Wasteland

Nothing was quite like seeing the lights of a town against the twilight of night fall. The hope and simultaneous dread the sight brought to her was enough to keep her feet plodding along with the same sloth which had carried her the many miles passed. The settlement was too small to be a slaver base or a raider camp. It had to be a town. Now she need only determine if they were friendly, or crazy. She neared the high walls of metal sheeting stolen from crashed planes and cars. She could see the lights of the sectarian town within beaming through the cracks. The expected shout of a watchman called down to her from the shadows over the gated door.

"Are ya here fer trouble?"

"I ain't" She answered simply with the same dialect.

"If ya changes yer mind..."

The watchman loaded a round into his rifle. The click of the bullet being preped to fire echoed down to her all the warning intended.

"We's got ways of changes it back."

"I understand." She answered.

A loud creak and thunderous screeching latter the gate ground it's way up the walls to reveal a narrow doorway. Two armed men stood just inside the door, ready for any disruption in the order of their town. They eyed her cautiously as she entered into the light, keeping their weapons trained on her as she pushed the goggles up to her forehead. The walls stopped the wind that now sounded like tiny beads dropping on tin against the armored perimeter. She let her eyes adjust to the brightness before continuing down the beaten dirt path to the best place to get information, the town bar. The familiar sounds and smells that floated through the dry air told her she might find what she needed without much trouble.

Most of the patrons were too drunk to realize a new comer had entered the pub, but a few gave her a once over before returning to their drinks and loud conversation. Nothing about her was particularly remarkable. She had dark hair that had been bleached by the sun and tanned skin, weathered by the elements, like most folk. Her most striking feature was her once bright blue eyes, now dulled by the hardships of life on the surface. She kept her pip-boy hidden under the sleeve of her worn, dusty jacket. It drew too much attention when she left it exposed. She casually crossed the wooden floor to the bar, her boots clunked dully and kicked up little clouds of dust as she went. The ghoul behind the counter calmly cleaned a glass and filled it with a sickly yellow ale, then plunked it down in front of her without a second glance. She took it gladly. More often than not, beer was more pure than the water. Her dry, sun cracked lips curled over the lip of the glass, tentatively nursing the beverage before she downed it in large gulps that earned her lewd stars from some of the men. She made mental note of those that did, whether openly or secretly. The target list would narrow down from there. It was time to set her plan into action if she was going to sleep in a bed tonight. She pushed the empty glass forward a tad and nodded to the bar tender for another round, which he obliged her in silence.

"You're not much of a conversationalist, are ya?" She asked him, flatly.

The ghoul gave her a hard star then opened his mouth. The lack of a tongue inside was only slightly less disturbing than the atrocious, mangled knot of scar tissue left behind. It seemed he had once been too much of a talker and someone cut the conversation short. She did her best to hide her disgust behind the distorted glass of her drink.

"Sorry." She muttered.

The ghoul simply frowned at her and moved on to the next demanding customer. She followed him with her eyes for a few moments as he silently served the 'pink skins' their fill of the weak beer. This time she nursed the golden liquid much more slowly. She needed to keep her wits about her and this would likely not be her last mug. Moments later the glass was half empty and she still sat alone. She was considering dropping one shoulder of her jacked down far enough to show a tease of skin when a middle aged looking man took the stool next to her. At first he just sat there in his dirty denim pants and ragged tee with his boot heels hooked over the rungs of the stool. He rubbed the back of his neck as if nervous before turning his stubbly face to look at her. She pretended not to notice, feeling a bit nervous herself. She couldn't have looked too appealing with a mask of dirt circling her eyes where he goggles had been. Absently she wiped her fingers over her face to disperse the grim, succeeding only in smudging it in heavy, dark streaks.

"I know a place ya could warsh up."

The man next to her spoke softly in a gruff voice. It seemed to speak volumes of the life he'd lead, the kind of man he was. In her mind she began to build him up as a gentle care taker of the lost and wandering. It would make things easier later. She glanced up at him. He was tall, and well built, handsome even, with soft, dark eyes and sandy hair. Wondering why no one else had approached her, she let her eyes scan the room. Many of the other men were too drunk to stand, much less walk up to her and petition her for a nights company. The others seemed sober enough to reveal their respect or fear of the man who now spoke to her with envious glances and sealed lips. She returned her attention to the dweller and took another sip of beer. The pink flesh of her tongue peeked out of hiding to lick away the froth on her upper lip before she asked her question.

"An' where might that be?"

"I tell ya what, miss," He replied. "Y'let me pay fer the beer, I know ya ain't got the caps t' pay fer 'em, an' I'll give ya what yer seekin' fer as long as ya tarry here."

"What are ya wantin' in return, stranger." She asked, refusing to meet his eye.

"You're the stranger here, waste-lander." He mocked her, "An' I ain't askin' fer a damned thang ya wasn't already offerin' t' the bes' taker, an' tha'd be me. Ya see, miss," He continued to talk low and soft as he sipped his own ale. "I'm the bar keep. Ya might says I own this town 'cause I owns the pub. An' ever'ne knows tha's the bes' place in town t' get cleaner water."

"I see." She answered.

