abstracts | the pier.

Entry tags:

fallout

the pier.

Let him just say it now--the kid had a lot of problems.

I mean, not really a surprise or anything--Alex had found him dried out in a desert, for crying out loud--but god damn.

Let’s recap.

Alex Seattle Geer found himself in love with a Vault brat from the Capital Wasteland with a daddy complex the size of Hoover Dam. Said kid loves him back--sometimes. Said kid would probably rather put ~~another~~ bullet between Alex’s eyes rather than spend time with him, and didn’t this just go to show it. Neil leaves to check up a rumor, said he’d be back shortly--shortly became two days and by then Dogmeat was back, meaning Neil took off somewhere he was worried the dog would get hurt at. Two days turn into two weeks and counting, and by then, Alex has tracked Neil’s steps, found the fucking pier, the fucking tool of a woman looking for her child, and all of the pieces are too easily placed.

Neil left for Point Lookout. And Alex, ED-E, and Dogmeat are left hanging in the wind.

Alex has been fucking camping on the dirty sand and shit next to that pier, waiting for that stupid kid to come back on that stupid ferry the woman told him about. Tobar the fucking Ferryman, and Alex feels like shooting the asshole just for submitting to Neil’s request. Probably not the guy’s fault, but-- Hell. Yeah. He didn’t traipse all over the goddamn country just to be left in the dust. Is the kid even coming back? Who fucking knows.

Alex will just.

Wait here.

Until Neil comes back.

Yeah, that’s not pathetic at all.

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'Genocide' speaks of Novac once more, and Neil now understands the Elder mentioned then is the aforementioned Elijah. Elijah, who took extreme means for an extreme end, and Alex had been part of that madness. Somewhere, beneath the surrealism, beneath the possibility of disbelief, it aches to hear. To know there was such a hardship in this man's life.

To see it written clearly on Alex's face.

His head still hurts, and his mouth is bone-dry, but Neil pushes through to ask more questions. Specifically, one question. "What did that vault have that he wanted?"

What could a single place hold that a man might be possessed to believe it would cleanse the world? A nuke? The plague? What?

What a question. Alex stares at the opposite wall. "You'd think... weapons, right? And you'd only be half-right. Because of course that place had shit like that in spades. Holograms that couldn't be harmed but could easily kill--an invulnerable army. Suits that covered and protected you--but would keep your body moving and fighting, even after death. The Cloud--"

He pauses. Swallows. "Poison. Like you've never seen. Radioactive waste doesn't come close. It's pure technology. Created." Created by the very place he now owns. Is responsible for. "And it would kill everything and anything if it's duplicated. And let's not forget the legend of the gold itself--enough to buy whatever you needed to take out who you saw as enemies.

"But Neil," Alex says in a strange tone. "What he needed was past that. Weapons, mass destruction, one and all, but what he fucking wanted was--"

He swallows. Smiles. "Vending machines." The words are choppy, bit out. "The last inspired invention of the old world. You could put anything into them--anything--and they would give you anything in return. Whatever you wanted. Food, ammo, clothes, bit and bobbles and fucking dreams. He wanted to wipe out the world. And then, when it came back, he wanted to nurture it. Give people whatever they wanted--whatever they needed. He wanted to make sure people wouldn't go down those paths again." The paths that led to the old world--and now the new.

It's sick. Wrong. And it's a side step away from Alex. Destruction instead of a want for creation-- And yet. Yet.

Isn't it Alex. Isn't Alex the one who ended up destroying something he created? A new world in itself.

...He feels sick.

The story's a picturesque modern-day fairy tale. Not the painted scenes with characters played by good-looking holostars, but from the books. From a time long before bombs were a mere whisper in the wind. This is akin to stories of stepmothers poisoning their stepdaughters, of a girl and her grandmother being eaten by a wolf. Of death and a sense of fatalism.

There is the sense that it's still playing a part somewhere in Alex's life, this story of holograms. This record of the walking dead, a cloud of poison, and infinite possibilities. And the tone in the other man's voice and the expression on his face only serve to solidify that sense.

