Know When to Fold 'Em (Closed for Obuzeti)

[Obuzeti]

Moray doesn't answer with words. Instead there's the ear-rupturing blast of a frag grenade and two more retorts of the shotgun, and then ringing silence, deathly still but for the cracked whimpers of a grown man in agonizing pain.

Heavy footsteps plod towards the door and then someone knocks on the other side. "Alright, I'm done," Moray says, almost mild. He's certainly lacking any of his characteristic bite, at least. "I kept one alive. We can use him as bait, if you want. Any more than that and it might have gotten dicey if they decided to start taking shots at us when the deathclaws come out to play."

A moment of silence, and then he opens the door himself by the main expedient of kicking the hinge that holds it together hard enough that it comes off, then just setting the door to the side completely. "Come on. Frag didn't set off any explosives, so they probably got them in the cellar somewhere. Look for any Brahmin feed - if they have that then they have a Brahmin, probably out to graze or pasture."

The one left alive is probably more than a euphemism than anything; Moray had disabled him by nailing his arm to the far wall with some huge, wicked knife whose blade curved forward into a heavy, lethal-looking ending. It had to have gone straight between the bones instead of through either of them, because he was holding very still and the skin was otherwise unbroken. He was bleeding, but the gunman had given him a bandage. He was attempting to apply it around the edges of the knife without actually moving the thing proper. Success rates looked marginal.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara’s waiting with a hand on her hip and the other holding her gun at her side. She watches him set the door aside before her gaze flicks past him into the massacre, the red head slipping past, a long whistle.

Damn. He’d painted the walls red in here. She steps carefully, letting her eyes glide past anything too sickening-she’s no stranger to violence, but shot guns turned people into hamburger meat and she’d rather not linger on it.

Mostly, she's never seen anything like that, damn. He'd done the work of three or four raiders and in half the time. There's muscle, and then there are fucking psychopathic wraiths.

She catches the toe of her boot under a dead man’s shoulder and flips him, frowning down at a face she half recognizes. Her eyes roam the carnage. Well. Suppose she’d set aspirations of gang leadership aside for now.

“Fuck, this is a mess.”

Vibrant blue eyes lift, move to the sole survivor. Internally, she winces. Oh man, poor bastard. She holsters her pistol and steps up, trying to figure how the hell Moray had managed this kind of precision with the knife. Jesus Christ, she’s glad she didn’t opt to hide from him somewhere, remembering his threat to stab her.

Her eyes shift to his agonized, terrified face.

“...what’s yer name, kid?”

“Ben.”

“...what’s MY name?”

Confusion. “K-kara. Kara Walker?”

Kara nodded slowly, not taking her eyes off him.

“You think reeeeeeal hard on if you want to be rememberin’ that. Or that we were here.” She gives a breezy nod to the knife stuck through his arm. “Real hard.”

She’s a little grim when she turns around, her heart beating a little fast. Letting him go would probably be a very bad idea. She makes a livin’ off bad ideas, but usually they were either lucrative or funny. Not much joke to mercy. And a reputation as some kind of bleeding heart wouldn’t do her a lick of good either. The kid would have to keep his mouth shut, and so would Moray. And she really didn’t want to keep giving him things to lord over her, dammit.

But she could never quite pretend not to see shit, and she doesn’t have the impulse control to ignore what she wants to do about the things she sees, either. But if you give too many inches, eventually-

Kara shook her head. Find the boom first. If she’s lucky it’ll be behind a locked door. She can probably bullshit Moray that the kid knew the passcode and it’d be a good trade, boom for survival. She’s yet to meet a door she can’t get through, but she could pretend. Or that he knew where a brahmin was, or some other half ass excuse-something that didn't look too much like mercy, and more like practicality.

Sure, there was an entire house full of dead gangers upstairs so what was one more? But she can't quite be that cold, no matter how hard she tries-she had seen the fear, and it'd only keep her up to not try and help, stupid as helping might be.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray finds the stash first. It's under a locked cellar door, but it's just a padlock, and he dispenses with it by forcing a steel pipe through the padlock's loop and hauling back until the door pops from a hinge, ruining the thing forever. Then he brute forces the remains of the door aside until he can half-crawl through the opening.

Bingo. Plenty of sticks of dynamite, some detonators, contact fuses and tripwires. A home demolition kit, and everything they'd need to take out Mamma and Pappa Claw. He leaves the cellar almost happy, and makes his way back over to where Kara is ministering to the casualty he'd left stuck to the wall.

