@Ordure

While Boss was trying to figure out just where the hell he was his attention was grabbed by a short stubby looking man who was waving him over while calling out. Ironically Boss was infact thinking exactly what the man had said while the newcomer draped his arm around him like they were old buddies; just who the hell was this guy?

Making his way over to what he assumed was a trading booth he quickly let his eye linger over the vast electronical goods on display-momentarily his gaze fell upon the broken chain in the background, although he was quick to write this off as simple graffiti. Turning his attention back to the one merchant that had been savvy enough to make Boss stop and look at his wares he let the man ramble on in that particular way that only a merchant could muster. By the time he was done Boss was actually seriously considering the offer; up North robots were not only few and far between but a working model could sell for quite a tidy some-even one with an odd personality quirk, like shooting its owners.

“Not interested in the overpriced death machine.” Boss stated factually as he turned to face the eyebot which bobbed playfully up and down. “But this little guy-” He put his right hand on the spherical metal frame, gently pushing the robot towards the ground. Comically the hovering metal robot knocked his hand aside with what looked like a welding type appendage. “-Seems like he has character.” Boss finished with a grin, his hand reaching into the inner pockets of his apparently rather unstylish duster (this was the second man that had mistaken him for some vagrant or homeless person afterall.)

Seconds later his hand returned with a purple looking cloth pouch with a forgotten old world liquor brands name displayed in unelligable writing. By the jingleing noise the sack produced it was safe to assume there was a fair number of caps inside-the truth was Cat had precounted out a few similar pouches for Boss; 100 was a pretty hard number to count too.

Tossing the proper amount of caps infront of the man who called himself Jimbo Boss waited for the merchant to reach for the pouch of money; As predicted Jimbo went to grab his soon to be profits only to have Boss's own had shoot out like a rattlesnake, grasping Jimbos wrist in a vise like grip.
[Intimidating Pressence]”There isn't anything you aren't telling me, right Jimbo? Hate to have to come back for a...” His voice trailed off for a moment as his cold eyes locked with Jimbos gaze. Finally he settled on the word “...refund?”

It was rather clear however he did not mean monetary retribution.

@Ulstermann

"Merci pour votre gentillesse." {Thank you for your kindness.} Captain Cade said, smiling. He rolled down his pant leg, hiding the exposed wiring and circuitry. "It was no problem - I didn't think you seemed hostile, so I decided it was best to help you. I was right, luckily - glad you didn't me tirer dans la tête when you came here."

Captain Cade thought for a moment, listening to Tom Carson's offer of being a potential freelancer for The Order. "Hmm.. I suppose we could certainly do with help, especially from anyone. I suppose you could assist Captain Floure, in the Proulx District. He could certainly use help, especially with that Revolution Riot going on for the last couple of days." Captain Cade said, drumming his fingers on the table. "It'll give you a chance to see Napoleon V in person. I'd say that she has the lower class's plein soutien, and I understand why. Napoleon V is very, very charismatique. I myself was there for one of her riots - and I genuinely believed her for a moment, despite her crippling me and locking me out of duty."

"Well, I suppose it's time for us to say au rev-" Captain Cade's sentence was interrupted as bullet whistled past him, almost nailing him in the head. "Gah! Révolutionnaires Goddamn!" The man shouted, and with some effort threw his dinner table onto it's side, sending bits of food and silverware flying. He used the momentary distraction to rip a hunting rifle off of the wall and fired a round into a revolutionary midway through his window, causing his body to land on the floor, staining the rug with blood. "Mourir!" Gearington exclaimed, setting a revolutionary initiate on fire and using his buzz-saw to chop off one's arm. These aren't full revolutionaries - looks like some newcomers! They don't have the armor!"

@Tuxedo Fox

[Intimidating Presence] The fat salesman, listening to the "adventurer" threaten him, immediately felt a rush of fear shoot through him as his wrist was trapped.

"H-holy christ - d-don't kill me!" The portly merchant exclaimed, backing up into his trading outpost. "L-listen, bud, I can call you bud right? The man would lightly pat his forehead with a handkerchief, sweating profusely. "I may - and y-you didn't hear this from me, now.. I work with the, ah, French Revolution." Jimbo Gribble would immediately stuff his handkerchief back in, glancing between Boss and Little Boy. If he could just flick the switch.. no, he'd get two shots in the gut before he could. "I work with 'em, set things up.. even fix up that riot gear of theirs.. and we're planning something big soon. I ain't telling you no m-matter how scary you are, b-but.. you'll know when you s-see it - and you better hope you d-don't see it."

"H-hey, you see that broken chain? You know what, I'm sure you did - that's the symbol of the French Revoluti - shit. I shouldn't have told you that." The man said, immediately backtracking as he stumbled over his words. "Whatever. It's done now. You see that symbol - it means there's revolution activity t-there. A couple of guys came before you - initiate revolutionists - I gave them the address to Captain Cade's house, the cripple that heads this whole dump." Jimbo pointed nervously, his mechanical arm slick with sweat, at the large marble building covered in flags. It was surrounded by unkempt civilians wearing rags and other forms of dirtied clothing, armed with small arms, attempting to clamber in. "That's where they are now."

"I wouldn't go th-there if I were you. They're just initiates - ain't got the whole deal yet with armor - but they're crazy as hell." Jimbo Gribble began backing up to the backroom door of his outpost. "Gah - just get the hell away from me!" The man would scurry into his backroom, slamming the door shut and locking it.

Next to him, the Eyebot "Asshead" would chirp playfully, nudging Boss with his antennae - his new owner, and would play a plaful little tune from the local radio station.

