Amata woke up was feeling warmer than usual. (Her father had this annoying habit of turning the heating unit as low as humanly survivable.) There was a tickling sensation on her collarbone. When she opened her eyes, her temperature went up several degrees. Connie was pressed up close to her, and somehow had worked her head under Amata's chin. That wasn't what mortified her though - they'd slept together often enough as children, and Connie (despite how she might behave when awake) had a habit of cuddling in her sleep. No, it was the fact that one of her own legs had ended up draped over both of Connie's. That, and every time she almost came up with a plan to get away, another soft breath against her neck whisked it out of her mind. Eventually she managed to ease her leg out of its embarrassing position, but Connie tightened her arm around her waist (when did that get there?) when she tried to escape. Finally she resorted to the direct method and shook her friends shoulder. "Connie… Connie, it's time to wake up."
Connie made a small sound of protest and buried her face further into Amata's neck. The vibration of her voice did interesting things to Amata's heart. "I don' wanna."
"Not even for breakfast?"
One eye peered up at Amata, and appeared to think about it for several moments. Connie was much slower in the morning, Amata mused. Then, Connie flung herself back so fast she fell out of bed. The redhead peeked over the edge of the bed, her blush visible to the tips of her ears. "Umm… breakfast sounds good."
After the obligatory awkwardness, the girls set out for The Brass Lantern, which Simms assured them was the best place to buy food. Less than five minutes later they were eating ground meat patties, though the woman at the counter suggested they not ask the ingrediants. Or rather, Connie was eating hers, and Amata was choking it down with sheer willpower. Amata shot Connie a look, the girl smiled. "You ever had Freddie's cooking? Nothing worse than that."
"Well, if it isn't the strays from the Vault! You're just popping out of the ground like molerats lately aren't you?" Connie nearly jumped six feet in the air. A woman with henna red hair and grey eyes was perched on the stool next to her; one she swore was empty five seconds ago. She had a very pleasant expression, with eyes turned dreamily inward, but Connie detected an intelligent glint in their depths. Her jumpsuit didn't have a number on it, but she wore it in the way characteristic of mechanics – neck open, covered in grime, and almost worn through at the knees. Connie's was worn in about the same places, though she had never done anything that gave her suit such big scorch marks.
"I've been hoping to run into you two! How would you feel about doing a little job for me?"
Connie didn't quite trust the woman. She seemed nice, but something told her appearances didn't mean much out here. "What kind of job?"
Suddenly the woman seemed more animated, moving her hands about to illustrate her point. "I want to help the people like you. People that come out of the vaults, I mean. You don't know much about surviving out here do you? Wouldn't it be nice if there was a quick way to explain all the dangerous stuff in the wasteland? So I thought 'Well, Moira, why don't you write a book about it?' That's where you come in." Now she looked at the girls, and added in a wheedling tone. "If you help me, I can give you some of the goodies the traders bring me."
Connie glanced at Amata. The overseer's daughter didn't protest, but the look in her eyes when she nodded was oddly… guilty. "Okay." Connie replied at length. "What do you want us to do?"
"Well, I think the first chapter should be on surviving day-to-day dangers. You know, like where to find food, the effects of radiation and how to avoid and even profit from dangerous landmines. Sounds like fun, doesn't it!" Here, Connie found herself wondering if the woman was being sarcastic. She'd ask Amata what she thought later. "Which do you want to try first?"
Amata was giving her a long, hard look.
"…What?"
Two days later
Connie and Moira (as they now knew her name was) were having an animated debate about the best way to repair some leaking pipes around the town. Amata had insisted they remain in Megaton for at least another few days before trying anything Moira suggested. In that time Connie had formed … well, not exactly a friendship, but a working relationship with Moira. Amata sighed. Most of the townspeople were friendly enough – to her, at least, but they didn't seem to know what to make of Connie. She didn't know what to make of Connie. Even after what she labeled 'the incident', neither of them had really made an effort to secure another bed. She'd woken up in a hopeless tangle with her best friend and it had nearly driven her crazy, but of course, such thoughts and… emotions were carefully avoided.