Even a glance at her face tells him the story, and the fact she hasn't shot the goon yet or removed him from the wall indicates which way she's jumping on this. He rolls his eyes and ignores the guy forthwith. "Now that negotiations have concluded - explosives are in the cellar alright, popped the door. Find anything to help carry them all?"

Moray does take a step to the side and pull the knife out of the thug's arm, to a muted shriek of pain. He turns and wipes it off on a nearly-decapitated corpse's shirt, then resheathes the heavy-bladed weapon on his belt holster, hung neatly at his back.

He's not done giving Kara shit over this. Not by a long shot. But only an idiot would waste all his ammunition at the first shot given to him. No, this is going to last him ages.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara was two seconds from offering up Ben for the job when Moray stepped over and ripped his blade out of his arm. Down on his knees the kid went, holding fast to his arm and breathing in pants between them.

“Christ on a stick, you’re a mean bastard.” She says, but internally-she was relieved. She had plausible deniability now-SHE didn’t suggest freeing the guy, after all. Except-fuck, MORAY had gone and made her feel a little grateful to him.

Fuck that noise!

“But yeah, I found feed.” She turned her eyes to Ben, propping her hands on her hips. “So. Where’re they at?”

“They roam out in the western field.” Ben piped up immediately, sweating and looking from one to the other, applying pressure to his surgically savaged arm. Kara did that sharp pull on the front of her jacket, nodding to Moray. “Well, you heard him-free cattle.” She waltzed away after him, neatly stepping over bodies as if they weren’t there. “Take what you want off your fellows, Ben.” She tossed back airily. “But I’d be gone before we get back, if I were you.” And with a smile and wink, she left through the gaping front door after her violent companion.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray shrugs. "I'm fair," he counters, amiable. He's actually smiling. It's fucking creepy. "The rest of them shot at me; I shot back. He tried to knife me. I knifed him back. It was a very equitable exchange, except that my aim is better."

Good to know periodic murder is all that's required to turn Moray into a functional human being as opposed to a perpetually imploding ball of rage.

He makes his way to the west field and spots three brahmin, plenty for their purposes. The closest one is the least ugly; he decides that's the one that gets to live. "Take the other two, tie their leads together, and follow me out. We'll use them as bait, this one to carry the explosives, and hopefully we'll have this all wrapped up before nightfall. I don't fancy wandering around in deathclaw territory in the dark."

All that's left is the loading of all the explosives, and Moray's mood sours very slightly as he realizes that it's highly unlikely that Kara is going to help at all.

~*~

He'd set them up on the windward side of a dune besides the main road; the two bait brahmin he'd leashed to a post just off to the side. A gully full of thorns and tangled weeds on the other side would funnel any approaching predators into coming along the road proper, and he'd staked out two sets of tripwires on each side with contact-fused dynamite. It'd go off as soon as the striker lit, which meant the entire road was now a bomb hazard as anything touching the wire would get blown to bits.

The hill he'd fortified with a set of pull-up stakes concealed beneath the dirt - a good yank would set up a barrier that'd buy them a couple of seconds at worst, maybe run a 'Claw through on the optimistic end. There's more dynamite too, the regular type, with a two-second fuse fit for throwing. His camo blanket is also laid out to conceal him from the 'Claws approach.

"That's everything I've got," Moray says, glancing over his preparations. "You got any ideas that aren't shit this time?"

Ages.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara was looking over things through a pair of weathered and worn binoculars, the right lense of which was cracked. She had to admit, Moray knew what he was doing.

“I think I rented you out at a bargain, Moray.” She says with a smirk.

"You got any ideas that aren't shit this time?"

And there it was.

She lowered the binoculars and turned to face him, scowling. When she does that, it crinkles the bridge of her nose and puffs her lips a little, eyes glittering displeasure.

“I couldn’t have known Lucas was dead, not my fault his second got uppity.” Kara says, miffed.

“Even then I had the situation handled, thank you very much.” Kara continued stubbornly. Or she probably would have, after picking off two or three more of them without getting shot herself. And then she’d have to convince them to let bygones be bygones and be wiser than their previous TWO bosses on top of that. Eh, she’s gotten herself out of worse scrapes.

Of course, she hadn’t had any of that planned out when she’d drawn her weapon and shot the guy. He’d just said enough and then tried to make a move she didn’t like, and she’d responded in kind. That was the fun part-getting herself out of the trouble she finds herself in.

 

[Obuzeti]

"Most of the dangers in the Mojave don't talk, Kara," Moray says, idle. "Try to postpone being eaten by them until I'm not responsible for you anymore, please. For example, the Claws coming in at nine o' clock."

