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) (64b/?)

[(Anonymous)]

“Has nasty recoil, but with a suppressor it’s fairly quiet, and you can be a long ways from your target and still hit them without being noticed.” Lucinda squats next to the rifle. “Runner, you want to keep the brush gun?”

“Uh, sure, ma’am,” Runner agrees. She steps closer, reaches down to take the gun.

“Dredge?” Lucinda asks. “Oughta upgrade from your shotgun.”

“Don’t feel like I really need one,” Dredge replies. “Ain’t like I been doing a whole lotta shooting.”

“I think things are about to change, on that front,” Lucinda says. She picks up one of the two remaining guns, hands it to Dredge--a hunting rifle, scoped, stock carved out of deep red wood and embellished with lacquered-on paintings. “Yours now.”

“Thanks,” Dredge replies, voice flat. She settles it across her lap, runs her good hand over the barrel, the action, the stock, traces the flower pattern. She’s not quite frowning. “I’m keeping the shotgun though,” she adds. Lucinda laughs.

Watch looks at her revolver, turns it one way, then the other, spins the cylinder.

“Hey, Birdy,” she says, slides back down off her rock to land next to her. “You want a gun?” She turns the revolver in her hand, offers it to Birdy grip-first. “You probably won’t ever need it, but at least you would have something in case you do.”

Birdy looks at the revolver, turns first one way, then the other, then carefully takes it.

“You’ll have to show me how to reload it and everything,” Birdy says.

“That’s easy enough, I can do that no problem.” Watch leans back against the rock, stretches her legs out. Birdy’s are longer, even though she’s younger. “I can show you later, if you want?”

“Sure!” Birdy agrees.

On the other end of camp, Runner presses her hunting rifle into Drummer’s hands.

“I don’t need two guns,” she says, and Drummer nods, doesn’t say anything. Stands, walks to the line of guns, line of coats, leaves her repeater next to the last gun, another hunting rifle. She hesitates a moment, glances at Lucinda--who is feeding her bird half-chewed jerky--before she takes one of the ranger’s coats, slides her arms into the sleeves. Buries her nose in the collar--reeks of sweat and dirt and mildew-- rolls her arms back and forth in the sleeves, feels the drag of the quilting across her skin. She turns around, goes back to sit next to Runner and Burn, pressed shoulder-to-shoulder on their sleeping bags.