time getting used to the slang when the first tourists appeared in Sierra Madre couple of decades ago. He was still Dean Domino. Lack of skin did not change who the man was inside. Maybe, just maybe, it made it more apparent.

He understood the need to be covered head-to-toe in protective gear in a place that had a habit of killing its visitors at every corner, twist, alleyway, catwalk, roof, room and toilet. The very air of Madre could kill. But why wouldn’t she dignify him and raise her visor when they spoke was beyond him. As a matter of fact, it was infuriating. And it became infuriating the moment he had noticed that she had, in fact, revealed her face whenever talking to the mutant.

A bit of professionalism wouldn’t hurt when you have to look at your partner in the eye and shoot them.

Not that he was planning any of that. Yet. He had other things to focus on.

“What are you so possessed of collecting that requires of you to look under every staircase?” He asked when she just slugged her drink down, like it was some kind of third-rate cider, and kept on looking over her pip-boy. She glanced up and showed him.

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 2b

[(Anonymous)]

“I was reading about what happened in this place.”

‘Liquor shipment finally came in today - didn't realize working here would be like working in a dry state. Just need to keep it out of sight of security and Sinclair, and ought to take the edge off the day, keep it stashed in the back.’

And then the other, ‘One thing about the liquor they're shipping in, it's making somebody talk - the big man came down today and told us that we have a sweet deal set up, and one slipped word in front of security can bring this all crashing down... for real.’

“Bootlegging?!” Of all the things to put his life in danger for…! This was a good cause – as were many others, but that wasn’t important now! – for Dean Domino to get more than just a bit livid. “You dragged me all over this deathtrap so you could read about a band of morons who thought to profit of Sinclair’s stuck up idiocy?!”

Black helmeted face rose to meet his. “I’ve put you in just about the same amount of danger you put yourself in by staying in Madre,” she cut in calmly. “These were scattered along the way,” she gestured at her loot.

Dean’s jaw tightened. She plucked on a sour note in there somewhere. He had his reasons for staying – some very good reasons – none of which he had to place before her feet. “I don’t need you criticizing my choices. Or are you trying to say that the rest of the world is better off? Mojave? Is it free of mutated monstrosities?”

Black helmet kept staring. Then she snorted, “Far from it. But in its defense, the Mojave at least gives you the opportunity and more space to go around any monstrosity that sees you as lunch. And the lack of Cloud is also a blessing…” and then she went back to strangely well-preserved paper, her voice trailing off. “But, whatever. Have it your way.”

Again they fell into simmering silence. They did that a lot. Two stubborn bighorners vying for the spot at the front of the heard – the lead position in this case. And even if what he was doing currently consisted mostly of following, Dean still liked to think of himself as someone with an upper hand.

“If…” she started slowly, and Dean’s eyebrow arched at the tame tone she had taken. “If these vending machines could create anything out of a single chip,” a prospect which was fascinating her, “why the black market?”

“Why? Because not everyone could get what they needed from those little toy boxes. Or what they wanted.” When her black helmet just kept staring at him like some miniature black monolith, the ghoul deigned to elaborate, “They could only produce things that were hard built into their programing. Chems, for instance, were available only to selected personnel, usually medical. Guns and other weapons were restricted to security here; although, from what I’ve seen, Sinclair’s chefs could do more damage with a single knife than a whole rodeo show of local officers,” he added in afterthought before looking at the sickly colored liquid at the bottom of his glass almost as if memories have pooled down there. “You couldn’t even get bottle of decent wine unless you had special authorization code.”

For which one had to pay heavily in the casino, if she had to take a guess.

“Sinclair made sure all the money went to one place. Called it self-sufficient, or something like that. He favored his little puppet and light show,” his voice trailed off.

She listened to him speak, tell a tale of old world. Dean had a soothing voice… when he wanted. Not comparable to softness of Graham’s, and one had to ignore the constant note of superiority woven across and in-between, but all in all, she could see why people would flock to listen to him sing. His personality certainly didn’t bring in the money.

They sat in silence surrounded by pale light, resting. Recovering. It was a place of safety in a very mad world.

“Don’t you feel very grateful for that puppet show right about now?” She asked, covering her face once more, and the hologram beside them flickered.

“They make for better company than most other people, that’s for sure.”

There was no question about who those other people were. Though, it could not be excluded that in the case of Dean Domino that could easily mean everyone else.

“Of course they do,” she answered.

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 2b

[(Anonymous)]

The longer the better, OP. I like where this is going.

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 3a

[(Anonymous)]

Dean didn’t like not being in control. For so long he had watched outsiders stagger into Sierra Madre, die by their own hand, their friend’s hand or that of unforgiving surroundings while for two centuries, he had survived all the dangers the Villa had thrown at him.

