No God on Sunday

Summary: The band strikes, and one's holding the microphone with tears in her eye, while those around her partner up and laugh and whisper and sway – listening to her drown in her own words, "What the hell am I doing here? I don't belong here." The other stares heavenward, watching ghost far older than she; instead of counting stars she counts scars left over by the war; she can only recite prayer.

Aries "Courier Six."

I

The girl kicks at the fence, testing the durability before she leans into the structure. Hands folded over, and a dirt-smeared grin later, she peers up at the older, taller vagabond who happened to stumble upon her father's bond-owned settlement. The fence creaked with the added weight, but a witty little laugh takes up that annoyance.

"Never seen you around, stranger. I would know. I know everyone who happens to break bread on my daddy's property, and you don't look like any tradesmen I know."

"I'm new in town, ya dig? I've been travelin' for a good bit now. Thought I'd lay down my roots here for a bit." The man's smile is crooked, and he leans into the girl's space by baring his own weight against the fence. "Considerin' that I'm new, do you mind showin' me around, little lady?"

"It'll be a pleasure, stranger."

"Soda Pop."

"Your name is Soda Pop," the girl inquired with a chuckle, "That's a different type of name. My name is Jamie. Jamie Leigh."

-x-

She's drunk on Vegas lights, seduced by the drawl of a band and the roaring crowd; the joint smelled of burning cigarettes, smothered aroma of cheap shots – and cheaper smiles. Dull eyes of gray, the pearly shine of lipstick etched itself softly across the girl's lips. There's whispers amongst the crowd, a titter of excited giggles followed. Lips are stained with the infamous name of, "Ms. Six, or the Unlucky Mistress." The girl in question merely smiled with the attention, pleasantly waving down a few women who wished to gain her interest.

"Always the belle of the ball, eh, baby? Can't give others a shot to shine?" Swank leans forward in his chair, a hollow-point grin begging the woman to come closer – willingly invade his private space. The promise of danger dances, and the woman can't help the wicked grin that stretched thin across her face. She snuffs her cigarette out in the table's given ashtray, crushing embers like she crushed lives to reach her perch. This woman is godless, and it felt so damn right. Still, she's pretty enough to look at. Pretty enough to risk your own life for.

"Shine as bright as you want. I'm not holding your star, and don't you dare hold it against me. I'm trying to watch the show," Red nails drum impatiently on the surface, fingers fumbling with a clasp and a bronze cigarette case, pulling another Virginia slim. A lighter passes by slender fingers to light a fire and another drag. Gray eyes are hidden behind her own pollution, a lazy smile is a pure gift – red lips that seem to never stain, and kisses never effected the outcome. "How is everything? The casino, I mean. Independence promises an independent bankroll. So, Mister Second-In-Command, just how are my neighbors pulling?"

"Six, baby! Would you expect anything less out of The Tops? The joint is rolling sevens, drinks are flowing in like honey, and your little army is still creepy as hell."

A rich, warm chuckle comes from her chest. Humored, Six falls into his fancy by leaning in close; Swank can smell the dabbed perfume, the smothered ash of her drag, and he's enraptured for the moment by the danger that comes with the sweet package.

"They're not so creepy if you knew them like I do. Sometimes robots are better to understand than humans."

"Is that why you keep yourself holed away in the 38? It gets rather lonely around here when you're not scamming the patrons." Swank keeps his even grin, his high-roller pride. Oh, he did so love that little twitch that kissed the side of Six's mouth; he practically envied his former boss for having a run with the dame – wherever he is now.

"I'm sure you'll get by."

I

Jamie Leigh was only seventeen once she left her father's little backwater farm; far too young to die, far too young to understand the notion of love. She ran away towards the north: lips chap with the desert heat, eyes squinting underneath the unforgiveable sun, fingers entwined with another – she found herself not alone. She kept that dirt-smeared grin of hers, and to her company, he found that the most beautiful thing about her. When she left her father's farm, she remembered her father running out with just his shotgun, cursing her name against the wind.

Soda Pop is a raider; hell-stormin', sleep-with-the-farmer's-daughter type of man. He ran his own section of raiders; a small little keep underneath a decaying bridge – lit bright by bonfire, and smothered with crude laughter and erratic dancing. He's a man of many trades: lying, thieving, loving, and vengeful. With spirit, he was not the kind of man to bring around a father with a lone daughter. Even with his sinful nature, the raider from the Wastes actually managed to fall in love with that little farm girl in passing.

