Chapter Text
A violent, windy storm, often accompanied by rain, snow or hail. Figuratively represents a violent commotion, uproar or intense emotional disturbance.
The Ghoul felt energised in the way only an encroaching radiation storm could generate and from beneath the brim of his hat he cast his gaze toward the dark clouds brewing on the horizon. It wasn’t exactly close but it was close enough that it carried on the wind. Remnants of acid rain and brewing radioactive dust in the air that sent his senses buzzing in anticipation. Behind him Lucy was oblivious to it all, head bowed as she put one foot in front of the other. Well, perhaps not so oblivious, there seemed to be an effort to every step on the sand as Lucy trekked ever forward. A struggle that seemed to cause unrest within her plain to see with the hard set of her brow.
He eyes the flash of green lightning that crackles in the distance and sighs, wracking his memory for the closest settlement out this part of the country. A storm like that would be invigorating for him but would only spell doom for his human and canine companions who would be susceptible to the radiation that a storm like that brewed.
“Looks like we’ve got a change in plans, Sweetheart.” He states.
Lucy looks up in bewilderment. “What? Why are we stopping now? We’ve been making good time travelling and I haven’t even asked for a water break. I promise I’ll be quicker.” She says, hands on her knees as she struggles for breath. She had shed the upper layer of her vault suit and tied it low around her hips and while it wouldn't help the rays of heat it helped it cool her skin with the occasional breeze that swept through the region to give a brief reprieve.
“None of that, that ain’t the issue.” The Ghoul says, lifting a withered hand to point to the clouds looming in the near distance. “You see that? That there is what folks call a Rad Storm. Now, I don’t know exactly what they teach you in those damn vaults but these clouds ain’t like the ones you would have learnt about in a pre-war textbook. These clouds are far deadlier for the likes of you smooth skins, packed with radiation and nuclear fallout that rain down acid that’ll quickly burn the skin than sooth it like the rain of old. Where I’ll get a nice regenerative boost for lingering in its eye, I’m afraid you’ll end up looking like me if you linger too long within its reach.”
Lucy’s doe eyes are wide but undeniably curious as they gaze towards the looming clouds. “Gosh! I found the rain cycle fascinating to read about, to see it in action will be exciting.” She glanced toward him and grew sheepish at his stern expression. “At a healthy distance of course.”
The Ghoul lets out an acknowledging grunt. "Sure, healthy. That's just the words i'd use to describe it."
Continuing onward the trio trek ever forward through the scorching sand, Dogmeat letting out an uneasy whine every so often as she circled around Lucy's, she no doubt smelt the oncoming storm or sensed something only animals could. Whatever intrigue the brewing storm generated within Lucy was quickly swapped with hesitation when her pip boy's geiger counter began to tick ominously. It was as if the reality of being caught within the chaos of the storm had dawned upon her. It was clear in her face and the way she worried her lip that gave face to her anxiety. She only began to voice her worry when the counter began to tick continuously, a drone of noise that no doubt kept rhythm with the beat of her heart as the storm loomed ever closer.
“How far is our shelter?” Lucy queried, finally giving voice to the thoughts that had no doubt brewed since the moment he had mentioned the storm.
The Ghoul squinted into the distance and even with enhanced eye-sight it was difficult to tell between the glare and the storm, his hand raised against the wind that began to sweep the region that tingled against his weathered skin, the sensation dulled by his ghoulification. It was a gentle reminder that Lucy would soon begin to feel the burn of the storm's effects, her and dogmeat who still loyally followed him lead through the Wasteland.
“A few miles.” He admits, a tad bitter as he caught sight of the ramshackle silhouettes of a settlement still far ahead of them. He glanced back toward Lucy a moment later, gaze caught on the flush to her cheeks. It wasn’t strain or heat that was causing it, no, it was the radiation that only tingled his skin that was beginning to irritate her skin angrily.
Lucy grins back at him regardless of the sting she must be feeling, the skin raw where it stretched across her face in a show of vault tech induced positivity. “Okie dokie.” She says cheerily.
Still Lucy follows without much debate, on and on through ever shifting grains of sand. Dogmeat circles between them, her ears back the only sign that displayed that she wasn't as content as she seemed. She wasn't the only one and perhaps the canine sensed that strange sort of tension keeps all parties quiet in anticipation as if waiting for all hell to break loose. Even Lucy's insistent chatter was silent for once as the trio continued to travel.
Just as the buildings start to stand out as more than dots in the distance does the first drops of rain begin to settle on the parched earth. Lucy hisses, a low startled sound at it hit her uncovered skin with the top of her vault suit bare except for a white undershirt. The Ghoul turns at the noise, worry and frustration warring within him to spy the red that blooms upon her soft skin. The sight only prompts his ire, and despite the chaos around them Lucy’s shoulders hunch in to witness it, no doubt gathering his frustration was due to her weakness. It wasn’t, and it would have been a hell of a lot easier to explain the sour edge of panic that filled him with her suffering.
As the drops grow more frequent, he shifts to wrench her forward, her boots catching in the dirt and sand beneath them as the Ghoul pulls her along. “Get moving Vaultie!” He snaps, teeth bared down at her as his gloved hand snagged around her upper arm viscously.
Her arms were lifted to shield her face from the brunt of the rain, the exposed skin of her wrists and hands getting the worst of where they attempted to shield herself. The Ghoul isn’t sure if the wince that graces her face is from his man handling or the sting of the acidic rain. With a snarl, he takes the hat from his head and shoves her hands away to place it upon her head. It works to shield her from the worst of the rain with only the occasional stray welting the skin of her face and neck.
“Sir?! I- what? I can’t take that from you, it’ll burn you.” Her surprised shout gets lost as the sound of thunder crackles above them. She jolts, her denial forgotten at the sound of thunder, a sound foreign to one living under ground. It sets her eyes wide, her mouth agape.
You'll burn she says but he had burnt once on that fateful day as he saw the shockwave bend the trees and felt as it rolled over his skin in a rush of blistering heat. In the coming days or months the burn lingered, blistering and festering until his skin melted into the gruesome display it was today. A wry amusement curls his lip at the expression upon his face despite the circumstances. Absently he hopes that they get to shelter soon, not only for safety but to let himself witness her experience of seeing lighting up close. What stupid, frivolous desires! He was a fool, even two hundred years later.
"Just take it." He says harshly in turn, pulling her along with him.