"Worrying about your girl again, sweetie?" Amata turned around on her stool, to meet the amused gaze of her new friend, Jenny Stahl. She was sturdy woman with blue eyes, blonde hair, and a quick smile. Constantly bustling around her pride and joy, The Brass Lantern, but a good conversationalist if you cared to stick around. She wasn't sure if she understood the amused expression in the older woman's eyes. Unbeknownst to her, the excessive affection between her and Connie was a matter of course in the Vault, where everyone was used to it (as much as Connie tried to hide it) but out in the Wasteland, their close relationship took on different implications. Jenny caught Amata's guilty expression. "Sweet Jesus, girl! You're the biggest mother hen I ever met!"
If you knew how she manages to attract trouble… Speaking of which, the mechanic was now crouched next to a young Asian girl. The little girl's dark, chin length hair was pulled back with a read headband, a thin strip of leather held up an oversized pair of dusty jeans. A black shirt and red-and-white jacket completed the ensemble. Connie listened to what the girl had to say – at this distance she couldn't quite make out what they were saying - then nodded seriously. She shook hands with the young girl equally solemnly, before her face broke into a shy, playful smile that made Amata's heart skip a beat. That expression was so nostalgic it made her throat tighten. Connie reached into her pocket and held up something that gleamed in the light.
Billy Creel strode out of Doc's office with a storm brewing in his eyes. Amata made to get up as he approached Connie, but Jenny's hand stopped her. "Billy's overprotective, but he's no hothead." She replied to Amata's anxious look. "You can't keep speaking for her, Sweets, she's got to make her own place 'round here, ya know?"
Connie watched Amata check her Pipboy for the tenth time, and adjusted her dark-tinted goggles before checking her own. "Not much longer until we get there."
The two women had undergone a complete overhaul of their inventory. Amata wore a set of combat armor with her hair tucked into a matching helmet, bought at a sizeable discount form Moira. Considering the sweat beading on her face, it was probably quite hot. On the other hand, Connie wore a 101 jumpsuit which had shoulder and kneepads, and patches of metal and leather covering vital places. The extra weight was uncomfortable, fabric and dust clung irritatingly to the moisture on her skin. The Tunnel Snake jacket swamped her scrawny frame, but (though she'd never admit it to anyone) she'd always had a taste for leather. She hefted the unfamiliar weight of the 10mm SMG. According to the Pipboy, they were within a mile of the Super Duper Mart. She sure hoped so – her feet were starting to get sore.
The scenery was boulder-strewn, and in the distance she could see a cluster of buildings, but other than that the landscape was grey, bland, and featureless. Connie's surroundings had never seemed so immediate, so sharp. Their boots sent up little clouds of dust. The scuff of Amata's feet, a distant scuttling sound, the faint whir of wings… voices made her hand dart out and grab Amata's shoulder. Honestly, the woman would notice if you so much as twitched an eyebrow and know exactly what you were thinking. Notice the voices drifting over the next rise? Never.
Thunk. "What, you gonna cry, lil baby?" Thwap. " Do we needta go easy on ya?" A voice sneered.
"Common boy-o, cry for us." Crlunk. "Does it hurt?"
Connie crept forward in a crouch, and peered around a fragment of concrete. About three yards away a group of four raiders armed with bats surrounded a young man. The raiders were clad in the tattered remains of armor, some adorned with spikes, skulls, or… severed human hands. The boy was all spindly arms and legs; his sapphire hair was in a shaggy haircut that all but obscured his eyes. He wore nothing but a long overshirt, some shorts, and a grim expression. He didn't make a sound as a bat descended on his shoulder, but flinched away as another rushed toward his face.
