[closed] taking more than her share, had me fighting for air

[sunnygoose]

Who: Lucy and Dean
When: Septemtoberish...
Where: The Horizon roadhouse
What: Beer!
Warnings: Some mentions of total nuclear annihilation, probably, among all the side effects that come with that. Otherwise, nothing!


[Lucy did not know what a roadhouse was.

She did, however, know how to solve problems by breaking them into smaller pieces, and she knew a lot now about traversing long distances in search of a very nebulous goal, destination, or object. The ghoul that had once captured her had given this a name -- sidetracking.

But honestly, what else did she have? Unless Dad was here, but... she didn't think so. The whole point was getting the head to her destination, and she didn't have the head, or Max, or even her Pip-Boy. In fact, no one had one. Not in Solvunn, and she could easily guess that extended beyond Solvunn's borders.

Anyway, back to the problem solving: after walking across the Horizon (a thing she doesn't really know how to encapsulate in her head, so she stops at "mind palace slash shared psychosis slash magical hallucination"), she finds a house. And there's a road.

Okay, to be honest, the lit sign that says "ROADHOUSE" probably helped the most of all.

So she stands outside of it in her Vault 33 uniform (feeling like home, in the smallest way), looking at her Pip-Boy, displaying an electronic, blinking green map of the territories of the Horizon she had thoroughly explored. And just to double-check, there it was: a small dot right in front of her blinking arrow labelled "ROADHOUSE" with a smiling Pip-Boy thumbs-upping next to it. You have reached your destination! Congratulations! spills across the screen with an enthusiastic beep.

Lucy takes a deep breath, pulling her hair from her ponytail and smoothing it over her shoulders. She checks her bangs, pauses, then unzips her Vault uniform so an ample amount of cleavage is displayed. Old habits die hard, and being presentable to any suitable male partner has long been ingrained in her. Maybe he isn't exactly marriage material -- and she's pretty sure that bird has already flown the coop, as they say -- but at this point, she's not exactly picky. (Besides, she doesn't know what he looks like. She can zip up later, if the invitation is revoked. But, you know... right now, the worst thing he could possibly be is a cannibal, but cannibals wouldn't invite you to beer. Right?)

She walks in through a wooden door (wow, real wood!) into a building that can only be accurately described as lived in. It looks... like a place people go. Where they live. Thrive.

Something that doesn't exist in the wasteland anymore.

And like something she's seen in old movies. Warm, warm wood, big long counters with stools that lines of people would be perched on. There's rows of bottles, low lighting, and some kind of ancient machine in the corner. It's so warm. It's full of life. Community. She can easily see Dad and Norm and her sitting at this counter, sharing drinks during the latest meeting of their book club. (Well, Norm wouldn't want to be there, really, but maybe he could've been coaxed with drinks.)

She raises a hand as she enters, giving a smile.] Um. [She needs an appropriate greeting.] Howdy!

[That feels right.]

Comments

[righteously]

( Of all the things he wasn't expecting, he wasn't expecting her outfit the most. It's a uniform jumpsuit complete with an accessorized massive wrist computer that looks like it weighs a good five pounds, and it's a struggle to keep his eyebrows from hitting his hairline.

For as long as Dean's been here, for all the different variations of the world he's seen, none have quite matched the whole Vibe immediately surrounding Lucy. Plenty of them were apocalyptic, even, but Nadine always seemed very 21st Century Standard to him. Lucy very much does not. He recovers quickly enough, but there's definitely a little ping of curiosity going off in the back of his brain.

There stands he, behind the bar, a man who is very much not good marriage material, but who might get slightly accidentally hung up with a glance at her chest anyway before his built-in her eyes are up there you jackass respecting women instinct snaps them back up to safer pastures. So, you know. Maybe at least half a win, if that's what she was hoping for. He probably doesn't paint too bad a sight himself, given the vault-stock and wastelanders she's used to — tall, healthy, broad shouldered and containing exactly all of the limbs he's supposed to have, no more, no less.

And a full set of straight white teeth, too, which he flashes in a crooked grin at her greeting. )

Howdy yourself, partner.

( Cheerful, wry, just this side of folksy. )

Lucy, right? ( And a little head-tip to the nearest stool in front of the bar. ) Pop a squat, I'll get you a drink.

[sunnygoose]

[While her first intention in meeting alone with men in quiet, secluded rooms is no longer procreation, she still is a woman free of the one community she lived in with sexually active men where she was related to 100% of them. Lucy takes the man who must be Dean in: strong, broad shoulders, a physique that lends itself well towards long stints of physical labor... and, most importantly, straight teeth and a general sense of well-maintained hygiene. He looks like a man who smells good. As she approaches with a smile, she can confirm he does smell quite good.

