the fallout mess

[littlemissfutility]

Beth leaves Hancock's office feeling better about the whole marriage than she ever expected to when she was first told it would happen. Better than she expected to when she first saw him, better than she expected to when she'd curled up in bed early this morning, utterly exhausted. It's still not where she wants to be, exactly, but it's better than the alternatives--and at least Hancock feels the same.

And it's all business. He's not like Gorman.

She finds The Third Rail and Magnolia inside it, waiting until the woman finishes her set before she tries to pester her. (And it's a good set, unlike anything Beth's ever seen or heard in her life. People sang at home--Mama and Daddy taught her and Maggie part-singing as soon as she was old enough to understand the concept--but never with the kind of glamour that Magnolia radiates. She's something else, completely unlike the folk songs Beth grew up with.) Magnolia's tolerant of compliments on her show at first, and then some kind of shocked when she realizes just who Beth is.

Hancock's little bride! she exclaims--and it's not clear to Beth whether this is a discovery Magnolia's happy to make. But it doesn't really matter. Magnolia tuts over her and digs through her closet, but there's nothing in there that doesn't look like a tent on Beth's small frame. We could take it in, but I'm not pricking my thumbs all night, even for the sake of a wedding. Instead, they find a shop that's still open, owned by a trader who specializes in clothing. There's a pale yellow dress in his piles of fabric, and it fits Beth well enough to work--the waist is a little loose, but it's not slipping down her shoulders, and that's a good sight better than Magnolia's wardrobe. Convincing the trader that Hancock'll actually settle up if they put it on a tab for him--say you just heard the news about the mayor's nuptials and he's getting hitched to some other broad?--takes time, but eventually, he's mollified.

The rest of the time between then and the wedding passes uneventfully. By the time they hit late afternoon, nerves are starting to constrict Beth's stomach, but there's not much she can do about that. She bathes and brushes her hair out until it dries straight, falling smoothly down her back, and puts on her wedding dress. With her own people, she'd have had wildflowers for her hair, maybe even a veil, but a city's no place for growing things. Clean and well-dressed is the best she can hope for.

Dawn comes for her when it's time, gripping her arm as she leads her along to the Old State House and up to Hancock's place. "Here she is, Mayor."

Comments

ONLY EIGHT MONTHS LATE

[goodlum]

When he'd suggested this marriage, Hancock had anticipated Dawn would decline, outright refuse to such an archaic (and sarcastically presented, though clearly not sarcastically enough) idea. When she agreed, Hancock then anticipated she'd not be the bride herself, but instead send someone she could trust because they either were under her tight command, or they weren't in a position to say no -- someone with no other option. Beth seems to be firmly in the latter camp, and given that Dawn has given him no reason to suspect otherwise, Hancock is inclined to believe Beth -- trust her himself, even. They can make this work out for both communities. While his bride-to-be may look meek, and Dawn may have forced her into this for the worst of reasons, there is definitely more to her, more that he's starting to hope he'll get to see.

He'll have to get through the wedding, first. Hancock anticipates now that it will go as well as can be expected, but hell, like with the proposal in the first place, he's been wrong before. He hides whatever discomfort he may have stirring in his gut with a cocksure smile as he greets the pair at the door, neither of them looking like they particularly want to be there. Hancock can empathize, but does his best not to let it show, especially not in front of Dawn. He has to make this look good.

"It's bad luck for the bride and groom to see one another before the wedding," Hancock remarks toward Dawn, straightening the coat of his tuxedo. Though he still has the tricorne on, it's rare that he's out of his red coat; he can't help but feel restricted, uncomfortable in garments unfitting for his persona. "You're not worried she's going to leave me hanging at the altar, are you?"

He's only half-joking as he asks that, and while he doesn't expect Dawn to give him a completely honest answer, he's pretty sure he knows the truth well enough as it is.

STILL GOOD

[littlemissfutility]

Beth had assumed Hancock'd keep his red jacket on; he's already dressed fancier than just about anyone she's ever seen. That he put on a different suit is kinda sweet, even if it looks odd on him. (Because it does look odd. Really odd. Beth hasn't known him long, but already, she can't really imagine him fitting right in anything besides that weird old coat of his.)

"Oh, I don't think she'd want to do that." There's a clipped sound to Dawn's voice, the verbal equivalent of tapping a foot. "Would you, Beth?"

"No," she mutters, wrenching her arm away from Dawn. Not when you're the alternative.

Dawn lets her go--and that's what it is, Beth knows, letting her pull away--and watches with a grim kind of amusement as Beth sidles out of reach, over towards Hancock's side of the room. "So where are we doing this? That balcony of yours?"

[goodlum]

There's something about Dawn's tone and the way she's holding onto Beth, her grip as solid as a shackle, that riles Hancock's temper; his eyes flick from his betrothed and back as he does his best to swallow it down, his own demeanor just this side of bristling as Dawn releases her.

"Yeah, the balcony," he answers, cocking his head in the direction of the stairs, putting a hand on Beth's shoulder to complete the picture of the couple-to-be, putting on an air of sleaze that may or may not have some legitimacy. He doesn't want Dawn thinking they've been talking too much, that Beth has confirmed what his gut was already telling him about the head of Grady Memorial and her way of running the settlement. The marriage isn't a done deal yet, and she might still want to back out of this, or decide Beth isn't the right candidate after all. That'd be bad not only for Goodneighbor, but whatever people were suffering at Grady, Beth included. He might hardly know her, but he couldn't live with himself if she ended up back in a bad situation because of his screw up.

"Figured hell, it's not every day a mayor gets married," he continues. "Might as well make a show of it. Let everyone know I'm serious about this, and what it means for our little community." He eyes Dawn again. "Wouldn't want anyone from Grady thinking Goodneighbor ain't holding up our end of the deal. You feel me?"

[littlemissfutility]

Beth cringes a little under Hancock's hand. Its weight doesn't have the same insistence as Dawn's hand did, but it still feels like she's trapped. Even knowing that she isn't, not the way it sounds right now, some animal instinct in her still wants to shake him off.

But that's a kind of disobedience she can't afford right now. Defiance is half of what keeps her going, some days, but getting Dawn to pack up and leave is the most important thing here. And that means getting through this wedding, and everything that comes after--as quickly as possible. Dawn probably doesn't want to be away from the hospital long anyhow, since that risks somebody else trying to take over running it; she needs to see that Beth's under somebody else's thumb, and then she'll probably go.