@Ordure@Ulstermann
Whoever or whatever this French Revolution was (Boss honestly didn't know what either word meant) they really needed to work on who they trusted with their secrets. Who knows what things a man like Jimbo would reveal under actual torture; Boss assumed a whole lot. Unfortunately by the time Boss was done mulling this thought over Jimbo had already retreated to the safety of his backroom after finishing his rant like confession; quickly locking Boss out before he could get another word in. The real kicker, Boss thought, was Jimbo would have probably been the perfect man to fix his almost sinking ship.

With a heavy sigh Boss turned to look at his new companion who mirrored Boss's heavy sigh with a low "Whoo-oop" of its own.

"Yeah that about sums it up. The hell was that all about anyways, A-H?" Boss grumbled in mock sarcasm not really expecting an answer; as if on cue A-H let out something akin to the sound of pure static as it bobbed frantically side to side. "You know anyone that could fix a boat? Like, a mechanic actually worth a fuck?" Asshead shot up slightly while emitting a positive ping sounding noise, this was followed by another sharp bob in the direction of Jimbos now locked door.

"Very funny, smart ass." Boss responded while grimacing slightly to himself-he'd just come to the realization he'd just boughten some odd robotic version of Ted. Atleast this one couldn't actually talk though.

Atleast now he new where a mechanic was; Boss thought as he tried to convince himself this hadn't been a complete waste of time-maybe he could come back in a few hours or a day and ask Jimbo for help? Of course some more caps would probably go a long way in smoothing things over; just thinking about it made Boss's pockets feel lighter.

Pushing the thought from his mind he turned his attention across to where Jimbo had motioned to earlier while ranting about a man that ran the place and how he had sent some of those french people down that way. Recruits or something-Boss could tell from this view that just by the way they moved...well...lets just say their subtly was on par with old Jimbo's. They clearly were here intending to hurt someone or destroy something-probably the former of the two Boss assumed, seeing as they were surrounding the home of whoever it was that ran this odd place.

Suddenly a lightbulb went off in Boss's head, an event far to rare to not take advantage of. Afterall, what better way to get your foot in the door in a new town then saving the man who ran the town. Hell if he played his cards right he and the gang might even be able to open a branch of Redfields Caravan Co among the various stores he'd seen so far.

"Come on A-H, time to earn your keep." Boss said as he took off in the direction of the men he'd been warned to stay away from. Along the way there he pulled the old goggles atop his short brown hair down over his face before quickly bunching up the white yellowish scarf he wore around his neck-by the time he was done most of his facial features were unrecognizable.

As he approached the men began opening fire and rushing the house while a handful of men stood watch outside-clearly the lookouts for their comrades in arms who were too occupied trying to kill a man Boss didn't know. He wasn't even fifteen feet away when they leveled their assortment of small arms at him, but without skipping a beat Boss barked with all the charisma he could muster. "Wait! Jimbo sent me to help." He nodded in the direction he had just come from as he and Asshead continued to advance on the group-dropping Jimbo's name making them all hesitate for a moment. He had caused enough doubt to maybe pull off his plan.

But then they started speaking that damn weird language. For a moment an awkward silence hung over the group as what sounded like a rather accusatory question went unanswered-Boss doing his best to come up with...well...anything really. Having left his shotgun back on the ship he was thanking his lucky stars he still had his old pistol strapped to his leg.

Drawing a complete blank and knowing time was not on his side he eventually just barked back "Aw, Fuck it."

[Quickdraw] Before whichever knucklehead was in charge had the time to fully realize that Boss spoke absolutely zero french he was already clutching his .44 magnum in hand, the deadly piece of steel roaring to life as it literally blew gory chunks out of the unarmored men before him. Even A-H got in on the action, reducing a man to a pile of ash in mere moments before Boss's very eyes; the sight of which made him realize perhaps he needed to keep his guard up around his odd robotic friend.

Making short work of the handful of men he'd surprised out front Boss took his time reloading his old six shooter-his eyes now on the men still storming the house as his hands methodically reloaded every round with pure muscle memory alone. Once he was fully reloaded he popped a cigarette between his lips, the Big Boss brand of course, and lit it off the still burning remains of A-H's handiwork.

The poor bastards were so caught up in killing just whoever was inside they didn't realize they were about to be getting attacked from both sides. Honestly Boss assumed all he really had to do at this point was get the atackers attention; just something enough to distract them so the men defending the home could catch them off guard momentarily. Only another front on atack was a little to risky-that and bullets were not cheap.

"Hey A-H, just how loud can you play that radio?"

@Ordure

Sebastian looked at the captain, the offer was substantial. Much more than he'd expected, especially if the woman was of such low importance. He concluded that the Captain wasn't telling him everything, but for the caps he was offering Sebastian didn't really care. As for the other mercs failing, well, he wasn't surprised. Gunners, the Talons all amateurs in comparison to what he was now capable of.

'I accept your terms captain, but if you don't mind I'll collect the caps on completion. This suit may make one disappear but it doesn't silence the noise generated by the wearer. But don't you worry, whoever this woman is she won't last long' with that Sebastian drew his Switch-Laser, the sniper barrel already screwed into place. Before the captain had a chance to reply about the caps Sebastian walked out of the room into what by that time had become night.

Ten minutes later Sebastian was on his way out of the Savreau district on his way to the Prolux district, rifle in hand. He smiled to himself behind his visor. It was good to be back on the job.

@Ordure

Dominic was awed by the sheer speaking passion demonstrated by Napoleon V. Her words reminded him of everything the NCR stood for, and everything he believed in as an NCR citizen and Trooper. He also felt that helping to establish a democracy here would make the inevitable induction into the NCR easier for Orleans. He knew then that it was for the best to sign up with the French Revolution. Longshot asked the closest revolutionary "So, where would I go if I wanted to join up in this revolution?" His only worry is that this might compromise his mission with the NCR, though they would probably prefer interacting with another democracy than a monarchy.

