тнe vaυlт dweller . ѕaraн мarĸѕ (![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png)
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abstracts2016-09-18 08:07 pm
shortstraw) wrote in abstracts2016-09-18 08:07 pm
the tower.
It started in Novac, in that lovely Dino Dee-Lite Motel by the dilapidated gas station.
He had told her they could be found in the upper corner room, living the Post-War American dream. If not there, they had others: cabins, bunkers, safehouses, and the like. He gave her all the map points, confident in their future whereabouts. And above all, he was certain they would never be in the New Vegas, beneath the bright lights of the Strip.
The motel room had been empty. The Brotherhood safehouse and the cabin by Jacobstown also held no occupants. After traveling nearly the entire width of the Mojave Wasteland, moving from town to fucking town, she finally caught a whiff of him in Freeside.
The crier for Mick & Ralph's had seen a man matching Alex Seattle Geer's description lately, headed directly into the heavily guarded gates of the New Vegas Strip.
Judas, Sarah had thought. Blood betrayer. She then walked the road back to the Dino Dee-Lite Motel, to that cozy little upper room in the corner, and left Alex a very nice surprise.
Three days later, after finding the presidential suite of the Tops woefully empty, Sarah corners a man in the streets. Their exchange proves short, and with his pockets noticeably heavier, the guy walks the short distance to the center of the road. There, with the Vault Dweller looking on, he straightens to attention and produces a piece of paper from his pockets.
"Ladies and gentleman of New Vegas, may I have your attention please?" he reads, voice clear to the nearby bystanders and vigilant Securitrons. "It is my absolute pleasure to introduce to you a Very Important Person--" The man looks over his shoulder briefly, a quizzical look on his face. "Why is it capitalized?" he asks.
"Go on," she mouths, waving lazily at the gathering crowd.
He shrugs and continues as directed. "Someone who has traveled a great distance and sacrificed a good deal of time, bullets, and money to be here with you fine folks. She is the Champion of the Holy Thirteen, the Swan Song of the Master and His Most Unholy Unity, the Keeper of All Your Dogs, a Sometimes Friend to You and I... I present to you: The Vault Dweller!"
He had told her they could be found in the upper corner room, living the Post-War American dream. If not there, they had others: cabins, bunkers, safehouses, and the like. He gave her all the map points, confident in their future whereabouts. And above all, he was certain they would never be in the New Vegas, beneath the bright lights of the Strip.
The motel room had been empty. The Brotherhood safehouse and the cabin by Jacobstown also held no occupants. After traveling nearly the entire width of the Mojave Wasteland, moving from town to fucking town, she finally caught a whiff of him in Freeside.
The crier for Mick & Ralph's had seen a man matching Alex Seattle Geer's description lately, headed directly into the heavily guarded gates of the New Vegas Strip.
Judas, Sarah had thought. Blood betrayer. She then walked the road back to the Dino Dee-Lite Motel, to that cozy little upper room in the corner, and left Alex a very nice surprise.
Three days later, after finding the presidential suite of the Tops woefully empty, Sarah corners a man in the streets. Their exchange proves short, and with his pockets noticeably heavier, the guy walks the short distance to the center of the road. There, with the Vault Dweller looking on, he straightens to attention and produces a piece of paper from his pockets.
"Ladies and gentleman of New Vegas, may I have your attention please?" he reads, voice clear to the nearby bystanders and vigilant Securitrons. "It is my absolute pleasure to introduce to you a Very Important Person--" The man looks over his shoulder briefly, a quizzical look on his face. "Why is it capitalized?" he asks.
"Go on," she mouths, waving lazily at the gathering crowd.
He shrugs and continues as directed. "Someone who has traveled a great distance and sacrificed a good deal of time, bullets, and money to be here with you fine folks. She is the Champion of the Holy Thirteen, the Swan Song of the Master and His Most Unholy Unity, the Keeper of All Your Dogs, a Sometimes Friend to You and I... I present to you: The Vault Dweller!"
no subject
You see, the business up in the North had come with a few complications. The four had been separated from each other. ED-E had been dismantled and subsequently put back together, details Neil wisely chose not to ask for, and when the last bit came up on the to-do list, Neil had left Dogmeat back at camp. Dogmeat, somewhat stiff from age and yet seemingly energetic, had been still when they had returned. Still enough for them to think he'd fallen into deep sleep.
It wasn't until Neil had tried to rouse him that they found that he had fallen into something more permanent. And Dogmeat had been all alone when it happened, when Neil had promised to be his companion to the bitter end.
Here, ED-E tells Neil that he doesn't have to talk. That Alex can understand. Lack stagnates within him, threatening to consume, and the man simply nods. He continues to watch the dying light in silence, a hand gripping his shirt and the other holding a half-eaten candied apple.
no subject
You have to eat, he reminds, gentler than before.
no subject
Without smiling, without peeling his eyes away from the darkening horizon, the man lifts the apple to his mouth and gnaws off a decent chunk. He chews slowly, ignoring the absence in his chest and the churning in his stomach. It's still good, he thinks. Continues to think.
His thoughts run to Dogmeat and his favorite foods. They pass over ED-E frying up geckos and Nuka-Cola and Sunset Sarsaparilla. And how he wishes he had let Alex stay, if only to listen to the silence that hurt can bring.