"Don't you move, coward!" One roared, whipping his bat across the back of the boy's legs. Connie watched as the boy fell to his knees, attempted to stand again, but was slammed down by a crushing blow. Which would be better? With the element of surprise, they might be able to take all of them out, but…
Shcrack! One of the raiders shouted when a rock cracked him upside the head. Amata stood frozen with another rock clutched in her hand; four raiders rushed them, bats upraised. Amata stumbled backwards and tripped over a rock. The woman with a cracked yellow smile and severed hands dangling from her belt stood over her, smirking, bat upraised. Connie was gone again. She dashed out with her bat gripped in her left and and the SMG in her right. Connie smashed her bat across the woman's face, then the SMG shattered her lower jaw and throat. She didn't pause a beat, stepped over the twitching corpse and sent another hail of bullets into the next man as his makeshift club collided with her ribs. She felt the dull thud all the way up to her skull. He managed to swing again, catching her left forearm before she shattered his skull with the bat. The last two dropped like a stones with only one shot each.
Amata's gaze shifting between Connie, the slaughtered raiders, and the boy curled into a fetal position on the ground. Amata's gun clattered to the ground. It took sheer willpower to go talk to the boy instead of just curling into a ball alongside him. She touched his arm – and flung herself back before his fist connected with her jaw. The boy backed up against a crumbling concrete wall, a feral snarl curling his lips.
"Hey, it's all right." She smiled in a way she hoped was reassuring. "We're not going to hurt you… What's your name?"
His sharp green eyes drifted towards the fallen raiders. "Like you didn't hurt them?" He couldn't be more than thirteen or so. Amata flinched, and a faint intake of breath behind her told her Connie had seen. Amata had literally thrown the first stone, the sight of that boy suffering, and knowing that they could do something about it – seeing Connie not moving with that calculating look in her eye… Had Connie always been this brutal?
"No, we won't hurt you. I promise."
The boy stood, but kept his distance, crossed his arms and leaned against the wall with exaggerated carelessness. "Name's Cricket. Mind if I ask what the hell you're doin'?"
"Saving your ass." Connie's voice came from behind her, but Amata didn't turn to look. Somehow she was afraid that the outside would reflect the changes she saw inside. If they were changes at all (this scared her more than the first option.)
"Why do they call you that?" Amata asked quickly, hoping Connie's tone wouldn't strike a nerve in this strange boy.
Sonny grinned and flicked out a gleaming sliver of metal. A glint of light revealed 'Cricket Brand Harmonica' etched into the instrument. "'Cause I play this." He started searching the carcass' pockets with disquieting efficiency. Amata noticed the disturbed look on Connie's face, and let out a mental sigh of relief – not so changed, then.
"…You can come with us."
His eyes snapped up, narrowed with suspicion. "What game're you playing?"
Connie shrugged, meeting the boy's eyes with an equally guarded expression. "Better than being alone." Something passed between them that Amata didn't understand, but the boy relaxed. He looked away and ran a hand through his disheveled hair.
"Yeah, yeah, whatever. Jus' let me finish up here." He grumbled. Within a less than thirty minutes, the boy had suited himself up in some oversized leather armor stripped from one of his attackers and armed himself with a bat. He propped the bat on one shoulder. "Where to, boss?" He drawled with an impudent expression.
At the moment, she was in a shitty mood. She ached in places she didn't even know she had. Sixteen-year-old Cricket glanced at her… rescuers? The redheaded woman who called herself Connie – she knew what was going on; that she was trying to join the raiders, and she'd made a good point. Better than being alone. One set of crazy bastards was as bad as another. Now she was just confused. Why hadn't Connie just killed her? She darted a look at the dark haired woman who walked a pace or two ahead.
And what was with the chick with the rock? She kept being really… nice, and it was creeping Cricket out. There had to be an ulterior motive; what kind of person gave a complete stranger a bottle of purified water anyway? Maybe they were leading her into a trap – planning to sell her to some slavers or some shit like that. A surge of hatred made her crush her misgivings. They were going to the Super Duper Mart, and even the off chance they would deliver was more than enough to make her follow them. Revenge, she discovered, was a wonderful motivator.
