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) (78/?)

[(Anonymous)]

Birdy, Photo, Dredge, and Twist are over at Owl-Eagle's adobe, Dredge laughing long and loud at something Owl-Eagle said too quietly to carry. Watch and Tooth are up on the roof, again, and Tooth nods as Lucinda rounds the nearest building and comes into view. Burn, Drummer, and Runner are circled around the firepit, Burn and Runner laughing, Drummer napping with her head in Burn's lap and her feet in Runner's. Siri sits on the steps, textbook open in her lap, to a chapter Lucinda could have sworn she read already.

Lucinda clicks her tongue, waves her fingers at her bird, and the bird hops down onto her arm.

"Siri, would you mind entertaining her for a bit?" she asks, leans down so her arm is next to Siri's shoulder. Siri looks up, brow furrowed.

"Where are you going?" she asks.

"I'll just be in the house, but I'm--just keep her here for fifteen minutes or so, please?"

"Of course," Siri murmurs, and the bird hops down onto her leg when she sets her book aside. Runner looks over at them, smiles, and runs her fingertips up the bottoms of Drummer's feet. Drummer jerks her legs away, grumbles, kicks her heels into Runner's thigh. Burn laughs.

Lucinda sheds her coat with a flump in the entryway, next to the fire barrel, her scarf at the doorway to the kitchen. She pauses in the doorway, looks over the furniture in the room. She goes for the blankets and the sleeping bags, first, drags them out on top of her coat. The mattress comes next, gets leaned against the wall across from the doorway to the front room. The songbook is moved from the ugly linoleum table and placed gently on her coat. Her bird squawks, and Siri tries to gentle her around the other direction so she doesn't take off.

There's a full--or nearly full, the distinction doesn't matter, here and now, and really won't matter in five minutes--set of dishes in one of the cupboards, pretty flowery china in delicate white and pink, covered in roses and twining vines. The Legion men never bothered to take it--too pretty, too pre-war, too feminine--and everyone on the team is so used to their tin plates none of them bothered to look for others. Lucinda slides a saucer off the top of the stack, holds it between two fingers as she sets the rest on one of the extra chairs against the back wall. She readjusts her grip on the saucer, once the stack is set down, so it sits in the curve between her first finger and her thumb.

She cocks her arm back, and throws as hard as she can.