@Ordure

Carson flinched as a neophyte revolutionary slumped dead on the window frame, killed by Cade's rifle bullet. The major stumbled backwards, shooting another revolutionary with his sidearm before vaulting-falling, really- over the upturned table. The Mister Handy charged forward, slicing through the un armoured attackers with its' buzzsaw. Scooping up his AK-74 Carson opened up, spraying the revolutionaries trying to force their way into the building. He ducked back behind the table as bullets thudded into the thick wood.

Rooting through his greatcoat pockets the ESB operative withdrew a grenade marked with a yellow band. Essentially a ball full of inflammable liquid, the napalm grenade would ruin someones day if even a small amount landed on them. 

"Allez vous faire enculer!" (Go fuck yourselves!) He yelled, tossing the grenade into the charging foe. Seconds later it exploded, spewing liquid fire. Three of the attackers were engulfed and reduced to charred lumps of ash in a matter of moments. Another lost his face to the fire, screaming horribly as he staggered around blindly.

Carson took pity on him, putting a large-calibre bullet through his skull. Cade fired as well, putting down anyone who was foolish enough to show their face in the open. Yet more enemies came streaming from the streets around the building. 

"These guys really want your scalp!" Carson shouted to Cade. "Au moins they seem to be all novices. Not a pro among them!" 

He should have known better than to say that. From the rear of the building there came an almighty explosion. 

"I take it back!" Carson said. "Sounds like they've breached the rear of this place! I hope to whatever Gods are up there your men aren't too far away!" 

@Tuxedo Fox@Ulstermann

"Bien sûr they want my head on a pike." Captain Cade muttered, clutching his rifle to his chest. "The trading outpost would be invaluable under the control of the Revolution. Si je meurs, the trading outpost goes out with me."

Captain Cade quickly took a ceramic jar coated in fine engravings and paint off of the mantle of the fireplace. He'd carefully take off the lid, and dump the entire vase of black powder into the fire, instantly causing it to billow up massively and crackle, emitting heavy smoke. A massive, red cloud of smoke would gradually begin to rise over the house out of the chimney, and several Order Knights and Marshalls would begin rushing through the crowds of eager traders, practically trampling some in order to get to the stronghold, waving their laser rifles in the air and shouting obscenities in French. Boss would see some of these scarlet troopers shove past him, kicking down the door of the fortress with a single, powerful kick.

Défendre la forteresse. La révolution est ici." {Defend the fortress. The revolution is here.} Captain Cade growled, his voice low. He'd swing around, booting open the mahogany door leading into the back.

It seemed that the entirety of the back of the building had been blown apart, thin columns of smoke rising out of the marble rubble of the building. In the center of the destruction were multiple impoverished people; wielding old, cobbled-together pipe rifles and melee weapons crafted out of trash, their faces were filled with utter fury. The people charged, wildly swinging their homemade weapons, but were quickly dispatched by the three troopers surrounding Captain Cade, disintegrating into a fine, red dust on the dirtied and rubble carpet. In the midst of the chaos, now visible after the rest of the initiates had been killed, stood a real revolutionary.

"Il est temps de mourir, Cade." {It's time to die, Cade.} The riot geared troop said, her voice steely and calm. "Votre sang sera arroser les prairies d'Orléans." {Your blood will water the meadows of Orleans.}

The soldiers surrounding Captain Cade would charge the revolutionary, her black riot gear standing stark in the midst of marble white rubble. In an instant, she'd reveal a handheld ripper, bringing it to life as the blade rumbled and hissed. The riot geared revolutionary moved almost like a dancer, swinging through the larger troops and hacking off their arms and chunks of their torso with ease, as the soldiers dropped. She dodged a swing by a soldier and sawed through his arm, leaving a bloody stump, before sidestepping another one and stomping her head in with her armored boot, laser shots sliding off of her armor. Within ten seconds, the troop had killed three Order Knights, their bodies lying at her feet.

"I see." Captain Cade said, eyeing his dead troops on the ground, bleeding for the last time. "I suppose ceci est la fin, alors.

@Karos

The Proulx District wasn't particularly far, luckily for Sebastian. It would be relatively quick; he could pass by the Fontaine District, avoid detection by the unsavory animals lurking around, and be in the Proulx District within about ten minutes, partly in thanks for that stealth suit of his, allowing him to get past the brunt of the force that lurked in between districts, whether it be an errant mercenary like Sebastian, a raider, pushing his luck away from the East, or even an irradiated beast, such as a Yao Gui. The stealth suited mercenary was lucky enough to pass by most of these, only occasionally meeting an Order Knight traversing the roads with his squad.

As the Proulx District began to grow in size over the distance, it became evident to Sebastian Monroe that there was a sharp difference between the Savreaux District and the Proulx District; where the Savreaux District had beautiful, marble walls, constantly freshly painted and polished, covered in beautifully kept red banners, the Proulx District had dirtied and bloodied walls, missing bricks in places, their tattered flags hanging over the walls, the base of the circular wall surrounded by errant and poor families who were forced out of begging in the district due to the heavy Order control. It became clear that the "Revolution problem" was more than just a little problem.

The district's gates were wide open, revealing the bloody and dirty inside; the Proulx District riot, that had been taking place for several days now. The district was stuffed to the brim with poor people, covered in dirty rags, with very few Order Knights actually around the district. The riot was in full gear, completely chaotic, as the normally lower class people were now in a frenzied craze, shooting their pistols in the air, throwing bottles, even burning down some buildings, such as the local Order barracks. In the center of the riot, far away down the cobbled roads, was a mountain of garbage, where three figures outfitted in riot armor stood atop, giving speeches to the people.

"Welcome to the revolution, brother!" A nearby rioter would shout, waving his pipe rifle in the air. "The riot is in full gear now!"

@Lord Coake

"You want to join the revolution, hm?" A nearby riot geared troop would say, sizing up the mercenary in front of him, noting Dominic Garret's muscular, stocky build. "Come with me."

