eantheshowgirl:
rose-of-sharon-cassidy:
eantheshowgirl:
Ean motioned for Cass to link arms with her, wearing a smile that imitated Benny’s own smarmy one.
“Tell you what, freckle-face,” she said in a smooth tone, “I bet that charming son-of-a-gun is out here looking for you right now,” she didn’t stop her beat, “He’d be expecting a little awkward girlie, come only to find a gorgeous little minx.”
She could see Cass blushing, but she pressed on, “Come on. Let’s go do something fun, doll. By the time we’d get back, he’d be so starved for attention, he’d actually compliment you in your pretty gown.”
Rose of Sharon Cassidy was a violent little thing. Benny had often times been on the receiving end of her rage, mainly because he had always done something to piss her off. With the name Ean called her, she almost swung. But, she knew that would lead to nothing.
She linked her arm with Ean’s, sighing as she kept on. The last comment made her blush and she wasn’t even drunk enough to use that as an excuse. The girl was fucking smooth, Cass would give her that. Being a part of the Tops was probably the best place for her. She was either born with that same Benny charm, or learned it while she was here. Either way, it could be dangerous.
“Fun? What the fuck is there to do for fun around here? I mean, aside from the obvious of fucking with Benny?”
Ean chuckled, she loved Cass’ temperament. She always liked the redhead; she was honest, never held anything back, it was a welcomed break from the prim and polish of the casino she lived in.
“Well,” she began, “We could always watch a show up in the Aces, I hear Hadrian’s on. He’s a hoot that one, favorite out of the whole thing. Or…” she counted off her suggestions with her fingers, “We could scurry on up to my suite and have some of the finest whiskey this side of the Mojave.”
Cass cocked her eyebrow, a cue for Ean to explain herself, “Don’t look at me like that, darling. Tommy wanted a pretty young thing to shake her charlies up on stage every Wednesday night, and I needed some booze. It was a fair trade off I might say.”
“Besides, I know you want to get Benny back for all… this,” she referenced her little make over, “And where these charlies go, Benny goes. Way of the Wastelands.”
They stood near the front desk now, literally at a crossroads for passing their time, “Don’t tell Benny this though, but I’ve been having little pangs for adventure lately. He won’t even let me out of the Strip without someone watching over. I know he means well but,” a sigh, “I just miss the old days, dig?”
Everyone knew about Benny’s little problem, but none spoke about it in earshot. His drinking problem led to wordvomit, and wordvomit lead to real vomit and real vomit sometimes led to well goddamn, I don’t remember anything about that caper, doll the following afternoon.
But he did not look the part of a disgusting alley-dwelling drunk, that was for certain. Maybe that was why the whispers were kept locked away, behind private doors. The gossip was there and was like a silent wildfire, spreading and consuming without anyone outside certain circles cluing in.
This was the third or fourth night in a row when he exited his suite in the Tops smelling like one half strong liquor and the other half cloying cologne. His facial expression and verbal responses were nearly flawless for a drunk trying to play sober, but some things you just can’t hide.
And even those false reactions fall at the drop of a hat when you see something out of the ordinary.
And then your guard drops.
And then you stumble.
And then you wonder if you are seeing pink Deathclaws or if you’re seeing something like Cass in a feminine dress with curves all in the right places. Because that’s what he saw.
His mouth curled into a grin and he raised his eyebrows.
“Why helloooooo dollface…”
rose-of-sharon-cassidy:
bennyandthetops:
Benny willed himself to let his mind take over. He hoped that he didn’t show a damn thing. A groggy sleep and a slightly-inebriated mind probably didn’t conceal those gecko-brained thoughts and actions that were buried deep, though.
He breathed deep and shook off the last of it. “Yeah, doll. I’ll be fine.”
Getting up would be a good idea. No, a great idea. A great idea if it weren’t for the fact that they would depart today. Benny was averse to the idea of having to leave all of this behind to trek into the Bumfuck Wastes for what could be a wild goose chase.
But if there was something… something even bigger than Vegas? Something more prosperous? He was going to have it before that goddamn mailman would. The vast divide of what used to be called the United States was unexplored, uncatalogued, unknown. There had to be something. But all he saw when he was out there were savages and Deathclaws.
He sat up, turned around, and put one foot before another on the floor. The usual routine. Drag out of bed, put on clothes, style hair, and light the first cigarette of the day.