This is too much fun to be angry. Every time he's dealt with Kara she's needled him from a better position: behind the Kings, through the NCR, friendly locals, giving him the runaround and little snipes and smirks that make him fucking crazy. Her ability to move people is tremendous, but out here with nobody but him and the gangs that means jack shit, since they both communicate primarily in lead. His satisfaction is near sadistic.

But to business.

Moray sinks to a prone position and pulls the blanket over him as he peers through his own spyglass at the great beasts; one much bigger, with a broken horn that doesn't seem to have slowed him much. "Broken horn's the male," he whispers, hushed. "They clash horns for supremacy. He lost so he took his mate and ran."

The other has faint green mottled onto its hide and lurks just past the far side of the hills beside the road, as the big male trots down the path bold as you please; the male would draw attention and herd prey into the female's arms. Very classic hunter's tactic.

"Get down and take cover," Moray murmurs, without moving.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"Oh, well, if you're saying please..." The words had a mixture of sulk and stubbornness to them, but she found her sass again in short order. "Suppose I can oblige."

He drops down and tugs the camo blanket over himself, starting in on a nature documentary that Kara admittedly finds kind of interesting. Kara drops down into a crouch. "Well sure-" She whispers back, the much smaller woman then somehow slipping under the blanket, lying flat smack dab next to him. "S'what I'd have done."

She scrutinizes the scene as if their sudden proximity was completely normal. There was contact at her shoulder and hip-the blanket wasn't that big.

"Take it you've done this before. I stole and moved eggs once. Was a dare." He'd feel her shrug.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray goes stiff as Kara's body brushes up alongside his, setting his nerves alight and instantly pissing him off again. She keeps touching him and sooner or later he's going to completely fucking loose the barking madness and gut her like a deer. Even now his skin itches just from the contact.

He glances over. There's nowhere else for her to hide, and the deathclaws will spot and focus on her otherwise, which will bring them right to him. A noise escapes his throat that's caught between the whine of a tea-kettle and the growl of a dog, and he slinks as far to the other side of the blanket as possible, glaring at her hatefully out of one eye.

"Yes," he grates. "Several times. Family business."

But he's in no mood to talk, now, and he draws his carbine and hunches over it as the deathclaws spot the bait brahmin and begin to accelerate, crouched down, tails waving in agitation. The brahmin, in turn, catch the scent and start to bray, eyes rolling at the sign of their most feared predator.

"Be ready," Moray hisses, and clicks the safety off. "Use the dynamite first. Your plinker isn't worth a damn here."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara turns her head at the noise, watching him press himself as small as he could under the edge of the blanket. Vibrant blue eyes blink in the face of his hateful glare. The fuck?

Oh, right, the no touching thing-guess that meant contact period, not just...intentional slaps on the back and shit. She almost feels bad. Almost.

“Y’know, that’s not the typical reaction I get in the sheets.” She muses crassly. But hey, each their own, she guessed. In a small show of either respect or apology, Kara shimmies over as much as she can and even turns slightly so that there was yet more room. She doesn’t want him to bite her or something, after all.

A family business? If they were anything like him, she imagines gatherings are pretty damned quiet...though the idea of there being more than one Moray is a little unsettling.

“Yeah, yeah-I got a good throwing arm, don’t worry.” Her expression is briefly serious as she scrutinizes the scene-and then she grins at him. “Watch yourself. They’re almost as mean as you are.”

/////////////////////////////////////////

Once it was go time it was go time. Kara was light on her feet and as quick as she looked-and she did indeed have a pretty decent arm. With the traps he’d set up it was all almost easy-the NCR and Milo would be getting their money’s worth.

The nest was easy pickings from there. Kara would snag an egg for proof, laid out a smiley face design with the explosives, and blew up the nest. Easy peasy.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray dusts off his hands from the residual black powder left there, evidence of multiple discharges from his ugly shotgun. The deathclaws had wandered into the trap, the bigger male blowing off his own leg from the tripwire and the female catching two sticks of dynamite thanks to Kara's unerring aim, knocking her over for the two gunslingers to pick off at their leisure. The brahmin, unfortunately, had been at ground zero and been reduced to steak bits.

With the nest down, that's a promise of solid payment, and his mood is almost concilatory. Aside from the one hilarious fuck-up at the start, Kara's put in competent work. She's still personally intolerable, but that's in no way unique to her. Small victories.