Oh, he had been in tight spots before. In Sierra Madre, waking up alive in the morning didn’t guarantee your evening will be just as fortunate. But that was just him and his quick wits in a life and ‘not dying tonight’ predicament. Not a bomb around his neck, not some girl, and an old man on the radio dictating where he should go, what he should do, how to do it… An old man who had discovered how to enter the casino in a matter of months while he had been languishing in this hole for-

He stopped himself. Now was not the time for that. Soon he will finally enter the casino and after that… well, he had plan in place. He just had to be present to execute it. Dean looked down at his drink and then up the woman sitting with back to him. He’d question her sense of self-preservation but this suited him fine for when the time came.

There was also the question of his new ‘bow tie’ but he figured he’d cross, burn and bomb that bridge once he got to it.

“So, who’s Danny Parker?” She asked cutting his marching thought process in half. To his credit, he didn’t slip or perform any remotely embarrassing overreaction at this most unexpected question.

“What prompted this on?” He asked curiously in turn, because he really couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would ever ask about that weasel. He couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would even know about Danny Parker, of all people, today.

Her shoulders made a little shrug, “You keep mentioning him. And in a way that makes me think it involved a bullet and his head.”

“Danny Parker… There wasn’t a person alive,” he paused briefly and corrected himself, “alive at the time, who didn’t want to put at least one bullet in that empty head of his. Some would have gladly paid for more than one.” He chuckled, images flashing behind his eyes. Memories from before the war, before the bomb, of people he worked with, people he saw nightly, some of them insufferable, others he just hated – memories of happier, better, different times.

She remained silent, choosing instead to lean on her elbows and forearms and look at him curiously, if curious could be attributed to a blank helmet. A rapt audience – if there was one thing he never got tired of… “Danny Parker was one, if not the, penny-pinching men of his time. He wasn’t an artist, not like I. Money was his only passion, and singing was a yellow-brick road to gaining a whole lot more of it. The cheap, catchy tunes he sang, the polished appearance of a mannequin in boutique store – all of it! Just to squeeze a penny more from the audience, from his agent, even from the record house. And it showed in his performances.”

The Courier wasn’t sure how much to believe him – not the bit about his alleged greed; greed had survived the war perfectly fine and was busily working its way into the new world. It was that Dean Domino didn’t seem like someone who tolerated people on the best of days for some very strange reasons.

“Was he a competition for you?” She asked.

“Competition?!” The ghoul’s head snapped up faster than an angry radscorpion’s tale. “Are you mad?! Danny Parker couldn’t string five notes together and make them sound like cats rutting, let alone make music,” he bolstered loudly. “Competition, she says,” he snorted under his breath lighting another cigar. “As if.”

“That so? His posters, those who aren’t singed and still readable show him playing…”

Dean’s brain short-circuited at ‘poster’ and completely ignored the rest of her words. Like doused in water, the cigar sagged at the corner of his lips. “Come again?”

“What’s the thing called… – a piano, yes. He seemed rather popular, considering the…”

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 3b

[(Anonymous)]

“Hold on! Let me get this straight,” he let out a little self-deprecating laugh and his voice took on the menacing tone if she ever heard one coming from him. And in the past day or so she had heard him pull some nasty implications and threats through the tenor of his voice, even when the actual words he used were sugar sweet. “You’re telling me that Danny Parker’s posters have survived the nuclear blast.”

The Courier realized, albeit too late, that she had stepped on the territory not unlike a minefield. She had already detonated a large one and had to thread very carefully not to offset any more that could blow up in her face. “I’ve seen a few around,” she started slowly, “on old buildings and such…” Casinos too. Theaters. Other previously important and prominent places. Of course, Danny Parker’s were not the only ones hanging there, but that was a can of two hundred years old food she’d rather avoid opening if possible.

“Well, how utterly marvelous! There’s just no justice in this world.” But he knew that already. That was why he had sat out to make his own justice so long ago. He leaned against the bar, fingers digging into decorative prewar marble. Sharp and predatory, his eyes narrowed on her. She had a feeling where this was going. “Well then, courier, how about you tell me of other-…”

Quite to surprise of both of them, and immense annoyance of one, there was a loud thump on floor above, and in the silence of the resort that gasping and heavy breathing was instantly recognizable. The Ghost People have entered the building.

Sierra Madre had sharpened the old singer’s reflexes but even Dean was surprised when his bowtie was yanked roughly and he tumbled over the counter with an ugly remark regarding any tearing in his suit, as heavy and clumsy steps clobbered down the stairs. His back was pressed tightly against the bar’s wall, the clicking and snorting sounds grew louder as the creature shuffled closer.

She pressed against him, body flushed against his, one of her legs sliding between his and his bowtie still held in a tight fist as she forced him to lay low, almost forced the breath out of his lungs in effort to keep him silent. And Dean was quiet. Dean was very quiet. Their earlier conversation, something about posters and stingy, incompetent weasels from the past – puff! Completely forgotten. Gone with the wind. And it was not all because a creature of nightmares had finished stumbling down the stairs, moved close to the wall and around the corner. Threat of fate worse than death hung heavy in the air around them, but even in a moment like this his body seemed to delight in making observations that had no business coming to forefront of his mind.