Quietly, Neil reaches to touch the hand on his chest. To comfort or to remind, he doesn't know himself.

Edited 2016-07-18 05:48 (UTC)

A touch on his hand brings him to the current time. To Neil on his thighs and a reminder of things that happened in the Mojave. He takes his hand from Neil's hair, uses it to smooth down his own. He laughs weakly. "...I don't know what I was thinking. I just wanted you to know that I understand, I guess. I didn't sleep for a week and then slept like the dead after. Left that place with more addictions than I could count. But I left it. I did leave it."

Even if it wouldn't leave him.

"But I forgot," he tries for lightness and doesn't quite succeed. "I shouldn't tell you stories of my past. You'll just think I'm lying to you more." Like you did before. "It makes sense. No one would believe--"

What I went through.

"...Any of that," he finishes quietly.

Edited 2016-07-18 05:57 (UTC)

Ah. This is familiar. This is a reflection in a different light, coming from another mirror. There perhaps does not exist a way for Neil to explain that. To express that to another man's satisfaction.

It hardly matters, though. That kind of thing, regardless of the form, cannot be adequately compared. Therefore, he will focus on something else-- He will address the other statements given.

"I don't think you're lying to me." Belief exists in a place that does not have a time or a name, but lies have no place in this moment. In this room. His hand drops to the space beside him. "There's nothing like that here."

There is only evidence to the contrary. No one could possibly lie when they talk and look like Alex Seattle Geer does right now.

There's no light laughter or the expected response: Well, obviously--or something like that. In this moment in time, Alex does not know how to react.

In complete opposition to a lot of the time Alex spends with Neil Park, here, he feels immensely young.

"--Sorry," he blurts out, staring at the door nearby. "I'm being strange."

Neil blinks at the apology, at the imbalance Alex is displaying. Slowly, he raises a hand to lightly poke an index finger against the other man's cheek.

"You're the last person in the world who should apologize to me," he says with exasperation. "Especially about being strange."

He understands he's off-balance. Understands he needs to get back to himself because this--

What if--

He smiles, and it's weak, but the dead expression is gone from his eyes. "I would actually think that the strange part would be completely spot-on," he quips. "Really. Think about it."

About something like that instead of what slipped through Alex's mind and left him colder than he would have thought.

~~What if this makes him leave me?~~

It's gone. In a sense, Alex returns to being what he typically does best, and somehow, Neil doesn't think it's himself. But that is simply filed and stored away. Neil isn't going to dig deep into something that might leave worse wounds.

Instead, he drops his hand, his expression decidedly benign. "Thought about it," he gives. "Also remembered everyone's weird. Not really convinced. Apology deemed unnecessary."

He keeps the smile. It starts to border on something more genuine. "Are we not keeping to complete sentences now?" he wonders. He pokes Neil's cheek in turn, then traces a finger down Neil's jaw, then over to brush against his lower lip.

"Thanks, then," he says sincerely. "For listening to me when you didn't have to."

The smile brings a kind of relief, and Neil breathes out more evenly. "It's kinda fun cutting down on words," he replies. The temptation to mouth the finger is held in; instead, Neil offers a smile of his own.

"You did keep my mind off the present." Away from himself--pain, fever, circumstances, everything. Allowed more focus and calm. "I hope talking helped." As opposed to harming more.

The smile Neil only shows when drunk or distractedly speaking about science shows without either of the two triggers. Alex blinks; confused, pleased, and both easily seen on his face. He leans down, curls over Neil, and kisses him delicately, waiting for reciprocation before straightening again.

"All right," he says, infinitely more calmer suddenly. "FAQ time. You're bound to a sick bed, so you get to ask some questions about all of that."

There are lips pressing close and a kiss to return. Neil does so with a fragility he rarely reveals, his hands lightly curling against the mattress. The offer to open things up for questioning normalizes him, despite a hesitation hanging overhead. The concern that he might cross a line.

Then let him start simply. "The vending machines," he begins. "How do they work?"