She'd found her mark. The kingpin of a small dig like this usually was the owner of the bar. At least this one wasn't old, fat and bald. The worst was when they were old and wrinkled up like a prune left in the sun too long. When that was the case she tried to find other accommodations, avoiding the man until she found another source of provisions, or simply left and took her chances outside the city walls. Sometimes she got lucky and managed to hide until morning under the eaves of the last house or on the roof of the water pump building. Luckier still was if a matronly figure let her stay for a few chore duties, like cleaning the floors or washing the laundry.

After another quick sweep of the room, she noticed the women here weren't unattractive and seemed to be closer to his age. She saw none that appeared to be younger than thirty. That may have been why he singled her out for himself, which she so often found was the case with men. They liked their women younger, softer, tighter than the presumably more well traveled flesh of older feminine companionship. Bitting her lip, she decided not to ask why he'd picked her, assuming she'd already guessed his answer.

"Where's the tub?" She asked.

This time she met his eyes and offering a grin. She was surprised to find them a silvery grey without a hint of the crassness he had expressed in his speech. The strong angles of his stubbly jaw supported a powerful, square shaped chin. Above his chin and below a distinguished nose his almost pouty lips thinned into their own grin. He reached into his pant pocket one one large, callous hand and pulled out a rusty looking, bronze key. The sound of the key scratching across the surface of the bar could not be heard over the din of inebriated men singing drinking songs with their fellows. She waited for the man to take his fingers off the metal as he pushed it toward her. Delicate fingers with grim and grit packed under the nails curled around the key as if it were something she was stealing.

"There's a room 'round the back o' the star. That key'll let ya in. There's soap an' a towel. I reckon this bunch'll be on it's way out 'fore too long." He nodded to his laughing patrons. "Jus' lock the door once yer in there an' after ya leave. You'll find the same key unlocks the room at the far end up stars."

The man got up and downed the rest of his ale in a few gulps, then set the mug back down on the splintering bar. He let the back of his hand graze over her tightly clinched fist before walking way. Her eyes followed after him as he made his rounds to each table, ensuring his customers were having a good time and spending their caps. Once again she tried to imagine him as a caring, noble man who only wished to provide a bit of happiness to the people he served, whether it be through drink or humorous conversation. Keeping to that thought she downed the last of her own ale, before hopping down off the stool and seeking out the locked door that would lead her to the wash room. It was easy enough to locate, hidden behind a tattered curtain in an inset alcove. She was a little taken back when the ghoul came out of the kitchen doors directly across from the wash room. He had a mug of ale in one hand and a plater with a sad looking sandwich on it in the other. His dull, hazel eyes flicked to the key still held captive in her fist, then locked firmly onto her own eyes. His expression softened to something that may have been pain or empathy. If he still had his tongue, she was sure he would have said something. As it was, he offered a slight shake of his head, as if trying to conceal a warning or perhaps expressing disapproval, then proceeded to deliver the order.

The curtain felt as thread bare as it looked as she pushed it aside and ducked behind it's relative privacy. The warped wooden door unlocked easily enough, creaking on it's hinges as she opened it and slipped inside. Finding the pull chain, she clicked on the single bulb that hung from the sloped ceiling under the stair. In the dim light she could see the washroom, such as it was, afforded a stained toilet and claw footed tub. There was also a cracked mirror of which the reflective backing was flaking off to the dusty floor. It was the first time in ages since she'd seen her reflection looking back at her without the brown tinge of some irradiated puddle of water. She had been right about the rings of filth around her eyes. Maybe the bar keep was simply taking pity on her for being such a scruffy runt of a girl. Her hair was frayed and wind blown. Her skin could hardly be seen beneath the grime. Only her eyes peeked out clean and fresher than most things in this land. Locking the door she placed the key over the door frame, then set about the task set before her.

Her fingers seemed to work on their own volition to begin the process of peeling away the layers of clothing. She lay each article across the seat of the toilet so as not to soil them further, then turned the knobs on the tub to start the water flowing. Lastly she removed the pip-boy from her arm, revealing the lack of sun or dirt on the protected patch of creamy pale skin. The reminder of her past rested safely atop the tank of the commode as she set about the business of cleaning up. She washed out her under clothes first, then her tee. She could wear the jacket and denims up to the room and hang the damp clothes up in the room to dry. The rubber plug hung by a chain from the faucet. Fitting it snuggly into the drain she finally climbed in the tub to wash herself. It was indescribable how good if felt to submerge herself in water that didn't have muck and mire floating in it, or that wasn't glowing and likely to cause her to sprout an extra limb or grow another eye. The bar of soap must have passed over the same area of skin three times before she moved on to scrubbing the filth from her hair.

After a long while she pulled the plug and dried herself with the lone towel draped over the exposed water pipes. She dressed just as she'd planed, tucking her damp clothes under her jacket. Reaching up over the door frame she found the key with her finger tips, catching her reflection in the mirror. It gave her motive to pause. Seeing her skin so much cleaner than it had been was startling. She'd nearly forgotten the freckles that played across her nose and cheeks like stars in reverse relief on her face. The darkening circles under her brighter eyes gave her cause to stop her gawking an get on with what had to be done so she could rest. She would need an early start if she her plan to steal food and water then vanish was to succeed.