Dizziness from coughing

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https://preview.redd.it/s25jm38jzazc1.jpg?width=2029&format=pjpg&auto=webp&s=4c46b1a85a94d1aa3c4e3106c2e5edf91fbfd718
[Soundtrack](https://soundcloud.com/falckie-batty/sets/damned-mans-dawn)
[Track 1](https://soundcloud.com/haunu/desert-sand-feels-warm-at-night)
The night is frigid, the sand cold like metal, I finally got the guts to pick myself up and wander away from Goodsprings, into the desert, I picked a random direction and walked.
That was a stupid idea… But ever since I woke up I've been having a lot of stupid ideas… my brain feels like it's buried beneath a thick oppressive fog of white noise. Trying to think feels like sand paper is rubbing between my neurons, my thoughts and memories now lay shattered and splattered in a dried bloody spray back at that cemetery I was dug up from.
I don't know who or what I am… The title of courier doesn't feel right… I feel like I'm someone or something else… If not just a ghost… A shell of who I once was…
And my name… I'm not even sure if it's mine, it's just the first thing that popped into my head…
Luca.
Maybe I thought I'd find answers in the desert, but all I found was some over turned train car and a lone green plastic dinosaur.
I crouch down and pick up the dinosaur curiously, examining it before setting it back down and turning to head back to Goodsprings, a sudden tingling down my spine stops me dead in my tracks followed by a overwhelming dizzy spell and a stabbing pain roaring through every nerve in my body, I fall forward, my body convulsing.
§§§
The sand feels cold… Hollow winds howling… It rattles and whispers… Hounds baying in the hunt… I feel numb… Hues of heat painted into the sky… I lost their echos, their imprints… Hope waning, hunger waxing… I have no reflection… Had I ever a home…?
★★★
A voice rouses me. Are you okay?
I snap my eyes open, staring ahead statically at the plastic green dinosaur, I glance around for the source of the voice.
The voice speaks once more. Oh, can you… Hear me? The voice… It's coming from the plastic dinosaur.
My eyes widen, I stare at the green therapod laying two feet from me in the dust, staring back at me. Slowly, I start to regain my senses and with it the cruel frigid cold of the twilight desert, I smelled blood. I narrow my eyes at the figure, the doubt over if I really did hear a voice settling in.
The voice of the dinosaur interrupts my thoughts. You can hear me, right? Look, if you can, you should really get up, you shouldn't lie here. I stare flatly at the figure, my heart pounding, it continued.
It's cold, it's dark and you're bleeding from your nose. You're going to attract something if you keep laying here like you're dead.
I recover enough from my stupor to respond. "What are you?"
I don't know, I haven't seen my reflection yet. What am I?
"A- A green plastic dinosaur… But… What are you?"
Well, I guess I'm a soul possessing a green plastic dinosaur.
"Oh… L-Like a ghost?"
Sort of... What's your name?
I blink, a cold breeze blowing over the hills causing me to shiver and curl into myself, my muscles tingling painfully. "L-Luca…"
Luca, you need to get up. It's not safe out here…
My throat feels dry, my limbs numb. "I… I can't… My limbs… C-Can't move…"
Luca, you have to try.
I sigh, shivering and coughing dryly. "I-I'm… Cold…"
I know, you should really get up.
"I…I don't think I can…"
Luca, you'll die if you don't get up. You have to get up or you'll freeze to death…
I squeeze my eyes shut, a couple crickets chirped in the grass and a lone coyote howled into the night. I grit my teeth and push myself up with my arms, my muscles tensing painfully, my nerves searing with pain. I gasp sharply, nearly collapsing back into the dust, my body feeling heavy and fatigued, the urge to give in and fall into a deep sleep overwhelming.
That's it's Luca! C'mon! That's it! Keep going!
I manage to move myself into a sitting position and pause to rest, looking towards the dinosaur, panting and shivering.
Scribbled above the figure is some graffiti, worn and faded though still legible: Mr. Cleems.
I look back down towards the dinosaur. "Is that your name?"
Huh?
"The graffiti above you."
What does it say?
"Mr. Cleems. Is it your name?"