Hopefully.

"I do," Dawn answers, a brow raising. She gives the two of them a long look, like she's trying to decide if anything's missing. Beth makes herself stand still and straight, watching her with a frown. Dawn gestures to the stairs, a sweeping motion with her hand. "After you, Mayor."

[goodlum]

Hancock flashes Dawn a seedy smile, one that vanishes the second his back is turned to her. His teeth remain bared, but there is a distinct curl to his lips that's more fitting of a growl than a grin, one that remains twisted into his features until he pushes open the door to the balcony. As disinclined as he is to turn his back on her, he knows it's best he be the one to appear before his people first. In good news, said people turned out -- not just the usual crowd who listens to his occasional addresses, but even some individuals who aren't as likely to leave their homes, ones from both in and outside of town, all of them curious to see how this wedding will go. Even if it turns out terribly, they can be sure Hancock will make it an event to remember.

It's a night Hancock himself is hoping to forget, for the most part. He addresses the people and Daisy gets started with the ceremony proper, dressed herself in the nicest blazer she could find. She'd assured him earlier that she could officiate, and he wasn't about to question whether or not that was true when all he could think about was how utterly trashed he was going to get once it was all said and done. If he could just forget for a while that he's the one who put himself in this position -- a rebel like him being tied down to someone who is a. barely an adult and b. being coerced into this because the alternative to marrying a fucking ghoul she doesn't even know is worse -- that'd be swell.

Dawn sees to her little part in this play -- giving away the bride in both a literal and figurative sense -- and there's a quiet moment where everyone politely waits for Beth to join her husband-to-be on the balcony so they can say some vows. As Hancock looks her way, he does his best not to look nervous; however, more of it shows than he'd like, that twitch in his brow only emphasized by the stitches that still line it.

[littlemissfutility]

Beth can hear the murmuring of the little crowd under the balcony--and then, catching sight of a few people, even as far back from the windows as she currently is, realizes it's not a little crowd. She feels a little stab of anxiety in her chest. There's probably a couple dozen people down there, maybe even more, and by Wasteland standards, that's huge. All of them here to see this mess happen, find out just who's going to be at the mayor's side, maybe decide if they can use the wedding to their advantage...

She's not afraid of crowds--she used to sing in front of them, after all--but this one might not be so friendly.

It feels like there's hardly more than a heartbeat between the moment Hancock goes out there and the one when Beth's needed, too. She walks out, head held high, mouth grim with determination: I'm going to get through this, it says, more than anything else.

Reaching for Hancock's hand--she's pretty sure they're supposed to be holding each others' hands at this point, and if they aren't, then at least it'll look a little less like nobody wants to be here--she glances up at his face. He seems...he seems like he's just hoping to get through this, too. Which makes her feel better, somehow. At least they're both kind of pissed about this, however he might act around Dawn.

Daisy reads out of a little book of prayer, which makes Beth homesick. "Miss...Elizabeth Greene. Do you take this ghoul to be your husband? Will you love him, comfort him, honor and fight for him, in radiation and in wellness; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to him as long as you both shall live?"

She swallows. "I do."

("Louder!" somebody on the ground calls. So she says it again, a little louder, and Daisy pats her arm like she's a sickly brahmin calf.)

And then it's Hancock's turn. Lucky him. "Mayor John Hancock. Do you take this girl to be your wife? Will you love her, comfort her, honor and fight for her, in radiation and in wellness; and, forsaking all others, be faithful to her as long as you both shall live?"

[goodlum]

There's a second of hesitation as Daisy finishes her question, one that feels like it lasts an eternity for Hancock. He can hear his heart hammering away, but it's not loud enough to drown out Daisy's voice. Take this girl? Sure, what choice does he have if he wants to help his town? And even if he did have a choice, Beth sure doesn't get much of a say in it. People can be who they want to be in Goodneighbor... save for her. She might have more freedom here than she would at Grady, but that doesn't change the fact she's basically a political prisoner, one who has to be here. He can't let the deal fall through.

It's all business, Hancock reminds himself. He hates that, too. It's too serious for his tastes, goes against that rough and rowdy lifestyle that brought him tot his point, the kind that is less about diplomacy and more about doing what needs to be done to help those who need it, no matter how bloody it gets. He can't let himself fall into the sort of thinking that means people get stepped on for some perceived 'greater good' rather than the real thing. That's the kind of mindset that put his brother in power in Diamond City; it's what got the ghouls kicked out of that town, damned to the wastes.

And yet, here he is, agreeing to marry a girl (as Daisy puts it) for the 'greater good' of both communities; however, the greater good here isn't his interests, or Dawn's -- it's the people of Grady and Goodneighbor who will suffer otherwise.

It twists the knot in his stomach all the same. Beth is young, but here she is -- and choice or no, she agreed to this, is agreeing to act as a liaison, the pretty face for Goodneighbor to those communities that won't even consider working with ghouls. It feels manipulative, but desperate times call for desperate measures, and he can't just go in with a devil-may-care attitude like he did when he was just some drifter. She's better than he was at her age; hell, chances are that back then, he'd have just taken what he wanted in a hail of bullets, not thinking too hard on the consequences. He's a different man now, though maybe not better. At least he knows who he wants to be now.

And who he wants to be does not include being married to someone probably half his age who isn't interested in him in the slightest, who is damned no matter what she really wants... but if she can find her voice and make it through this wedding, then so can he.

"Yeah, I do," he replies, his fingers tightening around hers.

Daisy nods. "Then, by the power invested in me a couple hundred years ago by what used to be the Atlantic Commonwealth," —she smiles, giving Hancock as sly look— "which better be good enough for this ceremony, or we're just wasting everyone's time -- I now pronounce you man and wife, Mayor and First Lady of Goodneighbor. You may now kiss your bride."

And Hancock goes to do just that, a bit gentler and quicker than most women would expect of him. In good news, any dissent, either internal or external from a few key members of the crowd, goes unheard as Kleo activates the fireworks Hancock promised, ones which are far more explosive than they probably need to be. If nothing else, they are a loud, colorful distraction.

[littlemissfutility]

He's polite about the kiss--it's quick and chaste and doesn't really require anything from her except to be there. Which is good, because every moment since Hancock agreed, I do, she's felt dizzy, her stomach tilting inside her like she's going to throw up. She hardly notices the texture of his mouth or the light of the fireworks exploding above the Old State House.

