Anything Goes (Closed for wouldjakoindly)

[AliciaSunderland]

(( OOC: This is a Fallout 3 based rp, which does not happen during any specific time during the game itself. Closed for myself and wouldjakoindly. ))

******************

They saw him approach. Alone.

Again.

The two men guarding the entrance of the Slavers' Den murmured to each other and snorted together. Dust rose with a warm wind in the evening light, casting crimson hues like blood clots across across shadows.

"Something funny", the towering man asked the guards who immediately recoiled.

"No, no, nothing funny, man", one of them said.

"Good. Are you still open for business?"

They weren't, but they both nodded anyway. Their leader, Jonas, knew this man well and while he may refuse the visit of some after 'business hours', they never refused him. After all, he had the caps, and he spent them a'plenty nowadays. From one Slaver's camp to the other.

In fact, Spence was a well known bounty hunter across the Wastelands. He took any and all contracts, no matter the side. He was also known to the people as the "Man With No Face". Not that he did not possess a face, but the truth was, nobody quite knew. His whole body was covered, literally from head to toes. At 6'4, he was already large, but the abundance of layers of clothing and leather armor he wore made him look twice as imposing. Two shotguns criss-crossed upon his back, revolvers at his hips, and lord knew how many more weapons the behemoth of a man possessed. His head was wrapped in faded red and blue cloth, almost mummy like in shape, with shaded leather aviator goggles covering his eyes. Upon his head, was what could only be considered a hybrid between a cowboy and fancy brown hat.

And so while he looked humanoid in shape, one could only guess what was hidden behind the mask and layers.

Some speculated he really had no face. Others said that he was a robot whose skin had been removed from the nuclear blasts of centuries past. Perhaps he was a mutant, or a ghoul. Other rumors, this one mostly from the ladies, told of a man so beautiful it rendered men and women alike swelled with jealousy after which they went insane and killed each other in haste were they unable to take his face for their own. Regardless of the stories, no one had even seen his face, or any part of his body under the cloth, and if anyone had, they had not lived long enough to speak of it.

Spence was also known for the number of "companions" he'd travelled with. Again, the number was an enigma. Some claimed he had had well over hundreds, others claimed at least a thousand had travelled with him. Whatever the mysterious number, it was big, and every few weeks, he was seen with someone knew. It was not because he, or they, chose to leave. Oh no. It was because they died. They'd served their purpose he wanted them to have, usually as a meat shield - sometimes by accident however - and that was the end of it. It was said that people followed him willingly until the news broke out of how many companions he'd lost in a short span... And so he was forced to buy slaves instead. Again, there was no proving those rumors, but it did not stop them either.

And so here was Spence, in another Slavers' camp, now looking at the cages filled with people. Was his gaze disinterested, or was he calculating, watching, observing? Or did he simply not care, since whoever followed him would surely meet their doom in less then a few days?

And most of these people behind bars knew. They knew who he was and what he was here for. Some of them had seen him before, picking some unlucky bastard. It was like a lottery. A bad lottery.

Spence stopped pacing about, staring at one of them. There were many, at least three dozen men and women bundled in the cage, and with his eyes clouded under the black glass of the goggles, you couldn't be certain who exactly he was looking at. And then, slowly, he rose his hand, curled his finger into a fist and pointed.

The group of humans separated as though an invisible force pushed them out of the way until only one remained: a brunette with green eyes and an hourglass figure. She looked like nothing, just like that. Oh, she looked good, seemed to take good care of herself considering the times, but it wasn't what had him choose. Nor was it the few scars, notably the one across her nose, that had him stop on this particular woman. No one in the Wastelands escaped without scars.

No.... It was the glasses. The fact that they were intact. The fact that there was no way she could have kept them in a tight enclosed space with all these people without someone trying to take them from her and use them as a bargaining chip to be released. It meant she knew how to defend herself. It meant she knew what she was doing. And above all, it means she could keep up a fight when necessary.

"Oy! You there", Jonas, the leader, called to the woman Spence had been pointing at. "C'mere! Let's see you better!"

 

[wouldjakoindly]

She had been minding her own business when it happened. And still, she couldn't be sure how it had happened in the first place.

It wasn't like she was stupid or careless. She had been born out in the Wastes - or that's what people told her. She had been raised out there.

The Brotherhood often spoke of destiny. Maybe it was that - maybe it was destiny that had gotten her captured, one lonely night when she was falling asleep. She slept light, an animal's sleep, guarding herself no matter where she was at. But that night, a week ago now, had been different. She didn't do drugs (besides the occassional helpful Stimpack or Mentats once in a while, and you couldn't live in the Capital without taking Rad-Away or Rad-X here and there), and while she did have a drink once in a while, she hadn't had a sip of anything besides water that entire day or night.

She shouldn't have been that tired, she shouldn't have fallen asleep so soundly, she should have woken up before the Slaver's had gotten the collar around her neck.

Maybe it was destiny. But it was pretty shitty destiny, if you asked her.

She was placed in a cage with a lot of others. All of them looked wary. A few of the younger ones - women mostly - looked scared. She felt bad for them. In her own way, she tried to protect them. The Slavers' didn't know what to think of this one - she was smaller than any of the others, weaker looking, still pale and not tanned and wrinkled like a fruit from being out in the sun for long periods of time. And the glasses were an utter mystery to them. But every time one of them leered or made comments about any of the women, they would get snarled at, snapped at. The same had happened when they had tried to take her glasses - she had allowed them to take her well-oiled leather armor, her weapons, even her favorite dust-catcher hat, had sullenly gotten into the badly fitting cloth dress all the females wore. But when it had come to her glasses, she had fought. And she had fought when she was first brought in, first undressed, and a few of the men had tried to take her aside to "measure" her.

