Fisheye

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

John “Cook” Kaye- His Room, The Den

John laid back in the moth-eaten recliner, ignoring the groan of protest from the age-old springs of its interior. His hand shook slightly as he put the steel lighter and bottle of Breeze down, content with just one taste to start his day. Jet had helped wake him up, but he had hardly felt a dose that small. He had to kick the Jet soon- he felt his body withering away more and more each day.

Now was not the time for worrying however. Now, all of his thoughts were replaced by pure, unadulterated bliss. John let out a groan rivaling the sound of the chair’s just moments ago as he was plunged deep into the depths of the chair’s dirty green fabric. He couldn’t help but smile as the familiar feeling of Breeze set in. Such a glorious, holy thing it was, and all because of him. He had brought Breeze into this world- it was his baby, and it treated him well.

John looked up from the bottle which was now sitting on the ground by his side. All around him, the colors of the dilapidated room seemed to rush towards him, increasing impossibly in their brilliance. The wall opposite John, mounted with a humble cross but otherwise unadorned, slowly crept away from him, causing John’s vision to swim.

He blinked, momentarily glimpsing the great darkness hidden within him. He tried not to close his eyes when he took Breeze. It was… better than way. As John rocketed up, gripping the fabric of his chair tightly, he could not help but think of this darkness, his mind suddenly fixated on the dingy truths hidden within him. John physically shook his head, the motion sending a tingling down his back as the air of the room tickled his cheeks. He could not think of that now- not today.

It was too late, though. Even as waves of serenely warm pleasure washed across the small man’s crippled form, his mind was cast back. Back towards that which still haunted him. Back towards Catherine. Her smile, her laugh… her whimpers in those last terrible moments. John continued to shake his head, struggling vainly against the path which he was headed down. Breeze was an angel and a devil, and in both ways it was above man’s will. Its duality was beautiful… and terrifying.

John felt his head turn, though he couldn’t remember telling it to. He opened his eyes, not even knowing until now that they had remained closed, and found himself looking at the room’s dingy mirror. The room’s colors and proportions were off- oversaturated, elongated… unrealistic. At times it would be brilliant, but for now it was the most unnerving thing he had ever witnessed, a fact made so much worse when the image within the mirror slid slickly all over until it became his sister, just as he had seen her last. In a scene of cartooning images, she remained perfect- an anchor to reality in the suddenly cruel world he inhabited.

She looked like John, really. Pale, pretty, with dark hair and somehow darker eyes. Foam marred her face, dripping from the corner of her mouth. Shockingly, she moved, stepping through the liquid pool that the mirror had somehow become. Her feet slowly plodded towards John, who seemed to be bolted to his chair now. Time had stopped, and now nothing else was, nothing else would be. It was just John, Catherine, and a world of shame.

“Why did you let me go John? I never let you go.”

Her voice was sad, and it echoed out of her in waves which were somehow made visible to John’s gaze. He couldn’t move. On his face, he could feel something wet and warm, unable to wipe it away as it dripped down onto his button-up. John was paralyzed with regret. He’d killed his sister, the only person who had ever loved him. One bad batch was all it took for the endless depths of hell to rip her away. These talks they had now were Catherine’s bony, ethereal fingers trying in vain to cling to this world, John just knew it. They had always been one-another’s anchor.

“Come with me, John. It isn’t so bad. Just like all of your labs- dark, hot, noisey… like home.”

In a moment of clarity, John saw what was happening. A bad trip, that was all this was. He should’ve known better than to take a hit after he actually slept last night. The nightmares were what did it. He needed to stop sleeping if he could help it. This clarity came and went, though. This was his reality, his nightmare, his hell. This was what he had earned, and it was just as real as anything he had ever been victim to in his life.

“Come home.”

At once, the pupils of Catherine’s eyes became brighter, a glare held within their dark depths suddenly expanded to become a pair of shining beacons within the room. For the first time, John truly glimpsed at the old cross hanging on the wall opposite of him, a relic from before the war. His attention fixed on to it, and in a moment it silently erupted into a mass of spiders, whose numbers steadily grew until they nearly covered the entire wall. John entered a frenzied state, all alarms in his head going off at once. He stared at whatever lay beneath and his sister called out to him, beckoning him into the dark depths.

John heard a voice in the distance, though he couldn’t pinpoint the location. It sounded like a man’s yell, one of fright and terror. John suddenly erupted from his chair, his frail form lunging toward the mirror from which his sister had emerged. John hit it, again, and again, and again. His hand cried out in pain until finally the image of terror before him shattered. He found himself on the floor now, and arms quickly lifted him up, as easily as one would lift a child.

Before him was Edgar, John’s slave, who had seemingly plucked him from the ground. The face before him, like that of an innocent, concerned child looked odd on the mutated brute’s pale face. Edgar spoke up now, his speech deep and meticulous as always.

“Master is okay, master is okay. Master is bleeding too.”

John realized now that the yelling he had heard had been his own. He was suddenly flush with embarrassment, his trip momentarily killed by this realization. Edgar said there was blood…

John looked down at his favorite white button-up, bought a year back in Diamond City. “Fuck!”, he groaned. The shirt was spattered with the familiar sight of his own blood, soaked through with blood in the front and spattered with a much smaller amount on both of his arms, with these stains having come from fresh cuts beneath his shirt. John reached up to touch his face and found it covered in both blood and tears. Sometimes he hated these damn nose bleeds.

As John wiped his face with a handkerchief he’d produced from his pocket, Edgar looked on. The brutish man examined the now-broken mirror, keeping his mouth shut. Master didn’t like when Edgar asked too many questions, after all.

After having Edgar fetch him a fresh shirt from the newly-stocked set of drawers within the room, John quickly changed. Already, John felt a come-down in the works. He cursed himself. These bad trips didn’t happen often, but when they did they were the stuff of pure nightmares. And his sister… Leave me be, Catherine. I’m not ready yet.