That's a difference from the wasteland. Everyone and everywhere, quite simply, reeked. Even her. Especially her, after a time. But her, er, domain created itself, recreated her Vault, and the water there was especially hot and there was no time limit on how long she could indulge. So she did.

That is to say, she's maintained her hygiene very well here, too.]

That's me. And you must be Dean. [She doesn't fully get the turn of phrase, but gathers its jist enough; she hops onto a stool and puts her folded arms on top of the counter, perhaps somewhat purposefully propping her breasts on top of them while she watches him move about. She may not be here for procreation, but she's a red-blooded American woman and he is far, far from the men she has been around lately (cannibals, thieves, ghouls). Maximus is an exception, obviously, but he had a lack of... experience.

Bonus: there's a 0 percent chance they're related.] So, this place is from your home world, I guess? It's really nice. I like all the, um... wood. Feels like a place that's been lived in for a long time.

[They don't have a lot of that anymore.]

[righteously]

( He is absolutely a man who smells good, and he is also a man who would be thrilled to know that she also thinks he smells good. Truly, the amount of effort this moron puts into his personal grooming routine is just flat-out silly, but maybe some of that effort is undercut by the fact that the Horizon isn't real and people can generally smell however the hell they feel like smelling at any given time. Still. It's the little things, you know?

If she keeps setting these standards so low to the ground, he's gonna hurdle 'em with flying colors, and that's a real change of pace for a guy with rock-bottom self-esteem. He also has a thing for people who don't smell bad. What a great match they're making so far.

Perfectly meeting the mark of Folksy Americana, he throws a bar towel over one shoulder and goes about pouring her a beer from the tap. It's exactly like every scene out of every Christmas Hallmark romance movie ever made, where the attractive leading lady shows up at the tiny town around the holidays and accidentally stumbles upon a too-attractive-to-be-a-bartender bartender Joe Stubble McEveryman, who seems actually interested in what she has to say, unlike those successful asshole CEO scumbags from the city or whatever.

It's not a perfect metaphor, but you get the point. He serves her a beer, and it's Perfectly Okay. Serves himself one, too, while he's at it. )

Yeah, bingo, got it in one. It, uh- it belonged to a friend of mine, a long time ago. I take it they don't have a lot of these back where you're from?

( You know, in Vault Universe at the end of the freaking world? )

[sunnygoose]

[If she had the experience to appreciate such a trope, she absolutely would. Unfortunately, she was raised on cowboy movies and American classics, and the world was annihilated before Hallmark moved on from making cards. Which also aren't a thing anymore.

But she can enjoy the simple things, because since she left the Vault that's all she's had: the warmth of something like a home, and drink that she doesn't have to scoop out of a bucket that's probably half filled with animal urine anyway, and the vague smell of food like something out of the Vault commissary... but fresher than Cram from a newly opened can.

Lucy's eyes grow bigger at the drink, hued to something that makes her think of wheat grains... or sunlight. She sniffs it first, nose wrinkling at the sour notes, then drinks it and almost sputters.] Oh, that's --

[She coughs, clearing her throat. Wow. That's a lot of flavour. She takes a second sip, a little more carefully, licking foam from her lips.] It's good, I promise.

[See, she's sipping it again! To not be rude.]

A lot of -- um, no, there's actually none of these where I'm from. Or a lot of, um... anything. [Oh, it's definitely lending a sort of heady feeling when she takes another long draw, picking up that you're not supposed to drink it like one would water. It's growing on her, though.] I guess it's called the wasteland for a reason. The only thing I ever ran into were little scrappy communities, but everyone there was insane and people kept shooting each other all the time! [He hands go up in the air as she remembers nearly every person either threatening her, actively shooting her, or making her watch a man's foot turn into tomato soup.] It was very stressful! A lot of things didn't survive the War, and clearly common decency and deescalation skills were among them.

[righteously]

( She coughs her way through that first sip, and he can't help the soft laugh that follows — not mean-spirited, just amused. Been a while since he's seen anybody try beer for the first time. Been even longer since he's seen it from someone her age rather than a teenager. A little consideration has him dipping down under the bar to grab her a napkin, which he slides across the smooth wood in her direction. Just in case it goes down the wrong hatch again.

And then he drags up his own stool, perching on the edge of it across the bar from her. Settling in, more comfortable and casual than any real bartender would ever be. This place makes for a convenient backdrop, but at the end of the day? It's just a great big excuse to drink with folks in a more comfortable setting, in a way that feels a little less intimate and weird than inviting someone into a recreated living room instead.

