#thread ; badabing

[renoxvated]

He could feel the anger bubbling up under his skin, it’s BLISTERING, hotter than the Mojave sun itself. He’s thought about this moment for what feels like forever, but he still had the SCAR and the staples to remind himself it wasn’t all that long ago. The Courier thought about every little thing he wanted to do once he got this far, and oh god was there more than enough CRUELTY built up in him that it was ready to overflow like the Hoover Dam BREAKING. They’d taken his guns, his other weapons too— but he’d never really needed them to begin with, didn’t want the satisfaction of killing the man in the checkered suit to be over so quickly. Roy would use his bare hands, SQUEEZING every ounce of life, every DROP of sweat out of Benny…

and there the man of the hour stood, surrounded by bodyguards no less, fucking COWARD—! Six think’s, gritting his teeth like an animal holding back a bite from it’s toothy maw. He couldn’t kill him, well atleast not now, not here with these schmuck’s around, he could try of course; is pretty sure he’s beat worse odds already and if he died? Well he’d DRAG Benny’s checkered ass down to HELL with him.

He wants Benny to know he’s there, wants to watch the look on his face contort to horror, like he’s seen a GHOST. So when he steps towards the man at the top of the stairs he walks with an intimidating presence about him, sneer plastered on his face and with the swagger of David fighting Goliath; he doesn’t hesitate to cock the biggest shit eating nasty grin on his lips.

“Hey ya’ fuckin’ FINK, miss me?” Sneering indignantly, he blows a quick kiss to the man, but it’s anything but sweet.

starter for @smoothmovesbaby

[renoxvated]

"So what's this about some old wrestlin' headquarters? Why would you wanna go there? Can't you just wrestle around out here in the dirt? I do that all the time!" There's a look of both excitement and disbelief on his face as he continues.

"Do they even wrestle there? I guess they could if they didn't, since anywhere there's two fuckers and some dirt you probably should if you wanna have fun..." So many questions, so many moments of his brows scrunching up as he spoke. It was strange to think about, at least what the man before him spoke of. Roy had seen holotapes play out as pictures on a screen, sure; but he hadn't ever seen anyone wrestling around on them and PROFESSIONALLY? He finds it hard to believe it could be a profession and if it WAS?

Well WHY wasn't he doing that now?! Fuck being a courier! He was great at beating the ever loving shit outta people, way better at it than delivering packages apparently and your telling him there was a way to do it...but not for real? Wild, he cocks his head to the side The Courier is at a loss, but the sort of loss that leaves him to want to find out more.

"I'm Roy by the way, didn't catch your name, just kinda...uh overheard ya' talk about the...what was it called...The WWC or whatever the fuck, anyway I like wrestlin' and I'm into killin' people's problems, so if ya' need help gettin' into the place-- I'm your guy." He points to himself proudly before extending his hand outwards to the other, lopsided grin splaying across his face. God help the man he'd wandered and shoehorned his way over to, hopefully he was as...enthusiastic as The Courier...

starter for @nefariuus for Wade.

[renoxvated]

Smell fuckin' what air-- fuckin' bat shit ass asshole. The only lottery that matters? He thinks to himself, confused he eyeballs the stranger as he comes to a full stop, Nipton.

'Fuck off! Win your own fucking lottery!' The other mans words hit Roy's ears like an annoying BUZZING bee, he wants to swat the other man down. It would be so easy and his trigger finger itches at the hilt of his pistol. He was a powder ganger by the looks of it, so truth be told he was lucky The Courier didn't shoot him on sight. Instead he barks back as the stranger runs off past him. Goddamn lunatic.

“Yeah FUCK YOU TOO PAL, up yours!” Roy sneers and when he does the smell of fire hits his nostrils, singes at his senses-- what's worse was the STENCH of flesh cooking itself wafting from the pyre, the CROSS beside him.

'Up on a cross, head on no pole,' Roy replays the words back in his mind and for a moment there's a look of brief fleeting HORROR registering across his features. "Fuck." He utters, staring at the body to his left and the others as his gaze shifts further down, so many; it reminded him of the things his father told him about, from that old tattered bible. Thinks these guys ain't coming back three days later from this. Roy clinches his fists, he should pull out his gun, but he doesn't.