Now changed, John grabbed his bag from beside the door, retrieving his 12.7 from within and sliding the cool metal into the waistband of his jeans. Satisfied, he hoisted the bag itself over his shoulder and exited his room. Outside was a hallway, with two doors set onto the opposite side. One of the doors was ajar, with Rose standing perfectly in its center, as if she was the subject of some lewd painting.

“You alright Cook? Sounds like you had a bit of a fit.” Rose’s voice was soft and young- exactly what you would expect from a woman her age. She wasn’t a bit over 5’2, making even John appear tall, though they likely weighed about the same at just over 100. She was modestly curvy, with her attire helping to show what she had, and her face was best described as cute. She didn’t fool John for one minute with the innocent look she tried to keep up, however. She was all raider, still yet to be domesticated.

“I’m fine, I just…” John coughed weakly, quickly finding himself unable to stop. He produced the same handkerchief from his pocket, and proceeded to soak it through further with blood. John grew frustrated. He was tired of falling apart, this damn cough would never leave him. He needed air.

“I’m going to walk around town a bit, maybe see if that diner opened up yet. Edgar, bring up a few buckets of water from the cove and boil them. I want a bath drawn for me when I return, if you’d be so kind, Rose.”

Rose rolled her eyes. She knew Cook meant an actual bath- he wasn’t usually in a mood for anything else, especially when his health was poor. “Gotcha Cook, bring some party favors if you really want to relax.”

John waved her off, weakly making his way towards the stairs. The old complex they had all set up shop in was huge, really. Three separate buildings connected together- an old tailor’s, and insurance company, and some sort of bait and tackle shop, all of them with living space on their second floors. It was perfect, though after two days of work the four of them still hadn’t even gotten the tailor’s and its rooms restored.

John made his way downstairs, both his joints and the stairs creaking. Breeze’s peak usually came and went quickly, but he knew he’s have a manageable afterglow for a few more hours. It would do well enough to see him through the rest of the day. Downstairs, he found Steve hammering away at an old wooden chair, seemingly trying to bring it back to usable shape. While he was older, John’s companion was still much healthier than him, looking every bit a warrior.

“Place is looking good, Steve.”

“Thanks." steve replied as he stopped working and turned to face John "This place is big, haven't even cleared out let alone started on the tailor shop yet but the party room and Rosey's Bedroom are pretty much done so we can start accepting customers."

“I was going to take a walk around town, get some fresh air. I made sure Edgar and Rose stay busy. Want to tag along? There might be newcomers around already.” John hoped so, at least. They’d arrived a couple days ago and were greeted by just a pair of people who had set up shop in the shell of a town. Everyone expected newcomers to show soon, however.

"Sure could use an little break." Steve stated as he put on his old leather jacket and began to pack up his tools. Ever since Edgar had accidentally cut of Bob's toe he had made sure not to leave anything sharp out around the mutated giant.

The pair made their way outside, with the bright sun eliciting a sneeze from the bone-thin John. He detested the sun, really. His craft had always required him to be more active after twilight, and John had adapted to this nocturnal lifestyle just fine. The two made some small talk as the walked down the cracked streets of Salem, heading first towards the Church, then on towards the diner. They were stopped, however, by Barney Rook, the closest thing this place had to an official authority so far. They’d met briefly, but Barney seemed to have suspicions about their rough little group.

“Hey folks, Steve and, erm… John, right? Nice day isn’t it?” Barney examined the pair shortly, resuming his speech before they could even respond. “You look a little cut up there, John. You don’t look like you’re in any shape to lose more blood. Don’t want to be loosin’ settlers before we even get this place started!”

"He's always looking like that." Steve chuckled "but don't worry I'll make sure he doesn't lose anymore... today."

Barney chuckled cheerfully, and John looked down and examined his arms again. Now dressed in a black short sleeve, the long, shallow scratches that the mirror had gouged in him were easy to see. “I suppose you’re right Barney, got any clean bandages I can trade you for? I had a bit of an accident while we were cleaning up the place,” he lied.

“I can do you one better. Man just walked into town claiming he’s a doctor, told me to tell anyone who needed medical attention. He’s up in the church on the second floor.”

"If he's setting up an clinic in there he should move it to the ground floor, not everyone can get upstairs easily,” said Steve.

John nodded. He hadn’t seen an actual doctor since Megaton, when he worked under Doctor Hardin. John had his doubts about the actual credibility of this supposed stranger, but if he knew anything about doctor-types in the wasteland, the man would be in desperate need of good chems in one way or another.

“Might be able to shake some money out of this guy if I’m lucky,” John said quietly to Steve, who stood well above him. “I’ll be back in a bit. It might not be a bad idea to check out more of the town. We need to get the word out that we’ll be opening soon.”

"Good luck, I'll head to the dinner and get us some drinks along with finding out if anyone else has arrived in town yet..."

John nodded and said his temporary goodbyes to Steve, making his way into the dilapidated church and up its creaking stairs. John wasn’t sure how he felt about the Old World’s God. They didn’t get along too well, it seemed. Sometimes he thought something else had taken an interest in him though.

John shook off these thoughts, he didn’t want to accidentally have a repeat of his episode earlier. Within moments he was outside of the rectory room Barney had directed him too. The neat, intact door was closed, and John hesitantly rapped on it a couple of times before simply letting himself in and peaking through.

“Excuse me sir, I heard you were a doctor,” He stepped further into the man’s new room. “You don’t happen to know anything about the heart, do you? Been a few years since I’ve gotten a proper check-up.”

Now fully within the small quarters, John extended a skeletal, pale hand towards the man. “John Kaye, though most just call me Cook. I’m a bit of a self-made chemist, myself. Used to practice under Doctor Hardin in Megaton. You don’t happen to need any chems for your arsenal, do you?”