The dinosaur is silent for a moment, as if considering something before replying. Yeah. There's a beat of silence before I resume my struggle.
With some minor difficulty I stagger to my feet, my muscles and tendons throbbing and clenching, trembling violently, I glance at the dinosaur.
"Mr. Cleems…"
Yeah?
I debate how to ask this for a few moments before resolving to simply rip the band-aid off. "Can I take you with me?"
Sure, you look like you need a guardian angel.
I smile and with a fatigued voice I cry. "Yippee." I reach over, picking up Mr. Cleems, looking at him with a newfound happiness, I turn to look towards the direction I came from, the faint glow of Goodsprings visible.
★★★
I nearly collapsed back into the dirt on the way back to Goodsprings, just managing to stagger through the door of the Prospector Saloon before my knees buckled.
The saloon was empty, save for Trudy who paused in her cleaning of the bar to investigate the distinct noise of a body hitting the floor. She rounded the corner her eyes widening the moment they locked onto my quivering form.
"Luca! My god, are you okay?" She said, rushing to my side.
Through chattering teeth I speak. "F-Fine… I'm fine…"
Trudy slung my arm around her neck and hoisted me up. "You're freezing! Did you walk out into the desert?"
I nod as she walks me over to a table and sits me down into the booth.
"What were you thinking?!" She sighs and walks to the bar. "Stay right there, I'll get you something warm to drink."
"Otay." I pull Mr. Cleems out of my pocket, examining him. The sudden urge to put him in my mouth strikes me and before I can stop myself I'm biting down on his plastic head.
The hell?! Luca! What are you doing?! Stop!
Trudy placed a mug of coffee in front of me, noticing Mr. Cleems in my mouth her face softened further.
"Are you hungry? Here, lemme get you something."
Before I could protest she was already gone, I remove Mr. Cleems from my mouth and took a sip of the coffee, letting out a strangled cry as my tongue burns.
"Careful, it's hot!" Trudy calls from somewhere within the bar.
The hell did you put me in your mouth for?
I shrug, resting my chin in my hand as I idly trace the stripes on Mr. Cleems, the soft murmuring of the jukebox in the next room over catching my attention when a familiar voice reaches my ears.
I strain my ears to listen…
"Little word has been heard from Nipton, leading to traders thinking the isolated town may be in trouble, in other news, Black Mountain radio…"
Trudy returned with a plate of iguana on a stick. "Here, eat up." I rummage through my pockets for some caps, she stops me. "It's on the house."
"But-"
Trudy raises a hand, cutting me off. "It's the least I can do after you fought off the Powder Gangers with us." With that, she returned to tending the bar, I eat in relative silence, till it's broken when I speak up.
"Hey Trudy, where can I find Nipton?"
★★★
[Track 2](https://soundcloud.com/repulsive1908/repulsive-forgotten)
Oh… Gods…
I stand frozen in place, my heart hammering against my chest as the smell of smoke and smoldering flesh and tires fills my lungs. I gag, stumbling back, squeezing Mr. Cleems close to my chest.
A lone flag among a blaze of branches and broken bodies flares angrily in the wind, emblazoned with the image of a yellow bull, I shudder, feeling my stomach drop upon gazing at it, I look back upon the main road, forcing myself to overcome my fawning and move my feet.
WITNESS WITNESS WITNESS
I jolt, flinching violently, the loud booming voice causing my heart to jump into my throat, quickly realizing it came from my Pip-Boy. I stare at it, holding it away from my body in fear, still in a startled state of mind as I tentatively reach a hand over to examine it when movement from the corner of my eye catches my attention, I lift my head and lock eyes with a man wearing a fox pelt. My blood runs cold, a shiver crawling down my spine.
I feel an intense pit of fear resurface within me, swimming within the very bottom of it's depths…
WITNESS WITNESS WITNESS
Rage.
★★★
[Track 3](https://soundcloud.com/elephantmusic-music/grave)
The sun, blazing on as it set, bathed the sands in shades of rose and red as I left Nipton in a stupor of fear, shock and deep subtle rage, roiling beneath the surface like a mad serpent among reeds.
