#vault 831

[theartofblossoming]

We Were All Young Once

All the companions were young once. Even this guy.

Short story written for the August Fic Challenge 2017

"I'm tellin' you, Jimmy, he's up to somethin'." The lad's earnest gaze drilled into his friend's eyes to the point of discomfort.

"Oh, drop it Clyde, he's got nothin' to hide," the boy shrugged and shook his head. Why did he have to be so serious all the time?

"Rhyming insults at me now, knucklehead? Seriously though, I got proof."

"They ain't gonna take a seventeen year old kid seriously, especially after the stunt those teenaged hotrodders pulled up main street. Chief is findin' any excuse to whip us kids into shape."

The serious boy stubbed his cigarette out on the windowsill and pulled his head back inside. Not that his folks would notice, they both smoked like chimneys anyway. "Yeah, I know, Jimmy, I know. Try to understand, the cops are just doin' their job."

The telephone rang.

"Nicholas! Nicholas, its your father. Get down here right now."

"Aww shit. Hope he hasn't noticed his receipts file is missing. You better get on home, Jimbo. I'll leave the window unlocked, come check on me later, alright?"

"Sure thing Nicky. Can't promise on bailin' you out if you get put in the jailhouse, though. I spent all my allowance on those baseball tickets."

"Plural? Hey, you're not taking her out are you?"

"Well, you stood her up!"

"Not intentionally. I…"

"Nicholas Fabian Valentine!

"Go! Go!"

One very blonde, lanky kid threaded himself out of the window whilst Nicky legged it downstairs, two steps at a time. He grabbed the receiver from his scowling mother.

"Hello father, sorry, I was…ah…occupied."

"Nicholas."

He swallowed, the adam's apple on his scrawny teenaged neck bobbing up and down. 'Here it comes', he thought.

"Have you got plans for the weekend, junior? I just came by a pair of tickets for the game."

Nicky visibly relaxed. "Not really. Thanks."

"Tell your mother to leave a pot in the oven for me, I'll be a couple hours late tonight."

"Yes, Dad. 'Bye"

* * *

His mother popped out to borrow a cup of something. Nicky took the chance to slip into his father's study and search his desk. He searched very thoroughly, feeling underneath and behind drawers. Eventually, the sun sliced into the room, causing a spark on the floor by the desk. He found the key to the safe tacked sloppily underneath one of the legs.

Finally, solid evidence: records and quickly scribbled notes pertaining to the embezzlement that his father was clearly deeply involved in. He'd known for months, catching snatches of conversation, little details that most seventeen year olds would be oblivious to. He ran to gather the rest of the proof and climbed out of his bedroom window before his mother realised he was missing.

* * *

John Nicholas Valentine was found guilty in a court of law several weeks later. Young Nicky entered the Boston Police Academy and graduated with honours, becoming a top detective.

The bitter tang of familial betrayal never left him, even when he woke one day to find himself irreversibly altered.

Nick held up his whiskey and those yellow eyes burned through the amber liquid as the smoke curled around his old, battered fedora. "Here's lookin' at you, kid."

[theartofblossoming]

Vault 831 - Day 31 - The last chapter! 'Safe Haven' Co-written by @deichqueen , @frenziedgem1 , @kickerwrites and I. Honest Dan just left. http://archiveofourown.org/works/11638140/chapters/27041808

[theartofblossoming]

@kickerwrites @frenziedgem1 @deichqueen It's a little wonky but Skyler managed to get the new sign up ;)

[theartofblossoming]

August Fic Challenge VAULT 831 day 1

Shameless Fluff

He held the tattered sleeve in his grasp and rubbed his wrist over the old, pitted mirror. A bit of stubborn grime elicited a hocking spittle attack, which also caught her attention.

“What on scorched earth was that gross noise? Need medical attention, Mayor?”

“Shit!” The thirteen-year old Robert Joseph MacCready, Mayor of Little Lamplight, span around suddenly, the ragged hem caught on the cracked plastic frame and the mirror span like a U.F.O. to the floor, crashing into a chairleg.

“Ohfuck. It better not be broke! Seven years bad luck…shit. I’d be clear two decades old by then! Did it break?”

Lucy dipped her head underneath the table, her light brown hair brushing the cavern floor.

“Nope. Oh, wait, just a teeny chip. Tell me, R.J., which shoulder already has one so I can balance them out?”

“Haha, very funny. Lemme see the mirror,” Mac said, his voice cracking, the tone swinging ponderously between ‘man’ and ‘boy’.

“Why’d you need it, anyhow?”

“To look at my face, stupid.”

“Well, I’m looking at your face. What d'you wanna know?”

MacCready stared at her soft, brown eyes. He couldn’t say why but sometimes, that’s all he wanted to do.

“Well, what did you need to know?”

“Uh… do I look any different to you recently?”

“Aside from ditching that stupid rag that kept your hat on? I don’t know, what am I looking for?”

MacCready lifted his chin, tilting his head this way and that. “You can’t see anything extra?”

“Where?” Lucy, at this point was peering quite close to his face.

At this point, Mac decided to give up, huffed out a “Fuck it. I need a beer” and started to stomp off. As he turned, the lamplight was reflected for a moment off something near MacCready’s mouth.

“Wait, I see it!” Lucy had grabbed his shoulder and spun him around. There were those brown eyes again. He stood, captivated, as she brought her fingertips tentatively to his upper lip. With the gentlest caress, she felt the fine, pale hairs growing there.

