[IC] ☣ F A L L O U T : Genesis [High-Casual] ☣
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GM
Sofaking Fancy Three Owls in a Trench Coat
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
The caravan consisted of two wagons drawn by slow, plodding brahmin. One caravan had supplies, though it was far from stuffed to the brim. It served as a sort of pantry and bedroom for those that traveled with the caravan. Members would take shifts walking alongside the caravan and resting in there. Yet, that was not the wagon that gathered the most stares, that would be the second wagon. It only had one item in it, a large metal box. It was as long as a coffin but twice as tall. There didn’t seem to be any seams to open the metal box, but there was a black screen at the foot, or head you couldn’t tell, with a small number pad. It was surprisingly slick, clean, and streamlined. The members of the caravan had all seen it before it was covered in blankets and straw.
The two wagons were driven by a man called Shepard and his son Isaac. Shepherd had a permanent hunch, a weathered face, and a straw hat that hid his eyes. He was content to smoke cigarettes. One couldn’t tell when he’d worked through one and picked up another. He had a gravelly voice but a sincere smile. Isaac was the opposite. His hair was the color of mud and his eyes were dull gray. He looked bored. He’d usually drop the reins to the brahmin and lean back to catch a nap. It would only be until one of the brahmin found something more interesting to trudge to, that Isaac would grab the reins again.
Soldier walked alongside the first wagon. He looked unhappy and wouldn’t respond to most words spoken to him. The most anyone had heard from him was his disapproval of the group. He eyed Frankie four times every hour. Every time he’d touch his gun before his hand would drop. Rocket, on the other hand, was having the time of her life. She’d bounced between each of the Governor’s men. She’d been exceptionally interested in Legs and T. She rode on the wagon containing the package. She kicked her legs out and hummed. Sometimes she’d write in a journal. Yet for the most part, she seemed enraptured by the world around her.
As the group traveled, they’d notice that they had no problem passing through the Northern Province. Fields of farmland, the occasional dark stare from a stranger, and an odd movement in the razorgrain gave the impression that there was danger out there. Yet. The second wagon in their caravan flew the flag of Governor Cassom. Say what one might about the man and his leniency on crime, people were scared to mess with his property.
Dusk waved in as they passed the Northern Province’s border and into Centerland. Not an hour later they were covered in the darkness of night, with a tight tunnel of trees on each side. Shepherd led his caravan to an empty area to the side of the road. Isaac followed suit. Soldier frowned. “This doesn’t seem to be a good area to make camp. It’s not well fortified.”
Shepherd shook his head. “Look, the beasts won’t travel much at night. So, we rest here no matter what.”
Soldier frowned. Rocket hopped off the wagon. “Let’s make a campfire,” she said. “Maybe tell stories about our pasts. Who wouldn’t like to learn more about each other?”
“Let’s not,” Soldier said.
Rocket smiled. “I have the magic death button, and so we are.”
Soldier may have rolled his eyes.
The late evening came quick enough. The campfire died down, while everyone hunkered down in their positions. Soldier took first watch. He didn’t trust the other men, yet. So. He leaned against the first wagon and eyed the darkness with as much clarity as one could penetrate the sheer veil of night. It was then that he heard a soft tapping. Alert, her grabbed his warhammer and gripped it tightly in his hands.
It didn’t take him long to find the source of the tapping. Rocket was standing on the second wagon, having pushed away the straw and blankets. She was tapping against the metal box. Soldier came behind her and lowered his voice. “What are you doing?”
She jumped but clasped her mouth in her hands. A long sigh came when she saw who was speaking. “Just checking the box.”
“Are you supposed to check the box?” Soldier asked.
“Well—” Rocket started to say, but there was a noise. Her head jerked to the side. Soldier pulled out his Warhammer.
Isaac stood there, rubbing his eyes. “How about the two of you shut up.”
Soldier exhaled and lowered his weapon. “I don’t take orders from a child. Especially not a—” he stopped talking, as his eyes caught something in the darkness. A massive figured stood over the young boy. There was movement, screaming and then nothing.
The group would wake up to Rocket’s ear-piercing scream. The scene before them is a disheveled second wagon and the headless body of Isaac, spitting blood onto the mud underneath it. His head would plop down from the trees a few seconds later. Rocket and Soldier were missing. Trees were splintered and cracked by the woods they were parked next to.
Shepherd ran towards his son. He let out a broken scream before falling to the ground before the body. Sobs wracked him. Darkness shrouded them all, and dawn was a long way off.
The two wagons were driven by a man called Shepard and his son Isaac. Shepherd had a permanent hunch, a weathered face, and a straw hat that hid his eyes. He was content to smoke cigarettes. One couldn’t tell when he’d worked through one and picked up another. He had a gravelly voice but a sincere smile. Isaac was the opposite. His hair was the color of mud and his eyes were dull gray. He looked bored. He’d usually drop the reins to the brahmin and lean back to catch a nap. It would only be until one of the brahmin found something more interesting to trudge to, that Isaac would grab the reins again.
Soldier walked alongside the first wagon. He looked unhappy and wouldn’t respond to most words spoken to him. The most anyone had heard from him was his disapproval of the group. He eyed Frankie four times every hour. Every time he’d touch his gun before his hand would drop. Rocket, on the other hand, was having the time of her life. She’d bounced between each of the Governor’s men. She’d been exceptionally interested in Legs and T. She rode on the wagon containing the package. She kicked her legs out and hummed. Sometimes she’d write in a journal. Yet for the most part, she seemed enraptured by the world around her.
As the group traveled, they’d notice that they had no problem passing through the Northern Province. Fields of farmland, the occasional dark stare from a stranger, and an odd movement in the razorgrain gave the impression that there was danger out there. Yet. The second wagon in their caravan flew the flag of Governor Cassom. Say what one might about the man and his leniency on crime, people were scared to mess with his property.
Dusk waved in as they passed the Northern Province’s border and into Centerland. Not an hour later they were covered in the darkness of night, with a tight tunnel of trees on each side. Shepherd led his caravan to an empty area to the side of the road. Isaac followed suit. Soldier frowned. “This doesn’t seem to be a good area to make camp. It’s not well fortified.”
Shepherd shook his head. “Look, the beasts won’t travel much at night. So, we rest here no matter what.”
Soldier frowned. Rocket hopped off the wagon. “Let’s make a campfire,” she said. “Maybe tell stories about our pasts. Who wouldn’t like to learn more about each other?”
“Let’s not,” Soldier said.
Rocket smiled. “I have the magic death button, and so we are.”
Soldier may have rolled his eyes.
—
The late evening came quick enough. The campfire died down, while everyone hunkered down in their positions. Soldier took first watch. He didn’t trust the other men, yet. So. He leaned against the first wagon and eyed the darkness with as much clarity as one could penetrate the sheer veil of night. It was then that he heard a soft tapping. Alert, her grabbed his warhammer and gripped it tightly in his hands.
It didn’t take him long to find the source of the tapping. Rocket was standing on the second wagon, having pushed away the straw and blankets. She was tapping against the metal box. Soldier came behind her and lowered his voice. “What are you doing?”
She jumped but clasped her mouth in her hands. A long sigh came when she saw who was speaking. “Just checking the box.”
“Are you supposed to check the box?” Soldier asked.
“Well—” Rocket started to say, but there was a noise. Her head jerked to the side. Soldier pulled out his Warhammer.
Isaac stood there, rubbing his eyes. “How about the two of you shut up.”
Soldier exhaled and lowered his weapon. “I don’t take orders from a child. Especially not a—” he stopped talking, as his eyes caught something in the darkness. A massive figured stood over the young boy. There was movement, screaming and then nothing.
The group would wake up to Rocket’s ear-piercing scream. The scene before them is a disheveled second wagon and the headless body of Isaac, spitting blood onto the mud underneath it. His head would plop down from the trees a few seconds later. Rocket and Soldier were missing. Trees were splintered and cracked by the woods they were parked next to.
Shepherd ran towards his son. He let out a broken scream before falling to the ground before the body. Sobs wracked him. Darkness shrouded them all, and dawn was a long way off.
GM
Sofaking Fancy Three Owls in a Trench Coat
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
Fireside Chat
The fire was small and compact, but bright enough that it illuminated the figures that gathered around it. Some manner of dinner had been eaten, by those that needed the sustenance. The various shuffling and rummaging of packs being organized and bedrolls being situated were the only sounds in the cool, dark night.
Rocket, practically bubbling with excitement, stood up and gave an awkward half-skip to the fire. She eyed her new companions—maybe future friends—with wry twinkle in her eye. “Let’s talk about us,” she said. “If we’re going to make this journey together, then we might need to know more than each other’s names.” If she even knew their names. She hadn’t managed to nag everyone in the caravan, and maybe had spent a bit too much time needling her bodyguard. Soldier just rolled his eyes and sighed.
“I’m Roxanne Cassom, but everyone calls me Rocket for very rude reasons, but the name stuck. I like it.” She paused for just a beat. “Not for the rude reasons, but because technology is fascinating. Don’t you think it’s fascinating?” She eyed Legs. “And before you ask, I truly don’t know what is in the package. It’s a mystery to me too.” A mystery she wanted to solve—desperately. “So, let’s go around and talk about ourselves. Ask questions. It’s good to know what we’re capable of incase we get into a fight.” She pretended to draw up in fisticuffs. “I’m terrible at fighting.”
A silence followed.
A blonde laying on top of her bedroll barked a laugh. "What, no volunteers?" She pulled herself into a sitting position.
"Hey, everyone, my name is Sylvia Bailey, and I'm an alcoholic." She was smirking while she paused, flittering her eyes from member to member for a second or two. "Now here's the part where you all say, 'Hi, Sylvia.' Right? Then we go around in a circle and try to figure out good reasons for why we're in the middle of nowhere with a box rigged to explode and havin' to protect some princess without a clue." Her smirk turned into a smile directed at Roxanne. She spoke coolly and with a friendly southern accent.
"I'll start: I need the money."
Don't we all? Real question is, what do you need it for?, T thought to himself. He noted she appeared jittery, like an addict, and his HUD listed the woman in turn: "POSSIBLE ADDICT?" and "MAY NEED DRUG MONEY" are added to the list.
Sylvia paused, before looking at the super mutant curiously. She pointed at him.
"You next, I think."
"You're an addict, not an alcoholic." Frankie muttered to himself, without thinking. The super mutant was sitting a short distance away from the others, so as to not make them nervous or worried. He looked up from his puzzle ball, tiny in his hands, and realized he had been pointed out. He didn't seem to know that he had spoken his thoughts outloud. His voice was obviously pitched to be soft and gentle, though it still came across as rough and harsh.
Sylvia blinked, but otherwise didn't react to the super mutants comment, though inside she noted down that she didn't like him. Instead just contiuned to point at him to prompt an answer until he reacted.
"Oh. My name is Frankie. At least, it is what I was told when I finished changing. I come from farther north, in what used to be Arkansas. Left my warband there and traveled here and started helping people. The peach paint is to help differentiate me from other super mutants, and give me some time while people are confused to explain that I'm not going to hurt them. I'm here because its the best way to go through the rest of the Swampland without having to do what I did here."
"The money is secondary as I both have little to no need for what it can buy, and most places won't sell to a super mutant. I can fight, but will only do so if someone's life is threatened. Which, I suppose, means every time this caravan is attacked. If I have to fight I can subdue most threats non-lethally, as I am stronger than humans and much more durable than them. It is likely that I'll be the first shot at, however, given my species reputation and my size. My most valuable asset, aside my status as a bullet magnet, is my medical knowledge.
