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falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
falloutkinkmeme_backup) wrote2018-10-20 09:59 pm
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Fallout Kink Meme Part IV: Closed to prompts, open for fills.
Welcome to the Fallout Kink Meme, Part IV! Please assume the position.
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Re: Scorpion Honey, 1b/?
(Anonymous) 2012-02-20 03:55 am (UTC)(link)Moore snorted and drained the rest of her glass in one swallow. She stuck the cigarette between her teeth and glanced at the clock. It was just past three thirty, and she was already half-drunk. She was about to ask the bartender for a matchbook when a smooth, female voice interrupted her thoughts.
“Need a light?”
She turned. The woman at the end of the bar had moved while she was distracted, taking the empty stool to her left. Cassandra gave her a cursory glance and suddenly remembered where she’d seen her before.
She was one of the Courier’s companions. Moore had nearly come to blows with him over the woman’s presence during one of their briefings, but the Courier was adamant that his friends be allowed to sit in on meetings. Moore hadn’t been happy about it, but her aide talked her out of throwing the two of them out. Like it or not, the Courier was vital to the NCR’s campaign in the Mojave. He was charming, resourceful, and he hated the Legion almost as much as his emotional cripple of a sniper.
Moore nodded coolly. The drunk fumbled through her coat pockets and produced an engraved silver cigarette lighter. She flicked it open with a practiced flourish. Moore rolled her eyes at the drunk’s self-satisfied grin.
“A gift,” she said, by way of explanation.
The cigarette lit as soon as its tip touched the yellow flame. The lighter disappeared into the woman’s pocket, and she settled back onto her stool, content to watch Moore smoke.
Cassandra turned away, unnerved by the other woman’s attention. There was something masculine in her posture and in the way her once-over stuttered on Moore’s bust, but her voice and body were decidedly feminine, attractive in a rough-around-the-edges way.
Moore made it a point not to let by anyone she met in a bar impress her, and she wasn’t about to make an exception for this woman. A cool, “do I know you?” was usually enough to scare off civilians, but the cowgirl ignored the brush-off.
The woman stuck out her hand. “You do. Rose of Sharon Cassidy. Cass.”
Moore ignored the offered hand. “Sorry,” she lied.
If Cass was offended by the snub, she didn’t show it. “I travel with the Courier,” she said pleasantly. “And you’re Colonel Cassandra Moore.” The last sentence was louder than necessary. The restaurant’s patrons lifted their heads and the bartender sucked a sharp breath through pursed lips. Moore ground her teeth in irritation. “We’ve met,” Cass said unnecessarily.
Moore could have hit her. “Now I remember you,” she said. “As I recall, I tried to throw you out of my office.”
“You did.” Cass took another drink and wiped her mouth with the back of her hand. “So what brings you to the Strip? Got any exciting meetings planned?”
“No,” she said, tersely. “I’m on leave.” She was starting to wish she’d stayed in and had her drinks brought up to her. The prospective shame of drinking alone in her hotel room held more appeal than the aggravation of the Courier’s favorite alcoholic.
“So it’s a pleasure trip, then?”
“Do you need something?” Moore snapped. She fixed Cass with her iciest stare.
The redhead’s grin didn’t falter. “You’re the most interesting thing in this bar right now.”
“Lucky me,” Moore muttered into her glass.
Re: Scorpion Honey, 1b/?
(Anonymous) 2012-02-20 04:15 am (UTC)(link)Incoherent joy 'cause I've been hoping this would get filled ever since it was posted. Prepare for much F5ing!
Re: Scorpion Honey, 1b/?
(Anonymous) 2012-02-24 02:15 am (UTC)(link)OP here!
(Anonymous) 2012-03-02 01:57 am (UTC)(link)Scorpion Honey, 2a/?
(Anonymous) 2012-03-05 03:07 am (UTC)(link)Moore was starting to look and feel drunk, but Cass was as collected as she had been an hour and a half earlier. The colonel’s hair was coming out of its twist and her eyeliner had smudged, but Cass’s hands and voice were steady when she ordered the next round.
Their eyes met in the mirror, and a subtle shift in posture turned the sidelong look into a challenge. Moore squared her shoulders and ordered another drink, snapping at the bartender when her glass wasn’t refilled fast enough. Cass dropped her gaze, laughing behind her hand.
Moore was a drink past decorum and two past caring. She turned on her stool to face Cass.
“You looking for a fight?” she demanded.
“Not with you,” Cass said. She wasn’t slurring, but her cheeks were almost as read as her hair.
Her tone set Moore’s teeth on edge. “I was in the Rangers,” she spat. “I hit you, you hit the ground.”
The redhead snorted. “Maybe five years ago. You’re past your prime, sister.”
Moore’s hands clenched at her sides, fisting in the pretty fabric of the useless dress. “I’m giving you one chance,” she said, her voice low and clipped, “you shut your mouth.”
“Fuck you, bitch,” Cass said. “If you were gonna hit me, you already would have.”
Moore didn’t hesitate. Her fist connected with the other woman’s face, and the entire bar heard something crack as Cass slipped backwards off her barstool. The look of utter shock on her face was so sweet that Moore smiled, despite herself.
“Bitch,” she said, and then she was surrounded by casino security.
She was very calm as they hauled her out of the bar and into the dimly lit offices. She was led through a dull, concrete maze and ushered into a nondescript office with stained wallpaper and discolored, water-damaged chairs. As soon as the door closed behind her, Moore realized that she’d left her purse sitting on the bar.
The Omertas kept her there for nearly an hour. She paced restlessly, and the movement cooled enough of her agitation to keep her hands at her sides when the floor manager finally found the time to deal with her.
Re: Scorpion Honey, 2b/?
(Anonymous) 2012-03-05 03:07 am (UTC)(link)Her raving made him nervous enough to call for security. Two enormous, identical guards arrived as soon as he pressed the panic button. The floor manager followed at their heels as they escorted Moore to the exit. He told her, in no uncertain terms, that she was no longer welcome at the Gomorrah.
She stumbled when they shoved her through the doors, blinded by the brilliance of the Strip’s innumerable colored lights. The sun had set when she was indoors, and the casinos had turned on their floodlights and neon, and she couldn’t help but be dazzled at the display.
The lights had seemed tacky and ostentatious under the unforgiving light of day, but at night, they were almost beautiful. She stared up, almost in wonder, and let the burgeoning night crowd carry her away from the Gomorrah.
She ended up at the Strip’s North with no clear idea of how she got there. The NCR embassy was a shabby, nondescript building at the other end of the packed Strip, and Moore decided she didn’t want to force her way through the crowd. She was starting to feel feverish and faintly ashamed of her drunkenness. But the night was beautiful: clear and cool, and the walk back to McCarran seemed like what she needed to clear her head.
Not much of the Strip’s light made it over the wall and into Freeside. The streets were darker and dirtier, the buildings smaller and shabbier with missing windows like black eyes. Moore felt less sure of herself with every step away from the North Gate. She thought she had known the way, but she was realizing that the slum was a maze of dead-end streets and indistinguishable buildings.
The air smelled like urine, vomit, and human misery, and the stench caught in her throat and made her gag. She leaned up against one of the sooty buildings tried to regain her bearings. She’d made too many turns to remember which way she’d come. The Strip’s neons had reduced the constellations to smears of distant light, and Moore couldn’t remember how to use the stars for navigation, anyway.
Her stomach was churning, her head was spinning, and panic was finding the cracks in her unflappable exterior. She pressed her flushed cheek to the cool brick exterior of the ruined building behind her, desperate to clear her mind.
A craggy male voice broke her concentration. “You lost, beautiful?”