The words of the fox hooded man echo in the back of my mind, his voice driving me in circles as I feel recollection tugging from beyond the shattered remnants of my mind, yet a deep part of me recoiled at the fruitless attempts to piece together a memory. I feel angry at myself for letting them walk away, though I know full well that trying to fight would have been another stupid, and fatal, idea.
Cresting a hill I pause to survey my surroundings, spotting the sight of sore wounds and split skins, among the colours of dawn, the blood red crimson of the Legion…
Several soldiers sat huddled around a fire. I feel my breath hasten, my heart leaping when I pick up on my presence going unperceived, I drop down into a crouch… Drawing a weapon… My heart hammering in tune with the hammer of my gun as I open fire.
The shock on their faces is sweet, though it's quickly spoiled when their expressions change to fury, they raise their weapons and fire, I feel the bullets ripping into me, the blood pouring out, the pain screaming throughout my nervous system, pleading me to lay down my weapon and run, but I push it away and pursue this rage roiling within, deep down beneath layers and layers of deeply set fear and sadness, like a sea of echos who's origins are lost, the serpent below breaking free, hissing with a newfound venom.
I feel death breathing down my neck, it's a familiar feeling, how she danced with me the night I lost everything.
And I'll keep dancing, I'm not too good at it but I'll learn how to be better so I can be the best damn dancer for death. I'll waltz with broken bones, through burning buildings and into blossoming battlefields, bound to her like atoms in the center of a star.
I stand among the carnage, looking at my now bent and stained machete and back at the corpses around me, the full weight of what I've done hits me like a truck, I feel a sickness in my stomach, though it's only brief as I remember the faction of monsters these people came from, I turn away, averting my eyes, a wave of exhaustion seeping into me, my clothes soaked with blood, my body sore and wounded, I stumble away from the gruesome scene to find a place to rest my weary body.
§§§
[Track 4](https://soundcloud.com/imoonlight/sleeping-at-last-saturn-instrumental)
Foxes, Dogs, Wolves and Coyotes. Fleeting is the Fox though he is the first, oh what future does he bring with his false face? Foxes, Dogs, Wolves and Coyotes. Dangerous is the dog, how they dig through the dust and drag you into the dark. diving, drowning, dancing… Foxes, Dogs, Wolves and Coyotes. Wailing and wise is the Wolf who learns, their will is strong but wary of wit from the west. Foxes, Dogs, Wolves and Coyotes. Coy you are, Coy You'll be, careful and calculating, come crimson and crows, clean and cold you'll be in clearing and cutting.

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Previous Chapter
Chapter Five:
(Frankie)
Dawn left before I got a chance to talk to her after the contract signing, and it grated on my nerves leaving unfinished business in the air. I couldn’t text her because I didn’t have her number. Could I show up at her house unannounced? Perhaps. Did I want to be a creeper AND a failed one-night stand? Not a chance.
So, the only option left was to wait until today. I’d gotten up at 4:30 a.m. like usual, lamented the lack of scrambled eggs in my home, swallowed some awful instant coffee, and got to the newsroom.
Living on Munjoy Hill meant work was just a five-minute walk away, and I loved that about our office’s location.
Sitting at my computer, I started proofreading the first draft of an editorial we were publishing this weekend on an upcoming election that would limit how many cruise ships were allowed to visit Portland each year.
“The DSA sure is proactive. I’ll give them that,” I muttered, ignoring my groaning stomach.
Just let me finish this, and I’ll grab something from the vending machine, I thought, patting my tummy.
I broke that promise and many others I made to myself as the morning wore on. There was just too much to look through. I barely even got five seconds to stand up from my desk in between looking through the city’s response to my FOIA request and taking a phone call from an alderman upset about our coverage on a vote over an affordable housing development in Bayside.
My stomach had all but given up growling, and my body had moved on to being slightly dizzy when Craig stepped into our office. He stood around six feet tall with almond eyes and pale skin. He was freshly graduated from the Maine University South and eager to cut his teeth on anything and everything we could throw at him.
The boy’s curly, bouncy black hair and radiant golden retriever energy were almost too much on some days, especially mornings when I’d neglected breakfast. Today he wore a red cardigan and slacks, along with freshly-polished shoes.
