QJT

Rise of Rasalhague

Hamazasp Sulser

He muttered a silent prayer of gratitude to be granted the comfort of climate conditioning and spared the discomfort of those itchy respirators.

Hamazasp was the kind of gentleman who'd, to open a wrapped present, peel off the tape then unfold the paper into a slightly battered quadrangle. His recent adversary lacked that courtesy towards even allied infrastructure. The Taurian beheld the mutilated mechbay portal as he passed it en route to the tunnel network, reminding himself that respect for life and property separated his faction from his foe. Well, that and the bloodthirsty thuggery. And color schematics. A myriad of things, but the former foremost among them. He'd hardly commenced his walking cycle before a swarm of infantry buzzed about him, bounding in their low gravity environment. Confound it, it was cumbersome enough maneuvering his 'Mech without avoiding these suicidal mites!

His leg stalks were each a human's width, the limit of reasonably avoidable but only for those paying attention. Locusts were commonly used for riot control, so perhaps they were less hazardous than most. Still, law enforcement vehicles possessed better methods to ensure minimal accidental casualties. He fumbled for his comms, switched the setting to "Loudspeaker" (in hopes that the atmosphere was sufficiently thick to transmit sound), and alerted his comrades: "Oi, maintain a three meter berth from the legs' range of motion, please, thank you."

One could imagine Sulser on a pair of stilts by the manner by which he tiptoed over the terrain. The method was calculated but appeared clumsy, and occupied nearly the entirety of Hamazasp's conscious thought. He heard his neurohelmet buzz as it tried to keep up with his cerebellum. At last he reached a haven of respite, the entrance that would ideally funnel his allies into formations that wouldn't disrupt his movement. A minor yet audible scratch pealed above the neurohelmet's ring. The additional static hinted that Sulser's antenna scraped the upper surface of the facility. He was precisely the right height, though Lundqvist would be further inconvenienced.

"Oh, come on!" His voice echoed throughout the concrete canyon. "Apologies. Muting self." He returned to normal frequency radio. As if the lifeforms weren't a hassle already, he now faced a hodgepodge of tools, crates, and other knickknacks strewn across the ground. Channeling a concoction of creativity and frustration, he wound his foot back and pressed its flat forward in the attempt to kick a box aside. This was successful, and he'd knocked a couple spanners clear to boot. He'd repeat the process several times, forging an unimpeded path to venture down the tunnels as necessary. "My vehicle comes with high beam headlights. Permission to activate them?"

Rise of Rasalhague

Hamazasp Sulser

The denouement yielded Hamazasp opportunities to fiddle with his control system's less vital aspects. The Locust's fourth millennium user interface bore similarities to that of his previous Kurita Spider, but 'Mech mastery lay in exploitation of the finer details. For example, en route to diagnostics, he stumbled onto graphical settings that altered the monitor's color. While the option to flood his cockpit with patriotic Rasalhague blue was tempting, he settled for a cozy autumn red, then decimated the luminosity to spare his vision. He pressed the big green "Run Systems Tests" button.

He reclined backward and beheld the ceiling. A sudden urge compelled him to stretch and prod it with an index finger. Did he forget something? Yes, his comrade in arms had hailed him. He activated his communications. "I'm a teetotaler, but thank you for the offer, Jaromir." Sulser released the trigger. Upon reflection, that quirk did preclude him from calling Ulrik Mäkinen anything other than "Sir" or "Commander." The privilege of casual reference wasn't worth drinking a couple of subpar Swedish beers, anyway.

He parsed the (now dimly lit) benchmark for discrepancies against his general knowledge of light 'Mechs. He found one. Ought he to inform his superior? It was no grave issue, but minor issues magnify in the blur of combat. Sigrid's bound to discover then report it to Chief Technician Elena, Ulrik's colossal Slav mistress. Before long he'd be summoned to the commander's office to defend his omission. Beyond that, though, he should tell on principle. "I apologize, Sir Commander. There's a slight warp to my CT armor, likely from laser damage. The internals are fine, but I believe the pristine paint job is compromised." His voice revealed no hint of sarcasm or levity. His recklessness would surely disappoint Sigrid.