He gets the feeling he's gonna wanna be comfortable for some of her stories. )

The wasteland. ( It's a dubious echo — not because he doesn't believe her, but because it sounds like an absolute goddamn nightmare. Which is very much not reflecting in her attitude about the whole place. ) So, just- just to recap a little, here...

( He talks with his hands, slowly, gesturing between her and then just sort of-- around. )

Earth. America. Big war, underground vaults, nuclear bomb blast... end of the world, more or less. Then, flash forward a few- what, decades? Centuries? You pop out of the vault, into a wasteland full of gun-happy post-apocalyptic townships. Am I getting that about right?

[sunnygoose]

[She takes the napkin with a mouthing of thanks, her cheeks only a faint pink from his laugh. She gets it wasn't a cruel one, and she's probably exuding that normal vault dweller naivety she seems to show everyone she meets that's lived a, er, hardy life.

Lucy watches his hands curiously, but his recap -- so to speak -- is on point. So she nods her way through it between sips, before watching his face as he speaks (animated, with surprisingly bright eyes). There's not the coldness she'd seen in the raider's face, the one who'd pinned her down on her own wedding day. The one that'd slit her stomach open.

She was starting to think she was maybe bad at reading people, but with Dean, she feels like she's reading a book that's a little more familiar.] Centuries. It started on October 23, 2077, specifically. I'm from 2296. [Oh, she hopes this isn't feeling like too much again.] That sounds right. Almost like you've been there.

[She laughs, quiet, a little unsure of herself now. She really doesn't want to weird him out. He's so... nice, and handsome, but she does like the little knit between his brows, too, while he's taking all this in.] I'd been in the vault my whole life, but my dad was kidnapped, and I couldn't just... I couldn't stay in there when I didn't know where he was. No one was supposed to leave, but... I did. [She shrugs, like it isn't a big deal. Like it hasn't irrefutably changed her entire life.] When I came out, it was in a place that used to be California, I think. Do you know California?

[righteously]

( Wow- okay, what? The years throw him for a second; 2077 to 2296, why in the hell was he thinking this was some- weird... Wrong Past alternate timeline thing? Like Apocalypse Qorld from back home, or that Zachariah bad-end timeline. Seems entirely possible this could be the future-trajectory of his own home Earth, and for a ludicrous second, the first thing that comes to mind is boy am I glad I'm already dead for all that.

Funny how many silver linings he's still discovering about his permanent death. Not that he's likely to have survived all the way up to 2077; he'd have been- what, in his late nineties? Now that's a joke. If hunting didn't kill him a hundred times over, his liver would've put a bullet in his head for sure before then. Next in line, some kind of coronary artery disease, and the list goes on and on.

Anyway-

Missing dad, what a deeply relatable motivation. )

Yeah, yeah I know California. Been there a couple times. Some parts are alright, but most of 'em are full of total douchebags. Can't say I'm surprised they only got worse after the apocalypse.

( Not that she'd have been better off in Texas, or any other state that he can think of off the top of his head. Maybe Canada, Canada seems like they'd be a little more friendly in a post-apocalyptic hellscape. )

[sunnygoose]

Really? [Her eyes light up, a curious tilt to her head. He's been there. Several times. So, she imagines, this must be in something like... the before times. When there was somewhere to go to. When it was more than the wasteland, and a pile of sand, and bodies, and destruction. And a vault. A couple of vaults, at least.

She crosses her ankles, swinging her legs as she takes another sip (without completely choking on it.)]

What was it like? In your time, I mean. Or your -- world. [She stumbles over the words, because the concept is, you know. Impossible. Improbable? Maybe nothing is really impossible anymore. She is here, after all. Dodging gods and giant animals that could not possibly support their size with any modern sense of biology.] I'm guessing it was more exciting than sand and skeletons. And the occasional cannibalistic ghoul.

[Though that feels like less of a joke to speak on. She... she feels bad for them. She does. Even -- even the worst ones.]

[righteously]

( It's starting to occur to him that for a wasteland-roaming apocalypse survivor, she's got some serious Disney Princess vibes. Just... the sweetest, pluckiest, least Hunter-y demeanor he's ever seen in somebody that's likely been on the receiving end of as much horror and misfortune as she's leading him to believe. He can't decide yet whether it's because she's making it all up, or if she's just- like that.

Time will tell. If she's a pathological liar, at least she's a fun one. )

Well, not to burst your bubble or anything, but uh- yeah, we had a handful of cannibalistic ghouls where I come from. Pretty uncommon occurrence, though. Your average Joe wouldn't believe they existed outside of fiction. Other than that, it was...