And that makes them married. First Lady of Goodneighbor. Beth Hancock? She's Beth Hancock now.

(Maybe I can be Beth Greene Hancock. All three names.)

But that's something she's going to have to figure out later. The world is suddenly noisy and full of color, Beth tilting her head up to catch the second round of explosions. She can't believe how loud they are; every supermutant for miles must be coming toward the city walls, stirred up with hunger (and not a lick of curiosity or wonder). Or how pretty they are, for that matter--not quite enough to forget the way it feels like her spirit's coming loose from her body, but close. They couldn't make this kind of noise at home, even back when the prison's walls held. She's never seen anything quite like this before, and her eyes are huge, drinking them in.

[goodlum]

As the fireworks finally die down and the crowd looks to their leader, it's like a switch flips, and there is Hancock in all his charismatic glory. He leans over the balcony to address his citizens as a newly married man:

"And now it's time to fuckin' party!"

Most of the people erupt with cheers, and Hancock turns to Dawn, wrapping an arm around her shoulder; though she hides it well, he revels in how she nearly recoils beneath his grasp. "Well, now that that's all said and done, let's celebrate. Tell you what: we'll break out something from my personal stash, just to get things going. Whattaya say?"

And with that, he guides her away from the balcony and his wife in a way most would think is casual; however, those who know Hancock better may assume otherwise, see the purpose in the way he takes her to and out the door. For Hancock, it works out threefold: it puts distance between himself and this marriage holding him back, gets Dawn away from Beth, and lets him flex some authority over Dawn, something he's been feeling he lacks in this mess he made for himself.

Himself, and her. Can't forget that. Maybe that's why, for as much as he doesn't like people undermining him and the community he's helped build, he insists he's not comfortable with being the man, either. He's never figured out where within those two ideologies he lies, and certainly isn't going to fuck around with it now -- not tonight. Tonight, he gets utterly wasted.

And within an hour after the ceremony, he is certainly on his way. That's not to say Beth is entirely unattended -- while most of the Neighborhood Watch is outside the city walls to deal with anyone and anything that might have been attracted by the festivities and plans to crash them, there are still a few key members on the streets, their eyes on the crowd in case they need to keep the peace. Fahrenheit herself is watching Hancock, while one of the two who had been stationed outside Beth's house (though whether it's Sam or Max is uncertain) shadows the new First Lady of Goodneighbor, keeping her within eyeshot at all times, nodding if she looks his way.

[littlemissfutility]

She retreats back from the balcony, Daisy following after. She gives Beth a friendly look as she says she's heading down to the party, c'mon--but Beth shakes her head. "I'll come down in a minute."

Which is a promise, if only because it's going to look bad if she can't even manage to come to a party in her honor. And because, if she's honest, a party sounds pretty good right now. It's been a long time since she's had something to celebrate, and getting out of Grady deserves a party. She's not free, exactly, but a whole lot more options have just opened up to her. Knowing that, knowing she's going to be better off tomorrow than she was last week, has to matter, right?

But first she needs to sit down in a chair, curling around herself, and just...be there, kinda, for a little bit. It feels like mourning, she realizes after a few moments. Like some part of her died when she got married. Like maybe her chances of finding Maggie and Daryl and Judith and everyone else went up in smoke along with all those fireworks. They won't be looking for anyone named Hancock, if they even know to come this far north. And she's got responsibilities besides finding her family; as important as it feels, she owes it to everyone else at Grady to figure out how to get them out of the hospital, and to make sure Dawn never puts anyone else back in that place. She can't just go off into the Wastes and scream her sister's name until she's hoarse. That's a longing she has to bury--especially tonight.

When she does join the party downstairs, the street is a riot of people and beer and food, and her stomach's starting to rumble. It's easier to fall back into the swing of things, nibbling at grilled softshell while she answers question after question about herself, dozens of Goodneighbor citizens coming up to say hello. No, she's not from the Commonwealth--she's from the Southeast Commonwealth. Yes, she likes Gooddneighbor a lot. No, she hasn't seen much of it yet. Yes, she's going to try to in the next few days. Yes, she's old enough to get married. No, this isn't some kind of coup.

An hour in, Whitechapel Charlie cranks the volume up on his vocoder so everyone can hear him announce Magnolia--who in turn announces cake to follow a performance here on the street. (A makeshift stage was apparently thrown together while Beth slept the day away, including a working microphone and speakers.) She sidles over to Hancock as Magnolia sings, noticing the scent of him. He smells like he fell into a barrel of liquor and chems. "Having fun?"

[goodlum]

If he could have fallen straight into a barrel of liquor and chems, he most certainly would have; as it is, Hancock has definitely been dipping more into his private stash than he has in some time, riding the high to stay ahead of the consequences of his newfound marriage. He gives Beth a smile as he pulls at the collar of his shirt as though to straighten his bowtie, failing realize it's long been undone, the ribbon hanging loosely from his neck.

"Look who decided to join the party." He leans against the wall on one elbow in a picture of nonchalance, his free hand holding an inhaler for Jet. Given how his speech is just a little off, chances are that's not the only thing he's been taking. "First Lady of Goodneighbor, Mizzes Beth Greene. Hancock. Beth Greene Hancock. Too many fuckin' names."

Apparently, the topic of her last name has been on his mind, too. He grumbles at some internal annoyance before taking a hit from the inhaler.

[littlemissfutility]

Hancock's answer hits true, whether he means it to or not. He's found tonight's weak spot, both of them: the fact that she doesn't really want to be here, even if she's making the best of it, and the way her new life feels like her ill-fitting wedding dress. Like it isn't really hers, even if she's in it. Somehow, it hurts worse when he's like this, sounding like he's a few chems away from being a real mess. That means it's not an act for Dawn or the townspeople; it's just him.

"It's been an hour," she says, wrinkling her nose, because otherwise, she'll probably tell him to stop being an asshole. And even if she's new to being a politician--or a politician's wife, whatever--she's got the feeling that arguing with the Mayor the night she marries him will get people talking. That's not going to get either of them anywhere. "What'd you do, rob a pharmacy?"

[goodlum]

"Just letting the good times roll," Hancock responds, that smile of his fading; if he had a nose, it'd wrinkle in return at her tone. He's cognizant enough to sense she's not happy about this, but which this that has her wound up from the long list of potential thises is beyond him at the moment.

