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

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Bad Moon Rising Pt. 2/?

[(Anonymous)]

The Courier had lived her whole life from one combat situation to the next, and she knew they weren't flexing. She didn't even bat an eye as she bounded back, pulling Dinner Bell from under her elbow in a fluid motion, but didn't level it toward them. The woman had been the Brotherhood's idea of mercy killing. The pair seemed to sense that she wanted to talk more than attack them. She sensed they wanted to talk more than attack her, something about that older woman's eyes said enough for her to guess they weren't responsible for the massacre at Primm.

Still, looks can be deceiving, and the Courier didn't take chances. She didn't lower her shotgun completely. Her eyes were wary. She had an old tribal stance about her, and her other hand was ready to go for the bowie knife in her boot if they so much as moved too quickly. They looked like they had the same ideas.

“I'll give you the benefit of the doubt and say you didn't do this. But I know the Brotherhood, and that isn't this chapter's armor. Who are you?” The Courier's voice was nice and even. She knew how to talk. She liked talking. If you didn't wear heavy armor all the time, you got good at it. Used it like a weapon.

The woman had a mirthless quirk to her lips that never made it into a smile.

“Star Paladin Cross. My chapter is--,” She cut herself off, looked angry, then her features smoothed out as she continued. “Was located in the Capital Wasteland. And you, are very lucky. Had you arrived moments earlier, you would not be speaking with us now.”

“Maybe. A good chance I would be, Cross.” Arrogance. She'd just come from the fight of her life with Ulysses, she was feeling cocky. A sin that might have been her undoing, but she felt like she'd earned the right to swagger a bit.

Cross shook her head, just as the tall ghoul let out an arid bark for a laugh. “I doubt it, lady. You don't know this kid like we do.”

The Courier shook herself slightly, her gaze turning hard on the ghoul. “Kid? You mean, one person wiped Primm completely off the I-15? All while just a hop, skip, and a jump away from the Mojave Outpost? Bullshit.”

Cross looked implacable and somber again. The ghoul nodded slowly, looking at Cross.

“Who are you, woman? Where did you come from?” Cross demanded.

“People call me the Courier. As to where I came from, some things are best left buried.” She didn't dare tell them where she had come from. She couldn't afford people going to try and rummage through the Divide. God, no.

Cross was not impressed with the vague answer. Neither was the ghoul.

“I'm assuming you're the Courier who was shot in Goodsprings, then. You've been mentioned on the radio. I'd rather not have to call you 'Courier' every time I have to ask you a question.” Cross stated plainly.