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Butch Freaks
Date: 2012-06-18 06:59 pm (UTC)Butch gets bad sunburn and what happens with sunburn.
He peels. Badly.
Butch with his vanity believes he's tuning into a ghoul.
Thing is nobody corrects him they let him believe cause it's hilarious.
Does he spend some 'last days' with his beautiful hair or get drunk out of his face and scream about the masterpiece of his face.
You decide
:D
Re: Butch Freaks
Date: 2012-06-20 07:59 pm (UTC)I'm on it so hard, OP. But as usual... I demand multi-fill for this brilliant prompt. >8|
'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost, 1/?
Date: 2012-06-21 04:36 am (UTC)Characters: Butch, F!LW, Charon, Dogmeat
-----
His life is officially over.
A lot of people would call that melodrama, but those people just don't understand. A man with such chiseled features, flawless skin, and perfectly sculpted black hair -- a man with such a lady-killing body and roguish good looks... Well a man like that just gets so used to living (and enjoying) a life of awe-inspiring handsomeness that those traits can't help but become his life.
Now...
Now that life is coming to an early, terrible end.
The Lone Dingbat comes bursting into the bathroom, her eyes searching for hostiles, with a hunting rifle at the ready, a look that could murder, and all of her little pets in tow. One mangy mutt, growling; one big motherfucking ghoul, stone-faced; one obnoxious gay robot, somehow managing to look affronted by the commotion even without a face. Butch throws himself backward in surprise, tripping over the edge of the toilet and landing ass-first in the stained bathtub.
Nosebleed -- wait, he owes her enough to call her Hana, Hana; God that's fuckin' weird -- glances around and lowers the gun with a confused look and a tilt of her head that the mutt mimics, and at any other time he'd be pretty amused trying to decide which is more ridiculous, the dog looking like the girl or the girl looking like the dog.
"Uh. DeLori--?"
"What the HELL are you doing waving a gun around in a house, lady?! I almost jumped out of my sk--" OhGodOhGodOhGod--
The reminder has him smacking his hands against his agonized face, emitting another wounded-animal wail that has the girl wincing back in visible pain. After a moment of hesitation, she bemusedly pushes her rifle behind her into the hulking, sneering ghoul's hands and steps farther into the room, her own palms up placatingly. "Whoa whoa whoa, DeLoria, you need to calm right the heck down! What's with all the noise?" She lowers herself to her holy-jeanclad knees in front of the bathtub and the screaming, facepalming, leather-jacketed young man sprawled in it. "Seriously, stop it. I thought the ex-raider next door had climbed in the window to rape you or something and if you keep it up, he probably will. You've been crashing here one night and you're already disturbing the peace."
"Shut up, asswipe!"
She raises both eyebrows, looking less amused. "Thought we were past the terms of endearment, but they're just getting more colorful." Hana's not usually prone to picking on people, but given their history and her recent development of a spine, Butch is clearly an exception what with the way her mouth quirks up at one corner and she adds, "Just like you."
"ARRRGH SHUT UP SHUT UP SHUT UP! Just shut the fuck up and leave me to die!"
'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost, 2/?
Date: 2012-06-21 04:37 am (UTC)"I said I'm dyin', you idiot, and I'd rather curl up here an' do it alone!"
"Wh--Uh, what exactly makes you think you're dying, DeLoria?"
God, for such a nerd, she can be so stupid. He gestures wildly at his face, glaring. "Well not literally but... Christ, check your prescription, four-eyes, I'm turnin' into... into... Argh, into one'a them!" He points accusingly at the ghoul watching from the doorframe like Butch's sudden rapid descent into Hell is free entertainment. He raises an eyebrow, or part of one, looking pointedly at the offending beet-red digit and shifting his weight casually to his other foot, managing to get both heavy meaning and cool nonchalance into the same gesture as he adjusts his grip on the gun still in his hands.
As if she still doesn't get it, Hana turns to follow Butch's pointing finger -- as Butch winces and retracts it under the big guy's scrutiny -- and pauses, staring at her leprous bodyguard. She looks back at Butch, opens her mouth, then closes it. Opens it again, then closes it. The ghoul's milky cataract-blue eyes shift to her as she turns back around, at a loss, and they stare at each other for a moment.
Then she bursts out laughing, the ghoul smirking (maybe-kinda-sorta, if Butch tilts his head and squints real hard). She throws an arm around the dog sitting faithfully at her side for support, laughing deep and long as the dumb animal, having relaxed, smiles cheerily back at the one part hurt, three parts outraged glare Butch is directing at its master. "Yeah, fuckin' hilarious, soak it all in jackass, don't mind me and the end of my personal world. I'll wait."
The robot runs an exasperated sigh through its prissy voice modulator. "Oh, of all the... If that's all, then, I'll be downstairs sprucing up should you need me, Madame." It putters away, muttering something about organics and their twitchy fear-reactions.
Re: 'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost, 1/?
Date: 2012-06-21 04:39 am (UTC)"You really that blind? Hell, I been stutterin'?"