The Ghoul all but pulls her forward, pushing against the torrent of rain that coats them. It sparks along his skin as the rain battered down upon them, a boost like caffeine or adrenaline that has him restless as he guides her through the storm. Lucy can do no more than bend to his will or trip into the sludge beneath their feet, unable to see much further than a pace or so ahead of them through the storm. A moan escapes her, pained and mournful and he's caught on the sound like she was some injured doe. It has him look toward her, really look. Lucy's pale, a shade or two away from her normal complexion and no doubt her stomach was churning with the influx of radiation, with nausea setting in it wouldn't be long until the force of it overwhelmed her no matter how stubborn she could be, suddenly sallow in the sickly green hue that was creeping to the region. The pip-boy on her arm lets out a series of clicks, nearly rapid in succession. She seems to pay it no mind, swaying on her feet as she stumbles toward him.
"Sir.. I... I don't feel so good." Lucy says, her words a pitiful slur.
This time his grip seems to be the only thing holding her upright as her legs buckle beneath her. "Shit! Sweetheart? Lucy!" He curses, nearly dragged down by the weight of her going rag-doll.
Lucy's head lolls forward with the motion, stumbling into him. His gloves hand grips her chin, forcing her gaze to meet his. "Look at me." The Ghoul demands, the frightened tone being swallowed by the sudden boom of thunder. No, his tone was not fearful, the Ghoul thinks, his grip like iron on her soft skin, men like him don't fear anything for that capacity had left him the day his skin began to melt, when he gazed upon the mushroom cloud in the distance and knew the end of the world was upon them.
Her eyes are almost cross-eyed as he peers into them. "Oh... When did the two of you appear?" She asks, her eyes unsteady as she looks toward the left of his person.
"Fucking typical of this god-damn wasteland." The Ghoul groans, eyes narrowed as his gaze swept over her suspiciously. "How long have you been lugging that excess radiation around, girl?"
She sways in his hold and Lucy is almost drunk on delirium, a laugh bursting from her. “Aw, not long.... It's funny, you almost seem like you almost care.” She says.
His gaze flits away from her, away to gaze toward the dark clouds on the horizon. "I don't. Besides, who else is allowing me a ticket to young Henry then you?" He retorts roughly.
The words were much further from the truth than he’d like to admit. Her being caught in the storm like that, the potential so high for her to die from the radiation levels because she was stubborn or stupid enough to push it had shown him a side he didn’t think existed still, the Cooper Howard he thought he had buried under nuclear fallout. He shook his head, now is not the time to be sentimental. He needs to keep Lucy alert, at least until they find some sort of shelter... the rest of their issues they can sort once they reach relative safety.
"Tell me a story, you like those don't you?" The Ghoul prompts, the words more rhetorical than anything as he drags her along, hoping to keep her awake long enough for them to find shelter. "C'mon, Sweetheart, share a trade secret with me. Just how did you get so good at shooting holed up underground as you are?"
She sags in his hold, words drawn and slurred as she finally replies to his words. “I dabble in riflery but I’m not very good at it.” Lucy says.
He scoffs in disbelief at her answer. "I've seen you shoot, Vaultie, and we both know you're a decent shot. I've seen you take town targets dead-center when needed. So don't lie and make a fool of both our intelligence... You aim to maim and not kill, which I'll have you know is actually harder. Any fool can point a gun and fire, it takes true skill to hone precision."
His eyes reflect with green-white eyeshine as he turns, a reminder that the man she was trying to fool was dangerous. "That sort of skill takes time, it requires patience and knowledge. I am curious to know how you perfected such skill, guess you have plenty of time down there for something so leisurely." The Ghoul says and his ruined lips quirk into a grin at the words, but the edge is harsh and patronising enough that her eyes cast down to the ground to avoid the sight of it.
"I told you that my vault had a rifle club. It makes sense when you think about reclamation day, for we, or more likely our descendants would be required to rejoin the surface, whatever that may be." Lucy admits at last. "I guess I am lucky to find that out, the rest of them will be going about the rest of their lives oblivious to the lives continuing out here."
Lightning strikes casting the land in green, a sickly green like the shine of a Pipboy. The Ghoul barks a laugh at the thought but there's nothing amusing about it. "Sated and comfortable underground, they never have to look out on this wasteland and the chaos it brings."
The air thrums with the remnant of lighting, the echoing crackle loud that he spares a moment to watch it streak across the sky. He had never seen this much green for a long, long time. Nature, true nature of the pre-war world where sprawling gardens and forest lands covered the region. Now, green only meant sickness, reeking of death and decay. This neon green was almost as bad as blue and yellow and the Ghoul hated those hues with something fierce. Before he can stew on that turn of thought for a moment longer, Dogmeat barks, an alert to the ram shackle shelter that had been uncovered through the storm before them. It was run down sure but it was a hell of a lot better than stumbling around the open space. Plus, it would keep out the worst of the radiation, as much as he teased her about turning ghoul he would much rather keep her as smooth as she was now.
"Looky there, now ain't that a sight for sore eyes." The Ghoul states, gaze set on the building revealing itself to them.
Lucy's arm raises, shielding against the rain that slanted sideways at them. "Shelter?" She queries, tone tired in a weariness the Ghoul felt far too often.
"Sure is. Now hurry up, Darling, we wouldn't want you to rot just yet." He says.
Renewed vigour has her pick up the pace as requested, despite the wobble in her steps as she sets her sights on the shelter before them. The Ghoul isn't far behind, a critical eye kept on Lucy as they finish the last leg of their journey. It wouldn't do well to have her collapse now, not with radiation poisoning still wrecking havoc on her. A few meters away a makeshift cabin stands amongst the rubble, it seemed to be some sort of ranger cabin or maybe what was left of a trailer park. Whatever its pre-war purpose it would do to take shelter in until the storm blows over.
Stumbling unsteadily, Lucy paused onto to hunch over the sun-burnt grass, nausea from the radiation poisoning having her heave whatever meagre rations they'd ate this morning. Her hand not holding herself upright on the fence was smoothing back the hair of her fringe, a mixture of sweat and rainwater coating her forehead. Groaning as she spits out the remnants of bile that linger acid on her tongue, displeasure twisting her features as she attempted to regain order.