So her glasses were not taken. Neither was her dignity - one of the men now boasted a new circle-ish scar on his arm, another one had almost lost a finger. She was like a dog, so between themselves they called her 'Bitch', since she had not been so forthcoming with her name. She didn't care one way or the other. Once the people in the cage heard what she had done, they mostly left her alone. Scuffles that did break out over her attitude or her glasses were quickly and quietly taken care of with no fatalities and few bad injuries.

She had never seen the "Man With No Face", but she had heard of him, of his reputation, of the way he went through companions like most people went through food. She wasn't well known through the Wastes by name, but there had been talk of the Brotherhood's new "Bloodhound", a hireling they sent out specifically after mutants and ghouls. She had done well in that job. She felt it was her duty to protect people - especially the Brotherhood, who had raised her and taught her - from the feral creatures that were now so common.

Glancing up from her place, crouched on the ground, she didn't stand immediately. She cast her bright green eyes over the one pointing at her - could it really be the "Man With No Face"? It didn't seem likely, but he fit the description. Slowly, she stood, sauntering over to the front of the cage, easily passing between the people who quickly got out of her way.

She stood about 5'3". It was almost laughable how tiny she seemed compared to the other people around her. She was dusty, and there were a few hand shaped bruises on her arms. Her hair was messily done up, but not tangled, into a high, loose bun. But she was cool, calm, collected. She stood straight, with her hands at her sides, like a soldier, but her gaze became disdainful.

"I have a name. It's not 'You there'." One of the cage guards snorted. She targeted him. "And it's not 'Bitch' either. It's Noelle." She stated it proudly enough. A silly name, but it was the name one of the more whimsical Brotherhood scribes had given her. Her attention came back to Spence. "And what can I do for you today, big boy?"

 

[AliciaSunderland]

She had spunk, he had to give her that. Whether you were man or woman, it was a risk to respond to slavers in such a crude way.

He smiled behind the cloth when she said her name. It was a subconscious thing he wouldn't even have noticed unless he had been faced with a mirror. Noelle. Way back when; when buildings still stood, when people walked in abundance in the streets, when the threat of a nuclear disaster wasn't on people's minds, in other words, before this mess, he had known someone who had once lived in the north. She had the thickest french accent he'd ever heard, and he'd been thought that where she came from, Christmas was called "Noel".

To think she'd hold a name which sounded exactly the same.... He had not heard of the good times holiday since the blasts. In some ways, it was as though someone, somewhere, had dared remember, dared rebuild what was once lost through this girl.

"This one", he said simply, his voice rubbing on sand, muffled by the layers hiding his face.

"Yeah? Y'sure? She's a pain in the fuckin' balls, this one." And he meant it in every sense of the way.

Spence shifted his gaze at the leader, quiet. His silence seemed to urge him on more then a fist and he rose his hands in an harmless motion. "Hey man, jus' sayin'. As long as y'got the caps I -" He caught a pouch before he was able to respond. It looked heavy in the slavers' hands and a greedy smile crept up to his features. "All yours, man."

A couple of other slavers came forward and opened the cage, gripping her arm and forcing her forward toward Spence.

"Come along, little girl", Spence ordered her next, with a done devoid of much emotions as he pressed his large hand between her shoulder blades to guide her toward the exist of the camp.

 

[wouldjakoindly]

There was no cloth to hide the triumphant smile on her face when she heard the leader's description of her, and she had no desire to repress it.

She wondered if this man was in any way connected to the Brotherhood. She doubted it - she had never heard of any connections between The Man With No Face and any post-war factions, no strong connections anyway. The only bonds he formed were flimsy ones with the people he took contracts from. Was it at all possible the Brotherhood had paid him to get her out? It was as likely as anything else.

She preferred this hopeful thought than the idea that she might be taken out of her just to be some asshole's plaything. Fighting him could be an option if he got too handsy, but she didn't think so - he was much bigger than she was, and he had weapons. If she had had her energy pistol, she might have tried a daring escape. As it was, she had no confidence that she'd get away with just her hands.

One of the slavers who reached in to grab her and pull her out - the one who sported the fresh scar, the bite marks, on his forearm - leered at her.

"Have fun with your few days of freedom, Princess. No one survives long with him."

But she said nothing, didn't even acknowledge she had heard him. Obediently, she walked out of the camp, feeling her - she refused to think of him as master, and she didn't know if he was her savior just yet... she'd call him employer for now - employer behind her, his heavy hand on her back.

His silence was a bit unnerving. It was like being followed by a ghost - even if he looked more like a mummy. She licked her lips and cleared her throat. "I'm good with energy weapons. Okay with regular guns. I'm no good with close range combat - knives, bats, hand to hand. And don't ever ask me to lockpick anything. You'll just end up with a lot of broken bobby pins." She chuckled at her joke, but it died quickly and she cleared her throat again. "Is it true what they say then? You, uh... you lose a lot of companions, huh?" She couldn't help herself. She became talkative when she was nervous. And she had heard somewhere that the more someone got to know you, the less likely they were going to outright murder you.

