If I do not remember thee

Let my tongue cleave to the roof of my mouth. -- Fallout RP blog for a bitter old ghoul known as Mordecai Gardner. NSFW.

[deadpansharker-blog]

duchess-of-waste

Duchess blinks, and then she scowls. Her hand drops to her side, and she shakes her head with an annoyed huff.

“Yeah, okay. You go on ahead n’ be as petty as ya want, ya old coot. The fuck you go and do that for, ain’t like you can even feel it.” She knows why, though. Mord has known her since she was a preteen, she’s aware of their opinions on her self medicating. “Whatever, I got more. Doubt it was even good shit, anyway.”

Mord doesn’t reply to Duchess--not outright, anyway-- and instead throws the empty Jet container aside, gingerly reaches to the corpse to cross his arms over his chest, closes his eyes, and grabs a nearby blanket--the dead guy’s, most likely--to cover the body. It’s not a good burial, not even a decent one, but it’s better than nothing.  Then they finally stand up (with minimal wincing at the state of their old knees!) and do their best impression of a looming scarecrow.  “Well.“  Duchess is fully aware, has most likely always been fully aware, and will  probably always be fully aware of what her surrogate uncle figure thinks of her choice of coping mechanisms.     “ Even corpses need a breather sometimes.“ The ghoul’s lips twitch upward.  They’d never be able to control Reba’s habits even if they wanted to, might as well just make light of it.    

[deadpansharker-blog]

duchess-of-waste : 

Duchess chuckles rather humorlessly, smoking her cigarette and watching as Mord pats down the body. She seems neither surprised nor particularly concerned about it.

“Yes, well. That sort of sickness is contagious around here.” She cocks her head, eyeing the Jet Mord stumbled over, sticks her hand put and wiggles her fingers. “I’ll take that off your hands, old man.”

”Well shit, I doubt that even I am immune to that. “ Mordecai was not-so-discreetly comparing shoe sizes--damnit, the dead guy’s feet are too small--when Duchess’s wiggling fingers catch their eye.  Ah. Of course she’d want the Jet.  The Ghoul doesn’t seem surprised--or particularly pleased--at her request, and truth be told, he realizes he doesn’t really feel like cooperating. They’re still crouching over the corpse when they look at Duchess straight in the eye, and stoically inhales what remained of the Jet. 

[duchess-of-waste]

“We need to give this guy a proper burial. After we loot his body. And take his teeth.” Mord wrinkles what is left of their nose disdainfully. "He'd better have good quality fillings in there."

“I hope I don’t gotta point out the irony.” Duchess’ grin is sarcastic, and not what one would call respectful of the dead. “A corpse, lootin’ a corpse.”

[deadpansharker-blog]

“Nah, I’m good.” Mord crouches and pats down the dead guy. It’s more second-nature than anything to keep their back to the wall as they do so, no one knows what kind of jerkwad can pop up anytime in a Freeside alley. Like this one, for example.  “Eugh, come to think of it, he can keep his teeth. They’re absolutely awful.”  Nope, doesn’t seem like the dead guy has anything left of value. Maybe a half-empty bottle of Jet--useless, ghouls are chem resistant--and three caps. Whoever got to him didn’t leave much behind.  ... Huh. “I’m no doctor, but I think this kid had a bullet overdose.”

[deadpansharker-blog]

*Bless your heart, kind customer, Mordecai just wants your caps, not to be particularly friendly. The Ghoul’ll be humoring you, though.* 

Yeah, I like going above expectations.  *Mord opens a bottle of Sunset Sasparilla and places it on the bar, willfully avoiding the customer’s stare. Really, usually peeps only stare if they’re former vaulties or concerned about salubrity or something (that they never would care about if it was a smoothskin cooking their meals instead).  *  It’s twelve caps for the meal, sir. It’ll be ready in a couple minutes… * Mordecai trails off into a mumble as they slap a slab of meat on the repurposed (and clean, thank you) steel drum that serves as an improvised stove and pan with a bit more force than needed, irritated, and opens their mouth to gently–gently–assure the staring customer that no, ghoulification isn’t contagious, the food’s just as irradiated as anywhere else, and— 

Hearing their own name catches Mord off guard, who narrows their eyes.*  Wait, how do you know my– *Mordecai narrows their eyes further as the customer yanks down his handkerchief–holy shit, he’s sure he’s seen him before, but where?*  Uh–shit–wait, I know you– * A vague memory of the old diner in New Canaan’s outskirts, sunlight filtering through the holes in the ruined curtains where the ghoul served– Mordecai snapped their fingers triumphantly.*  Pancakes–Randy! 

*The ghoul lets out a laugh. It sounds vaguely like a bark. Or a cough. Who cares, Mord doesn’t.* 

I–holy sh– *Wait, no, don’t swear!*  Um…Hello! What are you doing out here?

[a-man-of-distinction-blog]

“Oh my gosh, you remember that?”

Randy laughs alongside with the Ghoul, surprised and a little touched to be remembered for such a thing. In his first moments recognizing Mord the diner had been far from his thoughts. It’s a nice memory, a warm and happy one from his youth. Far better than the one he’s currently recollecting, where as a man and deputy he’d dragged this very Ghoul to the jailhouse for one of the most uncomfortable nights of his life. 

