Anonymous 2009/03/11 (Wed) 10:23 No. 77737 ▼ File 123679220197.png - (6.50KB, 300x300 , RenSilencedPistol.png)
So, Renko likes firearms? Well, that's just her expressing her Second Amendment rights. You've already accepted that she could kill you with either her bare hands or a switchblade, so what's another weapon added to the list? In a way, it's reassuring: When push comes to shove, and shove comes to "gunning down every last one of those motherfuckers," it'll be your friend standing atop the pile of corpses.
Which is not to say you'll condone the girl specializing in skills only applicable to murder: Make Love, Not War. At least, that's the caption says on the poster of two rhinoceroses humping you've got hanging over your doorway. Don't they look happy? Hey Ren, wouldn't you rather look as contented as that Mama Rhino, doing what's natural with Papa Rhino, as opposed to bearing down toward a mustached man in tan shorts with a comically oversized double rifle? (What kind of cartridge would be required to bag a charging Renko? .50 BMG? .700 Nitro Express?)
Maybe not in so many words, but still, it's your duty as her friend to lead her away from so self-destructive a lifestyle. This is certainly not just a ploy to engage in sexual relations with a woman you only bedded last night that you've been crushing on since sixth grade and oh God was it everything you hoped it to—
"Maxey, are you in there?" A hand waves in front of your face.
"Like jackrabbits."
"What?" Ren looks at you incredulously.
"I said, 'I think it’s a bad habit.’"
“Target shooting is?” Skeptical only in the face of your value judgment; your slip passes by undetected. Of course, how could she have expected your mind to somehow jump from guns to sex. It’s a shame Ren. For all your tomboyishness and apparent struggle with sexual identity, the male mindset will be forever closed to you. You lacks an essential depravity.
“Yes. I think it’s a waste of your talents.” The double entendre forces you to bite the inside of your cheek to keep from tittering. “Any idiot can fire a gun. They’re weapons of desperation. You have a gift. That time you sliced Meira’s ear off? Man, that was art.” Holy Christ what are you saying?
Ren gives an appraising hum. On now look, she’s taken it to heart; for shame, Max, encouraging violence! It’s time to take emergency correctional measures.
You stand up from the side of the bed, stacking the empty plates and half-empty coffee mugs. “Find something in my closet to wear for the day. We’re taking a shower,” you state insistently.
“Huh? Is that necessary? I got my own clothes and my own shower, Max.”
You brush the scraps into the garbage disposal and start washing the dishes and the frying pan. “No, there’s no time,” you lie, not looking back at her. “The fairy could be upon us at any moment.” Well, that isn’t really a lie, but the sense of urgency you’re trying to impart Is definitely phony.
After pregnant pause, where you’re unsure if she’s buying it, “I already gave you what you wanted. I don’t see how this involves me,” she airs disaffectedly. The tone of her voice makes your blood boil.
“What the fuck, Ren? You decided to involve yourself the moment you locked lips with me!” You snap at her. Not good. Not good. You’re genuinely angry now, and you don’t really know why. All you can do is stand there, scouring the plates that are already clean, shaking in embarrassment and anger, while she stands up from the bed, puts on her clothes, and walks through that door and out of your life forever. So stupid…
Arms encircle your waist. You freeze.
“I’m sorry, baby.” You don’t know that penitent girlfriend is really the role you want for Ren to play, but you won’t push away this comfort, pressing up against your back, nuzzling your neck.
“It’s very confusing, you know?” You drop the plates in the sink, and take the opportunity to vent. “I have these people who meant something to me in the past come back into my life, but now they’re different, and I’m different, and they mean something else, but I don’t know what.”
“I know, baby,” she coos. “I’m confused too.”
“And then there’s this fairy goddess gone rogue AI who tells me she’s the reason I was born, and makes these demands of me, telling me that the Vault is depending on me, and I don’t know why I’m the one who has to go back out there, when it nearly killed me once already!”
“It’s okay, Maxey. You don’t have to bear it alone. You have friends. You have me.”
So why do you suddenly feel so great a weight upon your chest, hearing this? The sincerity of her words is meant to reassure, but feels more like a condemnation: You’ve entangled another in a fate meant for yourself. Whereas an early death was a possible, even expected, outcome for you, could you say the same for anyone else? Wasn’t the very purpose of entertaining Daiyousei’s plan was so that rest of the Vault could flourish, even if it put your life at risk? Is anything worth risking the lives of these friends you’ve rediscovered since yesterday?
But perhaps such an assessment was too selfish to begin with, the romantic notion of trading your meaningless, purposeless existence underground into one of heroism and sacrifice, and glossing over all the people whose lives you’ve touched and have been touched by along the way: Daiyousei, the irreverent fairy bard, Maribel, the comically intemperate priestess, Renko, the cunning and deft rogue, Miss Ellen, the bumbling, forgetful magician with, of course, her attendant familiar Sokrates—even Meira, the mysterious swordswoman from the Orient and one time antagonist turned unlikely ally—all these, and at the front of the formation, Chevalier Rockatansky atop his war charger, a 1973 Ford Falcon XB GT coupe, riding into glorious battle against the mutant scourge!
“You okay now?”
Oh right, Ren is comforting you. Lucky thing she can’t see your face, now that you’re frothing at the mouth like a drug fiend whose main turn-ons are sharp objects, Psycho, and staying up all night. You need to regain the appropriate amount of gravity in your voice, so try to think of something sad, like Bambi’s mother getting shot—oh no wait that’s too sad.
“Oh Max, don’t cry! Things aren’t that bad! You’re stronger than this!”
“I’m not crying!” She only wanted to find a patch of grass to feed her child, and you killed her for it, you bastards.
—
It takes some time, over a cup of tea that she brews for the both of you, to explain to Ren that you were in the throes of Disney-related trauma rather than having an existential breakdown. She doesn’t seem very convinced, and by now you’ve wasted enough time (Pip-Boy: 8:11 AM) that there’s no question as to whether Ren will be doing her usual thing today, whatever that entails apart from shooting things and loitering in the hallways with her fellow Snakes. No, once she told you she was getting herself a fresh set of clothes, and that you’ll both take a shower when she comes back, it became pretty clear that your (misinterpreted) display of vulnerability meant you were going to be stuck with her for at least the rest of the day. Which is not entirely a bad thing; at least you’ll be on even footing when you go up against Dai and Mary. While the chance for disaster is high, there’s also the chance to end the misplaced aggression they have toward each other. Or at least, that’ll be the excuse you can give Dai when she asks why you brought her along—not that she doesn’t have a number of things to explain herself, that fairy.
“Maxey?” Ren asks, voice muffled by the door.
“Come in,” you say. Hope she’s not going to be treating you with kid gloves for the rest of the day now.
She’s wearing her rumpled clothes from last night, as well as the fedora, carrying a new set in her arms, which she places down in your bed.
She bites a fingernail, turning to leave again “Fuck, I left my accouterments behind in my room. Gimme a min.”
“Don’t worry about it, I have plenty,” you say as you make toward the door, ushering her along with you.