He turns his gaze away from her as the rotten boards of the decrepit patio creak until his weight, a moment later as Lucy follows him a step or two behind the combined weight of him and Lucy has the wood groan in warning and knowing his luck it would decide to buckle beneath them. No sooner Dogmeat shakes out her fur the moment she joins them under the awning, her snout to the ground as she attempts to scent out any potential enemies. The Ghoul ignores the sound of the wood, instead his gloved hand rising to settle on the door-handle in a test. It doesn't budge, no matter how he jangled the lock and a growl of frustration escapes him, the sound echoed by the crackle of lighting that strikes somewhere above them. At his side Lucy flinches either at him or the sound around them and the Ghoul doesn't bother to figure out which as she curls into herself as she uses the ancient rail to hold herself upright.
His hand not on the door slides into his pocket to thumb at the metal he hid there. "Been a minute since I've done this." He mumbles thoughtfully, bringing the bobby-pin out and toward the lock to pick it.
As he slides it into the mechanism he takes a moment to glance back at Lucy waiting on him. Only his ghoul amplified sight allows him to spy that her hair is plastered to her face, the strands covering parts of her mouth and cheek that she doesn't bother to move. There's not much else he can gather at this angle for his hat had shadowed her features more than even his sight can make out. Her expression is a mystery to him with her back to the only light source, her thoughts even more so a question with her remaining tight lipped. Nothing in this situation was right, normally Lucy would have fired off a million questions on the how's and why's, so it was unnerving to have her so silent. It has him swiftly turn to continue working on the lock and it takes a moment, his hand steady despite the pressure as he positioned it to and fro before the sound of a successful click alerted him to the fact that he had been successful in unlocking it.
"Got it." He announces, rising from the crouch he'd sunk into to work on it better. He pushes the door without much fanfare, glancing into the darkness of the room that awaited them with healthy caution. "Come on, Sweetheart, there's no place like home."
Rising with the popping of his joints the Ghoul's hand shifts to his gun, leather creaking under the strength of his grip as he crept forward to linger in the doorway and Dogmeat is hot on his heels, twisting around his legs to hurry inside ahead of them. Lucy wordlessly follows unsteady on her feet as she passes him by, and the Ghoul waits until she has passed him by to follow them in. As the door slams shut behind him, the Ghoul spares a moment to assess the ancient dead-lock bolt and other locks that lined the door and they seemed to be pre-war in origin, meaning it was solid unlike the shoddy post-war work that scavengers often crafted.
Deeming it good enough he walks further into the space, eyeing the room with a critical eye. Most notable that he can spy is a heap of blankets further in so someone had bunked here at some point or another and one of the windows further back was blown out, either from the initial blast or from time. That defect was a potential way for something sinister to get in but not enough of an issue to have him pass the space up. It would do, at least for the night until the storm blows over he thinks.
Lucy lingers a pace or so by the door, seemingly not trusting herself to assess the premise further. "What do you think?" She asks on a croaking whisper, licking her lips like it could sooth the parched edge.
"It will do for now." He admits truthfully.
She sags at his words, coming to lean over a wooden old chair to hold up her weary state. Unlike them Dogmeat seems content to secure the rest of the rooms regardless if her masters follow or not, trotting further into the room with ears pricked forward to sense any movement further in. She rounds the corner her paw prints a wet trail as she moves out of sight and the Ghoul adjusts his grip on his gun, squeezing it absently as he kept an ear out for any sound of conflict or a bark from Dogmeat to alert them of any danger.
Hearing nothing out of the ordinary from Dogmeat down the hall and feeling content in the security of the door, the Ghoul finally turns to Lucy. “Let me look at ya, darling.” The Ghoul says, a brief flick of his hand gesturing pointedly toward the chair she was currently using as a support in emphasis. as they finally settle in the shelter of the run down house. "Now, that there ain't the height of luxury but it will do to rest on."
Lucy looks as if she wants to argue but she is quick to fall into it as the strain of the radiation has her fall into it, her expression weary as she rests there. “I’m fine, really.” Lucy insists, eyes downcast.
“Don’t lie to me.” The Ghoul demands lowly, dangerous.
His gloved hand raises to grip her chin the worn leather pressing into her irritated skin and Lucy's breath caught in anticipation for just what he planned to do with her. If this any other person he would have abandoned them long ago or gut them for some jerky, the sentiment that this was his longest lasting companion for all these years struck him as he attempted to aid her. She seems to have a similar thought, knowing the danger he posed yet content to await what he had in store for her. The Ghoul in turn stills, his brow furrowed in thought as he mutters under his breath to withdraw his gloved hand away. Lucy glances up hesitantly at the retreat of his touch, a question on her lips that fizzles as she watches the Ghoul grips the edge of his glove with his teeth. She spies a flash of aged ivory as his teeth snag it and he pulls it the rest of the way off revealing the equally weathered dry skin of his hand hidden beneath the leather.
The Ghoul glances at her, noticing the silent questioning in her gaze. "I thought it better to use my hands rather than contaminate you further." He mutters in explanation.
Shifting, he turns to rummage through his pack coming across some cotton rags he had scavenged somewhere along the way and a bottle of purified water along with it. He makes quick work of collecting pure water in a bid to ease the radiation that linger on her skin from the radioactive fallout. His hand is surprisingly gentle as it settles on her jaw, calloused fingertips dragging against her smoother skin to find a better spot to hold her face still. The heat of his finger is almost blisteringly warm but foreignly soothing that Lucy fights to lean into it. Using a strip of an old cotton shirt he found in the pack he douses it in more clean water before he works to wipe away the irradiated rain that ran like rivets down the slopes on her face, careful not to irritate her skin further from the downpour they had been caught in.
He had been so focused in the repetitive motion that the suddenness of her laugh breaks the concentration on his face. "Sorry, I'm just surprised you'd even touch me." Lucy answers to the unspoken query on his face. "You know... with uncovered fingers and all."
His brow raises, well, what would have once been his brow in mocking questioning. "What? You some kind of leper or something?" The Ghoul asks.
Lucy blinks blankly. "A what?" She splutters.
The Ghoul heaves a sigh turning to the bucket of water he was wringing out. "Right." He mutters, glancing her way with an expression she can't name. "It's a disease, one often brought up in God almighty's bible. Heh, I forgot that there's no religion in your precious vault, but I suppose that's just another notch on Vault Tech's sins."
Lucy frowns at his words, her thoughts sluggish from the radiation she'd wracked up with the storm. "Sins?" She mutters to herself.
He doesn't seem to hear her or perhaps too drawn to wringing the cloth from the contaminated water. A sickly green lights the space of the run down cabin they'd found, the crackle of lighting illuminating the space in a way that both of them can see properly. Now, the Ghoul could see in the darkness of their space but Lucy couldn't, she was blind in the darkness here, reliant on him to keep them safe. A part of him, a part long thought dead preens at the thought.
