Charon (ghoulnotzombie) wrote in thedustlands, @ 2013-09-16 09:29:00 |
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It still wasn't clear where he was, and how he got here. The desert heat was overwhelming, even inside buildings, making Charon glad he lost his sense of smell a few decades ago. These people were not from the Capital Wasteland, or any wasteland for that matter, their clothing and manners giving the ghoul the impression they were all from a world where the Great War didn't happen. First he found the thought of taking random people from different worlds and putting them in one place ridiculous, but the more time he spent there, the more he started to believe it. These people were not accustomed to his kind. Some looked at him with fear, some with disgust, some saw his decaying skin, and some just noticed his extraordinary height. But either way, he was definitely the only ghoul here, and all they saw were the names they called his kind in the wasteland as an insult, zombie, shuffler, undead. Charon felt restless, felt lost, though not from the place, nor the fear of the people. His employer was not here, and he had no duty. Obeying whoever held his contract was the only thing Charon knew how to do. It's the only thing he ever did, ever since he could remember. Not having his contract, nor someone to carry it was making him uneasy, making him mad. He had to get back, he had to find something he could do around here. Surely such a place needed security, which given he was a bodyguard by trade, he could do. He just didn't know how to approach those in a friendly manner who looked at him as he just crawled out of a grave. --- Taking his shotgun, Charon wandered into the hospital, which from his observations was a place to be if you wanted to see others. There was food, there were places to sit down, but who would sit with him? He didn't feel a need to wear his armor, only having a tight black t-shirt on, exposing his arms, which just like his face were infected with necrosis, his muscle tendons visible for the naked eye, and even the patches of skin he had left was in pretty bad shape. It was just part of being a ghoul. He took some food for himself, only a few bites, sitting down with a deep sigh. He seemed to be alone in the area for now, but perhaps this would be his lucky day, when someone would look past his looks. Or perhaps not. Pushing the place aside, he placed his gun on the table, disassembling it carefully to clean the parts that needed cleaning. Caring for his gun always gave him some peace, it was when he could think and relax. After all, that weapon has been his only friend for many years, and it seemed like it filled that role once again. |