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sidewaysTitle: Snapshot
Rating: G
Series: Fallout: New Vegas (original characters)
Wordcount: 635
Summary: Larkin is a slightly less terrible date - but still a difficult partner for someone with long-term inclinations.
Remarks: Vivian continues to belong to Kris.
The bright flash from Larkin’s left startled her enough that she twitched towards a holster, but the only threat to be found was in Vivian’s satisfied smile and the bulky contraption she held in her hands. Larkin tilted her head quizzically.
“Picked up a side job from the Strip,” Vivian said in both answer and greeting, and hefted the camera a little higher. “Some man was looking for photos.”
The neon flames of Gomorrah blazed pointedly in her mind’s eye, and Larkin slowly sat forward instead of returning to her lazy slouch across the warm stone. Her voice was cool as she said, “Kinda prefer to be asked before being a part of that.”
“Why would-” Vivian started, and then screwed up her face. “Ugh, no, not pictures of women. Jesus, Larkin, what do you take me for? Pictures of signs.”
“Doesn’t see enough of ‘em in Vegas?”
“He built most of the ones in Vegas.”
“Huh,” Larkin said, impressed. “Eyeing off the competition, then?”
“Cynic,” Vivian said, and finally moved to climb up beside her, forcing Larkin to shuffle a few inches sideways to make room. The boulder had weathered in a way that made the curved dip across it almost as comfortable as the couches in the Wrangler with their rock-hard cushions. A jacketed shoulder was more comfortable still, though, and Larkin let her weight drift sideways under the half-pretence of peering at the camera. “He’s looking for inspiration. Seemed to think a survey of old world stylings would help.”
Larkin hummed, tucking her chin into the soft leather. Never really understood how Vivian could drop so much on clothing that couldn’t even catch a bullet, but she didn’t mind benefiting from her strange leanings. “You calling me old world?”
“Well I’m not calling you stylish,” Vivian said tartly, and Larkin smothered a smile into her shoulder. A long inhale found the lingering traces of Vegas: cigarette smoke and fermented fumes, the unavoidable miasma of the casinos, and something faintly spicy that said Vivian had taken a moment to indulge in one of her favourite street vendors. Beneath it all was Vivian herself, familiar and pleasing.
Hands turned the camera over, and a thumb rubbed along the Codac printed across the back. “No, this one’s for me. Just…thought a memento would be nice.”
Larkin flicked her eyes up, but Vivian wasn’t looking down; had her gaze turned out towards the wider wasteland and the horizon stretching broad between the hills. She didn’t understand this either: mourning something as hadn’t happened yet. Things came, things went. Seemed a waste of feeling to spend all your time with the former fussing about later.
Already tired of what little melancholy had begun, Larkin pushed herself upright and then reached out to rap a knuckle against the camera. “Give over, then.”
Vivian raised an eyebrow at her. “You want to take a picture?”
“Could get both of us in it.” Larkin held up her hands, forefingers and thumbs forming a speculative rectangle. “I’ll even smile nice for you.”
“Larkin,” Vivian said dryly, “you don’t do anything but smile.”
“Now that is plainly false.” She pulled something sour to make her point, eliciting a snort. “How ‘bout it?”
“Well, if it’s going to be both of us…” Vivian wriggled a little, and then a warm arm draped itself across Larkin’s shoulders, pulling her in snug against her body as Vivian adjusted her grip on the camera and held it out in front of them. “I do have the better reach.”
“Almost like you don’t want a portrait of our nostrils.” She pushed her cap back – drawing her face out of shadow – and curled her arm low around Vivian’s waist. Squeezed lightly, and felt the hold around her tighten in return. Just for a moment.
“Smile,” Viv said, softly.
Rating: G
Series: Fallout: New Vegas (original characters)
Wordcount: 635
Summary: Larkin is a slightly less terrible date - but still a difficult partner for someone with long-term inclinations.
Remarks: Vivian continues to belong to Kris.
The bright flash from Larkin’s left startled her enough that she twitched towards a holster, but the only threat to be found was in Vivian’s satisfied smile and the bulky contraption she held in her hands. Larkin tilted her head quizzically.
“Picked up a side job from the Strip,” Vivian said in both answer and greeting, and hefted the camera a little higher. “Some man was looking for photos.”
The neon flames of Gomorrah blazed pointedly in her mind’s eye, and Larkin slowly sat forward instead of returning to her lazy slouch across the warm stone. Her voice was cool as she said, “Kinda prefer to be asked before being a part of that.”
“Why would-” Vivian started, and then screwed up her face. “Ugh, no, not pictures of women. Jesus, Larkin, what do you take me for? Pictures of signs.”
“Doesn’t see enough of ‘em in Vegas?”
“He built most of the ones in Vegas.”
“Huh,” Larkin said, impressed. “Eyeing off the competition, then?”
“Cynic,” Vivian said, and finally moved to climb up beside her, forcing Larkin to shuffle a few inches sideways to make room. The boulder had weathered in a way that made the curved dip across it almost as comfortable as the couches in the Wrangler with their rock-hard cushions. A jacketed shoulder was more comfortable still, though, and Larkin let her weight drift sideways under the half-pretence of peering at the camera. “He’s looking for inspiration. Seemed to think a survey of old world stylings would help.”
Larkin hummed, tucking her chin into the soft leather. Never really understood how Vivian could drop so much on clothing that couldn’t even catch a bullet, but she didn’t mind benefiting from her strange leanings. “You calling me old world?”
“Well I’m not calling you stylish,” Vivian said tartly, and Larkin smothered a smile into her shoulder. A long inhale found the lingering traces of Vegas: cigarette smoke and fermented fumes, the unavoidable miasma of the casinos, and something faintly spicy that said Vivian had taken a moment to indulge in one of her favourite street vendors. Beneath it all was Vivian herself, familiar and pleasing.
Hands turned the camera over, and a thumb rubbed along the Codac printed across the back. “No, this one’s for me. Just…thought a memento would be nice.”
Larkin flicked her eyes up, but Vivian wasn’t looking down; had her gaze turned out towards the wider wasteland and the horizon stretching broad between the hills. She didn’t understand this either: mourning something as hadn’t happened yet. Things came, things went. Seemed a waste of feeling to spend all your time with the former fussing about later.
Already tired of what little melancholy had begun, Larkin pushed herself upright and then reached out to rap a knuckle against the camera. “Give over, then.”
Vivian raised an eyebrow at her. “You want to take a picture?”
“Could get both of us in it.” Larkin held up her hands, forefingers and thumbs forming a speculative rectangle. “I’ll even smile nice for you.”
“Larkin,” Vivian said dryly, “you don’t do anything but smile.”
“Now that is plainly false.” She pulled something sour to make her point, eliciting a snort. “How ‘bout it?”
“Well, if it’s going to be both of us…” Vivian wriggled a little, and then a warm arm draped itself across Larkin’s shoulders, pulling her in snug against her body as Vivian adjusted her grip on the camera and held it out in front of them. “I do have the better reach.”
“Almost like you don’t want a portrait of our nostrils.” She pushed her cap back – drawing her face out of shadow – and curled her arm low around Vivian’s waist. Squeezed lightly, and felt the hold around her tighten in return. Just for a moment.
“Smile,” Viv said, softly.