"You weren't terrible," Moray notes, as he loads the last of the 'Claw carvings onto their last pack brahmin. (Their. He's used to it now, he supposes.) "Less useless flailing than I expected. There's usually a lot of that when deathclaws are involved."

Granted, they're the highest order of predators native to the Mojave, so the impulse is understandable. That doesn't make it a helpful instinct, and the people who can overcome it rise in his estimation - resisting the survival impulse is something that takes practice.

"Back to the NCR?" he asks, already prodding the brahmin in the direction of the checkpoint even without confirmation. Payday is every mercenary's siren song.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“It helps I’m not exactly expecting a golden retirement.” Kara said with a jaunty little pat to the surviving brahmin. She’d uncreatively dubbed him ‘Lucky’.

“Might as well have some fun while I’m at it.” She full on expected to be shot dead one of these days, or eviscerated, or some other gruesome end-everybody had to cash out at some point. She just wanted to get her money’s worth while she played the game.

“Your set-up was golden. Like I said, NCR got a bargain.” Kara’s smirk was absent, a genuine smile in its place. He’s in a reasonably good mood-must be, to tell her she wasn’t terrible-and Kara found she preferred it, even if it made for less entertainment bugging him. She gave a nod when he indicated their direction and tagged along, a distracted look back at Hrolf-still munching on some left overs.

She assumed he'd catch up.

“You said somethin’ about a family business?”

 

[Obuzeti]

Of course she was going to poke at it. Moray's mouth tightens as she starts to ask questions - but of all the things she can do, this is, momentarily, less annoying. "Father was a Regulator," he says after a moment of parsing his words. "Hunted lots of things. Learned it from him."

A Regulator - a bounty hunter, of all sorts of creeps and criminals. More prominent on the East Coast, which raises its own questions of why he's all the way over in the Mojave. Those aren't questions he's keen to answer, so he offers another tidbit of information instead. "Deathclaws were the steadiest work. Lots of minefields, deadfalls. They have great senses of smell and hearing, but terrible vision - it's very easy to catch them with tripwires too. Set some bait, lure them into the killing zone, lay down ordinance until they're dead. Simple."

He shrugs. "You probably will get shot at some point. You fuck with people too much, and you're a short woman with striking hair. Dignity's easily gained at someone else's expense."

Striking, like fire. He glances away once he realizes he's looking again.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

“Wow, a Regulator?” Now that was probably pretty harrowing, most of the time. She seemed familiar with the group. Who knew how far Kara had been...or where’d she’d come from.

The idea of father and son out in the wastes, working together-well, it sounds nice. Though...it might not have been. Something made him the way he was, and maybe that something was dear old dad. She hadn’t even had a father, so what the hell did she know? Probably better not to press. She oddly doesn’t want to wreck his mood.

Well, not on purpose anyway, she’s sure it’s coming.

“Eh, nobody lives forever. People take themselves too seriously. I can’t hardly help myself sometimes-you see bullies all over the Mojave. I just gotta trip 'em up.”

Kara fluffs her hair, the gesture conceding the point about it making for an easy target. Sometimes she wore a hat for exactly that reason, but she always seemed to lose the dang things. “So far, I’ve been dealt winning hands, and I've played 'em to my very specialized skillset.” That cocky smirk again, a puff to her chest. Not a care in the Goddamned world.

“Gotta do what makes you happy, right? Speaking of-ten caps says I can get them to compensate us for 'Not-So-Lucky'” Oh jeez, she'd gone and named the dead brahmin too.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray hums in acknowledgement. It had been a lot less glamorous than people made it out to be, but on occasion whipping out the old badge he'd sewed on the inside lining of his boot came to be useful. It wasn't something he often liked to do; the badge was his father's, not his. If the Regulators really ever did come calling -

Well.

The rest of her speech sours his mood. People can help themselves. They can become more than they were. They can be better than how they were made, and Kara just floats on the current, slave to her nature, ignorant in her bliss. Something about that satisfaction curdles the easy camaraderie they'd started to share, and he shakes his head.

"No," he says, hard and flat. The mocking derision in Moray's eyes return. "You don't."

His pace quickens and he stares ahead at the road ahead of them, already impatient to get back to the NCR outpost and be done with this shenanigan.

~*~

Moray stares at Sergeant Milo. The dead fish eyes are back.

Milo looks back, and tries not to shit his pants when Moray tosses him an entire deathclaw head, still intact. It's as big as a good-size barrel all by itself, and probably weighs a good eighty pounds - the sheer bulk enough to knock the sergeant on his ass when he tries to catch it.