The riot geared troop would begin to shove his way through the crowd, trying to lead the NCR sergeant through the crowd, errant bottles shattering against his riot gear armor. It would take several minutes of walking, but gradually, the riot would begin to clear, allowing Dominic Garret to actually have some breathing room. The soldier would lead him to a broken old building in the Proulx District, it's windows boarded up, and a broken chain painted on the door of the building. The trooper opened up the door, leading the NCR sergeant into the main building. His super sledge seemed threatening enough.

Upon entering the ruined, tattered building, Dominic would notice several other people milling about, most seeming to be from the poorer districts; their clothes tattered and weapons hand-crafted. The people would acknowledge the mercenary, nodding to him and noting his clothing. A singular, cracked lightbulb hung from the ceiling, illuminating the dirtied room, filled with rubble and muck. The room had two doors in total; an exit, allowing the soldiers to transport new recruits, and a backroom door, where the newest initiates could occasionally see troopers passing by; riot geared soldiers discussing the newest arrivals.

@Ordure
Before A-H could respond an explosion rocked the street with the sort of blast that you don't have to see to feel. It was enough to catch Boss off guard momentarily, the force of the explosion literally causeing him to rock backwards. Just as soon as the black billowy smoke that signified a successful hit began rising behind the large beautiful building under atack another more distinct smoke filled the sky; this one a distinct red that reminded Boss of the soldier like men he'd seen around town.

As if on cue the red coated warriors seemed to emerge on the scene from every which way; they had no qualms about shoving Boss aside as they marched towards the now besieged building while shouting the strange language everyone here seemed to know. Suddenly everything seemed to be in utter chaos;many of what Boss assumed was the local populace taking up arms angrily around him-hopefully none of them would notice he had just gunned down some of their would be allies. Atleast thats he assumed they were allies, the way they all shouted jargon he really didn't know who was fighting who. Hell, he didn't even know why they were fighting.

What he had thought would be the simple extermination of a few gun toting thugs followed by a quick reward had morphed into some weird....riot type thing? He'd never seen anything like it back home and even if by some miracle Boss could challenge the growing crowd he still wouldn't have enough ammunition on hand to survive the groups direct attention. Suddenly this had become a matter of survival, a fact that made him keep the fully loaded .44 clutched tightly in his right hand.

Maybe he had chosen the wrong side?

“A-H!” Boss barked at the little droid that bobbed two and fro as if the rioting mob taking place was just another day in Orleans. Boss went on doing his best to yell above the crowd, his eyes locked with the spherical metal ball as if talking to an actual person. “Get me the fuck out of here, somewhere safe! You know the area better then I do damnit!”

@Ordure @Tuxedo Fox

Carson had followed Captain Cade and his reinforcements to the back of the building, watching in admiration as the scarlet-uniformed soldiers cut down the rabble who had been charging the fortress. Admiration turned to alarm as a riot-geared woman, clearly a professional warrior, had sliced her way through the Order troops like a hot knife through butter. "Son of a Bitch." He said in awe as she neatly lopped off a trooper's arm. Raising his AK he fired off a quick burst at the enemy. 

Only one bullet hit her, and didn't penetrate her armour, but she staggered for a moment. Only a moment, though. The revolutionary charged forward, sweepings her snarling Ripper down towards Cade. The captain dodged, barely, his artificial leg slowing him down. Carson took aim again but was thwarted by the woman's proximity to the Order officer. Two ragged men, wielding small thin rapiers, moved to attack Cade. 

"For God's sake." The major muttered, dropping his rifle and drawing his wide-bladed machete. He hated blades even if necessity had given him a certain proficiency in their use. 

Leaping forward, his stimpak'ed wound giving a slight twinge of pain, he slashed at the woman as Cade engaged the two men. 

She was fast, demonically so, twisting round and deflecting his attack with a ringing clash of metal. Again the Enclave officer lunged, driving the foe a few steps back over the rubble. Her riposte came close to beheading him. Only his years of training allowed him to sidestep the next two strokes and stab his blade forward. The machete, whose design made stabbing inefficient, was battered aside by the Ripper. 

The revolutionary clouted Carson a ringing punch to the side of the head, shoving him back to fall amongst the rubble beneath a burning staircase. Desperately the major parried the next blow. 

"Tu vas crever." (You will die.) Hissed the revolutionary. 

"Toi d'abord. Pute." (You first. Whore.) Carson spat back. 

The pro grinned, showing her teeth, and drew back to spear Carson like a landed fish.

"Vive le Roi!" (Long live the King!) The Mister Handy, who not half an hour before had served Carson and Cade wine, bore in, buzzsaw whining. The revolutionary shouted in pain as it bit into her shoulder. Bringing the Ripper back round the woman slashed deep into the robot, sending it clattering away. 

Carson whipped out his Walther and fired off a slew of bullets, not at the enemy but at the weakened wood of the burning staircase. The snub-nosed pistol's explosive rounds ripped the staircase down as Carson threw himself out from under it. 

The revolutionary was instantly buried under a mass of burning wood. She died before she could even scream. Her hand, still spasming on her Ripper, protruded from the inferno as dust, embers, and smoke gusted through the fortress.

Carson scrambled across the rubble, retrieving his rifle and searching the gloom for Captain Cade. The Mister Handy's engine flared to life, floating back upright. 

"Bien vu, sir." The robot said. "You showed that chienne (dog) what for." 

"Yeah." Carson answered, squinting through the smoke. "Find me your boss, will you? Use one of your scanners." He could hear gunfire from all around. Who was shooting and at whom he could only guess. But that had to mean that there were some Order forces were still fighting.

"I shall sir." The bot responded. "Also, I shall broadcast a distress call to all nearby robots. Eyebots, Mister Handy's, and Sentry Bots will receive this call." 