 

[AliciaSunderland]

He did not respond to the slaver either. Couldn't have cared less for his opinion. In fact, it was a foolish thing to speak like this. Spence could be trigger happy when he was in the mood. Luckily for that slaver, he was in no such mood.

He said nothing as she walked, feigning disinterest when in fact he caught every word she sent his way. His hold on her back kept her at a steady pace but he didn't push her either.

"Is it true what they say then? You, uh... you lose a lot of companions, huh?"

He said nothing. His silence WAS unnerving and there was a point to it: keep her on edge. He wanted to see what she would do, how she would react. It was one thing to count on the fact that she'd kept those glasses all along, but another entirely when seen in action. So far she was smarter then he'd thought. Most women he bought off slavers had tried to run away twice by now, and she'd stayed put. Good.

No less then an hour after he'd walked her out of her camp, they reached an abandoned house smack in the middle of the wastelands - or what was left of the structure. Blasted in half, someone had built a wall to try and conceal the proper side of the two story home and then either died or left it to rot. Instead of going straight for the door, he zigzagged to it unevenly, guiding the young woman as he went. It would have looked almost comical if Noelle had not taken notice of some of the mines which poked out of the soil. Once he reached the entrance, he looked over his shoulder, his hand on the knob. "Stay put. And don't think about running off, little girl. There's more mines then you can count around this place. And assuming you do evade them, I'll easily catch up to you and blast your legs off myself." It was said with such coolness that the night suddenly turned even chillier.

He disappeared in the house, and re-appeared a few minutes later once all traps had been disabled. "It's safe now", he held the door opened for her to step in. "Come on. Hurry up."

 

[wouldjakoindly]

Okay, so he wasn't going to talk. Creepy, but fine. Noelle had met a number of people like himself on her own travels - people who liked to keep to themself, who didn't like to talk a lot. Hell, it was very rare that she herself traveled with any companions, she worked just fine alone and usually the Brotherhood didn't have anyone to spare - she had spent many days silent herself.

She did wish he'd say something at least. It wasn't so much about the quiet, she just wanted to get a read on what this guy was like. On what he had wanted. She hadn't heard any stories about him having his way with any of his companions - just that they died, quick and often. Didn't mean anything - dead men tell no tales and all that.

So she quickly shut up and just walked, glad to finally be able to stretch her legs, which had been cramped in the cage she had shared with so many others. When they got to the house - zigzagging past the mines, a very delicate operation that she didn't enjoy having to do one bit, thank God she had someone leading her through them - she was obedient, once again, standing in front of the door. It wasn't that she wanted to be all nice and quiet for him, but she knew trying to escape too soon would just be stupid. If he was indeed human, he'd make a mistake, just like everyone else. Then she'd get away.

Besides, the way he had threatened her so easily, so cooly - it sent shivers up her spine, made her skin erupt into prickly goosepimples. She'd rather be good than dead.

Glancing up as the door opened, she stepped in carefully. "What a gentleman." She glanced around, clearly impressed with the place. Most of the buildings she came across and scavenged in weren't as fit to be inhabitable, due to radiation or debris - or muties. "Nice place, big boy. You set everything up yourself?" she asked idly, curious about the mines and any other system of defense he might have in place. She didn't really expect him to answer - or if he did, she didn't expect it to be a very detailed answer - but the more info she could glean, the better off she'd be later.

 

[AliciaSunderland]

Spence, again, made no answer. He was never much of a talker to begin with, but he knew what he was doing, and he had a good idea what she was doing as well. Gathering information, all in the hopes to overthrow him later. She was not the first and likely would not be the last to try.

The house was not badly kept. He was not a decorator and after all, you did what you could in the Wastelands... But while the place was obviously littered in booby traps, it was rather cozy, the lights dim and soothing. He'd made to recreate a living room, with a three place faded couch, a television which, somehow, was not busted although it probably did not work, and a radio resting on top of it. Faded portraits looking more like ghost photographs decorated the walls up and around a closed and locked safe embedded in that wall.*

The mysterious man kept his back at her. He didn't fear her. She was small and while she could obviously hold her own he had no doubt he could overpower her easily. Besides, she seemed like a smart girl. If she really was, she'd make no stupid move.

The nuclear blasts had not destroyed the fireplace. While it had taken Spence some time to clean it and fix it from deterioration over the years, it now worked almost like new, and he easily lit a fire which would warm up the place from the cold night.

He slouched on the couch and beckoned Noelle over with his finger. "Come here. Get undressed."

 

[wouldjakoindly]

Again, no answer, again, more unnerving silence. Alright, so he was smarter than she hoped. She had figured he would be, but you never know - sometimes you get lucky. Then again, Noelle had never been really lucky.

Instead of watching him, she looked at the faded portraits, one by one. The pictures told fragments of stories, of a home before the war. Noelle had been born after the war, she had no idea what it had been like, but seeing things like the portraits, or the unbroken tv, made her imagine what it must have been like. A Brotherhood scribe had told her once it used to be very green, with plants and trees everywhere. Must have been nice.

Then her gaze turned to the safe. She wondered what was in it, would have loved to open it up and see. She knew she'd never get the chance - even if she did, she knew her skills with locks were abysmal. Fat chance it would ever open for her, so she tried her best to forget about it, despite her curiosity.

Her eyes, having made a full circle of the room, landed on Spence near the fireplace. She watched him make a fire, taking a step nearer to feel some of the warmth radiating out. Hearing his command, she slowly turned towards him, taking a moment to process his words.