She had time to do a lot while he was getting ready. He was more like a woman than she was. His hair had to be perfect, along with his suit. Cass took the chance for a shower before she was forced to roam the wastes.
It was her turn to sit under the water until the warmth left. Oh, if only she was that melodramatic. It didn’t take her long to be cleaned up and sitting back on Benny’s bed while he moved around the room, gathering his things and dressing in his suit. She felt it was rather stupid but she wouldn’t say anything.
She moved back to the couch, pulling her hair back. “Hurry up, you primadonna.”
Benny rolled his eyes. “Hey, y’know, a gent’s gotta look his most ring-a-ding.” He silently seethed inside, not happy about the prospect of bidding Vegas adieu — or compromising his baser instincts, for that matter.
Maria in his inside coat pocket? Check. Hair in place? Check. Satisfied? No. He clenched his teeth together with closed lips, rolled up one of his pant legs, and strapped a weapon on his calf that had proven to be more effective at getting the job done.
Compromise was a dirty word. For now, he made a tenuous peace with it. Every day was one step closer to letting that cease, if he played his cards right. All the comforts were at hand, and yet, so far away. He swore he’d experience them right this time, after this whole wandering gig with the glorified mailman was over.
For now, he slung his bag over his shoulder and hit the lights on the way out.
“Ciao — for now.”
I’m basically doing the equivalent of shift work (school) for the next thirteen weeks. I’m up early, up late, probably sleeping in the afternoons past three. Please let me know so I can make the effort to be on more often. :)
Thanks!
Patton (Benny)
rose-of-sharon-cassidy:
bennyandthetops:
In his dream, he was cocooned and warm in something soft. The lights of Vegas flashed before his eyes slowly and then he looked up. Stars. You really couldn’t see them on the Strip. They became brighter once you moved further and further away, out into the wild wastes, out where proper civilization hasn’t stepped foot in countless years.
But there they were, amongst the garish neon and the sour luck.They used to navigate him back to a cliffside, a camp, another notable landmark. He didn’t have to worry. This was home. He had found it. No need for the sky. Today, he declared himself a champion. Today, the Mojave did, indeed, walk to him. Today…
He awoke to find Cass curled up on his side, hand on his naked chest.
There are some broads that are just off-limits. They set those rules mutually, as he considered her a good friend. He didn’t have many of those. In fact, most people talked behind his back, spread rumours, ogled from afar, whispered tales. Cass wasn’t like that. The one thing he appreciated about her was her unbridled honesty.
Even a Dishonest Don needs a confidante.
It was a choice between his biology or whatever brains he had left in there, and they were at odds.
She noticed when he woke up. His breathing changed and his heart skipped a beat. Again, Cass was waiting for him to shove her away and tell her that he was fine. That he could take care of himself. But she knew better. After so many years of knowing each other, he needed someone to make sure he didn’t do anything stupid. She knew what he needed but she would never say.
Cass sat up then, resting on her elbow and she looked up at him. Her free hand moved through her hair, pulling the tresses from her face. “Feeling any better?” She hoped that at least his headache was gone. He hadn’t shoved her away in anger so the pain had to have subsided.
She knew she should move. That Benny and her had no boundaries but this was too familiar. And could only lead to a bad thing. In reality, it wouldn’t be so bad. And something they both needed. Not that they would ever admit it.
Benny willed himself to let his mind take over. He hoped that he didn’t show a damn thing. A groggy sleep and a slightly-inebriated mind probably didn’t conceal those gecko-brained thoughts and actions that were buried deep, though.
He breathed deep and shook off the last of it. “Yeah, doll. I’ll be fine.”
Getting up would be a good idea. No, a great idea. A great idea if it weren’t for the fact that they would depart today. Benny was averse to the idea of having to leave all of this behind to trek into the Bumfuck Wastes for what could be a wild goose chase.
But if there was something… something even bigger than Vegas? Something more prosperous? He was going to have it before that goddamn mailman would. The vast divide of what used to be called the United States was unexplored, uncatalogued, unknown. There had to be something. But all he saw when he was out there were savages and Deathclaws.
He sat up, turned around, and put one foot before another on the floor. The usual routine. Drag out of bed, put on clothes, style hair, and light the first cigarette of the day.
rose-of-sharon-cassidy:
bennyandthetops:
Eventually the water grew colder and colder until he couldn’t sit there anymore. With disappointment, he cut the water and dried off. With a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else, he walked to the wardrobe beside the bed. Cass was sleeping (or at least pretending to sleep). Good.
