Groggy

Ugh, my head, Clarissa thought, reaching up to massage her temples in a feeble attempt to soothe her pounding headache. She shifted her body a little and heard the harsh sound of clinking bottles. Oh last night had been a rough one, she groaned as she glanced at the many empty vodka, whiskey and Sunset Sarsaparilla bottles. In the gloom of her motel room, she noticed a flicker of light in the far corner, glinting from the sunlight seeping in through the curtains. What is that? Groggily crawling through the sea of bottles, she reached up to the corner and felt around the natty moth-eaten carpet, before finally stumbling across the object of interest. It was a Sunset Sarsaparilla bottle cap with a bright blue star on it. Huh, she thought, flicking it around between her fingers, guess this is my lucky day.

Clarissa finally braved the harsh yellow sunlight as she stepped out onto the balcony of her second floor motel room, stretching her arms and heaving in a deep breath, trying hard not to puke. She was a courier for the Mojave Express delivery company, or at least had been, until someone had shot her in the head for a package she'd been carrying. She joked to herself that this current hangover was nothing like the headshot, but you know what? Besides the neat little scar on her forehead that bullet hadn't left nearly as much of an impression. Couple days blacked out, one chat with the doctor and bam, she'd been set to go, whereas this? She rubbed her forehead again. This was not worth it.

She only had herself to blame. Well, herself and Cass. She shook her head, wondering how the hell a girl like her had ended up with a woman like Rose of Sharon Cassidy. Cass was a fiery red-headed caravaner who'd found herself trapped in a contractual sinkhole, drinking herself to **** in the Mojave Outpost back west. Cass didn't have caravan clearance to trade in Vegas so she technically couldn't leave the Outpost, except she also didn't have a caravan, having received reports that her water merchant team had been ambushed and killed near New Vegas. Over a few drinks, Clarissa had convinced Cass to fuck it, let the bureaucrats deal with the bullshit while they set out to settle some scores. She had a man in a chequered suit to find and Cass had some ambushers to track down.

That evening they'd skipped town, and been friends ever since as they ventured further east. Clarissa loved hanging out with the boisterous cowgirl, although she did encourage her already bad drinking habit. Every night they'd end up camping out in the wastes with a bottle of scotch or whiskey or even Cass's patented moonshine and drink themselves stupid.

Neither of them were worried about dangers; they were both born survivors. Every camp they made had a ring of frag mines surrounding it, and when they weren't drinking they both kept a sharp eye out for raiders and mutants. They knew what they were doing.

Due to the I-15 road being shut down due to mutant activity, the two women were taking the long way round to New Vegas, hoofing their way on foot along the Highway 95, south of the city but eventually looping up north once past Black Mountain. They'd skipped the small town of Nipton (Cass hadn't liked the smoke rising from the buildings, suspecting raider activity) and headed straight towards the next town on their route: Novac.

Novac was a dumpy little town with a giant green dinosaur statue. Clarissa hadn't thought must of it until they'd rented a room at the motel, where they soon discovered a totally alien concept: room service. Turned out that people would just bring booze (and food) to your bedroom and you could keep it going all night! Well it was a no-brainer, Cass and her were doing a bender.

Standing here now, letting the soft desert wind blow through her long black hair, Clarissa thought about the night before and despite the hangover, didn't regret it for a second.

They'd been pretty liquored up, just having finished a bottle of whiskey together. Cass had collapsed onto the bed, complaining about feeling hot, and Clarissa had responded coquettishly, "Hell yeah you are!"

Cass had reached up and grabbed her by her tank top saying, "Oh, you really think so do ya?" before giving her a little peck on the cheek. Clarissa pulled herself closer, staring directly at Cass's eyes,

"That all you got?"

Cass yanked her forward, kissing the courier fully on the lips and causing her to fall on top of her. Clarissa laughed and pulled her top off, revealing a simple nude bra underneath. Cass reached up behind Clarissa's back and unclasped her bra, giggling as Clarissa's firm breasts came into view. They hovered above Cass's head, so she squeezed them lovingly. Meanwhile Clarissa started working on Cass's belt, unbuckling it and then pulling at her jeans. After a few tugs they were off. Cass's panties quickly followed, leaving the cowgirl nude from the waist down. Cass positioned herself more comfortably on the shirt as she whipped off her brown leather jacket and began to unbutton her pink top. Clarissa pulled her own pants down, stepping out of them clumsily before jumping onto the bed. Cass soon had her own bra off, leaving her entirely nude. Clarissa enjoyed the view, then crept in between Cass's legs.

Going down on Cass, she stuck her tongue between her lips and began to teasingly lick and suck at Cass's clit. Cass moaned loving, writhing softly as she attempted in turn to pull at Clarissa's long hair, but this was Clarissa's show. Her own hands reached under Cass's thighs and squeezed her buttocks tenderly. Cass smelled good, she noticed. Despite their wasteland-trekking days Cass smelt musky and fermented. Clarissa breathed into the cowboy's unpruned bush, basking in the taste of her friend.

They had talked about it. Clarissa was very much a lesbian with a single disappointing experience with men under her belt. Cass was a bit more storied, but had admitted after a few drinks that she had not been averse to feminine wiles, provided she had enough booze in her. Clarissa had looked at her friend, really looked at her, for the first time that night, and realised she desperately wanted to know Cass more. Carnally.

Last night in the motel, Clarissa had gotten her wish, and it had been sweet.

Blinking in the morning sunlight, Clarissa returned to the motel room and assessed the damage. No broken bottles at least, but there were...a fair few. Dressed in just her white tank top and panties, she pulled on her dark brown cargo pants and heavy-duty boots. She looked over at her Pip-Boy 3000, which she had placed on the bedside table, and say that it was 11am. Funny thing that Pip-Boy, she thought. It had been a gift from the doctor who'd patched her up after she'd been shot. It was one of those old Vault contraptions, useful for mapping and making notes, although she'd mainly been using it as a watch. So it was pretty late in the morning already, huh? It was only at that moment she suddenly realised;

Where was Cass?

She vaguely remembered something about Cass getting up in the early hours of the morning, needing to pee or get coffee or something, but she'd been too out of it to really notice. Clarissa had figured she'd only woken up a little later after her, but now that she knew it was 11, she couldn't help feeling a little nervous. Cass could have gone on a little stroll around town, but if that was the case why was her shotgun still here? Cass never went anywhere without it slung on her back. Something was wrong.