night walking (incomplete)
May. 4th, 2017 01:20 pm![[personal profile]](https://www.dreamwidth.org/img/silk/identity/user.png){kind=small}
sidewaysTitle: Night Walking
Rating: PG
Series: Fallout New Vegas AU (original characters)
Wordcount: 1156
Summary: Modern high school AU, mostly because Why Bloody Not. The working title was 'useless lesbians'.
Remarks: This is ju-u-ust shy of completion, but it might as well be stored here in the meantime. Vivian is Kris' in perpetuity, and Ryker is Gray's.
Her phone buzzes sharply, three times, but when Vivian flips it over to look at the screen there’s nothing in the call history. The modern day equivalent of pebbles clattering sneakily against the window. She has to laugh, under her breath.
Penny’s curled with her book on her bed, very pointedly not watching, but when Vivian shrugs her jacket on she finally rolls over to shoot big doe eyes in her direction. “Dad won’t like this.”
“So don’t tell him.” She pauses though, guilty on behalf of the one opinion she still cares for in this place, smile slipping to something more serious. “You’re gonna be alright on your own? You can say no.”
The doe eyes give way to high offense. “I’m thirteen.”
And never sounds it more than when she says it like that. Fondness bubbles up suddenly and she lets impulse lean her over to plant a kiss against the side of her sister’s head; she draws back to find Penny eyeing her with something puzzled and a little pensive.
“What?”
“Nothin’,” Penny says, and sticks her book back up in front of her face, not quite quick enough to hide the smile. “Go on then. Go have fun. With your girlfriend.”
The yes mom sticks hard and ugly in her throat, and she’s not really my girlfriend doesn’t come any easier, so Vivian just says, “Oh, you better believe we will,” as low and filthy as possible, and ducks out the bedroom door before Penny can sling a pillow at her.
She takes the spare key from the bowl on her way out, counting on Dad tossing his own in there without looking too closely after a late shift; doesn’t want to make an accomplice of Penny by having to call to be let in at four in the morning or whatever, and it’s a lot easier for one person to go creeping around the apartment in the dark. Shifty instinct drives her to jog the stairs six storeys down as well, haunted by the idea of ending up stuck sweating in an elevator with a neighbour nosy enough to ask Mr Baker where his daughter was heading so late at night, all alone, and dressed so indiscreet!
Probably no one in this shitty complex cares, but small-town living is hard to shake.
She makes it out the main door without seeing another living soul, though, just a TV turned up too loud on one floor and a baby crying distantly on another. One of the lights out front is blown, casting the world into even more convenient shadow as she slips along the short path to the perpetual dawn of the city street.
They’re waiting for her under a streetlight a little way down to the left, one standing and one daringly perched on the flimsy trash-can stapled to its side, legs swinging loose. Their heads turn towards her in unison, a synchronised response that only makes the contrasting expressions even funnier; like theatre masks, identical but for a smile and a frown.
The scowl is clarified as Ryker calls, “Hurry it up, hayseed,” down the street, and just for that Vivian slows to a saunter, letting her hips sway as she approaches. Nearly turns her ankle on an uneven bit of paving, but it’s worth it for the way both expressions grow in response. She likes this jacket for a reason.
“Well hey, stranger,” Larkin drawls, sliding off the bin as she reaches them, and because impulse and the wild reality of what she’s doing are still fizzing close under her skin and Ryker’s still glaring and there’s nothing at all subtle about the way Larkin’s looking at her, Vivian grabs her by the straps over her chest – overalls, she honestly despairs sometimes – and pulls her in hard for a kiss that goes too deep for polite company.
Ryker makes an exaggeratedly disgusted sound, but propriety definitely isn’t high in Larkin’s mind given the way her mouth opens in response and her hands clamp tight over her hips. It’s good, it’s always so good, and plans be damned Vivian could spend the rest of their night testing the limits of this particular activity alone.
A half-minute or half-eternity later Ryker huffs in a more genuinely frustrated way, though, and socks Larkin in the back hard enough Vivian feels the impact as their teeth clip together. It’s Larkin who pulls away, eyes moving towards her sibling; her smile’s still there but there’s a dazed edge to it now, and Vivian would feel smug about this accomplishment if only she could be sure her own smirk hasn’t gone a little goofy.