Neil kisses him back with a gentleness Alex rarely feels from him, and where another would call attention to it, Alex is only appreciative of the fact. He smiles at Neil, honestly, and slips his hand back into his hair.

"You had to start with that," he gives. "I have no fucking idea, to be honest. It was supposed to be last gen, old world tech. Supposed to be fitted out for everywhere to deal with the bombs and the fallout. A good fucking idea; too little, too late. Not enough funding," he added, humorlessly. "People didn't think it'd be a priority. Imagine if we had those scattered through the US."

That's pretty much what Neil figured in regard to the logistics. If a Brotherhood of Steel Elder was looking to unlock its secrets by infiltrating an impenetrable vault, chances are no one has ever found out the specifics of that particular tech. Ah, well. It was worth a try.

"Pre-War logic, you know," says Neil. "The more useful a thing, the less funding it gets." He pauses. "But I also meant how do you get stuff out of them? Do you pay with Pre-War money? Does it really have everything? Like everything-everything?"

Edited 2016-07-18 07:44 (UTC)

Ah, this is slightly easier. "Chips," he says with some humor. "C'mon, kid, you should have known to guess that one."

That a place in this area would run on casinos.

"They probably weren't all going to be like that, but the man who bought them up changed it to that so he could control the tide. So you spend money at the casino... win chips... and get whatever you desire. Food, clothes, ammo, useless junk. It couldn't make rare stuff, or really big stuff. But Stimpacks, chems, even training manuals and magazines... Everything you could honestly need at the end of the old world."

Geez, these casinos and their colored chips. Neil, a Easterner through and through, has yet to fully understand that particular culture's love for such matters. He makes a face.

"Don't really get this gambling stuff." And the ridiculousness of indulging it. Something he should shift away from. "It sounds like the guy bought them in preparation for the end of the world."

Alex smiles at the kid, in full agreement. "It's a waste of money, to be sure. There's better ways of spending your caps.

"And he did," Alex goes on. "Everything there had three layers." He holds up the hand on Neil's chest, raising fingers as he speaks points. "An eccentric, amazingly high-end and high-tech, prestigious casino." Two fingers. "A secret safe place for those on the owner's invite list: A select high class group to survive the end of the world. For both of the layers, the people involved were satisfied, and the man could move as he honestly wanted.

"Because Sinclair," Alex says. "He had a true reason for everything. Each and every aspect. He loved someone," he says. "He wanted to save her. To protect her. To have a world of just the two of them. He loved her. And he could not let her go."

Edited 2016-07-18 08:02 (UTC)

It reminds Neil again of fairy tales, and that detail unsettles him, causing a part of him to twist in discomfort. He cannot say why it does.

Neil blinks at Alex, processing what has been dropped at his feet. "In the end, he built this place to protect a single person?" he questions, his voice even. "I'm guessing that...didn't really work out."

Alex moves his fingers across Neil's chest, acknowledging the comments. "Long story short?" Again.... "It didn't, to say the least. Different guy wanted to use the girl--Vera Keyes, you've probably seen a poster around of her somewhere in the Mojave--to get at Sinclair's money. Was supposed to be the obvious plot of seduce the guy for his riches. Except, she fell for him, wanted out. But the other guy blackmailed her to continue by threatening to publicize her drug use."

Domino. Domino Domino Domino. Neil would probably recognize his name more--his posters were everywhere. But Alex is not willing to voice his name.

"...Her drug use stemmed from a terminal illness. It was the only reason she was using--to keep the pain at bay. This continued for a while; Sinclair found out, and started remaking the Sierra Madre into a tomb--a trap--for the two who betrayed him instead. But before opening night, Vera came clean--couldn't take it anymore. Despite all of the hatred inside Sinclair, he ending up forgiving her."

Alex shook his head, one slow movement. "Too little, too late. The trap couldn't be unmade, but he tried anyway. Tried manually fixing some of it--and fell to his death outside the vault itself. He had a plan B--a plea for help over the airwaves, for authorities to come after the bombs fell and rescue Vera. Except--"

More "excepts".

