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Friends will be Friends 5b/8
Date: 2012-04-13 12:08 pm (UTC)“I heard of the things slavers do to the ones they capture. I’m no wasteland doctor, but I do know a little bit of first aid and such. Do you need anything?”
“Not anymore.” That was nothing but the truth. “I guess... oh forget it.”
Her eyes softened for a moment and she put a hand on his arm. “I guess your pride hurts worse than anything else. I know your type of man.”
Shrapnel shrugged. That wasn’t far off the mark, either.
“In any case, once my men are back, they might get that ghastly thing off your neck.”
“I... I’m not sure we can pay you for all that help you’re offering.”
“Bah.” She waved that aside. “We may not have a lot, but out here in the wasteland, we help each other.”
Shrapnel suddenly couldn’t meet her eyes anymore. He had just realised that, for the first time in his sorry existence, someone was helping him. Freely. Just because it was what you did. And with that realisation came another: Had he still been with his gang, he would have robbed this farm bare, killed every living thing here and taken whatever was of value, without any remorse. Would have killed the woman without a second thought. Ever since he had run away from home at ten and succeeded in joining the raiders, he had only taken whatever he had managed to get his hands on, and at that moment he realised what a sorry pit of vomit his life had turned out to be. Drugs, violence, hate, sex, death. It had absolutely no meaning. No meaning at all. His hands began to shake again.
He felt like shit, physically and mentally. He was a piece of shit. How Flak had ever seen anything worth saving in him was beyond him.
And here he was, sitting in that cosy little kitchen, a pregnant woman with her hand on his arm offering him comfort, but if she knew what kind of man he really was, she’d kill him without a second’s hesitation.
The woman, in turn, noticed that he was fighting strong emotions and showed a surprising amount of tact in that she stood up and told him she would fetch some water from the well, probably to give him time to come to grips with himself again. Most likely, she ascribed his reaction to the things he had been through, and Shrapnel had no mind to correct her in that.
A little later he could hear voices, male ones and the woman, and realised that her men had come home from the fields. He also could hear Flak’s voice joining them, but he couldn’t hear what was being said. He just fought with his own feelings until, when the door opened and all four of them entered, he had himself and his face under control again.
x-x-x-x-x-x
“So, ye’re saying that you two alone of a gang of mercs survived the attack, and ye managed to get him away from the slavers how... exactly?” Jake’s voice held as much doubt as his facial expression showed, and Albert didn’t seem convinced, either.
“I just ran for it”, Shrapnel gave back testily. “I thought going out like a light would be better than being a slave. I ran into him...” He jerked his thumb at Flak “...’cause he was just thinking of a way to get me out. I don’t know how he did it, but he disarmed the fucking thing with the tip of a knife.”
“Don’t actually know myself”, Flak said slowly.
Both Jake and Albert looked back and forth between the two.
“Okay”, Shrapnel snapped. “Whaddya think of that story? I’m a raider, and he’s a slaver from Paradise Falls, you know, and we met there when my gang sold a few slave girls there. Next time we were there the slavers didn’t feel hospitable and collared me, and because we’ve been fuckbuddies he arranged a distraction one night so we both could get away. That better?”
Flak wasn’t sure if he should guffaw or strangle Shrapnel to death, but after a few moments of heavy silence that followed these last words, Jake cleared his throat.
Friends will be Friends 5c/8
Date: 2012-04-13 12:10 pm (UTC)Albert, a large broad-shouldered man of very little words, stood up with an affirmative grunt and left the hut. Shrapnel watched him go and didn’t really dare to look at Flak.
When Albert returned a little later he bore a tool box filled with an assortment of spanners, wrenches, screwdrivers and files and a large and sinister looking bolt cropper. He put all those things onto the table, cracked his knuckles, and gave Shrapnel a meaningful look.
“Sit on that chair here, dude”, he said. “And we’ll see about it.”
