You checked your satchel for what must have been the thousandth time. Five bottles, each one filled with the finest moonshine this side of the Colorado (or east of it, if the rumors of this booze being a Legion special have any truth to them). Tucked between two of the bottles is a note of sale, listing each bottle at 100 caps, sold to a bar in Goodsprings. You hadn’t been to the town yourself, but conversation with passing traders along the highway had painted the town as mostly beneath notice, lacking the glamour of the Sunset Strip, the novelty of Primm, or controversy of Jacobstown. Just a small town full of small town people, which, you think, in a way does make it something unique, given its location. Returning your thoughts to the bottles, you count them one more time and shut the satchel’s flap, continuing your trek across the highway.
There wasn’t much to worry about. With the patrols the Republic had been sending out as of late, the only thing of any harm along the highways were the odd radroaches or ants that crawled out of abandoned buildings to prey on unaware traders. In fact, the roads were so safe that travel became horribly monotonous. Solo travel and hostile wildlife means you couldn’t just hoof it to your destination at top speed. There isn’t anyone around to talk to, save for passing travelers who don’t have the time to stick around. The only thing to do to pass the time is stick your hand down your pants, thinking about the Gomorrah babes you’ll buy with the caps you’re earning, but even that can only be done every thirty minutes or so, and you’ve grown so desperate for new material to keep you going you started giving leery looks to the girl on Sunset Sarsaparilla ads.
Days and days of Mojave travel finally come to an end as Goodsprings looms in the distance. Soaked in sweat from the setting desert sun, you force yourself to walk faster towards the town, relishing the thought of finally getting to stop moving for a while. Luckily, the first building you see is your destination, “PROSPECTOR SALOON” embossed across the building’s front in broken letters ripped from various neon signs. There’s a weathered rocking chair gently swaying in the breeze, but you don’t see any locals around. Wiping the sweat from your brow, you go inside, more falling into the door than pushing it open.
The inside of the bar is slightly musty, a mix of desert dust and age giving the place a strangely home-y feel. Ahead of you, there’s a woman seated at a bare desk, nursing a small glass of what looks like vodka. On the ground next to the table is a large dog, pockmarked with patches of ripped-out fur and scars from God knows what. Quickly, you flip open your satchel and take out the bill of sale. “Hey,” you say, glancing at the paper in your hand, “are you... Trudy?”
She shakes her head. “No, she’s at the bar. Other side of this wall. I reckon you must be the courier she’s been waiting for.” Before you can thank the girl, you hear another voice call out to you.
“Is that courier finally here? Lord above, I thought he’d never arrive. Come here, let’s see what you got!” Turning away from the woman and her dog, you head over to an empty bar, staffed by who must be Trudy. She has a casual air to her, hair a mess like she couldn’t care which way it fell. Waving a hand forward, Trudy offers you a seat at the bar. “I’ve been waiting for that moonshine for ages. Let’s have a look.”
Sitting at a barstool, you pull out each bottle and stand them neatly in front of her. “Five bottles of prime moonshine. 100 caps a bottle, just as agreed. They included the courier price.” You’re more than a little excited to finally be finishing up this deal. Having valuable objects on your person is a good way to attract attention on the roads. Eyeing the goods, the bartender reaches beneath the counter and pulls out a small machine. You’ve seen this before. It’s a Geiger counter.
She gives you a coy look. “Don’t give me that, it only takes one shipment of hot liquor to make anyone paranoid.” She laughs, and after waving the counter’s wand around each container, returns the machine behind the bar, apparently satisfied that this is safe to drink. “Alright, this seems good. I’ll need to fetch my caps before I can buy ‘em. I got good news and bad news. Bad news is that I won’t be able to get you the caps before tomorrow. Good news? I can give you a place to stay and something to eat tonight. You’re looking pretty worn out, anyhow.”
Sighing, and resigned to another night away from home, you thank Trudy for the hospitality. Putting the bottles back in your bag, she tells you that you can sleep in one of the bar’s booths. Not the best lodgings, but after so many nights sleeping in abandoned buildings on top of desks, this is a welcome reprieve. As you turn to decide which booth to call home, she calls you back over.
“There’s something you should know. I don’t want you freakin’ out or something when he comes walkin’ in.” You say nothing, intrigued. “A while ago Sunny over there found some kinda mutant somethin’-or-other wandering around the desert. Like some Mojave fauna, but…” she trails off, thinking of the right thing to say. “...but not quite. I’ll just let him speak for himself when he shows up, but just know that he wouldn’t hurt a fly. Quite the character.” She turns away, busying herself with a busted radio behind the bar.
Not quite? You mull the words over, mind running wild with ideas of what Trudy was talking about. Did someone have a pet radroach? She said he could speak for himself, so maybe she was referring to a Super Mutant. You’ve known there were friendly ones out there after your courier trips to Jacobstown. Maybe one wanted a warmer place to live and chose Goodsprings. That makes sense. Probably warned you so you don’t go running to every trader in the Mojave telling stories about the deranged town harboring a Super Mutant.
By the time you settle into your de facto hotel room, the sun has disappeared across the horizon, sinking Goodsprings into darkness. There weren’t any bar patrons after your arrival. Sunny took her dog and headed back home with Trudy, and after a quick goodbye, you’re left alone in the bar. Trying to avoid images of a feral Super Mutant coming screaming out of the dark corners of the saloon, you lie back in your booth and try to go to sleep. As you begin to drift off, you tell yourself you won’t leave Goodsprings to finish the sale until you’ve met this strange mutant.
Sleeping off your exhaustion, you don’t awake until near about noon the next day. Trudy was already setting up the bar for another day of business. She hardly looks up from the glass she’s cleaning as you sit up, rubbing the sand from your eyes. You exchange pleasantries and ask her where the caps are. From her pocket she produces a small burlap bag, jingling with the sound of caps inside. “Five hundred. Count them if you like, I’ve never been one to go bad on a deal.” Assured she’s telling the truth, you place the bag in a small lockbox within your satchel, and hand over the bottles.
Excusing yourself, you take your satchel and exit the saloon, breathing in the warm desert air. Realizing you haven’t pissed a drop since you’ve arrived, you walk out to some scrub bushes outside of town view and do your business. Back under an open sky, you groan with the thought of the journey back. Maybe sticking around Goodsprings another day would be good for your weary bones. Not like the courier service will notice a day (or two) amiss. Just had to be careful not to miss a week or two, they’ll write you off for dead. Quietly laughing at your own joke, you finish up watering the grass and turn back to the town. Once more you find yourself at the Prospector’s front door, and prepared to ask Trudy for another day of residence, you walk inside.
There it was.