He offers her his inhaler, as though that's what she'd want. He's been a married man for all of an hour, and he's already forgotten his manners. "Got to get 'em while we can now that I've gone and thrown us into this, so hey, what's mine is yours now. That's how it goes when you get hitched, right?"

[littlemissfutility]

Beth puts up a hand before the Jet gets shoved into it. She'll take food and clean water, and someplace to sleep, but there's nothing about the inhaler that she wants anything to do with. "I don't do chems."

Apparently, that might be a problem, if this is how he's going to spend the first night of their marriage. He wasn't this messed up when she met him--but they were out in the Wastes, then. Not here where he's got whatever's in that stockpile he was telling Dawn about.

God.

Somehow, this feels like the worst part of the whole deal to Beth. She can deal with the fact that he's old, that he's a ghoul. He's a pretty good guy, and he's promised that this whole thing can be a marriage on paper rather than going through with everything that's supposed to be happening tonight. But this feels like a bad sign. She's been drunk--and it took her more than an hour to get to the sloppy, messy-worded part of the night. Hancock's either more of a lightweight than she is--doubtful--or he really overdid it. In an hour.

Magnolia's calling for them, waving them up onto the makeshift stage where a little tiered cake waits, alongside a knife. Beth's never seen a dessert so pretty, but she's got an idea of what they're supposed to do now. "C'mon," she mutters, taking hold of his wrist like he's a little kid. "Pretend like you're sober, okay?"

[goodlum]

While Hancock didn't take offense to Beth turning down his Jet, he groans as she grabs his wrist and pulls him toward the stage. He might not be sober enough to walk in a straight line, but he's not drunk enough to ignore what she says, either. Back to mind comes the marriage, his loss of control to an uptight lady whose people started all this by firing on their caravans. That irritation with himself returns; he's the one at fault here, even if it helps more people than it hurts.

Still, the fact it is putting someone else in a bind at all is what gets him. He's not in control of his own destiny now, and neither is she. It goes against what he wants for Goodneighbor, what he wants for everyone. Goes against what he wants for himself. There's no way to fix that, and it frustrates him.

He takes another hit as they reach the stage, colors blooming before him as Magnolia greets them. Seeing the Jet in his hand, she offers the knife to Beth, mentioning that they ought to have a dance after they cut the cake.

Hancock's lip curls in some mixture of confusion and horror, his overindulgence making it that much harder to hide his discomfort. "Dance?" Oh boy. It has been years since he danced, and even then, he was mostly making it up as he went along.

[littlemissfutility]

Beth takes the knife, trying not to notice everyone watching them. If things are similar here to how they did it at home--and so far, it seems like they are--then she knows how this works. Drawing Hancock's hand over to hers, she glances up at him, hoping now we both hold the knife comes through in her gaze.

(They can figure out dancing after the cake thing. Beth knows how to do that. Probably. Depends on the kind of dancing.)

The knife slices easily through icing and cake, which smells sweet like honey and dried fruit. Her mouth's watering, she realizes--when's the last time she ate anything?

There's cheers as they awkwardly cut out a thin slice of cake, setting it on a plate, and shouts of Kiss! Kiss! that make Beth's cheeks heat up. In hopes of shutting them up, she stretches up and pecks Hancock's leathery cheek. And Magnolia, maybe with the same idea, strikes up the music nice and loud.

[goodlum]

In good news, that peck on Hancock's cheek seems to satisfy the crowd, some of them pairing off for a dance as the cheers fade into the rising music. Hancock takes a bite of the cake, glad for the distraction as he does his best just to keep his balance. For as much as he is still hoping to completely forget this night in a drug-induce haze, even he realizes he might have overdone it on the chems. And the booze. Definitely on the chems, though. Two daytrippers, some ultra jet, and several shots of something that tasted like pure turpentine all in the span of less than an hour have added up to something he might regret later.

But for now, he is somewhere between that regret and the frustration he's been avoiding all along, and having a great time because of said chems. Better embrace it while he can.

Deciding Fuck it, let's do this so we can say we did this wedding thing right, Hancock sets the piece of cake aside. "Hope you know more about dancing than I do," he mutters wryly as he meanders toward the edge of the stage, motioning for Beth to join him on what part of the square is serving as the dance floor.

[littlemissfutility]

It's easier, when the spotlight's not on them--even if, speaking literally, it's still pretty close by. If they could just skip the whole party thing, maybe just hang out someplace for the night without everyone around, Beth'd be a lot happier. (Which is strange. She always loved parties, anytime there was an opportunity for laughter and music. But today, when she's pretending to be something she's not, she just wants to be done already.) But...well, here they are. They're probably gonna be out here for a few more hours at least, pretending not to be freaked out by what they did, up there on the balcony.

The cake is one of the most delicious things Beth's ever tasted, but she only ends up with a bite of it before Hancock's trying to wave her toward the dance floor. Tempting as it is to ignore him--make a fool of your own self--she's trying to play the part of the happy bride. And that means following him over, hopping down from the stage, and reaching for his hands again.

"I can show you how," she says, and thank God the song's on the slower side, because that's gonna be a lot easier if Hancock doesn't really have to figure out what his feet are doing. Beth steps in closer, drawing his hands down to the small of her back, then settles hers behind his neck. "Now you just kinda...move."

That easy little sway that just requires knowing how to find the rhythm of a song--and even if Hancock can't, Beth can't. She tries not to remember the last person she did this with, or to think about the fact that she's moved in flush against Hancock (who smells a little bit like turpentine, great). She's just teaching him, just enough that it looks like he knows what he's doing.

[goodlum]

Beth draws close to Hancock, and high as he may be, he manages to remember where his hands ought to go even as she slides them into position. One at the small of her back, the other holding her— wait, is it left hand or right hand? Or both on her back, where she's put them? Shouldn't he be holding one? Shit, he's seen people do this before. He's seen pictures of people doing this, all prim and poised and dancing in some ballroom, dressed too formal for his tastes in an event more fit for a king than a drifter-turned-mayor's wedding. Maybe that's not how it goes at weddings in other settlements -- they've never actually had a wedding like this in Goodneighbor -- but Hancock knows this should still be easy enough for him to figure out.