For example; the way her bulky armor wasn’t all that bulky to begin with. Or how judging by the shape underneath, which he was trying to focus away from curtsy of one of Sierra Madre’s local residents, she was in fact smaller than him and not, as it first appeared towering over him from every shadow, a creature of bloated proportions. Or how that shape was something he had not seriously thought about in relation to himself in any way for a long, long time. One could say that her outer layer of armored padding was designed with a sole purpose to fool anyone into believing she was all block of meat and bulletproof material. That’s how Dean chose to interpret it anyway, seeing how he fell for it.

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 3c

[(Anonymous)]

He saw holorifle slide off her shoulder and her ready it; and even with his brain making sharp deviations left, right and more importantly – down, no thanks to the rude, rude, rude invasion of personal space her thigh seemed to insist on, he pulled out his knife, because he knew that once she’s done blowing holes in ghost’s suit he’d be the one to cut them apart. Not a perfect arrangement – he preferred dismembering them from safe distance, with fire, lights and accompanying sound effects, but even he had to agree that anything was better than the ghosts getting up again, and again, and right when their backs are turned.

Fortunately for both of them, the moment it noticed the hologram which turned towards new prospective customer, even one simple one programmed to act as vendor, the creature let out a hissing sound that could only be described as startled nightstalker in the way of a rampaging deathclaw, and started to pull back.

The Courier used the opportunity and all but knocked Dean out of her way roughly as she dashed low. Butt of her holorifle came up and connected with creature’s head knocking it backwards and forcing it to stumble back. Even rattled with fear as it was, it still whizzed threateningly and swung with its gauntleted arm. She ducked, avoiding it and with a flip of her wrist brought her gun up, pointblank with creature’s head and neck, and before it could react a one, two, three, four shots were heard and a spray of white fluid covered her helmet.

The body collapsed and with a few steps she skipped over it and was up the stairs to make sure no others followed the struggler. And also to close any doors Madre’s draft may have opened. A moment later measured steppes were heard as she came back down.

“I just have to say, you make one killer martini. Now… right, then…. We can leave through the upstairs’ room,” she took several deep breaths and Dean noticed the clear sound of her voice. He pulled himself up from separating the head from the rest of thing’s body just in time to see the woman lower the visor on her helmet and catch the glimpse of a smug, self-satisfying, utterly competent smirk which rang that too-close-to-home bell. It had all the effect of a whiplash on Domino’s mood.

There was no pit deep or dark or hellish enough, for Sinclair to rot in for all the times to come.

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 3c

[(Anonymous)]

There's nothing I love more than seeing Dean's ego ripped to shreds. The best part is that the courier never intended to. This fic is so amazing.

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4a

[(Anonymous)]

They moved out after that, through the upstairs’ room and with a bit more strength to them. At first they crawled along the rooftops, but were later forced to descend to the street level. Red haze covered everything as the Cloud was particularly thick in Puesta del Sol and that made bear traps littering the streets like waste, all the more dangerous. That they had to cross all the way to reach the southern side of the district didn’t help any.

“Where there’s a bear trap, Ghost People aren’t far behind,” coming up beside her Dean warned in such a flat tone and the Courier’s shoulders rolled as she rearranged weight from one foot to another, avoiding grime colored traps. She didn’t pause in her steps but her mind kept making a full circle as she mulled over the tight spot that kept winding down on her. Two fingers drummed on the casing of her pip-boy as the black helmet turned in the shadows.

He had a cigar in his mouth. This was the fifth Dean had in the past hour, and the only one he managed to finish, the rest being deposed in various ways that involved minor crushing or all-out mayhem. His snide remarks have trickled to almost a standstill – almost, and what little he did offer was more acidic than acerbic. And the Courier was not oblivious to this.

When it came to Dean, she was not sure whether to think of him as frightening or just mad. Not Elijah mad, not the explosion of insanity ready to take over like a whirlwind of nuclear blast, but the slow burn that ate the people away from the inside over the years. He had chosen to stay so long and knew this city, its traps and pitfalls the same way she knew the secret back-roads through the Mojave wasteland. And she didn’t like it. God, with all his tightly focused aggression and muscles to rival a Securitron, was a safer bet than the ghoul.

She managed to steal a glance of the sour singer who seemed to alter between deciding whether to throw saturnite knife at her back or stare off into the Cloud. He was like that, she noticed, running hot and cold, and sometimes both at the same time. But hot and cold was not accurate enough to describe Dean’s current state.

She remembered meeting him, polite offer to ‘put her feet up’, explosives rigged chair and all. And she remembered how seriously she had considered shoving that overblown ego of his so far down his throat the collar wouldn’t be able to make a peep. But she had relaxed and decided, not now. Let him be pleasantly surprised when Elijah broke the news to his delicate sense of self-worth. Had she been of petty sort the look on his face when he realized that the bomb collars were now linked, as opposed the time when no hell or high water could’ve made the scavengers cooperate, would’ve made her want for a functional camera.