Flak slowly lit a cigarette and forced himself to keep calm. With those tools he would have had the collar off Shrapnel’s neck in no time at all, but he was forced to hold his tongue because admitting any knowledge about the collar would have given them both away. So he kept silent and watched as Albert examined the collar and tried his luck with several small screwdrivers and wrenches.
In the end, Albert went the path of brute force when all else had failed and applied the bolt cutter. The metal screeched and groaned and the collar cracked and bent and finally, after almost strangling Shrapnel, it gave with a metallic ring and clattered to the ground.
Shrapnel gasped and coughed and gingerly clutched his raw and mangled throat, feeling a few trickles of blood where edges of the bursting metal had broken through the skin.
The woman, who had earlier introduced herself as Rosie, now walked over to him and carefully cleaned the skin of his neck with a rag soaked in something alcoholic. It stung like liquid fire and Shrapnel couldn’t suppress a hiss, but the bleeding stopped.
“There.” Rosie patted his shoulder. “Isn’t that better?”
“Lots.” Shrapnel coughed again. “Is there more water?”
“Ye don’t need no water, boy.” Jake dug into a pocket and produced a canteen that he uncorked before he offered it to him.
Shrapnel took it with a nod of thanks and took a generous swig of whatever infernal stuff it was. It burned in his nostrils and the way down his throat before turning into a pleasant warmth in his stomach. “Thanks”, he muttered after his eyes had stopped watering.
Jake took the canteen and knocked it back before offering it to Flak who declined.
“So”, Jake said, when Albert had finished clearing up his tools. “Now that we got that out of the way, what else would ye need? Might be we could help.”
“That’s very generous”, Flak said. “But I’m afraid we don’t have anything to pay you. All that’s left to us is what we have on our backs.”
“Payment doesn’t have to be in caps”, Jake gave back. “Rosie had you chopping wood for yer dinner, so ye get the picture. We’ve got a stable that needs a new roof. The more hands, the better. And if one of ye two had any knowledge to repair our old generator...”
“I’ll have a look at the generator”, Flak said. “Tomorrow?”
“Sure. It’s dark now, pal. Rosie, find those two a few spare blankets. We don’t have that much space, so I’m afraid you gotta sleep on the kitchen floor.”
“We’ve had worse”, Shrapnel replied.
Rosie came back a few moments later with four blankets. “He might be Elliot’s size, don’t you think?”
“Elliot?” Jake frowned. “That’s right, but would you...”
“I would.” Then she looked at Flak and Shrapnel who looked mildly puzzled. “Elliot was my first husband. He died a few years ago, but I still have all his things. I just... I couldn’t part with them. But you know... he was a practical man. He wouldn’t have wanted them to go to waste.” And then, to Flak, she added: “Would you get up?”
Flak did so, and it turned out that the kitchen bench he had been sitting on was also a crate. Rosie dug into it and dumped several bundles onto the table, two softer ones and one that clanked. “His clothes and boots, and his shotgun.”
Friends will be Friends 5d/8
Date: 2012-04-13 12:12 pm (UTC)“Please.” Rosie pressed her lips together for a second, then sighed. “It’ll rust and be ruined if I continue to keep it here. He would’ve wanted someone who could appreciate it to make use of it. Please, take it. We can use an extra pair of hands here for a lot of things, so you wouldn’t have to feel that you hadn’t paid for it.”
“I’ll... I’m honoured.” And for the second time that day, Shrapnel felt like a rotten piece of shit. Someone had gifted him with a family heirloom, the most beautiful gun he had ever seen, and only because they didn’t know the truth about him. He had to suppress the urge to blurt out the truth just so someone could know; it suddenly seemed too heavy a load to bear.
Rosie mustered him, and he almost felt she knew the truth, that she could read it in his eyes somehow, and avoided her eyes. After a few moments, she patted his arm. “Take it. And now I think we’d best go to bed.”
The door of the farmhouse wasn’t locked. Just bolted from the inside. Nothing and no one could have stopped Flak and Shrapnel from leaving that night, taking the clothes and the guns and everything edible in the kitchen with them and forgetting about those poor, gullible farmers.