They drew closer to the store, which was framed by crumbling buildings and, in the distance, the few standing pillars of a huge bridge. The concrete out front was shattered, strewn with dented shopping carts and the deteriorated remains of a car. Dismembered corpses dangled from meat hooks attached to the awning, clouding the air with buzzing insects and the sickeningly sweet scent of decay.
Connie squared her shoulders and lifted her chin. "Well, let's go in."
"Are you sure? This… This doesn't look right. I think we should be more careful." Amata whispered, shifting her pistol from hand to hand.
Cricket snorted, those jackasses, dangerous? "Tch, they'll be conked out on booze and drugs, probably asleep. Only idiots travel far during noonday." Like a pair of vaulties. "…but if you're really worried, we'll take the back door. " It took them a few minutes to skirt around the building, where they came upon a sturdy metal door. She paused for a moment before she opened the door, savoring the hatred that was liquid fire in her veins.
The door opened into a cluttered back room, crowded with jumbled together shelves, weapons, and other junk. Cricket crept up to the door and peeked through the window into the grimy pharmacy. A faint smirk played on his lips. Amata inched forward to take a look. A swarthy older woman with green dreadlocks, tattered leather armor and a nail-studded board slumped against the counter, cupping a smoking object in her hands. Judging by her red eyes, she was strung out on something. Amata held her breath.
Cricket pushed open the door and strode directly up to the woman, a cocky smile playing on his lips. "Night night, sugar." A flash of silver, followed by a brief struggle, and the woman lay writhing on the ground, her life draining from a second red smile. The girl stepped over the body without pausing and jumped to counter to drive her knife into the back of a shadowy form – just as another came through the door, guns blazing. Connie shoved Amata to the floor, then returned fire. Two bodies dropped.
Conne dove over the counter, following Cricket. Amata rushed through the door and slammed into a man as he charged around a corner. His head contacted the wall with a sickening crack, but Amata didn't stop. Cricket was grappling with another woman, a massive man in leathers sneaking up behind. Amata squeezed off a shot, the man howled and grasped his ear. Cricket whirled and drove his knife up the man's throat, he jerked and went still. Suddenly all was quiet, the whirl of motion stilled. Amata's breath came in short pants.
"N-n-no, please. Don't kill me." Amata spun.
A spindly man crawled backwards on the floor, struggling to get way from Connie. The girl deliberately raised her gun and fired. Blood splattered her face, her unkempt hair flaring up like a bloody halo. When her eyes met Amata's, they were dark with rage. Amata started forward.
"Don't. You don't want to see this" Connie gestured towards the other side of a deli case – through the glass Amata could make out dismembered bodies sprawled on the floor. Several were a lot smaller than the others…
Cricket peered over the counter and whistled. "Where'd Danny get a string of settlers?" The blond stripped Connie's kill of its weapons and armor. "Good reason to kill 'im as any; Dan was a sick bastard." She patted the corpse's cheek. "How does it feel to get a taste of your own poison Danny?"
Amata focused in the blood spilling over the girl's hands, and her stomach heaved.
The walk back to Megaton was tense. Connie ranged ahead, Cricket trailing after her, and Amata brought up the rear. Kaboom! Bits and pieces of metal rained down around them. a plume of smoke rose in a black pillar against the sky.
"What th-?"
Cricket shrugged. "I rigged it to explode." He said matter-of-factly. "If we missed any, they won't be able to use it as a base anymore."
Connie paused on a rise and glanced over her shoulder, catching Amata hugging herself as though she'd caught a chill. In a post-apocalyptic desert. Her stride sped up, matching the roiling in her gut; She didn't even bother saying anything about Cricket's little surprise. She could have cried when Megaton came into view, the town lights shining through the dimming light. Her pack was dragging at her shoulders, and every part of her body ached. Behind her she could hear Amata panting. Being part of the hardworking maintenance crew had perks for stamina, it seemed. Connie had to admit Amata never complained.
