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) (99/109b)

[(Anonymous)]

“I didn't think I would ever hear a courier desert,” the spy says. “You folks have it pretty good, from how I’ve heard it.”

The moon has sunk below the horizon, Lucinda guesses, the guards gone silent out in the front room, the deserter asleep and snoring faintly, snorting once in awhile when his snores get too loud.

“It was nice,” Lucinda agrees. She digs her chin into her forearm, where it's wrapped across her knees. She watches the empty hall, keeps the entry door in her peripheral vision. “Born to something like it, hadn’t done it for…” she trails off, tries to do the math. “Almost eight years. I didn't realize how much I missed it until the blisters stopped. I hated it as a kid.”

“I never got the hang of it. Too much time alone.” There’s a rustle of fabric, like maybe the spy is shaking her head. “Always thought you folks were crazy.”

“Might be,” Lucinda agrees, just loud enough to be heard. The silences between them stretched long and undisturbed, and it feels sacrilegious to talk too loudly even now. “I met some odd birds out there while I was working.”

“You have any good stories about them?” the spy asks. There’s a rustle of cloth, the sound of skin on adobe, and a sigh.

“Met someone, she was a--Owl, I guess, maybe a Mockingbird because she was a ghoul, too, or starting toward one, which is a Vulture thing. Owl-Vulture. Met her in a bar out in the desert, one of those shitty little waystations with three bunk beds and a water pump out in the yard and enough moonshine to start the whole desert on fire if you weren't careful.”

The spy hums, low and soft.

“She said she had fourteen siblings, all but two younger than her, said she’d seen some things out in the desert. A deathclaw that talked, ghosts with no eyes that gave her water and a package to carry, a herd of brahmin trampling through the sky in front of a storm. You meet a lot of weird ones out there.” Lucinda shakes her head, sighs, stretches her legs out in front of herself. “I was probably one of them.”

“You don't spend--how long?”

“Five years,” Lucinda says. “Five years as a courier, but thirteen years as tribe before that.”

“Don’t spend eighteen years walking, and five of it alone, without getting a little odd,” the spy says, then laughs a little to herself. “I can do lonely, but I can’t do alone.”

“I’m ready to have a people again,” Lucinda says, soft, and the spy says nothing more.