Finally, she answered, one simple word. "No." She'd follow him, she'd fight for him, she wouldn't even cause too much trouble - she had already decided that. If she was patient, she'd get free. Or maybe be rescued. But she was not about to follow any sick commands he made of her. She wasn't a virgin, by any means - you didn't stay that way long in the Wastelands - but she was proud to say that she had always willingly gone to bed with someone, she had never been forced, and whether she died in a few minutes or not, she wasn't about to break that rule just because he had gotten her out of that dirty slave cage, just because he had his weapons.

"Unless you give me a good reason. Threaten me all you want - I have standards."

 

[AliciaSunderland]

"Standards", Spence repeated like it was the strangest concept he'd ever heard in his whole life. He looked at her a long time, after which he rose his hand as though he meant to accept defeat, but it came down on his thigh as a slap and he sprung to his feet so quickly it seemed inhuman.

He towered over her, her own reflection across the shaded goggles. He made no move to reach out for her but already his temper flared in his gut. He'd always had that dark soul within, but with the centuries it had only grown worst. Much worst. Holding back was becoming more difficult but in many ways this girl was keeping that violence at bay for now. He was no man of second chances. He had been, once upon a time, but not now, and he was surprising even himself that he should give her a choice, even now.

"I don't have to give you my reasons", he told her, "and we can do this two ways. You either remove your clothes yourself, or I do it for you. Either way, it will happen."

 

[wouldjakoindly]

She lifted her chin up a bit when he echoed her, a proud and defiant gesture. Maybe he didn't believe she could have any, being a Wastelander, but she did, and she would show him.

It wasn't like she wasn't scared either. She was. She was hiding it well, in fact - until he stood up, towering above her. She shrank back from him, but did not give in to the desire to run. Her fingers clenched into fists, the knuckles white. She could feel her fingernails pricking into the skin of her palm.

She wanted to tell him no again. He'd have a tough fight on his hands trying to get her clothes off of her if he tried. She thought back to the slaver's camp. Yeah, she had let them undress her - she had been wearing armor, she had known she hadn't had a choice, and if she had resisted they would have hurt her. Same situation here, really. They had tried to touch her too. She had fought that, and they had simply thrown her in the cage - too much of a fight for them to deal with. It wasn't like she was the only woman in the Wastes. The only reason she hadn't been shot dead was because they figured she'd be a good source of caps - cute, young, feisty. People - the ones with caps - liked that.

That's where the similarities ended - she could be killed here if she fought. She didn't know him, didn't know if she'd be worth wasting a bullet or two on.

The dress was tight anyway. Still, the idea that she was giving up so easily made her sick to her stomach. Right after she had said no, right after she had felt so good for standing up to herself.

She reached down, grabbed the edge of the worn, dirty dress. Pulled it up and over her head and let it drop to the floor. She hesitated over her underwear, the only piece of clothing the slaver's had let her keep, then pulled them down and stepped out of them.

Her skin was softer, paler, than a lot of Wastelanders', but she hadn't managed to hide the few scars she had received over the years. She wasn't plump, but she wasn't scrawny either - the muscles in her legs and arms were slim but tough; her handful-size breasts with their rosy nipples were firm; her hips and thighs were rather thick but not sagging or jiggling with too much flesh.

Finding herself embarrassed but not wanting to draw more attention to herself by hiding her nudity (or trying to), she muttered, "It's too cold for this bullshit," despite the warmth of the fireplace. Her body was tense, ready to step away from him, to bite or kick or punch him away if he grabbed for her.

 

[AliciaSunderland]

He couldn't say he wasn't impressed. Her condition was far better then most Wastelander he'd come across. Still the scars and bruises he saw were of some concern. There were scrapes at her back when she'd fought the slavers tooth and nail.

Yet there was a part of him that was disappointed. To just undress like this, with so little effort. Not that he felt like having to fight the clothes off her and add more bruises and scrapes, but he'd hoped she'd have fought for her independence more then this. There was no thrill in what he was doing, but then she could not know that, he supposed. With his horrible fate at the hands of radiations, he'd lost a lot of his humanity, and some of what he'd lost was clearly attributed to social skills.

He was further impressed by how she looked so much like <i>her</i>. The dress she'd worn from the slavers had been no illusion and he was certain of it now. Perhaps that was why he was giving chances - so many of them already. More then he'd given anyone else.

He reached into his pocket and took a roll of string from it, approaching her. He caught her weary eye but thought nothing of it, unrolling the dirty piece and getting to one knee, spreading it up from her feet to her head without touching her. "Don't move", he said next, drawing the string around her breasts and pinching it behind her back.

 

[wouldjakoindly]

She tensed when he put his hand in his pocket. The string confused her so much that she didn't even try to take a step away when he approached her. When she finally noticed him, her gaze narrowed, but she stood still, she stood straight. Her fingers were still curled into fists.

But he didn't touch her. No - he was... was he measuring her? She felt odd, uncomfortable. She wanted to smack his hands away, but it wasn't like he was getting handsy with her. Fine. If he wanted to know her measurements, let him be the weird bandaged, faceless guy who liked to take women's measurements.

Didn't mean she couldn't comment on it - he had said don't move, not don't talk.

