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F!Courier/Dean Domino - the longest fucking dry spell
Date: 2012-04-15 10:49 pm (UTC)Basically I really want more Dean Domino smut up in this meme. He needs some lovin', and after that Black Widow line, F!Courier is clearly the one to give it to him.
Bonuses -
- Dean refusing to give up control even though it's pretty clear he's gagging for it
- F!Courier being a wily lady and alternately flattering/demeaning him, getting him worked up in the worst of ways
- SUPER bonus if they hook up in the Madre and then he follows her to Vegas, and as revenge for her relentless teasing in the resort, starts simultaneously sabotaging her relationships and wooing her.
- Incredible endless love and willingness to fill any of your prompts if her primary romantic relationship is with Raul and the upshot of everything is a Dean/Courier/Raul threesome.
THOUGH BASICALLY ANY DEAN IS GOOD DEAN.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - the longest fucking dry spell
Date: 2012-04-15 11:13 pm (UTC)Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - the longest fucking dry spell
Date: 2012-04-18 10:36 am (UTC)Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - the longest fucking dry spell
Date: 2012-04-23 08:02 am (UTC)Quick question for OP: Would you mind F!LW instead of F!Courier?
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - the longest fucking dry spell
Date: 2012-04-23 06:46 pm (UTC)AND I AM SO UP FOR YOU POTENTIAL AUTHOR ANON.
/enters idolisation mode
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - the longest fucking dry spell
Date: 2012-05-16 12:21 am (UTC)Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - the longest fucking dry spell
Date: 2012-05-16 02:17 pm (UTC)F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1a
Date: 2013-03-01 08:44 pm (UTC)Pairing: Dean Domino/F!Courier
Summary: Dean has been alone in the Madre for one decade too many, so naturally, anything and everything the Courier does must somehow pertain towards him. Or at least he chooses to think so.
The cloud was still, thick at places and curling around columns and collapsed walls. She found it strange and unsettling at first. But then she realized – there was no wind in Sierra Madre. The Courier licked her lips and ran her tongue across the rooftop of her mouth. God said the air tasted like copper. Old. Older than some of the vaults she had been in, and yet, this place still held the appearance of barely having seventy years on it. Some walls and roofs were torn down but she suspected those came from deliberate action – like with explosives.
“Just because the ghosts can’t see further than their noses doesn’t mean they won’t find us if you keep lollygagging out in the open.”
Dean’s explosives, for example. Although other ‘tourists’ could have helped demolition along the way.
The Courier focused her attention at the far end of the street. There was a ghost creature there, near the small fountain. It shuffled, eerie green glow of its mask leaving trails as it jumped a fair distance and – sniffed the air, she thought was the appropriate term. Focusing on the Cloud behind it she spotted several more pairs of irradiated green dots shuffling through the red haze. There was no questioning her tracking skills or her Pip-Boy’s tracking program. A pack was on the hunt.
For all intents and purposes that way was blocked to her – well, her and the singer; and unless the things spread out long enough for her to pass through the Cloud infested square littered with traps, it was rooftops for her again. Not a bad option, except she really wanted to get into that building they’ve taken to guarding.
The Courier watched them gather and go around setting traps when one raised its head in her direction. She was fairly certain that it couldn’t see her – proved by the fact that she had already managed to move passed them in these close built streets – but this one kept focused on her location for longer than she was comfortable with.
Keeping low she pulled herself from behind of the dead tree’s bench, and back around to pillars to the entryway of the café, where the old ghoul waited near slightly ajar door. It was set in prime position for Dean to slip in and shut them tight at the first sight of a ‘local’ deciding to take a stroll down their ally with couple of ‘friends’. Under cover of the Cloud they both slid inside and barred the door settling at either side of them, listening. Outside was deathly silence, interrupted only by a distant sound of heavy hissing breath, shuffling of feet and an occasional clang of a bear trap being dragged against cobbled stone.
Bear traps? Why did the Sierra Madre have a supply of bear traps? The singer had no answer for her. No agreeable answer.
The thing moved next to café’s door, stopped and suddenly sounds of metal against metal, and metal against stone were heard. The low commotion and tinkering, along with grunts and wheezing lasted for a few moments before slowly disappearing between distant streets. Both Dean and the Courier looked at each other, realizing that the Ghost People have probably left a present for them right outside the door – complete with snares that would take away their legs in one bite. Another path was blocked to them.
