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kisstheburnsaway · 3 years

Note

could you do a companions react to someone being racist towards an Asian sole? Like maybe calling them a communist or something

That’s an awesome request~! Thank you!

So here’s another ‘was supposed to be short’ one for ya!

Disclaimer: Because of the sheer diversity of what “Asian sole” could mean, not all of these will fit every ethnicity! (some insinuate more South or Southeast Asia issues, some play on the “Communists broke this country” bullshit and play into Fallout’s history with the Asian internment camps (see: Fallout 3), some indicate an American!Asian Sole, etc. etc.)

Please don’t hold it against me, racists are special and I can’t be as vague with this as I would usually like.

Trigger warning: Racism and racial slurs.

(I was actually surprised to find out there’s an actual Wiki page with ethnic slurs…)

Cait:

“Cait!” they heard almost the same instant as they walked into Combat Zone. They didn’t even get to pass through the blue doors when Tommy was already all over them, shaking Sole’s hand and giving Cait a friendly pat on the shoulder. Ever since Sole had sorted out the Raiders, Combat Zone returned to what it once was: a place for people to fight for money, and for others to come, drink, and gamble; open to the general public and, apparently, thriving. Tommy himself looked much better already, gained some weight (as much as was possible for him) and it seemed like he had finally caught up on sleep.

“See?” Sole said, gesturing towards the theater full of patrons, filled with sounds of the audience’s shouts and grunting of the fighters. “You’re doing pretty well even without the Raiders, huh?”

“Right.” Tommy looked at his life’s work, making a face one makes when they lose a bet. “Had to do something, didn’t I? You didn’t leave me much choice.”

“Hey,” Sole said, putting their hand on Tommy’s shoulder. “No hard feelings, right?”

“…Right.” Tommy threw them a look. “Nah, it’s goin’ pretty well. Now I’m kinda missin’ my little bird.” He shifted his gaze to Cait, giving her a small smile as she rolled her eyes, then nudged Sole in the ribs. “Say, you got her clean, didn’t ya?”

“Aye,” Cait said before Sole could even utter a word, clearly not settling on being talked about like she wasn’t even there. “And now me head’s finally clear enough to see I’d be a sodden moron to–” She suddenly fell silent as the cheering of the finished fight died down and in the relative silence they could all clearly hear one of the guys at the registers go:

“–for these fucking Chinks, we wouldn’t be here right now. I don’t understand why we didn’t blow them all to shit when we had the chance.”

Before Sole could even open their mouth, Cait was already over there, grabbing the guy by the jaw and pulling his head out through the little window. “Say that again, you fuckin’ pig,” she growled, stance showing how ready she was to break his nose, or neck, on her knee, probably depending on his answer. “I fuckin’ dare ya.”

The man whimpered, but with the iron grip Cait had on his jaw, Sole doubted if he was able to say anything even if he wanted to. They watched the scene unravel without so much as a blink of an eye, pondering whether they actually wanted Cait to stop. It wasn’t the first time, and it was definitely not the last, that she jumped into action to defend their honor. This time, at least, there wasn’t any blood spilling… yet. God, she was making it so easy to sentence every racist asshole to death.

“Seriously?” Tommy hissed loudly to catch everyone’s attention, but not before carefully and quietly closing the door to separate them from the patrons. He walked over to the man and leant over to look him straight in the eye. “You got a bad joke ‘bout a ghoul, an Irish gal, and an Asian walkin’ into a fightin’ pit standin’ ‘fore ya, and of the three, you choose the human speakin’ perfect American English to be bitchin’ about?”

The man clearly tried to utter an “I’m sorry”, but Tommy smacked his head before he could even get a syllable out.

“Ain’t me you should be apologizin’ to, ya idiot.” He straightened up with a sigh. “You’re fired. I ever see ya again, I’m gonna put a bullet in you myself.” He brushed off his suit and looked at Cait, then at Sole. “Hey, if you want ‘im dead, can you take it outside? I got patrons, you understand, and a fight I need to announce…”

“Sure.” Sole nodded. “Who do you have lined up for it?”

“Well, if Cait ain’t gonna…”

“Take this one.” Cait pulled the guy out through the window and threw him on the floor. “Hell, I might even go in, get paid to kick his fuckin’ racist arse.”

“Uhh… Okay?” Tommy looked to Sole for a decision but they only shrugged. Traveling with Cait, they learned some time ago it was usually better not to get in her way unless necessary.

“Hear that, ya bastard?” Cait pat the guy on the cheek. “You win, you’ll even get a severance package to send ya on your merry way.” She leaned closer, lowering her voice to an ominous whisper. “But if ya lose, I will mash you into a bloody paste to decorate the deck.”