"Stammering. A little, maybe."
"Shut the fuck up. Can't you see this is a fuckin' disaster?! I'm too young 'n' pretty to turn into a goddamn zombie!"
She shakes her head through a new bout of laughter, this time mercifully suppressed into little more than a giggle, like Butch's trauma and soul-deep suffering is all she ever wanted, wrapped up pretty as a picture under one of the Vault's fake plastic trees on Christmas morning. "C'mon, DeLoria, you're not--"
"Zombie, huh?" The ghoul doesn't talk much, which is a godsend because his voice is the stuff of Butch's bed-wettingest childhood nightmares, just as much as that face -- which after a whole twenty-four hours of acquaintance Butch isn't done cringing instinctively at. Whether it's the strength behind the digit or the texture of the skin hanging off it, somehow the guy can tap one finger thoughtfully on the stock of the rifle loud enough to patter and echo off the rusted, pitted walls of the cramped bathroom.
If his face is scary in its usual scowl, the smirk that's stretching little by little across one side of his visage, as slowly as if it's trying to sneak past the viciously ugly face, is even worse. "Your skin hurt?"
Hana's paused with her mouth open like a fly-trap again, casting a curious look over her shoulder at the ghoul once again.
A look passes between them, and where Butch can't see, she grins mischeivously at her bodyguard before turning back around to fix him with the concerned look his plight definitely calls for.
Butch nods stiffly. "Like a full-body bullet wound, yeah it fuckin' hurts."
The ghoul nods gravely. "'S how it starts alright. Bits of you already fallin' off, too."
"The irritation is likely due to a high dose of radiation," Hana says somberly, her expression full of pity. She's looking over her glasses at him again, and has gone into doctor-mode, sounding way too much like her high-and-mighty old man. "I told you not to get too close to Atom, DeLoria; I suspected vault dwellers would be more susceptible to radiation even than wasteland humans. No evolutionary environmental symbiosis, you know?"
"Yeah and what about you?" he asks accusingly, then at her patronizingly patient and amused expression, he remembers Hana, despite having grown up right beside him in the Vault, came in from outside. Not a vault dweller by blood. So she'd have the evolution-whatsit in spades, which explained why he was losing half his face in one day flat when she'd just turned brown like someone had popped her in a giant toaster set to medium. Of course. The brat gets everything, in and out of the Vault. "Fuck. What am I gonna do? I can't be a fuckin' zombie, I just-- arrrghh!" He's beyond being rational now, and just slaps a palm against his forehead again, wincing at the severe sting. When he pulls his hand away, a patch of dead skin from his face comes away with it, so he yells again.
'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost, 4/?
Date: 2012-06-21 04:41 am (UTC)-----
"Calm down, DeLoria! It's not all bad, okay?" Hana offers what she must think is a comforting smile, but that glint in her eye like this is the funniest joke since the bombs fell is ruining the illusion. "I mean, look at Charon. He kicks butt and takes nam--well he kicks butt, anyway. He might be one ugly guy, no skirting around that, but you think anyone looks twice at him? Heck no!" She pats Butch's knee, but all he can do is glare and pout back at her.
"Look, I know you wanted to check out Rivet City, but there's a whole city of ghouls in downtown D.C. I've got a lot of friends there, they're nice people! Maybe you could give it a shot?" He just keeps glaring. This isn't helpful. "Come on, I bet you'll be the most handsome ghoul they've ever seen. You'll be beating ghoulettes off with a stick!"
"I'd be doing that anyway. You think I want tail that's half missing?"
"DeLoria... I think you're gonna have to get used to that idea."
He yells again, and Hana sighs and throws her hands up in mock defeat, telling him to do whatever he has to to calm himself down as long as he doesn't break any of her stuff or piss off the neighbors. She tells him she's heading down to Gob's for a drink and a chat before she hits the road again, and he should come join her there when he's done pitying himself. Then she, the dog, and the World's Largest Leper (looking smug even without an actual expression) exit.
Butch manages not to cry in his terror and frustration once he's alone. He glances at the cracked mirror on her wall, but doesn't have the heart to get up and look at his reflection again. Okay, that's a lie. Vanity wins out and he does, then groans like a dying brahmin.
Hana manages not to bust out laughing again until she's closed the front door. She offers Charon a high five, but he leaves her hanging. Dogmeat, however, doesn't. Good boy. Best friend.
'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost, 5/?
Date: 2012-06-21 04:44 am (UTC)... he eventually just gets sick of being cooped up alone with his misery, despite previous insistance on being left that way. He grabs a pre-war fedora off the 'trophy shelf' on the ground floor ("Rest in pieces, Mister Burke, you were a jerkface but a scholar," she'd said in reference to the article) and a scarf from a merc outfit in Hana's bedroom drawer. He pauses there in her room, eyeing the naked, stained mattress of her bed and, more specifically, the med-x and jet scattered amongst the more innocuous piles of pre-war books and teddy bears. Damn, but she got a taste for a few things since the Vault, but he feels shitty enough about life right now he can't blame her. The syringes look awfully inviting.
