“had to shoot him right in the head; didn’t even have time to think about it, else he would have done the same to me,” she said. gigi shifted in her position, made a gun with her fingers, and pointed it at butch’s forehead. “ka-pew,” she said, flicking her hand in the air.
butch flinched, cursing himself internally for doing so. it wasn’t a real gun for god's sake—at least, not yet.
gigi threw her head back and laughed into the open air of rivet city. “shit butch,” she said. “think that’s the only time you’ve been scared of me.”
“i don’t know,” butch said as he rubbed the back of his neck. “you changed, gi.”
“what?” she teased, pouting. “you don’t like me anymore?”
thank you so much @chrisfroot for this beautiful commission of my lone wanderer, gigi halloway! you've captured her perfectly
above is a wip of a fic of gigi and butch but you can read more of her on my ao3 <3
How tall is your Charon and OC? Because their Tall×small vibe is giving me life.
I made Bonnie 5'2
She part of the shorty gang!
With Charon, I try to make him to his estimated game size of 6'6-6'7 (I think it is)
Sure as hell doesn't stop her from butting heads against him
The Lone Wanderer tries to rescue the Little Lamplighters from Paradise Falls.
Prompts: Escape | Flight | Hiding
Why doesn’t anyone try to help?
It was a naïve question. One that she’d asked countless times since leaving Vault 101. She understood it more in time, how nothing in this life is free, no matter what your intentions are. Everyone is going to expect something from you, be it caps, services or a knife in the back.
So why then did they treat her like some martyr? Why was she the go to when people needed help? She was just some lost little girl, looking and failing to find her father. Doing odd jobs with limited success to help fund her search, and often, to get more information on his location.
She’s barely nineteen.
The Lone Wanderer had ample time to consider this from within the cage. Tired eyes watching the stars in the sky, lips curled into a frown. The same pout she’d sport in the Vault when things seemed bleak. How little she knew then.
The Little Lamplighters to her left kept to themselves, they stopped whispering about an hour or so ago. The girl hadn’t stopped crying. Must be feeling guilt for getting the wanderer caught, their only source of salvation.
Or, more likely, over the fleeting freedom that was briefly dangled over her and her friends.
At least they put her in the children’s pen with the Lamplighters.
While she never caught on to any of the medical nonsense her father preached, she did know a thing or two about science. Between that and the constant tinkering she did in the vault, she was pretty apt when it came to pre-war tech.
The Lamplighters had watched, in wide-eyed awe, as she deactivated her bomb collar. The light dead and clasp loose in the back. She only kept it on now for the slavers patrolling, have to keep up appearances.
“Hey, mungo.” One of the Lamplighters approached her, “Turn off our collars.”
She raised a brow, a lazy nearly disinterested look in her eyes, “Why?”
The Lamplighter, Squirrel if she remembered, rolled his eyes, “So we can get out, idiot.”
The wanderer snorted at that, turning back to the sky. From the brief rundown she’d gotten from Sammy, the other Lamplighter, Squirrel has been devising escape attempts for the month and a half they’ve been here. With limited success. Obviously.
“Had your chance to get out,” She began, a sideways glance towards Penny, “And now I’m captured too.”
Rory, the other slave Penny insisted on helping, actually managed to make it out. The capture of the wanderer had provided an excellent diversion. Fool that she was, she’d already deactivated his collar.
“So what? Cry about it why don’t you.” Squirrel spat, kicking the ground to emphasize his point, “Turn our collars off so we can get outta here already!”
The wanderer growled, “Just because your collars are off doesn’t mean you’ll get out of here.”
She stood before the Lamplighters, gesturing out towards the camp behind their chain linked fence. She fought every instinct to shake some sense into the child before her.
“If they catch you, they will kill you.” She seethed, “Won’t even need the collars to be active or not, they see you out of this cage they will. Open. Fire. On. You.”
She emphasized the last bit, more venom in those words than she initially wanted. His cohort was teary eyed, sobbing softly still, his own eyes began to water as he pouted before the wanderer.
She knew the answer now.
Like crabs in a bucket, fighting against each other because instinct tells them to crawl to freedom. Even if it means setting everyone around them back.
There are no observers here, only opportunists.
Her anger softened.
And these were children who just wanted to help those around them.
Her shoulders hunched, too anxious to relax fully. If they try to escape, they will be killed. But they could at least try.
“Fine,” She murmured, gesturing towards the Lamplighters, “Come here.”
Penny apologized the entire time she deactivated her collar, Sammy mumbled thanks and Squirrel, stone faced, snorting his runny nose up every now and again.
“Now what?” She questioned, shedding her own deactivated collar.
“Help me get this grate open, Mungo,” Squirrel stated, producing a rusted old key from his trousers, “You’re the one built like a brahmin.”
She was too impressed by the child’s sticky fingers to be insulted.
It took nearly an hour of trudging and squeezing through the sewer system under Paradise Falls before the four found themselves on the other side. The wanderer prying the outer grate open, hissing as it squeaked into the night. She hoped down, waiting with open arms for the Lamplighters to follow.
They barely got Sammy out from the drain when they heard the dogs. Her blood ran cold, fumbling as Sammy jumped, knocking herself back into the mud and sewage. She didn’t have time to focus on the pain in her head, quickly ushering the children up and out.
They hid in the rocky outcrop, past the sewer drain that they’d crawled from. The wanderer practically folded above the three kids, protecting them with her form as the footsteps got closer.
If they kill her, she thought, they have a chance to run.
She held her breath, the children cowering beneath her prone form. Like children hiding behind their mothers’ skirts when they were frightened. She could feel tiny hands clamping down on what they could, the belt of her jumpsuit, the sleeves, and her wrists.
They needed grounding and she offered it in spades.
The slavers approached the sewer grate, one cursing wildly before shooting into the busted metal. One of the lamplighters jumped, and the wanderer struggled to comfort them as this angle. The brush they hid behind rustling slightly, and she prayed to whatever God would listen that they wouldn’t be caught.
The slavers scanned the area for minutes, but they might as well have been at it for hours. The wanderer’s legs cramping and sweat dripping down her face as she grimaced into the night.
No one would ever do this for her, she realized as the lamplighters struggled to keep her up. To keep them hidden, to keep them safe. They whispered encouragement when they were able.
As dawn broke, the slavers returned to Paradise Falls empty handed. On the horizon, four figures traveled solemnly towards Little Lamplight.
Two of which held the hands of the larger figure.
It was thankless, being a martyr, but, it wasn’t all bad.