–I’m sorry, Mordecai, I’m doing my job! You can’t, they’ll kill you if you attack him! He’ll kill you! I don’t want him here either but there’s nothing we can do–

“I’m… yeah…”

Randy glances briefly toward the desert landscape to blink away the glassiness of his eyes. He’s pleased to have found a familiar face in the wasteland, but their last interaction left so much bitterness in the Canaanite’s mouth. Not because of Mord’s actions, but because of his own. What are the odds they should meet each other now like this? 

Regardless he looks back quickly, and offers the other a cautious but friendly smile. He won’t tarnish a perfectly pleasant greeting with such thoughts. 

“It’s so good to see you Mordecai, really. I haven’t seen another New Canaanite since I left!” Although Mordecai isn’t a Canaanite anymore. And technically neither is he. With makes him ponder how he should explain his presence here. “I decided I needed to take my mission. A few years ago actually. The uh, Joshua Graham thing really stuck with me. And it made me doubt a lot of things. I left not long after you did.”

It’s honest, if not a vague stretch.

“I regret the course of action I took that day. As inappropriately heavy as that subject might be.” 

[deadpansharker-blog]

“I have a pretty decent memory, if I do say so myself.”

Humble as always. Mord’s allowing ‘emself a joke or three, and they bend behind the counter to lit the improvised stove. Randy’s mention of Graham makes the Ghoul bite back an answer. Anyone could shrug it off as concentrating on fetching lukewarm drinks from the cooler (it is literally a cooler, tucked in a hole, where the sand is cool and slightly moist; the NCR farmstead's water pipes are leaking again). “Oh? “ Mord feels he sounds overly cheerful, maybe a bit off, even over the sound of the yucca being chopped with practiced ease. “So you’re out here spreading the gospel, then. Getting the gentiles acquainted with the voice of God, and all that.” 

‘-You just have to let me get in there so I can just shoot him in the HEAD. Pretend I overpowered you, that I went feral, I don’t fucking care, but God-fucking-damn it Randy I need to kill that man, you haven’t seen what his horde of savages are doing to the wasteland so LET ME GO--’

The smell of burning towns always got to them. Mordecai had hoped they’d eventually get used to devastation--two-hundred years' worth of witnessing horrors, and they still felt fear and nausea at the pit of their stomach whenever they saw smoke on the horizon--but seeing New Canaan for the last time was a kick in the gut. Burning buildings, bodies in the streets, and what used to be the soil for the crops was covered in-- --salt, now where’s the--ah, there it is. Mord sprinkles salt over the bighorner steak and yucca, before dropping everything on the hot pan. 

“Eh, fuck that. That whole Graham thing doesn’t matter anymore.” The Ghoul pops open a pair of bottles--Sasparilla for Randy, a Beer for ‘em--and raises their bottle, their smile not quite reaching their eyes.  “That whole mess is dead, buried, and forgotten. I’ve moved on from that, and so should you.”  Mord downs the bottle in one go, and flips the steak with the flourish of an Old World cooking show.

[deadpansharker-blog]

Cigarettes and a raspy voice, half forgotten regrets, old roads with no ending, a series of smiling faces that fade away

aaaah oh gosh thank you Sunny ; ;

[suteijian-archive-deactivated20]

Describe my muse’s aesthetic.

[deadpansharker-blog]

duchess-of-waste said: *Opens her mouth. Closes it again.*

*SQUINTS LONG AND HARD.*  I’m not sure if I want to learn the specifics from you… …How the fuck does it work, though.

[duchess-of-waste]

That… depends on a couple factors.

Vis-à-vis number of people and configuration of junk and the like.

[deadpansharker-blog]

So they don't  just...do a conga line?  

[deadpansharker-blog]

duchess-of-waste said: *Opens her mouth. Closes it again.*

*SQUINTS LONG AND HARD.*  I’m not sure if I want to learn the specifics from you... ...How the fuck does it work, though.

[deadpansharker-blog]

big ole titties

Yes.

[deadpansharker-blog]

Big ol dicks

……..Yes. Though, it’s not so much how big they are, just how you use them.  

[deadpansharker-blog]

group sex

UUuuuuuh…. I don’t think so. Wouldn’t the logistics get a bit weird?

[nobodyofsparks-deactivated20201]

Send in kinks you think my character has.

[justakansasboy-deactivated20230]

I will verify, deny, or accept them.

[void-official]

stale cinnamon roll, been in this world too long, too cynical

[a-man-of-distinction-blog]

deadpansnarker:

*A few seconds–make that maybe ten seconds–pass until a ghoul’s  head pops out from behind a tarp curtain.* It is now. * He doesn’t quite recognize the customer, and even with that handkerchief the ghoul’s sure that the man’s not one of the regulars. Not yet, anyway. Mordecai slinks out from their improvised kitchen into the even further improvised attempt at a bar.* Welcome to The Hideous Child, and it sure as hell is the best food post this side of the 93. *It’s probably the only food post  open this side of the Highway 93, at least with today’s weather. Who cares, Mord doesn’t care, not when they tap a piece of cardboard with the day’s menu scrawled on it.* I’ve got a special on the bighorner steak n’ yucca fries today, if you’re interested. The gecko casserole’s pretty popular too. I ran out of cold Nuka’s earlier today, but I’ve got some Sasparillas left, if you want it. *Wait a minute, where did they see this client before…wait, no, nevermind.*

Oh, great!