Sitting at the barstool at the far end of the counter, with its muzzle stuck in a magazine, was the mutant you’d been warned about. Seeming to not notice your presence, you couldn’t help but stare gormlessly at the creature. Its form was humanoid, but there was something familiar about it, like you’d seen it somewhere before. Its snake eyes glittered with movement as it scanned the page in front of it. Its head was reptilian, two fangs jutting from its upper jaw, even though its mouth was shut. Two perked-up canine ears twitched every so often, completely at odds with its serpentine head. Going along with its ears is a mane of scraggly fur, traveling down the length of its body, down to its backwards animal legs. It’s wearing a slightly dingy wife-beater, weathered with age. Trailing off the back of its barstool, swaying as if reacting to an unseen breeze, is unmistakably a rattlesnake’s tail. You know what this is! You’ve seen packs of them roaming across the Mojave, though none this size that walked like a man. And definitely none that could read a book. The traders call them “night stalkers”.
A heat rises to your cheeks after you follow the swaying curve of the mutant’s tail back to its body...only to notice that “it” is quite obviously a “he”. Not only is he not wearing any pants, but his package is more than visible where you’re standing. His large sack is covered with the same tan fur that covers the rest of him, and connected to a “sheath”, if the terminology you’ve heard Brahmin breeders use is correct. Suddenly noticing you’ve been staring at this mutant’s balls longer than you’ve been staring at the rest of him, you force your eyes away, towards Trudy behind the bar, who’s only just noticed your arrival.
She quickly rushes over, unnoticed by the bizarre night stalker. “I hope you’re not planning on shooting him,” she whispers, trying to keep the mutant from hearing your conversation. “Like I said, he’s nothing to be scared of. Just a little peculiar, that’s all.”
Bewildered, you can’t help but blurt out the first thing on your mind. “...why’s it not wearing any pants?”
Trudy deflates a bit, probably just happy you didn’t start screaming. After a moment, she rolls her eyes. “I keep trying to get him to dress like a person if he wants to act like one, but he won’t stop baring his goods to the world. I think it’s just in his blood.” Trudy furrows her brow. “Look, I figured you would be clear of town by now. You have the caps, so you’re free to head on back to the courier office. Keep him between us, if you could.” Outside, a man could be heard speaking, along with the soft groans of a pack brahmin. Probably a caravan looking to trade food to Goodsprings. “I need to head out to bargain with those traders. I’ll be back soon if you need anything else.” She moves to leave the bar, but hesitates.
You scratch the back of your head, your mind still spinning from what you’re seeing idly flip pages across the room. “Secret is safe with me. Come back when you’re done talking with them, I still have to talk with you.” Content with that answer, she smiles before heading outside to greet the caravan. She’s a good one, you think to yourself. Wonder how many people she’s had to hide that night stalker from.
A soft thunk brings you back to reality. You look over, only to find the strange night stalker meeting your gaze. His eyes are lazily half shut, like he’s lost in a daydream. Clicking one of his claws on the bar, he shakes his rattlesnake tail idly. The book, what you gather to be the source of the “thunk”, is laying on the countertop haphazardly. He looks at you for a moment, forked tongue flitting from his mouth for a fraction of a second. He picks up a near-full beer bottle from the bar, shifting his legs so he can better face you. You feel that heat surge back to your cheeks as his sack now better faces you as well.
The night stalker breaks the silence. “Courier?”
You nod sheepishly.
“Couriers are my favorites.”
His voice isn’t what you expected. In your mind, you’d figured he would sound like a snake from children’s books, all hissy and rasp. But his is...well, it’s out there. You’ve only heard the male escorts at Gomorrah speak like he’s speaking. Playful, but telling, so to speak. Seems like the serpentine tongue gives him trouble, too, with a nearly undetectable lisp that merely accents his words rather than impede them.
He continues to look at you coolly, as if he couldn’t care what your next move is. “Don’t
just stand there, courier,” speaking the word “courier” as if it was your very name, “I know you’re just dying to chat.” He gestures to the barstool besides him. “Did you really think I couldn’t hear you talking to Trudy? If you wanted to know why I don’t wear pants, you just had to ask.” He grins.
You silently pray that you don’t look as flustered as you feel. Silently, you accept his offer to sit next to him. Heart pounding in your chest, he reaches behind the bar and pulls out a bottle of beer, cracking it open with the edge of the countertop. “I’ll pay her for that later. Here.” The night stalker hands it to you as he gently tosses the bottle cap towards the bar’s register.
“Uh, thanks?”
“My pleasure. Don’t tell Trudy, though, she hates when I self-serve.”
It’s more than a little strange that the mutant is so cavalier. You haven’t said more than a word to him and he’s already bought you a drink. “So, ah, who are you?”
“Night stalker. Or so Sunny tells me.” He pauses for a moment, lost in thought, before continuing. “I’m Scales.” He leans on the word, letting the final ‘S’ dance across his forked tongue. “I think it was supposed to be a pet name. They got used to saying it before they could come up with a real one.” He looks at you for a moment, sizing you up. You feel a small chill as you notice his snake eyes dilate slightly. You’ve never seen anything like them so close. “You look like a Courier to me.”
You laugh. “That’s a job. Courier isn’t really much of a name.”
“Neither is Scales.”
“I guess that’s fair.”
Introductions complete, Scales reaches out his furred hand. “Pleasure to meet you, Courier.” Pushing past your innate aversion to touching mutated wildlife, you meet his handshake. You take a sip of the beer he bought you, hoping he’d take charge of the conversation before you could fill it with awkward questions. You don’t have to wait long before Scales leans in a bit, studying you almost like you wanted to study him. “What’s it like?” You’re taken aback.
“What?”
“The Mojave. You must have seen so much, doing what you do.” You notice he’s propped up on his elbow, not so much looking at you as through you. “I’ve heard there’s army stations just packed with big soldier types.”
“Yeah, NCR stations. See ‘em every so often. What’s so interesting about those?”
He snaps back to reality. “Nothing in particular. Just that I haven’t seen more than a few people at a time. Can’t hardly believe there being so many in one place.”
“I feel like I’ve seen the entire desert by now.”
“Must be nice,” he says, with a twinge of excitement in his voice. It’s not hard for you to understand why. Considering Trudy tried to make sure you never saw him, he probably doesn’t leave town, ever, for fear of being killed. Still, you want to know more about him, so you elect to ask the dumb question to see if he opens up.
“And you don’t try to see the desert for yourself?”
Scales picks at one of his claws as he speaks. “I got real lucky Sunny was the first person to find me. Doubt I’ll get that lucky twice, people are...jumpy. It’s boring, but at least I’m not on a spit.” He flicks his tongue at you. “But I think you’d rather know about me, wouldn’t you?”
You shrug and take a drink. “I thought I would let you lead.” He gets a peculiar expression on his face for an instant before returning to his relaxed self. “I just can’t help but wonder...those fangs work?”