"There. That should do it." He says ignoring such sentiments, discarding the rag away from them out into the cabin somewhere. He attempts to follow its path and as it swept through the room he caught sight of a mattress further in the space. Retrieving his gun from where he'd placed it against the old wooden floor he adjusting the familiar weight of it in his palm. No sooner does the Ghoul gestures toward the shoddy mattress with his gun. "Now, go on, hop on that there bed, Darling. I'll take the first watch." He orders.
Lucy squints toward him, trying to make his form out in the darkness as the light fades once more. "No. I will do it, we only had to stop because of me." She argues.
"I wouldn't say just you. There's the dog too." The Ghoul insists. "Besides, you cant even see your own fucking hand. How will you see a feral or an enemy if it breaches our little sanctuary here?"
She pouts, gaze dropping to the stained mattress as her fingers rap at the wood distractedly, the sound reminiscent of the tick of a pre-war clock. "I guess." Lucy mutters.
"What was that, Sweetheart?" He prompts, all teeth in the mocking grin he sends her way.
Her mouth thins into a hard line at the sight of it. "I get it. You'll take the first watch." Lucy states, standing forcefully from the chair she was sitting upon.
She powers past him, a harsh furrow to her brow in simmering anger that even the rads couldn't smoother from her. He watches her pass, shifting to take her place as he settled upon the rickety chair. He leans back it like it was the height of luxury, knees spread as he settles comfortably. "That's what I thought." He drawls, amused at her reluctance to do as he asked.
For a moment she stands in the middle of the room looking at him, seeming at a loss for what to do next. Upon her arm her pip-boy lets out a series of loud clicks, the frequency spiking in time with the thunder that crashes over them and it prompts her to forget wherever grievances she held. He watches her shuffle to the mattress, taking in the misshapen and age stained sight of it with thinly hidden amusement.
"That blanket may make it mighty more comfortable." The Ghoul teases.
Lucy casts a glare over her shoulder toward him. "It is fine as it is." She insists.
"Suit yourself." He scoffs, his hand within his pocket fiddling with the canister of his inhaler. Absently he watches her rework the mattress and thread-bare blanket, pottering around the space like some pre-war housewife tending to chores. He nearly laughs at the thought, unsure if he was quite as successful in removing the amusement from his face. Although, as he notes the water dripping down her skin and staining the floor beneath her whatever amusement the sight had generated was swiftly shifting toward disapproval. "You ain't thinking of sitting in that are you?" The Ghoul demands with a pointed look toward her state of dress.
Lucy glances down at her wet vault suit and singlet with an air of confusion. "Yes?" She replies, the word more question than anything else.
"No you ain't, unless you wanna look like me quicker than you'd like." He says before leaning down to retrieve something from her pack, finding it quick enough to throw her a shirt from his pack. Lucy takes it with barely a fumble glancing down toward it to find he'd thrown her a flannel shirt he'd scavenged from somewhere along the way for fabric or a makeshift bandage or something else entirely.
She shifts it in her hand, fingers smoothing over the softness of the material. "Is this for me?" Lucy asks.
"It is now." The Ghoul says, and in all honesty he had picked it up as cloth to clean his gun, or to bind wounds in a pinch. He had kept it around as he pondered the potential need to hide her vault dweller identity, some of the wastelander didn't take well to her fellow kin, not when the rest of them struggled to live day to day for a litany of reasons. So he kept the flannel around in case a situation called for it and he thanks such foresight now, well, more like curses it as he turns his attention toward Lucy.
He can see her silhouetted against the window, the image of lighting reflecting off the gold of her vault suit as he shirks it down her hips. The image seers stark in his mind, bright like the lighting that lights up the room. He spies the flash of her milky white thighs as he turns to give her privacy, an act so pre-war that it was almost pathetic. He can hear the sound of her suit hit the boards at her feet, her white singlet no doubt joining it. For anything else to focus on he moves to shuck his own coat from his figure, the leather having shielded his shirt beneath from the worst of the rain. He drapes it over the back of an old chair for it to dry, sparing a glance down at his soaked jeans with a hint of annoyance. As much as the denim was wet he loathed to strip down, present company only fanning his reluctance. The thought of her eyes on him sets his teeth on edge, grinding them in anger at the image of disgust or god forbid pity that he can picture upon her face.
Still, curiosity has him want to turn, the human part of him aching to see such a sight before him unmarred by blood and filth. As he turns his shirt is loose around her shoulders, long enough that it covers most of her upper thighs, small mercies at least. His hand itches for a cigarette or a puff of his chems, he's not quite sure which but what he does know is that Lucy Maclean was surely sent to punish him.
Across from him Lucy lowers herself to the mattress, a flash of skin here and there as she repositions herself into something more comfortable. She had mirrored his own move and had hung her vault suit off some broken furniture nearby, the gold of the lining shining under each flash of lightning that lights their space. She glances toward him still stationed upon the rickety chair, a furrow to her brow as if she was trying to work him out like he was some puzzle for her to solve.
"I ain't changing my mind, Sweetheart, I am taking first watch." He tells her, smoothing a hand over his rifle in something shy of a threat and perhaps that was what it was meant to be but really it was just a flimsy reason to distract himself from her.
Even shrouded in darkness she cant hide the pout to her lips. "I am aware." Lucy says, insistent as reclines against the worn mattress.
Out of the corner of his eye he watches her limbs splay out like some pre-war painting, her gaze turned to watch the storm continue to rage outside as the rain batters against the aged windowpane. It was a rare moment to spy such ease, there was so little of it topside, it makes him strangely nostalgic as he spies her lax nature.
"That kinda blasé attitude will get ya dead before long." He mutters to himself with a nasty curl of his ruined lips as he gazed upon her face.
She doesn't seem to hear him, her attention caught on the lightning that streaks across green-tinged clouds. Instead the Ghoul watches the shadows cast upon the floor in a bid to mark the passage of time as he kept watch on their little sanctuary. Despite her initial refusal to sleep, after the toll the storm had taken on her sleep has Lucy in its claws soon enough. There is enough light from the barred window that shines into the room stretching across rotting wooden floors to highlight Lucy curled up on the shoddy mattress further into the room. Nestled away from the windows the radiation would be lesser there, sometime in the night Dogmeat had come to join her to sleep at Lucy's legs in a tight ball.