But then he can't remember which of her hands he's supposed to hold in that fancy style of dancing, and so he just follows Beth's lead, his fingers against her back as he tries to focus on the music rather than the vibrant colors, how slow the world seems to be moving, and the feel of her hands resting behind his neck. Their sway is gentle, simple enough that he's not even worried about stepping on her toes, their steps in time with the song as it carries through the city streets. The music is pretty good, all things considered -- Magnolia really went all out. Maybe she figured they'd never get another shindig like this in Goodneighbor, Hancock guesses, so she poured her heart into making this one night something to remember.

That's assuming he does remember all this once he comes down from his high.

"All right," Hancock says quietly. "This part ain't so bad if you ask me."

[littlemissfutility]

Beth nods, not quite meeting his eyes. This is...okay. It's special--kind of amazing, to be someplace where they can pipe music all over town, fill the streets with little electric lights, and never once worry about what it'll attract. The fact that everyone can just be safe and happy for a night...that starts to make the weirdness of experiencing it with a husband a little easier to ignore.

(That's what matters, anyway, right? They're all about what this means for the people, not for them. The way this is going to help everyone still trapped in the dark in Grady, yes, but Goodneighbor's citizens, too. The way everyone here seems so happy. It almost makes up for the way they seem so much happier than Beth's felt in a long time.)

"Dancing's always fun," she tells him, a wistful note in her voice. Fast songs are even more fun, when you're whirling around like the world's gonna end, but Beth's got the feeling they should wait on that until Hancock's a little steadier. "All you gotta do is get the rhythm."

[goodlum]

Good thing the rhythm is slow, seemingly even slower as the jet in his system continues to settle in. Hancock manages to keep the pace, but for who knows how long.

"Never really do anything like this here," he remarks, his eyes also not quite on her -- despite the fact he's enjoying himself, the awkwardness of the situation is still weighing on him, harder to shake than he'd like to admit. "Didn't back in Diamond City, either. Guess the places you've been do things differently."

He can only hope so, given how shitty Diamond City -- and even Goodneighbor, at times -- can be.

[littlemissfutility]

"Back at the prison," she says, even though it won't really mean much to him. But now that she's thinking about it, she finds she wants to say it--and once she says that much, more bubbles up. "Sometimes we did stuff like this. Not this fancy. But music, and dancing..."

After Maggie got married, she wants to say. We didn't have a wedding, but when she and Glenn told us, we had a party. But remembering the details, even though she wants to hear them aloud, makes her chest hurt. There's no way to remember those and ignore what came after--telling him about her family makes their absence all the more obvious.

Instead, Beth asks, "What's Diamond City like?"

[goodlum]

A part of Hancock legitimately tries to file away prison as something to ask Beth about later; despite his internal insistence he forget most of this night, he's well aware that for this fake marriage and all the politics surrounding it to work, the two of them are going to have to get to know each other on some level.

And if he's honest with himself, he'd like to get to know her a little better. It'd be a good way to find out all that's really going on at Grady, see if he can do something about it. They're not his people, but they're people being pushed around, forced to pay off some debt they didn't ask for. That's the kind of injustice Hancock can't stand, his people or not. They might not be the kind of dregs of society that end up in Goodneighbor, but they deserve better than Dawn Lerner.

Besides all that, there's that fire he's seen in her, a fight he's familiar with. He could stand to get back to his roots, given how much he struggles to balance being in charge and responsible for the people of his town, but not wanting to rule over people like some kind of tyrant. He uses force to keep those who'd cause problems in line, but where does he cross the line? At what point does he become no better than the man who ran Goodneighbor before him, they guy they killed because he was a monster?

There's something to be said about the abyss and monsters, but hell if he can remember how that quote goes, if he ever really knew it at all. For now, he'll focus on maybe warming himself up by that blaze Beth carries and seeing where it takes him.

"Not as good as it used to be," Hancock replies, his brow tightening as the chems fail to keep his mood from souring. "It was always too uptight for me, and it's only gone downhill since McDonough got put in charge. He's a fuckin' tool, one I should've gutted when I had the chance."

[littlemissfutility]

"Why?" That's a really strong reaction to a guy, even the leader of a place. Beth's only felt like that about the person in charge once, and not until it became clear that the way things were run made the whole world worse.

Having never been to Diamond City--she's heard reference to it from other Grady patients, but not much more--she doesn't have a lot to go off of. But she's going to have to, isn't she? The First Lady of Goodneighbor's going to have to know about the other settlements in this ruined city if she isn't going to sound like a moron when she talks to people. If she ends up visiting them, and that is the plan, she'll need to know even more than that. What the towns are like, what the citizens are like, and--most importantly--who's running the show. Everyone who meets her is in danger of seeing an ignorant, half-grown girl, but she can't use that to her advantage unless she actually knows more than she says.

And this...this is a subject she'll look Hancock in the face for. It's the best way to gauge what he's saying: the truth of it, the way it makes him feel, everything.

[goodlum]

Hancock feels Beth's eyes on him, and meets hers automatically. He was not expecting the way she studies him, that serious look of someone trying to feel out an answer rather than waiting for it. Despite his surprise, he answers her without so much as a second thought.

"Diamond City has some good people, but most of 'em, the ones who live in the stands? They backed McDonough when he ran for election. Decided their streets oughtta be clean. No drifters, no freaks, no misfits... no ghouls. The way they see it, we're one step away from being ferals or walkers."

His lips curl; he does his best to temper his reaction and let it slide off his back as usual, but his inebriation makes that all the more difficult. His ire pushes honest sentiments out of him.

"Ghouls like me? We can get by in the Wastes. A lot of 'em though -- families, friends, fucking elderly and innocents who never did a damn thing in their entire lives -- just disappeared. Never saw them again."

[littlemissfutility]

"He is a tool," Beth says, bitterness coming into her voice. He's worse than that, if what Hancock's saying is true; he's the kind of killer no one should ever be, the person who lets good people suffer and die and doesn't so much as twitch in his sleep over it.

He's enough like Dawn that she'd probably try to get him eaten by a walker, too. And hopefully she'd have better luck with him than she did with Dawn.

At this point, she's too interested in the conversation to do more than sort of sway, the music having gotten faster around them without her caring. They're out of sync with everyone else, but if anyone's gonna be, it might as well be them, right? Everyone'll just think they're getting caught up in the whole marriage thing, long as they don't talk too loud. "So when do we gotta deal with him?"

[goodlum]

"Hell if I know. Soon as possible if we want to get trade going between us again. Every now and then, we get traders from their neck of the woods, but most don't come this far out. They hear we're nothing but a bunch of thugs and monsters down here. Can't say they're wrong."