For once, he didn’t feel like getting dressed. Usually he’d dress to the nines and turn heads. Now, it was only a pair of underwear and ungelled, soaked hair. That’d probably turn some heads too if he was outside his quarters. This was not Average Benny. Average Benny would have nearly strand locked in place and every wrinkle starched out. Hungover Benny just crawled back in bed and hoped to sleep off the lingering reminders of last night.
He’d get the bastard when he woke up. With limbs outstretched and violating Cass’ personal space with one of his legs, he drifted off into nothing.
Cass hadn’t meant to go to sleep. Honestly, she was waiting for Benny to get out of the shower and then convince him to pack. But damn his bed was fucking comfortable. When he moved beside her to get some kind of clothes, she vaguely remembers looking up at him. He was naked, as to be expected but he didn’t seem like he was getting ready to go anywhere.
Next thing Cass knew she was waking up curled up with him. Deja vu. At least waking up beside a nearly naked Benny wasn’t accompanied with a hangover. But she felt lethargic and just did not want to move. Her head stayed on his chest, listening to his heartbeat. It was a lot more sturdy than hers.
She waited for him to wake up. Hungover Benny was most likely going to shove her away when he woke up. So, the redhead was going to take what she could get before they ended up back in the “I don’t want to leave Vegas” fight.
In his dream, he was cocooned and warm in something soft. The lights of Vegas flashed before his eyes slowly and then he looked up. Stars. You really couldn’t see them on the Strip. They became brighter once you moved further and further away, out into the wild wastes, out where proper civilization hasn’t stepped foot in countless years.
But there they were, amongst the garish neon and the sour luck.They used to navigate him back to a cliffside, a camp, another notable landmark. He didn’t have to worry. This was home. He had found it. No need for the sky. Today, he declared himself a champion. Today, the Mojave did, indeed, walk to him. Today…
He awoke to find Cass curled up on his side, hand on his naked chest.
There are some broads that are just off-limits. They set those rules mutually, as he considered her a good friend. He didn’t have many of those. In fact, most people talked behind his back, spread rumours, ogled from afar, whispered tales. Cass wasn’t like that. The one thing he appreciated about her was her unbridled honesty.
Even a Dishonest Don needs a confidante.
It was a choice between his biology or whatever brains he had left in there, and they were at odds.
rose-of-sharon-cassidy:
bennyandthetops:
Benny grumbled as he took off his wrinkled and dirty shirt and walked towards the bathroom. He flung it backwards towards Cass, who had to dodge to keep it from hitting her face and the open bottle of whiskey.
Off went his pants, kicked back softly in the doorway.
He swore that motherfucker would pay, as he turned on the shower and stepped in it. Immediately he sunk down and had his back against one end of the tub. He closed his eyes, tilted his head up, and let the water hit him in his tired face. It felt refreshing and soothed the pain a little.
Benny propped up his arms on top of his bent legs, and placed his head face-down. The water dripped from the loose, dark strands of hair in front of his eyes. He swore he wasn’t going to get up until the last drops of warm water ran out.
Cass caught the shirt, taking another drink of whiskey. Yeah, he was in a pissy mood. She threw the shirt in the corner with the rest of the clothes he had. Along with his pants when he managed to take those off.
She went to the door of the bathroom and leaned against the frame as he started his shower. She trusted him not to drown himself but… he was not exactly in a better mood. And with a hangover, he had a tendency to pass out wherever he sits. But, he seemed alright. At least for now.
She made no noise or bothered to let him know she was there. He didn’t have anything she hadn’t seen before. And truth be told, she wouldn’t be against having it again. But they had fallen so far into friendship that wouldn’t happen. When she was satisfied that he wasn’t asleep, she went back to lying in his bed.
Eventually the water grew colder and colder until he couldn’t sit there anymore. With disappointment, he cut the water and dried off. With a towel wrapped around his waist and nothing else, he walked to the wardrobe beside the bed. Cass was sleeping (or at least pretending to sleep). Good.