"They're dead," Moray says, shortly. "Four total. Powder Gang nearby is also dead. You can probably loot their hideout for dynamite if you care. Give her the money."

Then he stalks off to wait by the brahmin.

Milo rolls the deathclaw head off of himself and gets up with the help of one of his troopers, staring after the other man, too bemused to really get angry. "Well, thanks for the help," he says to Kara, in lieu of her asshole partner. "Was it much trouble?"

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

The same damnable smirk, turning those big blue eyes back over to him. “And that’s probably exactly why you’re so damned miserable, Moray.”

Then again, he seemed happiest killing things, so maybe she shouldn’t encourage him to let loose too much.

//////////////////////////////////

Shit. Now he’s going to get the Powder Gang all uppity, word got out. “Any reward for those guys can go straight to Moray-wasn’t my idea.” Isn’t she so very generous?

Milo manages to right himself with help, offering her a handshake in gratitude. “Not terribly-we’re deathclaw experts, turns out. Did lose a brahmin though. As for the Powder Gangers-well, they started up with us, for some reason, and Moray took it upon himself to finish it. That oughta help with returning trade, hm?”

Milo nods, taking her at her word. “Bunch of ‘em got loose recently, so I don’t think anyone’s gonna question that. I think compensation for the brahmin’s fair...oh, there’s the Lieutenant now.”

Milo and his men were quick to straighten up and stand at the ready-while Kara did exactly nothing different, just turned her head in interest. He had already been looking at her, scrutinizing the red hair and the jacket-and actually smiled on recognition. “Kara Walker. You decided to clear up this little problem? At ease, gentlemen.”

“Me and my new bestie, Mister Larson. There were four of ‘em and a nest.”

“Ordinance isn’t cheap.”

“Sure isn’t, but neither’s a trip to the morgue. Traders can come through safe, now.”

“You heading somewhere?”

“Tenderheart, actually!”

“That place.”

“The very same.”

The genial prattle continued as they walked into a tent as easy as two old friends. Moray might recall the wanted poster had been issued by the NCR. Whatever she’d done to earn their ire, she must have long redeemed herself.

Some thirty minutes later the freelancing merc reemerged, looking rather pleased with herself. She stopped to say goodbye and receive Milo’s promised 400 cap send off. She already holding some other bag, too. She rejoined Moray at Lucky, noting Hrolf had returned.

“40/60 split.” She said with a grin, tossing him (perhaps surprisingly) the larger bag of the two bags. “Fair’s fair.” She retrieves her backpack and drops her own jingling bag in it, shoving it tightly beneath something else so it wouldn’t make that telltale rattle. Old habits, maybe.

Her smile falters a little as she lowers her voice. "Legion's on the move. Tried to take Searchlight, but they fought 'em off." She tightens the straps on her bag and brushes her jacket off. "So be on the look out for those mooks."

 

[Obuzeti]

Hrolf stares at Moray.

He stares back.

It looks at the deathclaw meat, piled precariously on the back of their new pack brahmin, then back to the man guarding it. The dog whines piteously.

"No," Moray says, voice flat.

~*~

When Kara makes it back, Hrolf has a bone he's happily chewing on off to the side, and Moray looks homicidal, as per usual. The appearance of payday does a lot to smooth the repressed violence from his face, and as he does a spot glance of their respective sacks (ensuring that, whatever she says, he actually does have the one with more caps, and not a bag filled with plastic wafers or something similar), he nods and slides it into a belt pouch. "It was decent work," he says.

The news of Legion on the move doesn't phase him in the slightest as they set off again. "If we find any I'll kill them," Moray says, and one may suppose this counts as reassurance from him. "I've made a habit of it. They do nothing useful."

Legion are, by and large, venal and violent assholes. He can't stand either trait, and never has to wait long for the redbands to do something stupid he can kill them for. He's picked off several raiding parties in his time, but never engaged in larger sorties against them, owing mainly to the fact that'd require him to be part of a formal military of some sort, which is disgusting.

He glances over at Kara, takes her in again. That red, red hair. The concept of what would happen to her in Legion lands crosses his mind.

Moray's mouth tightens and he turns back to the road. "Whatever the caravans say, life under the bootheel of that ass isn't life. It's borrowed time until you're not useful. Fuck him."

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Kara doesn’t argue with that. At all. Her smile had disappeared entirely and she stared straight ahead, briefly serious as she thought about the Legion-a faction she straight up despised. “Self glorified thugs, all worshiping some guy who doesn’t even fight with ‘em anymore. Fanatics, down to a man.”