And when the sun rose, they rose as well and went with Jake and Albert to help putting a new roof onto the stable. Flak managed to repair the generator. Shrapnel cleared out the clogged pump at the well. And after another week, Shrapnel found himself suddenly employed as a runner, getting a message to the nearest neighbour’s wife to ask for assistance during the birth of Rosie’s child. The woman in question hurried back with him, and with sunrise, Jake and Rosie had a healthy baby daughter.
That was the point when Flak and Shrapnel thought it wise to leave. Jake and Albert both thanked them warmly for all their help, packed them a few provisions together and gave them what ammo they could spare. They made their farewells and left the farm again shortly before noon
x-x-x-x-x-x
Friends will be Friends 5e/8
Date: 2012-04-13 12:15 pm (UTC)Flak lit up a smoke and shrugged. “Don’t know, buddy. We’ve sometimes sent out scouts as far away as Rivet City.”
“Rivet City? Never heard of that place.”
“Never been there, either. It’s supposed to be a big place. Close to a hundred people live there.”
They stood on a small hill and looked back at the chain of hills behind which the farm nestled, hidden from view now after roughly three hours’ walking. Elliot’s clothes, a red, ribbed shirt and a pair of leather pants and a vest, both black, fit Shrapnel well enough which was fine, and his boots fit perfectly, which was a blessing.
Shrapnel patted his own pockets, but those were all empty. Flak offered him a smoke and with a muttered thanks, Shrapnel took it and leaned over the lighter. Puffing his cheeks, he then stared back at the farm again. “You know what I think?”
“What?”
“I think Rosie didn’t swallow our story. I think she... I don’t know. I think she looked right through me. I think she realised that the supposed bullshit I dished out actually was the truth.”
“You sure?” Flak tapped off his ash. “Then why didn’t she have her two men kill us?”
“Fuck if I know.” Shrapnel took a drag and shrugged, shaking his head. “Fuck if I know, buddy. Maybe I’m just imagining things. Going cold must’ve fucking warped my mind to shit.”
Flak didn’t reply, and after a while, he shouldered his bag again and jerked his head.
“Megaton’s that way. Maybe we can find work as caravan guards or something.”
Shrapnel nodded and was about to follow him when he turned around again.
“What is it?”
“Evergreen Mills lies that way”, Shrapnel replied slowly. “There’s a good chance I’ll find that bitch Chippy there at one point.”
“Right. The minx what sold you.”
Shrapnel slowly shouldered his shotgun and brought his smoke to his lips again. He wanted her dead, his rage still burned deeply inside him, but he would have to go there alone. Flak had risked his neck for him and lost everything, and he couldn’t stomach asking him for help again.
“I’m heading west, buddy.”
“Alone?”, Flak asked after a moment’s silence.
“You’ve risked and lost enough, buddy. The bitch’s mine, it’s my revenge. I’ll kill her or die trying.”
Flak replied with a non-committing grunt and for a while, both men stood there and smoked in silence.
“Well then”, Flak finally said. “If you’d rather go alone, then you’d best get going.”
Shrapnel turned around, but Flak’s face was unreadable. “Thanks.” He held out his hand, and Flak took it. “Thanks for saving my sorry arse, buddy.”
“Don’t let it get caught again.”
“I’ve learned my lesson.”
“Right.”
They stared at each other for a moment, then Flak shrugged, shrugged his pack into place and turned around. Shrapnel remained, resisted the urge to call him back because he really owed him enough already and watched as Flak’s broad back vanish down the rise. Then he turned around as well and headed west, for Evergreen Mills, ignoring the feeling that he was taking the wrong way and ignoring the memories of a starlit night and a large, warm and calloused hand toying with his hair.
x-x-x-x-x-x
Re: Friends will be Friends 5e/8
Date: 2012-04-13 06:36 pm (UTC)Everything is believable and even the OCs were well introduced.
My heart nearly broke when they parted at the end and I CANNOT wait to read the rest!
thank you!