"I think I used to be a doctor before the virus, but I'm not sure. The memories are hazy and fragmented. I've spent years studying and practicing medicine, however, and can patch you up and even do surgery if I have the right equipment. Provided that you allow me to, of course. Though, if you're unconscious I'll assume you'll want to live and work on you. I also have a working knowledge of the various other sciences, if those ever become necessary in our travels."
He gave a tiny shrug, focusing back on his puzzle ball, and seemed to try to make himself smaller and more unnoticeable.
T made a note of this one: "SUPER MUTANT DOCTOR?" And "POSSIBLE FEV DEVIATION" were added to his virtual file.
"Bah, fools. The lot of them." Franz would state before spitting into the fire. "Any merchant who doesn't take the caps of a well-meaning customer isn't worth his weight in Nuka-Cola. But you, my mutant friend, need to re-examine your priorities as well. Caps being an afterthought is unthinkable!" Frankie's only reply was to shrug again. The smaller man would poke the campfire's kindling with his oak staff, trying to revitalize the flames. He would stare at the others around him before he continued to speak. "You may all call me Franz, if only because the Governor has paid for the privilege. Any other information comes at a premium!" he would state with a wheezing laugh. He would extend his open right palm towards Felix's direction, signalling that Franz wanted him to go next.
Nearly ten seconds pass before Felix could notice Franz's signal to him. "Oh. Sorry. Its just that I've never seen somethin- er -someone like Frankie before...no offense big guy." He turns to the aforementioned super mutant and offers an apologetic smile. Frankie waved a hand in a friendly manner, dismissing any problems. Felix looks back to the group and lets out a sigh and begins to speak.
"Hello everyone. I'm Felix. Felix Bordelon. I'm in my early twenties, uhh, I like eating things like cram and salisbury steak, and my favorite color is red." Felix felt that his welcome was a little too generic and tries to lighten the mood with a little joke, "Ah! And I like long walks in the beach, quiet nights, and deep conversations." The silence that followed was by far the most quiet the night had been. Even the fire grew slightly quieter upon hearing the lame attempt to get people to laugh.
T's HUD unconsciously makes a note: "HUMOR: BELOW AVERAGE, NEEDS WORK".
Sylvia laughed quietly, but it was probably at Felix rather than with him.
Felix feels rather embarrased for saying the joke and just opts to look at the fire quietly while waiting for someone else to speak so that he could feel less ashamed.
Frankie paused a moment in his puzzle ball eyebrows coming together in minor confusion, considering what Felix had said, then his eyes widened in realization and he chuckled in amusement. "That was funny."
Not too far away, the ham-fisted bruiser known as Joe Sawyer had just finished helping some of the other caravaneers set up camp for the night. He had been casting the occasional glance at the folks around the campfire who were all socializing: a younger girl with dark skin and darker hair, a blonde woman who was a few years his junior, a young brown-haired man who was at least a decade younger than him, an older looking guy in, might he say, a damn fine coat, and a super mutant. One of these things was not like the other...
Dusting off his calloused hands, the big lug sighed in contentment with a job well done as he approached the fire. He just watched and listened for a moment, until there was a lull in the conversation; this was the perfect time to drop in.
"Pleasure to meet y'all," he began, "we got any beers 'round here? Been aching for a brew since I left the Port."
The previously mentioned blonde woman, Sylvia, glanced up at the walking callous. "No, you're supposed to start with your name, and then say you're an alcoholic. Not the other way around."
After a moment of silence from both himself and the others, he chuckled softly, shaking his head and slapping a torso-sized hand to his forehead. "Where're my manners? Here I am askin' for a beer and y'all don't even know my name. The name's Sawyer, Joseph Sawyer. Most people call me Joe."
Felix looks up from the fire and offers the man named Joe a curt nod and a friendly smile and offers him a seat near the fire.
T's record updates on closer inspection: "BRUISER", "NICE SENSE OF STYLE".
"Manners sh'manners," a husk of a voice intoned, bitterly sweet and laced to the brim with light mockery, all compounded within a mirth ridden smile with stains and all. "Real question is who has the good stuff, I know one of you blokes has got to be packin' something good."
Vix Blackwater sauntered her way on closer to the small gathering, slim and simple gestures fanning faint wisps of smoke as she made her debut. It was endearingly familiar with every crackle and pop of wood and flame as she laced her inked arms at her bust and promptly rocked back on her heels, seemingly at ease.
"Name's Vix, ah," she paused, the pout of her lip flush with the bone of her teeth as she toiled within thought. "Hm. Just Vix, yeah that'll do." Another smile coupled her introduction, her grin carved into her smudged cheeks.
Sully had watched everyone else intently, each person sharing a different level of detail of themselves. He wasn't necessarilly someone who shared or opened up to others about himself, so rather than go for a generic introduction, he opted for a story.
As the rather uncouth Vix finished, Sully emerged from the darkness into the light provided by the roaring fire. "It was ten years ago, just a simple case of find the farmers missing daughter. A group of three of us went searching and by time we found what was left of the girl, she was nothing but a skeleton covered in the occassional scrap of flesh." He paused briefly to look at the floor, his story bringing back the terrible memories.
As he raised his head he continued on. "So anyway, we returned to the farmer and gave him the news. He was distraught as you would expect, but as we are giving him the news we can hear this rattling from underneath his house. As one of my guys went to look he was swarmed by the biggest group of molerats you have seen in your life. They ripped him to shreds before he could even get a shot off. I unloaded my guns quicker than I had ever before. By time i'd finished the ground was littered with the corpses of twenty full grown molerats."
With the trauma leading to anger Sully stood to his feet and began pointing towards the floor with a deep seated rage. "I am telling you all now, if I see one of those fuckers I am going to put a hole right into it's god damn face! I don't care if we are sneaking through the most dangerous of bandit areas or if we are near a deathclaw lair, I'm going to waste each and every one of those little pricks."
With the last word from his mouth he took a deep breath to calm himself, sitting back down. "Now that's out of the way, my name is Sully. I'm quite handy at hunting and am a decent shot with this." Using his thumb Sully gestured at his rifle, Widowmaker, slung over his shoulder.
"Ya got a flair for the dramatic," the walking brick wall known as Joe began after Sully finished his introduction. He chuckled slightly, continuing "Don't mean it wasn't one helluva story. Reminds me of the time I had to clear out a molerat nest with nothin' but molerat bait," he put forth his hands, "and my mitts. Y'all could probably tell just by lookin' at me that I'm a fan of usin' my mitts."
Sully grinned, although his gas mask hid it from everyone around the campfire. "It does seem that way. I have seen some sights on my hunts but I don't think i've seen anyone quite as 'broken' as you appear." Sully gestured with his fingers as he said broken, not intending to offend. "What I mean is I have never seen someone with so much scar tissue. I have my fair share but what you seem to have...it's a different level."
Hesitating for a moment, Sully lifted the mask from his face to show the scar that stretched down over his milky white left eye. "This fucker was from a yao guai who cornered me when I was younger. He left me blind in the left eye but I had the last laugh...i'm wearing the son of a bitch." Sully gestured at his leather jacket, the fur lining around the neck taken from the long dead creature.
"You know, Sullivan, you strike me as someone who's really got it all figured out. Easy to laugh, quicker to smile, who's got his priorities straight." Sylvia said, stifling a laugh. She looked over his shoulder into the darkness behind him.
"Watch out, a molerat!" She pointed into the empty shadows.
Sully glared at Sylvia, anger written over his face, much like it always was. Still, a laugh soon broke out as he stared at her. "You can make your jokes all you want, but I know an addict when I see one." He leaned closer as continued speaking. "If I were you i'd keep an eye on your stash, you wouldn't want it going missing while you sleep." The smile on his face verged on evil as he pulled his mask back down over his face.
Sylvia wafted her hand infront of her and made a face as he leaned closer. "Phew! I think I'd smell you before I heard you- no wonder you need that gas mask." She giggled quietly. On the inside she wondered why everyone was accusing her of being a Jet addict. She wasn't- not really.
"Enough. Antagonizing each other won't do anything but serve as a detriment to our mission. We all want our caps, we all want to live, and this is important enough that its set to explode for a variety of reasons. Which means its important enough that others will want it. Save your vexation and energy for them." Frankie broke his silence, without looking from his puzzleball. He doubted his words would have an effect, but someone had to try before things got ugly.
"The master race has spoken!" Sylvia said magnanimously raising her hands in mock deference to Frankie.
Soldier rolled his eyes at that comment, sitting there with his arms across his chest. He hadn't said anything, and wasn't going to volunteer himself. They knew what they needed to know. Rocket on the other hand was a mixture of awe and discontent at how everyone was nipping at each other like stray dogs.
Frankie frowned, his mouth opening to correct her statement, when Joe spoke up.
Frowning slightly at where the conversation was going, Joe took it upon himself to try and change the topic before it got too heated. "Hey buddy," he said to the uncanny looking young man in a duster who had just been watching the conversation, "Care to introduce yourself? And maybe tell me where you got that damn fine coat you're wearing?"
T, having been an observer the whole time in an effort to gather data, decided to disable his HUD for now and respond, like a normal human being. Or, at least, a human being trapped in a fake body.
"Hello, all. I am T." He says, giving a small wave. "Let me just be perfectly honest and upfront: I'm a robot."
"... But what about the coat?"
"Oh, it's custom made. Tailor back in Boston made it for me." T replies. "... Nice coat, yourself."
"Thanks, got it off some guy that was beating up on a dame back in Shreve's Port," Joe replies, examining his coat as well.
"Aw, coat buddies!" Sylvia drew her hands to her face like she just saw a cute dog.
Felix looks at T rather skeptically after he blatantly claimed that he was a robot. Though after looking closely at the man in question for a few seconds, Felix nods to affirm his claim. Felix also couldn't help but silently admit that T and Joe had damn fine coats...well coats that were fancier looking than his hooded field jacket.
Rocket's face lit up at the mention of T being a robot. She had overheard her father discussing that one of the members was a synth, and she'd been silently speculating as to who it was. She knew who it wasn't, the actual robot, the supermutant, and Soldier. The rest seemed possible.
She exhaled, noting that both Soldier and Legs had opted out of speaking. That was fine. She'd learned more than she ever thought she would in a few short minutes. "Thanks," she said, maybe a bit too loudly. "I appreciate that. I don't think that things will be easy going forward, and I at least wanted everyone to have a moment--stress free--to talk." Though, the situation may have stressed a few of them out. She eyed Frankie as she thought about that. "This mission means a lot to my father, and as such a lot to Louisiana." She hoped. Honestly, Rocket was concerned. Something felt off about this all.
She gave quick glance at the caravan before returning to her seat around the fire.
Rocket, practically bubbling with excitement, stood up and gave an awkward half-skip to the fire. She eyed her new companions—maybe future friends—with wry twinkle in her eye. “Let’s talk about us,” she said. “If we’re going to make this journey together, then we might need to know more than each other’s names.” If she even knew their names. She hadn’t managed to nag everyone in the caravan, and maybe had spent a bit too much time needling her bodyguard. Soldier just rolled his eyes and sighed.
“I’m Roxanne Cassom, but everyone calls me Rocket for very rude reasons, but the name stuck. I like it.” She paused for just a beat. “Not for the rude reasons, but because technology is fascinating. Don’t you think it’s fascinating?” She eyed Legs. “And before you ask, I truly don’t know what is in the package. It’s a mystery to me too.” A mystery she wanted to solve—desperately. “So, let’s go around and talk about ourselves. Ask questions. It’s good to know what we’re capable of incase we get into a fight.” She pretended to draw up in fisticuffs. “I’m terrible at fighting.”
A silence followed.
A blonde laying on top of her bedroll barked a laugh. "What, no volunteers?" She pulled herself into a sitting position.