Rise of Rasalhague

Hamazasp Sulser

Hamazasp was grateful to avoid... He attempted to designate the predicament that befell his comrades. It wasn't quite "nuisance," as explosives too well placed could rip a head from its chassis, dealing a fatal blow to the sorry sap inside. And yet that chance was too minimal for the moniker "tragedy," or even "threat." He settled on "kerfuffle." Yes. Sulser had been fortunately spared these kerfuffles. He was not, however, immune to decision making.

His mind ruled out the Hunchback nigh instantly. Squabbles amongst the bulkier classes of 'Mechs were best kept insular. Between Alvin's then Jaromir's requests for assistance, he'd personally fraternized more with the latter pilot, who despite the gruff exterior was a preferable conversationalist to Fuka.

He rotated his vehicle but hesitated just before pulling the trigger. A miss would greatly weaken their already established professional and filial relationships. Zhu had questioned Sulser's training prior, and the Taurian was loath to remove all doubt of incompetence. Perhaps it was diplomatically safer to utilize Alvin for target practice. What fortune that the favorable tides of battle allowed him time to contemplate such quandaries.

Then again, if Hamazasp's aim was poor enough, Jaromir wouldn't be around to bear a grudge, would he?

The Mongoose thankfully tilted the Locust's election towards his former comrade. "Mark on the Trebuchet. Hold still." He clenched his index finger, then pressed his thumb. Lucky shots; total annihilation of the boarders to be. He'd expected to strike the Trebuchet's cockpit at least once. He felt postmature, unearned guilt over that reflection. "Thank you for your cooperation."

Rolls and Damage

S Laser hits for 5 damage
Both MGs hit for 2 damage apiece
Genuinely, I want to miss a shot sometime for roleplay's sake. Hamazasp Sulser has a 1 in Gunnery.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

The Meld - Late Morning, November 20th

A newcomer might have surmised that the entire arachnid class of species revived exclusively in the Meld. Glossy fabrics draped across, sometimes between the rustic wooden furniture. Only the trio encased in it knew the madness's method. The heads of Amber, Isabel, and Charlotte popped out. Bradley was wisely dispatched towards hardier missions: felling timber, repelling the Green's fringe forays, other manly matters. A wedding was afoot, and, absent the tailor castes of old, the homestead's women fashioned a gown suitable for their beloved fiery redhead.

Charlotte, the lone veteran in this endeavor, oversaw the process with senses of a hawk. A yardstick and knife her weapons of choice, she carefully cordoned perfect geometric shapes, then sliced them apart with the blade mastery of the fabled samurai. Amid the performance, her ears perked up. "Who did that?"

Amber wasn't the culprit; she was preoccupied sewing lace into her future headdress. Her machine's clacking slowed to momentary pause. She raised her head in expectation. "Is something amiss?"

Isabel ignored Charlotte's urgent demand. She'd lifted the gossamer substance, fumbling underneath it to locate herself misplaced scissors among the hodgepodge of knickknacks she'd accumulated in this accursed side quest. The fabric was so hastily hoisted that wind rushed to fill the void. It made a bulbous shape as the newly formed bubble pocket settled into drapes.

Charlotte stomped over. Her atypical formfitting jeans insured her against bumping her surroundings. With butterfly's grace and rhino's force, she apprehended Isabel's sheet and inspected its fringes. "You tore it!"

"Did not!" blurted the giant in instinctual reply. "I've managed it 'with ladylike fingers,' as mandated! That edge is perfectly intact!"

Charlotte whipped the evidence off the table with an unplanned flurry (and a planned fury), holding it to a light source. Isabel squinted as she reviewed it. "It's just a small tear."

"It's half an inch!" Charlotte retorted. "Do you realize how much this stuff costs? This is prewar material, not homemade knitting! We need every scrap we can save!"

Seconds away from tearing the rectangle entirely in frustration, Isabel deflated. "I'm sorry, Amber."

The bride to be piped up. "What did you- Ah, sugar foot!" The distraction toppled her concentration, The machine veered off kilter, puncturing the frill before decelerating. Time froze. Amber melted into a smile. "Shouldn't be too long to repair, I hope!" She picked at the twine with her index fingernail.