She had to admit, it was a feat, or a miracle, that he had survived alone in this death-pit of a town for two centuries. This, in retrospect, only proved that one should not stay alone in the room with him; particularly, any chairs, or any other frequently used piece of furniture, he had been left alone with should be thoroughly checked for methods of mass destruction. Ironically, it was thanks to the bomb collars of all things, that she felt safe enough to turn her back on him now.

But his presence was starting to feel like a little threatening cloud of its own, hanging on her back. It was becoming noticeable, distracting. Sierra Madre liked to punish distraction with death. In all her time as a courier, she had never worked quite so hard on the quickest way to deposit the ‘Dean Domino’ package on that marked roof.

And speaking of distraction… When they passed a small fountain, she spotted him light another cigar – bite into it almost, a quick conspicuous flash of orange amidst rust red. Better her than Ghost People. Or, better him than her so she had the time to level a precise shot. Either way kept them alive a little bit longer.

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4b

[(Anonymous)]

The Courier was certain that she had done something to offend him, the whole poster ordeal notwithstanding because she had a feeling that will come back to bite her eventually. No, this was something bigger, deeper; but she didn’t know what it could be and wasn’t about to press the issue. Not when the street ahead of them had a pack of mutated suits on the hunt.

She signaled him to follow her into the shadows and he did so without a word, which did nothing for the growing unease between them. There was a large patch of Cloud ahead and they could use it as cover until the Ghost People shuffled off to the other end of the building. They rushed through it as fast as they could, balancing trying not to get noticed and not die of poisoning.

Sticking to the wall they crawled along the buildings, always some distance behind the locals who seemed insistent to follow the same path the two of them were heading. Maybe this was the same pack that had tried to corner them in the café. If so, it was good they weren’t persistent enough to have tried and enter through the other entrance.

She constantly kept checking her pip-boy for location. The marker showed they were very close but with twisting streets and more often than not barred doors, finding that path proved more and more frustrating. One would think that it would be accessible from the top but not all roofs were connecting in such a way that would allow them to cross safely, while on the other end, some of the Villa’s balconies have collapsed blocking otherwise direct passageways. She understood now what those messages about Sinclair ignoring all the construction that didn’t involve his darling casino meant. Not even the Cloud, with its strange capacity, could preserve shoddy construction and keep the walls ‘glued with spit’ upright.

“According to this, your spot has to be one of these roofs,” she said zooming in and out her map and turned to the ghoul who was, quite nonchalantly, smoking a cigar with one hand in his pocket –a commercial picture of someone feeling right at home in this place. That alone should be enough to produce ice in anyone’s stomach. “Do you know of any building with an intact staircase, or a ramp or anything that would get us up?”

There was no answer.

“Dean?” She called, fine flat line of her patience not wavering.

“I don’t frequent Puesta del Sol much. As in, at all.” He paused, drawing in smoke like some kind of dragon, and looking over the seemingly empty street. And he knew, as well as she had learned, that standing around idly could only end badly for them. Despite that, he continued leisurely, “I do, however, remember an explosion from a few decades back. A couple of tourists took a wrong turn and headed straight from the front gate here.” His voice had this tone of boredom but it was a ruse, he positively delighted in dispensing these little bits of wisdom and experience. “They were well equipped, for people who crawled out of the wastes, and have blasted through half the town before the dust settled. They died, of course, but the distraction did allow me a clear way to… well, quite a few places actually. They managed to hold against the Ghost People all night, you see.”

“Good on them,” she clicked her tongue. Arrogant ass had to turn something simple as asking for directions into performance and an act of groveling at his feet. “And could you tell me where this explosion might have happened?”

He paused, taking a long, languid drag, letting smoke curl and mix with red cloud. It was the type of pause the Courier herself had on occasion inflicted upon others – although never in combination of a bomb strapped to their throats.

He looked around slowly, taking in the scenery, drinking in the atmosphere. His eyes stuck to the old wooden terraces and perilously dangling blinds that would have fallen off long ago had it not been for the Cloud.

“If I ever had to come here I stuck to the overhangs and roofs – like sidewalks up here.”

“Yes, they’ve certainly been helpful so far,” she answered slowly, a measured response while dancing around gunpowder encrusted eggshells.

“The ghosts don’t crawl up there much and it has a clear view. Clear enough, anyway,” he continued, paying not the slightest bit of attention to her.

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4c

[(Anonymous)]

“…Dean…” she started, resisting the rising tide of wanting nothing more than to toss him towards the point he was preparing to make and was taking the long, red carpeted way around, but at the same time knowing by now how that was not a way to handle Dean Domino. Because to handle Dean Domino was to handle a bouquet made of sticks of dynamite with a long fuse. “If you’d kindly share anything you might have noticed at that time, it would be a fantastic help to open the casino.”

He pointed, to a wall tucked in between constricted streets and a row of archways, thick, red fog clogged the path... “Through there,” …and a narrow but still decently man sized hole at the end of it.