Just what the hell happened here? He steadies himself, swallowing hard. He hadn't seen anything like this before and if he had, well he couldn't remember it anyway. Roy bounces on his heels, he doesn't know if it's just excitement or a nervous tick anymore. He doesn't care either way, doesn't notice it as he bounds forward, fists clenched-- just incase.

More bodies strung up, more heads on pikes, it took a great deal to disgust Roy if he was being honest, he took SPLENDOR in his own violence, sure. As messy and macabre as it was, but this? This was clearly a whole town...it was a MASSCACRE. His nose scrunches, the smell of fire and burning bodies starting to get to him. He wants to be angry, but most of all he wants to understand why.

Then he spots the town hall, a few guys; five from what he could count, there had to be more...always was. He doesn't think he could fight anymore if that was true, that wasn't even considering the dogs up ahead-- AND a dog headed man before them all at the top of the stairs, surveying the scorched earth like some sort of GOD KING among the riffraff. Roy's hand etches, creeps towards his gun, he needed to leave, needed to get out before he became one of the unlucky lottery losers, apparently. Then he's spotted, he knows it even with sunglasses blocking the dog headed mans GAZE, feels like it's burning into him as if he was on the pyre too.

"Fuck." Roy speaks again, that seemed to be the mantra of the day.

starter for @ratherxintense

[renoxvated]

that'll teach me to underestimate you. — from boone!

Roy quirks up a brow, letting a shit eating grin slip across his lips. "Fuckin' right it will, told you I COULD knock the fuck outta that bastard." The Courier laughs, looking down at the DEATHCLAW between them, blood pooling from his right arm dripping into the sand. He's still HIGH off the adrenaline from the fight, bouncing on his heels-- so it takes a few seconds to clock that he's bleeding, heavily. "Fuck, uh-- that's s'lot of blood isn't it." It was less of a question and more of a surprised statement and Six's brown eyes go wide. What did he EXPECT, going toe to toe with the biggest baddest lizard in the Mojave. He was lucky he wasn't dead, had his companion to thank for that. Roy felt woozy, lightheaded, he BLINKS a few times and he can feel his head start to PANG with that familiar pain where he'd been shot. "Uh, gonna need a stimpack, maybe some bandages for my arm...shit-- did you see where I dropped my bag?" He questions the other man, he wants to RELISH in the PRAISE like a dog lapping up attention instead he's trying to focus on not passing out.

"Guess s'good thing...you kept shootin' it... mighta got my damn arm TORN off." Six kicks at the massive corpse, it gives a slight lifeless nerve TWITCH and he stumbles back into the sand-- laughing wildly before wincing from the head and arm pain.

[renoxvated]

@aamusedly (for Boone)

❝S’alot of Legion fucks supposed to be here, I can stir em’ up— like a cazadors nest, they’ll all come out. You could shoot em’ pretty easy that way and I could distract them. Well, unless you want to do things more quietly…I think balls to the walls gunfire would be pretty fun.❞ Roy grins, there’s a playful tone mixed into the seriousness of it all. He knows they need to get those soldiers out of the Techatticup Mine, he knows they will, get them out of there, alive. Promised Renolds they would, and Roy may have been many things but a lia-okay, so MAYBE a liar was also one but only sometimes, he was usually painfully honest.

He wasn’t lying though, he meant it when he said he’d do something, that much he always followed through with. ❝I see a couple outside now, we should probably take em’ out first.❞ He finally adds, eyes scanning the distance and the opening to the mines, the big wooden door was closed– which was good because it’d cover up some of the gunfire if need be. Roy hated The Legion, felt like they exuded a lack of personal freedoms he couldn’t abide by– sure to some degree the NCR could be like that but…that was a personal choice to take up the mantle of a soldier, not a slave. Roy would be neither, the difference between his allegiance laid in the fact he could respect the soldier and not the slaver. He supposed that’s why he liked traveling with Boone, respect. Roy honestly didn’t respect a whole lot of people, trusted even fewer but the sniper had proven time and time again to have his back even from a mile away– as long as he stayed on course, revenge.