Codsworth:

Sole looked the distressed ghoul over and sighed. “You know, I think you could use a drink. Or three,” they said, gently leading the ex-rep downstairs. Codsworth led the way and hurried to Buddy to get them both a cold Gwinnett Stout each.

“I never even had the chance to get your name,” Sole remarked as the ghoul took the bottle and chugged down at least half of it in one go before even looking at them.

“Of course you didn’t,” he groaned. “Vault-Tec was a corporation, and no one cared about our names. We weren’t human to them. And some of us will never be human again.” He paused for another sip and a deep sigh. “You’re actually the first person to ask me that in almost 250 years. It’s Maximillian. Max for short.”

“Sure thing, Max.” Sole smiled and gently touched his arm. “I’ll keep that in mind.”

“Thank you,” he squeezed out, nearly crying. “I honestly had no idea what to do with myself. Everything’s so different here now, so strange and terrifying. I’m not cut out for this!” He shuddered, stifling a sob. “I thought I was lucky to have found this place at least, but it’s just as cut-throat here as everywhere else…”

Sole strongly disagreed with that but wasn’t going to argue with the man’s grief or distress, or whatever that was. And even though they wanted to help, it was going to be next to impossible if he didn’t calm down first. So they slid the beer a little closer to him again. “We can talk about that later,” they said. “For now, just try to relax.”

Max sucked onto the bottle again and Sole raised their brow at the pace at which the beer was disappearing down his throat. They were quite familiar with how resistant ghouls could be, so they nodded at Codsworth to keep the beers coming, and he obliged them, as always, with joyful eagerness.

After that, the mood changed and suddenly, it was all small talk and awkward jokes Sole remembered Max for from that fateful day. Max had a lot of questions, mainly pertaining to how Sole survived, what happened to their family, and particularly, where they found the strength to become the survivor they were now.

“I was always a survivor,” they only said. “It’s just the circumstances that need surviving which change.”

Max nodded solemnly. Then it was all stories: first about the Vault, then about suburbian life, then how Sole had met their spouse… Seemingly without end, just one after another. Whenever Sole couldn’t (or didn’t want to) remember something, Codsworth happily took over, much to their relief or sometimes dismay.

And he was a great and eager storyteller as well, holding Max’s attention without any effort, and even though Sole obviously knew everything he talked about, they found themself caught up, too. Max kept moving back with his questions, as though in an attempt to learn everything there was to know about Sole. It was borderline obsessive, and Sole was growing gradually more suspicious, until finally, Max gave up pretending and straight-up asked what he really was interested in.

“So, who are you, really?” And seeing Sole’s blank expression, he continued with excitement that could only partly be explained by the copious amounts of alcohol he had poured into himself. “Come on. Let me guess: Filipino? Taiwanese? I’m sure it’s not China ‘cause such a nice person couldn’t possibly be a dirty commie.” Sole gritted their teeth and rolled their eyes, but remained silent, hoping a glare would be enough to make him shut up. “But, hmm… Korea?” His eyes lit up. “Japan?”

“I don’t understand…” Codsworth’s pleasant but subtly forceful tone put a stop to his tirade. “What are you trying to say, sir?” he asked with perfectly calculated confusion.

“I mean…” Max looked between him and Sole, clearly trying to make himself understood without actually spelling it out. Sole stared him down coldly while Codsworth beeped with some distress.

“Oh, I’m sure it must be difficult,” Codsworth cooed then, even his robotic voice practically dripping with sarcasm. “Being a ghoul, having to admit that you’re doing your best to offend a fellow American who also happened to be the only person willing to help you, merely based on their looks.”

Max chewed on his lip and stared at them both with something like regret, but didn’t dare speak.

“And of course, how would you admit that without losing what little chance you had of–”

“That’s enough, Codsworth,” Sole said tiredly, standing up when they saw he was getting nowhere. “Let’s just leave. We have things to do.” If Max made any attempt to stop them, Sole didn’t spare a glance to check.

Curie:

“Oh! There are injured there!”

That was Sole’s only warning before Curie, like a true wartime medic, dashed away from them despite the legitimate rain of bullets flying any which way. “Curie!” they shouted but when they tried to leave cover to follow her and bring her back to safety, they were forced back as a shot whizzed past their face and another luckily ricocheted off their rifle. But somehow, she got to her destination safely and started tending to the bullet wound of a caravan driver who had been hit by a stray slug. Go figure.