He flicks one of his fangs with his claw. “Oh, they do, and you’ll never believe this one time, when…” he goes, starting off this crazy story about how he tripped and bit the town’s doctor when he was getting inspected, then did it again the very next day. All through his story, he’s trying and failing to keep himself composed, fits of giggles interrupting his descriptions of horrible embarrassment. The way his tail rattles in time with his laughing fits eventually gets you laughing with him. Soon enough, you go for a drink of your beer only to find it empty. Looks like his is gone too. Scales finishes his story, wiping a joyful tear from his eye. “Ah, thanks for giving me the chance to tell that, I’ve been wanting to for a while. Oh, you’re done too.” Scales reaches past you, grabbing your empty bottle in his hand. “Sunny uses ‘em for target practice.”
“I think you’re just trying to hide it from Trudy.”
“Hush.” He snickers to himself. The night stalker shifts his legs again, and gives you his half-lidded look. “Alright, I’ll answer one more question. Why don’t I wear pants?”
You’d almost forgotten he was holding the entire conversation while half-naked. The captivating conversation had kept your eyes from looking down. Just as he asks himself the question, before you can stop yourself, you flick your eyes down to Scales’ furry testicles, just as quickly regaining control of yourself. You feel yourself start to sweat. There’s no way he didn’t see you just do that. His expression hasn’t changed. If he saw, he’s not showing. “Yeah, Trudy told me, you just never do.”
He leans in close, putting an arm around your shoulder. You hadn’t noticed, but he’s a bit taller than you, and when he’s leaning into you? Imposing, to say the least, but he still has that idly amused expression. “Maybe she’s right. Or maybe,” he gives you a sly wink, with a grin to match, “maybe I knew I’d have company.”
The blood drains from your face. Scales is looking right into your eyes, with that same bemused expression. The tongue idly flicking out from between his lips nearly hit yours. Before you can stammer a response, he leans back to his original position, never taking his eyes off you.
Just as he does, the door to the saloon creaks open. Trudy returns from her trade deal, dissolving the tension in the air. She seems less guarded than she was before she left. “I thought I heard you two laughin’ up a storm in here,” she greets, “reckon you’re fine with him then.” You quickly look at Scales, who has finally stopped giving you a leery stare. You shakily laugh and not, not really sure how to react to what just happened. “Great. You said you wanted to talk about somethin’?”
You’re glad for a change of subject. You lift yourself off your barstool, stretching before you speak. “I’m really not looking forward to the walk back. Could I stay overnight in Goodsprings again?” It was true. One night on a bar booth’s leather cushion hadn’t done much to fix your aching legs, but maybe two nights would do the trick.
“Well,” she looks up at thin air, going through the options in her head. “I can’t let you stay in the Prospector again. Chet and the doc are meeting me here tonight to go over the supplies we just traded for. Just can’t do it. Actually…” She looks up again. “There’s one place with room for more people in Goodsprings tonight. There’s an abandoned gas station just up the hill. It’s Scales’ place.”
Of course it was.
“But I don’t want to go renting out other people’s houses.”
Scales, back to his usual singsong voice, reassures, “He’s welcome to stay as long as he likes. No caps, either, not like I’m using the space.” He gives you a warm smile, as if to show off how hospitable he’s being to Trudy.
“You good with that, Courier?”
You mull it over in your head for a second. While you’re still feeling pretty weird about how your conversation with Scales ended, you DO still want to sleep somewhere decent tonight. Plus, if it gets weird again, nothing’s stopping you from just leaving. You silently pat yourself on the back for thinking it all through. “Works. Thanks for having me.”
She heads back behind the bar. “Then it’s settled. I have to start hauling that stuff I bought in here.” As she gets behind the countertop, Scales stands up and heads for the door.
As he walks, his rattle-tipped tail sways hypnotically in time with his stride. Forcing yourself to look away, you can’t help but notice he’s quite a bit more animated now that you’re staying with him. He waves his goodbye to Trudy as he nears the door. “I have an extra mattress he can use. I’ll start getting the room set up.” Wait a minute. THE room?
You hear Trudy groan with annoyance, jerking her head up. She’s staring daggers at the night stalker, still sauntering out. “I told you to stop taking drinks when I’m gone!”
Scales shrugs. “The courier looked thirsty! I’m not cruel, Trudy.”
She looks back at you. “You’re gonna help me move all those supplies while Scales sets up the gas station. Should about cover your tab.” She looks in turn to Scales. “And, Lord, if a guest won’t make you put on some pants, nothing will.”
Now it’s your turn to glower at the night stalker. He’s halfway out the door, but leans his head back into the saloon just to give you a wink.
You’re pretty sure Trudy bought out the entire caravan. There were so many boxes and sacks lined with stims, food, booze, and ammunition. You’re not sure if the general store owner, Chet, bought any firearms to sell, but you figure if he did they’d do their best to hide firepower from the rogue wastelander they’d only just met. Still, even without the guns, just hauling all the gear into the Prospector Saloon took you nearly the entire day.
Chet and Doc, the town physician, were both pleased to hear that you’d decided not to run for the hills upon seeing Scales. Still, as you were his guest for the night, you tried to squeeze any information you could about him from the other townspeople. Between hustling boxes full of pre-war cola, you managed to glean that everyone in town knew about him and liked him, for the most part. Doc was interested in keeping him around for scientific reasons, though even he noted how friendly he was. From all accounts, he was a model citizen. Nothing close to how he’d acted towards you. What made you so special, you wonder?
You don’t have much time to consider Goodsprings’ account of Scales before the sun draws closer to the horizon, bathing the town in brilliant orange. You’re thankful when you go outside to fetch another bunch of supplies only to find your work complete. Trudy and the others thank you for your help. There’s a basin behind the saloon you use to wash clean the day’s efforts. Grabbing your satchel, caps enclosed, you bid farewell to the others and get on Goodspring’s main road. You can see the gas station Trudy was referring to at the top of the road, and you set up the way.
It’s an old Poseidon Energy station, presiding over shattered asphalt through boarded-up windows. If you weren’t told this was where you’re meant to go, it’d be easy to assume no one had been here in years. Shifting the satchel on your shoulder, you walk up to the station’s heavy steel door and knock. As you knock, you notice the area around the door’s handle has several light scratch marks crisscrossing the surface, the only damage that looks to be somewhat recent. You hear shuffling inside, then the door swings wide.
Scales stands in the doorway beaming. “I’m so glad you decided to stay!” He stands against the swung-in door and gestures to the gas station’s interior. “Come in, come in!” You thank him, hurrying in the door. He shuts it behind you, sealing off the gas station from the dying sunlight, save for a few cracks in the window boards. With a few lamps carefully placed around the room, it’s slightly dimmer but still quite comfortable.