“Thank you…”she said, properly, tightly, squeezed it through her teeth if one had a good ear, and quickly turned on her heel. That he riled her up wasn’t what bothered her. That he managed to rile her up and so obviously intended to do it from the very start, did. The question of what she had done to rile him up, was steadily becoming paramount. She needed to avoid any confrontation so long as this bomb was hanging around her neck. Once those were off, all bets would be off along with them.

They had to reach the second floor and path up was obstructed by only a few traps and before few minutes passed they were out in the open once more. Elijah’s unmistakable voice came soon through her pip-boy.

:You’re at the Ghoul’s Gala are… now make him stay.:

“So this is where I’m supposed to put on a show? Played at better venues, let me tell you.” Both of them walked over to a single cable stretching across the rooftop. A lone spark pranced on one end of the torn cable. “What is that there… wiring? Looks… looks like it’s tied to the sound system in the Villa, except that snipped section.”

Nurse passing the scalpel indeed. The girl sighed and pushed the helmet up a bit to rub her eyes. Elijah was going to kill them all at this rate.

“So… what, I stand here, hold the two ends in my hands and tap them together like cymbals?” She heard him call behind her, sneer and anger wrapped in one package.

“If re-connecting the speaker system is part of the Gala Event, yes,” she turned pulling the visor down.

“Look…” he gestured wide at the rooftops, the area around them and his usually so controlled voice cracked just a notch with panic welling up at the possibilities. “I strike up the speaker system, there’s going to be ghosts all over this place. Any change in the sounds around here… the Ghost People are not big on talking, they are big on listening. Hunting. Killing. More vicious than music critics, trust me.”

“All right, what’s it going to take?”

“Take?” He repeated insulted, as if she was offering his some meager penny for one of his most prized, most expensive shows. “It’s not going to take anything because you couldn’t offer me anything to stay here. The Ghost People’ll come out of the woodwork when the Gala Event starts blaring, and when they see me trapped up here? It’s curtains for Dean.”

Or they might lose their appetite at the mere sight of him and go back to the holes they crawled out from, was her line of thought. Figuring he wouldn’t appreciate her views, she kept them to herself.

“We’ll set traps and hunt down those that are around. Will that make you feel safer?”

“No, you want to know why? Because there’s more beneath the streets, in the buildings, and oh – everywhere else.” He flared crossing his arms in pure defiance – or in fear at the mere thought of staying here alone for prolonged periods of time. “Listen, you could offer me a steel clad contract for a world tour for all the major cities with Imperial Records and I still wouldn’t stay here!”

The Courier turned away from Dean’s fume and spit and old world references she couldn’t quite decipher, and looked over the expense of the district. Fog of rust rubbed against them as it did against the buildings, slowly, languidly, like a perverse lover clutching and never letting go. It had blocked most of their view but from what little the Cloud allowed them to see she came to one conclusion, “I sense an awful lot of backtracking in the near future.”

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4c

[(Anonymous)]

Still reading and enjoying this immensely A!A, the build-up is delish.

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4c

[(Anonymous)]

I really can't express how much I'm enjoying this. When I made the post I didn't expect it to be filled this well EVER. The Madre is my favourite thing ever, and one of the main reasons NV will never not be my favourite game, and the fact that you're exploring the streets and working the plot through and just generally going into it in so much detail is amazing.

And DEAN! God, your Dean is perfect beyond reason. You really have him down, and wow, your descriptions. They're incredible. The imagery you conjour up, the character's little reactions to one another and their environment - it's fantastic. I am seriously enjoying this and I check a couple of times each day for an update xD And when I find one, everything else gets put on hold.

So thank you very much for writing this! I can't wait to see what happens next, but at the same time I'm happy to, because every update is - somehow - better than the last, and that's definitely worth waiting for.

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4c

[(Anonymous)]

A!A here and thank you for such positive comments :D I'm glad there are readers who are enjoying it. Although, such positive praises coming from the OP make for some pressure :P

I wasn't sure how the story would go down seeing how it's a very slow buildup and still has places to go, or may even stir in a different direction than expected :/ But Madre is also my favorite DLC so I am trying to shove as much of atmosphere as I can into text.

I can't vouch how fast the updates will get in the near future since I'm somewhat obsessed with details, how the situations play out and so on. So a fair warning there.

Thank you all and I hope you keep reading and enjoying the story. And Dean! You should especially enjoy Dean!

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5a

[(Anonymous)]

Dean sat on the only usable couch. There wasn’t much else he could do while she tried to fix the terminal. He was not a tech expert and he had ceremoniously refused to act as a human conductor until it was safe enough for him to stay on that roof. The woman sat behind the terminal, whose screen kept flickering rapidly, and occasionally, a spark would fly off left and right and she would let out a quiet curse before reaching out for parts littered at her feet.

