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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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F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 9a
(Anonymous) 2013-06-01 08:39 am (UTC)(link)***
Later, on the rooftop of Puesta del Sol, Dean was contemplating… things. Important things. Tricky things. Things that had to do with memories. His and of this place…
It was nighttime again and he was waiting for the fireworks to begin – just like the last time.
He didn’t know for how long his eyes rested at the sky, it could have well been hours as far as he was concerned. He could see the stars, what few of them struggling to get their light through the red mist. He had forgotten they were there until she brought them up. It wasn’t like he ever needed to use them as some navigational means or replacement for a compass.
His mind had started wandering off… daydreaming. It was nothing serious – a small fling of his mind. His true dream lay in the heart of the Casino, and he had been dreaming that one for two hundred years. Also with the way luck was holding up lately, he might just wake up to it soon.
But daydreaming… Sierra Madre was made for it. It was designed with dreams in mind as a main attraction. A place where they would flow and ebb, rising emotions long lost. And he allowed it.
After all, in another time before the bombs, in a place similar to this, people would meet to have these little stolen moments. Dean Domino certainly did back in the day. A luxurious resort, a famous star and an unknown tourist easy on the eyes… Well, trashy erotic novels were written with less substance to them.
But the background tune playing in his mind spoke of things Dean Domino had long since forgotten – or at least, did his best to ignore before the Cloud kicked in and eroded all but his self-preservation instinct and the relentless need tying him to the casino. Now however, now he was being reminded of a few things that, in the hellhole named the Villa, with neighbors like Ghost People and with his dream locked tight in a castle on the hill, were better left forgotten. And best kept as far away from his mind as possible.
None of those warnings stopped his imagination from kicking into overdrive, however.
He blamed the postman for it – her disrespect for his personal space and her refusal to acknowledge his senior comprehension on the matter of things he shared the streets and buildings with. She should have believed him when he told her they were always around, always lurking, instead of going all high and mighty on him with her expert knowledge from the wastes. If she had, she wouldn’t have gotten skewered, and if she hadn’t gotten skewered than he wouldn’t have been the one fit to patch her up.
Looking back, he really shouldn’t have acted so generous and chivalrous. He should’ve just let her sink galore of stimpacks into herself and be done with the whole thing, avoid the ramifications of the touchy-feely business that followed. Now he was stuck with the image in his mind, of waist and hips and legs – there had to be some decent legs underneath all that, he refused to believe otherwise – and peculiar white shapes crisscrossing smooth bronzed skin.
“I wonder how she got that bite?” He asked through the puff of smoke. “Looked like the creature had the jaw the size of a crocodile.”
Ladies of his past wouldn’t have been caught dead with a scar marking their skin. They might indulge a strategically placed mole at best. A tattoo if they were feeling adventurous and daring. But something like a lion’s bite wasn’t woman’s place to wear – it was something men used as bragging chip.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 9b
(Anonymous) 2013-06-01 08:40 am (UTC)(link)Merciful heavens, it had been two hundred years and he was surrounded by poisonous gas, walking suits, had a bomb collar strapped to his neck and some crazy old man was trying to pry open his vault – his vault! He couldn’t possibly imagine worse time to be reminded that he still had a pulse. Although, the bomb collar alone was enough to do the trick nicely.
Now was certainly not the time for philosophizing about such things, liaisons… possible intertwining… “There’s certainly no chance for any of that to happen,” he snorted. Even if there were a place the Ghost People avoided, and they set up a perimeter of explosives two blocks in all directions, he still wouldn’t chance it. That she might not be interested was not something that entered his mind until much, much later.
The point around which his mind centered was, surprisingly, that in alarmingly short time he had gotten used to taking to someone. Dean had always talked, and Sierra Madre had always listened but she was never really good at responding – not unless an occasional ghost stumbling on him could be considered a reply.
But the Courier listened, sometimes more than he’d like, and she responded… baited, teased, mocked, pulled, stroked his ego only to finish with a bite and nip…
Dean felt lonely, and not because he was some kind of people person pining after company, oh no, god forbid that! If there was one good thing about Sierra Madre it was that, unlike cockroaches, simpletons were quick to die. No, what he meant was, that simply – after two hundred years of stale silence, one shot of decent conversation was enough for the quiet, which he had endured with relative ease, to make his ears bleed.
Dean sighed, letting out another puff of milky smoke. He was on the roof in Villa’s most dangerous neighborhood, alone, waiting for the music to start again and he longed for some conversation to pass the time. That he wouldn’t mind it at all if it happened to be her…
Then he caught the ludicrous line his thoughts have been going down for a while.
:*.*.*.*.*:
“I am not pining after that damnable tourist!”
The Courier shut down her radio. Dean likely didn’t even know that she could listen in on his private musings and mutterings. Well, Guilty smirked, if he wanted to keep them private he shouldn’t be thinking allowed. And apparently, and much to her enjoyment, he had taken to talking to himself without even realizing it. Pre-war ghouls… all of them had something that made them crazier than your standard fanfare of post-nuclear freaks. Guilty already knew that she couldn’t trust him, but she had underestimated what centuries of loneliness could do to a man of Dean’s appetites.
