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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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)

This allows him to laugh, once, genuinely, in spite of the memories the bomb collars provoke. "You'll laugh," he says quietly. "Radios. Radios and speakers. Elijah got his hands on bomb collars and modified them, like everything else he touches, and while they worked better for him--he could detonate them remotely, if people weren't listening, or doing what they were told--they were more sensitive to everything else under the sun.

"So while we had to find stuff in the Sierra Madre, we were also walking into hot spots hand and foot. I'd be dead a few times over if not for one of my partners." Christine. "It was stupid after stupid when it came to that. Bomb collars, radio detonators, and survival locks. You know," he says almost mockingly. "If one dies, everyone dies."

He'd laugh, yeah, if it didn't sound so fucking stupid. So damn retarded that a guy couldn't handle his explosives well enough to reign in the cracks. A bomb that went off at the slightest disruptions in the environment didn't do its fucking job as a fucking bomb.

And that's not even touching the fact that it was once around the Courier's neck.

Neil inhales sharply, his face growing red from rage, his brain trying to fend off both pain and emotion. Alex is fine. His head didn't pop off from a rigged collar. The collar is still a mile-long list of complaints, but the narrator is alive to tell his tale.

"So," Neil chances, his voice careful not to sound too affected, "the odds were against you, and you survived. That--" He swallows. "--must have been something."

Something, really, beyond definition, aside from the pointlessness of it all.

Neil tries for nonchalance, and Alex wonders what's wrong. The red on Neil's face is brightening, and Alex--

"--Hey. What's wrong? You look upset. --Or are you feeling worse again?"

Alex notices, enough to call attention, and something inside Neil responds to that. He reaches to wipe away the sweat collecting on his forehead, an attempt to defuse the blunt of his ire.

"It's just dumb," he gives. The muscles on his jaw tense as he continues, "Pointless. A complete waste. If he wanted the Sierra Madre so damn much, he could have figured it all out himself. Oh--" Except. "--except that's impossible. If he couldn't stabilize a fucking bomb collar properly, he can't very well fucking figure out the rest."

His lower lip trembles once, before Neil sets his mouth into a tight line.

Alex frowns, brows drawing together, and he reaches to touch Neil's cheek gently. "Hey... What's wrong? You can't be this upset over an asshole failing at pre-war tech."

He's concerned. Actually, really concerned. Did something in this story remind Neil of stuff in his own past? Alex wishes the kid would just fucking talk to him more.

The touch tugs at his heartstrings. It sets Neil back a step, away from the raw emotion pulsing inside his chest, and he knows. He knows so fucking well that he's just upset about a hypothetical death. A potential loss.

But it begins to reek of something else, of tar slipping in and setting fast.

It's like with the human tenets of Tenpenny Tower. With little Marie. With himself, to some extent. It is another's choice being forced upon those who are innocent, who would rather have none of it. It is Roy, Ashur, Sandra, and now Elijah taking away volition from those who do not deserve it. It is unforgivable, and Neil--

He blinks hard. He tries to paint his thoughts into pictures for Alex's benefit, but nothing substantial's coming to the man. Nothing except-- "You might have been killed."

By that asshole's failing tech.

Alex blinks, hand freezing against Neil's skin. In a way, this is the most out of place comment Neil could have said. Alex could have died? That happens every day. There's a million and one things that could kill you out here, and that--

Alex remembers Neil's face reddening with anger. The tremble of his lower lip before he set it into a firm line. There is emotion here, heavy and hot and strong, and he needs to look past the simple answer of "they always almost die."

Because it's something else. Something that reminds him of his steps into this basement, nearly two days ago. The steps he took, stumbling, shattered, and he remembers--

Remembers being frightened. As he has only been a few times in his life that he can recall. Nothing of a threat to him, but everything of a threat to Neil. One that Alex couldn't control or destroy. Alex felt fear, and a protectiveness that would have killed the guards above them if they had tried to stop him. And Neil, for something he was only hearing about, apparently felt rage.

"...You might have died," he notes quietly. "Going there to that place. Coming back. Everything else. It's the same for me, you know." A beat stretches before he moves his hand, lays it back on Neil's chest, against his heart. The organ beats against the walls of its cage, and Alex rubs his hand back and forth there. "I'm okay, though. I'm fine." It's okay. "You will be, too."

Neil holds to the feeling, that bitter heat. His heartbeats slam against his chest, and he lets it. Finds a form of stability in that force of will, his proof of existence.

But Alex speaks. He reminds Neil of the parallels between them, and like a candle flame, everything snuffs out. What remains is overrun by regret. Sorrow. The younger man clenches his eyes shut and prays for that simplicity once more, knowing that it will not return to this place in time again.

Everything finally settles, helped along by a hand rubbing against the vicinity of his heart. Neil breathes out and tries for calm instead. "Yeah," he says quietly. "Yeah. I'm sorry. I--"

Went off on a wild tangent. "--interrupted your story."

Alex leans down again, shifts his hand from Neil's chest to hold his cheek as he kisses him. "Stop apologizing," he says quietly, watching. Then he straightens, running his hand back down to its first position.

"Also, story was already done. This was just question time, remember? Also--" He glances to the side, a small, private smile forming that Alex isn't aware of. "It's fucked up, but it's nice. That you're upset over me."

The calm Neil attempts to gain is given in a simple act of affection. Nearly stable, he slowly opens his eyes to Alex watching him. Speaking to him.

It isn't until Alex straightens and finishes his comments that Neil chances a response. Or rather, a question. "Because I don't seem like I care most of the time?" he asks.

Alex could respond to this in any way. Use the charm and charisma that has helped him out of enough tricky situations. Except when he opens his mouth, something else comes out altogether ~~because his speech wasn't high enough~~.

"I thought you took off on purpose. I thought this was your way of showing me you were done."

The answer proves unexpected, its nature unanticipated. The mentioned thought holds reason. Of course, anyone would have expected Neil had run off to Point Lookout to put an end to things with the other man. The truth, however-- Such a thing isn't so straightforward as that.

"It was a whim," he murmurs. "It wasn't ever in my mind to go; I was honestly heading to Rivet City." Perhaps take his damn time getting back, in hopes that the dust kicked up by their fight in Dave's Republic would settle. What he didn't anticipate, however, was-- "That riverboat. I just happened to see it on the way, and I was drawn to it. So I made a detour. The ferryman--"

He won't say his name. He will never say that damn name.

"--told me about Point Lookout, and like a stupid kid, I said yes. Bought the ticket and sent Dogmeat home. Honestly thought the round trip would take a week at the most." Until he realized the distance of the destination in comparison with the speed of the Grand Duchess.

"I know," he answers. "I know that now. I honestly don't know why I even--"

Brought it up. Except he does. The question Neil had asked--this was the answer. "...No," he says, after a pause. "It doesn't seem like you care usually. And that's fine. I'm fine with it. It's just surprising when you--" Show that you do.

Alex shakes his head slightly. "Surprising when you do."

There's a sadness that touches Neil's eyes, that creeps into the space behind them. He swallows before speaking, wondering if his words would even make any sense. "I'm no good with care," he says, almost stumbling. "Not really familiar with it. I know that's no excuse; just wanted to explain why I have trouble showing it."

"You don't have to show it," he replies, nearly automatic. "I'm not asking for it from you. Don't feel like you have to."

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