"Am I about to be surprised with my own wardrobe of form-fitting clothes? Or am I just the last piece you need for your human-skin suit? I suggest you get your money back from the slavers - I don't have much in the tits department, so either way I'm probably not what you're looking for."

Honestly, she usually wasn't this much of a talker. Talking wasn't something you learned in the Brotherhood of Steel - it was the opposite, silence, learning to live silently. But it was just an odd situation she found herself in, and though she had learned to control the physical manifestations of it, Noelle was still a very nervous person. What was happening was not in the least relaxing. She was one of those people who found bad jokes more comfortable than unsettling, empty silence; even though she knew she was bordering on the edge of getting punished, she couldn't help herself. Just because she had been taught by the Brotherhood didn't mean she learned all the lessons perfectly.

 

[AliciaSunderland]

Spence stood, looking down at her a moment. He felt her tense when he wrapped the string around her torso and hips. She'd been right in thinking he was sizing her up. Absolutely right. And he was, for lack of words, stunned. The exact same measurements applied... The same one as

Donna

Exactly the same.

She missed the orchid tattoo in her upper back, but otherwise, you'd have thought them the same person.

"Am I about to be surprised with my own wardrobe of form-fitting clothes? Or am I just the last piece you need for your human-skin suit? I suggest you get your money back from the slavers - I don't have much in the tits department, so either way I'm probably not what you're looking for."

"Human-skin... suit...", he repeated her words with disbelief. She didn't need to see his face to know the expression behind the mask. It was a long moment when it was obvious he would raise his hand and strike the small woman so defiant before him... but instead he was taken by a bout of laughter, the first in years to be exact. It was distorted, rubbing on sand, as though he'd forgotten WHAT laughter was about; but it was an honest to god laugh. Yes, she had spunk alright, and he liked that. As long as she didn't fuck things up, he liked what he saw.

Of course she was pretty. Her skin was smoother then most "soft skins" he'd come across, the few scars she possessed only embellishing her instead of tarnishing her. There was an urge to reach out, remove his glove and see for himself if her skin was as smooth as his long decaying eyes let on. See if it felt the same as the woman she reminded him of. Despite all, he was a man, and a man who had convinced himself his desires and needs had extinguished... until now. If she could see the way he looked at her behind the goggles, she'd likely pick up her smooth skins and run the other way with or without mines around the house. Luckily for both of them she could not see anything passed the thick layers that covered him.

When he was done laughing, he pressed his large hand between her shoulder blades and led her up the stairs. An old worn out carpet was nailed upon the wooden set of stairs which had obviously been repaired often. The carpet continued on the second floor into a corridor with various closed doors. He carried her to the second room and opened the door to a small, dim lit bedroom. He didn't lead her in. He understood how carrying her, stripped, to a bedroom looked - and the thought did cross his mind, the first time in a long time - and he went in himself, fumbling in a crooked wardrobe until he returned with a faded pair of jeans and a checkered shirt, putting them in her hands. The moment her hands came in contact with it, a wave of strawberry scent entered her nostrils. "There. This will fit you better then the slaves' potato sack you were wearing. Should be the perfect fit."

 

[wouldjakoindly]

She tried not to tense herself up for the blow she was expecting. Hand to Hand Combat 101 in the BoS bunker she had grown up in - relax and move like water when hit. She had never been good at that part - any part of hand to hand, really, but especially the 'moving like water' part. Why the hell did you need to learn to move like water when you were a moving tank in your power armor anyway? All you had to do was stand there - anyone dumb enough to punch you with their bare fist would just end up with some broken fingers.

But there was no need for her to try and relax from expecting a blow - the large, faceless mummy man was laughing. Her eyes widened behind her glasses, her expression one of surprise. A nervous smile slowly crept onto her face. Maybe that was good that she had made him laugh. It didn't sound exactly threatening - just unused. Not unpleasant though.

But no more words - just another press to her shoulder blades. She walked with him until they got to the bedroom door, and when he opened it, she started to take a step backwards. Maybe she had given in with removing her clothes too soon, but she wouldn't on this, she'd be damned before she let anyone, least of all this freak, touch her, she -

Oh. Clothes. She took them, gazing at them a bit suspiciously, then shrugged her shoulders.

"Nice. Not armor - but nice. Thanks." She slid past him into the bedroom to put the clothes on - it didn't really matter where she put them on, but there was some part of her that preferred to do it in a bedroom rather than out in the hallway. The door was open and he was standing right there, but there was still an impression of privacy in a bedroom. She slid into the jeans - a little tight in the back, but other than that, a good fit, and then the shirt.

"All I need now is a cowboy hat and I'm ready for a hootenanny, yeehaw," she muttered. But she was smiling a bit. She liked the clothes, and the way they smelled. They fit her well, they were more comfortable than that sack ever could have been.

There had been one question she had meant to ask. Now seemed as good of a time as any. "So, what am I supposed to call you anyway, big boy? Boss work for you?"

 

[AliciaSunderland]

He watched her get dressed. The more he looked at her, the more he felt drawn to her. The more he wanted to see if everything about her was true - was real. And in these clothes -

- Donna's clothes -

- she looked even more like her... It was so uncanny it sent shivers up his spine. Her attitude wasn't exactly similar, and her comment about the cowboy hat nearly had him take the clothes back. He was giving away something more precious then she could imagine. How dare she... His hands clenched, unclenched, clenched, unclenched... relaxed. It took a sheer amount of willpower to keep his control in check, something he'd been losing more and more of over the years.