"Hey, everyone, my name is Sylvia Bailey, and I'm an alcoholic." She was smirking while she paused, flittering her eyes from member to member for a second or two. "Now here's the part where you all say, 'Hi, Sylvia.' Right? Then we go around in a circle and try to figure out good reasons for why we're in the middle of nowhere with a box rigged to explode and havin' to protect some princess without a clue." Her smirk turned into a smile directed at Roxanne. She spoke coolly and with a friendly southern accent.
"I'll start: I need the money."
Don't we all? Real question is, what do you need it for?, T thought to himself. He noted she appeared jittery, like an addict, and his HUD listed the woman in turn: "POSSIBLE ADDICT?" and "MAY NEED DRUG MONEY" are added to the list.
Sylvia paused, before looking at the super mutant curiously. She pointed at him.
"You next, I think."
"You're an addict, not an alcoholic." Frankie muttered to himself, without thinking. The super mutant was sitting a short distance away from the others, so as to not make them nervous or worried. He looked up from his puzzle ball, tiny in his hands, and realized he had been pointed out. He didn't seem to know that he had spoken his thoughts outloud. His voice was obviously pitched to be soft and gentle, though it still came across as rough and harsh.
Sylvia blinked, but otherwise didn't react to the super mutants comment, though inside she noted down that she didn't like him. Instead just contiuned to point at him to prompt an answer until he reacted.
"Oh. My name is Frankie. At least, it is what I was told when I finished changing. I come from farther north, in what used to be Arkansas. Left my warband there and traveled here and started helping people. The peach paint is to help differentiate me from other super mutants, and give me some time while people are confused to explain that I'm not going to hurt them. I'm here because its the best way to go through the rest of the Swampland without having to do what I did here."
"The money is secondary as I both have little to no need for what it can buy, and most places won't sell to a super mutant. I can fight, but will only do so if someone's life is threatened. Which, I suppose, means every time this caravan is attacked. If I have to fight I can subdue most threats non-lethally, as I am stronger than humans and much more durable than them. It is likely that I'll be the first shot at, however, given my species reputation and my size. My most valuable asset, aside my status as a bullet magnet, is my medical knowledge.
"I think I used to be a doctor before the virus, but I'm not sure. The memories are hazy and fragmented. I've spent years studying and practicing medicine, however, and can patch you up and even do surgery if I have the right equipment. Provided that you allow me to, of course. Though, if you're unconscious I'll assume you'll want to live and work on you. I also have a working knowledge of the various other sciences, if those ever become necessary in our travels."
He gave a tiny shrug, focusing back on his puzzle ball, and seemed to try to make himself smaller and more unnoticeable.
T made a note of this one: "SUPER MUTANT DOCTOR?" And "POSSIBLE FEV DEVIATION" were added to his virtual file.
"Bah, fools. The lot of them." Franz would state before spitting into the fire. "Any merchant who doesn't take the caps of a well-meaning customer isn't worth his weight in Nuka-Cola. But you, my mutant friend, need to re-examine your priorities as well. Caps being an afterthought is unthinkable!" Frankie's only reply was to shrug again. The smaller man would poke the campfire's kindling with his oak staff, trying to revitalize the flames. He would stare at the others around him before he continued to speak. "You may all call me Franz, if only because the Governor has paid for the privilege. Any other information comes at a premium!" he would state with a wheezing laugh. He would extend his open right palm towards Felix's direction, signalling that Franz wanted him to go next.
Nearly ten seconds pass before Felix could notice Franz's signal to him. "Oh. Sorry. Its just that I've never seen somethin- er -someone like Frankie before...no offense big guy." He turns to the aforementioned super mutant and offers an apologetic smile. Frankie waved a hand in a friendly manner, dismissing any problems. Felix looks back to the group and lets out a sigh and begins to speak.
"Hello everyone. I'm Felix. Felix Bordelon. I'm in my early twenties, uhh, I like eating things like cram and salisbury steak, and my favorite color is red." Felix felt that his welcome was a little too generic and tries to lighten the mood with a little joke, "Ah! And I like long walks in the beach, quiet nights, and deep conversations." The silence that followed was by far the most quiet the night had been. Even the fire grew slightly quieter upon hearing the lame attempt to get people to laugh.
T's HUD unconsciously makes a note: "HUMOR: BELOW AVERAGE, NEEDS WORK".
Sylvia laughed quietly, but it was probably at Felix rather than with him.
Felix feels rather embarrased for saying the joke and just opts to look at the fire quietly while waiting for someone else to speak so that he could feel less ashamed.
Frankie paused a moment in his puzzle ball eyebrows coming together in minor confusion, considering what Felix had said, then his eyes widened in realization and he chuckled in amusement. "That was funny."
Not too far away, the ham-fisted bruiser known as Joe Sawyer had just finished helping some of the other caravaneers set up camp for the night. He had been casting the occasional glance at the folks around the campfire who were all socializing: a younger girl with dark skin and darker hair, a blonde woman who was a few years his junior, a young brown-haired man who was at least a decade younger than him, an older looking guy in, might he say, a damn fine coat, and a super mutant. One of these things was not like the other...
Dusting off his calloused hands, the big lug sighed in contentment with a job well done as he approached the fire. He just watched and listened for a moment, until there was a lull in the conversation; this was the perfect time to drop in.
"Pleasure to meet y'all," he began, "we got any beers 'round here? Been aching for a brew since I left the Port."
The previously mentioned blonde woman, Sylvia, glanced up at the walking callous. "No, you're supposed to start with your name, and then say you're an alcoholic. Not the other way around."
After a moment of silence from both himself and the others, he chuckled softly, shaking his head and slapping a torso-sized hand to his forehead. "Where're my manners? Here I am askin' for a beer and y'all don't even know my name. The name's Sawyer, Joseph Sawyer. Most people call me Joe."
Felix looks up from the fire and offers the man named Joe a curt nod and a friendly smile and offers him a seat near the fire.
T's record updates on closer inspection: "BRUISER", "NICE SENSE OF STYLE".
"Manners sh'manners," a husk of a voice intoned, bitterly sweet and laced to the brim with light mockery, all compounded within a mirth ridden smile with stains and all. "Real question is who has the good stuff, I know one of you blokes has got to be packin' something good."
Vix Blackwater sauntered her way on closer to the small gathering, slim and simple gestures fanning faint wisps of smoke as she made her debut. It was endearingly familiar with every crackle and pop of wood and flame as she laced her inked arms at her bust and promptly rocked back on her heels, seemingly at ease.
"Name's Vix, ah," she paused, the pout of her lip flush with the bone of her teeth as she toiled within thought. "Hm. Just Vix, yeah that'll do." Another smile coupled her introduction, her grin carved into her smudged cheeks.
Sully had watched everyone else intently, each person sharing a different level of detail of themselves. He wasn't necessarilly someone who shared or opened up to others about himself, so rather than go for a generic introduction, he opted for a story.
As the rather uncouth Vix finished, Sully emerged from the darkness into the light provided by the roaring fire. "It was ten years ago, just a simple case of find the farmers missing daughter. A group of three of us went searching and by time we found what was left of the girl, she was nothing but a skeleton covered in the occassional scrap of flesh." He paused briefly to look at the floor, his story bringing back the terrible memories.
As he raised his head he continued on. "So anyway, we returned to the farmer and gave him the news. He was distraught as you would expect, but as we are giving him the news we can hear this rattling from underneath his house. As one of my guys went to look he was swarmed by the biggest group of molerats you have seen in your life. They ripped him to shreds before he could even get a shot off. I unloaded my guns quicker than I had ever before. By time i'd finished the ground was littered with the corpses of twenty full grown molerats."
With the trauma leading to anger Sully stood to his feet and began pointing towards the floor with a deep seated rage. "I am telling you all now, if I see one of those fuckers I am going to put a hole right into it's god damn face! I don't care if we are sneaking through the most dangerous of bandit areas or if we are near a deathclaw lair, I'm going to waste each and every one of those little pricks."
With the last word from his mouth he took a deep breath to calm himself, sitting back down. "Now that's out of the way, my name is Sully. I'm quite handy at hunting and am a decent shot with this." Using his thumb Sully gestured at his rifle, Widowmaker, slung over his shoulder.
"Ya got a flair for the dramatic," the walking brick wall known as Joe began after Sully finished his introduction. He chuckled slightly, continuing "Don't mean it wasn't one helluva story. Reminds me of the time I had to clear out a molerat nest with nothin' but molerat bait," he put forth his hands, "and my mitts. Y'all could probably tell just by lookin' at me that I'm a fan of usin' my mitts."
Sully grinned, although his gas mask hid it from everyone around the campfire. "It does seem that way. I have seen some sights on my hunts but I don't think i've seen anyone quite as 'broken' as you appear." Sully gestured with his fingers as he said broken, not intending to offend. "What I mean is I have never seen someone with so much scar tissue. I have my fair share but what you seem to have...it's a different level."
Hesitating for a moment, Sully lifted the mask from his face to show the scar that stretched down over his milky white left eye. "This fucker was from a yao guai who cornered me when I was younger. He left me blind in the left eye but I had the last laugh...i'm wearing the son of a bitch." Sully gestured at his leather jacket, the fur lining around the neck taken from the long dead creature.
"You know, Sullivan, you strike me as someone who's really got it all figured out. Easy to laugh, quicker to smile, who's got his priorities straight." Sylvia said, stifling a laugh. She looked over his shoulder into the darkness behind him.
"Watch out, a molerat!" She pointed into the empty shadows.
Sully glared at Sylvia, anger written over his face, much like it always was. Still, a laugh soon broke out as he stared at her. "You can make your jokes all you want, but I know an addict when I see one." He leaned closer as continued speaking. "If I were you i'd keep an eye on your stash, you wouldn't want it going missing while you sleep." The smile on his face verged on evil as he pulled his mask back down over his face.
Sylvia wafted her hand infront of her and made a face as he leaned closer. "Phew! I think I'd smell you before I heard you- no wonder you need that gas mask." She giggled quietly. On the inside she wondered why everyone was accusing her of being a Jet addict. She wasn't- not really.
"Enough. Antagonizing each other won't do anything but serve as a detriment to our mission. We all want our caps, we all want to live, and this is important enough that its set to explode for a variety of reasons. Which means its important enough that others will want it. Save your vexation and energy for them." Frankie broke his silence, without looking from his puzzleball. He doubted his words would have an effect, but someone had to try before things got ugly.
"The master race has spoken!" Sylvia said magnanimously raising her hands in mock deference to Frankie.
Soldier rolled his eyes at that comment, sitting there with his arms across his chest. He hadn't said anything, and wasn't going to volunteer himself. They knew what they needed to know. Rocket on the other hand was a mixture of awe and discontent at how everyone was nipping at each other like stray dogs.
Frankie frowned, his mouth opening to correct her statement, when Joe spoke up.
Frowning slightly at where the conversation was going, Joe took it upon himself to try and change the topic before it got too heated. "Hey buddy," he said to the uncanny looking young man in a duster who had just been watching the conversation, "Care to introduce yourself? And maybe tell me where you got that damn fine coat you're wearing?"
T, having been an observer the whole time in an effort to gather data, decided to disable his HUD for now and respond, like a normal human being. Or, at least, a human being trapped in a fake body.
"Hello, all. I am T." He says, giving a small wave. "Let me just be perfectly honest and upfront: I'm a robot."
"... But what about the coat?"
"Oh, it's custom made. Tailor back in Boston made it for me." T replies. "... Nice coat, yourself."
"Thanks, got it off some guy that was beating up on a dame back in Shreve's Port," Joe replies, examining his coat as well.