But that doesn't make them entirely right, either. He knows he can't talk McDonough into sending caravans their way, and the mayor's secretary turns away most everyone else from Goodneighbor because they're more than rough around the edges.

"Fahrenheit and the boys don't make good... um." He fails to find the word he's looking for as the gears in his head jam, gummed up by chems and the throbbing starting to emanate from his stitches. "They can't convince him to do shit. Not the way it oughtta be done. A smoothskin like you, though? Someone who didn't originally come from there, someone he thinks he might be helping out of a bad situation by sending some decent goods our way..."

Yeah, that could work. He'll ponder it more when he's not losing what little rhythm he had between the music and the painful pulsing at his temple.

[littlemissfutility]

"Yeah," she agrees. Same reason she makes a good bargaining chip for Dawn--except here, she has a little more control over what she does. So far, Hancock's seemed like he'd probably listen if she told him no, she didn't want to go make deals with the Commonwealth's shittiest mayor. It makes it feel like she's actually agreeing to do it, not getting thrust forward come hell or high water. "I just look like I got lost."

There's a certain irony in Beth's voice, not quite the stuff of eye-rolling, but close. She just looks like somebody beat her, and that's not untrue. Once the stitches are out, she'll be able to blend in someplace like Diamond City, provided it's how he says it is; she'll just be one more kind-of pretty girl who ran into some trouble. Not that she wants to play that up, exactly--if she's going to go be Goodneighbor's new ambassador, she wants to actually be good at her job--but it won't hurt.

"Soon as possible is okay. Once the honeymoon's over and Dawn's gone." This time, she does roll her eyes, real quick. It's not really going to be much of a honeymoon, that's for sure.

[goodlum]

Hancock groans. The honeymoon. He hasn't put much thought into that -- where they'll go, what they'll do. They've got to do something if they want everyone to believe they're serious about this marriage, right?

"Didn't even think to ask when she's leaving," he admits. "Guess she might take the hint if we head out on our honeymoon. Can't see a reason she'd want to stay if the two of us aren't here."

And that's more he does not really want to think about. His hand slips from her back, working its way into his jacket for his inhaler.

[littlemissfutility]

"We don't actually gotta go anywhere," she says slowly, her brow knitting as she watches him fishing the Jet out of his tux. Don't say anything about it, she thinks, but God, that's a lot of Jet. "Doesn't matter to me."

Beth doesn't really know what else is out there; the people from Grady took her when she was out in the Wastelands, and since then, her only experience outside the hospital has been with Hancock. She knows there's some real fancy old buildings full of super mutants, and some kind of group called the Minutemen--but she doesn't have a real map in her brain of what's where or who can be trusted. South of here, maybe Daryl's still around. That's all she really has.

"Dawn won't stay away from the hospital for long." Beth's voice drops a little lower, saying her name out. "Someone might take over."

[goodlum]

That comment gets a single laugh from the ghoul. "Can't imagine why she'd worry about that, if all you've said about her is true. Guess that's the difference between us. I don't worry about my position when I'm out of town. I've got respect because I'm not afraid to get my hands dirty or shoot up with the rest of the gutter trash."

He doesn't punctuate that statement with a hit of Jet, but he certainly considers it, twiddling the inhaler in his fingers.

"But there's fear, too. Got to have that if you're going to make it out here. People know that if they can't get along, they can leave, either on their own feet or in a body bag. Their choice."

[littlemissfutility]

"Yeah...and Dawn doesn't want anybody leaving. That's the difference." Beth's voice is pitched low, her eyes checking around warily. Hancock'd made her smile a moment before--can't imagine why she'd worry about that--but even now that she's not going back to Grady, she's hesitant to complain too loud. This close to freedom (sort-of freedom), she doesn't want to risk it. "Means she's gotta stay there and keep everyone in line."

The hospital, she's starting to realize, really could fall apart. It just takes a few people getting out of line: not tallying up the prices of meals and hospital equipment, shrugging at mediocre work instead of beating people over it, letting people come and go if they want to. Dawn's the key to all that stuff happening on time and to her specifications. If Beth can just nudge things in the right direction, with Hancock's help...

But first they have to get through tonight. And tomorrow. Maybe they can send her packing by lunch. "You think they'll let you into Diamond City with me there? We could make that our honeymoon."

[goodlum]

Beth's discretion isn't without merit; even with the music playing and the people dancing around them, Dawn and what few people she brought from Grady are still among the crowd, keeping as much of an eye on things as Hancock's boys. While they likely can't hear a word the married couple is saying, the fact of the matter is that they are watching, seeing how they interact and making sure things are going as smooth as can be expected.

Things could definitely be smoother, especially if Hancock wasn't slowly losing his footing to even the most even-paced of dances. "I think they'd let you in even if we were glued together," he replies, either paying the Grady eyes on him no mind, or not seeing them through the haze of chems. "We might as well get it over with while we're out of town. Make a trip out of it. Let you sweet talk McDonough into sending caravans our way again, and see if we can't find you some clothes that actually fit while we're at it. It gets cold quick around here when winter hits."

His steps slow to a halt as he paws at his eye, that throbbing behind it getting worse despite the drugs in his system.

[littlemissfutility]

"Oh. Yeah." Beth's cheeks heat up as she gives herself a glance. This dress isn't that bad a fit, right? It's been a while since she's had to worry about that kind of thing, but the sensation comes back quick enough: a shapeless kind of embarrassment that she doesn't look right. The kind of thing she actually used to worry about, back when she still felt like a teenager.

(A shapeless, stupid kind of embarrassment. She needs new clothes; she only has this, her nursing uniform from the hospital, and the stuff she was wearing in the Wastes. Offering to get her new stuff is generous--and necessary, if she's going to be working with other settlements. It's just kind of mortifying right then.)

But she's distracted by the way his hand goes to his face. He's still got that injury, and he's been taking a lot of chems... She reaches up and pulls at his hand, wanting to give it a look. "Are you okay?"

[goodlum]

Hancock completely misses Beth's embarrassment -- which he caused, and will probably consider that later, when his head doesn't feel like it might split if the pounding from his temple keeps up. He lets her move his hand; the skin around the stitching is irritated, red even against the tanned color of his twisted skin.