Still, the traps were outside and they were inside so they, or at least the Courier did, allowed themselves a moment to catch their breath, and relax for a bit.
Pale light of the hologram standing idly behind the counter reflected on Dean’s sunglasses and her black helmet as they stared at each other. Dean quickly stood up pulling out a pack of cigarettes from his tuxedo. Smoke curled around his face and there was a sound of deep sigh – possibly of relief but the former star would be hardly pressed to admit to it.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1b
Date: 2013-03-01 08:53 pm (UTC)“Why fret?” the Courier called from her place by the door, her voice muffled by that darn helmet and her head bowed over her pip-boy as she tapped one button after the other. “You know better than anyone of us how blind they are.”
“Yes. I also know that they outnumber us like a wasp hive outnumbers a tarantula…” he paused, sarcasm losing its speed a bit, for the lack of a better analogy, “Or whatever that prey may be. This is not the first time your nose poking into every corner had me almost killed.” He turned, glaring behind his sunglasses at the nigh invisible hunched figure in the black suit of armor.
In truth, she had managed to snuck up to more than a few lone locals and disable them in a rather gory manner which would insure them never rising up again; and thus ensuring his own increasing survival rate – but still! Dean would not even be in this situation had she not insisted to take the long way around, passing through every door not nailed shut or taped down, crossing every roof that looked marginally capable of holding her weight, making the damn collar beep by going on into the parts unknown, perusing her useless scavenger hunt… Oh, she had singlehandedly invited death by explosion, the Ghost People dragging him away and heart attack. The way things were going he just had to pick the lottery ticket and pray it would be a painless one.
But Dean Domino had not survived as long as he did in the Villa by taking the long way around if it happened to be littered with undying monstrosities from the depths of whatever place that cooked up the Cloud. Or by letting some tourist yank his explosive leash left and right at her suicidal whim in search of… paper scraps.
“And you act like you’ve never went scavenged before,” she said quickly pushing one such small scrap of paper she had found earlier back into her pocket. Dean noticed immediately, both it and how she slipped past his question and he was not pleased in the least. The tourist was up to something. He didn’t know if it involved him – and for the sake of his own hide he decided to presume that it did – but he would not let it come that far.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1c
Date: 2013-03-01 08:56 pm (UTC)The Courier waved her hand dismissively and settled on the opposite side of the counter, sliding through the silent dealer. The holographic head played shadows and left quickly diminishing imprints on smooth surface of her black helmet – like a fake, always smiling face. It was needlessly creepy, and Dean had the guts to admit it to himself. “We’ll use the rooftops,” she said, “I’ll get you to your stage in time for the main event. It’s not like Elijah can start the show without you.” Black helmet tilted to the side as she leaned over the counter and watched him.
“I suppose don’t have anything to worry about then, do I? Oh, except several hundreds of Ghost People swarming this roof in droves once the band starts playing,” he snapped spitefully but when he looked up she was not there at the receiving end of his complaint.
“I hardly doubt there are hundreds of Ghost People out there,” her voice, muffled as it was, came from bellow. She was, in long respected tradition of any wastelander, rummaging through the cupboards under the counter. “They can’t reproduce, and from what you’ve told me more people die a safe death out here,” one hand peeped up, gesturing vaguely at the front door, “than get dragged away by them.”
“Now there’s optimistic for you.”
Some junk food along with something else was plopped on the counter, interrupting him.
“So unless the empty suits have mutated to the point they can breed I don’t think you have too much to worry about.”
“Is that so? Sure glad one of us knows what you’re doing.” ‘Thick with sarcasm’ didn’t even begin to cover the tone of his voice. He knew she was deluding herself because experience had taught him otherwise. What she had said might make sense – or indeed, would make sense, were they in any other place but here. But they weren’t. They were in Sierra Madre. And Sierra Madre had a life of her own, a rhythm one had to follow or die. The tourist had better learned to tap-dance to it fast or his head will be up for grabs along with hers.
“Now, how about making some of that famous martini of yours?” She shook a foul smelling jug and there was something of a grin in her voice. He assumed so since he couldn’t see it. With a downturn of his lips he pulled a cigar hanging from the corner and snuffed it out in a nearby ashtray, before taking the offered pitcher.
“I’ll have you know, I don’t make a habit of serving drinks to others,” he said in a flat tone.