He smelled her clean fingertips (antiseptic and gumdrops) and became suddenly aware that he had brought his gun-oiled hand up to hold them. Each could feel the warm breath of the other, could hear their own hearts beating in their ears, the awkward approach of lips suddenly touching their own and then, the soft, moist sucking as Mac ruined his first attempt at a romantic kiss and Lucy pulled away rubbing her nose.

“You tickled me with your fluff-tache!”

“You felt it? Yes! I’m getting a beard!” The last was said in a broken high tone.

Lucy laughed, wiping his slobber from her face. She couldn’t help but find him adorable.

“Hey, Lucy?”

“Yes, R.J.?”

“You gettin’ tits yet?”

And with that, she slapped him right across his shameless fluff and stormed out of the door.

[theartofblossoming]

Vault 831

It's almost here. Two days until the door to Vault 831 opens. *A challenge had been set. The terminal listed thirty one time-limited parameters. Thirty one experiments in something known only as 'F.A.N.F.I.C.' Participants would be put through their paces, their skills challenged, their imaginations forcibly enhanced. Maybe, just maybe in all these reams of written material, Vault-Tec would find what it was looking for...* @woodspurge @deichqueen @kickerwrites @chrysalisshell (tag the others!) and inviting @mustinvestigate @whatshappeningcowboy

[theartofblossoming]

VAULT 831 - Day 26 <b>A Crossover</b> http://archiveofourown.org/works/11638140/chapters/26914107 @mustinvestigate 's Nora Freis and Vincent 'Nate' Hudson just happened to go to boot camp together.

[theartofblossoming]

VAULT 831 - Day 14

100 Word Drabble "So, why d'you never pick up those nice white towels we find from time to time?" "What do you mean?" "Y'know. Those pristine, fluffy lookin' white cloths we find in hotels and places like that?" "Have you ever tried picking them up?" "Well….no…" "Beautifully preserved but solid as a rock. Hotels back in the day used some kinda starch with the Abraxo. Soft as kittens when you felt a freshly washed one." "I've never tried drying off with kittens." "Funny. Anyhow, rads set off some kinda chemical reaction or somethin'. Set 'em hard. So, no clean towels in the apocalypse.

[theartofblossoming]

August Fanfic Challenge VAULT 831 day 2

2. A Rare Pair

He wasn’t keen on travelling all the way back here but he’d said he would for his 40th. Well, technically his 250th but saying he was a quarter of a millenium made him feel really old. Being in his forties was bad enough. If the world hadn’t gone to shit and life had worked out as it should, then he’d be buying that midnight blue Roller Roy rocket trike and teaching Shaun how to ride shotgun.

But the world did go to shit (though the Nuka Cola still hadn’t run dry) and all the Lone Wanderers including his Mistress of Mystery, the shiny red joyride, had turned to hulks of rust. All…except this one. Pristine, still gleaming as though it had been oiled and waxed just yesterday, the ruby relic sat waiting in Bradburton’s office. The diesel had long run out but with a little ingenuity and a lot of late-night discussions with Ingram, Neriah and the Atom Cats, an alternative had been devised. A sustainable, plant-oil based fuel. All it took were a couple of minor adjustments and she was almost ready to ride.

Vin rummaged around in an office drawer, looking for the keys. He pulled out an envelope with something inside that jingled. Unwinding the string from the envelope button, he tipped the contents onto the desk. Another sealed packet hid the jangling thing with a note that was something about ‘prototype merchandise’ and law suits. Vin did a double take when he recognised the logo of the law firm that Nora had worked for. He smiled a sad little smile as he ran a finger over the image of the scales briefly.

Inside the packet, Vincent felt cloth. He shook the packet and a few brightly decorated but unpressed bottle caps, two keyrings with bad facsimiles of bottle and cappy and a small item of clothing with an embroidered Bottle motif fell out. He stuffed the cloth in a pocket, left the almost-caps and picked up the Cappy keyring. It was Mac’s nickname, after all and it made Vin smile.

* * * After much wrestling, the pock-pock glochenspiel of planks being arranged between the boat and the dock gave way to a rumbling roar that was attempting to reach crescendo. The foreign sound of the rocket-engined motorbike visibly cutting through the fog made the harbourfolk leap aside. One idiot even shot at it, reflexively but luckily for Vin, missed. He roared down the island road.

“What in the name of the briny deep is that racket?” Old Longfellow said, clutching his bottle of what had been whiskey but was now down to the five percent spit in the bottom. Vin skidded, a little out of control, to a halt. He removed his combat helmet and goggles, beaming at the salty old codger.

“What did you have to bring that rackety thing for? Lure all the trappers 'n’ critters fer miles around y'idiot.”

Vin’s grin didn’t fade a bit. He’d had too much of a thrill riding across the Commonwealth, dodging raiders’ pitiful pipe-shots, Supermutants with mini-nukes (one threw a nuke like an old football but thankfully he was a poor shot). Bloatflies had squelched on the headlamp and radstags reared as he went by. A horde of feral ghouls had followed him away from a settlement and run straight into a family of yao guai that he’d swerved to avoid.

“Because…” Vin panted…"I’m having one last oldy-worldy hurrah. Besides, I’m not idiot enough to try riding this baby over the island.“

"Good. Well, boy, did you bring any whiskey?”

“Always, old man. Here you go. Oh…and another thing. You’re always complainin’ that your holes have socks in 'em,” he joked with a wry grin. “Try these on.”

And that is how Longfellow got a new pair of socks. A very rare pair indeed.