For once, he didn’t feel like getting dressed. Usually he’d dress to the nines and turn heads. Now, it was only a pair of underwear and ungelled, soaked hair. That’d probably turn some heads too if he was outside his quarters. This was not Average Benny. Average Benny would have nearly strand locked in place and every wrinkle starched out. Hungover Benny just crawled back in bed and hoped to sleep off the lingering reminders of last night.
He’d get the bastard when he woke up. With limbs outstretched and violating Cass’ personal space with one of his legs, he drifted off into nothing.
rose-of-sharon-cassidy:
bennyandthetops:
The last thing he softly but bitterly muttered before passing out was “I better…”
____
Benny awoke the next morning with the worst hangover one could imagine. The sunlight flashed through the white curtains. He buried his head in the pillow and groaned. Never a morning person himself, this just made it worse. The sunbeams were like arrows to the head.
He also swore he heard the loud sounds of a radio coming from downstairs, possibly outside — with the sounds of an annoying twat of a man and some ghoul exchanging lines. The way that man read his lines was insulting. It was like that fucker was out to poke a little fun at his expense.
Benny threw the covers off and marched towards the window. He thrust open the curtains, angrily yanked up the window and yelled towards the voices, “IS THAT CLOWNSHOES MOCKING ME?”
Opening the window was a mistake. They became louder. And the sunlight became brighter. His stomach clenched and the faint taste of bile crawled up his throat. Drinking to hysteria was a mistake, too.
Cass had been drinking for so many years, she was practically immune to hangovers. She often drank until she passed out and woke up right as rain and better when she had a drink in her.
What she was not immune to was her best friend screaming at something. She woke up with a jerk, opened her eyes to see that he was standing by an open window. Knowing him, he was in the midst of a terrible hangover. The last thing he needed was loud noises and sunlight. She moved out of the bed and over to him, slamming the window shut and pushing him away from the window. “Go to the bathroom and clean yourself up before I beat the shit out of you.”
She then turned and closed the curtains, doing her best to shut out the sunlight. Cass moved to her jacket, pulling out a bottle of whiskey and taking a drink. As the burn went down her throat, she felt better. She’d have to figure out another way to get whiskey up here. Because she wasn’t about to leave him alone.
Benny grumbled as he took off his wrinkled and dirty shirt and walked towards the bathroom. He flung it backwards towards Cass, who had to dodge to keep it from hitting her face and the open bottle of whiskey.
Off went his pants, kicked back softly in the doorway.
He swore that motherfucker would pay, as he turned on the shower and stepped in it. Immediately he sunk down and had his back against one end of the tub. He closed his eyes, tilted his head up, and let the water hit him in his tired face. It felt refreshing and soothed the pain a little.
Benny propped up his arms on top of his bent legs, and placed his head face-down. The water dripped from the loose, dark strands of hair in front of his eyes. He swore he wasn’t going to get up until the last drops of warm water ran out.
rose-of-sharon-cassidy:
bennyandthetops:
He moved back to the bed, still eying the blade that delivered the last blow to his former life. A turn forwards and backwards, admiring the remnants of finality. The perfectly-placed grooves in the handle, almost molded to the shape of his hand. He placed it on the nightstand and sighed.
“Ah, Cass. At least you get it.”
Their histories were similar — both came from tribal, nomadic backgrounds. No one else in their motley crew had the understanding of the harsh life of a pack wanderer. Most have been removed from that life by at least a couple of generations. They thought it was all ritual and funny-looking outfits — a caricature.
He kicked off his shoes and outstretched his legs. His jacket was unbuttoned and lazily laid open on one side.
“This had better be worth it.” Benny rested his head on the flattened pillow, looking in Cass’ direction drained and defeated. “You can stay here if you want.”
Of course she got it. They had similar backgrounds. Though, she did have to force him to reveal said background one night over drinks. She stayed where she was, waiting for him to return to the bed. She really did not like the thought of him fighting anything with a knife. He said that he managed to kill the man but how long ago was that?
He laid down like he was going to sleep, seemed she had finally talked him out of being angry. Now, he just looked defeated. She moved and laid down beside him, resting her head on her arms. “Nothing will be worth Vegas in your eyes, love. But maybe once he’s settled out there or scratched that itch, you’ll be allowed to come back here and get back to sitting around the Tops and hitting on unsuspecting women.”
The last thing he softly but bitterly muttered before passing out was “I better…”
____
Benny awoke the next morning with the worst hangover one could imagine. The sunlight flashed through the white curtains. He buried his head in the pillow and groaned. Never a morning person himself, this just made it worse. The sunbeams were like arrows to the head.