“Morning, boss!”
“Don’t call me that,” I said, leaning forward over my desk. “Watcha need, Craig?”
He cleared his throat and checked his phone.
“I had a story I wanted to pitch.”
I looked up and raised an eyebrow.
“Your pitch can’t wait for the morning meeting?” I asked.
Craig shifted his legs, clearly still not used to feeling strain or pushback from a manager or editor. I don’t know how they let kids out of the journalism program at MUS without toughening them up a bit.
You don’t get to be an inky wretch by squirming under pressure, I thought. He’s got great potential. Kid’s just gotta toughen up a little.
To that end, I’d be a little more stern with him these last few months, trying to get him to grow some legs to stand on. The results thus far were. . . mixed.
“Well, it’s just, if I’m going to do this story, I need to get the interview done today. And the interviewee needs to know in the next hour for scheduling purposes.”
I stifled a sigh. This sounded like last-second planning, and I wasn’t too keen on it. Then again, Craig was our general assignment reporter. We threw him at everything and anything that needed coverage, breaking news, city meetings, new museum exhibits, court cases, and more. It’s the best position for fresh college grads because they can run their wheels in a bunch of different directions and figure out what beats to specialize in. If he had a good story idea, I wasn’t opposed to giving him a chance to seize it, provided he could make a good case for coverage.
“Okay, Craig. Tell me about your story.”
His eyes lit up, and I watched his unsure posture melt away like butter in a warm pan.
“There’s this Australian DJ performing at the Statehouse Theatre tomorrow night. Her name is Demon Grrl. And she lands at the Jetport in a couple of hours, where I can run over and interview her if you approve my story.”
I rested my chin on my palm while I listened.
“What makes this DJ newsworthy of a story?”
Craig cleared his throat again, and I waited patiently while he tried to work out the exact wording of his justification.
“Well, she’s trans. And she’s kicking off a US tour where half of all her concert proceeds will be donated to The Tyler Project, which works to prevent suicide in queer youth and adults. I think there’s an interesting piece to be written on why this issue was so important to her that she traveled halfway around the world to raise money for it. And it’s timely given recent bills here in Maine that bolstered transgender medical protections while bills in New Hampshire were aimed at restricting trans rights.”
I had initially thought Craig was pitching me a puff piece, but the way he’d tied the article into timely political news in the region impressed me. I nodded and stood from my desk. Maybe the kid was growing a bit after all.
With a soft smile, I said, “Okay, I’m sold. Run out to the Jetport and interview your DJ. But! This isn’t just a musical profile piece. You have to get the Aussie to talk about why this tour is so important to her and ask about Maine’s recent trans bills like you mentioned. Maybe even ask her to compare the current U.S. political climate for trans issues to what things are like where she lives.”
The golden retriever standing in my office returned my smile with a wide grin and nodded eagerly. The kid understood his assignment perfectly. And I had no doubt he’d turn in an excellent piece. His writing wasn’t the issue. It was his confidence that needed work. Hopefully, this would help a little with that.
“How’d this Demon Grrl even get on your radar?” I asked.
Craig scratched the back of his head.
“Well, my little brother is trans, and he listens to her music a lot when he’s playing Minecraft. I can hardly visit home without hearing one of her songs playing from the speakers in his room. He’s even tweeted her a few times, and she responded. She has all these songs about cyborgs and identity. It’s pretty neat.”
I tried to remember if Craig had mentioned having a queer sibling before, but nothing came to mind, so I just nodded.
“She’s gotten really popular over the last few years. I watched a few clips of her competing on the Australian version of The X Factor. Demon Grrl made it to one of the last rounds before being eliminated.”
Behind Craig, I saw a certain witch walk into the newsroom, and my attention quickly shifted. But before I got hypnotized by Dawn’s wandering green eyes, I shook my head and turned back to the young reporter.
“Well, that all sounds good. Off to the Jetport with ya, bub. Keep the article under 600 inches, and we’ll run it in tomorrow’s culture section.”
“You got it, boss.”
The kid gave me a mock salute and turned to leave, typing something on his phone, probably texting the DJ.