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Here's my main character. I plan on putting up a much smaller sheet for Edgar later.

John "Cook" Kaye

Name: John “Cook” Kaye

Age: 34

Race: Caucasian

Sex: Male

Skills: John’s foremost ability lies in his experience with the chem trade. Given the right ingredients, John can make most chems commonly peddled throughout the Commonwealth, along with a couple of homemade concoctions with rather unique effects. Given his career, John knows how to defend himself well enough in the wasteland, and can fire and maintain a firearm just as well as any other wastelander. On top of this, John has an independent interest in the inner workings of the human mind, though some of his theories and beliefs aren’t necessarily accurate.

Physical Appearance: John is a rather small and neat man- not at all what one would expect from someone in his line of work. 5’7 and a twig to boot, John hardly weighs over 100 pounds, and looks frail enough to be blown away by a particularly strong Radstorm. His poor health and chem use has left him with a rather pale skin tone, with his veins popping through his skin. Commonly seen with a bloody handkerchief to help keep his face free from the blood left behind by nosebleeds and coughing fits, John is not necessarily the picture of perfect health.

His face is dominated primarily by two features, his wild mess of dark brown hair which, when down, reaches his collarbone, and his sunken, somewhat off putting eyes. Sleepless and accompanied by bags, John’s eyes are almost entirely dominated by pupil- an odd side effect of his near-constant use of the chem ‘Breeze’. Aside from this, John has a rather common, if ever-so-slightly feminine face, with a fine nose, clear complexion, and wide mouth set with shining white teeth.

Personality: John, better known as Cook, is a rather aloof character, though not necessarily in an unkind way. Even though his mind is oftentimes somewhere else entirely, John values friends and relationships highly, caring relatively little for personal wealth. He thrives in larger groups and, above all else, enjoys bringing happiness to others. Sometimes this is with a joke or a kind word, but many times he accomplishes this by introducing people to the various forms of sin which he finds pleasure in.

The fact of the matter is that John is rather dependent on the chems that he takes. His chem use shields him from the pain of old wounds, both mental and physical. This can occasionally put John in a rather different state, sometimes turning him into a rather frightening individual, those these episodes are rare. Furthermore, his moral compass appears to be slightly off, by some people’s standards. His chem peddling has ruined the lives of many, but he denies any responsibility for this. In addition, he has shown his disconnect from what's right and what's wrong with his experimentation on his friend and slave Edgar, whom he has deeply affected for better or for worse.

Despite his chem use, John is a rather intelligent man. He has a love of pre-war literature, specifically poetry, and views the world through a somewhat romantic and tragic lens. The effects of long-term psychedelic chem use mixed with this particular world view can sometimes make for some… interesting hallucinations.

Possessions: A couple pairs of jeans and a small wardrobe of t-shirts, button-ups, and flannels. A somewhat intact tan pre-war suit, a pre-war diver’s watch, and an assortment of pre and post-war handkerchiefs. As far as weapons go, John has a well-maintained 12.7mm pistol, though he has struggled to find usable ammunition for it. John does not possess any armor.

Along with his personal effects, John has in his possession a small library of prized pre-war books, a number of pre-war medications, a cache of chems and their ingredients, and a respectable purse of caps to start his business up.

(Previous) Occupation(s): Chem cook

Faction: Unaligned

Backstory: Born in Megaton, John was the son of Harry and Margaret Kaye, a guard and seamstress, respectively. The younger of two siblings, John stuck to his older sister, Catherine, for the entirety of his young life, and grew rather close to her. Even as a child, John was sickly, and not expected to make it to adulthood without close care and an expensive medicinal regimen. While John is still unaware of the exact details of his illness, it appears to be a mutation involving his heart, paired with a bad case of gall bladder disease. No matter the details, John was subject to a great deal a ridicule from those his age in Megaton, picked on due to his sickly appearance and inability to defend himself.

Protected by his dear older sister, John struggled to adulthood with the aid of the local Doctor Hardin and a good deal of help. Too weak to follow his father’s footsteps as a town guard, John was left to forge his own career- a daunting prospect considering his lack of contacts and health issues. Thankfully, all of his time spent with Doctor Hardin had lead to one of his few friendships, and when John had some trouble finding work in Megaton Doctor Hardin took him on as an assistant and apprentice.

It didn’t take long for John to ruin this perfect opportunity, however. One day, out of curiousity, John stole away a small amount of drugs from Doctor Hardin’s stores- painkillers, at first. John’s entire body constantly ached due to bad circulation and other related issues, and these ended up doing more than take the edge off. John, as it turned out, had a rather addictive personality, the next few months would be a terribly exhilarating blur for him.

John stopped sleeping. The chems helped him with this- uppers when he needed energy, and downers when he felt like he needed rest. It hadn’t taken long for John to move from simple painkillers to nearly every enjoyable piece of the Doctor’s arsenal, and he loved every moment of those days. While it still remains a haze for John, it is clear that Doctor Hardin found out about his problem pretty quickly, kicking John out and causing his parents to disown him. Meanwhile, John’s sister, who had always been there for him, helped out once more. She herself had fallen in with the rougher crowd of Megaton, hawking Jet after dark and enjoying her youth.

In desperate need of money and hankering for a fix of anything to get his mind off of his condition, John used what knowledge of chemistry he had learned under Doctor Hardin to make his own chems. He picked up Jet in days- a skill which he would quickly perfect. Separated from the chems in the Doctor’s arsenal, John was quick to use his own product, starting an addiction which he still struggles with nearly twenty years later. His first experiments with producing other chems of his own creation didn’t go nearly as well, though this would change as John got more practice with his craft.