*Randy offers a friendly smile to the Ghoul, though he realizes it’s concealed behind the handkerchief. He hasn’t come across many much friendliness this time through the Wasteland (though he rarely does). Even if this Ghoul just wants a customer, it’s at least a chance for him to make conversation! And evidently, receive a decent meal to boot*

Bighorner steak? Wowza, I uh, was expecting meat kebabs at best *The missionary attempts to discreetly peak into his money pouch. A cold beverage sounds amazing right now, so the offered Sasparilla is a no-brainer. He also studies the menu. Hmmm… Well he did just sell in some equipment he scavenged. He can treat himself for once* Well I’d love a Sasparilla first, if you please. Parched awfully as you can imagine. And a steak would be heaven sent.

*Randy calculates the number of caps before setting them down in a careful pile on the counter. He smiles back at the Ghoul, finally getting a good, long look at him. There’s something awfully familiar about them. But he doesn’t want to stare too long. He knows most Ghouls don’t take kindly to that, and the last thing he wants to do is piss off the person preparing his food–Wait a second*

… Um?

…. I’m sorry, but… Mordecai? 

*He hesitates for a moment, before yanking the handkerchief down*

Do you… remember me?

[deadpansharker-blog]

*Bless your heart, kind customer, Mordecai just wants your caps, not to be particularly friendly. The Ghoul’ll be humoring you, though.* 

Yeah, I like going above expectations.  *Mord opens a bottle of Sunset Sasparilla and places it on the bar, willfully avoiding the customer’s stare. Really, usually peeps only stare if they’re former vaulties or concerned about salubrity or something (that they never would care about if it was a smoothskin cooking their meals instead).  *  It’s twelve caps for the meal, sir. It’ll be ready in a couple minutes... * Mordecai trails off into a mumble as they slap a slab of meat on the repurposed (and clean, thank you) steel drum that serves as an improvised stove and pan with a bit more force than needed, irritated, and opens their mouth to gently--gently--assure the staring customer that no, ghoulification isn’t contagious, the food’s just as irradiated as anywhere else, and--- 

Hearing their own name catches Mord off guard, who narrows their eyes.*  Wait, how do you know my-- *Mordecai narrows their eyes further as the customer yanks down his handkerchief--holy shit, he’s sure he’s seen him before, but where?*  Uh--shit--wait, I know you-- * A vague memory of the old diner in New Canaan’s outskirts, sunlight filtering through the holes in the ruined curtains where the ghoul served-- Mordecai snapped their fingers triumphantly.*  Pancakes--Randy! 

*The ghoul lets out a laugh. It sounds vaguely like a bark. Or a cough. Who cares, Mord doesn’t.* 

I--holy sh-- *Wait, no, don’t swear!*  Um...Hello! What are you doing out here?

[t800101-deactivated20160803]

[ Bold which is most applicable to your muse between the two options! ]

Cold OR Hot

Envy OR Lust

Blunt OR Tactful

Dreamer OR Realist 

Impulsive OR Planner

Stubborn OR Flexible

Sociable OR Isolated

Lazy OR Hard-working

Half empty OR Half full

High energy OR Low energy

Dependent OR Independent

Eloquent OR Rough around the edges

Sees what they want OR Sees what is there

Dwells on the past OR Looks towards the future 

[deadpansharker-blog]

*A wary traveler has arrived to the food post Mord has set up for himself. Randy is wearing a thick hankercheif around his mouth, as well as some goggles he'd scavenged, to protect from the sands. He plucks the goggles off first before dinging a service bell* Hello? Is your stand open?

*A few seconds--make that maybe ten seconds--pass until a ghoul’s  head pops out from behind a tarp curtain.*It is now.* He doesn’t quite recognize the customer, and even with that handkerchief the ghoul’s sure that the man’s not one of the regulars. Not yet, anyway.Mordecai slinks out from their improvised kitchen into the even further improvised attempt at a bar.* Welcome to The Hideous Child, and it sure as hell is the best food post this side of the 93. *It’s probably the only food post  open this side of the Highway 93, at least with today’s weather. Who cares, Mord doesn’t care, not when they tap a piece of cardboard with the day’s menu scrawled on it.*I’ve got a special on the bighorner steak n’ yucca fries today, if you’re interested. The gecko casserole’s pretty popular too. I ran out of cold Nuka’s earlier today, but I’ve got some Sasparillas left, if you want it.*Wait a minute, where did they see this client before...wait, no, nevermind.*

[deadpansharker-blog]

Oh boy, I keep only getting limited internet access every now and then, for the past 2 months now

And I have a Fallout itch to scratch ; ;