"You do that." Carson said, chambering a round in his gun.

@Ulstermann@Ordure

"Ping-A-Ling" Asshead chirped in a rather affirmative sounding noise in response to Boss's demand. With the skill only a robot could posses A-H took off bobbing through the crowd as if he were simply taking a leisurely stroll on the town-Boss literally having to shove and push his way past the constantly shifting crowd to keep up. Making their way past what Boss assumed was a butcher shop they rounded the corner to what appeared to be a completely deserted alleyway.

Breathing a sigh of momentary relief Boss continued to follow the little droid down the alley; lighting a a new cigarette as they approached the exitway. Moments before turning onto a new street the little droid stopped-hovering in place for a few seconds before Boss finally snapped at him. "The hell are you doing? This supposed to be the safe place? I was picturing something more like a bar or shop or something-I dunno. Wait, why the fuck am I even talking to you?"

Wordlessly Asshead simply turned around and began bobbing back they way the pair had come from, a sight that not only confused Boss but slightly pissed him off. Maybe Jimbo had been telling the truth and this droid really was defective? Regardless Boss wasn't the type of man to just let 100 hard earned caps float off without a fight. "Hey! You ball of scrap! Get back here!" He angrily hollered as his now mute companion lead him straight into the thick of things; within moments Boss was doing his best to avoid laser and small arm fire alike-occasionally he'd even gun a man or woman down that tried engaging him.

Thankfully the thick cloud of smoke around the area was working to Boss's advantage-his tough old world goggles and crappy scarf working just as well in the thick of the smoke as they did in the countless sandstorms he encountered back home. After gunning down a particularly friendly ghoul who'd hit Boss in the back with a pipe he was relieved to make out A-H bobbing in place in the not to far distance-the renegade droid dealing out far more damage on the attacking crowds then any normal eyebot could plausibly do. It looked like, if Boss could see correctly, that his robot "friend" was in fact gunning down any attacker not in red. Following Assheads que Boss made his way through the piles of dead bodies and broken debris before stumbling upon a small group of Red coated men and a slightly dammaged Mr. Gutsy unit. Boss also noted the one man not wearing red; something was different or important about him-seeing as the redcoats stood next to him like a comrade.

Still hiding his features behind his scarf and goggles Boss appeared to the group from seemingly out of nowhere; his figure emerging through the thick smoke finally becoming visible when he was well within talking distance. Still, the sight of the now blood covered gun clutching goggle wearing mad man was enough to give anyone reason to shoot him on the spot-perhaps the reason he wasn't immediately gunned down was because on appearance Asshead let out an extremely loud and (happy?) chirp.

"Does anyone in this fucking place speak English?!" Boss roared at the group of strangers as if that were a more pressing concern then the countless rioters. It was clear that whatever the hell Boss was he was no Revolutionist.

Par had been in New Orleans for a few weeks now, his barge going back and forth through various places in the Bayou, trading goods, getting caps, and finding out more information about the city and the revolutionaries. One big surprise was Cade and his story about how Napoleon V had so cruelly treated him, killing his squad, crippling him, and laughing at his face; that had soured him slightly on joining the French Revolution - slightly, as he didn't know Napoleon V's side of the story. Right now, however, he was keeping a low profile, trying to acquire and expand holdings all across the Bayou Wasteland, starting with his apartment/warehouse in the trading outpost, a trading outpost that seemed to be engulfed in a riot that had spread from the Proix District.

His first thoughts were that he was not ready to be involved in the Civil War yet, not when he was uncertain of the choices he can make. But, it seemed as though fate decided to be an asshole and make his choices for him. Well, he won't let it; he was going to stall for time and information.

Looking around, he can see sixteen fighters and five fellow traders, all of whom knew how to hold a gun. And, while he himself wasn't the best shot, every hand counted. Turning to a trader about his age, the young man told her:

"Raise the Red Cross Flag up to the top of the warehouse. As for me..." Par took a Megaphone, then gestured to six fighters to accompany him; best safety in numbers. He then went out to the warehouse's stoop, then shouted to the Megaphone:

"We are converting this warehouse into a field hospital! Repeat - we are converting this warehouse into a field hospital! Anyone innocent who's injured, any civilian, trader, or even merc who hasn't pledged allegiance to a faction yet, is welcome to recieve treatment for their injuries, free of charge!"

There; it would get the ire of the Order, but not so much that he was irrevocably unable to take a job with them. It would also earn the ire of the Revolution, but perhaps also their admiration...

@Ordure, @Tuxedo Fox, @Lord Coake, @Ulstermann

@Letter BeeThe news that there was a makeshift hospital spread like wildfire throughout the city. Within moments people began thronging the entrance, shouting and waving their hands in the air, each one convinced that his needs were more urgent than his or her fellows. Pickpockets moved like cruising sharks amongst the crowds, relieving the poor and destitute of what little wealth they had. More and more of Orleans' most desperate inhabitants were drawn to the place, many just looking for a place they could escape the clutches of both the Revolution and the Order. 

One group, however, was far from poor. Morris the Mongrel, one of the most unscrupulous and violent criminals in the district, had his bodyguards cut a swathe through the crowds. Once they entered the warehouse the Mongrel honed in on the man who was in charge, a  hard-eyed youngster. 

"Hey, asshole." Mongrel said conversationally. "I like the little game you've got going. A hospital to help the needy?" The scrawny gangster mimed cuffing away a tear. "Almost makes me want to cry. Or laugh." His face, already far from attractive, became even uglier. "Problem is, boy, that you want to run an operation right in the middle of my turf." He poked himself in the chest. "My turf." 

One of his bodyguards, a Synth weighed down by armour and the large grenade launcher it carried, pointed it's weapon as if by accident at the traders. 

