Loneliness had been eating at her more so than usual lately. She had been craving touch, warmth of another body. But she didn’t want risk attachment. Especially herself getting attached, so she pushed it down until it became unbearable. So she put on her coat and went out to find someone who’d give company without the risk of emotions.
After walking a bit, coming into Goodneighbor, she spotted a decently good looking man. Probably a raider or maybe a merc based on his dress. Meant it was almost for sure he wouldn’t stick around in the morning, if he even stuck around that long. Might as well give it a shot.
She approached him with the casual line, and was pleased to see he was interested at least, smile growing a bit on her lips. “Oh I don’t want to keep you from anything important. Buuut...I was looking for a bit of company for the night~ And you seem like you might be my kind of guy~” Her voice was almost purr, smile now a smirk as she got a bit closer to him.
If Quinn stooped so low as to have a kid with a smelly, decrepit, one-eyed raider?
If they had a kid meme: accepting.
She never meets her father, and he NEVER knows about her; instead living well below the earth and in the safety of her mother’s Institute. Despite that separation, despite it all, however, the girl grows up to maintain quite a rebellious streak -- as well as a cunning pragmatism that even has her own mother surprised.
He’d sneaked out by the dumpster during lunch - his “meal” of the afternoon: vodka in his water bottle and the stubby remains of Colter’s half-smoked cigarette.
To think, there was a time in his life when he wouldn’t have even considered poisoning his body with that garbage. …It just served to prove how little he cared, nowadays. After school, he’d trudge on down to his family’s “subsidized housing unit,” only to watch his parents pretend to be happy, playing monopoly by candlelight, just to save money on electricity.
Why they moved to Boston from his hometown in Georgia, he’d never understand. “More opportunities,” they’d said.
Well, fuck that. They were on food stamps! What kind of “opportunity” was that?!
His cigarette burned past its filter.
He flinched at the sound of crunching leaves. He and Colter didn’t have the same lunch period; it couldn’t be him -
When he saw an unknown boy turn the corner, all he could do was stare, eyes wide, like a deer in the headlights… until his features contorted into a bitter scowl, contempt and malice.
“ What? You gonna snitch? ” he taunted, taking one last puff of his burned out cigarette.
It was pure coincidence that Johnny ended up out there at the same time, he’d come out for a moment alone, away from all of the chaos and commotion of the lunchroom. Gage, he hadn’t been expecting, but having one other boy around could hardly ruin his relaxed lunch, right?
“Sorry, big guy, didn’t know ya were out here.” He started, offering a friendly smile as he walked over to join him and pulled a pack of cigarettes out of his pocket, taking one for himself and propping it between his lips before offering the other boy a fresh one. “I ain’t a snitch, just had the same idea as you, apparently. You doin’ okay, man? Just needed a break from the noise or somethin’?”
The teenager remained attentive despite the jerking motion his shoulder had received before the older man stepped away from him to light another cigarette. Of course Gage always seemed to be busy with something, and something was just what he seemed to have in store.
So once the bundle of files and papers were shoved into his arms, the boy let out a scoffed sound before trying to look through the pages as Gage explained just what he’d been looking at. It was just a loan shark list, something like gangsters would do in old pre war days.. Things he’d been told about by the few ghouls in Goodneighbor.
But the real problem with all the documents was the writing. The clear, beautifully done cursive and crisp lining.. Gears couldn’t read it. He knew very well how to read some things, but this form of writing was completely foreign to him and the confused expression on his face proved it.
The teen lifted his head, furrowing his brows in a tinge of frustration as the man asked his final question. Torturing a man? Sure, he’d done it plenty of times when he was younger.. Of course this time he’d have to do it like an adult. Taking the dagger and attempting to balance the documents in his opposing arm, his gaze lifted slowly to the elder.
“I got no problem torturin’ anybody.. But I want somethin’ ‘n return.” The teen gulped the heavy lump in his throat, glancing away momentarily. “I wanna learn how t’write like this. S’fair? I play collector, and y’gotta teach me this writin’. Deal?”
"It's stupid. You do know that I am /barely/ keepin' shit together between the three gangs? For the last time, no fighting in the streets. You want aesthetic, go ahead and beat the shit out of yourself."
He rolls his eyes, mouth opening and closing dramatically as he ‘mimics’ Gage’s speech. Blah, blah bLAH.
“ Can it Gage, you ‘aint my mama and I’ll do as I fuckin’ well please, an Operator bitch gonna throw out shitty comments when I aint NEVER said a thing then she’s gonna get scalped, simple. ”
There’s an inevitability in them meeting again. The seasons marked the pass of time; punctuated with every heaving change upon Nuka World. He must’ve seen it in the distance; the gilded crest of its refurbished ferris wheel and roller coaster ; the tall grey walls and spires, repaved and fitted until the place looks more like a castle than it had a ruin. It was still a honey pot at the end of the day – the only difference was that hers was a different caliber entirely than her predecessor’s.
And maybe that’s why Gage had VANISHED instead of try to replace her too.
“You know, most folks say their goodbyes before leaving.” A leg slung over the other; elbow perched on the table. Her posture paints the picture of a cat lounging, waiting, rather than a woman who should view Porter for the threat he could be.
“It didn’t seem like you, Porter– to cut and run like that. But maybe I didn’t know you as well as I thought.”
“Feeling’s mutual. Trust me.” His words are measured. It earns a pause from Quinn. Did he use the same voice around Colter? She wonders, but she doesn’t have the right to anymore, she’s sure. If there’s any regret for what happened, then it’s long since been crushed by the boot of her heel. Porter Gage would not be the first person FUCKED OVER by Quinn’s ambitions. She’s sure he won’t be the last.
“You know you weren’t part of that. All of that. I wanted you exempt from what happened.” And he was. Her gaze doesn’t flinch when he laughs, something bitter, something that sounds as if it was dragged through gravel.
“And you know that doesn’t change a DAMN thing about what happened.” The Pack. The Disciples. It was so quiet, when it happened; nothing more than crumpled bodies in their beds, at their posts, slumped and frozen in their revelry. Her synths have always been touted as a matter of craftsmanship by her Institute. That night, however, they were something far more.
But Gage is right: it does not change what happened.
“So, what, then? You’re here to finish the job? Get revenge? Is that what this is?“ Her stomach feels like a cold pit, something empty; a deep freeze that crawls her veins. It might be fitting. Poetic, in the literary sense. But reality and fantasy don’t always blend. “I guess I should be flattered that at least you’ll try and off me in person compared to the last one, shouldn’t I?”
“Enough talk, woman. I don’t–” The Raider waves a hand, dismissive. Chews his words up and swallows until there’s nothing but SILENCE that hangs between them. It lingers, something heavy and unsettling until she almost STARTS when he speaks again; his voice small, and weary, and dissonant from the person she thought she knew.
“Right now— right now all I want is a god damn drink.”
He doesn’t look up at her. He doesn’t move. Just lets the silence and dim light claw away at him. Quinn sighs, and suddenly, she feels just as he looks. A few moments pass, and the soft clink of glasses paired with a bottle set down on the table between them can be heard. She twists the cap, pours a couple fingers of scotch for herself — and more than a couple for Gage.