Charlotte reflected upon the example and sighed. "I apologize. I ought not judge too harshly."

Isabel measured a figure in the cloth. "No, I should redouble my vigilance. Seamstresses we are not, but my duty to the Vault must surpass my inadequacies."

"Thank you, Isabel! I appreciate your efforts." It's often difficult to decrypt Amber's demeanor. Did she casually pay attention, merely refreshing the troupe with playful aloofness? Did she keenly follow the dialogue to apply the exact remedy? Charlotte learned not to discern the two hypotheses, and simply gave a flippant thumbs up. "Let's take five. Fresh air will sharpen our wits."

The giantess stretched. "Eve always had gentler hands, and patience for these crafts. Why isn't she here to fabricate this dress?"

"You know exactly why," Amber lied through her teeth.

Danny "Nines" Floyd - North Vegas Strip - Late Morning, November 20th

Daniel by nature walked fast. Ever since leaving the Vault's fortified doors, he relished the vibrant outdoor environments around him. He loved reaching his destination more. Today, however, he led the way to keep his distance from the sisters. They were excellent schemers, and Floyd's gambit remained active. Each one could probably kill him, and opposed to the duo together he had no chance. The cadre slung rifles besides, making the situation yet tenser. They told Isabel he'd mediate as they mended their former rivalry with a leisurely stroll. Perhaps on their journey to Gomorrah, they'd accomplish that. And yet he heard nothing. Flipping eerie.

Eve identified a stone on her path. She primed her calf and impacted it with her instep. It ricocheted off a rusty metal automobile hull, which clanged louder than expected. Nines nearly ducked; the clamor unnerved him.

Faye finally broke the ice. "Shuffles is alright, right?"

"Last I checked." Eve smiled. "Yeah, he's technically your dog, isn't he?"

"We had a whole discussion about it!" Faye squawked. "You don't remember the fetch competition?"

"I recall the baseball smeared with bacon grease," Eve teased.

"You confounded liar!" Faye laughed. "That mutt preferred me, fair and square."

"Better times." Eve didn't concede, but landed the conversation safely. Pressing thoughts weighed on her heart. "We never found your escape routes."

"Oh, that. I used the vents."

"But those circulate back to Filtration."

"Not if, at the temperature moderation unit, you switch to-"

"The exhaust tubing," Eve concluded. "The carbon dioxide won't suffocate you because those facilities don't operate during lockdown. Clever. Must've been a tight squeeze, though."

"My butt still hurts," Faye commented. She glanced roadside. "Nancy recommended that to me. My mind can't conceptualize that she's gone."

"She was so young," Eve lamented. No admittance of culpability, no casting of blame. Purely a reverent acknowledgment of loss.

Daniel hardly conversed with Nancy in what sparing years they shared, but he recognized respect for the recently deceased. He allocated four minutes for bereavement, until he was barely outside Gomorrah's earshot. "You both understand your objectives?" he announced.

"Plain as day," Eve reported. "I'm to survey the water supply, and rejoin with general understanding of their capabilities in fulfilling the deal."

"And I hang with the muscle, to scout out the best talent in case we're allowed to handpick them." Faye apparently felt uncomfortable regarding the changing fortunes but was too shell shocked to protest.

"To remind you, no subterfuge is necessary," Daniel stressed. "Diplomacy works. We genuinely want to make good on our bargain, and there's no harm in basic assurances. If they play coy with you, return the favor."

Danny "Nines" Floyd - Gomorrah Front Entrance - Noontime, November 18th

They nodded and entered the casino in unity. Daniel approached the concierge with a mile wide grin. Would she have knowledge of their confidential history? Of course; she's a secretary. "Howdy," he declared. "We're the gang from the Pinochle Expedition." As if they weren't already immediately identifiable as those foreign yokels. "As per prior agreements, we'd like to offer our services under your employ and double check a few items of the arrangement. Protection, routine maintenance, stacking chairs. Wherever you've use for us, feel free to dispatch us there!"

Eve upheld her chin slightly, while Faye's eyes were distracted by the nearby flashing lights.