"But I'm a forgiving kinda guy." the Mongrel went on. "I could forgive this little breach of etiquette if, say, you turned over a piece of your medical supplies?" The Black Market would appreciate that. 

Par knew that as the previous hours were the time to stand up for people, now was the time to stand up for himself. With a gesture, he directed two pairs of snipers to take position in the windows of the makeshift hospital's upper floors, causing two dots of red to appear at Morris and his Synth's heads each.

"Let me make this clear," Par said, his hard eyes gazing into Morris' face. "This hospital, it's not just meant to help the injured of the recent skirmish, but also to protect my investment. Like it or not, I've been buying stuff in your turf, trading stuff in your turf, and otherwise doing business in your turf, and I don't want everything I've been building in this town to dry up just because of some damned civil war."

"So here's my counter-offer. You give me the information I need to make it through the fighting between the Order and Revolution, I give you 200 caps upfront, as well as a promise that this hospital will be dismantled in two days. That's the best I will offer."

[Do I roll a Speech or Charisma Check?]

@Ordure, @Tuxedo Fox, @Lord Coake, @Ulstermann

@Letter Bee

(I don't use dice rolls much in RPing. As far as I'm concerned if your writing is good and logic sound, it determines the outcome. You gave the mobster a choice he would reasonably accept. He's no fanatic, just a businessma. His character ensures he would always be ready to compromise as long as caps are involved.)

The Mongrel looked at the snipers pointing their weapons at him. Then back at the trader leader. The offer was good. Basically caps for nothing. The Mongrel shrugged. 

"That...sounds like it could be acceptable to us." He said at last. "So give me the 200 caps, then I'll give you the lowdown on the civil war as we see it. I'll tell ya, it's gonna get worse before it gets better." The Mongrel waved a hand at the burning buildings around them. "Your little charity might not even last two days." Morris eyes' narrowed. "And if you haven't wound up your hospital by then, I'll come by for another visit. But with more friends." Morris wasn't subtle, that was for sure. He held his hand out, waiting for the promised caps before giving the trader any info. 

@Tuxedo Fox

The goggle-wearing Wastelander's shout echoed in the air for a moment. "Mist of these guys speak English." Carson said after a moment, slowly raising his assault rifle towards the newcomer. "They prefer French, though. The people who settled this land before the War spoke it." He watched the newcomer and his Eyebot for another moment. "But you, you don't look like one of those fanatics. So what are you? A Merc, trader, scumbag, what?" 

The Mister Handy broke the silence with a loud chirp. "Diagnostics complete!" It announced proudly. "I am currently functioning at 67% Operational capacity." It stopped, sensors extending towards the little Eyebot. "Ah, AH-569! I see you are still not on the scrapheap! Shame. Can I get you a drink, Monsieur?" He asked the newcomer. "I have an excellent '77 Bordeaux." 

Carson lowered his AK. If an Order robot didn't see the guy as a threat, maybe he wasn't one. 

Then again, maybe he was. Off in the distance he could still hear gunfire, but with less intensity than before. Since they weren't being swarmed by the local populace Carson guessed that the Order was winning this particular scrap. 

"Find the Captain!" He snapped at one of the troopers standing near him. The Ghoul saluted and headed away through the smoke even though Carson wasn't his boss. He knew how to speak to enlisted men though. He was an officer, after all, even if he wasn't one of the King's.

(Ulstermann, nice, and thanks; glad to know that my logic is sound.)

"Thank you," Par said in a light, but not too light, tone, "I'm glad we can do business." He then turned behind him and shouted:

"Carrie, can you bring out 200 caps from the strongroom? Use a leather pouch!" After a couple of minutes, an 18 or 19-year old young woman came out, bearing a smallish leather bag that bulged with what was clearly bottlecaps. Par then handed over said pouch to Morris the Mongrel, then said:

"Here are the caps; now, the lowdown, will we hold it here, or would can we have it somewhere more secure? On second thought; let's hold it here - both Order and Rebels still seem to be distracted with the skirmish."

Par would then wait for Morris to give the information. Once the man began to exposit, the merchant would nod in acknowledgement at certain points, and, between pauses in the conversation, would ask questions of his own for clarification.

"So, where do the Order get their weapons? The former Lambert District, or the Sarvaeux one?"

"In turn, where do you think the Revolutionaries are getting their weapons from?"

"Napoleon V...how does one get an audience with her? She seems more approachable than the King. Also, I heard she's very beautiful, is that true?"

"Also, the King himself, does he like only women?"

@Ordure, @Tuxedo Fox, @Lord Coake, @Ulstermann

@Ulstermann

After the brief history lesson Boss was left feeling slightly stupid as he often did when he asked questions of a certain nature. Luckily his scarf was doing a rather good job of hiding his now scarlet cheeks-a sight that if seen would no doubt look rather odd on the rugged figure.

For now he thought it best to just assume he knew what a French was and figure everything out when the smoke cleared, afterall his prewar history was next to nothing. At least he finally found someone making a degree of since, even if the man looked somewhat banged up.

After considering the strangers question for a moment Boss let out a slight chuckle from behind his scarf. “I guess a bit of all three when it comes down to it.” he finally answered while lowering his pistol to his side in an attempt to show he meant no harm. “Literally just pulled into port for the first time, don't even know my lay of the land yet. Hell of a welcome, I gotta say.”

Momentarily Boss turned his attention to the Mr. Handy who acknowledged AssHead as if they had some sort of past together-the thought of which made Boss make a mental note to ask about later. Not one to ever turn down a free drink (or anything edible really) Boss was quick to say “Sure, Buddy” despite having no clue what in the world a 'Bordeaux' was-but if the robot wanted to give him 77 free ones, hell, who was he to say no?