By this point the Courier couldn’t imagine how God or Christine would be able to cause more running around and pleasing and compromising to stay in one spot, when compared to the old singer. Even with her inquisitive need to know and learn how, why and what for – which was the reason she now had a bomb collar around her neck and cursed herself repeatedly still for not preparing better when she knew that Elijah had carried away a truckload of these from Big MT – she couldn’t think of any other reason why she would try to boot-up an ancient terminal in place where being stationary for extended period of time spelled death otherwise.

So here they were. At the broken down terminal that controlled the holograms. And all he could do was smoke. He’d like to find something to drink too, but he believed it was important to keep a clear mind right now. His eyes kept turning to the window and a perimeter of explosives he had set up while she worked.

Dean sighed. Then, he had another cigar. And once more, he sighed, this time – loudly.

“How much longer is it going to take?”

“You know you could have just stayed on the roof and waited for me to light the security up,” she called from behind the desk. It was followed by a clink of metal and a sound of terminal trying to establish connection, failing to do so and fizzling out. Also, there was another muffled curse worthy of a suburban taxi driver.

“Yeah, and what a prime position it is to get cornered in. Ghost People swarming in on all sides across roofs, the only way down blocked… Marvelous prospect. No, thank you.”

She let out something that sounded like a strangled snort. The ghoul was paranoid beyond reason. Granted, he had a very good reason to fuel all that paranoia, still… she had never expected her patience to be tried so thoroughly the way it was now. Strolling through Caesar’s camp, in full view of raping marauders, wasn’t as trying. Well, that’s a lie. Partly. It wasn’t as trying because she was well aware that the so-called legionaries couldn’t touch her at the time. Those trained attack dogs wouldn’t dare wag their tails without the great Caesar’s permission.

With loud sound of terminal finally powering up, she stopped reminiscing and stood up, helmet back in place naturally, rounded to stand in front of the screen. Just because the power was back on didn’t mean that the connections between the holo-emitter, the terminal or even the software for security hologram had survived.

“There weren’t any close to the building. Or that rooftop. I’d notice,” she dusted off her hands across her pants finally.

Oh, she’d notice, would she? This high-minded, self-entitled tourist… All wrapped up in that riot armor, thinking she is some kind of expert on the local fauna after surviving a couple of days in the Villa, when he had survived for decades! Decades! And wearing a tuxedo, no less. Now, that is called surviving with style!

“I’m surprised you can notice where you’re stepping with that thing on,” he gestured derisively at the, at this point, highly annoying black helmet which she had staunchly refused to remove to date. She did it only to aggravate him, no doubt about it.

So quickly she turned, walked – no, sauntered over him in such a single fluid motion that for a moment Dean believed she would slip into his lap. And there was a part of him that didn’t mind the idea in the slightest. In fact, that insufferable, starved part of him he had long since put in the fridge, had optimally prepared for it. Welcomed it! After all, when was the last time he had a decent pair of legs within arm’s reach? Well, there was Vera’s hologram, but there was only so much he could do with a collection of photons.

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5b

[(Anonymous)]

The Courier didn’t though, just leaned over him in, what in his mind was, patronizing manner.

“I wear protective gear. You wear these,” her finger was quick and flicked lightly across the bridge of his sunglasses. It surprised him and he hit the back of his head against the wall behind. Not much, it didn’t hurt… and he immediately pulled upright once he realized that he had backpedaled from her touch. She didn’t seem to notice, or pretended not to as was Dean’s conclusion, and had returned to trying to repair the machine.

He sneered at how nauseating it was. Dean Domino did not backpedal. He might make a tactical retreat or use the long way around, but he did not balk like a frightened schoolgirl. And what possessed her to constantly intrude upon his personal space bubble?! He felt ill prepared for this; which was absurd because Dean Domino had once been the master of the game – on top of it! Sierra Madre wasn’t kind on his looks, now it looked like his ability to charm was affected as well.

His head turned to the sound of familiar loud hissing and a thick metal clang coming from the outside. By the sound of it, it had to be the furthest one out. She had reset the bear-traps all the way up to the collapsed wall and Dean suspected that one of the Ghost People had walked right into one. Hopefully, it would serve as a warning to the rest to keep their distance. Unless they knew how to dismantle them. There was always that little worm of doubt, nagging, questioning… Making him wonder what exactly did the Ghost People know to do. Still, there was always a second line of explosive defense.

“They are crawling back on the streets out there. Your tinkering had better work, postman, or no hologram will be able to save us.”

“I have a name, singer,” she called from the table, her voice sapped in patience as she didn’t want the bother of correcting him. Courier, postman… how would the ghoul stuck in a desert resort for 200 years know the difference in the new world? Couriers did more than just deliver mail.

“Not one for introductions, then. Manners must have gone the way of the bombs.” Deep sarcasm was punctuated by him dragging in smoke of his cigar.

“You haven’t asked.”

“Me? I introduced myself when we first met. I cannot say the opposite happened.”

‘No you didn’t,’ she corrected him silently. Elijah had given her his name. “Guilty.”

“You certainly are.”

She paused, lips pressed into a thin line under that helmet. “…That’s my name.”