“I won’t cross the line and try to abuse your generosity.” Courier’s voice, tingling as it did, didn’t exclude the possibility of a ‘much’ following that statement. One exposed muscle under his right eye took a moment to tic. This was already the longest heist of his life, and Dean was confident that he could endure a little more of this tag-along game, before the vault laid sprawled open before him.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1c
Date: 2013-03-02 03:47 am (UTC)Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 1c
Date: 2013-03-03 02:18 am (UTC)F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 2a
Date: 2013-03-05 09:25 am (UTC)I’ll also try to stay on course for the OP’s prompt, but Dean does what Dean wants to do. He might just run off chasing the ladies at the Tops when I’m not looking :P
*-*-*
It was a welcomed break. Tense as all hell, but still welcome. Sierra Madre didn’t offer much opportunity for rest outside of that safe haven Dean had cultivated over the years. Not that ‘safe’ and ‘Madre’ could possibly exist in the same sentence, or the same universe for that matter, Dean pondered while mixing drinks, a foul-smelling concoction that it was.
As he pulled out couple of glasses he glanced at where she had leaned against the bar and under the light of the hologram spread out all the paper and holotapes she had found so far. It wasn’t too bad to have someone watch his back, he mused; and having a partner was, for a heist of this size, a must for him to pull it through. The potential bother that she was roped into being his partner didn’t even begin to make a step across his mind. After all, charm and a bit of persuasion here and there were required to get his previous partner to commit fully to the heist. What he hadn’t counted on was the old man, who had shackled him into such a demeaning position as well.
Dean didn’t consider himself particularly fussy. He would take what he could get. Until the opportunity presented itself and he could get something better. One step at the time, and a patience of a veteran safari hunter was how he worked.
She raised her helmet a bit so she could take a drink. He took notice of it instantly. He could see her lips, dried and cracked but nicely shaped, and there was a thin scar snaking around her chin. She still had all her teeth – that he could see – and that surprised him. He wouldn’t think that anything like dental hygiene still existed, never mind the constant dangers of living involved. Thick shadow covering upper part of her face left quite a lot to the imagination. For all he knew she could have a peeled off and cleanly polished skull from her nose up.
It was a fleeting glance, but at least he knew she didn’t appear to be like him. A ghoul. It took some time getting used to the slang when the first tourists appeared in Sierra Madre couple of decades ago. He was still Dean Domino. Lack of skin did not change who the man was inside. Maybe, just maybe, it made it more apparent.
He understood the need to be covered head-to-toe in protective gear in a place that had a habit of killing its visitors at every corner, twist, alleyway, catwalk, roof, room and toilet. The very air of Madre could kill. But why wouldn’t she dignify him and raise her visor when they spoke was beyond him. As a matter of fact, it was infuriating. And it became infuriating the moment he had noticed that she had, in fact, revealed her face whenever talking to the mutant.
A bit of professionalism wouldn’t hurt when you have to look at your partner in the eye and shoot them.
Not that he was planning any of that. Yet. He had other things to focus on.
“What are you so possessed of collecting that requires of you to look under every staircase?” He asked when she just slugged her drink down, like it was some kind of third-rate cider, and kept on looking over her pip-boy. She glanced up and showed him.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 2b
Date: 2013-03-05 09:26 am (UTC)‘Liquor shipment finally came in today - didn't realize working here would be like working in a dry state. Just need to keep it out of sight of security and Sinclair, and ought to take the edge off the day, keep it stashed in the back.’
And then the other, ‘One thing about the liquor they're shipping in, it's making somebody talk - the big man came down today and told us that we have a sweet deal set up, and one slipped word in front of security can bring this all crashing down... for real.’
“Bootlegging?!” Of all the things to put his life in danger for…! This was a good cause – as were many others, but that wasn’t important now! – for Dean Domino to get more than just a bit livid. “You dragged me all over this deathtrap so you could read about a band of morons who thought to profit of Sinclair’s stuck up idiocy?!”
Black helmeted face rose to meet his. “I’ve put you in just about the same amount of danger you put yourself in by staying in Madre,” she cut in calmly. “These were scattered along the way,” she gestured at her loot.
Dean’s jaw tightened. She plucked on a sour note in there somewhere. He had his reasons for staying – some very good reasons – none of which he had to place before her feet. “I don’t need you criticizing my choices. Or are you trying to say that the rest of the world is better off? Mojave? Is it free of mutated monstrosities?”
Black helmet kept staring. Then she snorted, “Far from it. But in its defense, the Mojave at least gives you the opportunity and more space to go around any monstrosity that sees you as lunch. And the lack of Cloud is also a blessing…” and then she went back to strangely well-preserved paper, her voice trailing off. “But, whatever. Have it your way.”