"Aw, coat buddies!" Sylvia drew her hands to her face like she just saw a cute dog.
Felix looks at T rather skeptically after he blatantly claimed that he was a robot. Though after looking closely at the man in question for a few seconds, Felix nods to affirm his claim. Felix also couldn't help but silently admit that T and Joe had damn fine coats...well coats that were fancier looking than his hooded field jacket.
Rocket's face lit up at the mention of T being a robot. She had overheard her father discussing that one of the members was a synth, and she'd been silently speculating as to who it was. She knew who it wasn't, the actual robot, the supermutant, and Soldier. The rest seemed possible.
She exhaled, noting that both Soldier and Legs had opted out of speaking. That was fine. She'd learned more than she ever thought she would in a few short minutes. "Thanks," she said, maybe a bit too loudly. "I appreciate that. I don't think that things will be easy going forward, and I at least wanted everyone to have a moment--stress free--to talk." Though, the situation may have stressed a few of them out. She eyed Frankie as she thought about that. "This mission means a lot to my father, and as such a lot to Louisiana." She hoped. Honestly, Rocket was concerned. Something felt off about this all.
She gave quick glance at the caravan before returning to her seat around the fire.
The stars were twinkling above them, the majesty of the Milky Way fully visible from the dark Earth. The only light around was crackling campfire that cast warm orange light. The shadows of the Governor's Mercenaries danced along the trees, grotesquely disproportinate monsters that were mere hollow illusions compared to real monsters that wandered the Louisiana Wasteland.
Sylvia Bailey stood with her 10mm pistol drawn. She had her hands folded in front of her, with his pistol in her right. The last few moments of events were unexpected, she was hoping to get this delivery job done quickly and easily but one of the bigger paychecks of her existence on the Earth, but no, of course not. Instead Rocket and the other guy are missing, the kid's dead (bummer) and how she had to go looking for them. A strand of her blonde hair fell into her face and she wiped it away, feeling the moistness of her skin. She was used to it, the humidity didn't bother her much anymore.
She scratched the fabric of her flannel shirt with her free left hand. No one had to worry about mosquitos anymore- now they were massive and could kill you. But Sylvia had never known about tiny, annoying mosquitos that bit you when you weren't looking, so that's why she could safely wear clothes that didn't stifle her and make her collapse from heatstroke. She had a low-cut, loose, grey shirt on underneath a short unbuttoned flannel shirt. She also had jeans that had many holes that exposed various parts of her legs, especially the knees which were almost totally obliterated.
She had a utility belt on with the holster for her currently unholstered gun, as well as a small pouch, but big enough to fit a few things. Inside were three friendly injections of Jet, a canteen for clean water, and a stimpak incase things got serious. There was also a knife, incase things became unfortunate.
All in all, she was not eager to tromp into the woods and look for a Silverfish, which she assumed is what killed the kid. But it was better than staying behind and watching a dude who was probably going to kill himself now bury the remains of his son. Yeesh! Major downer.
"We ready to roll or what?" She called back to her new allies while still watching the forest, which she had just recently learned the names of.
"I'm going with whoever is hunting this sucker down." This time she turned around a little more, but her body was still facing the forest.
"Vix? Felix? Whoever? Yeah? We ready?" She was eager to get going and rocked back and forth on her heels.
Frankie didn't react to Soldier's animosity. The man wasn't the first to want to kill him, and the super mutant doubted that he would be the last. Frankie himself mostly kept his distance from the group, talking to himself or into his recorder as he looked around him. He seemed particularly interested in the Brahmin, occasionally wandering close to the creatures to examine them, offer food, or idly pet them. It looked like he found the creatures cute. He'd ask Isaac or his father about the creatures periodically, regardless of what replied he would get the previous times, and then return to his comfortable distance from the rest of the group. Occasionally, the super mutant would wander off to the side of the road, excitedly talking to his recorder about something he had seen, and then hurriedly catch up with the caravan after satisfying his curiosity.
Of the rest of the caravan, Frankie found Rocket most endearing. The girl, at the very least, wasn't scared of him. She flitted around like a giant mosquito, quickly going from one person to the next with an almost infectious energy. It was almost enough to make Frankie smile. The rest of the group was less forthcoming. They hadn't really introduced themselves yet, and seemed to keep to themselves. He noticed somethings about various members, however, that caught his attention and caused him to stare.
Soldier, for example, seemed to be completely numb and deaf on his right side. He kept Frankie on his left at all times, and didn't react to things on his right as he would on his left. The blonde woman was definitely addicted to Jet. Hyperactive, seemed to think everything was too slow, occasional itching. Frankie wondered if they'd have to break her of the addiction cold turkey during the course of the journey or not. The man with the gas mask was blind in the left eye, as he kept most things on his right side and didn't react to movement on that side like he did the other. The tall, quiet, man with brown hair was off-putting. Frankie couldn't figure out exactly what but there was something...inhuman about him. The loud woman with the abrasive attitude, a former raider he had heard her called, had a nicotine addiction. Raspy voice, marred teeth, smokes always close at hand.
Fortunately, something else would always catch his attention before he stared to long, and he'd be back on his mutterings, examining something else.
As night fell, Frankie kept his armor on and a short distance from the fire. He didn't need the warmth or a bedroll to survive. His tough exterior protected him far better than anything the others could offer. Putting his puzzle ball up, he rolled on his side to sleep, wondering if Soldier would take the opportunity to crush his skull while he slept.
His question was answered as he awoke to screaming and death, none of it his own.
The super mutant moved as quickly as he could, staring at the corpse and the father, before moving his attention to the head as it fell from the trees and the devastation. He would help bury the boy and help the father grieve later, right now, Rocket and Soldier needed help. Picking up the aforementioned decapitated head, heedless of the blood, he examined it closely. Puncture wounds at the top of the head, messy cut. Not human then. Not Silverfish either. To much damage, not enough traps.
He looked over at Sylvia, and those joining her, briefly speaking.
"I will stay behind and help bury the boy. My size will only be a detriment in there. Be wary. Whatever killed him has claws, and it wasn't a silverfish. Something large did this. Find Soldier, you'll need his fighting skills, and Rocket as we don't want to explode."
Of the rest of the caravan, Frankie found Rocket most endearing. The girl, at the very least, wasn't scared of him. She flitted around like a giant mosquito, quickly going from one person to the next with an almost infectious energy. It was almost enough to make Frankie smile. The rest of the group was less forthcoming. They hadn't really introduced themselves yet, and seemed to keep to themselves. He noticed somethings about various members, however, that caught his attention and caused him to stare.
Soldier, for example, seemed to be completely numb and deaf on his right side. He kept Frankie on his left at all times, and didn't react to things on his right as he would on his left. The blonde woman was definitely addicted to Jet. Hyperactive, seemed to think everything was too slow, occasional itching. Frankie wondered if they'd have to break her of the addiction cold turkey during the course of the journey or not. The man with the gas mask was blind in the left eye, as he kept most things on his right side and didn't react to movement on that side like he did the other. The tall, quiet, man with brown hair was off-putting. Frankie couldn't figure out exactly what but there was something...inhuman about him. The loud woman with the abrasive attitude, a former raider he had heard her called, had a nicotine addiction. Raspy voice, marred teeth, smokes always close at hand.
Fortunately, something else would always catch his attention before he stared to long, and he'd be back on his mutterings, examining something else.
As night fell, Frankie kept his armor on and a short distance from the fire. He didn't need the warmth or a bedroll to survive. His tough exterior protected him far better than anything the others could offer. Putting his puzzle ball up, he rolled on his side to sleep, wondering if Soldier would take the opportunity to crush his skull while he slept.
His question was answered as he awoke to screaming and death, none of it his own.
The super mutant moved as quickly as he could, staring at the corpse and the father, before moving his attention to the head as it fell from the trees and the devastation. He would help bury the boy and help the father grieve later, right now, Rocket and Soldier needed help. Picking up the aforementioned decapitated head, heedless of the blood, he examined it closely. Puncture wounds at the top of the head, messy cut. Not human then. Not Silverfish either. To much damage, not enough traps.
He looked over at Sylvia, and those joining her, briefly speaking.
"I will stay behind and help bury the boy. My size will only be a detriment in there. Be wary. Whatever killed him has claws, and it wasn't a silverfish. Something large did this. Find Soldier, you'll need his fighting skills, and Rocket as we don't want to explode."
CaptainSully 🆆🅸🆃🅷🅸🅽 / 🆃🅷🅴 🆁🆄🅸🅽🆂
Member
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2 yrs ago
With the campfire 'chat' out of the way Sully had resorted to finding as comfortable and protected a place as he could to sleep. The man mountain known to him only as Soldier had volunteered for first watch. Throughout his years as a hunter Sully had done numerous stake outs and in one instance stayed perfectly still for thirty three hours waiting for the perfect moment to take out a bandit leader from distance. Still, having only met these people recently, skillsets were still to be discovered and he was sure that after some time Soldier could wome to rely on him.
As his good eye scouted around, Sully found a large crooked tree. What made it stand out from the rest of those nearby was the large hole at the base of its trunk. He looked it over up close and it was clear it wasn't home to any of the 'wonderful' creatures of the wasteland. The hole itself was a fair size, enough so that Sully only had to crouch to get into it. It wasn't enough to entirely hide him from the elements, but enough so that his torso was protected. When he made his way in he removed Widowmaker from over his shoulder, bringing her to rest on his lap when he finally sat down. His back rested comfortably against the innards of the tree, his thick jacket with its fur lining providing a soft padding.
He looked out at the others from his soon to be bed, Sylvia catching his eye after the brief confrontation they shared around the camp fire. She made light of his traumatic experience with molerats and he retorted by threatening to take her drugs. All in all he didn't have a dislike of her, to him she was just a product of years of drug abuse. That didn't mean he was going to let her have things easy after what happened earlier. 'She needs to sort herself out before she becomes a liability...' As that thought entered his mind there was a commotion from the other side of the caravan. A blood curdling scream followed, the sort that makes a person know that something extremely bad has happened. 'Shit...'
Sully quickly emerged from the base of the tree and bolted around the caravan, managing to keep his footing as loose stones beneath his feet gave way. His eye quickly surveyed the area, taking in the scene. The body of the boy Isaac lay headless next to the caravan, blood freely pouring from the wound. The boys head rested close to the body, it's expression hidden by the darkness. Sully approached the corpse and looked around the floor for any distinctive footprints. Unfortunately, whatever had killed the boy had run through it's own footprints, making them unrecognisable. What caught his eye was the two clearly human boot prints nearby. Sully turned back to the caravan and did a quick check of who he could still see. It was then he realised Soldier and Rocket were missing, 'Great...just what we need...'
As the minutes passed the group discussed a plan of action, the eventual agreement being for a group to go after Rocket and Soldier while the rest guarded the caravan. Nearest to the forest was Sylvia, her agitation and rush to move on was more to do with her addiction than a worry of the missing, that was what Sully thought at least. She piped up again, "Vix? Felix? Whoever? Yeah? We ready?" Sully let out a very audible sigh before rising to his feet. The groups medic, who just so happened to be a super mutant, picked up the boys severed head and examined the wound. After a moment he then spoke. "I will stay behind and help bury the boy. My size will only be a detriment in there. Be wary. Whatever killed him has claws, and it wasn't a silverfish. Something large did this. Find Soldier, you'll need his fighting skills, and Rocket as we don't want to explode."
Sully acknowledged Frankie with a nod and added to what he said. "I've looked at the footprints leading into the forest. We have two pairs which I can safely assume is Rocket and Soldier. The other set are pretty much indecipherable. Whatever it was walked back over it's own tracks. As the big guy says though, it's definitely something big. Best case, i'm thinking Yao Guai. Worst case...well...that'd be a deathclaw." He paused for a moment, turning to look at the forest. "I'm going to look for Rocket and Soldier. Once we find them the creature comes next, it's best to get this fucker now just in case it decides to follow us."
