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

[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?"