"Funding had gotten a little tight with all the changes. And the only thing uploaded to send was Vera's voice advertising the Sierra Madre. Drawing people in." Like Alex. "Vera died in her locked room, calling out for Sinclair, and security recorded it all, duplicating her in holograms that repeated all of her last words." Words burned into his mind, said over and over and over again.

"Sinclair, is that you? Sinclair! Sinclair! We all pay for what we've done. I'm so sorry, Sinclair. Sorry, I... I should have trusted you. The doors, they... they sealed. I... I can hear the other guests, screaming to be let out, to let go. Sinclair, is that you? Sinclair? Sinclair, where did you go? Why did you leave me here?!"

"It's a tomb," he repeats. "A living, malicious tomb."

Edited 2016-07-19 03:20 (UTC)

Should he ponder it again? No. No, the thought is unnecessary. What proves more important than the genre is the story itself, and Neil finds the points easy to follow along.

Three involved. One who loved the girl (Vera Keyes? Don't remember. Never looked too carefully at the posters.), the other who used her, and the inevitable collision resulting in death on all sides. All sides?

No. The fate of the other guy isn't mentioned, and despite the way the story thickens in Neil's brain, he's quite curious. Indeed, very curious.

"Do you know what happened to the other guy?" he asks slowly.

That's his kid. How Alex wishes Neil isn't so perceptive right now.

One side of his face twitches obviously, curling into a half-smile made strange. "Became a ghoul in the city of the dead."

On automatic, he reaches for a snide remark, an aside to lighten the mood-- Neil stops. Thinks twice and retracts. There's always time to be a comedian; this moment is best served being something else.

Best served to shift in an altogether different direction.

"Mind if I ask how Elijah managed it?" Neil watches Alex for reactions, for hints that he might be crossing a line. "How he managed to kidnap not just you but other people as well?"

Because, honestly? Alex is a large guy. Dragging him from a bunker to god knows where the Sierra Madre happens to be is a feat, even with Neil's strength. Besides, word from the NCR stationed in HELIOS One says the Elder was quite old.

Alex pauses, waits a moment. Then starts. "...It's a four-man job. Always was. Elijah tried it before, a few times. Most got killed. Or killed each other out of greed. The last group almost did it, but instead he got caught in the casino, trapped there--so close to everything but not close enough. And now, locked in there, he couldn't communicate with his slave."

Here, here is where Neil would note changes. In the subtle tones of affection that move through Alex's voice, usually only heard with ED-E, Boone--and to a greater extent, Neil himself.

"...He was a nightkin that had been close to the Master. And broken and devastated after the Master fell. Elijah--" Spit with hate. "Manipulated him. Used him. Took the Master's place. Trained the nightkin to do the shit work--and the grunt work. He grabbed everyone who fell into those traps and attached bomb collars around their neck."

Which made Alex and the nightkin. Two. "Plus there was the ghoul already there." The third. And a final fourth. The affection returns, with a strange combination of pride and protectiveness.

"And a woman from the Brotherhood's inner circle, who had been following Elijah, hounding him, to put him down. She survived torture, brain surgery, and kept going. He took something from her. Something she could never get back. So at least she would make this right."

Christine.

"It still would have been worthless, and we would have just been stuck there without a clue, except I had a PipBoy. And Elijah hacked it to give us commands. Threaten us. Let us know our true value." Pieces of shit, of course. "And warn us of all of the bomb activation spots. Which was nice." Right.

"Proximity detonators," he explained. "That were, of course, everywhere we needed to go."

Of course, Neil would catch the subtleties, the quiet inflections in the other man's voice. Of course, Neil understands what they mean, what two mean to Alex, even if the younger lack the details. He thinks to question the nature of the connections.

But that's moving outside of his bounds, asking for things that have nothing to do with himself or a choice he may have to make. And really, after everything, Neil understands the damage that can incur from such nosiness.

The focus remains on the tale. On the details, especially the last.

"Detonators," Neil repeats flatly. "Sinclair's doing?"

Edited 2016-07-19 04:25 (UTC)

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