Turning back to the group one more Sully continued on. "So far we have me and the addict going to look for the guys." The dig at Sylvia wasn't necessary but he still felt like he owed her a few. "I suggest T, Vix and Felix...you guys come with us. The rest of you can stay here." As he waiting for the others to answer he turned his attention back to the forest. 'This is going to be interesting...'
As his good eye scouted around, Sully found a large crooked tree. What made it stand out from the rest of those nearby was the large hole at the base of its trunk. He looked it over up close and it was clear it wasn't home to any of the 'wonderful' creatures of the wasteland. The hole itself was a fair size, enough so that Sully only had to crouch to get into it. It wasn't enough to entirely hide him from the elements, but enough so that his torso was protected. When he made his way in he removed Widowmaker from over his shoulder, bringing her to rest on his lap when he finally sat down. His back rested comfortably against the innards of the tree, his thick jacket with its fur lining providing a soft padding.
He looked out at the others from his soon to be bed, Sylvia catching his eye after the brief confrontation they shared around the camp fire. She made light of his traumatic experience with molerats and he retorted by threatening to take her drugs. All in all he didn't have a dislike of her, to him she was just a product of years of drug abuse. That didn't mean he was going to let her have things easy after what happened earlier. 'She needs to sort herself out before she becomes a liability...' As that thought entered his mind there was a commotion from the other side of the caravan. A blood curdling scream followed, the sort that makes a person know that something extremely bad has happened. 'Shit...'
Sully quickly emerged from the base of the tree and bolted around the caravan, managing to keep his footing as loose stones beneath his feet gave way. His eye quickly surveyed the area, taking in the scene. The body of the boy Isaac lay headless next to the caravan, blood freely pouring from the wound. The boys head rested close to the body, it's expression hidden by the darkness. Sully approached the corpse and looked around the floor for any distinctive footprints. Unfortunately, whatever had killed the boy had run through it's own footprints, making them unrecognisable. What caught his eye was the two clearly human boot prints nearby. Sully turned back to the caravan and did a quick check of who he could still see. It was then he realised Soldier and Rocket were missing, 'Great...just what we need...'
As the minutes passed the group discussed a plan of action, the eventual agreement being for a group to go after Rocket and Soldier while the rest guarded the caravan. Nearest to the forest was Sylvia, her agitation and rush to move on was more to do with her addiction than a worry of the missing, that was what Sully thought at least. She piped up again, "Vix? Felix? Whoever? Yeah? We ready?" Sully let out a very audible sigh before rising to his feet. The groups medic, who just so happened to be a super mutant, picked up the boys severed head and examined the wound. After a moment he then spoke. "I will stay behind and help bury the boy. My size will only be a detriment in there. Be wary. Whatever killed him has claws, and it wasn't a silverfish. Something large did this. Find Soldier, you'll need his fighting skills, and Rocket as we don't want to explode."
Sully acknowledged Frankie with a nod and added to what he said. "I've looked at the footprints leading into the forest. We have two pairs which I can safely assume is Rocket and Soldier. The other set are pretty much indecipherable. Whatever it was walked back over it's own tracks. As the big guy says though, it's definitely something big. Best case, i'm thinking Yao Guai. Worst case...well...that'd be a deathclaw." He paused for a moment, turning to look at the forest. "I'm going to look for Rocket and Soldier. Once we find them the creature comes next, it's best to get this fucker now just in case it decides to follow us."
Turning back to the group one more Sully continued on. "So far we have me and the addict going to look for the guys." The dig at Sylvia wasn't necessary but he still felt like he owed her a few. "I suggest T, Vix and Felix...you guys come with us. The rest of you can stay here." As he waiting for the others to answer he turned his attention back to the forest. 'This is going to be interesting...'
Simple Unicycle ?
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1 mo ago
The chat around the campfire was pleasant, and Joe found himself sleeping not long after it finished up. However, he was jolted out of his slumber when he heard the blood-curdling scream of their young charge. He looked around, noticing the head of a kid flying out of the trees and landing in the dirt. He rushed forward, noticing Shepherd had beaten him to the head and only then noticing it was Isaac's. The bulky man let out a depressed sigh, "... Poor kid."
He watched as some of his comrades formulated a plan, Sully and Sylvia already planning on heading into the woods to find the creature who did it and rescue Soldier and Rocket, who were both missing. They were planning on dragging Felix, Vix, and T (who Joe had mentally dubbed the 'robot with the damn fine coat'). He watched as Frankie said that he was planning on staying with the wagon to help bury Isaac.
"I'll stay with Shepherd and the super mutant," Joe began, "I should be able to keep watch and protect anybody from any bandits that come by. The rest of you, good luck with finding Rocket, Soldier, and that damn monster." As he spoke, he had slid on his knuckle dusters, throwing a punch or two to get back into the groove of things before scanning the darkness for any threats.
He watched as some of his comrades formulated a plan, Sully and Sylvia already planning on heading into the woods to find the creature who did it and rescue Soldier and Rocket, who were both missing. They were planning on dragging Felix, Vix, and T (who Joe had mentally dubbed the 'robot with the damn fine coat'). He watched as Frankie said that he was planning on staying with the wagon to help bury Isaac.
"I'll stay with Shepherd and the super mutant," Joe began, "I should be able to keep watch and protect anybody from any bandits that come by. The rest of you, good luck with finding Rocket, Soldier, and that damn monster." As he spoke, he had slid on his knuckle dusters, throwing a punch or two to get back into the groove of things before scanning the darkness for any threats.
Searat The Aqueous Rodent
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
The campfire sharing was one of the most fun and interesting experiences Felix had experienced in a while, even if he did slightly embarrass himself and there were some rough patches during some of the introductions. But like all things, it must come to an end and admittedly, Felix felt disappointed when the campfire thing had to.
He was to suggest that he be part of the watch guarding the wagons and the others but the Soldier fellow had beat him to the punch. So instead, he left the others to their own devices and opted to go sit beside a stump he had found among the dead trees a couple meters away from where the majority of the group were positioned. Once he had sat down near the stump, he looks deep into the sky at nothing in particular and lets out a tired sigh before looking down at the ground.
'Good a place as any to spend the night I suppose...' He thought as he got comfortable on his seat and did his damnedest to relax himself by placing his laser rifle on the stump and begin taking care and maintaining his loyal weapon. Though he kept his .45 pistol close to at hand if anything were to occur. With only the moon providing any significant light, it should have been a near impossible task for normal folk. Felix wasn't like normal folk. He had expertly handled the weapon countless times over and even in harsher environments. The low light would not hinder him in this task but even then, his sharp-eyes could see the weapons and parts in dim of moonlight with little problem.
The ear-piercing scream easily roused him from his activity and caused him to draw his .45 pistol in a fraction of a second before leaving the stump and sprinting back to the caravan proper at breakneck speeds. The second wagon was in disarray and near it was the decapitated body of Isaac. Felix hears someone let out a broken scream and looks over to the source. He could feel his heart wrench at the scene as he saw Shepherd fall to his knees before his son and lament over his death.
Some of his companions were beginning to formulate a plan of action on locating who was responsible for Isaac's death as well as locating both Rocket and her bodyguard while the others decided to stay and help bury the body or deciding whether or not to join. Felix had placed his free hand on his chest and offered the dead Isaac a silent prayer before he heard his name called by Sylvia and Sully asking if he was ready to go. He looks to the two and responds, "Yeah...just let me get my rifle and prepare it."
Felix holsters his .45 pistol and goes back to the stump and begin reassembling his rifle.
He reattaches the battery receiver back to the main capacitor "In darkness...I will be the light."
Then the power cords to their proper sockets "In uncertainty...I will have have clarity."
Felix opens the receiver and feeds the rifle a fresh micro-fusion cell "In struggle...I will gain victory."
Finally, he closes the receiver and flips a switch that causes the rifle to come to life with a short high pitched electronic whine. "In evil...I will punish without pity."
He slings the rifle over his shoulder and dons his hood before speaking the last verse to his credo, "In your name..." He grasps the crimson face mask around his neck and pulls it up to cover his face. "let none survive."
Felix then heads back to the caravan proper to group up with the two leading the search party.
He was to suggest that he be part of the watch guarding the wagons and the others but the Soldier fellow had beat him to the punch. So instead, he left the others to their own devices and opted to go sit beside a stump he had found among the dead trees a couple meters away from where the majority of the group were positioned. Once he had sat down near the stump, he looks deep into the sky at nothing in particular and lets out a tired sigh before looking down at the ground.
'Good a place as any to spend the night I suppose...' He thought as he got comfortable on his seat and did his damnedest to relax himself by placing his laser rifle on the stump and begin taking care and maintaining his loyal weapon. Though he kept his .45 pistol close to at hand if anything were to occur. With only the moon providing any significant light, it should have been a near impossible task for normal folk. Felix wasn't like normal folk. He had expertly handled the weapon countless times over and even in harsher environments. The low light would not hinder him in this task but even then, his sharp-eyes could see the weapons and parts in dim of moonlight with little problem.
The ear-piercing scream easily roused him from his activity and caused him to draw his .45 pistol in a fraction of a second before leaving the stump and sprinting back to the caravan proper at breakneck speeds. The second wagon was in disarray and near it was the decapitated body of Isaac. Felix hears someone let out a broken scream and looks over to the source. He could feel his heart wrench at the scene as he saw Shepherd fall to his knees before his son and lament over his death.
Some of his companions were beginning to formulate a plan of action on locating who was responsible for Isaac's death as well as locating both Rocket and her bodyguard while the others decided to stay and help bury the body or deciding whether or not to join. Felix had placed his free hand on his chest and offered the dead Isaac a silent prayer before he heard his name called by Sylvia and Sully asking if he was ready to go. He looks to the two and responds, "Yeah...just let me get my rifle and prepare it."
Felix holsters his .45 pistol and goes back to the stump and begin reassembling his rifle.
He reattaches the battery receiver back to the main capacitor "In darkness...I will be the light."
Then the power cords to their proper sockets "In uncertainty...I will have have clarity."
Felix opens the receiver and feeds the rifle a fresh micro-fusion cell "In struggle...I will gain victory."
Finally, he closes the receiver and flips a switch that causes the rifle to come to life with a short high pitched electronic whine. "In evil...I will punish without pity."
He slings the rifle over his shoulder and dons his hood before speaking the last verse to his credo, "In your name..." He grasps the crimson face mask around his neck and pulls it up to cover his face. "let none survive."
Felix then heads back to the caravan proper to group up with the two leading the search party.
Tim Wasteland Wanderer
Member
Seen
9 mos ago
Upon noticing the error message, T hit his right temple with his right palm several times, until it disappeared. Damned mission parameter programming... Need to calibrate again, T thought to himself. After the lovely campfire introductions/Data gathering session, T retreated to a private nook and took the opportunity to do some delicate maintenance to his synth body. T was in the middle of checking his power core, like a surgeon doing heart surgery on himself, when he heard Rocket's scream.
Upon arriving to the scene, shotgun and pistol in tow, T witnessed the devastation. He switched his HUD on and inspected the area before joining the others.
"I will accompany the search party. Finding Miss Cassom is priority. Finding the bodyguard, sadly, is less so. They can't have gone far."
Upon arriving to the scene, shotgun and pistol in tow, T witnessed the devastation. He switched his HUD on and inspected the area before joining the others.
"I will accompany the search party. Finding Miss Cassom is priority. Finding the bodyguard, sadly, is less so. They can't have gone far."