Noble Arms - The ASEAN War, Second Thread

Auxiliary Post to Mission Four Introduction

Hello, America! Wow... What a night, eh?

I'd like to thank my wife and daughters, who've tolerated me throughout this entire campaign. I'd like to thank Christ, who's tolerated me a tad longer. Keith out there, my coordinator. Yeah, he's as flabbergasted as I am! To each individual listening tonight, without whom the margins would be yet further razor thin! Also to Mayor Rodriguez. You fought with honor. In this day and age, I deeply respect that.

Both of us recognize rightly that the United States of America is good, a beacon of liberty and prosperity. Today we decided as a nation that she is a force for good. The more of the world we influence, the better it becomes. Now, darkness has covered the planet. I promise you, tyranny shall not have the last say. We will not hide our light under a bushel! The world will witness our qualities! God bless you all! God bless the USA!

Mischief Reef - Remote Operations - 11/9/2022, 13:25 UTC +8

Strange locations often unnerved Adrián, though this was a slight upgrade. The quarters on Mischief Reef were cleared of Chinese hardware and refitted with trustworthy, compatible home computers: a mishmash of old and new. Admiral Abasolo paused his computer work momentarily to view the small television screen in his overly sized office. His countenance bore no elation, merely a curt nod before closing desktop windows and opening others. His fingers furiously clacked away at the keyboard.

From her own smaller compartment, Jasmine piped, "New orders, sir?"

"I'll manage this time, thank you," Abasolo continued. "Continue the back burner duties." His typing was interrupted by the distinct popping of a cork. His eyes shot upward to find Bautista in the doorway. The clinking of glass crystal heralded Bautista's intentions, and Abasolo reacted accordingly. "What are you doing, Lieutenant General?"

"What do you think, Rear Admiral?" Bayani replied. "Celebrating! Didn't you hear the news?"

Abasolo directed a finger to the television screen and resumed progress. "It's the early afternoon, Bautista. It's uncouth to drink during work hours. We can raise festivities later."

Bautista chortled. "The Americans will double their support, and might intervene on our behalf! An afternoon off is well warranted. We need not carry the burden of war by ourselves!" Bautista placed his cups on Jasmine's desk and began to pour. "I brought a cup for each of us!"

"Nonetheless, for significant events, we should attend our posts."

The chivalrous Bautista offered the first drink to Jasmine. "What for?"

The phone rang on Jasmine's desk. She answered it promptly. "Rear Admiral Abasolo's forward operating desk." She looked up at Bautista's face. "Yes, he's here. Why, may I ask?" She gazed off into the distance, then retrieved a pen and paper. After mhms, yeses, and a flurry of scribbling, she promised that "I'll relay the information, sir." She hung up the phone. "The Kingdom of Cambodia reports a breakthrough in negotiations. Laos confirms it. The PRC have requested a ceasefire. The Kingdom offers to host negotiations."

Bayani, realizing that he alone was interested in revelry, lifted his own glass. "To hell with the Chinese! They're scared for the first time in this conflict. I see no reason why we ought to placate them when we have the advantage! They certainly wouldn't have returned the favor."

Abasolo wriggled his nose and sniffled. "Do you have any family, Lieutenant General?"

Bayani shrugged. "My spouse at home."

"I'd prefer to conclude this war with our sovereign territory intact, without losing further close relatives." He glanced aside at a deflated Jasmine. "We've already lost far too many, and revenge is hardly a way to mitigate that." He clicked on mouse buttons. "And sent. I will say it's curious that the Cambodians talked with the Chinese before informing us. Our talks broke down almost instantly, as did those of most of our allies."

"The king passed away recently, didn't he?" stated Bautista. "That's the extent of my knowledge about the place, anyways. Perhaps it weakened their will."

"Take it with a grain of salt, then. I'll keep it under advisement as I write my recommendation to the-"

"Sir," Jasmine interrupted, raising her hand. "I received a missive from the Department of Foreign Affairs. They've already accepted, and they request support from our Arms Masters."

Bautista nodded. "We've gained quite the reputation, it seems, for our accomplishments."

"Indeed," Abasolo concurred. "And protection is not unwise."

"Shall I go inform the troops, then?" Jasmine volunteered.