With his back propped up against deflated cushion the Ghoul can see her clearly into the darkness of the room, a position easy enough to survey the room but be close enough if they run into trouble. As his gaze strays throughout the night something like hunger settles over him, watching beads of sweat gather at the hollow of her throat. It has him ponder how it would taste to rest his lips there, to drag his tongue against her soft skin. It must be the rad count making him this way, some instinct driving him to seek prey when they are weakest. A hitch of a breath has him jolt out of the thought, the intake caught in his throat like a rattling cough. His hand fumbles toward his coat pocket in the dark, unable to tear his gaze from the sight, of her pale throat bared to prettily before him almost beaconing him closer to sink his teeth in.
"Shit." He hisses slowly in frustration, teeth grit. Finally his fingers wrap around it, the plastic creaking with the force of his grip as he brings it up to his ruined lips. Whatever tension left him as the familiar taste settled on his tongue, the drag of it returning the sharpness of his thoughts.
As he glances toward where Lucy was sleeping he sees her once peaceful face furrowed in worry. "Are you alright, Sir?" She queries, breaking the prior stillness.
"Shouldn't you be resting?" He deflects, waving a hand dismissively toward her.
"I was. Your coughing woke me." Lucy retorts and the words aren't unkind, more of a statement than anything resentful.
The Ghoul can't help but laugh, at the honesty or for what his sorry life has become he can't say. "Yeah. Suppose that's true."
She looks tired, lazy in a way that he'd never seen on her, she was normally so full of energy, so talkative he couldn't get her to shut up. The sudden quiet only makes him uneasy, so much so that he finds himself filling it before he thought it through. "You ever seen a storm like this?" The Ghoul queries. Instead of asking the words that hover uneasy in the air between them, are you alright?
Lucy's gaze is caught in the crack of the window that lets the light of the storm be witnessed by them. "I heard stories, read plenty of textbooks on the water cycle and cloud formations." She admits. Pausing she points toward the crack in the window, her fingers outstretched toward the grey towering mass of cloud before them. "Thats a cumulonimbus cloud, most likely to bring rain and storm. Unlike its smaller cumulus humilis which you'd find dotting the sky on a nice summers day."
"You're quite the schoolmarm." He mocks.
"I was a teacher back in the vault." Lucy admits, letting her hand drop back down from her pointing down into her lap. "It's different seeing it with my own eyes." She says softly.
Something about the wistfulness has him offering his own story. "On the farm you could always see the cloud formations on the horizon and out on the plains you could spend hours watching them form, far away enough that you could get home before those great cumulonimbus clouds could dump the rain on you." He grins as he says the name, part mocking as he caught her eye. "But nothing was more striking than spying the crackle of lighting creeping across like sprawling webs. You could smell the scent of the storm in the air, petrichor, an earthy scent only rain on soil could produce."
Before him Lucy inhales slowly, as if savouring the scent of it in the air now and the Ghoul does the same, even though his own senses had been dulled as his skin melted. For a moment he could almost smell it, a whisper that lingers from days long gone. It struck him then, how dangerous Lucy was. He hadn't felt this human in a long, long time.
In the natural lull of their conversation Lucy settles into the mattress beneath her, the pull of sleep calling to her with the strain her body had gone through, wordlessly deciding to rest even as sleep seems to evade her. Absently she runs a hand through her wet hair, an attempt to smooth back the unruly nature of it or as something to do with her hands the Ghoul isn't sure. Her cheeks are flushed with hints of radiation burns, a flush that only reminded him how full of life she was before him. At her brow her hair curls with humidity, the back of her palm smoothing over the sweat that lingered at her temple.
"It's hot." She whines, oblivious to his inner turmoil.
"It'll get cold soon." The Ghoul states, conversational, a safe topic to broach with her.
The shock to her system will make her feel it soon enough even before the night begins to fall no doubt. The desert gets oh so cold, people seem to forget that in the scorching heat of the day. Come nightfall the chill is strong enough to freeze even the most hardened of men. At his post upon the rickety chair he watches the shadows shift across the rotten floorboards as the night proggresses, the sound of the storm continuing around them as Lucy dosed in and out of sleep before him.
Also predictably some time into the night she had awoken with the even with the threadbare blanket wrapped around herself in a bid to ward off the worst of the chill. Lucy's teeth clicked with the force of her shivering despite Dogmeat's furry warm curled across her legs it seemed that Lucy was still struggling with the chill. "It almost makes me wish for the humidity back." She says, forcing a laugh even as her teeth chatter.
With an agitated sigh he rises from his recline, anger and worry churning his gut uncomfortably, his shadow casts across the floor as he stands, spurs rattling on his boots as she closes the distance between them. "Shut it, Vaultie." The Ghoul snaps, patience worn thin as he nudges her with a boot.
Lucy squirms at the sensation, brow furrowed as she cast those big old eyes up at him questionably. "What about the first watch?" She asks.
The Ghoul sighs, joints popping as he moves to kneel beside her. "That Rad-Storm will keep most of the population away, plenty of them going underground with a fierce storm like that. Besides, the only things that'll be out in that storm would be things that benefit from high rads like that. We're hidden, as long as we're quite enough there's no reason any feral or critter will bother to disturb us. Now when there's easier prey out there."
She shifts toward him, like some pre-war sunflower seeking the sun. "You're warm." Lucy states. Peering up to where she must imagine his face to be in the dark.
He met her gaze and this close he can see her features in stark clarity, even in the darkness, it was a perk of his ghoulification that he didn't actually hate. "Radiation will do that." He drawls, hands itching for a cigarette. This was a bad idea, the things even as he places his gun down a pace or so from the mattress Lucy settled upon, easily within reach if things turned south. Not that he though it would, there was little out there that would bother with the effort of trying to breach their little haven.
Slowly he climbs to join her on the age stained mattress, the thing barely giving any cushioning against the floor beneath them. Still, it was better than the dirt and sand that seemed to cover everything in this region. Not like he'd know the feeling of such trivial comforts of Pre-war America, those pleasures had died the moment the earth was riddled with nuclear fire. But perhaps he hadn't squashed all that softness with him, for what was he doing now? Getting on his knees to god-damn cuddle with the girl just because she'd gazed at him pathetically with those big doe eyes. Agitations swirls in his chest, the bite of it soothed by the relief that reflects stark across her soft face, a gratefulness she doesn't bother to hide.