“So you in charge or somethin? Not wearing one of them red coats.” Boss said with a nod towards a dead Order soldier who was displayed in a horrific heap. Ignoring the nightmarish sites around him as if they were commonplace he made no move to go near Carson yet; still unsure of just who the man was. “Oh and if your wondering AssHead there is the reason I'm here." He nodded towards the eyebot. "Defective piece of garbage practically drug me here.”

@Letter Bee

"Hmph.. it looks legit enough, newcomer." Morris the Mongrel muttered, passing the pouch to his synth body guard. Well, 'en, I suppose I'll give you whatever info you want. I can't say it'll be of any help, though. I don't got the crayons to draw it out for you."

"The weapons of The Order, hm? In the old days, the Lambert District made all a' the guns,weapons, that sorta war junk. It was the good ol' days. I wasn't alive, but it was definitely better than now." He snorted, his synth grenadier giving an ugly, artificial laugh. "Nowadays, Savreaux makes all a' them. The guns, paintings, technology, all that sorta thing. The other districts are just cities now. Places for Savreaux to throw away people who couldn't make it into his district."

"The Revolutionaries? Ugh. It's not much better than the Order, trouncing around, waving their guns. I hear they get their weapons and armor from the Outer Regions. That's what the Order calls it, anyway. By that, they mean land they haven't turned to shit and is still ruins of the old world," The youngster said, his dirty, toothy grin wide. "They pick it out from ruins of old buildings and streets. Place is super dangerous. Crawling with monsters and raiders. Orleans was a pretty big civil shitstorm before the bombs hit."

"Napoleon V? If you wanna see her, head down the river to the Proulx District. The bitch is giving one of her famous speeches. I listened in - and she almost had me frothing at the mouth for her, and I don't do that with every lady I come across. The district is completely fucked up; Order Knights barely have any control there," He said, his synth grenadier eyeing the pouch. "Oh, and her looks? Absolute hottie. Seriously. Her face is perfect. I hear that she's manipulative as all hell, though."

"And the king? Uh.. I don't know." Morris said, genuinely surprised. Behind him, his synth "body guard" had begun running away, waving the pouch of caps in the air. "That all you need? H5, let's get the hell out of he - wait, what the hell?" H5! H5, YOU SON OF A BITCH!"

@Tuxedo Fox@Ulstermann

"Je suis encore.. vivant." {I am still.. alive.} An errant voice would mumble, stumbling out, waving away smoke. "I need medical attention immediately."

Knight Captain Cade would stumble out beyond the billowing dust and ruins of the stronghold, the collapsed red banner and marble bricks surrounding him. His left leg, his artificial leg, seemed to have been lost in the ruins of the building, forcing him to limp forward beyond the ash. His smooth, dark face was covered in dust and soot, he had a wide gash across his chest that stained his scarlet uniform, and his normally neat and parted hair had become frazzled. His lower left leg stump would occasionally spark, revealing the remaining wire and metal lying underneath.

Je besoin d'un rendez-vous with Madame Curie immediately." Knight Captain Cade murmured, a Super Mutant Paladin coming forth to sling him across his back. "Je pars the Trading Outpost in your hands while I'm receiving attention, Captain Locke." Captain Cade pointed drearily at a nearby ghoul, who's eyes widened.

The Super Mutant Paladin immediately rushed off, heading to the wide selection of Order Fanboats and Ships, ensuring that Captain Cade's leg and torso would be treated to immediately down the Mississpi River in the Savreaux District. The Savreaux District was where Madame Curie was located - an out of area, yet highly intelligent synth, who's medical practice and science was rare to find anywhere. She currently led the "Science District" side of the Savreaux District. As the Order Paladin passed the makeshift hospital, he looked on in disgust, as they denied dying Order Knights with blown off legs and hacked off arms.

@Ordure

Entering the Revolution building, Dominic was somewhat confused, surely those who could afford the riot armor could afford a better building. Then again, he thought, it helps to keep a low profile. He'd turn to the man that brought him here and ask "So who do I speak to about joining up?" He took another chance of looking over the riot armor, noting that it is almost identical to the Pre-War model used by the NCR veteran rangers.

(OOC: sorry for this post taking me so long, and being so short, been surprisingly busy)

"Yeah, that's all I needed!" Par said, having to shout as Morris was already running after his traitorous subordinate. He then turned to Carrie:

"Carrie, let's go inside the warehouse for a bit; we have to plan things. You six," he turned towards his bodyguards, "stay outside, admit only those who are actually sick or injured in, and guard against any intruders; the snipers on the upper windows will still be there to support you." He and Carrie then went inside the warehouse, calling the rest of the traders to one of the upper rooms, where one of the snipers kept watch.

"We have three options," Par said to the young men and women with him, "one is to go to the Outer Regions and find some loot of our own, or perhaps help the Revolutionaries should they get in trouble, another is to meet up with Napoleon V directly, and the third, is to discover more about the King; call me vain, but I want to see if I can seduce him, first."

"Wouldn't that be unsafe?" said Carrie, "I mean, even if you succeed, you'll alienate everyone; nobles and commoners alike. People don't like foriegners having a sexual hold over their rulers, especially when said foriegners stand for outside interests, which you do."

"Oh, come on, let Par have his fun!" spoke Bruno, a tall, strapping man with black hair and eyes like Par; he was also gay. "At the very least, he can get us info on how high society here works!"

"Let's hedge our bets, though," Midna, a thin, blonde woman with grey eyes interjected. "Par can spend the rest of the day, this night, and the next morning trying to enter the King's Circle, but on one condition; if he only succeeds with someone other than the King, or the King doesn't change his policies because of a pretty face, we turn to the Revolution."

"In the meantime," said one more trader, Alfredo, who had an average build and tan skin, as well as brown hair, "I and Eric," Eric was the last trader, "will run the Hospital, and prepare for its evacuation in two days."

"Will you be taking a roundabout route to the Saeverux District, then?" Eric, a mild, redheaded 18-year old who looked much younger. "You might want to avoid the Proix if you don't want to be distracted."