I’ll work on getting him to ditch the salute after he stops calling me ‘boss’, I thought, rolling my eyes.
After Craig left, I was tempted to run out and — what? Pull Dawn aside to kiss her? No! Stop it, brain. We rehearsed this before bed last night. We’re going to have a calm conversation about our professional relationship and nothing more.
I took a deep breath.
And it’ll look desperate if I rush over to her and start talking about our previous. . . encounter, I thought.
So I used all my self-control to just casually wave at Dawn as our eyes met. Just a casual greeting and she’d calmly walk to her desk and — oh shit — oh fuck. She’s coming over here. Was that a “come over here” wave? I could have sworn it was a “Nice to see you. Please stay over there” wave.
My blood pressure might have spiked. Maybe the floor wiggled a bit. I couldn’t be sure. Regularly skipping breakfast will do that to a girl.
“Morning, Frankie,” Dawn said.
“Dawn,” I nodded, unsure of how to proceed. Fortunately, the witch didn’t seem to have any trouble finding a segway into our next words.
“You look a little pale,” she said.
I shook my head.
“Excuse me?”
“You skipped breakfast again, didn’t you?”
“H — how did you know?”
Dawn grinned and held up a paper bag I hadn’t noticed in her hand. Was I so distracted by her black sheath dress that I failed to realize she was carrying the sack? If I kept this up, she was definitely going to know what she did to my poor heart.
“Because you weren’t this pale yesterday when you devoured the eggs and bacon I left out for you. Thanks for doing the dishes, by the way,” she said in a voice that was just a little too loud for my liking.
Quickly ushering her into my office and closing the door, I watched her take out some napkins, a few flakey biscuits, and a small jar of strawberry jam.
“What are you doing?” I asked.
“Making sure my new coworker doesn’t pass out by providing freshly baked biscuits and homemade jam?” she said.
I was about to say something stupid when my stomach thankfully interrupted with the song of its people. Endangered right whales in the Gulf of Maine probably heard me from here.
“If you want, I can play the part of a worried housewife who realizes you forgot your lunch and drove to the office to bring it to you,” Dawn said, practically thrusting a jam-covered biscuit into my hands. “Who knows? Maybe a little role-play will help keep you awake this time?”
That last line sent a shiver down my spine, and I nearly dropped the biscuit, just barely catching it between my bumbling hands. The witch just smiled.
Well, shit. Dawn knows EXACTLY what she’s doing to me, I thought, glumly.
Taking a deep breath and putting the food on my desk, I wiped my fingers with one of the witch’s napkins.
“Okay, Dawn. That’s exactly what I need to talk to you about.”
“Role-play?”
“Yes — I mean no!” I stammered while she giggled. “I’m sorry I really messed up the other night between us. It was embarrassing, and I don’t have a clue why it happened.”
Dawn raised an eyebrow and actually frowned a little.
“Really? It’s a mystery to you? You can pen a column on the effects of property tax increases, but you can’t see that you’re overworking yourself?”
Everything came to a complete stop for me as I paused and softened my voice.
“You read my column this morning?”
“What do you think I was doing while I waited for the biscuits to bake? I was reading the paper, silly.”
I don’t know why that moved me so much. But my blood pressure wasn’t spiking anymore. Instead, I was left with this strange warm feeling of appreciation. Was it hot in here? Or was I just caught off guard by the fact that the prettiest girl in all of Maine confessed to reading my column in the paper? That just made me want to kiss her all the more.
Leaning a little closer, I noticed Dawn didn’t even flinch. The witch stood exactly where she had been, waiting for me to — no! Stop it, brain. We’ve got work to do, boundaries to set!
Coughing, I stuffed my face with a biscuit to buy some time while I tried to remember the words I practiced saying in the mirror last night. Okay, boundaries. You can do this, Frankie Dee. You’re the managing editor of Maine’s largest newspaper. Let’s get it done.
“Good stuff,” I mumbled, crumbs falling from my mouth.
“I couldn’t agree more,” Dawn said, watching me with nothing less than a full smile on her face.
When I finally finished the biscuit, Dawn inexplicably handed me a Moonbucks tea she produced. Was that in her other hand the entire time?! My attention to detail outside of the written word drastically needed an overhaul.