Before long, Megaton became a bleak place for John and his sister. The same old people, the same old rust, and the same old judging glances cast by those who disapproved of what they were doing. John and Catherine had established a small lab and home, where John cooked Psycho and Jet and Catherine sold it. Things were good for now- plenty of caps and enough chems to never come down, if one wished. However, inevitably, things turned sour when John made an honest mistake and caught the lab on fire- a fire which then spread to a nearby house and killed a young man within. It had been time to get out of that trap of a town anyway.

That night would later haunt John, but at the time he was too out of it to care. John and Catherine left with a couple of friends immediately, with everyone encouraging John to set up shop somewhere else and keep turning product out. Young, armed, and hooked on chems, the small group ended up just where you would expect them. Within days John was watching as his friends robbed caravaners of their goods and did what they pleased with them. The raider gang they had fallen in with swiftly fell under Catherine’s charismatic control, and John quickly built up his famous tolerance to witnessing acts of cruelty.

John’s next few years were a chem-fueled haze. Most of the time he stayed back at the gang’s base and cooked, both food and otherwise. He was comfortable, and he brought joy to those all around him through his craft. His sister and her underlings provided John with whatever he needed, within reason, and John had enough time on his hands to amass a small personal library, which he still sorely misses to this day. It was during this time that John developed what he considers to be his greatest (and only) contribution to this world- Breeze.

Breeze was a chem of John’s own creation. Powerfully psychedelic, it was unlike anything anyone in the Capital Wasteland had felt before. John had met his first and only love.

Eventually, his raider gang’s peddling of this new chem lead to a bit of fame within the unwashed circles of the CW’s raiders. A new age of prosperity came for John and his sister, paving the way for their entry into the slaver settlement of Paradise Falls, where the wicked lived like princes. John fit right in, or at least that’s what he told himself.

Here, John and his new concoction were welcomed with open arms and open purses. John quickly accrued a bit of wealth, and his sister, who turned out to be a frighteningly good slaver, followed suit. John’s lab was magnificent, albeit too large for he alone to operate, leading to Catherine’s giving her younger brother the greatest gift he would ever receive- Edgar.

Edgar was a brute of a man, well over six feet, built like a box truck, and horribly mutated. Catherine had picked the oaf up when she saw him being used as a pack animal by his caravaning father. As it soon turned out, Edgar wasn’t too much smarter than a pack animal either, but John still took to him quickly. Even though he felt bad for keeping a slave at first, he welcomed the company. Edgar was entirely unlike those that John surrounded himself with. He was simple, innocent, and untouched by the psychological horrors of the wastes, and John was fascinated by it all.

As John put Edgar to work around to lab performing more menial tasks, John started to theorize about just what he could accomplish with Breeze. Always possessing a flirtatious interest with the human mind and its treatment, John would go on to subject Edgar to chem-assisted ‘treatment’, attempting to mold the oaf into what John wanted him to be. It worked, in a way, with John eliciting an intense loyalty, but also commanding great fear from the man three times his size. John has done many things for Edgar since that day, both great and unspeakable. He helped teach Edgar things he was not during childhood, bettering his speech and understanding of the world. He even went so far as to teach him to read. However, he also meddled in Edgar’s mind in irreversible ways. He implemented ‘switches’, fabricated occult, chem-assisted lies to keep him in check, and completely brought Edgar under his personal control. Within a year, John had created a companion who was loyal to the death.

As the years went by, John became convinced that he would die content within Paradise Falls. He was surrounded by sin, but that was the only life he had ever known. Away from any medical help, John adopted a strict regimen of chemicals to help control the episodes his heart gave him, and from that day until now, John never went another day without at least some chem use. Eventually, disaster struck one final time for John when he fouled a batch of Jet, leading to three overdoses in Paradise Falls… one of them being his sister’s.

John was destroyed. He had killed his sister, the only person who he didn’t have to drug-up to care about him. The person who had given him everything. With Paradise Falls itself being threatened by increasing Brotherhood influence as well, John knew there was nothing left for him. On a whim, John took what he and Edgar could carry and hired a Talon Company soldier by the name of Steve Cooper to take him far away from the regrets of his past. As it turned out, Steve would turn out to be a major player in John’s new life, remaining his traveling companion for the next few years as the three continued to travel north. With all of them restless, they drifted from place to place. Quincy, Goodneighbour, Diamond City, and more. John introduced Breeze to the Commonwealth, albeit in smaller quantities than back home, which led to involvement with various raider gangs and even a flirting with Railroad operations before its destruction. Most recently, John, Steve, and Edgar all ran with the Dunwich raiders, living above the alien rumblings of those dark depths. However, it may just be time for all of them to settle down.

War Never Changes

Bartholomew Hemingway- Most Serene Key Republic

Bartholomew flashed a Cheshire smiled at the Eastern delegated arrayed before him. They all seemed to take his speech rather well- some of them giving polite nods as they digested the monumental proposal sat on the table before them. His monologue complete, Bartholomew retired to his seat and reached for his gin and tonic. While most of the delegates arrayed before him seemed to be ready to see the agreement itself immediately, the Northerner, Sherman Smith, did have a comment. The classically-clad man voiced his concern about involving himself in a potentially unnecessary war due to the American Co-Prosperity Sphere, before going on to state that he was much more interested in economic ties, rather than martial ones. He proceeded to produce a lump of coal from his pocket, mentioning his nation’s interest in its export on a larger scale. Bartholomew gave a polite nod.

“I completely understand your concern, Mr. Smith, as I and many in the Keys share your same sentiment. However, this bloc of nations would be interested more in all of our protection, rather than the propagation of war. As for the trade of your nation’s rich coal deposits, however, this is just one example of how the American Co-Prosperity Sphere could play a much needed role in our world. Resources like this should be traded freely with the nations of the free East, ensuring that we can all benefit and remain prepared to stop tyranny from spreading further across our great continent.”

Bartholomew paused, taking a moment to produce a short three pages from his briefcase.