She’d heard he’d set his second in command on fire and tossed him off a cliff. Nobody was fucking safe from the psychopath, in or out. And the shit they did to women, and the way they’d cut a swath through so many tribal territories-fuck ‘em. She’s seen their crosses and she’s cut people down, dead and alive, and that was about all she needed to know about the ‘Glorious Caesar’. She’d just as soon shoot one of his as look at them.

There was nothing funny about them, or anything that they did.

"Whatever the caravans say, life under the bootheel of that ass isn't life. It's borrowed time until you're not useful. Fuck him."

“Amen, Moray.”

///////////////////////////////////////////////////

Kara was pretty sure she was in love with Hrolf. She wishes the big ole dog would let her pet him. Maybe if she was just patient, he’d eventually-but she’s so damned bad at being patient!

She’d shed her jacket for the heat of the crackling fire on her skin, though she removed nothing else. If something came up, she didn’t want to be trying to lace up boots and find her gun in the dark-she wanted to be ready to move.

Still, she managed to look awfully comfortable-she was lying on her back on her blanket, arms folded behind her head and her face tipped back to watch Hrolf upside down. Her stocking’d, exposed leg was bent, the handle to her knife pressing into her flexed calf-and the other was crossed over the knee, boot bobbing as she bounced her ankle absently. On each bounce, the ace of diamonds slipped behind the laces caught the light, little flashes of white to anyone looking.

Kara was a smaller woman, but she was a woman, definitely no boy. The black tanktop was hardly anything scandalous, but without the loose jacket to obscure her, it was a lot more clear she had some curves, her small waist flaring into curved hips one way and a proportional, matching bust the other way. It was good she wasn’t too exaggerated with either measurement-she climbed into a lot of small, cramped spaces, after all.

“So did Hrolf just show up one day, or did you find him?” The crackling flames were nice and all, but she liked to talk. Unfortunately, there was only Moray to talk to, but at least he had a dog. “He’s the biggest dog I’ve ever seen.”

It was kind of banal-but he got mad easy even when she wasn't TRYING to make him mad. She'd like to at least be getting amusement out of it when it happened. In the meantime, the dog seemed a safe enough topic.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

(Accidental mistake post. Eep! Very embarrassing!)

 

[Obuzeti]

:caning:

~*~

In the firelight, Kara is magnetic. The red hair shines in the firelight, and her skin is pale in a way that most people never manage, darkened by the eternal dirt of the Mojave. She makes enough money to regularly afford a bath, which is better than ninety percent of the population, and he wouldn't be surprised if she decided to splurge on some kind of skin oil. Would probably cite it as an advantage in negotiations.

With the way she's laying, he can see straight into the cleavage of her vest, and it's difficult to look anywhere else. Worse, it isn't annoying, like everything should be. It creeps under his barriers, how quietly attractive Kara is sometimes, and he forgets to be upset when he's looking at her and just appreciates the spectacle that she is. He looks past the fire, her dancing boot in the corner of his eye, and tries not to look at the pale flash of flesh that is her ankle.

The setting is intimate, and for a moment he wishes it was a better story, but - Moray shrugs. "I killed his contubernium; his patrol, basically."

Hrolf sits up at the familiar word, ears perked.

"Ran into him first, of course, scouting," Moray recounts, getting a little more into the storytelling. He leans back against his back behind him and lets himself slouch slightly. "We looked at each other, he woofed a little, and he took off. I followed him right to his legionaries and killed them all."

He shrugs. "Dog never attacked me, so I left him alone. I guess he decided to follow me instead. Not that he does me much good; he never fights. He didn't for his scout group, either, so I guess I can't be surprised by that."

It figures that if a Legion mongrel had to get bonded to him, it would be the only one too chicken to fight anything.

Well, he can't say he doesn't understand what it's like to fight against your own nature, either. The dog's decided to be something other than what he was trained to be. He can respect that.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

"I killed his contubernium; his patrol, basically."

Oh whoa, storytime-she flips over to briefly be on all fours before sitting back on her calves, those large blue eyes giving him her full attention. He actually relaxed some. She had half thought him incapable of it.

“He led you straight to them?” Those deceptively innocent looking eyes widened before she glanced to Hrolf, her lips curving into that slanted smirk. “Smart dog.”

They couldn’t have been kind to him. To any of their dogs. They had them fight each other to figure out who to breed or not, she’d heard. Fuckers.