Getting the chance to look around, you place your satchel against one wall as you survey Scales’ home. It’s not very big, consisting of two squat rows of shelves from the gas station’s store long since destroyed, a wide entryway, and an alcove walled off by what used to be the cashier’s area. Scales had made the area behind the cashier’s counter his bedroom, with a flat, stained mattress topped by a thin blanket serving as the bed. There were a few books and magazines on the counter’s shelves, mostly well-worn Lad’s Lifes and La Fantomas, among others, bookended by quite a few pre-war books in good condition. There’s a half-read Taeles of Chivalry lying on his mattress, which you must have interrupted by knocking.
The store’s shelves are speckled with boxes of food and cookware, lying out in the open. You see your mattress just outside the cashier alcove, with another blanket and pillow sitting folded on top. You note with amusement the unkempt pile of boxes, undershirts, and general odds-and-ends hastily pushed into the corner by the entrance. Must have been a pigsty here before you arrived.
Scales interrupts your observation. “Here’s my place. There’s your bed over there, and I’ll be right here.” He points to each bed in turn.
“Thanks, Scales.”
When you turn to thank him, you see that he’s swapped out his old undershirt for a new, crisp one (about as crisp as one could expect in a town like this). You don’t let yourself make the same mistake, and you only check after he looks away: still no pants. You’re not bothered very much by it, considering it’s his house, but you still can’t shake the bar conversation out of your head. If you haven’t forgotten it, he definitely hasn’t. He’s doing it on purpose.
You give him a thankful smile as you pick up your things and move over to the mattress on the other side of the room. There’s a small pile of reading material by your bed, too. Guides to survival in the Wasteland, mostly, but with one or two more fictitious selections from Scales’ personal library. “Where did you get these?”
He raises a brow. “Mm? Oh, the books. I scrounge enough caps and ask Chet to buy me some when traders come ‘round. They’re easy to get without leaving town. Gave you some in case you get bored.” With that answer, he walks around to his mattress and lies down, grabbing his half-open magazine and resuming his reading.
That work you did during the day exhausted you more than you realize. The second you sat down on your mattress, you felt like you wouldn’t ever be able to stand up again. Resting your back against the wall, you thumbed through the reading selections Scales gave you. After minutes spent reading synopses on the backs of the books, you end up just picking a hardcover at random. You don’t get far; you’re so tired that after only a page or two of overlong flowery descriptions the words seem to start swimming around in front of you, your exhaustion ruining your focus. Still, you try to continue reading the best you can...just one more page...before you call it for the day…
You awake with a start, disoriented. By the lack of light shining through the window, it must be the dead of night. Instinctively, your hand rushes to your satchel, checking to see if your payment is still in your possession. After a quick once-over, and after confirming you have the caps, you sit up and take a look around. The lamps have all been snuffed out, save one, still barely live enough to be considered lit. In the silence, you hear Scales’ slow, steady breathing coming from behind the counter. You kick off your blanket, only to think that you can’t remember covering yourself with it in the first place. Giving a look at Scales’ slumped over form, you crack your back, stand up, and go to get some fresh air.
Walking around the back of the gas station, you take a look at the night stars and think about the dream you were having. You felt a little strange just reminiscing about it. It was Scales, and you, back in the saloon. His hand was on yours, and you’re sharing a drink with him. It still seems like you can still feel his hand. Heavy, and warm. You’re talking about nothing much in particular, like your dream didn’t bother to fill in unimportant details. You just remember how he looked at you, how he squeezed your hand as he did, and the way he tilted his head, staring dreamily at you whenever you spoke. It made your heart flutter then, and it does now. You’d never felt like this before. You weren’t a stranger to cheap flings after nights in Vegas, but you hadn’t looked at any of them like you looked at dream-Scales. In the dream, after a long night of sweet conversation, knowing looks, and surreptitious touches, you leave the saloon, hand in hand. You turn to go, but he pulls you back into his arms. You look up at his eyes, and his sly smile. He felt like the warmest thing you’d ever touched. He leaned in, moving his lips closer to yours. Even in a dream your heart quaked with confusion and desire, fighting to decide how you really felt. Their battle still unresolved, you can’t do anything but close your eyes, draw a breath, and let him pull you into a deep kiss. He gave you but a moment before he snaked his tongue into your mouth, filling you with his taste. You returned his affection, mingling your tongue with lustful fervor. You only pull away to breathe before diving back into his love. The way he squeezed your back in a tight embrace, the way his fur tickled your chest, the way his smooth scaly lips felt on yours drove you wild. You still felt confused, but deep inside you knew you didn’t want anything but this. Your brief separations with the night stalker let you see his lust-clouded eyes that seemed to be trying to look at all of you at once, his gaze flitting forth from your lips to your eyes. You loved the way he felt, smelled, tasted, but nothing compared to the way he looked at you. He wanted you even more than you could want him. Pushing forward into his embrace, you resolved to give as much of yourself as he wanted...
Your hands gently reach into your waistband without your bidding. Your breaths come shallow, your eyes falling shut. You can’t remember ever being this hard. Your hands slowly work up and down your shaft, already staining the front of your pants with pre. Your heart beat faster and faster as your imagination runs wild with Scales’ kiss. Your knees feel weak, and you lean hard against the wall of the gas station for support as you pleasure yourself. Your labored grunts grow as you stroke, becoming moans you try and fail to stifle. Your mind endlessly replays your wet dreams over and over again, driving you mad with need. You know you’re close, just seconds away from bursting. At last, you give up on your futile attempts to silence your groans. Just so close---
“Ah! Scales!”
“...Courier?!”
Your breath holds in your chest as your eyes fly open. Scales is standing by the corner, lifting a lamp that illuminates his wide eyes. He doesn’t move a muscle as you frantically pull your hand from your pants, cheeks burning with shame.You stammer out, “I-I’m not, uh--”
He raises a brow. “I think you were.”
“...”
“And enjoying it, too.” He starts taking steps towards you. You hope he can’t see the tent you’re pitching, still begging for attention. “I was starting to worry I had you pegged wrong.”
You look up, furrowing your brow at him. “...what?”
“Thought by the way you were lookin’ at the goods that you were dropping hints. Nice to see I was right, thought I don’t blame you for not being more forward, me being me and all.” He’s only a step away from you now, all trace of shock gone from his face.
Your pulse quickens once again. “You’re...into me?”
He can’t stop himself from laughing a little bit. “I told you couriers were my favorite, didn’t I?” He offers his hand to you.
Still you hesitate. You feel so exposed, so ashamed that he caught you doing what you did. Still mortified, you get a thought germinating in the back of your mind. He admitted he was trying to pick you up at the saloon, he caught you moaning his name behind his house, and here he is, still trying to woo you. You start shakily deciding what to say, and you refocus, only to see your hand already in his.
