Fallout Week - Day 4
Fuck/Marry/Kill
A quick look at the life of my OC, Snow.
She ignores my question and I can see an idea forming behind her eyes. A terrible one, I assume.
"You kill people, for caps!" she clasps her hands around mine eagerly and shakes it, "You can kill that asshat Maxson!" There is an eerie glee in her voice. Her choice of insult gives me pause and I glance at that feather in her hair.
"Shit, Snow! Keep your voice down!" I cup my hand over her mouth to silence her. If any Brotherhood soldiers are in this bar, and the chances of that are high, then she's about to start a war.
There's a warm, wet feeling on my palm and I snap it away. I wipe off saliva on her sleeve and she wrenches her shoulder back to escape my reach. Her face reminds me of a puppy, tongue out and a wide grin. She is giggling. I'm relieved to see a sense of humor within her depression.
"Well, that was charming. What's gotten into you?" I scold jokingly, trying to keep this giggly version of Snow, "No more licking, and no talk of the Brotherhood. You hear me?"
"Fuck the Brotherhood!" She's on her feet, heading back to her bottle of Bobrov's Best Moonshine on the counter. She raises it high up and the attention of the room is back on her, "A toast! To fucking the Brotherhood of Shit the way they fucked me!" Tears stream down her face as she pours fire down her throat. The whole bar is cheering, bottles clinking around the room.
Excerpt from the upcoming Chapter 5, In This Rainfall We Persist
We lifted into the air and headed out over the mountains to the west, away from the Commonwealth. We didn't speak, just took in the beauty of the land. The wind whipped around the cabin and through my hair. At first, it was difficult to breath but eventually I found my rhythm again. That feeling from before grew, a warmth in my chest, something I had not felt before.
He was focused on the controls, and I took the opportunity to really look him over. His eyes were bright, hazel, and they seemed to be alive with the thrill of flight. His hair was the typical military cut, a light chestnut brown. There was a dark scar across his right temple, running from the corner of his eye back into his hair. He was wearing green Brotherhood fatigues, the pockets all stuffed full. He was nice to look at, that was sure.
As we landed back in the clearing, he broke the silence.
"Lancer-Captain Avis Paul, ma'am. I'm reporting this bird as destroyed to the Brotherhood. She's yours now, if you let me visit and teach you to fly." He took my hand in his and smiled. I smiled back, my heart and head were pounding. Was I still drunk?
It was months before I saw him again.
Excerpt from Chapter 2, In This Rainfall We Persist