As he lays tense and stiff beside her, Lucy shifts until her head bows into the hollow of his neck, her hair tickling against him with the motion, her nose pressed to the weathered skin of his throat. He wonders absently if she's sane, for no sane person would get so close to a ghoul. He was told they didn't smell the greatest, made sense when you were walking and talking rotten things but Lucy doesn't seem to care, perhaps delirious from the chill or the rads she'd racked. Mentally the Ghoul makes a point to pick up some Rad-Away at the next settlement they found themselves in.
"You close enough there?" He asks with heavy mocking, his voice strained despite his best efforts. The words have Lucy sigh against him, a puff of air against his throat has him shiver in a way that had nothing to do with the chill.
"Yes, Much better. Thank you, Sir." Lucy replies speaking against his skin.
A strange sort of silence settles upon them, and he wonders if his resulting silence is telling on just how out of his depth he was. The Ghoul's hands white from the force of his grip on the mattress to do something with his restless hands, instinct wars to settle over her hips but that was far to human of a move to do so he just curled them into into the mattress instead.
It seemed that Lucy had no such qualms in personal space, her hand inches toward the seam of his faded shirt with fingers rubbing at the worn star shaped stud in a bold display. "Back in the Vault, my dad would gather Norm and I for a movie night. That was the only time I got to see a storm on film but the black and white hues don't do it justice. "
He wants to bat her hands away as much as he wants to feel it more, to grasp those thin wrists in his, to keep her hands against his skin just to know how her skin felt against the ragged whorls of his ruined skin. "How is it to finally see it proper?" The Ghoul asks instead.
Her hand was torturously still against him, lingering at the button near his collarbone, so close yet to far. "The expanse of it was more than I could imagine and spread so far that it seemed endless. And the sound! You can almost feel it against your skin, an energy that smothers you and shakes the very ground. Oh, sir, words can not capture it." Lucy says, turning those expressive brown eyes toward him. "Were they always this way? The films seem to show the worst of nature at times."
Her words had only turned his thoughts nostalgic, memories thrown to his old Hollywood days, for there was a film in his repertoire that fit Lucy's reminiscing. It made sense that she would have seen it, thanks to old Hank MacLean's love for his movies. No doubt he had brought an assortment of his films down to the vault to spend his days in idyllic bliss, safe and hidden from the world as it burnt topside.
Lucy's words continue to rattle, ignorant or perhaps content to speak even if he wasn't paying attention. "There's a moment, where Cooper Howard's heroine stood at the cusp of the ravine-"
"The Man from Calabasas" The Ghoul mutters, distracted in thought.
She pauses for a breath, excitement colouring her tone. "The very one, starring in the role of a cowboy involved with cattle drives," Lucy continued. "It wasn't my favourite of his, but the scenery was something to admire."
"Was it now?" He drawls, leather creaking beneath him as he shifts his weight. "Calabasas ain't far from your vault. Well... what's left of God's California."
Her head tilts, gazing up at him. "You talk like you know it."
He stills, tense as he glares down at her. "Is that an accusation, Miss Maclean?" The Ghoul asks, barring his rotten teeth with something pretending to be a grin. "I'll have you know over two hundred years topside will show you all the American Greats, living history required."
Lucy lets out something almost like a huff, subdued from the danger to his tone. "You speak like those movies give me no knowledge, that there's no truth in it." She says.
"Hate to burst your bubble but all of Hollywood was fake. The glitz and the glam was manufactured for whatever you needed, the moment was everything." The Ghoul says, pulling out a zippo lighter from his pocket, something old and pre-war silver that reflects the light of the flame that strikes with a flick of his thumb to snap the lid open. Click. Click. Click. The metallic lid clicks with the motion of turning it on and off again, the flame flickering out to smother Lucy back in darkness.
The Ghoul fiddles with a cigarette in his hand before he lifts it toward his mouth, biting down on the filter as he glances toward her, speaking around it grit between rotten teeth. "Hell. If there was one thing those movie studios got right was the great sprawling landscapes. It never gets old, staring down the Great Plains of the Midwest. Maybe that's what made A Man and His Dog so successful, Roosevelt be damned."
The clink of his lighter splits the quiet between them, the flame licking at the end of his cigarette to light it. He waits a moment until it lights before he caps the lighter once more, only the lit cherry of it lights the dark between them.
"Missouri, Illinois, Indiana, Ohio, Wisconsin." Lucy lists the words lilting, her face awash in amber glow as he flicks the cap open once more.
"Want to sing it for me, Sweetheart?" He mocks, almost feeling the tangible sensation of her glare in the dark. "Only kiddin' ya."
He takes a drag and lets the familiar taste of pre-war smoke linger on his tongue, curling in his lungs, before he blows the cigarette smoke out on a slow exhale angling it away from her despite the urge to blow it in her face to see some of that fiery tenacity. Anything to get rid of that chipper vault dweller slop middle management seemed to breed into them, or maybe he just wanted to be the first to corrupt the good in her. He takes another drag to distract himself from the thought, nearly choking on the inhale with the force of it. Fucking dangerous she was. The death of him she'd be, he always suspected it since she'd bit his finger off but her actions of late seemed to reinforce the thought.
"Oh, the storms they'd get out there.. bred them tough, that's for sure. That whole region is known for the ferocity of tornados that would rip through the place." He says. The words on the tip of his tongue, tough like you, hang unspoken in the air between them. "I had seen one for real once, when I had time off from-" The words halt, from filming, he'd almost said. "Well... it doesn't matter what I was doing. My point is that you can't forget it, you could hear the sound of it in the distance, like the distorted sound of trumpets or the horn of a train. It is a hauntingly eerie thing, watching the mass of it churning in the distance. No matter how far you drove it seemed to give chase."
"So you did live it." She says. The Ghoul pauses at her words, tilting his head like he could force the explanation from her lips. "I had guessed you lived before the bombs, between the way you talk and the way you dress, but your words confirm it." Lucy continues in explanation.
Something shy of a laugh escapes him in a rushing exhale. "Ain't like it is a secret, Sweetheart."
"It must be so different." She muses, words spoken absently like she hadn't meant to speak them aloud. "Are you happier here?" Lucy asks, meeting his gaze.
