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The old ghoul tread over the dry, dead earth as he wandered through the Mojave’s wastes. He had left the comfort of the Lucky 38 on his own a couple of hours ago. It was an upgrade from his previous situation and plenty comfortable– he was happy to call the place home, but no, old Raul got bored. The Courier was out of town and had been for some time and, with no other loyalties to attend to, the ghoul was left to his own devices. Raul had considered taking one of the Courier's other friends out of town with him but decided this was a good opportunity to be on his own and think… and he really needed to. Sometimes it hardly felt like he did much thinking for himself as of late. It had been over a month since Raul had that fateful conversation with the Courier about his past–and his future. They convinced him to put on those old vaquero duds that Raphaela had loved and then…nothing. Raul had done nothing. Some gunslinger he was. Part of him blamed it on feeling old and tired, but he knew it was something else. The Courier had done nothing but help him since they met. Raul supposed it would just feel strange to go out gunslinging on his own again, yet here he was, finally off his ass.
Raul stretched his arms as he walked, grimacing at the sharp pop that sounded from one of his elbows. Yeesh. He was an old sonuva, but that wasn’t gonna stop him. Who knew, if he was lucky enough maybe his knee would finally give out on him out where no one would find him. Not like that would happen, though. He was old, but he was still careful. He let everyone know he was heading out; decently far out. He didn’t want people all around, he wanted some peace and quiet for a little while. Raul dragged a rough, scabby hand over his face. He wanted silence, yeah, but in a way it was too goddamn much. He’d grown too used to the idle chatter back home. He let his hand come to rest on his gun belt as he ambled on, the other hand slipping into his pocket and retrieving a stick of gum for him to chew. It was just a minor distraction from the sound of the whipping desert winds. He had picked out an old world neighborhood to poke around in. He saw it in some old brochure a few times. It wasn’t like he expected to find much. The place was probably picked clean by now, but he felt like he needed some kind of excuse to get out. He didn’t have the Courier’s fancy little Pip-Boy, so Raul had to make do with memory, a sense of direction, and a map. Of course, he didn’t want to deal with the thing. It was too goddamn big and he just didn’t wanna deal with it. So he was ambling along, glancing up at the sky to make sure he was still roughly going in the right direction.
The place wasn’t as far out as Goodsprings, gracias a Dios , so he actually made it there from the Strip before the sun set; he’d have time to spare before it was dark. Raul hummed, spitting his gum out onto the crumbling asphalt. He stood there for a moment longer, gazing out at the desolate hunk of the old world before groaning and rubbing his eyes. Christ, he was exhausted, but what else did he expect? Maybe he’d let himself have a moment to sit… Yeah, he could use that. He hooked both thumbs under his gun belt and walked past the worn-out neighborhood sign. The place was desolate. All the houses were in various states of destruction; either they were rubble, mostly intact, or somewhere in between. Looking at the damn place– the same homes copied and pasted over and over– just made him glad he never lived in some cheap-o, cookie-cutter suburb like this back before the war. He could survive in the city nowadays, and he definitely could in the country, but this? He could practically hear the nosy old people just begging to get into his business. Well, he supposed he was the nosy old person now, albeit with a lot less nose. Raul chuckled at himself as he swung by the first house on his right. Half of the building seemed to have crumbled in on itself, but it was the closest one to him. It had at least one wall still standing that he could sit against and that was all he needed to rest his old bones. His knee clicked incessantly and painfully, protesting as he walked up to the house’s front porch. He didn't have to use the door, but he'd rather do that than try and climb over the debris to get into the house. He already had knee issues, he didn't wanna start having any other goddamn problems.
The door seemed to be loose, so he thankfully didn't need to get creative getting it open. With a push, it creaked and swung inwards. A portion of the house had sunk into the earth, the majority of the house’s debris piled up in a hole on the floor. It looked like someone had lived here, so he might actually be able to find a few of the leftovers from previous scavvers. That was for after his rest, though. He shuffled in, quickly putting a hand over his hip as pain shot through it.
"Ahhh mierda …" He exhaled sharply and glanced around haphazardly. He knew to be cautious of his surroundings but he was more keen on sitting down as quickly as humanly possible. He slumped against the wall with a grunt, stretching his sore leg out. The back of his hat was pushed up, the brim going over his eyes. He let his eyes drift shut, his hand instinctively reaching down and massaging his troublesome knee. He hummed to himself, relaxing as much as he could despite the aching pain in his leg as he stretched it out. It felt like he was getting worse every day, lately, and all of the sitting around he’d been up to probably wasn’t helping. He was beginning to regret not bringing anyone else with him. He had no one to complain to. Well, there was that and… dammit he kinda wished he had someone to watch his back right then, when he was hurting and couldn’t really run or do much of anything. He had packed pretty light, but he had been sure to bring stuff for his pain. Though he was trying to keep from using it, keeping it for emergencies only. Thankfully, sitting for a bit seemed to actually help. A few long, peaceful moments passed before Raul opened his eyes and he reached into his pack, pulling out a Sunset Sarsaparilla. Might as well, seeing as he was taking a breather… He wasted no time popping the cap off, cringing at the resulting hiss. He hadn’t considered that–if the sound would travel. When nothing seemed to really change, Raul took a swig of the sarsaparilla.
