Separate Room Wearing:
Pictured Scene Music: Meet the Wolf
The sounds of rape did little to bring Megan out of her thoughts. She leaning up against the door, her long blonde hair tied back into a messy pony tail while the rest covered part of her face. Her cold gray-blue eyes stared absent mindlessly out into the room, the dark under eye shadow making her appear strung out or distant. Between her soft red lips dangled a cigarette, the cherry glowing a dull red color.
She didn't care for the new girl that Diesel brought in, but men needed to empty themselves some where in order to function. Or at least it seemed that way. The girl poor girl being sodomized on the table was pretty enough, but she didn't illicit any feelings of compassion from Brink. If it was it in that position she would have killed herself the first chance she got, rather than be some rape doll for this group. Maybe that was what Megan disliked about the girl. Her lack of conviction, and willingness to live a life of perpetual servitude.
Taking a drag of her cigarette she pulled out her .44 magnum and snapped the chamber open. The glistening brass bullets eased the girl's mind as the moans of Alea. Brink re-holstered her weapon on her thigh, just under the hem of her red and black skirt she wore. Brink didn't mind wearing dresses, and in fact found them nice. Like a reminder of times before the world was all fucked. Some confused this show of femininity with weakness, but a bullet or a threat could easily fix that.
Plus, it was hot out in the wasteland, and it was much cooler to wear a dress of skirt than dark leathers. In fact brink's current black top was buttoned low, which revealed more cleavage from the busty girl than intended, but comfort over propriety. A new escape of moans snapped Brink back to reality and she exhaled smoke from her nose as she looked back to the slave girl.
Mo didn't like her either, and had given Diesel and earful about having sloppy seconds. That was some funny shit, and it made Brink smirk in satisfaction. Sometimes Diesel needed to be put into his place. The place they were 'using' was just some shitty boarded up shop, and Brink knew they would be leaving soon, once they were resupplied, rested and done tending to their baser needs.
Her whole time with the Red Hand Gang had been a....interesting experience. They weren't like the gunners, and didn't operate in some larger conglomerate, and certainly didn't have any luck taking any mercenary jobs. They also weren't like the Enclave. No discipline, no higher purpose and no fucked up view of racial superiority. Brink never spoke of her time growing up in the Enclave. No body liked them in the wasteland and she quickly learned to keep that kind of information to herself.
"Yeah, I'll just be over in my office- uh yeah"
Brink raised an eye brow as he headed off to his room. He looked like a whip puppy, but again, no sympathy. After all, he just got done nutting into a girl's mouth. No, the Red Hand Gang was unique, but most importantly they were freedom...
(just an example of what Brink will be like)