Scales squeezes your hand tightly in his, grins, and pulls you into his chest. “Tell you what, Courier. I’ll help you with your...problem…” he says, slowly rubbing your crotch with his free hand. “But, there’s one condition.”
You have to admit, just his hand on the outside of your pants feels so much better than yours did on the inside. “What’s the condition?”
“You gotta tell me what I was doing to you in your head.”
Before you can respond, he turns around and heads back toward the corner, towards the gas station door, pulling you along as much as walking with you. You’re more than a little excited to be going along with all of this, like you’re breaking some rule. You find yourself smiling, giddy with anticipation as Scales creaks open the door and pulls you inside. He places his lamp on the dusty countertop, quickly moving around the room to light two more. Behind the counter, he pauses for a moment, then grabs your thin mattress, dragging it on top of his to stack the two. He takes you by the hand again, and drags you to his bed.
Scales stretches his arms and gently lies down on the bed, releasing your hand. As he does, you hear his tail rattle, and see it caress your leg as it slides past. You fumble with your pants for a moment, then his hand snakes past yours, pulling them down in one swift motion. Scales pats the spot on the bed next to him. “Cold outside. Come warm up, Courier.” You oblige, climbing into bed, your heart rate skyrocketing.
Just as you slip off your shirt, Scales suddenly rolls over on top of you. He rubs his hand up your exposed chest, gazing into your eyes as he does. He wasn’t lying: he really IS warm. He’s a weighted blanket giving you bedroom eyes. You bask in his touch for a moment before you feel him shift his body, rubbing your cock against his fuzzy sheath. “You owe me a story, cutie.”
Getting called a pet name makes your cheeks turn red, but you still comply. “It was, uh, you and me, and we’re at the saloon…” you stutter out.
Scales smirks. “Mmmm, I remember.”
“...and we’re leaving together, you grab me, and we, ah...kiss.”
“Just kiss?”
“For a while...with some tongue.”
“No one breathily moans about some tongue.”
You look down for a moment. “Fine, a lot of tongue.”
Scales lets out a sigh. “This is gonna be easy.” He grabs your shoulders, planting his lips on yours. You grunt in surprise, before leaning back and letting him have his way with you. He wriggles his furred arms behind your back to pull you up into him as his tongue dives deep into places of your throat you didn’t even know you had. You don’t bother trying to stop yourself from moaning into his mouth, letting the night stalker make your dreams come true. Your hands push between your bodies to play with yourself, but when your hands find just as much of Scales as they do of you, you can’t help but roll his sack in your hands as well.
You only play with him for a few moments before you feel him arch his rear up, then back down, slowly humping against you. He starts to mirror your moans, pushing his crotch into your hands harder with each passing thrust. The memories of your wet dream fade away, replaced with the real thing, every bit as arousing as you thought it would be.
Your cock is already rock hard, any pre beading at the tip immediately rubbed out onto Scales’ grinding fur. You can feel the tip of Scales’ own member peeking out of his sheath. You’d be weirded out if you weren’t so turned on, and you instead gently ring your finger on the edge of his sheath, teasing his cock to come out all the way. Your stimulation at both ends is making the night stalker just as horny as you are, and it’s only seconds before you feel the rest of his pointed member escape the confines of his sheath. A perverse thought filling your head, you gently trace your fingers down his shaft until you arrive at a bulbous round base, confirming your lewd suspicion. Feeling your touch, Scales reluctantly pulls his tongue from your throat and leans back, giving you a sly glare. “I hope that doesn’t scare you, Courier.”
You do your best to look unimpressed. “A little variety doesn’t scare me.”
“Alright then.” Scales rolls off you, then sits up, resting his back on the inside of the counter. He rolls his shoulders, spreading his legs at the same time. His pale pinkish cock is standing stock straight, a single drop of precum rolling down into the fur of his sheath. Scales flashes a quick look at his cock before looking at you. “He wants a kiss too.”
You nibble at your lip looking at his manhood, but you’re struck with apprehension. “I’m not sure I really…” you trail off.
“Suck cock? Promise you’ll love it.” He gripped the base of his cock with one hand, lightly shaking it back and forth to entice you.
“What if I don’t?”
“You can stop whenever you want to stop.” His tongue flicks out of his mouth as he pauses. “You won’t.”
Steeling your nerves, you lie in front of him and take his prick in your hands. It’s burning with heat, and you can feel his heartbeat throb it in your hands. “Just start at the top. Taste it,” Scales encourages, “The pre’ll be salty. It’ll taste right.” You take a breath, and feeling his eyes on you, you open your mouth and take just the tip of Scales’ cock in.
Pulse pounding, you rub your tongue over Scales’ tip, tasting the bead of precum that had formed. It was saltier than you thought it would be, but, you had to admit, despite the gooey texture, it wasn’t as bad as you were afraid it was. You’d always wondered what yours tasted like, so this was just ending a years-long curiosity. Feeling the pre’s taste dilute and disappear in your mouth, you return your attention to Scales’ cock. It’s a little bigger than yours, but not by much, and it’s covered with a masculine scent that fills your nostrils. You find yourself breathing deeply of him, light hints of sex surrounding his animalistic, earthy musk. You can’t get enough, and after a few lungfuls, you realize you’ve taken more than just his tip in while you were distracted. You hear a light groan above you, and you gaze upwards at Scales to see him contentedly moaning to himself. “See? It’s not so bad.” Seeing him pleased pushes you to keep going, but before you can, you feel that same salty taste fill your mouth again. He’s spurted out another few droplets of precum. It’s not the most pleasant taste, but the thought of him filling your mouth with it in just because you’re making him feel good turns you on.
Letting the taste dissipate, you take in more of his shaft, being sure to take quick glances up, cock still in mouth, to make sure he’s enjoying what you’re doing. You work yourself into a rhythm, bobbing your head slowly up and down his shaft a few times, looking up at his leering face like it was giving you permission to go further, and running your tongue around him, mouth awash with another spurt of night stalker precum. Then repeat, only a touch further down his length. Your mind dances with the thought of pressing your face to his crotch and feeling his entire cock in your mouth. Your carnal cycle repeats, again and again, and the farther you take him in, the more pre leaks out. With your face just an inch or so from his fur, the drops of pre leaking from his cock become a constant stream, an endless leak that floods your mouth with his taste. There’s too much for you to handle, and some drips from your lips and down his cock, and still more slides down your throat as you come up for air. Its powerful taste makes your eyes roll in your head, and your hand slip to your own stiff prick.