"So, what am I supposed to call you anyway, big boy? Boss work for you?"

"Spence." It was said so quickly, so automatic, that he surprised even himself. He never gave away his name. Why was he doing so now?! Well, it was too late to go back now. "And this, for now, is your room. There's no lock. I don't care if you roam around. You can't leave the house anyway. Well you can, but... I won't be the one picking up the pieces in the morning." He shrugged and now you wouldn't know he had laughed earlier. You wouldn't know he was capable of laughter at all. "The only room I you can't go into is the last one to the left." He shifted his weight, turning on his heels, looking over his shoulder. "I suggest you take your rest, little girl. We have a big day ahead of us tomorrow." And with this he was gone, leaving her to herself in that small bedroom.

 

[wouldjakoindly]

She listened to him, but she didn't turn around to look at him. She was already too busy looking around the room, her interest peaked when he told her that it was her room. She had never had a room to herself, not in the Brotherhood. You shared everything you had there, and she had been fine with it, never complained. And a bed too, back in the bunker she had slept on a cot. Only the most well-respected and deserving people got beds, they were sparse and had to be reserved. She had been told if she kept up her good work...

And before she knew it, he had left her alone. Spence? That was a sort of odd name for the legendary Man With No Face, wasn't it? Kind of... well, kind of non-threatening. She had never met anyone named Spence, but she felt like that sort of a name belonged to someone... smaller. Scrawnier.

Oh well, it didn't really matter. Still though, she had a feeling that his name wasn't well-known. Or else why would people go around calling him The Man With No Face? Why was he letting her know it? That seemed kind of odd too.

The bed was surprisingly uncomfortable - she had expected something softer, less lumpy. But then again, this was the Wasteland. You did what you could. Flopping onto it, she tried to get comfortable, to make the best of the situation. She really missed the bunker now. It was too quiet in this old house. In the bunker, there had always been some kind of noise - the noise of late night training, the whisper of voices or machinery, the night guards thumping about in the halls (power armor was notoriously loud).

She pulled the thin cover over herself, wishing she could see Scribe Sparrow - the man who had given her her name and taken her in as his daughter - or even her roommate at the bunker, Mattie, even if all she did talk about were all her boyfriends.

Eventually, despite her homesickness and her thoughts about what would happen tomorrow, she fell into a restless sleep.

 

[AliciaSunderland]

Spence returned to his room - Spencer and Donna's room - and slouched on the bed with a long sigh. After a while staring at the cracks in the ceiling, he removed the goggles, then any cloth around his head, followed by a long array of layers, like onion peels, until he was in regular pants and a once white tank top, now greyed out with time.

He stared at the reflection in the cracked mirror - once a human, now a disfigured being out of a horror movie: milky eyes like hard boiled eggs, ragged, broken skin, thin blond hair... his nose was gone and the muscles pulled through the tendons of his neck on the left side. He remembered, as a child, how terrified he was of creatures of the night, of what was once called Zombies. And now here he was, a horrifying monster who you'd never thought had once been human.

After cleaning his weapons and setting them on the old dusty bed, his hands fumbled in a crate, removing scraps of leather armor and remains of a metal suit. With further materials he set to work meticulously - hours and hours of work.

Why bother,a little voice in the back of his head echoed, they all leave eventually.

"Not this one", he mumbled. He had no control over that of course, but he'd work to keep her under his care for as long as he could, at least. It was a silly thing, only because she physically resembled Donna so much, but it was stronger then him.

That night, like many other nights, sleep claimed him only after long hours of thinking too much. He'd lay by his weapons, always so paranoid someone would manage into his home despite all the traps he'd set up. And like every night, the nightmares came and they gripped at his soul until he would yowl louder then the beasts which roamed into the night. The explosions, Donna's last words, that strong, awful wind which followed the blinding white lights of the atomic bombs. And worst of all, the black rain....

He screamed and tossed and turned, restless and hurting at his core, at his soul.

 

[wouldjakoindly]

Noelle awoke and sat straight up in bed late that night, groping around for the pistol she always kept at her side.

"Jesus fuckin' Christ," she muttered, running a hand through her hair as she heard a shriek tear through the night - another one, similar to the one that had woken her up. "The hell is that..." She glanced around the room, her eyes slowly adjusting to the dark. One window, with barely any moonlight shining through it. She slipped out of the bed and went to the window, thinking maybe the... thing, whatever it was that was making that awful noise, was outside.

She couldn't see anything - maybe it was on the other side of the house? It sounded like it... sounded closer. In the house. Was there something in the house? No lock on her door, so it wasn't like she was safe if something had gotten in. What kind of animal made that sort of noise? Yao Gui maybe? Shit, if a Yao Gui had gotten in the house...

She crept to the doorway - or tried to. The damn floor creaked with her every step, and finally she stopped trying. She simply walked out into the hallway, looked around curiously, and upon hearing the yowl again, realized it was coming from a room in the hallway. Big bad Spence's room, she guessed. What kind of dreams was he having to make noises like that?

She sighed, almost feeling sorry for him, then went back to her bed and crawled in. She eventually fell back asleep, despite the cries. She awoke before dawn - her internal alarm was set well, she liked being on the move before the sun was up. Less people around that way, less chance of danger. Today however, she didn't jump out of bed, ready to go - she simply set up, brushing her fingers through her hair before reaching for the bobby pins she had put on the small night stand table next to the bed last night, the ones she had taken out of her hair before going to bed. Sticking a few in her mouth, she began to pin her hair up, humming softly to herself.