Then again, his skin hurts like a bitch and he's scared of needles anyway. He pockets a couple units of jet just in case he gets the courage -- or deep depression -- to try it later, then dons his disguise, hat pulled down low on his forehead and scarf up to his nose.
Butch ventures cautiously out into the sweltering, dry air of Megaton, looking around to make sure no one's so close as to try to talk to him. It's still early in the morning, and there's not many people milling about the upper levels of the town.
In the Vault, he'd never be up before noon, but despite sleeping like the dead most nights of his life, the stress of actually being out in the big wide post-terminal-fuckup world had him struggling to catch a single wink the night before. He discovered today that Hana has the annoying habit of being up and about at the asscrack of dawn and, worse yet, is the most obnoxious morning person he's ever met, and somehow completely incapable of wrapping her supposedly huge brain around the idea of sleeping in. Or not singing loudly along to the bullshit on her jukebox while making coffee. Broad can't even sing in key.
The coast appears clear, the majority of the wakeful Megatonians being down on the ground below either catching the early-bird special at the Brass Lantern or prostrating themselves in front of the bigass bomb in the town's center. Fuckin' lunatics. He can see Hana's best buddy the Sheriff walking side-by-side with his runt of a kid on the other side of the walkway near Craterside supply, but other than that, he's alone up here, and his path to the saloon is definitely clear.
He's walking past the next house down when the door swings open like it was kicked from the inside and a guy who's not so much dirty as he is infused with the filth of the wasteland comes lumbering out, stretching and grumbling and casting about like he's deciding who to murder for breakfast. His eyes, naturally, land on Butch in no time flat. The guy takes in the admittedly stupid combination of accessories covering Butch's face and neck, then the vault suit under his leather jacket. His white lips -- god, does this dude snort cocaine or eat it? -- curl into a sneer. "'Nother vault asshole, huh? What's with the getup, asshole? World just don't feel right if it ain't pressin' down on ya?"
'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost, 6/?
Date: 2012-06-21 04:46 am (UTC)The guy steps forward, his unpleasant smile only growing -- oooh, Butch thinks, realization dawning. That's right. Raider next door. He's encountered raiders already, ambushed with Hana and her friends on the walk to Megaton. Granted, the more experienced wastelanders made quick work of the small group of tweaked-out terrors (Hana had admittedly gotten good with a rifle and frag grenades, but more impressive, he had to admit, was the ghoul; it was still hard to believe anyone could achieve such a lethally accurate headshot at twenty paces with a shotgun), but it was a pretty brick-shitting experience nonetheless. Those psychopaths had all been near his own age, and he commented on this at the time as he distastefully watched his new friends pick through recently-bloodstained pockets for loot.
"I imagine life as a raider is exciting," he was told off-handedly, "but usually it's a short-lived occupation."
Her sense of humor leaves something to be desired.
This guy's apparently lived long enough to retire, by all accounts -- he's old enough to be Butch's father and then some. Not a pleasant thought to entertain considering the on-going mystery of who his father was, not to mention the recent revelation that the Vault was open some time prior to his birth.
Disgusting patrimonial possibilities aside, what the guy's age implies is he's not to be fucked with, and even Butch can't miss that. Still, he tries his best not to back down when the raider is suddenly in his face. Tries, because then the guy's breath hits him even through the scarf, hard enough to have him stumbling back dizzily from the reek.
"Wanna say that to my face, asshole?"
"Mister Jericho," says a familiar electronic voice. Butch looks past his would-be assailant to see the robot taking out some garbage, single luminescant robotic eye looking on at the encounter disapprovingly. "It would be just unseemly for the Madame to come home to find her... companion in any way harmed or violated. Neither of us will enjoy explaining it to her."
"I ain't scared a' that broad--"
"We will enjoy explaining it to her hired gun even less, should her ire be raised to such a level."
That gives the raider pause. Butch would like to be offended and indignant about being rescued, if he weren't so relieved. He thinks back to what Hana said about no one fucking with the ghoul -- he has a tough time imagining her setting him loose on anyone here in her home base, so the shotgun skill that has Butch (terrified) leery of the guy can't be too well known. Maybe there is something to having a face that would make his own mother piss herself and run for the hills, out here where crazies like this can be living right next door.
Still doesn't make him feel better about the catching he can feel of ragged skin under his scarf.
The raider spits on the ground in front of him, sneering. "Hate to have to get zombie all over my good armor if it comes down to that. Kid ain't even worth it." He looks in Butch's direction again, and then feigns a sudden forward lunge that has Butch tripping backwards for the second time today even as his hand goes instinctively for his toothpick. This time, at least, he manages to stay upright, and glares as the raider laughs and turns away. "Not yet, anyway."
Re: 'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost, 6/?
Date: 2012-06-27 09:24 am (UTC)Re: 'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost, 6/?
Date: 2012-07-23 01:46 am (UTC)Re: 'Tis Better to Have Loved and Lost, 6/?
Date: 2013-03-02 11:55 pm (UTC)