“Alright, alright,” Larkin is saying, loosing her grip, and Vivian lets her go with marked reluctance.
“What’s the rush anyway?” she says, though, come to think on it, making out in eyesight of the building her dad could come back to at any moment may not be as good an idea at it seemed at first glance. The tingle in her lips and warmth in her belly is kind of hard to regret even so. “The fair goes all night, don’t it?”
“Oh, the exhibition goes non-stop,” Larkin says, all Las Vegas brat, “but Rye doesn’t reckon Christine’ll hang around much past ten.”
Vivian’s worked hard to shed her New Girl status, so she doesn’t like that the name rings zero bells. “Christine?”
“In special needs with us,” Larkin says, as casually unashamed about it as the first time it came up. The twins can rig phones that self-erase messages as soon as they’re sent, but Vivian’s seen their essays; a sharp middle schooler could beat them in literacy. “Deaf or the like.”
“Mute,” Ryker says, and Larkin waves a hand as if to say, just so.
Vivian’s looking closer at Ryker now, and – she’s not dressed up, exactly, the way people usually do, but there’s something a little sharper about the way she looks, hair maybe a little neater, and definitely something a little defensive in the side-eye she gets in response. Vivian smiles, broad and toothy. “Oh, I see.”
“Is that why you tripped?” Ryker says, bland.
Larkin cheerfully plants a hand against her sister and shoves, following close behind, and as they finally start moving down the street she says over her shoulder, “You’re part of the plan.”
“There’s a plan?” Vivian says.
“No,” Ryker says.
“Yes,” Larkin says. “I am over the pining. We will go, we will find Christine. She and me-” meaning Vivian, or at least she hopes, “will be great big queers next to you. You will be officially sighted as both okay with it and probably a great big queer yourself because of genetics or whatever. Your opening will be made, and then you can go make out in a haunted house.”
“Seriously, that's the plan?” Vivian says, not sure whether to laugh or return to despair.
“Yes,” Ryker says, sounding despairing enough for them both.
Rating: PG
Series: Fallout New Vegas AU (original characters)
Wordcount: 1156
Summary: Modern high school AU, mostly because Why Bloody Not. The working title was 'useless lesbians'.
Remarks: This is ju-u-ust shy of completion, but it might as well be stored here in the meantime. Vivian is Kris' in perpetuity, and Ryker is Gray's.
Her phone buzzes sharply, three times, but when Vivian flips it over to look at the screen there’s nothing in the call history. The modern day equivalent of pebbles clattering sneakily against the window. She has to laugh, under her breath.
Penny’s curled with her book on her bed, very pointedly not watching, but when Vivian shrugs her jacket on she finally rolls over to shoot big doe eyes in her direction. “Dad won’t like this.”
“So don’t tell him.” She pauses though, guilty on behalf of the one opinion she still cares for in this place, smile slipping to something more serious. “You’re gonna be alright on your own? You can say no.”
The doe eyes give way to high offense. “I’m thirteen.”
And never sounds it more than when she says it like that. Fondness bubbles up suddenly and she lets impulse lean her over to plant a kiss against the side of her sister’s head; she draws back to find Penny eyeing her with something puzzled and a little pensive.
“What?”
“Nothin’,” Penny says, and sticks her book back up in front of her face, not quite quick enough to hide the smile. “Go on then. Go have fun. With your girlfriend.”
The yes mom sticks hard and ugly in her throat, and she’s not really my girlfriend doesn’t come any easier, so Vivian just says, “Oh, you better believe we will,” as low and filthy as possible, and ducks out the bedroom door before Penny can sling a pillow at her.
She takes the spare key from the bowl on her way out, counting on Dad tossing his own in there without looking too closely after a late shift; doesn’t want to make an accomplice of Penny by having to call to be let in at four in the morning or whatever, and it’s a lot easier for one person to go creeping around the apartment in the dark. Shifty instinct drives her to jog the stairs six storeys down as well, haunted by the idea of ending up stuck sweating in an elevator with a neighbour nosy enough to ask Mr Baker where his daughter was heading so late at night, all alone, and dressed so indiscreet!