He also swore he heard the loud sounds of a radio coming from downstairs, possibly outside — with the sounds of an annoying twat of a man and some ghoul exchanging lines. The way that man read his lines was insulting. It was like that fucker was out to poke a little fun at his expense.
Benny threw the covers off and marched towards the window. He thrust open the curtains, angrily yanked up the window and yelled towards the voices, “IS THAT CLOWNSHOES MOCKING ME?”
Opening the window was a mistake. They became louder. And the sunlight became brighter. His stomach clenched and the faint taste of bile crawled up his throat. Drinking to hysteria was a mistake, too.
rose-of-sharon-cassidy:
bennyandthetops:
“If he has an itch to scratch, why don’t he scratch it himself?”
One long drag after another, and before he knew it, he had depleted half a pack in a row. This was number eleven. Walking the lands he used to walk on, talk on, talk shit on, got shat on was going to be a burden.
“I guess that’s his idea of revenge. Braaaaaavo.” he snarled, taking an angry puff. “That’s his job, adventurin’ and such. As for me, I’ve got all of this! I’m not dead, AND, I run things the way they oughta be run in my little slice of paradise.”
He dug through his wardrobe and pulled out a well-used combat knife, old and dried blood still marking the blade. “When I killed that big ol’ bastard, I thought that was going to be the end of all of that.”
“I cannot answer why he wants to drag you along. Aside from… Benny, you shot the man in the head to try and gain control of Vegas. Maybe he fears something like that happening again. Or maybe he just wants you around. You’re a good friend. …most of the time.” Cass smirked as she watched him start digging through his wardrobe.
When he pulled out the knife, her smirk faded. “I know you did, Benny. And I wish there was some way I could keep you here and happy. You know I would give anything for that. But nothing I say or do will help. All I get to do is sit here and watch you be torn apart.”
He moved back to the bed, still eying the blade that delivered the last blow to his former life. A turn forwards and backwards, admiring the remnants of finality. The perfectly-placed grooves in the handle, almost molded to the shape of his hand. He placed it on the nightstand and sighed.
“Ah, Cass. At least you get it.”
Their histories were similar — both came from tribal, nomadic backgrounds. No one else in their motley crew had the understanding of the harsh life of a pack wanderer. Most have been removed from that life by at least a couple of generations. They thought it was all ritual and funny-looking outfits — a caricature.
He kicked off his shoes and outstretched his legs. His jacket was unbuttoned and lazily laid open on one side.
“This had better be worth it.” Benny rested his head on the flattened pillow, looking in Cass’ direction drained and defeated. “You can stay here if you want.”
rose-of-sharon-cassidy:
bennyandthetops:
“Why the hell does that chump want to go out there?”
Benny fished out a pack of cigarettes and lit one. He twirled it in between his fingers nervously, watching the smoke cascade into swirls.
“We all know what’s out there — a big pile of dirt, bozos in skirts, Deathclaws and nothing. Trade Vegas for THAT? Hah! What a crock.”
She turned, resting her back against the headboard. “Adventure, Benny. He is getting restless and wishes to see more of the world. I can understand that. Only thing keeping me here is you.” She pulled her knees to her chest, still looking down at him. Cass was worried. He swore to her he would never go back. Ever. And now, he had no choice.
“We don’t know what is out there. No one crosses the Mojave to go to the Wastelands of D.C. From what I remember, the Brotherhood is out there as well. I would have to speak to Veronica about that.” She shrugged, trying to play it off. Years of dealing with Benny had only scratched the surface of his hatred of living as a nomad.
“If he has an itch to scratch, why don’t he scratch it himself?”
One long drag after another, and before he knew it, he had depleted half a pack in a row. This was number eleven. Walking the lands he used to walk on, talk on, talk shit on, got shat on was going to be a burden.
“I guess that’s his idea of revenge. Braaaaaavo.” he snarled, taking an angry puff. “That’s his job, adventurin’ and such. As for me, I’ve got all of this! I’m not dead, AND, I run things the way they oughta be run in my little slice of paradise.”
He dug through his wardrobe and pulled out a well-used combat knife, old and dried blood still marking the blade. “When I killed that big ol’ bastard, I thought that was going to be the end of all of that.”