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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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Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (41a/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-04-15 03:05 pm (UTC)(link)“This will be your supply depot, your quarters will be that building over there,” the recruit drones. He points to a shabby brick building. Pre-war brick, not the safer adobe of the post-war years. “It’s yours, permanently.”
“Thank you,” Lucinda agrees, waves the women toward their new lodgings, follows behind, her bird swooping down onto her arm and cutting the motion short. “You ten settle into our lodgings,” she wrinkles her nose at them, keeps her voice neutral so the recruit behind her won’t see her distaste, “and I’ll go talk with this priestess.”
Twist nods, waves the others along ahead of herself.
“Siri, you come with me. Doctoring is close enough to magic.”
Siri snorts, but steps back to Lucinda’s side.
“We’ll be back in an hour or so, hopefully.”
“I’ll keep Watch up for you,” Twist agrees. Lucinda nods.
The recruit points them to a low adobe building, a flag hanging on the wall and a fire out front. The door is a sheet of corrugated steel wedged in the doorframe.
Lucinda knocks, tosses her arm into the air so her bird flaps up onto the roof. The bird croaks at her, and she makes a noise back.
“Come in,” a woman calls, voice rough and low in her throat. Lucinda hauls the sheet of metal aside, steps into the low, dark room. There’s a fission-battery lamp on a table at the other end, the sound of movement in another room, the rustle of clothing and the clack of dishes and the wheezy breathing of blocked airways. Just the sound of it makes SIri rub at her chest.
“It’s Lucia, ma’am, and her doctor,” Lucinda offers.
“Oh, I know who you are,” the woman replies. She’s still puttering around the other room. “I’ve heard the stories of you and your victories.”
“No deaths in our first victory,” Lucinda says, straightens her spine and inclines her chin.
“An impressive feat,” the priestess agrees, and her footsteps come toward the dark doorway. She steps into the light, and she’s not impressive--’dumpy,’ Siri thinks, with a bottom-heavy face and plain graying hair pulled back. Wearing the same cobbled-together outfits all the other non-slave women do.
Lucinda’s mouth opens, though, and her eyes go wide. She makes a strangled noise in the back of her throat, so soft Siri can barely hear it, even standing so close.
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (41b/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-04-15 03:06 pm (UTC)(link)Lucinda throws herself across the room, wraps her arms around the old woman. The old woman obliges, hugs Lucinda's waist, leans back and lifts her feet from the ground. She laughs, and Siri can’t tell which of them makes the soft noise in the back of her throat.
“I didn’t think you'd live,” Lucinda murmurs. “I thought they would--like they did to--”
“Old woman who knows the changing of the seasons?” the priestess laughs again, sets Lucinda back on her feet. “Old woman who’s seen enough births and deaths she knows the score? Old woman who keeps her mouth shut? The Legion has a place for a woman like that.”
“I thought I was the last one,” Lucinda whispers, so soft that SIri can barely hear that, too.
“Oh no, Little Bird,” the priestess responds, runs her hand over Lucinda’s braid, tugs on it, grins wide. “There are always more of us. We can catch up on your business later, though, you and I. Just as soon as I’ve met this lovely young woman you’ve brought with you?”
“Siri, ma’am,” Siri replies, tucks her chin into her chest and folds her hands in front of herself.
“A beautiful name for a lovely woman,” the priestess response, grins wider. She’s missing teeth, though it's not clear if they rotted or were knocked out, it could be either. “Our Raven picks her women well.”
“I--thank you.” She’s not sure how to respond--this woman knows Lucinda, or did at one time, at least. They talk like they haven’t seen each other in years, so--Dog Town? Before? Has to be before, or she would call Lucinda by one of the light names--Lucinda, Lucy, Lucia.
“And who are you, in her contubernium?”
“I’m the doctor. I never finished my medical training, but I know first aid, and many of the tribal remedies, and--” she presses her hand to the spine of her latest textbook, slung in her bag. “And I’m learning more.”
“And do you have a bird?” the priestess asks.
“No, ma’am,” Siri responds.
“How long have you known--” the priestess pauses for a moment, considers Lucinda. “What name do you use for her?”
“She’s only known me as Lucinda,” Lucinda interjects. She leans on the priestess again, wraps her arms around her and presses her nose into the woman’s shoulder, breathes deep. The old woman pats her back, between her shoulder blades. “She calls me Lucy.”
“How long have you known Lucy, then?” the priestess asks, grinning.
“A year, now,” Siri replies. “We--we met at the Fort. I was serving as the doctor, and she came through on assignment. We spent some time together and got to be--friends.”