“I’m sure the contract itself can speak volumes more on what His Serenity is trying to achieve with this axis of nations than I can, however. I must repeat that this is just a skeleton of sorts for what will certainly become a glorious example of the return of civilization to our continent.”

Bartholomew then laid all three pages out on the table before the delegates, dictating them in the most dignified Southern Floridian accent he could manage.

American Co-Prosperity Sphere

Article I- The Signatory Nations agree to uphold the ideals of the American Co-Prosperity Sphere both within their own nation and without. These ideals include those of liberty, democracy, and freedom for all mankind, as well as the opposition of tyranny.
Section A: The Signatory Nations will make a conscious effort to make their nations havens for free thought and action.
Section B: To ensure cooperation as far as this goal is concerned, the Signatory Nations agree to meet once a year to discuss the exact definition of their goal and how to better reach it.
Subsection 1: The exact location of this meeting will be decided by the Signatory Nations at the prior year’s meeting.
Section C: The Signatory Nations will pursue nonviolent means of promoting these ideals in other nations on the American Continent, so long as it does not violate the laws and sovereignty of the nation or independent faction in question.
Subsection 1: Signatory Nations should only use funds and resources allocated to them by the American Co-Prosperity Sphere to achieve this goal.
Subsection 2: Violent intervention in a non-Signatory nation for the purposes of promoting the American Co-Prosperity Sphere’s ideals is allowed, but only if all Signatory Nations agree to an intervention of the sort.
Article II- The Signatory Nations agree to enter into a defensive military alliance, wherein an attack on one Signatory Nation by an outside force will be considered an attack on the American Co-Prosperity Sphere as a whole.
Section A: To ensure all Signatory Nations are capable of defending their brothers, all Signatory Nations will participate in mandatory joint military exercises.
Subsection 1: Once every six months, each Signatory Nation must provide a land fighting force greater than 1,000 men to participate in two weeks of joint military exercises
Subsection 2: Once every year, each Signatory Nation must either contribute some number of armed, seaworthy vessels or send an observer to take part in two weeks of joint military exercises at sea.
Subsection 3: In the case of any Signatory Nations being engaged in a war, the nation in question is not required to take part in any part of Article II, Section A until they are at peace once again.
Article III- The Signatory Nations agree to establish a joint American Co-Prosperity Sphere Council at Kitty Hawk, Broken Banks (North Carolina). This Council will be responsible for allocating the funds of the American Co-Prosperity Sphere, representing the interests of each nation involved, making any of the votes referenced in this agreement, and overseeing any department established by this document or added to it afterwards.
Section A: Each Signatory Nation will place three members on this Council through whatever means they deem proper. Each member of the American Co-Prosperity Sphere Council (ACPSC) will be equal in power to each other.
Section B: Each Signatory Nation will allocate an equal amount of funds to the ACPSC to ensure that it can effectively accomplish the duties assigned to it.
Subsection 1: The exact amount in question will be negotiated and agreed upon by the Signatory Nations and their representatives at the meetings established by Article I, Section B.
Section C: The headquarters of the ACPSC will be built and maintained by the Most Serene Key Republic using its own funds and resources, as a sign of goodwill.
Section D: In no circumstance should the ACPSC interfere in a Signatory Nation against their will. Indeed, the Council is meant to be a servant of the Signatory Nations’ governments, and nothing more.
Article IV- If possible, the American Co-Prosperity Sphere should attain a small military force free of any nation and meant to serve the ACPSC and the tenets of this treaty.
Section A: This military force should never exceed 10,000 men in number and should only be used to (a) execute lawful actions listed in this treaty, (b) partake in the military exercises referenced in Article II, Section A, and (c) assist in the defense of the Signatory Nations from hostile forces if the nations in question request such help.
Section B: If possible, the American Co-Prosperity Sphere would like to extend this offer to the Angels of War mercenary company, with the intention of making a handful of their contracted units as a chassis to build upon.
Article V- The American Co-Prosperity Sphere shall make an effort to increase the economic condition of all Signatory Nations through the promotion of mutual investment, close trade ties, and the elimination of tariffs between all members.
Section A: At the yearly meeting discussed in Article I, Section B, all Signatory nations will endeavour to mutually improve their economic situation and make deals which are beneficial for the people of the American Co-Prosperity Sphere.
Section B: All Signatory Nations agree to refrain from imposing tariffs on other Signatory Nations.
Subsection 1: This does not apply to the use of staple ports, through abuse of this right is to be avoided and discouraged.
Section C: If possible, Signatory Nations should seek out other signatory nations to make trade deals before approaching states outside of the American Co-Prosperity Sphere.

Like a perfectly timed period, a rowdy bear of a woman stumbled towards the table, creaking into an empty seat to Bartholomew’s left. Her impact shifted a few documents and rattled a fork or two- Bartholomew’s smile quivered.

“Erm… Greetings Victoria Bearhorn. Make yourself comfortable, I suppose. It is rare for me to get the opportunity to speak to people from such far flung corners, such as your homeland.”

docs.google.com/document/d/1qaEfgpGIS… (The contract with better formatting)

War Never Changes

Most Serene Key Republic Delegation- Bartholomew Hemingway

“Wonderful, I’ll work on making proper reservations for all of us. Does 8 p.m. sound agreeable? I would like to take some time to visit my quarters and contact Key West about recent developments. It would be an absolute pleasure to see all of you there.”

Bartholomew smiled broadly at both delegations before moving to shake all of their hands. Alexander followed suit, though his smile seemed slightly more… off. With the niceties concluded, Bartholomew took another long drag from his lit pipe and moved away from the group, pondering the upcoming discussions. His Serenity had very grand plans for the East and Key West’s role in it. The outbreak of War in the West, however, was an unforeseen development, and Bartholomew was curious as to how this would impact His Serenity’s plan. Once more, the Bear and the Bull fought, threatening to drag an entire continent into their pissing match once more.