They quickly dispatched with the remaining raiders, although not without eating a couple of bullets themself, and hobbled over to check on Curie and the terrible gut wound she was now joint-deep in. And as soon as they stepped close enough, they recognized the trader–they had met him before and those were hardly pleasant encounters.

And sure enough, as soon as they came into view, the caravaneer’s mouth twisted even further, from a grimace of pain to a snarl of disgust. “Shoulda known this shoout-out was your fault,” he huffed. “We shoulda left all you gooks in the camps.”

“Oh, no!” Curie instantly pulled away from the wound, in no way delicately, eliciting an entirely satisfying scream of pain from the guy. “My apologies, monsieur,” she continued with utmost politeness even as she proceeded to disinfect herself and her tools as zealously as if she was worried they’d catch something from him. “I’m afraid I have more important patients to look after.”

And with that, she lead Sole away, already stabbing them full of Stimpaks and Med-X even as the guy screamed after them, “Wait! Come back! Aren’t you supposed to be a doctor? You’re just gonna leave a human being to die?!”

“I’m sorry, monsieur,” Curie replied in the most perfect robotic voice Sole had ever heard from her to date. “I do not understand the question. I am looking after the human being.”

Danse:

Sole couldn’t really tell what exactly got the Brotherhood’s panties up in a bunch when Danse was escorting them to Maxson’s office, at least not at first. Sure, the rest of the Commonwealth was squarely divided into those who considered Sole’s looks before anything else and hated them for “causing the Great War” (true story), and those who recognised 200-year-old conflicts to be no longer relevant, to whom their skin colour was the least of the issue. But Sole had hoped that the Brotherhood, what with their centuries of historical research and prioritising humanity above all, would be content with the fact that they were a human, rather than focusing on the one that they were a specific brand of human.

They were only half-wrong.

Sure, the Scribes were more than welcoming and perfectly polite and most Paladins scoffed at them just like they did at everyone else, but the Knights… well, they were considerably less indiscriminate. And somehow, they seemed to be everywhere Sole went.

Sole and Danse were just walking past one such group, when a younger member, clearly not as well-versed in hiding their opinions as others were, could be heard loudly stating, “I just don’t get why we’re letting this happen. People like that are exactly why we’re here in the first place.”

At first, Sole wasn’t even sure if they didn’t just mean the infamous Brotherhood’s ‘outsiders’, but Danse didn’t seem to have any such doubts. He strode over to the group, towering above them in his shining Power Armor.

“Sounds like you need some fresh air to clear your head, Initiate,” he said in a voice as cold as ice, yet his steel gaze was even colder. “A jog, I would say. On the ground, around the compound. Outside the walls.”

The Initiate visibly paled. “But, sir, there’s cliffs and–”

Danse’s face was stone as he rumbled, “Make it work.”

Deacon:

In Deacon’s own immortal words, walking around the ‘Wealth with the face Sole was wearing was always a treat, but sometimes the sarcastic kind. Every now and then, when the mood would strike, Deacon would do a face swap and walk around looking vaguely similar to Sole, taking way too much joy in pretending to be their overprotective older brother with every racist asshole they encountered. He’d whip off his sunglasses and glare at the perp with his hand hovering dangerously close to the iron and the signature Scowl No. 3 on his face.

Other times, the absurdity was just too strong. Like that one time they were walking around Diamond City and a woman squinted her eyes at Sole. “Where are you from?” she asked, and Sole could feel Deacon’s hackles going up behind them.

Sole shrugged. “Boston.”

“Boston?” She squinted even more and gave a few confused blinks. “What part of China is that?”

Whatever composure Sole had managed to gather, it all evaporated. With something between a sob and a chuckle, they pressed a shaky hand to their forehead. Deacon, in turn, approached the woman. “A real diamond in the rough, eh, boss?” he muttered, peering at her like she was a circus attraction. “Could use a little cut and polish…”

Before Sole could react or Deacon follow on his threat, the woman was long gone between the buildings.

Dogmeat:

Sole wasn’t entirely sure what they expected to happen if they trained Dogmeat to attack on command, but they did hope that using a word so outdated nobody in the 23rd century would even know about it, let alone think to use it, was a clever choice. I mean, who would even call them ‘Oriental’ anymore, right?

Now, as they were watching Dogmeat, bare-teethed and growling, chase down a terrified Wastelander, Sole was seriously pondering if they should conveniently forget the “stand down” command as well.

Hancock:

They had no intention of getting into a fight today. They even took a wide berth around a Raider’s camp, but clearly not wide enough: a couple of watchmen noticed them and readied their pipe pistols. Sole and Hancock were way out of their range, so instead of coming out from behind their fortifications, the Raiders started shouting down toward them, hoping to provoke them into a fight.