No, yes, no. The reply spins back and forward in his head, a muddled mess of emotion that wars within him. There were times he was happy in his pre-war life, when he was out on the farm or watching his films on premiere night. He was happy with Barb and Janey before secrets had torn them apart, before the divorce and his expulsion from Hollywood. Although, there were moments in this life, where he was spurred on with the look of fear in people's eyes as they whispered about the Ghoul, revelling in the violence he kept on a thin leash. There was good in both his lives, as much bad too, but what did it matter when this was the reality that had come from war. All that mattered now was the present, where he was happier was irrelevant.
So the Ghoul simply levels her with a flat look. "Are you?" He queries in turn.
She casts her gaze away from him, suddenly sheepish. "There are moments where Im not but I have grown to appreciate just when I had felt missing underground. I miss the community of it, I miss my brother and Chet and everyone else. I miss the comfort of warm showers and fresh water." Lucy admits, pausing to laugh, a bitter sound. "But what I miss most of all is the fact that I can never go back to how things were, to being blissfully unaware of the word outside my vault."
The earnest tone in her voice makes him want to grip her and shake her, or better yet sink his teeth into the softness and rip it from her. He's so close he could do it, he can feel the warmth of her smooth skin against him. He almost opens his mouth to wound her, to say something to mean and contrite that she would return to the softness of the Vault and be done with this, be done with him so that he could be back to playing that role he'd shifted into when it had all gone to shit.
Then those doe eyes peer up at him in raw earnest, silencing any damage he was about to wrought. "Do you? Miss it I mean, that life you had before the bombs dropped?" Lucy queries.
For a moment he can feel it, how his skin burned something fierce, the skin growing tight and blistering as her words settle upon him. That was a different sentiment, there was so much to miss to his life before it became awash in nuclear fire. "I miss it all the god damn time." The Ghoul admits despite himself.
Lucy's eyes glow in the dim light, sparkling as tears gather against her lower lashes. "Does it get any easier?" She asks.
Yes, he wants to say, time erodes all and leaves you with nothing. "Never." His mouth confirms.
She's so close to him that he can see the glistening of tears as she blinks against the sudden onslaught, the weight of knowing just how things truly were on the surface. He finds his hand moving before he can halt them, the bony knuckles of the Ghoul's withered hand brushed against the soft skin under her eye. It was a delicate action that seemed out of place for a man like him, as if the action was one he’d done a thousand times and he had, a lifetime ago when the name Cooper Howard actually meant something.
The lightening flashes, a hue of green softening the harshness of his gaze to something more human. “That’s the thing about grief, you run from it and then it’ll find you sometime when you least expect it. Like a weed that crops up from summer rain.” He says.
Lucy’s brow furrowed, another sudden flash of lighting reflecting the tear tracks on her cheeks. “How can you continue forwards? It keeps me awake some nights, to know I left them all behind. I don't regret it but I just left, and perhaps I wish I had done it better but maybe that's hindsight. If there was one thing I wish I handled better is how I parted with my brother. There are times that I think of him, that I left Norm down there without even trying to get him to come with me and even though I knew he would never want to leave the vault I wonder if it was the right call." She pauses and genuine anguish fills her expression. "Then I think about the truth I found of our mother and oh god, I killed her. How can I look him in the eye knowing I did that?”
For a moment he can only stare at the raw anguish on her face so genuine it would put the best actresses of his time to shame to portray such emotion. What a pity, she could have been a brilliant star had the world not gone to shit. His gaze follows a tear down her ruddy cheeks, pondering the sight of the Vault Dweller unravelling in real time before him. Now, it was no secret that he had wanted to shatter her naive nature, wishing to see her bowed and broken beneath the strain of this world but faced with her feeling it now he begins to wonder why he wanted to see that in the first place.
“Tell him the truth, that you found what remained of her. We both know that wasn’t your Mama, at least not anymore.” He says.
A flash of something shy frightened almost flits over her expression before the room is once more doused in darkness. “That’s the thing… I don’t regret what happened at the Observatory, for killing her that day was mercy.” She says.
The Ghoul pauses musing the confession over in the stillness that settles, did she expect him to shudder? To mock her or condemn her for it? If so, she was talking to the wrong man. As much as he wanted her to see the world without those naive rose tinted glasses, he didn’t want her to lose herself in the chaos up here. “The wasteland makes monsters out of us all in the end. Some of us just get there quicker. Besides, you're talking to a fella who had to eat a fella to survive out here, I don't think I am the blueprint for morals and ethics.”
A sniffling laugh leaves her wet and pathetic. "I suppose. Still, how can I admit to him that I did that to her?" Lucy asks.
The question renders him speechless for he was always running, it was all he had done in those last few months before the world burnt. Running and running but one day there would be nowhere further to run too when he finally found his family. What sort of man would his dear Janey see when she looked upon him now? Not the washed up actor performing at kids birthday parties but a man who waded in filth for over two hundred years, who had stolen and killed and destroyed with no care but for himself. When he finally finds Janey again what sort of man would she see? A flawed man who looked more like a monster and behaved worse than one.
"You don't have to tell him." The Ghoul says instead, a leaden churning in his stomach as he thought of his daughter.
"But I can't just tell him nothing! It wouldn't be right to keep him in the dark, we deal- delt- with that back home enough as it was." She argues, eyes alight.
"Then you tell him all about what you did." He says bluntly, unable to hide the bitterness as he says it.
"Will you?" She fires back, her tempter flaring to the way he had so easy dug beneath her skin. "These people you seek, this supposed family of yours- I wonder if you even considered their wishes in your plan. You've done vile things, to me included! Will you be so swift to tell them or is oblivion a better fate?"
She goes silent, breathing hard in the frenzy she'd worked herself into. He can tell she knows she's misstepped, that she'd dipped herself out of that line of tentative allies. Her head tilts in a bid to hide whatever expression flashed so obviously over it, away from him to face the storm raging outside, watching the rain slide down the windowpane in torrents.
It might have well as been a blow the way her words stung like nettle wrapped around his chest and he has nothing constructive to say in return, nothing free of anger and bitterness. It lingers in his mouth, acidic and sharp as he considers her words. Lucy might not know it- about dear Janey or Barb or his family he was so desperate to seek out after all these years. No, her words a simple reference to him spilling the truth of her Mama's fate to her brother. Lucy's own dilemma had cast light on how own, he was so caught up in finding his daughter that he had not even considered how different he had before. He's not sure if he could tell Janey what he had done these past two hundred years, not with all the atrocities he's caused.
So instead of sending his own stinging words her way the Ghoul remains silent, unwilling to give her further ammunition to use.