Since Bartholomew had broken off to speak to the Texans, a few more delegations had settled in and made their rounds. Among them Bartholomew spotted representatives from the small Free State of Franklin, along with those from the northern Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. He’d kept his eyes peeled throughout the introductory day of the convention in an attempt to locate important players and developing trends amongst the assembled delegations. It appeared that young Kimball’s NCR was already being isolated, with their delegate having done little more than cause trouble and spout rhetoric. Still, Bartholomew had to respect His Serenity’s wishes to support the Bear in the West, as he recognized the importance of propping up friendly and like-minded states. Just like the Key Republic, however, Bartholomew was more focussed on the East for the time being, and his feet brought him towards his friends from Franklin.

Bartholomew moved into the small screen of cigar smoke surrounding the pair of Franklinites, appreciating the familiar aroma and taking a small puff off of his own pipe. He quite appreciated the folks from Franklin. Their culture was refreshingly genuine, and while it had strong parallels with Conch culture, it lacked the showy opulence and haughtiness of the Keys. Bartholomew reached out to shake both of the Southron’s hands, his six skinny fingers firmly grasping each of their hands.

“Gentlemen, it is a pleasure to see you made it. I pray your trip was a pleasant and shaded one. Mr. Connor, I am currently in the process of making dinner plans at the Tops Casino for 8 p.m. tonight, and it would be a pleasure to have you along- my treat. His Serenity sees a bright future for both of our nations, and I hope to speak on this topic tonight, if you can make it.”

After Bartholomew finished explaining pleasantries with the inland Southerners, he excused himself from the convention hall, making his way to their assigned suite to prepare for dinner tonight. Meanwhile, across the room, Alexander was attending to other, albeit similar, business. He had finally accepted some food and drink, having already nibbled on a bit of cranberry scone which lay on the plate before him, and was currently nursing an inviting cup of black coffee. Peeking at his diver’s watch, he decided to attend his final bit of official business for the night and make his way towards the oddly-dressed man from the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania. He had had experience dealing with these northern folk, as they were some of his primary trading partners outside of the Republic. They were a peculiar folk, and were blind to the whispered truths of this world, but he did not harbor any hate for their kind.

Within moments, the sharply dressed, mustachioed man made his way towards to traditionally clothed northerner. He extended a hand towards him, as was customary in the Keys, but delivered a much softer and somehow more unnerving shake of the hand than Bartholomew would have offered.

“Mr. Smith, isn’t it? I’m Alexander Suttbray, of House Suttbray,” he paused with a slight smile, waiting for recognition. For better or worse, he assumed this man had heard of him in the past.

“I would like to extend to you a dinner invitation, as it seems you long for food and drink” he gestured towards the man’s beer. “My fellow delegate, Mr. Hemingway, would love to have you at his table at the Tops at eight tonight. He wishes to discuss with you matters of a certain import, and perhaps share a drink or two.”

Alexander settled into the barstool beside Sherman, prepared to make small talk if need be. He would not be attending the dinner tonight. His business would only begin when the sun was firmly beneath the horizon and the stars smiled cruelly above. Only then would he be prepared to speak with the fair young woman from earlier.


7:50 p.m., The Tops- Bartholomew Hemingway

Bartholomew sat straight in his chair, looking over the nearby balcony onto the gambling floor beneath. New Vegas certainly had its own sort of charm to it. It was a city where dreams were either fulfilled or shattered, hazy with smoke and neon and smelling of cheap perfume and expensive booze. He watched as each of the invited delegates entered the building, their demeanours standing out starkly against this Western air of Old World opulence. These were all men of the East- above such base temptations and more concerned with the well being and prosperity of man in this new world. It was for this reason why His Serenity had orchestrated this dinner from Key West, after all.

After each of the invited delegates had been greeted and orders were placed, Bartholomew took a stand and clinked his glass of gin and tonic lightly. What he was about to present to those assembled before him was the main purpose of the Key delegation in Vegas. In recent years, both the Texans and his own people had been tied to the bloated corpse that was California. The West had overshadowed the growing peoples of the East with their warmongering and refusal to change, and all were left in a dark age of sorts because of it. No longer.

“Gentlemen, I’m sure you all have at least some inkling as to why I organized this dinner. This continent we call home has yet to pull itself out of the slump our ancestors in the United States put us in, and we are, frankly, all to blame. Five years ago, most of us fought in some capacity to put an end to tyranny in the Americas by making war with the Bull of the West. While it was a noble and just cause, we failed- and not just because of the Treaty of Goodsprings and its preservation of the Legion. We failed because we proceeded to do next to nothing to improve the state of humanity afterwards. Liberty, freedom, democracy- these are all ideals which we hold dear, yet the West and Northeast harbor tyrants and extremists which would undo all of the fragile progress humanity has made since the Great War.”

“In the West, the fate of millions lies in the hands of dictators like Barnaky, Lucius, and, dare I say, Mr. House himself. Even the former paragon of western democracy, the New California Republic, has shown its true face today with its disruption of the peace talks and blatant expansionist attack on the Legion. No effort was made to let diplomacy solve their problems. We cannot let this become the norm for America, lest we repeat the mistakes of our ancestors. His Serenity has provided a starting draft for an alliance of sorts which would bring our enlightened nations closer culturally, economically, and militarily. The American Co-Prosperity Sphere would be an axis of nations dedicated to the spread and perseverance of liberty throughout the Americas. While a lofty goal, it is one which we must pursue if we are to bring humanity out of its dark age. The agreement brings along with it more practical applications as well. Closer trading ties, mutual protection, the return of international law. We hope to use this alliance as a way to create and support democratic regimes for and of the people of America. In addition, we have an interest in hiring the Angels of War as a possible multinational military force to support this alliance and ensure the dictators of the West cannot stomp us out.”

