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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.
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Re: Since When, 2c/3
(Anonymous) 2012-06-18 07:04 pm (UTC)(link)Hell he doesn't know what he should do first. Shove food and water down her throat? Toss her bodily into a hot bath? Wrap her in every passable blanket he's got and make her sleep and detox on his bed, even if that means tying her up with the blankets to make her stay there? Pardoning his own pun, 'Rudimentary Field Medicine 101' is one thing, but he's far from the qualified doctor she should have stopped to see long before dragging her carcass here.
Her flinch stops him short of completing the grab, before the warning growl from the mutt ever reaches his ears.
101 recovers quickly from whatever instinct caused it, and offers another tired smile. "Look, you won't believe me and I won't believe me if I say I'm fine, but can we not make a big deal out of it just yet? You know, sit and talk like I came here for?"
He's about to protest, but she pushes past him and drops the axe unceremoniously to the floor before proceeding to, as she suggested, drag a chair over next to his desk and drop herself bonelessly onto it. The dog is never more than a foot away from her in this process, and once she's sitting he plops his head pitifully in her lap, whimpering. Even the mutt knows she's falling apart here.
Three Dog stands there, grimacing at her over his shades for a moment, but her expression brooks no argument -- when did she get so assertive? -- and he swears. Well, she's sitting down at least. It's not the ideal but it's a start.
He walks around her and lowers himself tentatively back into his own chair, taking a drag off his cigarette and passing it unthinkingly to her.
The questions come to mind in a veritable flood, and he spends a moment unconsciously tapping the rhythm of the present song on his knee as he sorts through them. "What are you on right now?" he asks slowly, at last.
She raises an eyebrow at him, trying to look amused, and presses his cigarette primly between her red lips, savoring a long, slow drag. "Hello to you, too," she answers flippantly, blowing smoke out on the words.
"I'm serious, LW."
She blinks - at what in particular he can't say - and glances at her pack. "Buffout, med-x, and mentat cocktail. Vodka to get it down."
"Shit."
She laughs a little, passing the cig back. "You're telling me."
"What happened?"
Her almond-shaped eyes tilt downward, the movement jerky. They're not even tracking quite right, and even he knows that's a bad sign. Of what, he's not so sure, aside from the fact that detoxing is going to be a hell of headaches, chills, and nausea. He's familiar with that much from his own iffy history. But she seems to handle herself like a pro, leaving him to wonder how long exactly she's been experimenting with this blend. She hasn't been away long enough to have built up a tolerance to this kind of chemical abuse -- this has to be a slightly older affair. Her small fingers pick absently at some frayed strings on the edge of her... skirt, for lack of a better word beyond 'rag', which encompasses basically the entire outfit.
Three Dog watches the movement for a moment, deciding now is an awfully inappropriate time to notice her killer legs. He's not some sex-driven fiend; the fact that she has a great body isn't in and of itself distracting so much as his own disgust with the observation's timing.