Rockette 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
______________________________________________________________________________________
First impressions were crucial in the swamps, it led to degrees of judgement and capability, to place those of your ilk and those of your bane into categories of indispensable and liable burdens. Around the haze and burn of a campfire, Vix had been privy to what she snidely labeled a round-about circle jerk of shoddy mercenaries. Not that she wasn't impressed by the figure of Joe Sawyer, or even the Super Mutant whose name evaded her, and Soldier of course who had been the primary target for her lop-sided jeering during the initial leg of their journey. Of course, the man was entirely fixated on their chartreuse hued companion, so she had given up in favour of spinning her blades in idle fashion to amuse her glaringly obvious fidgeting. Rationing her smokes and little luxuries was eternally vexing, however necessary, to ensure that she didn't find herself at the mercy of the swamp and sun that appeared to bear down ever more with fierce intensity. Vix had been entertaining the notion of bribing Shepard with tantalizing conversation and attempts at sleight of hand to garner a few more smokes to her waning addiction when the introductions had began and older habits once buried had risen to the surface.
She calculated most of the time, with the bone of her teeth gnashed around her nail and withheld a internal monologue about the lack of a pack mentality. There was no such structured hierarchy or anyone to call the shots really, Rocket didn't count in her eyes, too young and too soft, innocence clothed in endearing curiosity if not a little annoying. With Daddy backpacking her the entire way, Vix refused to accept her as anything more than a simple messenger girl stuck on the wrong path. Soldier was far too bigoted and such would cater to poor judgement and potential lapses in commanding those to the proper cause. It didn't leave much for options and Vix found her loyalty wavering, and if not for the promise of caps and the need for such, she would've tucked and bolted at the first sign. She left her introductions vague with purpose and if not for the melodramatic hunter and the twitchy addict hashing petty threats, she might've stuck around.
As it were, Vix prowled until she found a decent pit to plant herself, leaning against the second wagon whilst Soldier took first watch against the first. Small comforts, she deducted and settled in for a wink of rest, head canted back and arms at her bust with fingers always prime and at the ready for the knives fixated to her slung belts. She didn't sleep well on her lonesome, but the potential of an awkward conversation otherwise left a bad taste in her mouth. Soot black lashes fell with a slow, waking tremour crawling way up her spine and setting her shoulders into unease. Vix's entire posture went rigid with the screams of the dying and afraid, the wails splintering within her mind awash in horrid memory, and waking a mural of flame before her eyes before she sprung to her boots and flanked around the wagon with knives tight within her white-knuckled grasp.
"What the shit -!"
Blood, heads rolling and a broken wagon with shattered trees and thick soil wet with death. Wasn't a party without bodies on the ground, apparently.
"Well, hell. Man..." Vix's eyes fell upon the weeping father, an unsettling coil in her belly and spine, confronted with mourning when she herself knew little of such a thing. Least, she thought so, swinging her rifle positioned on her sling and faced towards the forest. She only noticed then that their primary concerns were vacant, Rocket more so, she thought, and counted Soldier as an after thought. Though... He was a capable man, if nothing else, another gun to their fold and something told her, without him, something else was bound to end up in some deep shit. Vix allowed once last glance to the wailing Shepard and muttered 'neath her breath as the others began formulating a plan of action. Good start.
"All right, all right. Don't get your panties in a bunch." After having her name summoned twice, it was enough to grind on her already quaking nerves firing rapidly in juncture with their predicament. Vix approached those gathered, keeping her eyes on the forest and listening to the what little intelligence was provided.
"Yao Guai or Deathclaw, huh?." Vix came up beside Sully, carefully eyeing the shadows that teemed with threat; poised to swallow them whole the moment they crossed that threshold of a hunting party. "Going to need some light, most beasts will keep from it. I want you on point," she nudged her elbow into his customized leather armor and gestured forward. "You're good with this shit, yeah."
Vix pivoted to face the others volunteering for their troupe, "We follow within his steps, no funny shit either, you all know these rad'd up things get thirsty when the sun goes down."
She calculated most of the time, with the bone of her teeth gnashed around her nail and withheld a internal monologue about the lack of a pack mentality. There was no such structured hierarchy or anyone to call the shots really, Rocket didn't count in her eyes, too young and too soft, innocence clothed in endearing curiosity if not a little annoying. With Daddy backpacking her the entire way, Vix refused to accept her as anything more than a simple messenger girl stuck on the wrong path. Soldier was far too bigoted and such would cater to poor judgement and potential lapses in commanding those to the proper cause. It didn't leave much for options and Vix found her loyalty wavering, and if not for the promise of caps and the need for such, she would've tucked and bolted at the first sign. She left her introductions vague with purpose and if not for the melodramatic hunter and the twitchy addict hashing petty threats, she might've stuck around.
As it were, Vix prowled until she found a decent pit to plant herself, leaning against the second wagon whilst Soldier took first watch against the first. Small comforts, she deducted and settled in for a wink of rest, head canted back and arms at her bust with fingers always prime and at the ready for the knives fixated to her slung belts. She didn't sleep well on her lonesome, but the potential of an awkward conversation otherwise left a bad taste in her mouth. Soot black lashes fell with a slow, waking tremour crawling way up her spine and setting her shoulders into unease. Vix's entire posture went rigid with the screams of the dying and afraid, the wails splintering within her mind awash in horrid memory, and waking a mural of flame before her eyes before she sprung to her boots and flanked around the wagon with knives tight within her white-knuckled grasp.
"What the shit -!"
Blood, heads rolling and a broken wagon with shattered trees and thick soil wet with death. Wasn't a party without bodies on the ground, apparently.
"Well, hell. Man..." Vix's eyes fell upon the weeping father, an unsettling coil in her belly and spine, confronted with mourning when she herself knew little of such a thing. Least, she thought so, swinging her rifle positioned on her sling and faced towards the forest. She only noticed then that their primary concerns were vacant, Rocket more so, she thought, and counted Soldier as an after thought. Though... He was a capable man, if nothing else, another gun to their fold and something told her, without him, something else was bound to end up in some deep shit. Vix allowed once last glance to the wailing Shepard and muttered 'neath her breath as the others began formulating a plan of action. Good start.
"All right, all right. Don't get your panties in a bunch." After having her name summoned twice, it was enough to grind on her already quaking nerves firing rapidly in juncture with their predicament. Vix approached those gathered, keeping her eyes on the forest and listening to the what little intelligence was provided.
"Yao Guai or Deathclaw, huh?." Vix came up beside Sully, carefully eyeing the shadows that teemed with threat; poised to swallow them whole the moment they crossed that threshold of a hunting party. "Going to need some light, most beasts will keep from it. I want you on point," she nudged her elbow into his customized leather armor and gestured forward. "You're good with this shit, yeah."
Vix pivoted to face the others volunteering for their troupe, "We follow within his steps, no funny shit either, you all know these rad'd up things get thirsty when the sun goes down."
Exchanges around the campfire were always a fantastic opportunity to network with new clients and open new opportunities of prosperity. However, a quick glance at the Governor’s lot would lead you to the conclusion that none probably had enough caps to make it worthwhile. So, Franz simply sat back after introducing himself and let the others speak. He had tales of adventure, accounts of legends, and even personal goals that would inspire any who heard them. Tonight, those would simply stay bottled up inside him.
As night grew deeper, Franz decided to set up against a tree which faced the wagons. You see, he didn’t sleep the same way as most did. One eye would stay open which you could hardly tell among the folds of wrinkled skin and he would snore through his nose while his mouth remained sealed, all while in a sitting position. For any would-be chickenheart thief, a merchant staying up to watch his merchandise wasn’t worth it. However, wild beasts would be another issue altogether.
Unfortunately, it just so happens that the secondary issue was brought to the forefront as it was heralded by a blood-curdling growl. Franz would snap out of his lull and had gotten ready to make a run for it before remembering he had company with him. It was safer here than the dark woods that surrounded their campsite but some of the others were ready to trek into the unknown to find their benefactor’s daughter. They were brave and it was ultimately the smart thing to do, lest their bomb accidentally goes off.
“You folks better not get lost out there.” That was all Franz had to say, implying that he was staying behind. The first thing that sprung to mind was to check if their delivery package was still with them but Frankie mentioning his intent to dig a grave caught his attention. Only now did Franz find out that Isaac had been decapitated mercilessly. It was a common sight in the wasteland, but no father should ever witness their child’s death. Franz simply shook his head before retrieving two bottles from his own stash, one of vodka and the other of whiskey. He would approach Shepard and hand him the latter.
“Condolences… It’s best to not dwell on this but I do offer one thing. Free of charge, in fact. Your son’s soul needs to be laid to rest and this bottle of vodka was made with water from Saint Jack’s river. Give me a bit and he’ll find peace in the trade waters of the afterlife.”
GM
Sofaking Fancy Three Owls in a Trench Coat
Member
Seen
6 yrs ago
The Woods
@Zoey White @CaptainSully @Searat @Tim @Rockette
Frankie had been right, there was no way he would have been able to maneuver through the forest, as trees had practically grown on top of each other. The trunks were large and only offered crevices to squeeze through sometimes. The group was fortunate in the fact that they had a tracker leading the way, as Sully was able to discern where the ground was marred, the trees were scratched, and where there’d been a sign of passing.
The forest was eerily quiet. Occasionally, a limb would creak and groan, there’d be a soft patter of a creature scurrying about, or crack of an old limb under someone’s boot. The sky was covered in the overlapping fingers of the tree. The only light came from the group.
The trees began to open up after about fifteen minutes of tense walking. There a nasty gouge was left in the side of the tree with blood caked around it. It was hard to tell what color it was, to discern it from human or beast. If one followed the arc of the gouge they’d see slickness on the ground—probably more blood. There at the very end was Soldier’s warhammer laying on the ground. It was coated in chunks of viscera and gore. It also sat in the middle of a small clearing. It was apparent that a tussle had gone on here. The tracks were confusing and twisted. Still, there was nothing in sight.
The sound of their foot steps was surprisingly loud in the silence, even if they were trying to muffle them. Beyond the clearing there was noise. Then a female voice let out, “guys! Help me!” If one had to guess, it was Rocket.
A growl licked the air, and from the darkness between the trees slunk out a dog—feral and heavily irradiated. Two more joined it on either side, blocking the way out of the clearing. It was hard to tell if that was all of them, and the one in front wasted no time running at the group, with one stood behind, and the other looked behind it—where Rocket would have yelled from.
Frankie had been right, there was no way he would have been able to maneuver through the forest, as trees had practically grown on top of each other. The trunks were large and only offered crevices to squeeze through sometimes. The group was fortunate in the fact that they had a tracker leading the way, as Sully was able to discern where the ground was marred, the trees were scratched, and where there’d been a sign of passing.
The forest was eerily quiet. Occasionally, a limb would creak and groan, there’d be a soft patter of a creature scurrying about, or crack of an old limb under someone’s boot. The sky was covered in the overlapping fingers of the tree. The only light came from the group.
The trees began to open up after about fifteen minutes of tense walking. There a nasty gouge was left in the side of the tree with blood caked around it. It was hard to tell what color it was, to discern it from human or beast. If one followed the arc of the gouge they’d see slickness on the ground—probably more blood. There at the very end was Soldier’s warhammer laying on the ground. It was coated in chunks of viscera and gore. It also sat in the middle of a small clearing. It was apparent that a tussle had gone on here. The tracks were confusing and twisted. Still, there was nothing in sight.
The sound of their foot steps was surprisingly loud in the silence, even if they were trying to muffle them. Beyond the clearing there was noise. Then a female voice let out, “guys! Help me!” If one had to guess, it was Rocket.