In the lull of conversation silence settles over them, a heavy thing in the wake of angry words, with the noise of the rad-storm outside the cabin the only sound that fills the space from their jumbled thoughts. Yet it seemed that Lucy would be the first to break the tension between them for soon enough, despite past transgression, Lucy’s hand skirts far too close to skin in the darkness. An attempt to warm the frozen digits of her fingers or perhaps a bid to get closer to him physically or otherwise the Ghoul wouldn't allow her too.
“Careful there.” He warns, slipping back into that harsh persona he wore like a well known cloak, his tone low and hard like how he’d once order a horse to heel. He can see, unlike her, it didn’t mean he’d let her just run wild.
Her hand stills like she heard the unspoken threat to it, with a twitch of those delicate fingers was the only sign she was even still there, her hand suspended to await his next word. He’s glad for the mutation at this moment, it gives him the upper hand to see the faint tremble of her lip as she worries it between pearly teeth until the skin is raw. Oh. So she did know what she was doing. Too simple a reason for him to give into the temptation to toy with her. The Ghoul’s head tilts, a silent urge to ‘go on’ even if Lucy was blind to it in the dark as she was.
“Please.” She mutters, the words lost in the echoing crackle of thunder.
The Ghoul leant closer as if seeking out to hear her better. “Hmm? What was that? These ears ain’t like what they used to be.” He toys with her.
Lucy flushes, whether at the words of the tone he can't quite tell. “Please, let me warm up.” She says firmer, an edge of anger to her tone.
Something bitter, so very angry has him sneer down at her in turn. “What’s that rule you always like to prattle on about?” He ponders dryly, harsh in the precipice they dangled on.
“The golden rule.” She offers up, the bite not so subtle now as she falls for the bait.
He grins, an up curl of his ruined lips as he gestures toward the window where the storm continued to rage outside. “Ah yes, thou shalt be distracted by bullshit every time.”
He knows that's not what she meant, she meant the whole do unto others jargon but he'd not give her what she wanted so easily. He can see the way frustration mars her pretty face, a huff of a sigh escaping her. A sign that her anger hasn't dissipated as quick as he'd assumed, more so she'd simply deemed it easier to move forward on friendlier terms. Remnants of her frustrations still linger, he can see it in the way her fingers run through her damp hair, an agitated tell or an effort to ignore his words as if she could shrug him off in real time.
“How about an honest exchange?” Lucy suggests.
The Ghoul pauses, considering her play, curiosity rearing its head to what bright idea would leave her lips. “What say you, Darling?” He urges her.
“Let me warm up on you.” She poses, unable to hide the eagerness in her honeyed tone.
He bites back the incredulous laugh that threatens to escape her at her suggestion. His hands shift as he thought on what play to make next, to toy with her further or end this charade. The weight of his gun is solid in his lap and pointedly his fingers tap against the barrel of his rifle where he reaches for it, a dull sound that cuts into the tension of her eager waiting. “And what do I get in return?” He questions at least.
Hooked at the sound of his voice, Lucy turns her head to face back toward him, her figure haloed from the occasional flash of light outside. “I will lead you to New Vegas.” She says firmly.
This time the Ghoul allows the laugh to escape him. “Do you suddenly know the way? I thought I was the one guiding this little venture but maybe the radiation has already melted your brain."
She flushes under his scorn, eyes narrowed toward him as if to goad him to speak further.
"You’re already my key to old Henry, so no, I think you’ll need to do better than that Darling if you want to make a deal with me.” The Ghoul continues.
“Then name your terms.” Lucy states, determination painting her face pretty.
He lets out a whistle, and by the way her shoulders hunch in it seems that Lucy knew she’d made a mistake. “Now that is a gambling play, Miss Maclean, and I would know for I've always been a gambling man. Some men out here would pick you dry for such a thing.”
“I know." She says slowly, words biting as she eyes the rotten floorboards a pace or two away.
“Do you?” He retorts. “There are some things men would take from you that are far worse than a mere finger.”
Her head shakes, her damp hair swinging over her shoulder with the force of the motion. “I get it. They’d try to get my organs like you sold me too.”
"I don't think you do." He says before he reaches out, his hand quick as he shifts too grasps her wrist, the resulting squeeze hard in warning. Lucy stills at the sensation, her eyes wide like a deer in headlights. Such a pretty thing... he ponders, wondering why such a look upon her face thrills him. “Flesh.” The Ghoul states simply, tone low and rasping as he ignores her petulant words. “Not just a body part or to be a whore in some run down settlement. No, there're some men out there who’d sell you to slavery for a cap or two.”
Her gaze met his, imploring. “Then what would you have me do? I don’t want to freeze.” She argues.
He tilts his head, letting out a thoughtful whistle as if considering it. “Want me to tie you up again? Well, Sweetheart, you only gotta ask.” He snarks and Lucy glares at the words. Oh if looks could kill... there she was. Little killer. He can't help but grin, feeling it tug at his skin slow and dangerous. The Ghouls considered the sight before him, head tilt in a way he knows in menacing. “Silence for five minutes. Hell, I’d even settle for a minute or two. Do that and maybe I’ll let you warm up.”
Lucy holds her hand out, palm out stretched to take him in a move so old world the prior amusement he felt for toying around with her sours. “Okie dokie! You have a deal.” She states.
The Ghoul glances down before he takes her hand in his, making sure to squeeze her hand hard enough to have her knuckles grind together. She doesn’t wince, even if her jaw twitches under the strain. It makes something ancient in him ache, interest stirring hot within him at the challenge she made. The Ghouls grins and anyone else would have taken it for the warning it was but Lucy just met his gaze head on, shoulders straight and firm as she remained unbowed before him. “Alright, Miss MacLean, you have yourself a deal.” He agrees, squeezing his hand against hers.
Bad idea, but for who, he isn't quite sure. A flicker of apprehension ghosted her expression, highlighted by the flash of lightning through the window before they are shrouded in shadow once more and the expression is gone with it. His hand not in hers pokes her side into the flare of her ribs, she was lucky it was not a blade. Those up topside would not hesitate to get what they want, morals be damned... such pre-war sentiments had died long ago.
"Not everyone is so generous." The Ghoul states like he believed himself benevolent.
"Like you'd let me forget that." She sulks.
Ah, so quick to speak even after they confirmed their terms. "What was that, Darling?" He mocks, a pointed expression upon his face.
The way her lip juts out in response is downright petulant. "Nothing." She mutters.
"That's what I thought. Now be quiet, we have a deal after all."