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Rosolare la Donna 2/2
Date: 2012-01-01 03:47 am (UTC)"You've pissed off too many of the wrong people, you cocky little cunt. Time for you to shuffle on down the trail."
"Some people just can't stand a girl winning fair and square. Who was it, the Mordinos? The Wrights?"
"Does it matter? You don't give a shit about names, remember?" He grimaces and hefts the sledge, broken teeth streaked with a sick ruddy orange from his bleeding gums that smears when he pats the tip of his tongue over them. "Fucking teeth-busting bitch. I was just supposed to make it look good. Now I'll make it last. Looks like your fancy coat got you killed."
Duster locks eyes with him as he smiles and pulls her own lips up in a rictus, putting every one of her intact pearly whites on display that she can. "Looks like it got me in close, you sonofawhore. Send whoever the fuck and the Golgotha my love."
Her hand flicks out faster than a spurt of heat lightning and slaps against his groin, pulling her up and out of the way of the sledge just in time. He's howling and she's dancing, although it's more of a dirge with that dreck in her blood, the slow, sick march of it taking the sweetness out of the song. Duster holds up her hand as he pats at his now-sopping crotch, waggling the handle of a recently whole switchblade.
"What..."
"Cheap little stick for a cheap little prick."
"How..."
"Never try to cross a cunt or send a tribal tripping, sunshine. You won't win on either account."
She circles him until he drops, retrieves the dart from the sand and thocks it into the side of his skull to send a message back. The crowd's still roaring, she's still on top, but the song's gone fully sour for her now, and she sighs.
"I'm too old for this shit." Duster takes time to make sure whoever pegged her in the neck isn't waiting in the wings before she picks up her knives and staggers off out of the arena, ignoring the crowd, ignoring Jules calling after her, openly walking through the streets until she reaches the weathered door she's looking for. Fine then; if New Reno wants her gone she can take the hint, but it'll be on her own damn terms. Even she can't have pissed off anyone here bad enough to pay for a contract to track her all over the damned NCR and beyond. "I hear you're hiring honest folk."
The oldster across the counter, who has a pate so shiny it would put a new babe's ass to shame, eyes her with his mouth in a pinch. "That we are. You know how to get around?"
Duster laughs. "I think you know I do. Think you know I need to now, too."
He grunts and pushes a battered clipboard across the melamine, the rivets on the back squeaking. "Payment on delivery. Failure means we send someone out to take it out of your hide. You get three hots, two shots and a cot at the main depots upon completion of each job; everything else you have to hunt up for yourself. You can't write your name, just mark down an X."
"I can write my name just fine." She picks up the pencil and scrawls on the dotted line.
'Courier'.
Re: Rosolare la Donna 2/2
Date: 2012-01-02 12:38 am (UTC)That line was so brilliant, I think I'll try to work it into everyday conversation.
Re: Rosolare la Donna 2/2
Date: 2012-01-02 08:23 am (UTC)Anon, that was marvelous. Just amazing. Is there a continuation of this on ff.net? :D
Re: Rosolare la Donna 2/2
Date: 2012-01-02 06:45 pm (UTC)Of this little fic, no. There's another one I did for the lap dance fill on page 3 of this post set way later, but right now my whole attention's on my Fallout 3 story. F:NV soon, though!
Re: Rosolare la Donna 2/2 OP
Date: 2012-01-02 09:31 pm (UTC)Re: Rosolare la Donna 2/2 OP
Date: 2012-01-03 04:58 am (UTC)Re: Rosolare la Donna 2/2
Date: 2014-01-27 02:24 am (UTC)