Living at or near the top of a hemisphere is not recommended unless you like your weather changeable
We're greeting July with a heat wave. I keep getting stuck on the bus after work, in construction traffic, in 35-40C heat.
I've been drinking a lot of beer this week.
Brad squinted. "Do I see a giant dinosaur?"
"Welcome to Novac," said Nate with a smile.
They split up at the motel; Brad went to get a room and Nate crunched his way across the motel's yard to the giant dinosaur statue, climbing a set of rickety stairs to a door in its hip.
A bell tinkled overhead and an old man looked up when Nate stepped into the dinosaur's belly, blinking with the switch to lantern light.
"Welcome to the gift shop," he said, giving Nate a tired smile. "If you wanna go up in the mouth, that's the stairs over there. Don't mind the sniper, we've been having some trouble with Legion raiders."
"That's fine, I'm okay," said Nate, looking around at the stock. First aid kits. Instant coffee. Rad-rich boxed food. "I'm mostly just looking for supplies," he said, reaching into his bag for the pouch he kept his money in. "Any deals?"
"Oh," said the old man, and his right hand slid out easily from where it had been hidden behind the counter. "Well, we're having a special deal on T-Rex souvenirs. Still a few left!"
"How about clean water instead?" said Nate. "Maybe ammo."
The old man sighed. "I will never get rid of these fucking T-Rexes. Yeah, we got water. Sarsaparilla, too. I got a machine in the back room, keeps 'em kinda cold. Ammo's mostly .308s and 20-gauge shells, although there's a reloading bench in the old gas station over yonder." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Feel free to browse."
But Nate had stopped listening, because there were guns displayed on the wall behind the counter, and one was a 20-gauge shotgun that looked like it had been around the block. "Can I take a look at that shotgun?" he asked, pointing at it.
The old man lifted it off the wall and handed it across the counter. It felt fantastic in Nate's hands, the worn-smooth stock sliding through his hand like a caress when he turned it over. He held the butt of the gun up to the lantern light and squinted at it, hoping an insane hope, but there it was, catching shadows when he angled it just right: a hand-etched 'NF' gouged into the wood. He tried not to let anything show on his face, clinically looking over the rest of the gun. His baby was just as he'd seen it last, except for needing to be cleaned. "Where'd you get this?" he asked in a neutral voice. "Looks like it's been messed with."
"Someone brought that in last week, passing through town," said the old man, crossing his arms and leaning a hip on the rickety counter. "Gang of Loyals. Wasn't sad to see the back of 'em; we got enough trouble with Caesar and his cult in these parts."
"Loyalists, huh?" said Nate. "Pretty far southeast for them these days."
"They weren't your average. Some asshole in a check suit was with 'em. Gave lip to Jeannie May over the quality of her rooms. Guess they weren't on par with the silk sheets he probably gets to sleep on up in New Vegas. Well. He'll be back there by now, back with the other slick bastards."
Nate nodded, frowning appropriately over the disrespect to the motel. "How much for the shotgun?" he asked.
"I might could take a trade for it," the old man mused.
Nate unslung the rifle he'd picked up back in Primm and laid it on the counter.
The old man looked it over. "This rifle has seen some shit."
"Shoots pretty straight," said Nate, and after a pause he reached in his bag and pulled out the ammo box for it, slapping it down on the counter with a rattle of bullet casings. He raised his eyebrows.
"S'pose you want some ammo to go with your new shotgun, too," the old man said after a long moment.
"S'pose I might," agreed Nate, grinning with teeth. "And that clean water we talked about."
...And then Louis Armstrong played over a montage of their blissful reunion. Lost loves, man.
This entry was originally posted at http://waketosleep.dreamwidth.org/84956.html. (
comments)
I've been drinking a lot of beer this week.
Brad squinted. "Do I see a giant dinosaur?"
"Welcome to Novac," said Nate with a smile.
They split up at the motel; Brad went to get a room and Nate crunched his way across the motel's yard to the giant dinosaur statue, climbing a set of rickety stairs to a door in its hip.
A bell tinkled overhead and an old man looked up when Nate stepped into the dinosaur's belly, blinking with the switch to lantern light.
"Welcome to the gift shop," he said, giving Nate a tired smile. "If you wanna go up in the mouth, that's the stairs over there. Don't mind the sniper, we've been having some trouble with Legion raiders."
"That's fine, I'm okay," said Nate, looking around at the stock. First aid kits. Instant coffee. Rad-rich boxed food. "I'm mostly just looking for supplies," he said, reaching into his bag for the pouch he kept his money in. "Any deals?"
"Oh," said the old man, and his right hand slid out easily from where it had been hidden behind the counter. "Well, we're having a special deal on T-Rex souvenirs. Still a few left!"
"How about clean water instead?" said Nate. "Maybe ammo."
The old man sighed. "I will never get rid of these fucking T-Rexes. Yeah, we got water. Sarsaparilla, too. I got a machine in the back room, keeps 'em kinda cold. Ammo's mostly .308s and 20-gauge shells, although there's a reloading bench in the old gas station over yonder." He jerked a thumb over his shoulder. "Feel free to browse."
But Nate had stopped listening, because there were guns displayed on the wall behind the counter, and one was a 20-gauge shotgun that looked like it had been around the block. "Can I take a look at that shotgun?" he asked, pointing at it.
The old man lifted it off the wall and handed it across the counter. It felt fantastic in Nate's hands, the worn-smooth stock sliding through his hand like a caress when he turned it over. He held the butt of the gun up to the lantern light and squinted at it, hoping an insane hope, but there it was, catching shadows when he angled it just right: a hand-etched 'NF' gouged into the wood. He tried not to let anything show on his face, clinically looking over the rest of the gun. His baby was just as he'd seen it last, except for needing to be cleaned. "Where'd you get this?" he asked in a neutral voice. "Looks like it's been messed with."
"Someone brought that in last week, passing through town," said the old man, crossing his arms and leaning a hip on the rickety counter. "Gang of Loyals. Wasn't sad to see the back of 'em; we got enough trouble with Caesar and his cult in these parts."
"Loyalists, huh?" said Nate. "Pretty far southeast for them these days."
"They weren't your average. Some asshole in a check suit was with 'em. Gave lip to Jeannie May over the quality of her rooms. Guess they weren't on par with the silk sheets he probably gets to sleep on up in New Vegas. Well. He'll be back there by now, back with the other slick bastards."
Nate nodded, frowning appropriately over the disrespect to the motel. "How much for the shotgun?" he asked.
"I might could take a trade for it," the old man mused.
Nate unslung the rifle he'd picked up back in Primm and laid it on the counter.
The old man looked it over. "This rifle has seen some shit."
"Shoots pretty straight," said Nate, and after a pause he reached in his bag and pulled out the ammo box for it, slapping it down on the counter with a rattle of bullet casings. He raised his eyebrows.
"S'pose you want some ammo to go with your new shotgun, too," the old man said after a long moment.
"S'pose I might," agreed Nate, grinning with teeth. "And that clean water we talked about."
...And then Louis Armstrong played over a montage of their blissful reunion. Lost loves, man.
This entry was originally posted at http://waketosleep.dreamwidth.org/84956.html. (
comments)