Probably no one in this shitty complex cares, but small-town living is hard to shake.
She makes it out the main door without seeing another living soul, though, just a TV turned up too loud on one floor and a baby crying distantly on another. One of the lights out front is blown, casting the world into even more convenient shadow as she slips along the short path to the perpetual dawn of the city street.
They’re waiting for her under a streetlight a little way down to the left, one standing and one daringly perched on the flimsy trash-can stapled to its side, legs swinging loose. Their heads turn towards her in unison, a synchronised response that only makes the contrasting expressions even funnier; like theatre masks, identical but for a smile and a frown.
The scowl is clarified as Ryker calls, “Hurry it up, hayseed,” down the street, and just for that Vivian slows to a saunter, letting her hips sway as she approaches. Nearly turns her ankle on an uneven bit of paving, but it’s worth it for the way both expressions grow in response. She likes this jacket for a reason.
“Well hey, stranger,” Larkin drawls, sliding off the bin as she reaches them, and because impulse and the wild reality of what she’s doing are still fizzing close under her skin and Ryker’s still glaring and there’s nothing at all subtle about the way Larkin’s looking at her, Vivian grabs her by the straps over her chest – overalls, she honestly despairs sometimes – and pulls her in hard for a kiss that goes too deep for polite company.
Ryker makes an exaggeratedly disgusted sound, but propriety definitely isn’t high in Larkin’s mind given the way her mouth opens in response and her hands clamp tight over her hips. It’s good, it’s always so good, and plans be damned Vivian could spend the rest of their night testing the limits of this particular activity alone.
A half-minute or half-eternity later Ryker huffs in a more genuinely frustrated way, though, and socks Larkin in the back hard enough Vivian feels the impact as their teeth clip together. It’s Larkin who pulls away, eyes moving towards her sibling; her smile’s still there but there’s a dazed edge to it now, and Vivian would feel smug about this accomplishment if only she could be sure her own smirk hasn’t gone a little goofy.
“Alright, alright,” Larkin is saying, loosing her grip, and Vivian lets her go with marked reluctance.
“What’s the rush anyway?” she says, though, come to think on it, making out in eyesight of the building her dad could come back to at any moment may not be as good an idea at it seemed at first glance. The tingle in her lips and warmth in her belly is kind of hard to regret even so. “The fair goes all night, don’t it?”
“Oh, the exhibition goes non-stop,” Larkin says, all Las Vegas brat, “but Rye doesn’t reckon Christine’ll hang around much past ten.”
Vivian’s worked hard to shed her New Girl status, so she doesn’t like that the name rings zero bells. “Christine?”
“In special needs with us,” Larkin says, as casually unashamed about it as the first time it came up. The twins can rig phones that self-erase messages as soon as they’re sent, but Vivian’s seen their essays; a sharp middle schooler could beat them in literacy. “Deaf or the like.”
“Mute,” Ryker says, and Larkin waves a hand as if to say, just so.
Vivian’s looking closer at Ryker now, and – she’s not dressed up, exactly, the way people usually do, but there’s something a little sharper about the way she looks, hair maybe a little neater, and definitely something a little defensive in the side-eye she gets in response. Vivian smiles, broad and toothy. “Oh, I see.”
“Is that why you tripped?” Ryker says, bland.
Larkin cheerfully plants a hand against her sister and shoves, following close behind, and as they finally start moving down the street she says over her shoulder, “You’re part of the plan.”
“There’s a plan?” Vivian says.
“No,” Ryker says.
“Yes,” Larkin says. “I am over the pining. We will go, we will find Christine. She and me-” meaning Vivian, or at least she hopes, “will be great big queers next to you. You will be officially sighted as both okay with it and probably a great big queer yourself because of genetics or whatever. Your opening will be made, and then you can go make out in a haunted house.”
“Seriously, that's the plan?” Vivian says, not sure whether to laugh or return to despair.
“Yes,” Ryker says, sounding despairing enough for them both.