"Still fucking hurts," he answers, his upper lip curling as he grinds his teeth. "Not enough stimpaks to go around, and not enough chems to dull the ache." The former would be one reason why they're so desperate for this deal with Grady to work; the latter is just a personal problem. "You keep dancing. I'll catch up."

And with that, he steps away from her to go find something more effective than Jet to deal with his injury.

[littlemissfutility]

"Oh." Then of course he's in pain. Especially since, with his skin, she can't tell if that's normal redness or threatening-to-be-infected redness. Her mouth presses down into a worried line.

As soon as he speaks, he's moving away from her, and her frown only deepens. He's all chemmed up and drunk, and now he's wandering off? If there's one thing she learned from that time she was drunk, it was that being drunk and alone would've been bad. For her, for all the reasons her father quit drinking, but in general, too: drunk and alone means you're easy pickings, even if you're used to it. Even if you're the mayor of the town you're bumbling around in.

So she follows him, quick small steps to catch up with his stride. "I could use a break."

[goodlum]

Hancock slows to a stop as Beth calls to him, waiting for her to be at his side before he continues meandering. He doesn't seem like he has any particular destination in mind; more like he just wants to get away for a few minutes, lest someone see through that facade he's held up for most of the night via liquor and chems. He scratches at his face again, pulling his hand away the second he thinks about what she'll say.

"I don't need you to keep an eye on me, if that's what you're doing." He doesn't sound accusatory -- just frustrated that he's coming off his high. "I'm just gonna hang back, let the party fizzle out on its own. I'm not about to be the one to crash it when they need this."

[littlemissfutility]

"You sure? Because you seem kinda messed up." Drunk, high, and annoyed. Being petulant about it probably isn't going to help, but Beth's not really thinking about that right now. Just about--where are you going, what're you doing, are you really gonna make me do all the hosting?

It'll be so much easier, she realizes, to justify both of them being gone. It's a wedding, they're supposed to sneak off early together. If it's just Hancock's gone, I don't know where, that's gonna sound so much more pathetic. Not surprising, maybe--everyone knows this isn't a real marriage--but still not how she wants to spend her first night as First Lady of Goodneighbor. "You don't have to stay, but that doesn't mean you gotta be alone."

[goodlum]

It might not be obvious how his eyes roll at Beth's initial statement, given how dark the eyes of a ghoul tend to be, but he takes her followup remark a little better, his expression softening. His nose wrinkles at the thought that he's already getting too cozy with this marriage thing. Can't let that happen.

"You keep saying things like that," he says with a lopsided grin, the devilish, teeth-flashing kind that some part of him is hoping might scare her off for the rest of the night, "and I might start thinking you care about me." If nothing else, she's obligated to care at least a little, or so he figures: they are married now, and that's the reason she's out of Grady. She might have been forced into this, and he's still kicking himself for his part in that (or putting off said kicking as much as he can for as long as possible), but even he can recognize there are some fortuitous angles for her.

Still, he doesn't want to be seen as the guy who was taken out of his own wedding party by a headache, not even by his new bride. He'd rather just pump a few more chems in his system, get back out there, party hard with the people, and pass out whenever he feels like it. He's one of them - that's what separates him from folks like Dawn.

[littlemissfutility]

Beth doesn't know his face well enough to catch his gaze going skyward, but he looks annoyed. And then he just looks like an asshole. She rolls her own eyes, crossing her arms at the idea of caring about him. (Of course she does, same as she would anyone else who was her people; they're here together, they're a team. But that's not what he means.)

"Don't be a jerk." Telling him not to be a smartass is like telling the sun not to shine, but she's willing to give it a try. "You know what I mean."

They could hide out someplace together, snack on a last sliver of cake and talk about stuff. It almost sounds fun.

[goodlum]

He has half a mind to give Beth a sharp retort as she sees right through him and calls him on his bluff; he has half a mind to wander off anyway to find himself a harder drink and even more chems, letting her follow along if she's so inclined. He has half a mind to scoff and play it off, and another half to tell her to go find something else to do for a while so he doesn't have to think about her, this marriage he's gotten them into, and the festering guilt associated with it all.

Hm. Too many halves. All those choices don't acknowledge how sharp Beth is, either -- sharper than he's given her credit for, for what it's worth. If they're going to make it through this and work together, he ought to respect that, guilt or not. He'd want the same.

Hancock grumbles. "Yeah yeah, I know what you mean," he admits. "Fuck it, let's get out of here. If anyone asks where we are, they can assume we're having our own party, celebrating how most do after the knot's been tied."

[littlemissfutility]

She blanches at the thought, even knowing that Hancock's already promised that they're skipping that part of the evening's festivities. The knowledge that it's what's expected is enough.

Can ghouls even do it? Or is it like how they all lose their noses? What's even left down there after you've turned into a ghoul? Obviously something is possible, or they wouldn't have had to negotiate not having sex, but there's kind of an expectation of what sex is if she's dating a normal human guy...and she's not sure if it's the same thing here. It's something she's going to have to figure out as discreetly as possible, ideally without asking anybody anything. Anyone besides Hancock can't actually know they aren't actually sealing the deal, and asking Hancock sounds like the perfect way to die of embarrassment.

"Okay." Beth tries to keep her voice even, telling herself that everything related to sex and ghouls and sex with ghouls can be a problem for tomorrow morning. Tomorrow afternoon, even, if everyone ends up with the kind of hangovers she's imagining for them. She can probably just be embarrassed and shy about it anyway, and people won't know the difference. "Let's go."

[goodlum]

Hancock leads them away from the party proper toward the outer streets that line the walls of Goodneighbor, skirting the back alleys to avoid the rest of the crowd. Despite the effort, they still manage to run into some familiar faces, mostly people congratulating them and asking what their plans are. Even with a killer headache, Hancock manages to field the inquiries with his usual, smarmy candor: something about how they're just looking for some privacy, you feel me? this and they're heading off to continue the party alone that.

They all seem to buy it, knowing his reputation as a playboy (playghoul?). Much like Sam and Max the day prior, some express relief that he's out of the dating scene; others wonder if he's really settling down with a smoothskin, asking how much action he'll be getting on the side. Hancock brushes them off with feigned offense -- he's an honest man now, and honest men don't make vows they don't intend to keep, especially when it comes to the well-being of Goodneighbor.

They finally manage to escape most people, and Hancock's facade falters, his hand back at his head the second he's out of sight. It remains there until they come upon Sam (or Max, whichever), still guarding Beth's quarters at Kent's old apartment. He gives Hancock a nod as they approach, tipping his hat politely to Beth.