She figured when she was wanted, she would be retrieved. As curious as she was about the house, she didn't feel like creeping around it - despite what he had said about her being allowed to, except for that one room - and potentially stumbling onto an active booby trap.

The humming turned into soft words, half sung half spoken, once her mouth was clear of bobby pins. "Oooh, bongo bongo bongo, I don't wanna leave the Congo, oh no no no no no..."

 

[AliciaSunderland]

(( OOC: I wish to apologize. My daughter had a terrible ear infection and sleep has been scarce these past few weeks. I should be good to go now. ~ Alicia ))

Spence had been up before Noelle. They did have a big day: a place to be. An important place to be. If this worked, a lot of his enemies would be off the grid, and that was exactly why he needed a companion. She'd been docile so far, and that was good. Surprising, but good.

He finished eating his portion of food - dry powdered eggs (or so the box said), mixed with boiled water which was supposed to create scrambled eggs and a few pieces of of cooked Brahmin. He didn't eat much these days. In fact, he had to remind himself to eat as hunger was no more a function his brain recognized as important, further indication that he was running on borrowed time.

He rolled the many scarves around his head until he looked like a mummy once more, only to stop halfway when he heard the humming upstairs. He looked up as though he had the ability to see through the ceiling into Noelle's room above, not realizing his eyes were narrowing further as he listened quietly to the hums turning into words...

"You're always working!"

"Well someone has to pay the bills, Donna..."

A song on the radio. A hit of the time. It plays every god damned half hour. So bongo, bongo, bongo, I don't wanna leave the Congo, oh no no no no no

"Yes, I know... I just. I need you here. I need you here if we're going to have this baby, you know?"

Bingo, bangle, bungle, I'm so happy in the jungle, I refuse to go

"Aw Christ... Please don't make this complicated. We need to the money too!"

"Yes but it's so dangerous, Spencer!"

Don't want no jailhouse, shotgun, fish-hooks, golf clubs, I got my spears

Donna stands by the window. Looking outside, arms crossed.

"I'm not the only one who works there, you know? There's no way I can get hurt and -"

"Spencer, what's that?"

"What's what?"

So, no matter how they coax him, I'll stay right here

"Oh my god... SPENCER!"

A bright flash. Donna's shriek. Pain.

They have things like the atom bomb, so I think I'll --

The door to Noelle's door slammed opened with such force it came off its hinges at the top of the door. Spence walked in with heavy steps, dust raising each time his heavy boots touched the floor as he approached Noelle with his finger pointing her with menacingly.

"Shut your mouth! YOU SHUT YOUR MOUTH THIS INSTANT YOU FUCKING LITTLE CUNT!"

 

[wouldjakoindly]

(( Oh, no worries at all. I understand how that can be, ear infections are the worst. I hope things are alright now and your daughter is back to being happy and healthy! ))

Noelle had finished putting her hair up, noting that in a few days she'd want to try and wash it, and was about to slide out of bed and go on downstairs when the door slammed open with such force it made her jerk with surprise. She was out of the bed in an instant, her back pressed against the night stand - an animal backed into a corner, but one that wasn't going to die without a fight by the look in her eyes.

For a minute, his shout didn't seem to register. She just blinked up at him.

And then, wonder of wonders, she walked right up to him, sticking her finger in his chest, her lips curled in a snarl and her eyes flashing with anger up at him.

"Say that again, asshole, I fucking dare you. You don't talk to me like that, I don't care if you think you own me, you don't FUCKING talk to me like that."

Her other hand reached up, smacking the hand that had been pointed at her. "You hear me? I don't care that the world we live in is a wasteland, I don't care who you are or who raised your worthless ass, you don't fucking talk to a fucking lady like that." She paused, then added, with vehemence, "You fucking big dick."

She stared up at him for a moment longer, her lips now pressed tightly together and her eyes narrowed, before she turned away from him, walking back over to the bed to begin making it up.

Cleanliness is next to...

The words of Elder Garrel came unbidden to her. He always used to smile when he said them. Like a father teaching his children. It was rather ironic, in the bunker, she had always left her side of the room a mess - to thumb her nose that she wasn't really a member, and she hated to clean besides. Now? Now she found a certain peace in it. It reminded her of the bunker as she worked to pull the ratty covers up and even and smooth them out.

It didn't exactly erase the effect of the words shouted at her. Her movements were jerky, angry. She tried to calm down by telling herself that the bed nor it's covers had done anything to offend her. Needless to say, it didn't work well.

 

[AliciaSunderland]

If she had seen Spence's eyes behind those goggles, she may not have been so smug. He was a ghoul - she had no idea of that, obviously - and while he was not feral, he was edging that way every day that went by. And now that he'd found a woman like her, someone who resembled Donna so much it made him ache, he couldn't have been closer to insanity then he was now.

He heard her words but they didn't exactly register. He registered her tone however. Oh, that he did and it was not an acceptable one. How DARE she wear Donna's face and spoke to him like he was some dog to be discarded. He watched her turn to make the bed.

His hands clenched and unclenched. Clenched. Unclenched.

Suddenly, he was on her so fast she likely didn't have time to understand what had happened - he had her pinned down on the bed, her front on the mattress, straddling her as he sat on the small of her back. His large hand tangled in her hair, the bobby pins digging into her scalp.

