Has anyone else noticed a severe lack of Mad Moxxi fanfictions on this site? Anyone? Well, I did at least, so I proudly present you with this snippet of a fanfiction centered around the wonderfully stylish and sadistic Mad Moxxi. I love her. Seriously. XD
Rated T for some language.
The deserted sands of the Deep Fathoms rolled out into the pale blue horizon, the scenery beset only by the jagged formations of rocky cliffs and a broken highway that ran through the former seascape. Dust clouds kicked up occasionally, concealing the dilapidated bandit camps that littered the wasteland and the dangerous presence of Drifters roaming the unendingly through the sands. That helped to scare off the travelers, for the most part. Of course, there were the select few…
Moxxi brought a fresh cigarette to her painted red lips, cursing as she shielded her lighter from the winds with a gloved hand. After a long drag, she sighed, bored, and crossed her legs as she leaned back against the worn foldable chair, puffing out a cloud of smoke directly towards the sky. From her perch above the Fathoms, all the chaos that reigned below seemed inconsequential. That wasn't to say that the Red Light never had bouts of chaos of its own, and frankly, with those damn bandits creeping around her place all the time, the illusion of this secluded haven was nothing more than that. An illusion. But that was damn well fine with her; she preferred it that way.
"A little chaos never hurt anyone, did it?" she murmured to herself, watching almost amusedly as two bandits hanging around the broken end of the highway got into a quarrel over what appeared to be a bottle of whiskey. An ironic smile tugged at the edge of her mouth as one pulled a gun and shot the other dead on the spot. "On second thought, perhaps it has."
The sun was beginning to melt below the rough cliffs in the distance, the sky darkening noticeably along with it. Another bored sigh escaped her, and she flicked her cigarette over the crag's edge in annoyance. Yet another day without business. The Crimson Lance sure had done a good job of blocking off her often less-than-respectable customers (but hey, anyone left on this fuckin' planet was messed up in one way or the other) with their constant patrol of the tollways. Even now that they were gone, their presence was sure to have a lasting effect on the citizens of Pandora, and a few more days like this and she was going to have to finish off the bar's booze herself. Perhaps it was time to hold another round of the Underdome, cause she sure as hell couldn't put up with the utter monotony of things the way they were now.
Just as she had decided to head back in for the night, a pair of yellow headlights streaked across the corner of her vision, having emerged from the spiral roadway beneath the little refuge. Moxxi watched as the car – which seemed to be a Monster from the looks of it – collided head-on with the victorious bandit from earlier, his squealing form disappearing under the wheels with a sickening crunch. She gave a small gasp of approval, excited at the prospect of paying customers, and immediately sprung up from her chair, brushing the dust off her crimson dress and yanking down the neckline a little. Just in case she found her mystery patron particularly attractive, y'know? It always paid to be prepared; that, she had discovered through experience. And lucky husband number four had yet to make his appearance…
Whoever it was had company, which was evident in the new pair of headlights that now highlighted the dusk sky. The vehicle (and this one looked like a Racer) pulled up along the other already parked one, and she could distinguish two figures hopping out to join their companions. Oh, so there were four of them. Traveling together? The figures were still too silhouetted to make out, but she knew the identities of her mysterious guests instantly. After all, there weren't too many comrades left in this godforsaken dog-eat-dog wasteland, and she could hear them loud and clear as they made their way past the blockades to the entrance of her lonely establishment.
"Would it be so much to ask for a goddamn Fast Travel station around here somewhere? I swear, the trip only gets longer every time."
"Shut up, Mordecai. If you weren't so awful behind a turret then we would've been here an hour ago. That Lancer almost destroyed us!" spoke a distinctly feminine voice, followed by the previous, somewhat aggravated and more masculine one.
"I'm a sharp-shooter, not a bullet hose!"
"Will you two please calm down? You've been bitchin' ever since we left T-Bone Junction. I'm about ready to ditch yo' asses and head back by myself."
"I'm with Roland. Enough, or I crack both your skulls in."
"I'd like to see you try, beef-head."
"You lookin' for a fight, bitch?"
"Whadda ya think? Maybe I'll even let you get a shot in!"
Ah, yes. The only four comrades (?) that Moxxi ever had the pleasure of serving. Repeat customers were extremely important for her business - especially in such an economy - and not to mention that she had a particular soft spot for the lot of 'em. You couldn't find more reliable help elsewhere if you looked, and more than once she had enlisted their services to correct a few unwanted problems. With the Crimson Lance gone for good, though, and the Vault supposedly found and whatnot, it was easy to wonder why such talented mercenaries chose to remain on the planet. Not too easy, though. In the end, it was probably the same reason even she remained here: complete and total freedom. Anarchy and all its perks were what made this place the only place people such as herself could live contentedly. For some, it was the money and the guns. For others, the sadistic pleasure derived from existing in a place where death reigned supreme. And though the Red Light offered a bit of asylum from the chaotic planet outside, Moxxi enjoyed the barroom fights of drunken bandits, pitting willing participants against each other in a battle of life and death by her rules, and of course, the occasional stunt show.
After all, her antics had earned her the title of "Mad" Moxxi, a nickname she had been more than willing to embrace. Now if only those nasty rumors about her would stop spreading around; they were totally undeserved and completely untrue, of course, and…
And what did it matter right now? There were four paying customers walking up the steps of her establishment, weary and thirsty and obviously in a bitter mood, and all she was doing was standing here like an idiot thinking about her love of the limelight. There was alcohol to be served, tips to be earned, and a whole lot of partying to follow. Definitely not the best time to be 'thinking' about things. She'd hate to disappoint her guests with a less than theatrical reception.
And as they emerged around the corner, she smiled, slipped off her hat, and took a gracious bow, welcoming her much anticipated customers:
"Well, well, if it isn't my favorite bounty hunters. How 'bout we step in and get some drinks, hm? Tiger growl."
So, I hope you all enjoyed that. Moxxi fans unite! :)
But I'd like to write another about her, so feedback would be nice. Maybe this one will take place in the Underdome... R&R, please! :)