Again they fell into simmering silence. They did that a lot. Two stubborn bighorners vying for the spot at the front of the heard – the lead position in this case. And even if what he was doing currently consisted mostly of following, Dean still liked to think of himself as someone with an upper hand.
“If…” she started slowly, and Dean’s eyebrow arched at the tame tone she had taken. “If these vending machines could create anything out of a single chip,” a prospect which was fascinating her, “why the black market?”
“Why? Because not everyone could get what they needed from those little toy boxes. Or what they wanted.” When her black helmet just kept staring at him like some miniature black monolith, the ghoul deigned to elaborate, “They could only produce things that were hard built into their programing. Chems, for instance, were available only to selected personnel, usually medical. Guns and other weapons were restricted to security here; although, from what I’ve seen, Sinclair’s chefs could do more damage with a single knife than a whole rodeo show of local officers,” he added in afterthought before looking at the sickly colored liquid at the bottom of his glass almost as if memories have pooled down there. “You couldn’t even get bottle of decent wine unless you had special authorization code.”
For which one had to pay heavily in the casino, if she had to take a guess.
“Sinclair made sure all the money went to one place. Called it self-sufficient, or something like that. He favored his little puppet and light show,” his voice trailed off.
She listened to him speak, tell a tale of old world. Dean had a soothing voice… when he wanted. Not comparable to softness of Graham’s, and one had to ignore the constant note of superiority woven across and in-between, but all in all, she could see why people would flock to listen to him sing. His personality certainly didn’t bring in the money.
They sat in silence surrounded by pale light, resting. Recovering. It was a place of safety in a very mad world.
“Don’t you feel very grateful for that puppet show right about now?” She asked, covering her face once more, and the hologram beside them flickered.
“They make for better company than most other people, that’s for sure.”
There was no question about who those other people were. Though, it could not be excluded that in the case of Dean Domino that could easily mean everyone else.
“Of course they do,” she answered.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 2b
Date: 2013-03-05 02:48 pm (UTC)F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 3a
Date: 2013-03-09 05:35 pm (UTC)Oh, he had been in tight spots before. In Sierra Madre, waking up alive in the morning didn’t guarantee your evening will be just as fortunate. But that was just him and his quick wits in a life and ‘not dying tonight’ predicament. Not a bomb around his neck, not some girl, and an old man on the radio dictating where he should go, what he should do, how to do it… An old man who had discovered how to enter the casino in a matter of months while he had been languishing in this hole for-
He stopped himself. Now was not the time for that. Soon he will finally enter the casino and after that… well, he had plan in place. He just had to be present to execute it. Dean looked down at his drink and then up the woman sitting with back to him. He’d question her sense of self-preservation but this suited him fine for when the time came.
There was also the question of his new ‘bow tie’ but he figured he’d cross, burn and bomb that bridge once he got to it.
“So, who’s Danny Parker?” She asked cutting his marching thought process in half. To his credit, he didn’t slip or perform any remotely embarrassing overreaction at this most unexpected question.
“What prompted this on?” He asked curiously in turn, because he really couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would ever ask about that weasel. He couldn’t think of any reason why anyone would even know about Danny Parker, of all people, today.
Her shoulders made a little shrug, “You keep mentioning him. And in a way that makes me think it involved a bullet and his head.”
“Danny Parker… There wasn’t a person alive,” he paused briefly and corrected himself, “alive at the time, who didn’t want to put at least one bullet in that empty head of his. Some would have gladly paid for more than one.” He chuckled, images flashing behind his eyes. Memories from before the war, before the bomb, of people he worked with, people he saw nightly, some of them insufferable, others he just hated – memories of happier, better, different times.
She remained silent, choosing instead to lean on her elbows and forearms and look at him curiously, if curious could be attributed to a blank helmet. A rapt audience – if there was one thing he never got tired of… “Danny Parker was one, if not the, penny-pinching men of his time. He wasn’t an artist, not like I. Money was his only passion, and singing was a yellow-brick road to gaining a whole lot more of it. The cheap, catchy tunes he sang, the polished appearance of a mannequin in boutique store – all of it! Just to squeeze a penny more from the audience, from his agent, even from the record house. And it showed in his performances.”