Silence stretched like an old world rubber, only to be punctured by a cough and a puff of smoke. “Pardon?”

She let out a sigh. It was a bad idea to tell him. There was a snigger behind her. The type of snigger that had a snigger all of its own. A capricious sound of superiority which could only be accredited to Dean Domino. Hell, he might own a patent of it.

“You’re serious, aren’t you?” More silence, as she was determent not to react. There was no point to it. After all, this was not the first time her name had run into this kind of reception. Dean snorted a twisted laugh. “Well, I wasn’t far off the mark when I said your Ma thought you to be something special.”

“I guess you weren’t. Then again, being a ghoul she had the time to cultivate intuition.”

A swift click of a jaw. As predicted, the comment made him snap shut, and the moment stretched into a lengthy silence. It allowed her to work in peace for once. Hacking through the system which was on the verge of collapsing, she mulled over choking strangeness of Sierra Madre and individuals she was forced to team up with. Big MT made her feel excitement and tantalizing fear at every turn, every facility a playground to be explored; Sierra Madre made her fight for each breath and minute of her life. It might be equally enticing in some masochistic way… but, there was no Sink here to return to, to rest her feet and to let the chatting of its inhabitants lull her to sleep.

“How did that work exactly?”

Of course, it was only a matter of time before his curiosity got the better of him.

“How did what work?”

“Ghoul. Being your mother. I can’t imagine many family traits being passed down-…”

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c

[(Anonymous)]

Guilty turned to stare at him, and saw how very busy he was with act of not being interested. Legs crossed, eyes focused on the hole in the wall, cigar slightly crumpled between his fingers… She paused, wondering briefly if he truly couldn’t guess or if he was just feigning ignorance at her expense. Neither of which she would put past him and both of which, as unlikely as that seemed, were probable at the same time. She had suspected, a while now actually, that unless he had a cordial relationship with other visitors in the Madre long enough to get around to speak with them, Dean likely had no idea what a ghoul was, how they came about and what they could end up as.

It was a little sad, not knowing what you were.

“She ran an orphanage,” the Courier said finally.

A genuine ‘Oh’ was the only answer she got and when she saw he was not going to comment further on it, out of embarrassment or some other reason, she continued her repairs. Bright command suddenly flashed on the screen before her bringing her back from her weary thoughts – ‘Activate Hologram’.

When she finally reached the backup systems she grumbled with dissatisfaction. “Perfect. This terminal controls only one of the things.”

“Well, then you better hope that the other one is in working order,” he stated casually – as of course, he would not be the one to do any fixing, his voice clear and close to her ear, and she realized that Dean was practically leaning over her shoulder.

“I’m not that lucky,” she breathed deeply picking up her rifle as he pulled back and they prepared to head out once more. “Stay close.”

“Like dancing with your shadow.” Puff of smoke covered his face like a stage mask as they descended into lightless corridors.

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c

[(Anonymous)]

Not to put a damper on things, but you tend to leave out words quite frequently and misspell a few things. The story is great, don't get me wrong, but I figured I'd let you know that you might want to proofread a little bit more. It takes me out of the story when I have to mentally add a missing word.

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c

[(Anonymous)]

That's hardly going to change. English is not my native language, it's not even my second language and no amount of proofreading can help me with a language I only use sparingly. So far, I've relied on word spellchecker to keep me on the straight and narrow.

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 5c

[(Anonymous)]

Amazing as always, great A!A. I love your Dean dialogue, it's so perfect. I find him extremely tough to pin down but yours is so believable!

F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6a

[(Anonymous)]

Thank you all for your comments: they HELP ;)
This chapter took me a while mostly because Dean's acting difficult in the next two, so I had to slow down. Anyway, on with the story and I'll try to keep grammar mistakes to a minimum.

***

Their way down was not as fortunate as the time they were first looking for this building. Uncharacteristically, or perhaps they have sensed that something was going on, the Ghost People waited for them, silent and still, avoiding traps and laying an ambush. To her surprise, it was Dean who pulled her out of the way of spears and a gas bomb flying past her head. It exploded, deafening both of them and lighting the street, making the Cloud swirl as the flames gobbled on it.

They landed behind the pile mixed of crushed building blocks and old furniture, his arm inexplicably finding its way around her waist as he kept her down. Whooshing sound of spears flying over their heads, clangs as they hit the ruble the two used as cover or just narrowly missing the a face trying to ascertain how bad the situation was for them, was just some on the list of things gone horribly wrong.

“‘There are none near the building,’ she says,” the ghoul mocked and the only thing Courier could do, beyond ignoring his biting words, was pull out sever stacks of dynamite and throw it to him. He looked at her, at the smooth blackness, and nodded. “Aim for the one with the canisters,” he said, short of breath and leaning to his side of the rubble guarding them as hissing and scuffling and gurgling drew closer. Acknowledging it, in one smooth move she had her rifle ready and aiming at the slowest, and largest, creature in the group.