"I will," said Par, "Carrie and three bodyguards will go with me; that leaves seven inside this building and six outside. We'll also be taking 400 caps; half our remaining store. Who knows, we might find a way to maximize them."

"Good luck then," Eric, then the rest, spoke warmly; they had utmost confidence in their leader. Of course, they'd prepare cures for STDs, just in case he caught anything. And with that, Par and Carrie picked three bodyguards, got their caps, and went outside the makeshift hospital, ready for their infiltration of high society!

((Is a timeskip permitted?))

In order to join a high society function, one must at first look the part. So Par and Carrie's first order of business, once they made their way to Saerevux, was to look for the nearest fashion store, one that sold luxurious garments. Once they reached the nearest high-end, high-class fashion shop, Par would then bargain with the manager, introducing himself as a 'Merchant Prince' while doing so, and using every trick in his book, including seduction if the manager (he or she) was of compatible orientation.*

He would also inquire as to any parties held by high society; the higher, the better, as well as to whether invitations were required, and if there were, how to get invited shortly. Then, he would go to a Jewelry store and buy a ring of pure platinum, again using his skills to mark down the price, as well as find out more about any ongoing parties. After that, a perfume store, and the same old routine.

And once he was done, he would do as Sebastian did and approach the Palace, although unlike the stealth-suited man, Par looked the part, clad in a dapper tuxedo with a bulletproof vest underneath, tuxedo pants, and a fedora. He also had his Platinum ring and a cane. Should the guards accost him, Par would then say, charismatically:

"I am Paradise Rapids, a Merchant Prince from the North, come to pay his respects to His Majesty the King and negotiate favorable trade deals for my faction. I fulfil all requirements of money and fashion needed, as you can see."

"And, if paying my way to see the King is needed, well, I can do that too, as I mentioned."

((*Using Charisma, and if possible, Confirmed Bachelor or Lady Killer.))

@Ordure, @Tuxedo Fox, @Lord Coake, @Ulstermann, @Vulkan

@Letter Bee

The female Order Guard blushed, looking over the charismatic noble in front of her, offering up his speech to her. "Pourquoi, bien sûr someone as handsome as you can pass." She beamed, coloring slightly. "I'll just open up the gat-"

"L'ENFER FAITES-VOUS?!" {THE HELL ARE YOU DOING?!} An Order Paladin raged, rushing forth from around the corner of the castle. The woman, seeing her superior, immediately squealed and ran off around the corner. The armed super mutant walked forth, his gatling laser in his hands. "NO. ENTRY. PERMITTED."

The super mutant paladin was evidently serious; in fact, he seemed quite flustered that any sort of noble would demand audience with the king at such a crucial moment in time. The paladin grunted, his brow furrowing, and his gatling laser "spinning up" as the fusion core would charge, giving the main generator a slight hum. Paladin Rand was frustrated. It was only noon, and yet another complete and utter idiot thought he could just walk up and see the king - the first being that stealth suit, who had politely accepted the threat, and had walked off to go on a mortal mission from the infamous Captain Fillimore. But this one - he certainly wasn't dressed for work. He even had bodyguards! The utter, stupid bravery of this noble was almost astounding.

"Listen, imbécile - I'm on the short end of my fuse today." Paladin Rand snarled, his low and guttural voice bending around the accent. At least ten sniper lasers snapped onto the group in front of him, from various hidden facets of the castle. "You try to charm your way into the castle and you and your body guards drop or become a nice, fine ash for the janitor to dust away. Your choice. No amount of bribery can get you out of this one - whatever you pay me, the king pays quintuple."

The paladin had gone over his calm spiel before; he had threatened the last one to come here, and he would again - with a little more venom in his voice. The king wasn't seeing anyone as of now, and the very idea that some sweet-talking noble with a penchant for charisma would even try to get in was insulting. The sniper rifles kept on the group of people before him, as his fusion core warmed up under his hands as the Gatling Laser's charge gave off a slight static humming sound. The snipers had finally woken up; thank the king, and they had finally taken up their posts around the castle, allowing him to finally threaten the idiotic nobles trying to have a friendly little tea-time chat with the king with far more ease and less dust for the castle polisher to clean up.

@Lord Coake

"Vous me parlez." {You talk to me.} The man said, taking off his cold, black revolutionary helmet - revealing a young man, a scarred face, and short-cropped brown hair. "I am Theodore Wane - general of the revolution is the Proulx District."

The man made quite the imposing figure amongst the other commoners; his frame was far larger and burlier than the gangling and uncoordinated bodies of the initiates among the NCR sergeant. His riot gear seemed to be stretching around him to accommodate his bigger build, and it was evident that he could handle his super sledge with utter ease. His face was that of a young man - twenty-threeish, potentially, and with three diagonal scars across his left eye, a memento of a past opponent. His dark eyes were hard and heavy with battle, with thick grey bags under them, evidence that he had spent late nights fighting for his cause. His chestnut brown hair was cut short in a military fashion reminiscent of the military of old. He looked far more "military" than a single Order Knight around.

"In this district, this is our local recruitment building. It's above an old, underground sewer." General Wane said, walking to the center of the room.

He bent down, and raising his super sledge over his head, brought it down on the center of the room with a mighty and memorable thud. The lower floor cracked and bent, dust billowing up around it, and the general brought it down with one strong boot stomp. The floor crumbled, revealing a long, low hole with steel rungs serving as ladders. A pervading stench emanated from the sewer. "C'est notre our main path through and around districts. It houses most of our soldiers." The general said, beginning his long climb down into the sewer. "You may be wondering why I'm telling your recruits our main base of operations so early. Eh bien, il est because the majority of you won't live past training to spread that secret." The general grinned, ducking his head down the tunnel. The ragged initiates followed him, looking fearful.