The Courier wasn’t sure how much to believe him – not the bit about his alleged greed; greed had survived the war perfectly fine and was busily working its way into the new world. It was that Dean Domino didn’t seem like someone who tolerated people on the best of days for some very strange reasons.
“Was he a competition for you?” She asked.
“Competition?!” The ghoul’s head snapped up faster than an angry radscorpion’s tale. “Are you mad?! Danny Parker couldn’t string five notes together and make them sound like cats rutting, let alone make music,” he bolstered loudly. “Competition, she says,” he snorted under his breath lighting another cigar. “As if.”
“That so? His posters, those who aren’t singed and still readable show him playing…”
Dean’s brain short-circuited at ‘poster’ and completely ignored the rest of her words. Like doused in water, the cigar sagged at the corner of his lips. “Come again?”
“What’s the thing called… – a piano, yes. He seemed rather popular, considering the…”
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 3b
Date: 2013-03-09 05:39 pm (UTC)The Courier realized, albeit too late, that she had stepped on the territory not unlike a minefield. She had already detonated a large one and had to thread very carefully not to offset any more that could blow up in her face. “I’ve seen a few around,” she started slowly, “on old buildings and such…” Casinos too. Theaters. Other previously important and prominent places. Of course, Danny Parker’s were not the only ones hanging there, but that was a can of two hundred years old food she’d rather avoid opening if possible.
“Well, how utterly marvelous! There’s just no justice in this world.” But he knew that already. That was why he had sat out to make his own justice so long ago. He leaned against the bar, fingers digging into decorative prewar marble. Sharp and predatory, his eyes narrowed on her. She had a feeling where this was going. “Well then, courier, how about you tell me of other-…”
Quite to surprise of both of them, and immense annoyance of one, there was a loud thump on floor above, and in the silence of the resort that gasping and heavy breathing was instantly recognizable. The Ghost People have entered the building.
Sierra Madre had sharpened the old singer’s reflexes but even Dean was surprised when his bowtie was yanked roughly and he tumbled over the counter with an ugly remark regarding any tearing in his suit, as heavy and clumsy steps clobbered down the stairs. His back was pressed tightly against the bar’s wall, the clicking and snorting sounds grew louder as the creature shuffled closer.
She pressed against him, body flushed against his, one of her legs sliding between his and his bowtie still held in a tight fist as she forced him to lay low, almost forced the breath out of his lungs in effort to keep him silent. And Dean was quiet. Dean was very quiet. Their earlier conversation, something about posters and stingy, incompetent weasels from the past – puff! Completely forgotten. Gone with the wind. And it was not all because a creature of nightmares had finished stumbling down the stairs, moved close to the wall and around the corner. Threat of fate worse than death hung heavy in the air around them, but even in a moment like this his body seemed to delight in making observations that had no business coming to forefront of his mind.
For example; the way her bulky armor wasn’t all that bulky to begin with. Or how judging by the shape underneath, which he was trying to focus away from curtsy of one of Sierra Madre’s local residents, she was in fact smaller than him and not, as it first appeared towering over him from every shadow, a creature of bloated proportions. Or how that shape was something he had not seriously thought about in relation to himself in any way for a long, long time. One could say that her outer layer of armored padding was designed with a sole purpose to fool anyone into believing she was all block of meat and bulletproof material. That’s how Dean chose to interpret it anyway, seeing how he fell for it.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 3c
Date: 2013-03-09 05:39 pm (UTC)Fortunately for both of them, the moment it noticed the hologram which turned towards new prospective customer, even one simple one programmed to act as vendor, the creature let out a hissing sound that could only be described as startled nightstalker in the way of a rampaging deathclaw, and started to pull back.
The Courier used the opportunity and all but knocked Dean out of her way roughly as she dashed low. Butt of her holorifle came up and connected with creature’s head knocking it backwards and forcing it to stumble back. Even rattled with fear as it was, it still whizzed threateningly and swung with its gauntleted arm. She ducked, avoiding it and with a flip of her wrist brought her gun up, pointblank with creature’s head and neck, and before it could react a one, two, three, four shots were heard and a spray of white fluid covered her helmet.
The body collapsed and with a few steps she skipped over it and was up the stairs to make sure no others followed the struggler. And also to close any doors Madre’s draft may have opened. A moment later measured steppes were heard as she came back down.