It amused her to think of Hrolf being somehow clever enough to lead Moray back to his patrol and get himself set free. No wonder he followed him around-he was free. Something else about the story-Moray hadn’t killed the dog. Back at the Powder Ganger flop house, he’d said something about equal payouts-gunfire for gunfire, knifing for an attempted knifing. The dog didn’t attack him, so he didn’t attack it back.

Was that another one of his ‘professional’ rules, and so he hadn’t killed the dog? Or was he just not quite as psychopathic as his reputation would have you believe? Maybe Devon wouldn’t be able to have him strangle her to death either in front of him on arrival-or after whatever the hell job he might have.

Hm!

Of course, she’s decently positive he hated her guts. To be fair, she had antagonized him wherever and whenever she could for a long while now, nothing too terrible-just her usual fare of jokes and amusements to pass the time, often not around to even see the results of ‘em. They were rivals in a way, vying for the same jobs here and there, after all. Plus, fucking with him was particularly hilarious. Dangerous, but hilarious.

He’s looked at her more than once today, though. Mostly her hair. Men did tend to like her hair...among other things. Too bad he hated being touched, or she’d use that against him too. Honestly, with as much as he hated her, she bets it pisses him right the fuck off that she wasn’t uglier or something.

She liked the story about Hrolf. And despite everything, it makes her more curious.

“What’re you doing out this way, anyway? Just kinda ended up out here?” She’s been around for a bit, but not always. She likes the Mojave though, and barring anything catastrophic-wasn’t planning on leaving it anytime soon.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray hums in acknowledgement. It is a smart dog. He doesn't even remember it's there, most of the time, which is as good a defense as any. Maybe if he were less of a raging asshole it'd be friendlier, but for now he thinks they recognize each other as kindred spirits: honed razor-sharp for violence, and going to the sheathe nevertheless.

His good mood is also buoyed by having Kara's complete attention, her eyes focused on him like bright springs. Moray doesn't quite notice the corner of his mouth tilting upwards in response to her good cheer.

They make an odd pair; her petite body and powerful curves, set against his size and stressed aggravation. He isn't classically attractive, what with the baggy fatigues he usually wears and his close-shaven black hair - but the absolute focus of his green gaze and his intensity, the vicious amusement of his dark sense of humor, and the primal dominance he can assert in a heartbeat, completely confident; Moray knows there are women who like the sort of man he is.

Maybe she'll notice. But the thought is so alien he doesn't know what to do with it, and he never knew how to draw a woman's eye in the first place, so he shrugs and goes on as he has.

" . . . Moved here after things got too hot out East," he says after a bit. As long as it's not the full story, things are fine. "Lots of fighting out that way, Super Mutants, the Enclave. Couldn't find a decent place to stay in the Old Midwest. Just kept going until I hit Vegas, and the business is good enough here that I decided to stay."

He glances back over at Kara; considers asking a question. Contemplates the likelihood that she'd actually answer, and decides not to, in the end. She's a woman that appreciates her secrets and her games, and probably every man she's ever talked to wants to get to know 'the real her'. But you don't put up walls because you want to take them down.

Instead, he reaches over to the back and pulls out one of the Deathclaw bones, which has Hrolf's instant attention, and then tosses it over to Kara.

"Give that to him. See if you can get him to sniff you. Letter of introduction, basically."

She likes the dog better than him anyways.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Look at that-he was almost smiling a little. So maybe killing things wasn’t the -only- time he didn’t hate being alive.

Kara nods, considering the information he’d surprisingly doled out. “I stick around cause it’s a free but relatively safe territory.” And indeed-business was good. “Lotta things to get into.”

She catches the bone easily, a smile as she moves to her feet. “Yeah, alright-” She just plumb likes dogs, and she likes this dog, the Legion deserter.

“-I- escaped straight outta a pin up magazine.” Kara provides cheerfully, that pepped but lazy saunter of hers. He hadn’t been wrong about her liking her secrets and games...though that was the thing about Kara-every once in a while, one might wonder if she actually believed some of the crazier things she said, she was so convincing about it. “Didn’t make the centerfold though. That’s why I’m so damned short.” Ah, nope, definitely a joke-and at her own expense rather than his.

She offered the bone to Hrolf, not even really needing to crouch down, he was so big. Her back and shoulders are toned, a wiry strength to them-there’s some kind of small tattoo on the back of her right one. A sun design.

Hrolf waited, but Kara didn’t give the bone up, yet. She kept one hand open at her side, and the other holding the bone. His tail gave a wag and he watched her a minute-then turned and laid back down with his back to her.