He lit the fuse at the same time as she fired two shots at the gas tank. She pierced it and it started to leak but it was Dean who finished it, throwing two dynamite sticks, one right after the other. The resulting explosion was strong enough to bring down the adjoined pillars and the terrace they supported. Together with hisses and cries of pain, flame mixed with the Cloud brought up ash and debris, and covered the escape of the only two living creatures.

They scampered away, to a place where they could actually breathe.

“We need to finish them,” she coughed looking back around to chaotic dust swirl behind them, but Dean pulled at her, preventing any possibility of going back.

“We need to get away before more swarm the streets.” His tone was of one who had seen similar situation unfold and did not wish to stay for a closing act. For once, it brooked no argument.

She didn’t know if she could argue with that because she refused to believe that there could be so many of them surviving all these years, but there was something on her side, other than his hand pressed where her ribs would be were it not for protective casing, that burned and felt sticky and demanded immediate attention.

“The hologram works, doesn’t it?” He asked pulling her further down the alleyways he knew so well, despite constantly reinforcing how he wouldn’t be caught dead in this murderous part of town.

“Yes.”

“And it’s not going to shoot on us?”

“I don’t know.” She felt his grip tighten furiously, fingers digging in and pain lashing up through her side. “But it will on them.”

They didn’t have much choice and rushed in the direction of the hologram positioned in front of an archway, hoping that it would deter the creatures from following them. And if it just killed them on the spot, all the better. They rounded the corner, until they were in front of the holographic representation of one of Sierra Madre’s old security guards. It ignored them and Dean took them to a narrow gap leading inside of a building, and through several rooms, before helping her down on a set of collapsed stairs. From the outside they could hear the sounds of rapid laser fire and they both stilled, listening to the unfair fight and killing.

Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 6b

[(Anonymous)]

“This was close. Much too close for my tastes, but I don’t think there’ll be much chance of them passing by that thing.”

“Unless they’re smart enough to locate the emitter and smash it,” she leaned over breathless, pressing her hand to her side.

Dean shuddered at the prospect. He couldn’t credit the Ghost People for doing that one yet. “And I was just starting to feel optimistic about our chances.”

“I’m… still very optimistic about them…” Guilty dropped her rifle and started to rummage through her pouches and bag with one hand. Dean, still keeping an ear out for any creature that might roll in their direction glanced at her before turning to her fully. Even the red glaze of the Cloud couldn’t cover the true crimson of fresh blood dripping across the yellowing mortar.

“They got you?” The often pretentious ghoul singer said it in such a tone that made it clear it was another hurdle on his way to Sierra Madre Casino he did not need.

“It’s not that bad. At least it’s not a bear trap. I’d hate to be the one to slow down your heist even further with hobbling.”

“At least you admit to it,” he stated, straight-faced as possible and with lips pressed into a thin line. They’ve narrowly escaped being dragged away like a couple of pups to a pound lined with handlers just waiting to skin them alive. Or stuff them in one of those suits. Whichever. Quite a time for her to crack jokes, underlined with sarcasm and insults of all things.

He rubbed the back of his head, rough, uneven, occasionally peeling. Not at the moment though so he ignored it.

“Have a look, will you,” she said, nudging him from where his thoughts have veered, and bent forward across the stairs exposing the injury to him. Dean had to kneel next to her and unroll the tear in the thinner material between padding of her armor to get a good look at the wound. From the offhand first glance the only thing he could tell was a red line across her flesh.

“It looks like one of their spears has gotten to you. I would need more light to-…” A bright beam shone into his face and he balked in surprise. She had thrown her arm across her head and the light of her pip-boy managed to reach her side just enough for him to examine it properly. He pushed his sunglasses to the top of his head and fixed her with an annoyed expression before setting to task of inspecting it properly. He ran his finger around the dark bruise, barely daring to touch it so not to open it further. He couldn’t see much from the blood but the wound at her side was a long gash, swelling but a clean cut – from what he could tell at least, he wouldn’t call himself the expert though. “It doesn’t look like it’s gone in deep, but… you might have to remove the… top if I am to have a good look at it.”

Dean was not clumsy with words, he never had been. When he was the one to cut through the core of the matter with a sharpened tongue and oily words, it was with style and there was none alive who could dispute that. But in any other situation, the choice of his words could have gone pear shaped in so many different ways. And if he had become any judge of the expression she was likely to wear under that helmet, she might have – just might – taken it the way he had clearly not intended. What was that woman thinking?! Not at the time like this, and certainly not with her bleeding all over the floor!

Belatedly, she unclasped side buckles and took the heavy front of off her chest. With a muffled curse she pulled her shirt up to reveal her midsection and the gash, horribly bloody, darkening in color, possibly infected already and… Dean simply couldn’t help himself but notice the line of muscles, hard, clearly defined plates decorating her stomach like a chessboard, crisscrossed with pale scars, bites and burns. Her skin looked like it had been used as parchment for the life after bombs to write memories across. But beyond all that and so much in contrast to him, barring many scars, tanned and marked, her skin was smooth. Used for fighting. Used to killing.