"I don't THINK I own you", he snarled, "I DO own you!"

 

[wouldjakoindly]

The breath was knocked out of her the moment he pinned her, so she couldn't let out a gasp of surprise. Her face could show surprise however, and show it it did - then seething anger.

"Over my dead body, you son of a bitch!" she snarled right back, after she had managed to drag a breath in, her body writhing and wriggling under him. She couldn't move much at all, he was so heavy on top of her, but that fact didn't stop her from trying to buck him off or wriggle out from under him.

"Get the fuck off me! Get... OFF me you god damn freak! You fucking coward, why don't you get off me and fight me like a man!" She had no delusions that she'd win in a fist fight against Spence... or at least, she didn't think so. She had heard what anger and adrenaline can do for a person. Besides, it wasn't about winning, it was about showing him she wasn't going to let him treat her badly.

Her legs and arms thrashed as she tried to at least work one arm out from underneath him. To her credit, despite her disadvantage, she wasn't giving up, wasn't conceding to him just to get him off her, just to get away without whatever form of sick punishment he might decide to inflict on her. It wasn't like she hadn't dealt with pain before. She didn't like it, but she had the scars to prove that she wasn't a stranger to it.

 

[AliciaSunderland]

He didn't hear her call him a coward, or how he wouldn't fight her like a man. It's not that he couldn't hear, it's that the rest was blocked after she called him a freak. There was a reason The Man With No Face wore so many layers, and it was because he would be faced with the harsh facts of BEING a freak otherwise. A ghoul. A fucking, disgusting. Ghoul.

He easily held her in place. She was a good fighter. He knew she was, but if you got her by surprise - and were three times her size - she wasn't so hard to subdue. As his rage gripped his chest like a vice, he watched her squirm, watched Donna's face contort in anger and adrenaline fueled defiance, and as she writhed under him, he felt himself stir against her. He hadn't felt this sudden rush of lust in a long time. It had been so long that for a moment he had no idea WHAT he felt.

His rage overwhelm him once more. With his hand tight in her hair, he moved her up and slammed her right back down on the mattress, blinded by this renewed feeling of lust, of his fury for her being the woman she wasn't. "How dare you... How fucking DARE you?! I took you out of the slaver's hands, gave you SHELTER and CLOTHES and you do THIS to me?!" He made no sense, not for her or someone who would watch from the outside. To him, she had mocked him by singing this song, mocked his beloved by wearing her face, and she would remember this a long time. "You want to be this way? Fine. I'll make sure you remember it!"

Still holding her by the hair and pinning her down, he brought his hand to his belt and unbuckled it quickly, gripping her wrists and tying them together tight. There would be bruises later, it was quite obvious. "Let's see how smug you are now, you shit!"

 

[wouldjakoindly]

Finally, a look of fear crossed her face. But it wasn't exactly because of what he was about to do - she didn't think she was about to die, at least - but because she had suddenly realized, like a light flashing in her head, that this... this man, this thing, whatever and whoever he was... was insane.

In that moment, she was still. That stillness only lasted a second, and then she was struggling harder than ever. One thought pounded incessantly in her mind, I have to get away, I have to get away, I have to get away.

Could she have stopped him by ending her struggle, by playing the fearful, whimpering damsel in distress? Possibly. But the thought didn't occur to her. Even if it had of, she would have discarded it. Noelle was not the damsel in distress type.

Her breath was again forced out of her as he gripped her hair tighter and dragged her further up on the bed. A whine of pain left her, but that was it. She grit her teeth, sucked in a whistling, pained breath through them.

"Fuck... YOU! I don't know... what the fuck you think I did..." She felt her wrists being strapped together by his belt. If she was on her back and could wiggle her arms out of his grip... the belt wouldn't have mattered, in fact, it would have helped her, she could have used her fists to bludgeon the shit out of him, then that would have showed him. She couldn't do it in this position however, with him on top of her.

And as for his lust, she had felt nothing. In a normal situation, she might have, but she was too busy struggling. Even in the moment she had gone still, her thoughts had been on his insanity, not on the feeling of him on top of her and anything that might have changed. The many layers he wore wouldn't have helped either.

"Oh, I'll remember it. I'll remember it and when I get a chance I'll repay it a fucking thousand fold, just you watch! You think you're something fucking else, but look at you, the big scary merc tying the little Wastelander up just to beat the shit out of her. Class fucking act, you piece of shit coward!"

 

[AliciaSunderland]

Spence's hand came down hard across her cheek, and she was only lucky there was enough material around his hand to absorb most of the hit, otherwise he might have knocked a few of her teeth out in the process.

When she threatened him, he burst into roaring laughter, a sound out of this world, something comparable to what rust may have sounded like had it possessed a sound at all. "Little Wastelander? I hardly think so. You wouldn't be here and I sure as hell wouldn't bother with you if you were just a 'little Wastelander'." And that was no lie. As close as he was getting to the insanity that eventually gripped most ghouls, he wouldn't have picked her, with or without Donna's face, with or without the glasses, if he didn't think she could handle herself. However, now she deserved a lesson and she sure as fuck was going to get it.

His hand still tangled in her hair, he brought the other one around, undoing the button of the pants he'd given her less then twelve hours ago, flicking it out of its loop with so much ease it was hardly believable, before yanking the fabric down to her panties, which he easily tore away from her small frame in an instant. "Call me what you want, this is still going to happen!"