“I just have to say, you make one killer martini. Now… right, then…. We can leave through the upstairs’ room,” she took several deep breaths and Dean noticed the clear sound of her voice. He pulled himself up from separating the head from the rest of thing’s body just in time to see the woman lower the visor on her helmet and catch the glimpse of a smug, self-satisfying, utterly competent smirk which rang that too-close-to-home bell. It had all the effect of a whiplash on Domino’s mood.
There was no pit deep or dark or hellish enough, for Sinclair to rot in for all the times to come.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 3c
Date: 2013-03-12 06:34 am (UTC)F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4a
Date: 2013-03-14 04:59 pm (UTC)“Where there’s a bear trap, Ghost People aren’t far behind,” coming up beside her Dean warned in such a flat tone and the Courier’s shoulders rolled as she rearranged weight from one foot to another, avoiding grime colored traps. She didn’t pause in her steps but her mind kept making a full circle as she mulled over the tight spot that kept winding down on her. Two fingers drummed on the casing of her pip-boy as the black helmet turned in the shadows.
He had a cigar in his mouth. This was the fifth Dean had in the past hour, and the only one he managed to finish, the rest being deposed in various ways that involved minor crushing or all-out mayhem. His snide remarks have trickled to almost a standstill – almost, and what little he did offer was more acidic than acerbic. And the Courier was not oblivious to this.
When it came to Dean, she was not sure whether to think of him as frightening or just mad. Not Elijah mad, not the explosion of insanity ready to take over like a whirlwind of nuclear blast, but the slow burn that ate the people away from the inside over the years. He had chosen to stay so long and knew this city, its traps and pitfalls the same way she knew the secret back-roads through the Mojave wasteland. And she didn’t like it. God, with all his tightly focused aggression and muscles to rival a Securitron, was a safer bet than the ghoul.
She managed to steal a glance of the sour singer who seemed to alter between deciding whether to throw saturnite knife at her back or stare off into the Cloud. He was like that, she noticed, running hot and cold, and sometimes both at the same time. But hot and cold was not accurate enough to describe Dean’s current state.
She remembered meeting him, polite offer to ‘put her feet up’, explosives rigged chair and all. And she remembered how seriously she had considered shoving that overblown ego of his so far down his throat the collar wouldn’t be able to make a peep. But she had relaxed and decided, not now. Let him be pleasantly surprised when Elijah broke the news to his delicate sense of self-worth. Had she been of petty sort the look on his face when he realized that the bomb collars were now linked, as opposed the time when no hell or high water could’ve made the scavengers cooperate, would’ve made her want for a functional camera.
She had to admit, it was a feat, or a miracle, that he had survived alone in this death-pit of a town for two centuries. This, in retrospect, only proved that one should not stay alone in the room with him; particularly, any chairs, or any other frequently used piece of furniture, he had been left alone with should be thoroughly checked for methods of mass destruction. Ironically, it was thanks to the bomb collars of all things, that she felt safe enough to turn her back on him now.
But his presence was starting to feel like a little threatening cloud of its own, hanging on her back. It was becoming noticeable, distracting. Sierra Madre liked to punish distraction with death. In all her time as a courier, she had never worked quite so hard on the quickest way to deposit the ‘Dean Domino’ package on that marked roof.
And speaking of distraction… When they passed a small fountain, she spotted him light another cigar – bite into it almost, a quick conspicuous flash of orange amidst rust red. Better her than Ghost People. Or, better him than her so she had the time to level a precise shot. Either way kept them alive a little bit longer.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 4b
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Date: 2013-06-01 08:39 am (UTC)***
Later, on the rooftop of Puesta del Sol, Dean was contemplating… things. Important things. Tricky things. Things that had to do with memories. His and of this place…
It was nighttime again and he was waiting for the fireworks to begin – just like the last time.
He didn’t know for how long his eyes rested at the sky, it could have well been hours as far as he was concerned. He could see the stars, what few of them struggling to get their light through the red mist. He had forgotten they were there until she brought them up. It wasn’t like he ever needed to use them as some navigational means or replacement for a compass.
His mind had started wandering off… daydreaming. It was nothing serious – a small fling of his mind. His true dream lay in the heart of the Casino, and he had been dreaming that one for two hundred years. Also with the way luck was holding up lately, he might just wake up to it soon.
But daydreaming… Sierra Madre was made for it. It was designed with dreams in mind as a main attraction. A place where they would flow and ebb, rising emotions long lost. And he allowed it.
After all, in another time before the bombs, in a place similar to this, people would meet to have these little stolen moments. Dean Domino certainly did back in the day. A luxurious resort, a famous star and an unknown tourist easy on the eyes… Well, trashy erotic novels were written with less substance to them.