Tension built in her shoulders as they walked to the house; she almost didn't hear Cricket's parting words. The rest of the walk was silent as the grave. She finally closed the door behind her and dragged herself up to their room. "Connie."
"Yes?" Connie dropped her pack with a thud.
"That guy… you just shot him. He was begging you…. A-and you shot him."
She sounds like she did when they killed Jonas.
Connie fiddled with her belt buckle, but didn't turn to face the other woman.
"You just shot a man in the face in cold blood! Don't you feel anything?"
She started pulling things out of her pack. Suddenly she was feeling… angry.
"Are you going to just keep ignoring me?"
She whirled to face Amata. "What the fuck do you think I'm supposed to be feeling? They were going to fucking kill us!" The shock in Amata's face mirrored her own.
"We didn't have to go in there. We had a choice."
"No. We didn't. This is the kind of life we live now. Or are you already sorry you left the vault?"
Amata's eyes narrowed. "What was that supposed to mean?"
"You don't get it, do you? This is reality. We can't expect someone to protect us." Connie's eyes leveled pointedly at Amata.
"Oh, so you're saying I can't defend myself."
"You won't. You've been protected too much."
"That's not fair! I couldn't hel–"
"It doesn't matter. You've always had Daddy protecting you."
"And you've never needed protecting? I seem to remember someone who had breakdowns over a little noise."
Connie came up short, something feral surfacing on her face.
"Don't wait up. Wouldn't want the Overseer's daughter to sleep with the commoners." She hissed. Then she whirled and stalked out the door, didn't see where she was going, felt nothing but the storm of guilt and rage whirling in her chest. She stumbled down the stairs – not because she couldn't see, not because of her tears – and out into the night. Connie paced the perimeter metal wall that surrounded Megaton, restless as a caged animal.
What exactly had Amata expected her to do? The wastes were a new world, a harsher one, one that wanted to kill them. Connie felt nothing for those men she killed; their deaths were no harder than crushing a radroach. It ate at her, that they didn't mean anything. That wasn't normal, was it? Amata had hit exactly on her insecurities. Then she'd lashed out at Amata, – as if that didn't make her hurt more.
Her fists pressed to her mouth. I am not going to cry out here, dammit! She thought savagely. A small sound brought her attention back to her surroundings. A slightly older blonde woman in a long leather coat peered at her with darting dark eyes. It looked like she had just emerged from the house behind her. Connie combed her brain for the woman's name, she was sure Amata had mentioned– Lucy, Lucy West, that was it.
"Whatta you want?" She managed to croak, and was gratified that her voice didn't break.
"Uh…actually I was just coming to see you. H-how d'ya feel about taking a trip to Arefu?"
Connie slipped into their room. It took a few moments of blind groping, but eventually she tugged her bag out from under the bed. How… Amata, to put all their things away. She studied the other girl's sleeping face in the green glow of her Pipboy. Amata's eyes were swollen, and she was sprawled artlessly on the bed. A faint smile worked its way onto Connie's lips. Like a little kid… She made to pull the blanket over the darker girl's shoulders, then thought better of it. There are so many things I need to tell you… but I'm afraid. I don't know what to say… She felt a little sick, knowing she'd made her best friend so upset, btu she wasn't ready to see the younger girl again yet.
With a start, Connie typed a short command into her Pipboy, and a loading screen appeared on Amata's. Then diary entries flickered to life on the screen, green letters burning the truth into the dark. Then she faded into the night, into the wastes, leaving her Father's notes to explain what she couldn't. She'd scarcely walked for an hour when something hot and crackling hit her in the back. She felt so… light headed... A band of cool metal slipped around her neck, closing with a dry click. A voice - where had she heard that voice before? – told her to follow. What a nice voice. She thought dreamily, trailing after the dark form.