( He pauses. Licks his lips, sways a little to the side as he considers it. Really considers it, the honest and unfiltered truth as re-viewed through the lens of hindsight he's got now, at the end of his life and in the permanent home of a completely different universe. )

Complicated. Surviving was easier than an Apocalypse World for most people, hands down. Movies got way better, then way worse, then kind of... levelled out. Social media really took off, whatever the hell that means. Pretty sure capitalism's a scam and politics are going, like, fully unhinged, but what can you do, you know?

( Legally, he couldn't even vote anymore, what with that whole felony FBI's most wanted list thing. Not that he had time to keep up with it all when he was busy with- everything else. )

But I'll tell you one thing, the world... it seems like the world just keeps trying to end. Over and over and over again, no matter how many times you manage to pull it back from the ledge, something else always comes up right after to try and send it careening back off the rails. I'm pretty sure where I'm from's gonna end up almost exactly like where you're from, one day.

[sunnygoose]

[A little frown between her brows come at the idea that ghouls existed in his California. Was she imagining it all wrong? He obviously didn't go through the Great War, so why would they have had enough radiation in the air to turn people into ghouls? But she doesn't want to interrupt his train of thought, as eager as she is to listen, and obviously, it's his world, he knows what it's like.

She just wants to have a clearer picture. Of the world that might've existed generations upon generations ago. The sort of place that Reclamation Day would lead to again, if everything went right. (Nothing had gone right since Dad disappeared.)

Her smile is tinged with sadness between sips of her beer. It's really growing on her now, leaving a nice, heady warmth that starts in her stomach and is starting to rise into her head. She settles into a feeling like she could sit here and listen to him talk about his world forever, with the bob of his Adam's apple and the movements of his hands, and the deep timbre of his voice.]

I really miss movies. [She doesn't interject, waiting until tehre's a pause for her to agree.] I mean, new ones. We've only had the same ones since, you know... [No one was around to make new ones.

Social media is, um, something. She doesn't know. Capitalism a scam, though? It's what America was founded on as an economic system. Surely it couldn't be that bad?

Politics, well. The only ones she knew were the ones headed over by the Overseer. The series of voting for a new one when the time came. Democracy at its finest.]

That may be true... [She curls her hands around the beer glass, slowly spinning it, savouring the feel of the condensation rolling down the sides.] I think it says something that people still survive, despite that. Despite the worst. People still want to find reasons to stay alive. Things to live for. [She smiles, putting a hand gently on his shoulder.] My Dad used to say... if there's ever a crisis, to first look for the helpers. And then, when you gather yourself, to become a helper yourself. It's always brought me strength when things are their worst, knowing that, in most of us, that's our first instinct. [Her laughs is quiet, a little drunk as she keeps downing the beer.] I guess that's a little harder to swallow when the world's gone to hell, though.

[righteously]

( She doesn't actually strike him as a liar, he thinks, watching the way her fingers play with her glass. Watching the earnestness in the shape of her eyes, large and expressive and clear. He's always been good at reading people, always had an intuitive sense for them that's never really let him down, and everything about her feels... good. Genuine. Granted, it doesn't rule out the possibility that she's crazy, but until proven otherwise, he'll go with the unbelievable reality that she's just the multiverse's pluckiest apocalypse survivor.

Her hopeful optimism is almost an exact equal, opposite counterpoint to his depressed pessimism. It's as bizarre as it is impressive, and he's immediately disarmed when she settles that hand on his shoulder. Usually it's him being the more tactile person in any given exchange.

The smile he offers up is small, soft, sad but sincere. )

Your dad sounds a hell of a lot nicer than mine.

( But that's not a can of worms he actually wants to open on a first meeting, so instead he circles back around to something lighter before it can catch and devolve. )

You know, if you're missin' movies, I've got a ton here. I could hook you up sometime, screen a few. If you're interested.

[sunnygoose]

[Her smile matches his, her brows turning up a little. Yeah. She's really lucky, and she knows that. Lucy's tried to be humble, to acknowledge, every day, how privileged she is as a vault dweller. But maybe it's beyond that -- how privileged she is to have (had) her family, her Dad teaching her everything she's ever wanted to know, to encourage her, and Norm to be... well. Norm. Just a little brother. An annoying one, and one too nosy for his own good, but she wouldn't change anything about him.

She hopes he's still okay. He should be. Safe... still in the vault.