But once their meager assemblage of ‘ghoul-fuckers’ and ‘Do you glow, too?’s was done, they were really scraping the bottom of the barrel. “’Ey, China Eyes!” one of them hollered. “Got any more bombs for us?”

Hancock, who had up till now only ground his teeth, finally had enough and hoisted his Fat Man onto his shoulder, stepping back with one foot to support it. “Don’t fuckin’ tempt me!” he yelled back.

The Raiders instantly disappeared behind their makeshift barricades and metal walls. Sole shook their head, though they had to admit the display was warming their cockles; with a hand on Hancock’s shoulder, they urged him along. “As much as I like watching you handle that thing, they’re not worth 400 caps a nuke…”

Hancock followed, letting the Fat Man down as he wagged his naked brows at Sole. “You sure know how to talk me down…”

MacCready:

“Go back to China!”

“I wish I could!” MacCready yelled back before Sole had a chance to even look around. And then they couldn’t see or breathe, doubled down in laughter as Mac all but dragged them along, beaming with pride.

Nick:

The trader was really getting on Sole’s nerves, speaking to them in slow and clear syllables like they were a moron. But they knew what was going on, and it wasn’t the first time. And just as they were about to give the deepest of sighs and finally say something, Nick stepped up to they side and nodded at the merchant. “Thank you for your considerate user accessibility but I’m operating at full capacity.”

The guy stopped mid-sentence, his voice caught in his throat and eyes flicking between Sole and Nick until Sole finally snickered. “Oh, look at that. I don’t seem to have any American money on me.”

“Shocking,” Nick murmured in agreement.

“Sorry for wasting your time.”

Nick dipped his hat at the merchant just as they were walking away. “Hope your speech impediment resolves soon.”

Piper:

“Nan-ni shimasu-ka?”

“Hai! Arigatou, Takahashi-san.” Sole beamed at Piper who sat next to them with a lenient smile across her lips. Even if he was ‘just’ a robot, it was still nice to hear their mother tongue. “You’re one to talk, Red,” they teased. “You get into pretend conversations with him all the time.”

“Incorrect. I get into pretend conversations with myself. Takahashi’s just there to pretend to listen.”

“Riiight. ‘Cause that’s better.” They laughed as Takahashi served them each with a warm bowl of noodles. Sole winked at him, albeit pointlessly. “Arigatou gozaimashita.”

“Now you’re just showing off,” Piper laughed as Takahashi nodded to himself and whirred away. “How does the other thing go again?”

“Itadakimasu?”

“Yes, that’s it. Ithadakeemasoo.”

“Please never do that again. It has the exactl opposite effect on my appetite.”

Just as they laughed, an obviously new-to-town group of wastelanders walked up to the counter as if looking for something but quickly realizing this was a food bar. Just as they were about to walk away again, Takahashi stepped over to them and asked, “Nan-ni shimasu-ka?”

One of the outsiders spat on the ground. “Look at that Commie bot serving its Commie food…” They trodded off too fast to notice Sole or their tired eyeroll and defeated groan. But Piper did.

She looked at them quizzically as they pushed the noodles away, still rolling their eyes so hard they nearly fell off the chair; and when they didn’t say anything, she asked, “You okay?”

“I just hate assholes like that.”

Piper shrugged. “It’s just another group of idiots who don’t know anything about Diamond City. Definitely not gonna make the front page.”

For the sake of their relationship, Sole tried to stifle another groan but failed miserably. Piper raised her brow. Sole wasn’t sure if she was taking offense or asking a question, but… “Look, I get that people don’t even know what Asia is, but come the fuck on. Japan and the US were on the same side! This is the camps all over again…”

“Okay, that’s… Wow. So Japan fought China, too?”

“Historically, quite a lot, actually. You know, the–”

But before Sole could finish their sentence, Piper waved her hand at them. “Wait, wait, wait.” She ushered them into her home and pulled out her trusty notebook. “Let’s make this an interview. I’m gonna turn this into ‘The Origins of Takahashi’ but make it educational.”

For a second, Sole questioned if they should trust her, given that every conversation they ever had about Japan was full of jokes, but then… if anybody could do this justice, it was her. So they sat instead, preparing for a night of talking but starting it with an, “Arigatou, Piper-san.”

She laughed. “You’re a riot, Blue.”

Preston:

“Look, Preston, I told you already. How can I be the General of the Minutemen when there are barely any Minutemen? Enlist a few more people and then I’ll–”

“I did.” Preston beamed with a thoroughly blinding grin as he made a sweeping gesture to the road where a good dozen people were quietly talking between themselves. “Can I announce it now?”