But the background tune playing in his mind spoke of things Dean Domino had long since forgotten – or at least, did his best to ignore before the Cloud kicked in and eroded all but his self-preservation instinct and the relentless need tying him to the casino. Now however, now he was being reminded of a few things that, in the hellhole named the Villa, with neighbors like Ghost People and with his dream locked tight in a castle on the hill, were better left forgotten. And best kept as far away from his mind as possible.
None of those warnings stopped his imagination from kicking into overdrive, however.
He blamed the postman for it – her disrespect for his personal space and her refusal to acknowledge his senior comprehension on the matter of things he shared the streets and buildings with. She should have believed him when he told her they were always around, always lurking, instead of going all high and mighty on him with her expert knowledge from the wastes. If she had, she wouldn’t have gotten skewered, and if she hadn’t gotten skewered than he wouldn’t have been the one fit to patch her up.
Looking back, he really shouldn’t have acted so generous and chivalrous. He should’ve just let her sink galore of stimpacks into herself and be done with the whole thing, avoid the ramifications of the touchy-feely business that followed. Now he was stuck with the image in his mind, of waist and hips and legs – there had to be some decent legs underneath all that, he refused to believe otherwise – and peculiar white shapes crisscrossing smooth bronzed skin.
“I wonder how she got that bite?” He asked through the puff of smoke. “Looked like the creature had the jaw the size of a crocodile.”
Ladies of his past wouldn’t have been caught dead with a scar marking their skin. They might indulge a strategically placed mole at best. A tattoo if they were feeling adventurous and daring. But something like a lion’s bite wasn’t woman’s place to wear – it was something men used as bragging chip.
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 9b
Date: 2013-06-01 08:40 am (UTC)Merciful heavens, it had been two hundred years and he was surrounded by poisonous gas, walking suits, had a bomb collar strapped to his neck and some crazy old man was trying to pry open his vault – his vault! He couldn’t possibly imagine worse time to be reminded that he still had a pulse. Although, the bomb collar alone was enough to do the trick nicely.
Now was certainly not the time for philosophizing about such things, liaisons… possible intertwining… “There’s certainly no chance for any of that to happen,” he snorted. Even if there were a place the Ghost People avoided, and they set up a perimeter of explosives two blocks in all directions, he still wouldn’t chance it. That she might not be interested was not something that entered his mind until much, much later.
The point around which his mind centered was, surprisingly, that in alarmingly short time he had gotten used to taking to someone. Dean had always talked, and Sierra Madre had always listened but she was never really good at responding – not unless an occasional ghost stumbling on him could be considered a reply.
But the Courier listened, sometimes more than he’d like, and she responded… baited, teased, mocked, pulled, stroked his ego only to finish with a bite and nip…
Dean felt lonely, and not because he was some kind of people person pining after company, oh no, god forbid that! If there was one good thing about Sierra Madre it was that, unlike cockroaches, simpletons were quick to die. No, what he meant was, that simply – after two hundred years of stale silence, one shot of decent conversation was enough for the quiet, which he had endured with relative ease, to make his ears bleed.
Dean sighed, letting out another puff of milky smoke. He was on the roof in Villa’s most dangerous neighborhood, alone, waiting for the music to start again and he longed for some conversation to pass the time. That he wouldn’t mind it at all if it happened to be her…
Then he caught the ludicrous line his thoughts have been going down for a while.
:*.*.*.*.*:
“I am not pining after that damnable tourist!”
The Courier shut down her radio. Dean likely didn’t even know that she could listen in on his private musings and mutterings. Well, Guilty smirked, if he wanted to keep them private he shouldn’t be thinking allowed. And apparently, and much to her enjoyment, he had taken to talking to himself without even realizing it. Pre-war ghouls… all of them had something that made them crazier than your standard fanfare of post-nuclear freaks. Guilty already knew that she couldn’t trust him, but she had underestimated what centuries of loneliness could do to a man of Dean’s appetites.
“Oh, you naughty, naughty boy…”
She brought up the flat front of her dark helmet and gauged her refection as much as she could in the dim light of the switching station. She chuckled. Well, he was good for laughs. And all the attempts not to laugh in his presence were a trial of patience. Good thing she was in possession of a decent helmet.
She wondered if he’d dared to… but no. Not now while he was on that roof waiting for the spectacle to begin. Although, and she grinned, it would be a fun thing to listen.