“She saved my life,” Lucinda clarifies, lets go of her hug, bends over to tug her pants leg higher and slide her gaiters lower, to show off the scar that covers her entire left shin. “I stepped on a bear trap, it went septic. She stabilized it and saved me from dying of gangrene.”
“You did, did you?” the priestess asks, looks to Siri, raises her eyebrows. Looks fascinated, almost congratulatory.
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (41c/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-04-15 03:11 pm (UTC)(link)“I did,” Siri agrees. “I was doing my job,” she tries to clarify, because she’s seen the look on the priestess's face before, remembers her own aunt making that face as she considered husbands for her daughters, for Siri, for the other children in her generation--the hazards of being related to the matchmaker. “I would do it for anybody.”
“Good,” the priestess responds. “The world needs more women like you, more doctors, more women with real training.” She extricates herself from Lucinda’s arms, strides over to Siri. She holds out one hand, and Siri carefully takes it. “I’m pleased to make your acquaintance, Siri. Lucinda knows me as Owl-Eagle, and that’s a good enough name.”
“It’s a pleasure to meet you, too, Owl-Eagle.”
Owl-Eagle laughs.
“Has she taught you about the birds yet?”
“No, ma’am. She’s told me a few things, but she’s never explained in depth.”
“You not trust her?” Owl-Eagle asks Lucinda, who stands with her hands on her hips. Owl-Eagle hasn’t let go of Siri’s hand, and Siri drinks the contact in. Owl-Eagle’s hands are warm, dry, broad, the sort of hands her father had. Making hands, her grandmother would have called them.
“There hasn’t been time,” Lucinda replies. “In between the surviving being shot in the head and the bear trap and the babysitter they assigned me, and now with this job, I haven’t had time.”
“All you have right now is time, girl,” Owl-Eagle responds. “You take your girl home and you tell her about the birds.”
“She’s not my girl,” Lucinda replies. Scowls.
“We’re not--together,” Siri adds. She pulls her hands away, holds them up at her shoulders like she’s surrendering. “We’re friends but we’re not--”
“Not involved,” Lucinda agrees. “Just friends.”
“Just friends, hm?” Owl-Eagle asks. “‘Just friends’ like Old Raven and your mother, or ‘just friends’ like our dear old Vultures were?”
“Like my mother and Old Raven,” Lucinda replies, scowls.
Owl-Eagle laughs.
“If you say so, Raven. Why don’t you go see to your…” she trails off, scrunches her face up. “Team,” she finally says, nods, “And I’ll talk with Siri here for a bit.”
“Of course.” Lucinda nods. “There are a few of them you’d like to meet, I think. Dredge is an Eagle, no questions. Birdy’s another Raven. And we have a fifteen year old, goes by Photo because she found a camera and some film and likes to take pictures of us, she’s a Pigeon.”
“A Pigeon.” Owl-Eagle nods approvingly. “Not so many of those, especially not now.” Owl-Eagle steps back, away from Siri, away from the door. “And what is Siri?” she asks, looking between Lucinda and Siri.
Lucinda considers, for a moment, glances at Siri before looking everywhere else.
“Owl,” she finally says. “She doesn’t know the sky and the ground and the way people are, not the way Runner does, but she does know how to fix a person, knows how all the parts fit together to make a whole person. Knows how to read people, too.” Lucinda pauses again, presses her lips tight. “A quiet Mockingbird, maybe. Not a loud one.”
“I'll keep that in mind. Now shoo. We have things to discuss without a Raven around to listen in on us.”
Lucinda grins, laughs, throws herself into Owl-Eagles arms again. She says something--and Siri hears bastard Spanish, bastard English, bastard Chinese, blended together, hears no words she can quite decipher--and Owl-Eagle says something back in the same language.
“Now go,” Owl-Eagle tells her, pushes her toward the door. “And I expect to meet your bird very soon, Raven. You bring her around and let me tell her embarrassing stories about you.”
“I will,” Lucinda agrees. “She’s just right outside.”
“No, no, you go settle into your house. I’ll meet her tomorrow.” Owl-Eagle waves at the door again, and Lucinda looks back at her, grins as she moves the sheet of metal back over the door.
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (41d/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-04-15 03:13 pm (UTC)(link)Siri wraps her arms around her stomach.
“How do you feel about tea?” Owl-Eagle asks.
“It’s been a long time,” Siri responds.
