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By the time I awoke the next day, completely ensconced within the red sheets and thick, fluffy pillows of my double bed in the High Roller suite of the Lucky 38, it must have been sometime around noon.
Guess I'd overslept by a few hours but, then again, my night had been disrupted multiple times by flashes of nightmares that flickered through my brain on repeat, prompting me to rush out of bed, check every door, beneath every surface and sit upright in the warmth of my sheets while loading and unloading my iron.
Clicking the safety on and off, on and off, on and off, click-click-clicking away monotonously had brought some level of comfort until I could safely let myself drift off back to sleep.
My nightmares were nothing out of the ordinary, though that simple fact alone never comforted me in the moments that made me bolt awake from my slumber faster than a bullet leaving a gun.
It took time.
Preparation.
Going through all the motions reminded me that my gun was loaded and that, beyond any shadow of a doubt, nobody could catch me unaware.
I dragged myself out of bed, still wearing Benny's checkered boxers and nothing else besides, and shuffled across the plush carpet of my room, making my way into the entry hall. From there, I headed into the bathroom immediately.
The hot water of the shower stung my skin as I stood beneath it, trying to wake myself up. Afterwards, I towel-dried my red mane of curls until they were just damp.
After getting dressed in a sleek, black dress that was left outside my door -- I presumed, earlier, by Benny, and I simply hadn't clocked it on the way out due to my own tiredness -- I finally made my way to the kitchen. Boone was already there, expertly flipping bacon in a sizzling pan on the stove.
A bold choice for someone cooking with oil and spattering food, Boone had opted to go shirtless, wearing only his cargo pants and had draped his removed shirt across his left shoulder. And boy, was he more jacked than I thought.
"Howdy." I blearily greeted the sniper, casting my hand back through my dampened mess of red hair as I trudged on over towards the fridge, opening the thing to remove a bottle of Sunset Sarsaparilla.
"Hey-"
Boone gave a cursory glance across his shoulder from where he stood at the stove, cutting himself off with a look of surprise registering on his face at the sight of me in a dress, which, admittedly, did warrant that look of surprise, in the form of a double-take.
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Nevada: High Roller (Fallout New Vegas)
Fanfiction"Being shot in the head will teach you two very important things about life. The first thing it teaches you is that you're tempting fate when you take a shortcut on your delivery route through a graveyard. When you're already surrounded by the dea...