“Aw damn. You -are- a smart dog.” Kara tapped the bone against the metal knee pad to regain his attention and offered the bone up in earnest. The dog was happy as a clam, now. Kara propped her hands on her hips. “Sometimes the pay just ain’t worth the job, I know.”

She huffed a sigh but was still plenty pleased, looking up from the dog and out into the desert a moment or two. Despite being on what was essentially a forced march, it’d been a pretty damned good day. She turned back around and waltzed back to the campfire, returning to her blanket. “Do you really think Devon has a job for me?” It’s a casual enough question, but it’s on her mind.

 

[Obuzeti]

Moray exhales through his nose, a huff of amusement. "More believable than most of your stories," he says, and it's almost a tease; his eyes gleaming in the low, warm light of the fire as they cut in Kara's direction. He is actually smiling now, not just smirking against his will, and doesn't quite look like he knows what to do about it.

Hrolf, of course, has survival instincts, and the big man can't help but approve as he holds his position and makes the courier give up the goods. It says a lot when she can't out-negotiate a dog, but he keeps that thought to himself for once. Maybe it says something about her kindness when no one's looking, too.

Maybe he count as no one. Maybe she trusts him. It's all guesses. He can offer something back, at least.

"Yes," Moray says, honestly. "Word in Tenderheart is that he's been organizing teams for months, sending them out somewhere. He's got something he's after, so he'll stay on the level. And if he doesn't, I'll shoot him. I like you more than him."

It's way too honest and he realizes it as it comes out his mouth. His teeth click shut and he actually has the start of a flush on the slopes of his nose, but rather than fluster and babble, he just shrugs and lets it hang out there. It's true, even if he hadn't meant to say it, and it gives her an edge on him. So what? Everyone takes advantage of better natures, out here in the Mojave.

" . . . If that looks likely, try to wait until after he's paid me, please," he adds, a little dry.

He should have known better than to talk to this little minx by firelight.

 

[CurtailedAmbrosia]

Moray was legit smiling. His eyes had depth instead of that flat china look.

He looked human, for once. Alive, but a calmer kind of alive than she'd seen at that Powder Ganger flop house.

Kara felt that rush of satisfaction, the familiar thrill of victory. Weirdly it didn't even involve pissing him off or otherwise tricking him into a reaction-just getting him to smile was enough for it, today.

Huh.

So when she asks her casual question, she was counting on getting what he really suspected would go down-see if it matched up with what he had claimed in the first place. It did, and then he says something more and-wait what?

Kara blinked, her eyes flitting to him just as he clamps his mouth shut. Well color her fucking surprised-and was color coming to his face or was she crazy?

A slow grin curves her lips, a bit too much sparkle to her slightly narrowed eyes.

"Well...I am 'not terrible', after all." She says slowly. She'd mock him, but he's suddenly and unexpectedly adorable. He had really meant that, wasn't even trying to take it back. It warred with everything she knew about this violent man made of marble. Maybe he had been drinking or something.

"You ain't gotta worry about me any." She could mostly take care of herself, and didn't want that on him. "Though, if things DO go sideways-maybe don't be the one to do it, if you're really feeling so very generous." She mimed being strangled, hands to her own slender throat, pink tongue briefly sticking out, head dropped to the side.

And then she laughs, propping her hands behind her to lean back on them, relaxed, easy, not looking to manipulate anything. This was...nice. Unexpectedly so.

"For real though, clear out if it gets that bad. I said I wasn't expectin' a golden retirement, but that sure doesn't mean I intend to go quietly."

She had her little gambit, if it was a nefarious meet. Either she'd escape, or they'd call her bluff and find out, for once, she wasn't bullshitting.

She figures if Moray's really sincere over there, he deserves the warning.

"I wonder what the hell he's looking for. If it's a job, he must want me to find it, or hopes I already have."

Kara was a talker, but for as much as she thrived in groups of people, it was exploring and scavenging that seemed to be her primary trade. Who knew how many abandoned prewar places she'd ventured into, the obscure locations of God only knew what. If you needed something old world, Kara could get it for you-for a price.

She laid back on her blanket, pulled her jacket over her for a cover. It could get cold at night, specially when the fire goes out. She'd had a full day of cards, Powder Gangers, and deathclaws, let alone the march. A good, full day. She yawns behind the fur collar of her jacket, thinking things over-as much as she ever does, anyway.

"If it's something good, wanna come? Assuming he wasn't going to send you anyway, that is." It's probably not a job she'll have the luxury of turning down. Devon could be a mean piece of work, after all.