He couldn't give her much, but she gave him the most: Swaddled in ragged cloth, and tucked against bare breast, laid a child in wait; safe underneath a structure of tent, and ten other raiders' just outside - who would be considered her family for now on. She's born during the heat, cleansed with cloth that's been drenched with a ration of purified water. Out in the Wastes, it's a complete miracle that mother and child survived the stress.

"She's so small," Soda Pop leans over Jamie, close enough to where she could feel his heat and catch his scent of gunpowder and sweat. His dirty fingers hook into the side of the blanket, pulling back to catch a glimpse of his daughter. Emotional, he cranes his neck to press a quick kiss to the sweaty brow of his lover. "She's goin' to be damn strong like her momma. I can't wait to teach her how to wield her own gun."

Soda Pop then laughs, jubilant and giddy; his ego swells when he watches a smile slowly crawl its way up Jamie's lips; he seemed the most alive when he talked about the future. When he didn't talk about the curse of being some poor scavenger out on the Wastes. "Yeah, yeah. She's going to have the quickest aim, possibly the strongest – not like the other bitches in this group who think they gotta one-up the rest. Not my girl. When she gets older – she can start scouting with her ol' man, too. More hands equal more room to grab for caps."

"She can't do all that without a name," Jamie noted, possessively cradling the babe closer. "All legends begin with a name."

"Way ahead of you. I was thinkin' on that last week, actually; came across this old little vender while heaving through the scraps. Found this magazine, burned at the sides, but decent enough to start a pyre with. What I could tell from the pages, it said: Woman's Health. Maybe it talked about babies – whatever. Came across this page in the book: horoscopes. The word 'Aries' printed at the top in red, underneath that was labeled 'Hardheaded.' It's like a sign from God, baby. Let's call her Aries. Aries seems like a name that would raise all types of hell."

-x-

They say Death is a woman, marauding the Wastes, hiding her face behind a cloth of thin black. Gray eyes stare back, calculating the loss before her fingers twitch over her sidearm. Death's hair is as red as the fires that swallow up the unfaithful, bewitching the best to fall helpless in her endless, fiery grasp. Her spirit burns on, and it consumes. And all they can see is red and gray and haunting black. All they can hear is breathing and unforgiving laughter and blasphemous slurs against the Legion's kind. Because Death plays favorites, and she wants everyone out. She wants them all to burn.

"Hey, now, you're going to be okay. We're all friends here." Six extends a grimy, bloodstained hand; littered in small cuts and bruising, she tried her best to wipe the gore off her skin with the fabric of her jeans. "This – this is it. No one is ever going to hurt you again." She retires her fast-talking, silver-tongued ways, coaxing a child out from her hiding place amongst the herd of dead brahmin. ED-E buzzed overhead, casting ominous shadows. Boone stood off to the side, watching after the horizon, waiting for any spot of red he could place a bullet in.

Death is an illusion. Death can be gentle and kind – fast and vengeful; she keeps the gifts of life with her forever, and she adores every prize she's won. Death has pulled those who've wronged this child to the grave – kicking and screaming. Hateful slurs, and baleful eyes always lingering. She would willing take the abuse to retrieve innocence again.

When people look upon Six, they can only see Death. And her execution is justifiable.

"You're name is Melody, right? Do you remember me? I'm your friend who helped you get your bear back from the dogs," Six softly inquires, leaning forward on her knees to reach the child's level. The girl is in shock, and she recoils at the sign of blood. This woman has showed kindness; it was only moments ago that she cut the head off the serpent - tossing Caesar's head down makeshift stairs that descended from his personal tent. "How is your bear doing, by the way? I don't see him -,"

"Sergeant Teddy," Melody corrected Six, her voice barely auditable. "Anthony – took him away again after you left the first time. He – was mad that you killed his prized dog." She remains rooted in place, refusing to meet the older woman's gaze.

Melody was always taught to look down, never make eye contact with her betters. She's a slave – everyone is better compared to her. And while she hasn't quite hit ten yet – she was much worldlier than a lot of adults. A little girl shouldn't know what shame is. A little girl shouldn't know how to pleasure a man, but she is smaller and weak, and the Legion made it well-known that she was being punished for being a girl, and for being weak.

"Oh, Melody. Honey, I'm so sorry. How about I take you somewhere nicer? Around nicer people? I promise you – this time – I'm not leaving this camp without you. You'll never be alone. Besides, women in the Wastes have to stick together, right?" Six lets the girl come out on her own, crawling away from the rotting remains of the two-head creature. "Look here: these are my friends. Boone and ED-E, see? They also want to help you."

"You really mean that," Melody croaked, but the tears never came. She's cried enough. And, honestly, she didn't have the strength, nor the fight in her to cry anymore. "You're really not going to leave me? You're not going – to let them touch me again?"