A growl licked the air, and from the darkness between the trees slunk out a dog—feral and heavily irradiated. Two more joined it on either side, blocking the way out of the clearing. It was hard to tell if that was all of them, and the one in front wasted no time running at the group, with one stood behind, and the other looked behind it—where Rocket would have yelled from.
Graveside
@Rtron @Simple Unicycle @WXer
Shepherd paid them no mind as they conversed among themselves on who would go into the forest. It was too late. He grasped at his son’s hand, the warmth slowly fading from it. When he looked up, he saw the three standing over him, offering their help and a bottle of whiskey. He was not a drinking man, but he took it from the gentleman’s hand. He unscrewed the lid and took a long drink from it, wheezing afterward.
“Thank you kindly,” he said. Slowly he stood, using the bottle to leverage him up. With a slow shuffle, he headed to the other cart and procured two shovels. He looked up at Frankie, and then back down—handing him a shovel. Whatever he might have thought of the supermutant was not shown at that moment. He then walked to the edge of the tree line and tapped against the ground with the bottom of the shovel, looking for anywhere that was soft. He managed to locate a small square of dirt that’d recently been upturned. He placed the shovel there. Asking no help, he picked up his son’s body, far larger and heavier than the diminutive old man should have carried. He placed him by the shovel. Then he returned for the head. All the while, he was taking large drinks from the whiskey.
A tear ran down his face as he started to dig the grave. Minutes passed in which he assumed the supermutant was assisting him. He was so dedicated and focused on his task that he failed to notice anyone around him. A few feet down, Shepherd knew he didn’t have the time or stamina to dig a seven-foot hole, and he was ready to bury the body. He leaned in for one more scoop.
His shovel clanked against metal. He looked up. Swirling the shovel over the spot, he noticed that there was a metal chest. On the top of it was painted: “Vault 76 Trinkets.”
Shepherd looked up. “Isn’t that where the silverfish came from? It can’t be good to open such a thing. We should bury Isaac here and leave it well enough alone.”
Shepherd paid them no mind as they conversed among themselves on who would go into the forest. It was too late. He grasped at his son’s hand, the warmth slowly fading from it. When he looked up, he saw the three standing over him, offering their help and a bottle of whiskey. He was not a drinking man, but he took it from the gentleman’s hand. He unscrewed the lid and took a long drink from it, wheezing afterward.
“Thank you kindly,” he said. Slowly he stood, using the bottle to leverage him up. With a slow shuffle, he headed to the other cart and procured two shovels. He looked up at Frankie, and then back down—handing him a shovel. Whatever he might have thought of the supermutant was not shown at that moment. He then walked to the edge of the tree line and tapped against the ground with the bottom of the shovel, looking for anywhere that was soft. He managed to locate a small square of dirt that’d recently been upturned. He placed the shovel there. Asking no help, he picked up his son’s body, far larger and heavier than the diminutive old man should have carried. He placed him by the shovel. Then he returned for the head. All the while, he was taking large drinks from the whiskey.
A tear ran down his face as he started to dig the grave. Minutes passed in which he assumed the supermutant was assisting him. He was so dedicated and focused on his task that he failed to notice anyone around him. A few feet down, Shepherd knew he didn’t have the time or stamina to dig a seven-foot hole, and he was ready to bury the body. He leaned in for one more scoop.
His shovel clanked against metal. He looked up. Swirling the shovel over the spot, he noticed that there was a metal chest. On the top of it was painted: “Vault 76 Trinkets.”
Shepherd looked up. “Isn’t that where the silverfish came from? It can’t be good to open such a thing. We should bury Isaac here and leave it well enough alone.”
Though moonlight was his only source of illumination, the shape of treasure was all to familiar to the merchant Furrman. As Franz’s eyes read the dug-up chest’s label, the sound of a New Vegas jackpot started ringing through his ears. While the wagonmaster wanted nothing to do with it, they simply could not just leave this mystery box unopened. Without skipping a beat, Franz was giving their guide a spiel as to why this could not be left alone. “Mister Shepard, the box clearly states ‘trinkets.’ Why would buried treasure mislead us? Even if there was a silverfish inside it, it’s either dead or the world’s smallest specimen. Besides, we’re gonna need a gravemarker for the guiding runes that I’ll be using for your son's spirit and for future traveling merchants. That box emptied is perfect for it. Now, you just worry about the burial here while one of our associates uses their immense strength to pry it open and get it ready!” the greedy merchant would state with a smile that would shine in the dark night.
Franz would motion towards both Joe and Frankie, urging them to come over and get this loot out of the way. In the meanwhile, he would remove the lid from his bottle of vodka and proceed to pour small portions on his hands and the freshly dug gravesite. Franz would touch the forehead of Isaac and then close the boy’s eyelids with his liquor-blessed fingers. After a few moments of silence, he would look at Shepard square in the eyes. “If you have anything you want to bury with him, just know that I’ll be marking the curse of grave robbers on this site. Should deter any attempts of defilement.”
Searat The Aqueous Rodent
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
Even in the dim moonlit clearing, Felix's eyes identified the sudden and swift movement of the mutated mongrel of a dog to be a wild dash to the group, surely an attempt by its radiation addled brain to gain a meal. As adrenaline pumped into his system, time seemed to slow down. A second felt like three. Synapses fired as muscle memory and mental processing was kicked into high gear. 'Distance. 5 meters.' Felix, in one fluid motion, draws his trusty laser rifle slung on his shoulder and takes a firm hold on the familiar rifle. 'Hungry. Desperate.' He rests the stock onto his shoulder as he levels the rifle and positions his finger beside the trigger guard, taking aim at the center of mass. 'Distance. 4.5 meters.' Felix squeezes the trigger and the rifle lets loose a magnetically focused beam of high intensity light at the mongrel's body.
Sylvia was thinking about the Jet in the pouch that was resting on her right hip. She wasn't craving it yet, but she wasn't feeling the buzz, either. She might need it if she was going to stop the nervous feeling bubbling in her chest. What if it was some kind of crazy monster no one had ever seen before? Someone might die. It'd make a good story for her to tell, though.
Sylvia's flashlight cut through the inky blackness with a white cone of light. Walking through a forest today, one would hear the buzzing of bugs, chirping of crickets, frogs and nocturnal birds. No such noise in the post-apocalypse. The small critters of today were wiped out, or mutated into horrific monstrosities that are much less common but much more dangerous then their tiny ancestors. So the forest was quiet as the five mercenaries looked for their quarry.
Rocket's voice filled the air, as well as the terrible visage of several wild dogs. Felix had already got a shot off, and the bright red laser cast shadows behind the dogs and the group. Should be easy enough...looks like poor Isaac just got unlucky for getting mauled so quick by some mongrels.
"Dogs! It's just dogs." She yelled between the bursts of gunfire. Her 10mm pistol was in her right hand, and her flashlight was crossed underneath her forearm by her left hand. She was towards the back of the group and didn't want friendly fire so she just flicked off the safety, pointed the flashlight at the dogs, and held her fire until the right moment.
Frankie said nothing as he took the shovel from Shepard's hands and helped the man dig the grave of his son. There was nothing to be said that the man didn't already know, or doubtlessly cared little about. So, the massive super mutant merely took the shovel, looking much smaller in his hands, and started digging where the caravan driver started. He didn't know how far the man wanted to dig a grave or how long they had to dig, but he moved as quickly as he could. The boy deserved a proper burial at the very least. If they couldn't avenge his death they could at least ensure that he remained at rest for eternity, with no grave robbers or scavengers picking at his bones. Frankie slowed as he noticed the old man slowing down, his energy and will presumably running out. The super mutant's interest piqued as Shepard's shovel hit metal. It practically skyrocketed as the chest was revealed to be from Vault 76. The Silverfish! A chance to learn more about them, perhaps before they even became what they are today! He barely registered what Franz was saying, but nodded in agreement. This was too good of an opportunity to waste, even if they were motivated by two entirely different reasons for wanting to open the chest.
"I agree with Franz. We can't let an opportunity like this go past. Think of what we could learn from this if it possesses the right things inside! I'll open it a distance away from the caravan. If it is trapped, poisoned, cursed, or whatever form of unpleasantness you can think of, I am the most likely to weather whatever storm it can release. I'll carry the contents with me at the back of the caravan. That way, if anything comes looking for whatever is inside, I'll be the ones they come to." The super mutant was visibly excited, talking quickly and hurriedly, eyes glued to the chest. "Worry not, merchant. If you wish to sell any of the contents to whoever happens to walk past, I can serve as a mobile store front." Frankie nodded in what he hoped was a respectful manner to Shepard, putting the shovel to the side of the grave.
Reaching into the grave, Frankie grasped the chest and pulled it out, excitedly staring it over. He looked back over at Shepard, some of the excitement fading as he seemed to remember why they were here. "If you wish the grave to be deeper to deter robbers and scavengers as well, I have more than enough strength and energy to do so. Just give the word."
"I agree with Franz. We can't let an opportunity like this go past. Think of what we could learn from this if it possesses the right things inside! I'll open it a distance away from the caravan. If it is trapped, poisoned, cursed, or whatever form of unpleasantness you can think of, I am the most likely to weather whatever storm it can release. I'll carry the contents with me at the back of the caravan. That way, if anything comes looking for whatever is inside, I'll be the ones they come to." The super mutant was visibly excited, talking quickly and hurriedly, eyes glued to the chest. "Worry not, merchant. If you wish to sell any of the contents to whoever happens to walk past, I can serve as a mobile store front." Frankie nodded in what he hoped was a respectful manner to Shepard, putting the shovel to the side of the grave.
Reaching into the grave, Frankie grasped the chest and pulled it out, excitedly staring it over. He looked back over at Shepard, some of the excitement fading as he seemed to remember why they were here. "If you wish the grave to be deeper to deter robbers and scavengers as well, I have more than enough strength and energy to do so. Just give the word."
Simple Unicycle ?
Member
Seen
1 mo ago
Joe watched on as Frankie and Shepherd began to dig the grave, minding their surroundings and keeping an eye out for danger. After a while, there was the clunk of metal upon metal, and Joe craned his head towards the sound to see Shepherd examining a chest. He approached the grave, eyeing the chest and the label on it. "Vault 76 Trinkets. Hrm." The old man, Franz, was very enthusiastic about opening it, and as was the supermutant Frankie.
"Fellas, I ain't keen on dyin'. I may look like I'm dumb as a box of rocks but I know about Vault 76 and I know that it's no damn good. Whatever's in that chest, we should keep it locked up tight. And as for a gravemarker, I can fashion up a cross from some branches. That chest don't need to be opened." The mountain of a man was very adamant about keeping that damn thing shut, and why shouldn't he be? With his luck it was a bomb that'd go off as soon as the chest opened. They shouldn't risk it.
"Fellas, I ain't keen on dyin'. I may look like I'm dumb as a box of rocks but I know about Vault 76 and I know that it's no damn good. Whatever's in that chest, we should keep it locked up tight. And as for a gravemarker, I can fashion up a cross from some branches. That chest don't need to be opened." The mountain of a man was very adamant about keeping that damn thing shut, and why shouldn't he be? With his luck it was a bomb that'd go off as soon as the chest opened. They shouldn't risk it.
Tim Wasteland Wanderer
Member
Seen
9 mos ago
T's HUD picks up the dogs as soon as they come into view, outlining them in a bright green. 3 Dogs, one charging, one staying, one looking behind, all an obstacle between the group and Ms Cassom. That one in the back could be problematic if he lost interest and broke off. It was exposing an opening by looking away, and T decided to take it.
T drew his pistol and fired at the unobservant wolf, as he slowly moved away from the group, in the direction of the hammer.