Bartholomew moved a briefcase onto the table before continuing.

“I’m sure you all have many questions about the exact details, but does anyone have any input before the reveal of the actual document?”

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Most Serene Key Republic delegation- Bartholomew Hemingway
 
Bartholomew gave Marie a wide smile as they ended their bit of business. He had discussed the fate of the East at length with His Serenity in preparation for this Convention, and ensuring that the Cult of Ug-Qualtoth was willing to work with the Republic was a major step towards crafting a Key-friendly East Coast.
 
“Wonderful! We’ll be visiting you later before the Convention is concluded.” He paused for a moment, before continuing awkwardly, “I believe Alexander had business with you as well, so I’m sure he will be attending both of you tonight.”
 
As Marie bid her farewell and Alexander focussed on conversation with the Texans, Bartholomew sat back down in his seat and observed the happenings around him. The reveal of ‘Kimball’ as a double and the subsequent brawl that broke out between the Californian and Jaded delegations came as quite the shock to Bartholomew. He did not foresee a physical confrontation at a political summit of this scale, and it showed him just how comparatively sophisticated Gulf politics were.
 
Speaking of Gulf politics, it seemed that the Texans had fetched the Angels of War to discuss regional matters. Bartholomew made his way back to Alexander’s side, just in time to hear his response to the Ghoulish Texan President.
 
“I certainly agree, President Harris. While His Serenity could unfortunately not make it today, the first matter on his agenda for us was ensuring mutual security and friendship for the Gulf nations. As His Serenity sees it, our fair Gulf is under potential threat from all around, and we seek to encourage peace in the region to ensure prosperity for the Keys and all of its friends. As for the pirates, Bartholomew would probably be more well-equipped to answer that question.”
 
Bartholomew was somewhat surprised when Alexander handed the conversation to him. He took in stride however, continuing with a wide smile.
 
“Our main trade routes have been secured and the pirates have been pushed to their old strongholds in the south. Instead, our focus has now turned to the Atlantic side of the southern states, where those lawless vagabonds have been capitalizing on our growing trade in the North. As for the Commonwealth of Pennsylvania, they have proven to be good trading partners and peaceful folk, but we have yet to engage in any further political negotiations with them. The Cult, however…” Bartholomew shot a quick glance at Alexander “They are a wild faction, certainly, though they have shown a willingness to accept our traders. The claims of… supernatural power coming out of their lands have yet to be officially confirmed, and we in the Keys suspect something more mundane is at work instead.”
 
This final statement elicited the quietest of laughs from Alexander, who followed it with a small smile. If only these politicians knew truth, he thought. This awkwardness was thankfully interrupted when the two delegates from the Angels of War entered the picture. As expected, they stated their support for their Texan brethren but on of them, rather rudely, reminded the assembled delegates that they were, in fact, soldier for hire. As it seemed the first day of the Convention was coming to an end, Bartholomew made a suggestion.
 
“Perhaps we could all discuss the details of a formal agreement over dinner somewhere else? The Tops is an excellent location, from what I’ve heard. We could invite the Commonwealth in Pennsylvania, if you wish, President Harris.”

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I think western Canada would be a good place for a Red Chinese nation! I'll put up a CS

@Ulstermann

Great! I'm excited to see what you come up with. If you're ever looking to talk to any of the RPers there's always some of us on the Discord!

War Never Changes

Most Serene Key Republic delegation- Bartholomew Hemingway / Alexander Suttbray

Bartholomew could hardly contain the urge to shiver in the face of young Marie’s withering gaze. The girl unnerved him on a level he couldn’t quite describe. In his youth, Bartholomew had seen some off-putting things, to say the least. The Garden held many things not meant to be gazed upon by the eyes of men, and he had unfortunately witnessed them, but this teenager’s simple gaze elicited the same primal fear which he had felt back in those days. Bartholomew peered down at his broken watch, avoiding Marie’s eyes for a moment. The abnormally long and skinny fingers of his right hand all took a turn rapping the glass, resulting in six sharp clicks.

Having collected himself a bit, Bartholomew looked back up, focusing just above Marie’s eyes. “Trade was at the top of our agenda, of course. Your refurbishing of the Pittsburgh steel mills is of particular interest to us, as steel is currently in rather high demand in Key West. At the moment, most of Key West’s trade is funneled through the small port of Point Lookout, with travel further westward being deemed too risky for most Key merchants. However, in the interest of its citizens, the Most Serene Key Republic would like to negotiate the safe passage of Key merchants into some of your eastern territory, to better facilitate efficient trade. As it stands now, the conflict between your own people and the Church of Atom keeps many Point Lookout-borne goods from reaching your… nation.”

Bartholomew said all of this with a practiced culture and grace, delivering it in his Floridian drawl. Despite his outer decorum, however, he still remained unnerved by the girl. This situation did not become much better when a fly suddenly dropped onto her plate with a soft sound, seemingly dying midair with no explanation. Bartholomew’s appetite vanished.

Meanwhile, Alexander Suttbray sat in silence beside Bartholomew, plunged deep in his own thoughts. His business with the Cult of Ug-Qualtoth was more delicate, and best discussed away from prying eyes. The Cult was certainly not the only focus of the Key delegation today, however. As he looked around, he spotted a number of delegations that were to be spoken to before their departure- The newly arrived Vesyanian Confederation, the covert, intolerant Enclave, the Church of Atom, and the Van Graffs, as a start. Before Alexander could even begin formulating a strategy for the day, however, chaos gradually took hold of the room.

