Chapter Text
Rory was certain that she’d never get used to Boston’s rain. The cold seeping in through shoddy shack walls, the tape her brother thought would help peeling from gaps in the wood. It was a sorry sight, truth be told. A kettle whistled from its place on the hotplate in the centre of the room, a pathetic excuse for warmth. Rory carefully lifted it, pouring it into a mug of dried brown a trader had promised was coffee. Not that she knew what coffee really was, but the idea excited her nonetheless. The heavy, bitter smell washed over her as she let it sit, stirring it gently.
Lips touched chipped ceramic, then recoiling. Bitter, acidic, far too goddamn hot . She winced, face screwing up painfully as she held out the mug far from her face. It was disgusting, absolutely horrible. She took another sip. Good caps were wasted on it, damn it. She was going to like the drink even if it killed her.
“Doesn’t look like it's clearing up anytime soon,” commented Gryff from a barely intact window, “almost makes you miss the Mojave, huh?”
“Not really,” Rory shuddered. The twins had left for a reason, though Gryff’s she didn’t know. Must have had one in order to follow her across the country, no questions asked. “Apparently it snows here, wonder what that’s like.”
Gryff hummed. “Snows in DC too.”
“Didn’t see it though.”
“There’s also green there, you hear?”
“Like there isn’t green here too, dumbass.”
Gryff snorted and returned to looking out the cracked glass. Rory sat opposite him, and held out the mug to him.
“What’s this?” he asked with a frown, yet still took the mug from her calloused hands.
“It’s hot.”
With a wary stare, he sipped and spluttered. The glare came easy, as he wiped his mouth and shoved the mug back in her direction wordlessly. She grinned and took it, taking another long sip, the taste still not great but it was worth it to annoy her brother.
Gruffydd Mab Madog was full of questions today, it seemed, the drab weather taking its toll on the weary young man.
“You ever miss her?” he asked, his shoegaze ready to burn a hole in the floorboards.
Rory snorted. “That’s a loaded question. I miss a lot of people, it’s whatever.”
“I was gonna say Rita.”
They hadn’t seen the ragged woman in months, part of the reason why they shifted over to Boston rather than tag along around DC. The part that Rory liked to leave out was that she had seen her since, her half-ghoul corpse attracting bloatflies in the back of a Red Rocket they had set up camp in. No use telling Gryff the whole story, didn’t change the fact that in the week they had set out on their own she had taken her own life. Rory couldn’t even blame her. Must have hurt like hell.
“Sometimes,” she said simply. There wasn’t much more to say, surely he couldn’t expect more. It's not as if they knew each other well, in the short time they had worked for her. “You gonna keep at it?”
Gryff huffed but paid her no mind. Damn well surprising that they stuck together all these years. Twins they might be, but didn’t mean shit outside of blood. Sharing a womb was one thing, but a room, even two sides of the same building, was their own personal hell; a hell they’d gladly stay in if it meant not fending for themselves. Rory didn’t think either of them had the survival skills, Gryff was a loud mouth who’s cockiness got in the way, and Rory had herself a sweet sting of underlying anger that she had no way of letting out like a normal, healthy person. She could have been a raider, if her people skills weren’t as sharp. Her bartering would be lost on those fuckers.
“I don’t get why she’d abandon us.”
Rory rolled her eyes, “we talking about Rita again? You’re an adult, Gryff, we can look after ourselves. We’re fine .”
“Thought she liked us, is all.”
That was a joke in itself.
“Just…I don’t know, go the fuck to sleep or something. I don’t wanna talk abou’ it.”
Rory hated the rain.