You hesitate just as you near the base of Scales’ cock. It feels like you’re taking a step, somehow. Seems like Scales’ has noticed you stop, as you feel his clawed digit push upwards underneath your chin. You move your gaze up, and lock eyes with the night stalker staring you down. “You’re nervous about taking the whole thing first time, I can tell,” he coos, “but don’t worry. We’ll do it together.” With the last word, you feel his heavy hand on the back of your head, pushing down towards his groin. You resist for only a second before you take a breath, relax your throat, and let him guide you to the base. The knot is so much harder to take into your mouth than the rest of his length, but with the gentle pressure he provides, just relaxing your mouth is enough to allow his pre-slicked knot to slip past your lips. You hold it there for a second, basking in the feeling of finally getting to his crotch, before you try lifting your head.
The knot slips out easier than it went in. Just as it gets past your jaw, however, Scales’ pushes gently once again. Closing your eyes, you let him take you back down to his base, instead focusing on his intoxicating musk, his salty pre, and the way he makes your mouth feel so full. Then again. And again. Again. You quickly lose track of each time your head is shoved down to his base, and you just bask in the sensation. You’re snapped back to reality by the sharp hiss of Scales sucking air through his teeth, and you feel the pressure at the back of your head abate. Your eyes fly open, and you look up to see Scales look like he’s in ecstasy. “Gonna…” he groans, but you don’t need to hear him finish his sentence to know he’s seconds from blowing his load. The thought brings some rosy color to your cheeks. You made him cum?
You try to choke out ‘what should I do,’ but you just end up gargling on his cock. At your panicked sounds, Scales’ eyes stop rolling around his head, giving him a moment of lucidity. He grabs your hair, lightly pulling your face off his crotch, stopping you just as his shaft fully leaves your mouth. His tip out of your grasp, his other hand dives for his cock, grabbing it at the base... and pointing it right at your face. He wildly moans, giving a few hard, quick strokes of his knot.
You can’t even protest before the first jet of thick seed sprays from his throbbing cock and onto your shocked face. You just have time to squeeze your eyes shut as another white-hot rope of cum soaks your head, the viscous liquid lazily dripping down to your chin. Spurt after spurt, your head becomes crisscrossed by Scales’ cum, your face burning with the heat and your ears filled with the noise of the night stalker’s grunts of pleasure. The claw holding your head slips beneath your chin, holding your head up as the last few remnants of Scales’ explosive orgasm splatter across your lips.
You hear a soft thunk as Scales leans back hard onto the shelf behind him, and you open your eyes to see his chest heaving up and down with labored breaths. His tail rattles, almost inaudibly, twitching in time with his softening cock. You slide two of your fingers across your lips, a thin line of jizz stretching out when you remove them. Your heart burns with indignance once you get a moment to think. He didn’t even ask you if you wanted a facial. “SCALES!” you cry, wanting to give him a piece of your mind.
He cracks open one eye, taking another huge breath as he looks you over. Completely unfazed by your yell, he just stares at you for a second. “You look good covered in cum.”
“...thanks?”
“Oh, anytime, Courier.”
“What do I do with this?”
“Are you not gonna lick it off?” You glare at him. “Maybe next time.” He struggles for a second, sitting up. He quickly pulls off the undershirt he’s wearing, balls it in his hand, and quickly uses it to wipe off most of his cock before gently tossing it to you. Suppressing a disgusted look, you take his shirt and start wiping off your face as best you can. It takes longer than you think it would, and when you finish, a quick glance at the now-soaked shirt brings a heat to your own untended prick. You just let another guy nut all that over you, the thought was exciting. You throw the well-used shirt in the corner of the room, looking back to see Scales coming into grab you.
He locks lips with you again, rubbing his now bare, furred chest against yours. You take the initiative, rubbing your still-hard cock against his, now halfway back into his sheath. He laughs into the kiss, running his hands down your chest until he grabs your cock. Pulling his lips from yours, he gives you one more quick peck before slowly turning your back to him, then leaning your back onto his chest. Both of his arms cross your chest, playing with your dick. You feel his hot breath in your ear as you lightly spread your legs with his.
“You don’t drip nearly enough,” you hear him mutter, as he reaches one claw back behind you. You feel him shuffle behind you, then a second later he returns his claw to your cock, and you can see it in the lamplight right before he grabs you with it: he took the leftovers from his own orgasm as lube. You don’t get the chance to react to his improvisation before he’s already slicked up your member with it, his fingers dancing across your cock forcing a moan from your mouth.
Scales starts slowing sliding his clasped hand up and down, his seed making him glide across your flesh. His head leans in beside yours, and as he strokes, you hear him whisper, “Wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of me to not get you off too, would it?” You grunt a weak, lustful response, your toes curling as his rough, padded paws dance across your sensitive cock head. You see a bead of your own pre form, but his moving hands cause it to quickly disappear amongst his cum.
As he continues to work you to climax, your pre mingles with his, and it’s not long before you’re a jittery mess, fighting to hold on just a few more seconds, just a few more strokes. You can’t believe how good it feels, his warm body against yours and his strong hands on your dick. You find yourself struggling both to finally release the frustration you’ve had pent up since the night began, and to stave it off just a little bit longer to feel Scales on you for another minute.
The night stalker titters in your ear, teasing you for your attempts to hold out. He keeps stroking with one hand, his grip tightening, while the other moves south, gently fondling and squeezing your sack. Rolling your balls between two claws, he leans into your ear and barely whispers, “Let go.” His voice drives you wild, eroding away any resistance you could muster. With a moan, your legs bucking, you reach your orgasm, a pearl stream of jizz erupting from your cock, immediately splattering back down onto Scales’ fingers. He continues massaging your balls, coaxing out more cum from inside to coat your loins with. In climactic bliss, you can hear the faint shshsh of his tail shaking, the creature behind you delighted that you listened to his command.
You pant heavily as you feel your orgasm ebb, your heart still pounding in your ear. You’re nearly limp in Scales’ arms, feeling like you could just melt into the floor. As the last pulse of seed comes dribbling out of your dick, Scales wraps his arms around your torso and rests his head on your shoulder, listening to your breathing. Exhausted, you fall to your side, and he’s content to fall with you, keeping his embrace as you lie spent on the mattress.
He wiggles his arm beneath your head, and you gratefully rest on it. When he lets loose a huge yawn next to your ear, you idly realize that you probably didn’t have the energy to get up even if you wanted to. When you feel his contagious yawn spawn one of your own, you resign yourself to sleeping right where you are, and despite being naked, he’s warm enough for the both of you. Nearly asleep already, you croak out, “Hey, Scales?”
He doesn’t stir. “Mmhmm?”
“This was better than my dream.”
“You’re not...too shabby yourself,” he says, wavering in and out of consciousness.
“Good night, Scales.”
He yawns again. “Night. Love you.”
Your heart leaps, but before you can say anything back, you hear faint snoring, and it’s only seconds before you join him.