In short, war was declared. The New California Republic had apparently already commanded the invasion of the Legion’s northwestern territory. This was entirely unexpected by both Bartholomew and Alexander, who were hoping to help with the revision of the Treaty of Goodsprings, as per the request of His Serenity. Such a bloodthirsty move was bold, and it was amazing to Bartholomew that the NCR had not consulted with their friends in the East before this strike. From here, things escalated quickly, with Lucius leaving to join the defence of his nation and the ‘King’ declaring that any military operations near New Vegas would be met with deadly force.

Too baffled to interject quite yet, Bartholomew took a long drag off of his pipe, mulling over the map which had been provided to him. This NCR under young Kimball was certainly a rash one, and Bartholomew didn’t necessarily think that was a good quality. He had been entirely prepared to come here and discuss peace in the West, along with steps towards it in the East. Investment in the Legion, westward railroad construction, a new set of international wartime laws- all of these plans were suddenly overshadowed by the new troubles of the West.

Before he could stew over the issue anymore, the delegation from Texas finally arrived, moving to take their seats beside the two men of Key West. Both Bartholomew and Alexander stood as Mr. Harris and his companions approached the meeting table. Both Key delegates offered their hands to each of the Texans before they took their seats.

“I’m glad you could make it, President Harris,” Alexander said with his soft, Tidewater voice. “It is always a pleasure to find friends in this far-flung city. You’ve missed quite the show, unfortunately. Mr. Kimball has declared war on the Legion- without consulting their allies in the Hoover War, mind you- and House has declared that any military operations in Vegas territory will not be tolerated. This war will certainly affect our fair Gulf in one way or another.”

Alexander gave the Ghoulish Texan a wide smile before quietly pushing out his chair and standing before the table. He spoke again, just loud enough so the room could make out his honeyed words.

“Quite a surprise, I must say. Mr. Kimball, may I ask what your exact reasoning behind this strike was? The Keys were hoping to promote peace and prosperity throughout the war-torn West, so I pray you have a just cause for the resumption of conflict in the region.”

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@Lone Wanderer and @2sky11 , you're both accepted. Wanderer was already accepted on the Discord. Both of you feel free to post whenever you wish.

War Never Changes

Most Serene Key Republic- Bartholomew Hemingway/Alexander Suttbray


As Bartholomew glanced around the large dining hall, he remained very impressed by its decor and pre-war charm. This was different entirely from the beachfront wood and marble manses of Key patricians that he was used to, and he welcomed the alien feel of it all. Moments earlier, a waiter had come to take their drink orders, and while Bartholomew was happy to indulge himself in a gin and tonic after such a long flight, Alexander declined the offer entirely. Such an insufferable man, lacking entirely in manners and decorum. Even if Alexander had showered them in gifts, Bartholomew still failed to see how the Senate’s Convention Committee had deemed it a good idea to send the eccentric head of House Suttbray to a meeting of this import.

In an effort to distract himself from the question he had been asking himself constantly for the last few days, Bartholomew turned his gaze away and produced his pipe, a beauty of dark Yucatan wood and Deathclaw horn purchased from a big game hunter in southern Mississippi. Lightly packing it with fine tobacco from plantations out north, Bartholomew wondered at the position they were in. From sea to sea, delegates were pouring into this desert paradise to discuss matters of international importance and peace. Twenty years ago, such a thing would be completely unheard of, but war had always acted as the best motivation for change and progress in the world.

Bartholomew’s admiration of the state of today’s world was cut abruptly short, however, when a frail, pure young woman barely out of adolescence made her way towards him, clad in a dark dress and followed by a hulking man stuck to her like a twisted shadow. Bartholomew exhaled a small cloud of tobacco smoke, having suddenly acquired a sour taste in his mouth. His Serenity had set some very clear goals in their dealings with this depraved cult, but that didn’t mean Bartholomew had to like it. He wasn’t sure how much of the news he received back in Key West was true and how much was myth, but he was sure that all of it was distasteful.

Meanwhile, Alexander stared at the woman and her escort with something that could only be described as longing. He had never met her in person, yet he knew her by her aura, her movements, the sly twist at the corner of her mouth- it was glorious. She was like a beacon of warm, comforting blackness in this city of neon, so pure yet so perfectly shattered. Alexander had gazed at the stars independently of young Marie and her ‘father’, but they both knew the same truth, and that held a beauty of its own.

The woman and her escort came and slid a delicate hand into Bartholomew’s grasp who, despite his disdain for the occult, shook it with a practiced grace. “And greetings to you both, I pray your trip treated you well. We’re such a long way from your… abode in Pittsburgh.”

The small, snow white figure then slid past, towards the tall and lanky form of Alexander. He accepted her hand and brought it to his lips for a brief and polite kiss just behind her knuckles. He then widened his smile and spoke in his cultured Southern drawl. “And upon you, fairest Marie. It is a pleasure to finally make your acquaintance.”

He remained standing as she took her seat near him, waiting for her to sit before returning to his own chair at the table. Ug-Qualtoth smiles upon you, he wondered how much of that was formality and how much went beyond just that. Before Alexander could divulge himself in small talk anymore, Bartholomew interjected.

“Ms. Ashur, it certainly is a joy to see you here. If you wouldn’t mind, His Serenity has interest in formalizing relations between your… enlightened people and the greatness of the Most Serene Key Republic. Perhaps we could…” Bartholomew was cut off abruptly by a sudden robotic bleating.

The delegate for New Vegas gave a rather curt introduction to the group assembled before him, cutting short any niceties that had preceded it. He spoke as if those assembled before him were likely to cause a ruckus- something Bartholomew thought was quite unlikely, given all of their stations and their role here. No matter, Bartholomew honored the rather rude request and silenced himself, giving a polite nod to the unsettling youth he had been speaking to by way of apology. He took another puff off of his pipe, awaiting the actual beginning of the meeting.

War Never Changes

@Kouropalates@ClocktowerEchos@NecroKnight, you're all excepted. Feel free to post your sheets in the Character tab. Welcome!