Six's throat burned, she could feel the bile practically crawling up the back of her throat; she swallows hard, and composes herself. "See this pistol, honey? This pistol just ain't for show. I'll shoot down any bad guy that even thinks about layin' a hand on you. Here, you must be tired. Boone, can you help me lift her up?"

"No!" Melody howled, the moment of hesitation falling back to introductions and starting over; she shied away from Boone the moment he dropped to his knee to hoist her up, skirting away as fast as she could. "No…no. Please, please – don't touch me. I hurt all over. I can't -," her words are heavy with shame, fingers toiling into the earth below her; she holds her stance for dear life, tensing to the abrupt movement of the man standing up and whispering over Six's shoulder. "I want you – to hold me." She points at Six, her hands trembling in exhausted fear. She's begging.

"She's afraid of men, don't blame her," Boone comments, gesturing his hand outward. "Seen it before. Too many times, in fact. What's worse than being killed?"

"Having your dignity forcibly ripped away from you and living with it," Six murmured, and Boone solemnly nodded, crossing his arms over his chest. "Okay, honey. Don't you worry, I don't mind at all carrying you out."

Melody wants to shrink away once Six drawls closer, inhaling the woman's scent of dried blood and smoldering ash. Six leaves her arms open, patiently awaiting for the girl to invade her space, embracing the idea of holding something as precious as this little girl against her; she's conquered trust, and she refuses to gamble away that feeling.

Melody falls into a dead-crawl, inching her way into Six's arms, and finding the strange, weathered woman warm and safe; her fingers dig into Six's shoulder, tangling in matted, red hair that served as a crownless curl.

Six's wares jingled once she found ground, and the little girl buried her face into the crook of Six's neck once Boone slowly came into the picture behind them, following their stride out; the shock of leaving the camp only caused the little girl to cling tighter to Six, small arms almost suffocating.

I

"Daddy, this tastes terrible." Aries picks at her meal, thumbing over the oddly colored meat with her dirtied fingers; she grimaced at the texture, and the yellow juices that dripped off her meat and pooled at the edge of her tin plate.

"It's just squirrel, kiddo. Cut your ol' man some slack. I gave you the bigger piece." Soda Pop mumbled, taking another bite out of the meat that hung loosely on his stick; cooked golden-brown, and a little gammy, the older man shrugged his shoulders. The raider's daughter leaned back on her father's legs, head lulling against his knee, listening to the dramatic, exasperated sigh that followed. "It's meat. It's good for you. You're going to hurt your mom's feelin' if you don't finish your dinner."

"I can't help it. It's so gross. Here – you can have it!" Aries lifted the plate over her head, nudging the tin into her father's lap, but he easily denied it with a nudge; the child groaned again when her father leaned over, and placed the meal back in her own lap.

"Eat it, squirt. How else are you going to become a big girl if you keep pickin' off your plate? You get any smaller and the super mutants may start usin' you as their own personal toothpick."

"You wouldn't let that happen! Would you, daddy?" Panic rises, and the older man can only grin when his daughter jolts from her spot, climbing to his perch, plate in hand, and tucking up close; he moved his plate over on his lap to one side, letting his daughter use his other thigh as her own table to set her plate on.

"Let 'em ugly bastards take my baby? Hell no! But your ol' man can only do so much if you don't finish your dinner." He finishes off his tact of manipulation with a steady laugh, protectively wrapping an arm around his daughter's small shoulders and giving her a loving squeeze. "Can you do that for me? Try and finish your meal? If you do – I'll take ya to go shoot Nuka-Cola bottles tonight."

"Really?"

"Anything for my girl."

Father and daughter stare off the coast, watching the landscape of decaying buildings catch the sun; lights danced amongst the shattered glass, jutting and jagged. The sun devoured by their crooked world, fading into an endless backdrop. An hour would pass, and a gunshot could be heard off in the distance – but that's the norm out on the Wastes. Children didn't shy away from loud noises, and scavenging was like getting dressed in the mornings.

Aries would casually mention that she loved counting the stars, while her father went off to hunt. She told him that sometimes she liked to make up stories that went along with the constellations. She believed that heavenly bodies coexisted as families, working in a benevolent system in hopes in keeping the sky from falling on their heads. She said that the Mommy was the sun, and that the Daddy was the Moon: she linked that back to her own mother and father. Daddy would sometimes hunt at night, and Mommy would wake her up in the morning.

For a killer, Soda Pop couldn't help admire the innocence that came from his daughter; sometimes he couldn't even believe that she was his kid – she was too beautiful and noble to be considered his kin.