Instead of saying anything, she just squeezes his shoulder where she's now holding on (perhaps too long for a normal person's conversation, but touch came so easily to all of them in the vault.) She can't say anything to make up for a father who wasn't nice, but she thinks --]

I think you turned out nice, despite him.

[So far. Lucy knows first impressions really aren't anything, but this is going really well, and maybe she's a little drunk, and she's willing to indulge in her optimism even more.]

Really? [She sits up, lighting like the sun moving out from behind a few clouds. Now she releases her beer to grab both his hands, squeezing those now.] You have no idea how much I'd love that! When I was in the vault, movie nights were my favorite. And you must have a ton I've never seen! It's a date. Really! [The possibilities are -- they feel infinite. Maybe this place isn't so bad, after all.] Though, first, if you want... I think you mentioned burgers. How about you show me the Elvis burger first? I think the beer is making me hungry.

[righteously]

( Boy, it sure has been a long time since anybody called Dean Winchester nice. It's also been a long time since anybody softly grabbed his shoulder like this, and an even longer time since they were even remotely on his enthusiasm level about movie night. All of these things alone would be points in her favor, but then she goes and-

And-



She asks him for an Elvis burger.

His voice drops an octave, and he's grimly, theatrically, imploringly earnest when he says: )

I would love... to make you an Elvis burger.

( He might shed a tear over this. She's the perfect woman. Everybody else go home. )

Lucy, I'm gonna make you the best damn burger you ever had in your life.

( He swears. )

[sunnygoose]

[That does bring to question if the hunger here is supposed to be real, if she'll even feel satiated back outside of it. Though, Lucy thinks, it doesn't really matter, does it? Solvunn has plenty of food, and it really provides. The point here is just tasting, not eating. (She misses that luxury.)

She takes her hand back, clutching the beer glass again and swinging her feet. While she doesn't know why his voice sounds so thick all of a sudden, it's only enough for her to shoot him a reassuring smile.]

I mean, technically it will be the first burger I've ever had in my life. [That's just the truth. Oh! Wait.] I mean, I'm sure it will still be incredible even if I had previous experiences to compare it to! [She doesn't want to dissuade him!] I want the full, um... shebang. [Yeah, that sounds right!] Do you need help, uh, making it?

[She's not really sure how to think of the process of "making" things here. Sometimes she thinks of things, and they're there, but people really used to love cooking, right? Like, cooking all sorts of things. Barbecuing. Grilling. The other Great American past-time.] I'd love to watch you work, Dean.

[righteously]

( The Roadhouse does have a small kitchen, and while he could theoretically conjure up ingredients from the abyss to make it work in there... He's always been a fan of authenticity. Doing things the hard way, putting in the work, even in a psychic demiplane built to cater to convenience.

Which means that kitchen ain't gonna cut it, and even though it's a little earlier than he might do for just about any other stranger... damn it, she's charmed his ass off. He's taking her to the Bunker kitchen for this.

With a decisive little slap on the counter, he stands up. )

Alright, you know what? Deal. You can watch the process. But there's somethin' I gotta show you. C'mon. Bring your beer.

( He leads her through the door on the far wall with a sign that reads Doctor Badass is: Out. Beyond it, down a flight of stairs, is an absolutely massive, thick steel and iron bulkhead door. Through it, down spiraling wrought-iron stairs, is the secret Men of Letters bunker. The decorations, the technology, everything that makes it up looks like it's a slightly more advanced version of things one might find in the 1940s-1950s.

He has a fucking vault. He's taking her to his fucking vault. )

covers the age of this -- but let me know if we need to wrap/handwave!

[sunnygoose]

[She smiles, hopping off her stool -- and she's a little surprised by how woozy the beer's made her, but Lucy catches herself on the counter and gives a thumbs up. And grabs her beer, because it's seemingly refilled and you know what? She's really growing on the taste. Or. The taste is growing on her? Not literally.]

Whatever it is, I'm sure --

[It's lovely? She's not sure what it is going to be, except maybe a second, more secret kitchen, which she can't really nail a purpose for but how much experience does she really have with burger kitchens, anyway? The lower they go, the more she makes sure to run her hand over handrails or along the wall, though the effect of the beer feels more like a buzz in her head than anything tangling her feet.

What the stairwell opens up into is... even for her, it's lush. It looks like real wood, smells like old books and paper in that delightful, archival way. But most of all, unlike the bar upstairs: it looks familiar.]

Dean! [She punches his arm without thinking about it, which is clearly an effect of the beer more than anything.] You acted like you didn't know what I was talking about! You didn't tell me you had a vault!

[It's beautiful, too. Homey. Like people have been living here for ages, not just surviving.]