Taking a drink of hibiscus tea. I cleared my throat.
“Thank you, Dawn. I really appreciate. . . all this. But I need to be completely honest with you.”
“All ears,” the witch said.
“Good. I didn’t expect to find you in the office the morning after we went home together. Er — to your home, I mean. Judging by your expression yesterday, I don’t think you expected me to be the one offering you a contract to become our new astrology editor. But here we are. You signed it. I signed it. And now we’re business partners.”
Dawn ate a biscuit and nodded.
“That seems like a pretty good summary of yesterday’s events,” she said, not bored, just patiently waiting for me to get to the point. I guess all those words I’d spewed were an onramp of sorts.
“Right. Yes. Good. Um, as business partners, I don’t think we should. . . fraternize. I think you’re amazing. I don’t regret going home with you. But I think from this point on, we should keep things p-professional,” I stuttered, saying words I wasn’t entirely sure matched how I felt about Dawn inside.
And if I expected her to throw a fit, or at the very least, sneer, I was shocked. She just nodded, ate another biscuit, and said, “Sure thing. . . FeeDee.”
I choked on my tea and gasped for air.
“You will NOT call me that! Or I will shred your fucking contract and scatter the pieces in the sea,” I snapped, scowling at the witch who seemed immune.
She waved off my consternation.
“Fine, fine. So we can’t date because of work. How about this, instead? You spend some time with me learning about witchcraft to familiarize yourself with what I’ll be adding to the Lighthouse-Journal. And I’ll spend some time with you learning about journalism to familiarize myself with the publication I’ll be bringing my magic to.”
Rubbing the bridge of my nose, I stifled a yawn.
“Yeah, sure. That sounds like fun. But we keep it professional, yeah?”
Dawn shrugged.
“Sure. We’ll keep the fondling to a minimum.”
I scowled, suddenly remembering what she did with her hands as we made out on her couch and trying to fight another shiver from surfing down my spine.
Dawn slowly sipped her own tea.
I sidestepped her boundary test and thought for a moment.
“Can I ask a witchcraft question now?”
She nodded.
“Why do you have two shrines to The Morrigan? The design of each seems pretty different.”
Dawn’s eyes suddenly lit up in a way I’d only seen Craig replicate so far today. And she put down her tea.
“Oh, you mean the bedroom shrine? That one’s for Artemis.”
“You work worship two goddesses?” I asked.
She made a wheel motion with her hand and slowly shook her head from side to side like I hadn’t quite used the right words.
“Not really worship. More like. . . I work with them. They guide me. Show me wisdom. Teach me to see what others miss. In exchange, I honor them with altars and leave them regular offerings. It’s not a traditional worship like you’d see in a Christian church,” she said before raising an eyebrow. “Is that where you find yourself on Sunday mornings?”
I grinned. Guilty.
“Well, don’t tell Father Carlos, but I’m only in a pew once a month or so when work allows.”
“Catholic?”
“Yes, but not overwhelmingly so. I like the music. I like some of the teachings. But a lot of the dogma is overbearing, so I tune it out.”
Dawn cocked her head to the side with neither a frown nor a grin.
“So, working with a witch isn’t going to be an issue for you?” she asked.
I scoffed.
“Until this last round of buyouts, our cops and courts reporter was a card-carrying Satanist. I don’t give a shit about personal beliefs. As long as you’re not a cannibal or a Jared Leto fan, we’ve got no issues,” I said.
With a growing smile, Dawn asked, “So. . . Catholic, but not overwhelmingly so. What does that make you. . . diet Catholic?”
“No, Episcopalians are diet Catholic. I’m more like a caffeine-free Catholic. I occasionally go to mass because my entire family goes. Our parish has a rainbow flag on the outside, and two of our nuns are married lesbians. I like Jesus’ teachings. I don’t care for people who strip his words of cultural and historical context for modern political messages. And I’m perfectly fine learning about your craft to better understand exactly what you’ll be doing as our paper’s astrology editor.”
Dawn handed me another biscuit.
“Well, then, it sounds like we’ve got ourselves a nice little bargain.”