“Oh, you naughty, naughty boy…”
She brought up the flat front of her dark helmet and gauged her refection as much as she could in the dim light of the switching station. She chuckled. Well, he was good for laughs. And all the attempts not to laugh in his presence were a trial of patience. Good thing she was in possession of a decent helmet.
She wondered if he’d dared to… but no. Not now while he was on that roof waiting for the spectacle to begin. Although, and she grinned, it would be a fun thing to listen.
To the side Christine, busily typing on the terminal, was giving her a stare, and a raised eyebrow pointing at the helmet. She too had been listening to Dean’s clear voice blazing off the pip-boy’s radio. Courier’s eyebrow shot up and she looked at black head covering in her lap.
“It has a filter installed in it.”
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 9c
(Anonymous) 2013-06-01 08:45 am (UTC)(link)Christine had her way with words, and she did not make it simple. Guilty suspected that as much as the assassin wanted to be understood, she also took some nasty pleasure in making dumb people look even dumber. Of course, that only worked if there was around someone clever enough to make the punch-line.
“He’s an adult, a two hundred years old one if you want to get technical. He can take it.”
Another set of hand gestures, light and fluid – Christine’s way of saying something off-handedly – cut through the thin red mist trapped in the underground bunker. Frowning the Courier tried to interpret them. Clicks and fingers bound together, followed by parallel lines matched in motion, starting in different places but ending in the same one – a place somewhere high above them.
“Did you use your collar to listen in on our shenanigans as well?” The Courier asked with a chuckle in her voice though the mirth didn’t reach her eyes. “Were he free to do as he pleased, Dean would not be working with me unless I chose to be his sniveling lackey, so I don’t think ‘working well together’ is how I would describe the last day and a half,” the Courier gestured lightly at her Pip-Boy and Dean muttering on the other side.
The scarred woman shrugged, setting a mask of indifference across her face. Their collective collars were, in fact, radios. Elijah had disabled many things about them, speakers included, but sometimes something came through in form of static and creaking on the handmade radio-bomb. All that remained was static, white noise; nothing could be heard or understood…
Christine signaled her and arched an eyebrow. She brought her arms in a synchronized motion. It was Courier’s turn to look perplexed.
“Dean Domino pines for, among great many deal of other things, anything with a serviceable cunt. You’d fit his bill to, I imagine.” Christine’s scared face scrunched up in disgust, and not just because he was a man. Guilty roared in laughter, it echoed the switching station making the air dance, and shook her head coughing lightly afterwards. “Oh, better not do that. Too much Cloud, even here. Yeah, I can get behind that. No point in waking up next to someone if you’re going to wake up dead. Anyway…” she gestured at the console and then at the elevator, “How far along are you?”
Christine frowned, panic flashing across her now expressive eyes, and quickly turned back towards the monitor.
Guilty leaned back against pipes and consoles. She didn’t consider herself to be a monster (though some would argue), but she wasn’t a miracle worker either. If Christine didn’t find a way to re-establish the connection this terminal used to have with the overall operational system of the switching station, and so gain all the full access on this side, Guilty will have no other choice but to shove her in that elevator shaft to take a trip to mechanical hell, her Auto-Doc phobia be damned.
The Courier had no intention of leaving her bones in this place.
:*.*.*.*.*:
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 9d
(Anonymous) 2013-06-01 08:46 am (UTC)(link)As far as he was concerned, the Courier had been driving him around, through the dark and up the wall – he wished – like some of the worst managers he had experienced in his youth. That was before he had taken their lessons to heart and conning the con-artist had become something of a staple in his career.
With a muttered curse he dropped the cigarette bud and crushed it under his heel. Dean didn’t know if she was giving the same treatment to that mutant creature or the mute girl, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he knew was that his knees didn’t deserve such abuse.
And then, with a distant shot of laser and gurgling dying sound of one of the ghosts, Dean realized one thing. He knew absolutely nothing about this woman! Not how she looked like under all that black padding – something that still gnawed on him; not the core of her personality, he didn’t know of any places to plant his hooks and pull… If there was one word he’s have to choose to describe her, it would be ‘restraint’, because she had shown a lot of that. In fact, that was the only thing about herself she did show willingly and he didn’t need to snoop behind the curtain to catch a glimpse. ‘Patience of a Saint’ was another, but Dean didn’t believe there were such things as saints so that one fell short right at the start.
There was static coming from the radio in his collar. It unsettled him first, made him jump, thinking some speaker in the area had suddenly woke up but it was only the old man. It was show time.
The first spark whizzed out into the air and exploded in multitude of colors, followed by another and another. But Dean didn’t see any of those because the old ghoul singer was already on his feet and running as fast as his old knees allowed him.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 9d
(Anonymous) 2013-08-03 02:28 am (UTC)(link)