It wasn’t just about that anymore though, was it? Just like now, it wasn’t about giving the legion what they deserved, it was about saving folks along the way. Roy snorts at that notion, he wasn’t a hero, wonders if Boone ever thought this sort of thing was heroic; he thinks it’s just what people do, even if they don’t. They usually didn’t, maybe most just couldn’t– Roy was weak all those years ago, prayed that someone would come and save him, god, man, it didn’t matter and yet nobody ever came as far as he knew. ❝Whatcha wanna do?❞ He asks, brown eyes side eyeing his companion while still trying to keep a look ahead. 

[renoxvated]

The air smelled like cheap cologne and mildew, like the paint was peeling off the walls, not from radiation, or the bombs but from the stagnant scent of booze and sex. Roy didn’t really care for it all, too loud, too fake, too much…although if he was being honest, something about New Vegas and its vices had him tethered here, his ball and chain so to speak, just not for the reasons one might think.

Dressrosa wasn’t the Lucky 38, she was bustling with old world blues and new world charms. Too bad Roy didn’t have any charms of his own, still he tugs at the collar of a too tight dress shirt, black suit jacket hanging on his form, he wants to shrug it off. ❝Anyone in charge around here that I can speak to?❞ The Courier looks towards the front desk, the person in front of him stammers. 

❝I ain’t got all day to listen to yammerin’ and I’m too sober to care for answers that ain’t, yeah I know a guy let me get ‘em’ for you. So go on and get ‘em’.❞ He continues, the last bit of his words having a sort of exasperated tone. He’s sure by now they know who he is, why he’s here had to be anyone’s guess, but here he was in all his…glory, yeah, okay.

@cisnecorazon

[renoxvated]

The lights in the Tops always seemed to set the kind of mood, that Roy imagined was a lot like what Mr. House told him Old Vegas must of been like. He thinks he would have hated it. Thinks this place is too stuffy, too glitz, too glamor, when he's barely ever worn a suit; until now. Roy was, for better or worse the kind of man who was the spirit of New Vegas, which usually meant he needed his freedom, not just a new form of confinement. He also knew most everything in this damned place is a lie, a who's playing who and a gamble away from powers shifting. He feels like he's in the Deathclaw's den and he's all out of bullets. Good thing Roy's always been good with his fists. Roy tugs at the collar of the black suit he's wearing, so fuckin' fancy-- too fancy. This is what was asked of him though, to dress up and play the part for the big boss man, people only respected what they could see and while the securitrons command their own brand of respect, nothin' quite did like like the Mojave Legend himself. ❝I need a drink.❞ Roy mumbles under his breath like an unanswered prayer as brown eyes start scanning the room, although his ears picked up a sound so sweet it was quite literally music to his ears. Now, the courier hadn't ever been a man known for good tastes, he himself was an acquired one; but the song he was hearing now had to be the most beautiful tune he'd ever heard. ❝Ain't that a sound for sore ears.❞ He mumbled once more, eyes finally finding the source of the nights musical entertainment.

@butnobodyhome

[renoxvated]

❝Well I've seen some strange things out in the wastes...talkin' robots, hell even a robot that can fu--uh, just ya' know lots of strange shit...❞ Brown eyes linger on the sight before him, the kind of thing he'd only heard about from old world ghouls really, not that he talked to a whole lot of ghouls but the ones he had.

❝This is a motorcycle right? Fuckin' cool.❞ Roy really had seen a lot over the years, mostly nothing good and sure he'd seen motorcycle's before, but not the kind that actually worked. In fact most just seemed to be as bad off as the cars littering the wasteland, like brightly colored tetanus beckoning trash. ❝This makes you cooler than all those hoity suits on the strip.❞ He mused outload, ❝Probably pretty fast too, right? At least faster than anything on two legs.❞ Roy continued, finally cocking his head to the side and looking towards the stranger.

@thx-lost-yxars