On his second swig, however, he heard a sound. A bit of a garbled chirp, like one of the many oversized killer bugs that infested the world. He’d hardly heard it, but the sound was just clear enough that his soda almost went down the wrong way. One hand shot up to his lips, eyes wide, as he quickly muffled the gagging cough that rattled his chest. Shit. There goes his break. Once he was sure he wasn’t gonna choke to death on soda of all things, he damn near chugged the thing down. He set the bottle aside carefully and shifted so he was sitting upright again, legs folded, ready to bolt if needed. A stabbing pain shot through his knee, but he tried to ignore it. Instead he strained to hear that noise again, shuffling towards the doorway once more. He didn’t think he could stand up yet, not with the way his old bones were protesting, but he needed to see what was out there. Sure enough, he heard it, followed by the tell-tale clicking of multiple armored limbs stretching and wandering about. Raul slid his six-shooter out of its holster as he edged nearer to the door, shuffling awkwardly on his knees.
Waiting outside was a radscorpion, slinking closer and closer to where Raul sat. With a flick of the wrist, Raul checked his revolver’s chamber before peeking around the door jamb, out at the monster. His eyes were squinted against the sun, but as soon as they landed on that beast, he jerked back. He pressed his back right up against the wall again, gripping his revolver tighter. He breathed in, holding it for a moment, then let it out.
“Fuck,” he grumbled, barely audible to himself. When he fought these things with the Courier, as much as he hated to admit it, he wasn’t much more than bait to them. He’d shoot ‘em, they’d get mad, but he never really did anything to them. That exoskeleton was hard, too hard for his old guns– no matter how well he took care of them. It was always up to the Courier to bring out something with a bit more power. So, Raul cursed again, hardly maintaining the will not to toss his pistol down. Instead, he took another frustrated breath and pressed the heel of his palm to his forehead. Think , smartass…
There had to be gaps in the armor or something! Even then, it'd take some damn lucky shots to down it. Eyes? Eyes were always a safe bet. At least with most things, being shot through the eye was a pretty sure way to die. Raul spun his revolver's cylinder as he thought, teeth clenched tight. Just because he wasn't as agile as he used to be didn't mean he was a lost cause. He just needed to be ready.
He carefully stood in the shadows, poking his head out to look through the door. The scorpion was out of sight. He cursed and stood, bolting for the wall again. Of course. Of fucking course. From the corner of his eye, he could see the radscorp slinking towards the demolished side of the house. The scarred remnants of Raul's lips twitched into a tight frown. He quickly scanned the room for something he could toss, eyes landing on that piece of shit sarsaparilla bottle. He then whipped around, scanning along the ruined side of the house, illuminated by the orange sun. No scorpion over there, thankfully. He let out a breath he didn't know he had been holding and edged back towards the door.
Outside, that radscorp had wandered off to the corner of the house, digging its claws in the dirt. Raul, for a moment, considered the idea that it might have lost interest in whatever the sound was and gave up. If he was stealthy enough, he might just be able to sneak on out… but at this point, after all that planning, he wasn't sure his pride would be too happy with him just walking off. He gave the bottle a light toss out the door. It flipped over itself midair and hit the ground with an unceremonious crash. Raul pulled the hammer back on his revolver, waiting and watching as the scorpion stepped into view to investigate the sound. Raul’s face scrunched up, intently focusing as he leveled his revolver and fired. At first, it was one bullet. It whizzed through the desert air, meeting its mark perfectly. The scorpion reared, body twisting as a screech left its horrid mandibles.
However, the monster wouldn’t go down that easy. It recovered quickly, its beady eyes leveling onto Raul. It hissed low and threateningly, swaying slightly on its legs. Massive claws drummed the ground, the scorpion’s hairs twitching. Raul brought his hammer back again. His chamber clicked into place, ready to fire. The whole ordeal felt like it took ages, though it couldn’t have taken more than a minute at all. The air grew cooler as the sun sank lower and lower. Raul paid no mind, however, too transfixed on that scorpion’s face. Its eye oozed a gnarly blue-ish blood, only visible as the sun’s last rays glinted off of it. Then, the scorpion surged forward again. The movement was fast, but so was Raul. Raul opened fire once more. This time, his hands worked with precise skill and immeasurable speed. He unloaded the rest of his rounds into the scorpion. The aim wasn’t as perfect, but it sure as hell did the job.
The scorpion tripped over its legs, sending it crashing into the dusty soil. Plumes of dirt cascaded around it as it writhed pitifully. Its thin legs struggled to find purchase. The little claws kept slipping uselessly in the dirt. Raul kept his revolver trained on it, despite its empty chamber. He squinted his milky eyes, unwilling to lower his guard on the monster. A cool desert wind rolled past. Raul did not budge. Finally, the scorpion slumped. Raul lowered his revolver and let out a long sigh of relief. He tapped the scorpion’s massive claw with the squared toe of his boot for good measure. Once he was sure the thing was dead, he gave it a good, hard kick. The pain that shot through his foot was nothing compared to the bubbling laughter in his chest. He grinned, amused at himself. He managed to keep the laughter to himself, only a few breathy chuckles escaping him as he leaned against the doorframe. It seemed this old dog still had a few tricks left in him.