T drew his pistol and fired at the unobservant wolf, as he slowly moved away from the group, in the direction of the hammer.
CaptainSully 🆆🅸🆃🅷🅸🅽 / 🆃🅷🅴 🆁🆄🅸🅽🆂
Member
Seen
2 yrs ago
With the dogs emerging from the darkness Sully let out a groan. He wasn't the sort to be concerned by a feral mutt or three, having dealt with much more serious threats. However, they were now in his and the groups way, blocking them from reaching the screams of the person they needed to save. The front dog made a straight run towards the group, its bare teeth exposed to the air by years of mutations.
Sully flicked his rifle from his shoulder straight into his hands and took aim down the scope with his good eye. The fast approaching hound was in sight and closing fast. Sully took a knee to allow those behind him to take aim, he didn't want to find himself with a bullet in his back. He squeezed the trigger firmly, the muted and silenced sound of gunfire flittering throughout the nearby area. He then squeezed the trigger once more...it was always worth making sure.
Sully flicked his rifle from his shoulder straight into his hands and took aim down the scope with his good eye. The fast approaching hound was in sight and closing fast. Sully took a knee to allow those behind him to take aim, he didn't want to find himself with a bullet in his back. He squeezed the trigger firmly, the muted and silenced sound of gunfire flittering throughout the nearby area. He then squeezed the trigger once more...it was always worth making sure.
Rockette 𝘣𝘦𝘵𝘵𝘦𝘳 𝘵𝘩𝘢𝘯 𝘺𝘰𝘶.
Member
Seen
0-24 hrs ago
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It became rather apparent to one Vix Blackwater, as they crossed the copse of twisted bark and quivering limbs, that she was a literal fish out of water here. Or, something. The notion flitted briefly the moment her boot crunched over parched wood and promptly snapped such under her slight weight, coupled with a tendril of quaking nervousness at the void of sheer unknown eclipsed by a thicket of shadows. Despite the wedge of light provided by the only one aware of their awaiting endeavor into the gloom, the beam did little to settle that bundle of nerves curling against her spine in a weighted sphere of impending dread. Call it an old, and worn intuition, but creatures that went bump in the night had an agenda operating under cloaks of darkness, one she had no intentions of participating in. Others would label her a flight driven tool, but Vix had not made it this far based upon methods of luck and lack of know how. Years under the thumb of a Raider moniker branding her ruthless and mad had roughly sheered her psychosis to an almost acute paranoia, such trauma blanketed under copious amounts of whiskey and biting wit that left her feeling good. Vix cinched her grip upon her rifle with a doubled vice and kept herself behind Sully most of the time, trusting to his footfalls more so than the others apart of their troupe. Hunter inclinations clothed him within spades of capability, and whilst she wasn't dismissing to those of the addict and . . . Synth [Vix didn't trust anything that didn't bleed red] it was the youthful age of Felix that left her toiling in doubt. Experience made men in these wastes.
Lost to the cogs whirring behind her shifting gaze, it was only her acute perception that alerted her to the sudden shift in their atmosphere, the thicket yawning into a clearing bathed within the scenes of struggle and battle. Vix's brow drew down harsh, the butt of her rifle hoisted up against her shoulder and her arms almost rigid as she turned, panning the space at their backs with hurried glances through the gloom, lingering on the marred tree and the gunk seeped around the wounds for just a moment. Shit . . .
Vix did not like this, the whole quest just reeked of something wrong. From the slick taint on Soldier's warhammer, to the voice reaching to them desperately from the trees yonder and plucking on her nerves thrice fold. The former Raider almost holstered her rifle and reached for her knives along her waist until a snarl reached forward and tensed her shoulders all the more. Of all things possible within the forest, she was not expecting a trio of heavily radiated mutts stalking them from the dark. She almost barked in laughter, to think these feral creatures were responsible for this mayhem. Vix had worked with mongrels like these before, usually sedated creatures that were later taunted to ruthless aggression and led upon metal scraps and held down with macabre wire and chain to guard their out posts. She immediately ducked down and behind the others, they were better shots than her, for her skill relied heavily on the knives glimmering on her leather belts slung across her bust and waist. With lasers firing, snipers at the ready and pistols donned, Vix inhaled sharply through her flaring nasal and coiled her body for defense.
She knew that attempting to skirt around them would cause the lingering hound to break away, and a game of prey and predator was not within her own agenda. Her eyes fell upon "T" edging closer to the warhammer lying in the distance. Not a terrible plan, heavy melee against warped flesh and bone, there was little competition to that offense. Vix nodded with her assessment, holstered her rifle and drew two knives with artful flicks of her wrists, procuring the blades with finesse and professionalism. If they could keep the mutts busy enough and pump them up with enough holes, she could swoop in and finish the job or bolt around to search for Rocket calling for them beyond.
Lost to the cogs whirring behind her shifting gaze, it was only her acute perception that alerted her to the sudden shift in their atmosphere, the thicket yawning into a clearing bathed within the scenes of struggle and battle. Vix's brow drew down harsh, the butt of her rifle hoisted up against her shoulder and her arms almost rigid as she turned, panning the space at their backs with hurried glances through the gloom, lingering on the marred tree and the gunk seeped around the wounds for just a moment. Shit . . .
Vix did not like this, the whole quest just reeked of something wrong. From the slick taint on Soldier's warhammer, to the voice reaching to them desperately from the trees yonder and plucking on her nerves thrice fold. The former Raider almost holstered her rifle and reached for her knives along her waist until a snarl reached forward and tensed her shoulders all the more. Of all things possible within the forest, she was not expecting a trio of heavily radiated mutts stalking them from the dark. She almost barked in laughter, to think these feral creatures were responsible for this mayhem. Vix had worked with mongrels like these before, usually sedated creatures that were later taunted to ruthless aggression and led upon metal scraps and held down with macabre wire and chain to guard their out posts. She immediately ducked down and behind the others, they were better shots than her, for her skill relied heavily on the knives glimmering on her leather belts slung across her bust and waist. With lasers firing, snipers at the ready and pistols donned, Vix inhaled sharply through her flaring nasal and coiled her body for defense.
She knew that attempting to skirt around them would cause the lingering hound to break away, and a game of prey and predator was not within her own agenda. Her eyes fell upon "T" edging closer to the warhammer lying in the distance. Not a terrible plan, heavy melee against warped flesh and bone, there was little competition to that offense. Vix nodded with her assessment, holstered her rifle and drew two knives with artful flicks of her wrists, procuring the blades with finesse and professionalism. If they could keep the mutts busy enough and pump them up with enough holes, she could swoop in and finish the job or bolt around to search for Rocket calling for them beyond.
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The Woods
@Zoey White @Searat @Tim @Rockette
Felix’s bullet hit true, striking one of the mutts between the eyes. It fell immediately and skidded into the ground before its comrades. Sylvia’s burst of fire sent another dog reeling, stopping it midleap and pedaling into the ground before it—yelping.
T’s movements would go unnoticed by the now dead wolf, and the injured one. The one in the back turned its attention from Rocket to the android. It went to vault forward but paused as its leg had taken a damaging hit from T’s bullets. It was then an energy stream sliced off its back leg. “Yahtzee!” Rocket’s voice erupted from the woods, followed by a lot of shuffling. “Oh no. Oh no!”
Sully’s movements, leaning into his shot, gave him advantage. The dog that Sylvia shot into went down quick with his rifle. Sully began to back away to get a better vantage, and a bit into the forest. Vix, taking her advantage, buried her blades into the energy-weapon injured dog. It died underneath her immediately. They stood in the middle of a battlefield with three dead dogs, lots of blood, and a warhammer embedded into the ground. Shining a light before would reveal Rocket before them, hanging from a trap that looped around her ankle. She hung there. The energy rifle in her hand.
Something was sniffing at her in the darkness. There we a hulking form, and then a long growl. It was a Yao Guai—a massive, mutated black bear whose sights fell onto the group rather than the hanging woman. She remained her quiet, but tears streamed down her eyes. She was a noise from being ripped in two.
Felix’s bullet hit true, striking one of the mutts between the eyes. It fell immediately and skidded into the ground before its comrades. Sylvia’s burst of fire sent another dog reeling, stopping it midleap and pedaling into the ground before it—yelping.
T’s movements would go unnoticed by the now dead wolf, and the injured one. The one in the back turned its attention from Rocket to the android. It went to vault forward but paused as its leg had taken a damaging hit from T’s bullets. It was then an energy stream sliced off its back leg. “Yahtzee!” Rocket’s voice erupted from the woods, followed by a lot of shuffling. “Oh no. Oh no!”
Sully’s movements, leaning into his shot, gave him advantage. The dog that Sylvia shot into went down quick with his rifle. Sully began to back away to get a better vantage, and a bit into the forest. Vix, taking her advantage, buried her blades into the energy-weapon injured dog. It died underneath her immediately. They stood in the middle of a battlefield with three dead dogs, lots of blood, and a warhammer embedded into the ground. Shining a light before would reveal Rocket before them, hanging from a trap that looped around her ankle. She hung there. The energy rifle in her hand.
Something was sniffing at her in the darkness. There we a hulking form, and then a long growl. It was a Yao Guai—a massive, mutated black bear whose sights fell onto the group rather than the hanging woman. She remained her quiet, but tears streamed down her eyes. She was a noise from being ripped in two.
Graveside
@Rtron @Simple Unicycle @WXer
Shepherd watched Franz’s actions as he spoke. Honestly, he had no way to react. He’d expected his son to far outlive himself, and as such he’d never see the burial ceremony. Yet, here in the middle of nowhere with strangers—it was a lot more comforting than he thought he should be. He swallowed hard as the salesman anointed his fingers with the clear liquor and slowly closed the eyes of the disfigured face of his son. The old man looked away.
Yet, when the super mutant procured the chest from the ground—Shepherd eyed it out of the side of his eyes. He slid his gaze back down at the massive hole that now existed for his son. His bulbous knuckles, slanted against thin digits, clenched. They were mercenaries, and they wanted caps more than anything. Why would he stop them? Yet, what could be in that case? What if it created more of what killed his son? That thought brought a coughing sob to his weathered lips.
Shepard then eyed the massive mountain of a man, Joe, and he nodded. “I agree,” he said through a strained voice. He took the body of his son and lowered it into the hole. He then wailed in depression as he cradled his son’s head in his hands and slipped into the grave. “But I don’t care for what you do, anymore.” He pressed Isaac’s head against his body. “Just bury me with my son.” He looked up. “Kill me. Bury me. Take your treasure.”
Shepherd watched Franz’s actions as he spoke. Honestly, he had no way to react. He’d expected his son to far outlive himself, and as such he’d never see the burial ceremony. Yet, here in the middle of nowhere with strangers—it was a lot more comforting than he thought he should be. He swallowed hard as the salesman anointed his fingers with the clear liquor and slowly closed the eyes of the disfigured face of his son. The old man looked away.
Yet, when the super mutant procured the chest from the ground—Shepherd eyed it out of the side of his eyes. He slid his gaze back down at the massive hole that now existed for his son. His bulbous knuckles, slanted against thin digits, clenched. They were mercenaries, and they wanted caps more than anything. Why would he stop them? Yet, what could be in that case? What if it created more of what killed his son? That thought brought a coughing sob to his weathered lips.
Shepard then eyed the massive mountain of a man, Joe, and he nodded. “I agree,” he said through a strained voice. He took the body of his son and lowered it into the hole. He then wailed in depression as he cradled his son’s head in his hands and slipped into the grave. “But I don’t care for what you do, anymore.” He pressed Isaac’s head against his body. “Just bury me with my son.” He looked up. “Kill me. Bury me. Take your treasure.”
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