[ Fleetwood Subway Station ]@Polaris North &
@Ghost ShadowFrankie always loved a good story, which stemmed back to the settlement she’d been essentially born and raised in before the Raiders came to sweep up. Prior to that, those were good times for sure, and the stories she’d grown up hearing -sometimes multiple times- were almost as tall as some of the skyscrapers she’d seen first hand as a kid. The girl still gets a chuckle out of the story of “Ol’ Panhead”, who you first think is the storyteller’s pet or something similar, but it turns out it was actually the name given to them due to the metal plate fused to their their skull which apparently saved them from a shot to the head by a stray arrow. Frankie could remember seeing the alleged arrow, but couldn’t confirm or deny that it was actually it, but the stories -whether true or otherwise- kept her entertained enough to forget about the wasteland all around them. She sat forward atop the milk crate with both arms folded and resting on her knees while intently listening to the ghoul recite some of his past, the girl’s eyes wide with anticipation.
Her focus was so intent, however, that she didn’t even notice the new comer strolling up nearby, apparently making a loud enough sigh that should have been heard, but Frankie had a knack for tuning out the world around her even if for a short while. She legitimately gasped when Marvin mentioned his age, remembering that the irradiated ghouls sometimes had longer lifespans than normal humans, but she didn’t realize it was
that long.
Holy shitbombs, you’re old! Was about all her mind had exclaimed at that moment, but thankfully those thoughts didn’t manifest into words from her lips as that would have been rather rude, even though it was very true. But, no doubt the other had heard that -and worse- more times than he would ever admit to anyone.
“Wow...” She finally whispered after hearing his story, and while it may have not been the extended version she hoped for, it was still interesting enough to understand the ghoul a little better, and she liked that. Frankie wasn’t a social butterfly by any stretch of the imagination, nor was she very good at spinning a compelling life story -mainly because she didn’t necessarily like talking about herself- but it was nice to know that through all the rough and tumble that Marvin had gone through all those years, he managed to come out a better person than a lot of others she’d encountered.
“Well, that was pretty damn awesome.” She smiled at the other, rocking slightly back and forth on the crate, causing it to creak as it swayed a bit. “I bet you could write a novel with everything you’ve experienced! I know I’d read it!” At that moment, she hadn’t realized just how loud her voice got, perhaps being a bit overtired mixed with just having a light-hearted conversation for once, but she glanced around for a moment and stopped when she noticed the older man in a worn out trench coat standing nearby.
“Hi.” Frankie half-smiled and nodded toward him, before turning her attention back to Marvin and leaning in to whisper. “How long has he been standing there?” She said, her expression showing a bit of embarrassment.
Lord Wyron