To the side Christine, busily typing on the terminal, was giving her a stare, and a raised eyebrow pointing at the helmet. She too had been listening to Dean’s clear voice blazing off the pip-boy’s radio. Courier’s eyebrow shot up and she looked at black head covering in her lap.
“It has a filter installed in it.”
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 9c
Date: 2013-06-01 08:45 am (UTC)Christine had her way with words, and she did not make it simple. Guilty suspected that as much as the assassin wanted to be understood, she also took some nasty pleasure in making dumb people look even dumber. Of course, that only worked if there was around someone clever enough to make the punch-line.
“He’s an adult, a two hundred years old one if you want to get technical. He can take it.”
Another set of hand gestures, light and fluid – Christine’s way of saying something off-handedly – cut through the thin red mist trapped in the underground bunker. Frowning the Courier tried to interpret them. Clicks and fingers bound together, followed by parallel lines matched in motion, starting in different places but ending in the same one – a place somewhere high above them.
“Did you use your collar to listen in on our shenanigans as well?” The Courier asked with a chuckle in her voice though the mirth didn’t reach her eyes. “Were he free to do as he pleased, Dean would not be working with me unless I chose to be his sniveling lackey, so I don’t think ‘working well together’ is how I would describe the last day and a half,” the Courier gestured lightly at her Pip-Boy and Dean muttering on the other side.
The scarred woman shrugged, setting a mask of indifference across her face. Their collective collars were, in fact, radios. Elijah had disabled many things about them, speakers included, but sometimes something came through in form of static and creaking on the handmade radio-bomb. All that remained was static, white noise; nothing could be heard or understood…
Christine signaled her and arched an eyebrow. She brought her arms in a synchronized motion. It was Courier’s turn to look perplexed.
“Dean Domino pines for, among great many deal of other things, anything with a serviceable cunt. You’d fit his bill to, I imagine.” Christine’s scared face scrunched up in disgust, and not just because he was a man. Guilty roared in laughter, it echoed the switching station making the air dance, and shook her head coughing lightly afterwards. “Oh, better not do that. Too much Cloud, even here. Yeah, I can get behind that. No point in waking up next to someone if you’re going to wake up dead. Anyway…” she gestured at the console and then at the elevator, “How far along are you?”
Christine frowned, panic flashing across her now expressive eyes, and quickly turned back towards the monitor.
Guilty leaned back against pipes and consoles. She didn’t consider herself to be a monster (though some would argue), but she wasn’t a miracle worker either. If Christine didn’t find a way to re-establish the connection this terminal used to have with the overall operational system of the switching station, and so gain all the full access on this side, Guilty will have no other choice but to shove her in that elevator shaft to take a trip to mechanical hell, her Auto-Doc phobia be damned.
The Courier had no intention of leaving her bones in this place.
:*.*.*.*.*:
F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 9d
Date: 2013-06-01 08:46 am (UTC)As far as he was concerned, the Courier had been driving him around, through the dark and up the wall – he wished – like some of the worst managers he had experienced in his youth. That was before he had taken their lessons to heart and conning the con-artist had become something of a staple in his career.
With a muttered curse he dropped the cigarette bud and crushed it under his heel. Dean didn’t know if she was giving the same treatment to that mutant creature or the mute girl, and frankly, he didn’t care. All he knew was that his knees didn’t deserve such abuse.
And then, with a distant shot of laser and gurgling dying sound of one of the ghosts, Dean realized one thing. He knew absolutely nothing about this woman! Not how she looked like under all that black padding – something that still gnawed on him; not the core of her personality, he didn’t know of any places to plant his hooks and pull… If there was one word he’s have to choose to describe her, it would be ‘restraint’, because she had shown a lot of that. In fact, that was the only thing about herself she did show willingly and he didn’t need to snoop behind the curtain to catch a glimpse. ‘Patience of a Saint’ was another, but Dean didn’t believe there were such things as saints so that one fell short right at the start.
There was static coming from the radio in his collar. It unsettled him first, made him jump, thinking some speaker in the area had suddenly woke up but it was only the old man. It was show time.
The first spark whizzed out into the air and exploded in multitude of colors, followed by another and another. But Dean didn’t see any of those because the old ghoul singer was already on his feet and running as fast as his old knees allowed him.
Re: F!Courier/Dean Domino - A Heist - 9d
Date: 2013-08-03 02:28 am (UTC)