“Oh, I would imagine.” Owl-Eagle waves her along, into the dim room in the back. She lights a lamp with a match, shakes it out, deposits it in an overflowing ashtray. “How long since the Legion took your town?”
“Three and a half years. How did you know I was from--”
“‘Tribal remedies.’ A girl who learned them growing up might call them ‘old remedies’ or ‘old ways’ or just ‘the things my grandmother taught me.’ Someone from a town calls them tribal.” Owl-Eagle dumps water into two mugs, arranges them on a hot plate. “I’m impressed that you willingly took to them. A lot of the town girls I know refused, because they thought a town would have better medicine.”
“They don’t, most of the time,” Siri agrees.
“I’m glad you’re not too proud to see that. Here, why don’t you sit down.” Owl-Eagle points to a rickety folding chair. “I have a few questions for you.”
“It’s been a long time since anyone asked me questions, too.” She folds her hands in her lap, digs the heels of her hands into the canvas of her pants. They’re gritty--everything is gritty, what she wouldn’t give for a washing day and a clothesline--but it’s grounding.
“They're easy questions,” Owl-Eagle laughs. “How do you like your tea?”
“Weak,” Siri admits. Owl-Eagle laughs.
“That wasn’t one of my questions, sorry.” She passes the mug over to Siri, and something that looks like a homemade teabag. She settles onto the bare mattress with her own mug and teabag. “My real questions are harder than that.”
“I never went to medical school, mind you,” Siri replies, smiles into her mug. Can she joke here? Is that allowed? Owl-Eagle laughs, a big, wide sound.
“No medical questions, I assume you know what you’re doing. How is--Lucy? How is she doing? As her friend, not her doctor.”
“She--” Siri looks away. “She’s certainly done better, but she’s doing alright now.”
“Good, I’m glad to hear it. And you? How are you doing?”
“Better than I have in years.”
“And why is that?” Owl-Eagle folds her legs up under her, sits cross-legged at the edge of the bed. She sips her mug.
Say They Fear Her (f!courier/siri) (dubcon, referenced noncon) (41e/?)
(Anonymous) 2016-04-15 03:13 pm (UTC)(link)“Why are you better? Is it because you have a girl? is it because there aren’t men hurting you? Do you enjoy your work?”
Siri is quiet, stares into her tea.
“Lucinda cares,” she finally says, mostly into her mug. “She--she was with Birdy the whole time she was giving birth, sat with Dredge the same. She puts us over a flawless mission. I’ve seen her do--do what the Legion asked her to, I suppose, but us, the contubernium she was given.” Siri drinks from her mug, gathers the words. “She cares.”
“Are you two together?” Owl-Eagle’s eyes are flat, her face blank.
“No,” Siri replies. “We're not. There’s--we--I--” she gives up and drinks again, focusing on the cabinet full of things beside the bed. She tries to sort the words around in her head. “I wouldn't be opposed, please don't share that, but we--no.”
“I understand.” Owl-Eagle nods. “How long do you plan on staying with her?”
“I don’t know.”
Owl-Eagle laughs again. “There are some things you should learn, if you’ll stick with her long enough for her to really consider your team a tribe, and if you’ll take the title she’s decided on for you.” She stands and goes to her cupboard, pulls out a sad, once-waterlogged book. There’s a stain across the cover, faded but visible. “Read this. Learn to sing them, she knows the tunes. You take your name and you get yourself a bird, we can talk about the other book I might have for you.”
“I--I couldn’t possibly--”
“Take it, Siri. I’d rather it not sit here and mold away like the rest of the books I saved.”
“I--” Owl-Eagle presses the book into her hands. The title is too faded and the cover too warped to read.
“Please,” Owl-Eagle whispers. “The tribe was built by women like you, and that’s the only reason it’s lasted this long. We’re dead, now. All of us who knew. We’re dead, or we’re dying.”
Siri stares at the book for a long moment.
“I couldn’t,” she finally repeats. “I’m just a sla--”
“Don’t you say you’re just a slave, girl. Slaves changed the world, and they will again, and you’re more than that.” Owl-Eagle inclines her chin. “If you won’t take it, at least give it to Lucinda. She’ll keep it.”
“I'll do that.” Siri can feel herself collapsing in. She doesn’t know this woman, as much as Lucinda trusts her, and if she was part of Lucinda’s tribe, Lucinda hasn’t seen her in at least over a decade. She could have changed.
“Thank you,” Owl-Eagle says softly, deposits the book in Siri’s hands. “Now, finish your tea, and then go home and sleep.”
“Thank you,” Siri says, and swallows the last of her tea.