"We set you two up a honeymoon suite at the Old State House," he remarks, his eyes back on Hancock. "Did the best we could, what with how fast you two got hitched. Even broke out some of the good vintage."

Hancock claps a hand on the man's shoulder, the padding beneath the fabric dulling the sound. "Thanks, Max," he says with an appreciative grin, apparently able to tell the difference between them. "You mind bringing that over here? We're gonna get settled in."

"Sure thing, Hancock." Max gives Beth another nod as he steps past her. "Missus Greene."

"Oh, and stop by Amari on your way back," Hancock adds as he steps up to the door. "See if she's got anything to kick the pain."

"Pretty sure she doesn't," Max says sadly, "but I'll see what I can find."

Hancock nods, and pushes the door open, holding it a moment before glancing back at Beth. "Guess I'm supposed to carry you in, but I'll be honest: chances are good both of us would end up on the ground."

[littlemissfutility]

Beth smiles wanly through all the little conversations they wander through. Listening to Hancock answer with some euphemisms is doing nothing for their mood, even if she has to admit that it's pretty effective in getting rid of them. The second you tell these people you want to go have sex, they mostly let you go, it turns out. You just have to tell them that you want to go have sex.

By the time they get back to her place - it's not actually her place, but it's more her place than his - Beth's starting to get a headache herself. This day has been a lot more taxing than she expected it to be. Pretending to be fine, pretending to be happy instead of this mix of embarrassed and homesick and nervous, kind of sucks.

But at least all she has to do is nod back at Max and wait for this to be over.

"I can walk in," she says, since she's pretty sure he's right. He looks more wobbly on his feet than he did a few minutes ago, and he's been touching his head most of the walk over here. And when he closes the door behind them, once they're both over the threshhold, "How do you feel?"

[goodlum]

His answer is immediate. "Like hell." He meanders to the chaise lounge along the wall, loosening his bow tie with one finger as he eases into a seat. He finally pulls off his hat, his mouth cutting a thin line across the many creases in his face, his teeth grinding behind his withered lips. "That feral must've hit me harder than I thought."

And his scratching at his stitches all night hasn't helped -- the chems might have helped dull the throbbing in his head, but they also kept him from feeling when those stitches and the skin around them had reached their limit. He spots specks of blood on the band of his hat first, then along the edges of his fingernails. Given they had to wander through mirelurk-infested sewers and past irradiated ghouls while he was sporting that open wound, and there was only so well they could clean it with what meager supplies they had when they got back to town, he's almost positive there's worse going on than just painful stitches.

His eyes linger on his bloodied nails a second longer before he leans back against the chair, feeling more defeated than he likes. "Shit. Your dad teach you much about dealing with stitches?"

[littlemissfutility]

"He taught me you aren't supposed to scratch them," she says dryly, going over to where she's stashed her things. What she wants are pyjamas - or anything cozy and well-worn enough to take their place - but what she gets is a hair tie. Changing right now, with Hancock right here, feels impossible, even if she closes herself up in the closet to do so. It'd be worse if she did that than if she just stripped right here, almost; it'd call even more attention to her body, all in the process of shielding it from his view. (If it were at all reasonable, she'd be tempted to stay in her yellow wedding dress for the rest of her life. And it's not, so she dismisses the instinct as a stupid one.)

Instead, she pulls her hair back into a ponytail, so it's not hanging in her face when she comes back over to look at his wound. It's ugly, but if she's honest with herself, she thinks all of him is - and she really doesn't know what good stitches should look like on a ghoul. But not like this, probably. Not flushes, and not bloodied by itching at them.

So, standing over him, she touches the stitches lightly with her fingertips, her other hand resting at the other side of his brow. Do the stitches feel warmer? It seems like it to her. The flesh is delicate under her touch, and it seems taut, like something's keeping it from settling back into the same papery wrinkles as the rest of him. That could be inflammation caused by infection. "Does that hurt?"

(She's already bracing for a sharp response - Jesus, fuck, Beth, of course it does. But if the pain's all skin, not headache, she's pretty sure that's a bad sign.)

[goodlum]

As Beth meanders away, Hancock's gaze follow her, though it's more out of idle curiosity than any serious scrutiny. He fights that urge to pick at his stitches again, his fingers curling against his pant leg as he shuts his eyes, attempting to block out the ache emanating from his brow. It's a futile effort. Beth's back and hovering over him before he knows it; he cracks one eye open again as she puts her fingers against him, wincing involuntarily at her touch. In what might be his most uncharacteristic decision of the night, he bites his tongue, keeping a particularly salacious comment about having her hands on him to himself.

Privately, he has to admit that he's surprised at her commitment to all this. Sure, she's had to deal with him tonight, but that was all for show, to make this arranged marriage somewhat believable for Dawn and the folks of Goodneighbor; she helped patch him up when he first got clawed, but that was because he was her ticket out of Grady. She could put up with him less if she really wanted. He expected her to.

But no, Beth's taking the deal and her part in it seriously, more seriously than he has so far. He got them into this, and here he is, trying to forget all about it. It's harder to ignore that nagging guilt when all he's got to focus on are those damn stitches and the headache that came with them.

He twitches again, his brow tightening, pulling the stitches with it. The skin around the thread is hot, irritated to hell and back, his leathery skin bleeding from the stress. The wound needs some medical attention and another, more thorough cleaning, but chances are high they just don't have the resources to spare. When he finally answers her question, it's subdued. He might be out of energy for his usual bluster, but he's still putting on an act for her.

"Yeah. It'll hurt worse in the morning, but that's a problem for then. Not now."

[littlemissfutility]

Beth frowns down at him - more specifically at the stitches and the way he grimaces at her touch. So that's a yes, even before he replies. Her hands drop from his head, and she takes a seat at the end of the chaise. Unconsciously, she smooths out her skirt. It's nervous energy powering her at the moment, along with the awareness that anything that'll actually help him is going to take a while to get. Marriage or no marriage, they're still at Dawn's mercy right now.

At least it's not much of a wound. It could be bigger. It could leave him dead, or so incapacitated that Goodneighbor wouldn't have a leader.

"We could disinfect it." She pauses, thinking of the good vintage. If it's wine, it'll be sweet, and pouring anything with sugar on an infection seems likely to make everything worse. "We just need some moonshine. What kind of booze are they bringing over?"