He told her that she was the smartest little girl alive; he didn't lie.

-x-

Melody never wants Six to leave her, the comfort of hands never leaving her own was almost a burning necessity. Counseling is a dreary subject, but the child is accompanied by her savior and her little bot. After unearthing files, rummaging through some backstory, they're able to drag out some type of conclusion from the child.

Melody told Six that her mother was an NCR solider that died during the first Battle of the Dam, while her father devoted his time staying at home to raise her, living off her mother's pensions. Fate can be a fickle bitch, and the Legion loves to prey. With recollection, the child refuses to watch the faces of her doctor and of Six. She goes on to say that the Legion passed out tiny pieces of paper, and her father was strung up on a cross before her. The Legion forced the survivors to watch – just before they were herded like cattle.

Six keeps her promise to the little girl. She'll never be alone again. Slowly, as Six's companions started to go their separate ways, Melody and ED-E were the only ones left at Six's side.

Melody adores Six, wants to know everything about the woman that plays mother in her life; she can barely remember her own, and found if her mother lived long enough – she would be just like Six.

Six smells of sweet perfume, and burned tobacco. Sometimes she smells strong with whisky, and Melody finds that scent forlorn and melancholy; it didn't project Six's greatness to her. The smell usually associated with long nights, and hollowed crying - perfectly filed nails wrapped around the long neck of a bottle, with a strain voice that pleads in the darkness, "why?"

The demons go to sleep at night, and the sun rises with new possibilities, curiosities about a huge and void establishment. To Melody, if one closes their eyes, things tend to get better once you open them again. Six looks happier in the mornings, beautiful; her hair is curled, and her makeup is carefully lined – lipstick perfectly pressed. She instills the New Vegas vibe, and Melody is just as excited to stand by Six's side.

Behind the glass, Melody can see men come to the entrance of Six's casino, heavily banging on the surface. ED-E buzzes overhead, his beeping seeming eerily like boredom – like he's been through this before. With the 38's defenses, she shouldn't fear the intrusion, but she can't help the way she scampers back to the elevator, hiding behind the securitrons and asking for Yes Man to appear.

"Oh, geez," Yes Man chirped, the interface of the screen donning his face; a telling, forever grin that never quite matched up with his voice – rather his tone. "Seems we have company! Unlucky for Six, it's not the pleasant kind." Melody hides behind the giant pinchers to Yes Man's mobile frame, fingers lightly touching the cold clampers.

"Is he dangerous?"

"Is he dangerous? Benny? Boy, is he ever!" Yes Man laughs at that, and the clarification only causes Melody to cower; she could deal with robots with male voices, but not the actual human being. Robots didn't want anything out of her, and the man on the other side looked like he was ready to swing. "Benny and Six absolutely hate each other, though she never told me why she kept him alive. Why, he's the same guy that shot Six in the head – with my accidental assistance."

Benny taps harder on the glass, calling, "Pussycat, I know you can hear me in there! Get your pretty-self out here!" Melody shutters; she could see him through the glass entrance, but he could not see them.

"Ohhh. My bad. I probably shouldn't have told you that last, tiny, minor detail." Melody couldn't measure the weight of Yes Man's apology, but she accepted it with a grain of salt. At least she knew who caused the most trouble with Six.

"Good going, Yes Man," Six finally emerges from her empty bar, pulling ledgers that are tucked securely under her arm; Six's heels clicked against the floor, a humored expression etched thin into the windows of her gray eyes. "You playing daddy was never a good idea."

"'Playing daddy' was never programmed into my network, Six. What I am programmed with is: security, and boy, are you running this casino! Wow, not a single soul in this place to waste their hard-earned caps!" Six can only smile, pacing the floor with confidence; her hand reaches Yes Man's side, and she pats his mechanical arm with affection.

Six would often state to Melody how much she liked robots better than people.

"Better check what the sonabitch wants. Knowin' him, something more than a little chat."

"Right you are, Six. I will humbly be awaiting your return. Don't worry, my schedule is flexible! I only serve to please," Yes Man's interface dimmed, and his once cheery outlook is replaced with a gruff expression of a military man. The change left Melody to quickly detach from the robots arm, and quickly catch up to Six before her hand ever graced the entrance.

"You're really not going out there, Six? Are you?" Melody asks with acute urgency, wanting to bar the entrance with her own body. She couldn't stand losing someone again.

"Well, aren't you the cutest? Listen, sweetheart. Benny may be ugly to look at, but he ain't ever going to get the jump on me – if you're thinkin' that. Benny knows his place – and that's at the bottom of my heels."