Sole skeptically stared down the obviously simple folks, unsure of themselves outside of the comfort of their own homes. “Have you trained them at all?”

“Well, it’s not exactly a General’s job, you know. But if you were the General, then I could–”

“Alright, I get it. Fine. Let’s get this over with.”

There was a flash of joy, or maybe a triumphant smile, on Preston’s face but when they were stepping out of the house, he put his hand on Sole’s arm. “You’re doing the right thing. And thank you.”

Sole playfully bumped their shoulder into his before they stepped out of the house and together stood in front of the gathered Minutemen.”

“Welcome, everyone, and thank you for coming,” Preston started. “I know we only just embarked on this journey to a safer Commonwealth together, but today I wanted to introduce you to your new General! This is–”

“What, them?”

Preston paused and squinted quizzically at the man in the front row, wearing a wife-beater and a baseball hat with an eagle on it–already a bad sign… He was staring daggers at Sole while Preston’s brow furrowed. “And why would that be a problem?” he asked slowly.

The guy sucked on his cheek, looking around the other people for support. Didn’t seem like he found a satisfactory amount, but it didn’t slow him down any. “Well, I think as Minutemen, that we should have a true American in such a high position.”

Preston’s jaw clenched and he exchanged looks with Sole. They shrugged back at him as if to say, ‘You recruited them,’ but even then they were trying to hold back their own simmering rage.

But he guy in the front was either blind or clueless because he just carried on, “Y’know, someone of pure heart and blood, who’s like us, right? Like a… like a neighbor or someone who grows up around the corner and fights for us, and looks like us…”

That was it. The speed with which Preston could draw his musket was truly remarkable, but even more so was the way this normally calm man slapped the nozzle of the musket into the man’s chest so hard he knocked the wind out of him, and in the coldest voice of a killer growled, “I think you might need to take a long, long walk, fella.”

Eagle Cap didn’t budge at first, but when Preston started cranking up the musket, he paled and only with a small squeak and an enthusiastic nod, slipped through and out the small crowd to embark on a treacherous journey back home. Sole thought for a second that was probably a worse death than Preston’ musket, but for some reason, they could not scrounge up even the littlest bit of empathy right now; especially since the shock of seeing Preston like that was still freezing them in place.

Preston, in turn, let the musket down but stared at the remaining Minutemen with an icy gaze. “Anybody else got any pressing concerns?”

Strong:

For a supermutant, Strong was surprisingly attuned to Sole’s changes in mood and behavior. So perhaps it shouldn’t have been such a surprise that when yet another settler told them to ‘get out’ on account of Sole being a ‘dirty Commie’, Sole’s poker face was apparently more than enough for Strong to take a few steps to tower over the settler, saying: “There is no milk of human kindness here. Useless village.”

What happened after was forever ingrained in Sole’s mind as another tick in the ‘not a viable settlement’ column…

X6:

While travelling, Sole and X6 would sometimes join a trader’s caravan while Sole bargained for their redundant gear and earned a few more for protecting the traders along the way. And they were always nice, too–be it because they were actually tolerant or just considered Sole’s brown skin to be a particular kind of sunburn rather than anything of interest was always a question. Maybe they paled in comparison to X6. Maybe the traders saw many other Asian folks around through their travels. Undetermined.

But one day, when they joined a new caravan and the sun was slowly descending on the sky, somebody approached Sole to ask, “Would you like us to take a break now?”

“No, why would we? We just started out.”

“Oh, I thought you Muslims were supposed to do some sort of praying at dusk.”

Sole blanked out for most of the sentence but then turned to X6 with the look of utter consternation on their face, “Hey, in case I’m wrong about my country of origin, X6, what’s the most common religion in India again?”

“I believe that would be hinduism,” X6 helpfully answered, already catching on.

“Right, of course.” Sole made a face as if they needed to be reminded of that at least every other week, then frowned even more. “So is there anything I’m doing or wearing that would suggest I may be Muslim?”

“Okay, I ge–” the caravan guard tried to interject but neither Sole nor X6 were about to let anything stop them now.

“No,” X6 continued. “In fact, you’re wearing a bindi, which is traditionally a Hindu decoration.”

“Yes, I do wonder why I’m wearing it if I’m Muslim…”

X6 approached Sole and placed his hand on their forehead as if checking for fever. “It seems you are in a state of some confusion. Perhaps you should sit down while I take care of this.” And with the most Courser glare to ever Courser, he turned to the guy.

The caravaneer put his hand up, like that was gonna save him. “I meant no offense…”

“Too bad,” X6 muttered, approaching. “Offense is my favorite word.”

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