After a night free of dreams, you awake to the golden glow of the Mojave sunrise peeking through the gas station’s boarded up windows, splaying sunbeams across the room. A dull pang of soreness across your jaw conjures up memories of the previous night. You try to roll over on your side to look at Scales, only to find him already awake. He’s on the other side of the counter, humming jauntily as he stirs a small metal pot on a hotplate. The station is alive with the smell of what Scales is cooking, and you can tell it’s some kind of meat, probably a preserved steak.
Scales hears your rustling, and cuts off his humming. “Morning, Courier. Sleep well?”
You struggle up to your knees, peeking your head over the counter to see Scales smiling down at you. “Yeah, never better.”
You hear his tail rattle a moment. “Never seen someone so used to the wet patch before.” He seems to ignore your grunt of disgust as you look down at the bed you just stood up from. When you look down, you realize you’re still buck naked. Your hands drift in front of your groin, covering up your shame from Scales, who seems unfazed. “Oh, don’t do that, honey. You aren’t hiding any big secret from me. Besides, I’m not wearing anything either.”
A quick glance at Scales’ shirtless chest confirms that he’s not wearing anything at all. “It’s different with you. You don’t wear clothes anyways.”
He yawns, distorting his speech “Well, my house my rules. Pants stay off if you want this breakfast I made you.”
In the back of your mind you know he didn’t really mean it, but you decide to play along with his game. It was kinda warm in here, anyhow. Reluctantly dropping your hands to your sides, you stand up fully, hoping Scales doesn’t give your junk any side-eyes. You’re not sure whether to feel relieved that he didn’t give you a side-eye or annoyed when he instead just flicked his gaze between your eyes and your bare balls once or twice, then winking. “You win. What did you make?”
“Salisbury steak.” Bingo. “Not really a ‘breakfast’ food but I have a taste for the stuff.” He pulls the pot off the stove, fishing a pre-war steak covered in gravy out. He slices it in half before setting it out onto two scuffed plates. One for you, one for him. Getting out a pair of forks, the two of you start to eat, leaning against the counter as you do.
“This is great, thanks.”
“Oh, it’s no problem.”
You eat in silence for a few moments, mustering the energy to ask the question you’ve had since you woke up. “About last night…”
“What about it? I had fun. You seemed like you did too.”
“Did you mean what you said?”
Scales gives you a mischievous grin. “Of course. You looked good with a facial. Accentuates your features.”
You blush, but you know he knows what you’re talking about. In the silence, you know you have the chance to drop the subject, but him trying to cover it up just makes you want to know more. “I meant before you fell asleep.”
For the first time since you’ve met him, Scales looks unsure. He drums his claws on the counter, the rhythmic clicking the only noise in the room. He takes a breath, preparing to speak, before letting it out again. He does this again, but this time, “I was tired, I didn’t mean to make you uncomfortable, you being new to this sort of thing and all.”
“That’s not what I asked, Scales.”
He sighs. “I know.” He looks back up at you. “I didn’t mean to say it, Courier…” a pause. “...but I...I meant it.”
Your heart beats hard in your ears, pulse rising with excitement. He said “love you” and meant it? You don’t think anyone had ever said that to you outside of Mr. New Vegas’ radio station. The weirdest part is, it didn’t make you uncomfortable. Even though a week ago you wouldn’t really have given much thought to guys, much less wasteland mutant guys, one slept with you and made you food the morning after out of nothing more than attraction. He really did mean it.
“That’s sweet.”
He squints. “Really? You’re not uncomfortable?”
You do your best to give him a reassuring smile. “Flattered, actually.”
“Do you feel like that?”
The question gives you pause. In your mind, it was just an extraordinary fling. Couldn’t really tell much from a single night of confused passion, could you? In your heart, however, you couldn’t deny that you wanted to answer yes. You know he desperately wants to hear it. Hell, you slept with him for the same reasons he slept with you, and now you’re having a casual heart-to-heart with Scales while you’re both nude. You never did know much about love, and it wasn’t easy to come by in the Mojave, but how far could it be from this?
You bite your lip out of anxiety before you respond. “Yeah. I think I feel the same way.”
The biggest grin you’ve ever seen spreads across his face. He quickly rounds the counter and snatches you up in a bear hug, squeezing you in his arms as he sighs happily. You’re a little surprised by his quick hug, but you have to admit, it feels pretty good. You find yourself resting your head on his shoulder for a few moments, and you’re disappointed when he finally pulls away. Before letting go of you, he gives you a quick peck on the cheek, and your face turns red.
You return to your steak, spirits lifted, as Scales goes around the room fetching clothes for the both of you. By the time you finish, he’s setting a haphazard pile of shirts and pants on the countertop. Thanking him, you dress yourself before going for your satchel. Behind you, you hear Scales putting on another undershirt and cleaning the dishes from the countertop.
You rifle through your satchel, confirming that you still have the 500 caps you need. You kneel down, rearranging your supplies for the trek back before slinging the bag over your shoulder. You grunt with annoyance at how hot the air in the station already is. It’d be a scorcher for the return trip. Resigned to a miserable, sweaty day, you rise from the ground, cracking your back as you do.
You turn to find Scales looking at you funny. “Courier, do you really have to go?”
Shrugging your shoulders, you try to give the night stalker an apologetic look. “No choice. Have to finish this package and move on.” It was true. Courier service didn’t much like the thought of someone running off with their caps. “Don’t worry. I’m sure I’ll have another package to Goodsprings in no time.”
He sighed, looking at the ground for a moment. Suddenly, his eyes widened, his ears perking up with excitement. “Can I come? I don’t have to stay in town, after all. I could walk you back to the courier station, and if it doesn’t work out, I’ll just stay in Goodsprings next time you have a package to take here.” Scales was almost bouncing. You don’t think you’ve seen someone so excited before. “I’ve always wanted to explore more of the Mojave. Might even see more night stalkers!”
Scratching your chin, you think about how things would go if you take him with. You stay together, camp out under the stars between days of travel...your thoughts start to turn. Someone sees an as-yet undiscovered mutant breed, assumes he’s like most of the other mutants in the area, they pull out their gun…”No. Soon as someone sees you they’ll shoot you. It’s what everyone here was scared I would do to you.”
He seems unfazed. “You could teach me how to shoot. You’ve probably done it once or twice. I’m a quick learner.”
“I...don’t think shooting everyone who sees you is the right idea. I’d rather they just didn’t see you.”
“Hold on, Courier. I have an idea.” Without another word, Scales turns around and starts rifling through his boxes, tossing opened crates to the side in a mad rush to get whatever he thought of. You try to tell him to stop, but he just shushes you and goes back to searching. A minute or two goes by before he laughs triumphantly and pulls from a crate a bundle of sand-colored cloth, dusty with age. He unfurls it across the floor, coughing as he shakes the accumulated sand out of it.
You watch in fascination as Scales takes the larger section of cloth and folds it all around his body. Some up over the shoulders, loose draping across his legs, with other slightly-different scraps of cloth making up for where the first piece couldn’t cover. The rest of the cloth he swirled around his head, hiding his muzzle beneath a wrapping of thin textile. He covers his ears next, flattening them beneath his complete headscarf.
You’re amazed as he uses some knots and bobby pins to secure his outfit. You’d seen wasteland traders that looked quite a bit like he does now. The full body covering means the only thing anyone could see of Scales would be his reptilian eyes, but you’d have to be right next to him to see those were out of the ordinary. Besides a small tent at his butt, you couldn’t tell he had a tail either. In fact, most people would probably just assume he was a ghoul. “Where did you learn to do that?”
Scales gave a nervous laugh. “I’ve seen a lot of traders wearing stuff like this. Loved the look. I had Chet buy me a set of cloth for my own. Never got to really use it until now. Is it good enough?”
You can’t help but happily sigh at how much Scales wants to go with you. If he wants to go and he has the gear to keep himself hidden, why not? “Yeah. You could pass for a ghoul as long as nobody looks too closely.” You pause before you offer him. “You, uh, sure you really want to do this? It’s dangerous out there.”
Even through his shawl, you could make out Scales’ signature bemused expression perfectly. “Better dangerous out there with you than safe in here alone.”
“Alright, you win. Let’s go.” You realize he’s not carrying anything. “...pack light.”
Scales pulls a rucksack from behind his countertop, sides pockmarked with heavy creases from disuse. He grabs a few spare shirts (and trousers after you badger him), stuffs them into his pack, and works on getting his travel supplies. A few cans and boxes of food, some bottles of water, a small pouch of caps. Nothing but the bare necessities. You help Scales store the stuff he’s not taking with him back in the metal crates, then watch as he slips the strap of the rucksack over his shoulder, slinging it across the back of his desert wrappings. “Alright, Courier, I’m ready to head out,” he says, pushing the last crate of his things into the corner, “you first. Let’s stop by the saloon before we go. Should probably tell Trudy where I’ve gone.”
Scales heads out the door, giving one last backwards glance at the gas station. It’s hard to tell what he’s thinking, considering you can’t see his face. Excitement? Nervousness? You don’t get much time to think about it before he’s out the door, leaving it open for you to follow.
Shielding your eyes from the morning sun, you follow Scales down the broken road leading to Goodsprings proper. Just to test Scales’ outfit, you hang back for a moment, seeing what he looks like from a distance. The only tell that he’s anything but human is his gait, which you figure is due to his inhuman legs, but still he’s well disguised from a distance. Hurrying to catch up, you stick by his side as the two of you walk into town. Besides a few settlers tending to their brahmin, it’s a fairly quiet morning. Scales has a spring in his step as he hops up to the Prospector’s porch, boards creaking under his weight.
The saloon’s since been cleared of all the trader goods, leaving it looking just like when you first walked in. Save for the humming someone is doing along to the radio, there’s no sign of anyone else in the building. The two of you walk up to the bar, where Trudy is cleaning a glass. She gives an odd look at you, then at Scales’ getup. “What’s with the trader gear?”
Scales pulls the mouth covering of his scarf down, exposing his face. “That’s why I’m here. I wanted to let you know that I’m going with the courier for his return trip.” He sounds confident. You were expecting some waterworks, you could at least make fun of him for that later. “I’ll be back next time he takes a package to town.”
Her face is hard, not moving a muscle, until she at last sighs, shoulders drooping down in a gesture of defeat. “I haven’t been able to stop you from doin’ anything else before. Doubt I could stop it now. You got everything you need?” In response, Scales lifts the strap of his bag, letting the weight it has falling back down speak for itself. “Alright. Stay safe now. You’ll still have a place back here if this whole thing doesn’t work out.” She gives him a reassuring smile.
Her face turns to caution as she addresses you next. “You keep him safe, you hear me?” Her warning is soft-edged, with a strange sense of caring to it that you didn’t expect. “Don’t let anyone see him without that covering on, it’ll just mean trouble.”

Nodding, you shift your stance and get ready to head out the door. “It’s alright. This trail is one of the safer ones, he’ll be back in no time.” A small part of you hoped you wouldn’t have him back as soon as you claimed. After all, you’ll finally have some company on the road.
With your final goodbyes, you and Scales head out, leaving the saloon ready for your journey. At the entrance to the town, you check your map, and once you’re sure of your path, you start walking. You’ve only walked for a few minutes before something niggling at the back of your head forces you to bring it up. “Scales?”
He keeps looking on ahead. “Mm?”
“I think she knew.” The way Trudy had spoken to you made it seem like she’d known all about what you two had been up to the night before.
He raises a brow, but keeps walking with snorted laugh in response. “About you and me? Course she knew.”
“She’s got to be perceptive to pick up that you and I’d...well, slept together.”
You can’t see it past his scarf, but you know from his eyes that he’s grinning ear-to-ear. “I don’t think it’s intuition.” He looks down at your chest. “You’re wearing my shirt.” You can feel yourself blush, your face a burning bright red as you look down to confirm that you are, in fact, wearing one of Scales’ shirts. You must not have noticed in your haste to get dressed. That poor woman, what she must have thought. Scales waits to revel in your embarrassment before changing the subject. “So, Courier, where we headed?”
You try to forget about what he just told you. “You ever heard of Primm?”
He stares into space for a moment. “Roller coaster town? I’ve always wanted to see it.” You’re surprised anyone could forget that little detail.
“Roller coaster town. The courier station is there. We’ll stop there, take the payment to the seller, then back. Sound good?”
He laughs, tail shake-shake-shaking away. “You make it sound easy.” The two of you walk in silence for a moment, the wind whipping across the road the only sound you can hear. “...how far is it, actually?”
You give him a sly grin. “Always longer than you think it’ll be.” As the town of Goodsprings shrinks to a pinpoint on the horizon behind you, you flip open your satchel as you walk, twiddling with a small radio in a side pouch. Static noise fills the air as the radio crackles to life, just catching the middle of a song.
Scales tilts his head, eyes widening in surprise. “This one’s my favorite, Courier.” He begins to hum along with the song, and with the whole open trail ahead of you, someone else at your side, you feel good enough to hum right along with him, and as you hum, you hope the journey would be longer than you thought it’d be.
“Let’s ride into the sunset together
Stirrup to stirrup, side by side
When the day is through, I’ll be here with you
Into the sunset we will ride.”

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Pub: 29 Dec 2020 21:56 UTC
Views: 493