"No, let Noel handle this. He could use the leadership opportunities. 1800 hours." As Jasmine reached for her telephone, Adrián assured her, "I can handle it."

Phnom Penh - National Assembly - 12:25 UTC +7

Tola Chey swallowed as big text flashed across the bottom of the live feed from the United States. His shaky hands reached into his coat pocket for a handkerchief, which he used to daub his brow. He exhaled as an aide approached him. "Is something wrong, Assemblyman?"

Chey met her eyes. As a member of FUNCINPEC, he was always a dissident on a wide gamut of measures, but nowadays speaking out was dangerous. "What's your name?"

"Phuong Keo, Assemblyman."

"And how loyal are you?"

She cocked her head. "Sir? To... to what, sir?"

Truth be told, Tola didn't quite know himself. "To Cambodia."

She considered the implications, then nodded. "Very, Assemblyman."

Tola exhaled in relief. The answer revealed nothing, but the reflection told everything. He looked around his office. Bugged, probably. "Let's take a walk, Phuong Keo."

They traversed the halls of the National Assembly. Clogging the artery was a large band of Chinese muckety-mucks, talking with their Cambodian counterparts. Chey drew Keo aside as the gathering sauntered past them to acquire lunch. "Is this in preparation for the convention everyone's talked about?" Keo asked, innocently.

Chey resumed walking. "Sure, sure," he dismissed.

The development site at the building's side wasn't amenable to much, but sparingly few people used it for a meeting place. Any construction workers would've taken five to enjoy their midday num pang. It was perfect. Chey could no longer keep his reservations reserved. "We're playing with fire. The Chinese, the Americans. We kept the war a distant diversion, handing it off to the Filipinos and the Vietnamese, but soon we'll be the epicenter. I alone notice it. It's tearing me apart inside." His face turned ghastly pale.

Keo was ill prepared for confidence of this magnitude. Her jaw dropped, yet no sound came from it. After a minute, she replied, "So what's your plan?"

"Plan?" Chey scoffed. "There is none! Only death!"

At that point, the two heard sounds of powerful motors from mighty vehicles. Keo grinned. "Please don't worry, Assemblyman. The new tanks will protect us if something goes awry!"

Chey adjusted his neck collar. "Yes, that's what I'm afraid of."

@Lewascan2@Gerlando@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro@Creative Chaos@DammitVictor

Noble Arms - The ASEAN War, Second Thread

Mischief Reef – 11/01/2022, 08:23 UTC +8

Jasmine's sundress and flip flops were thankfully among the few luxury items she packed in her suitcase. The thought of roaming the sandy beaches in navy attire discomforted her. Those inevitable granules in her dress shoes... She shuddered as she strolled across the moist sandbar, silently delighting in what impressions her footfalls made. Nonetheless, the briefcase she carried had to double for a tote bag.

Her target was yonder cluster of Noble Arms Masters. Admiral Abasolo explicitly instructed to gauge and assist their well being, yet another reason why uniforms were a bad idea. Even so, her visage was drawn to the lone surfer on the outlying seas. Female, seemingly. Was it Lidmann? Jasmine squinted. Yes, apparently so! The Brit's rigorous determination to completing her task gave her an ironically graceful flow to her movement. Jasmine waved, though doubtless Callie's attention was directed elsewhere, judging by her own hand gestures.

Jasmine was so distracted that she almost ignored a massive pit in the sand. She approached it for inspection and was surprised to discover Orozco inside, busily shoveling away at the ground. The crevice was very clearly taller than he; otherwise she'd have spotted a head protruding off the surface. As she stood on the precipice, the sand underneath her began to give way. She staggered backward. Iker finally noticed as his bare toes were covered entirely. He glanced up and shielded his eyes. "What a pleasant surprise!" he announced.

"Yes, um," Jasmine stuttered. What response does such a situation warrant? "Apologies for refilling your hole."

Iker shrugged. "Wouldn't be the first; won't be the last. I wish to employ your assistance, if you desire penitence. Are those waves distant presently? I can't view them from my position."

Jasmine peered out towards Callie again. "I reckon the tide's coming in; it wasn't that aggressive previously. There's no urgency, however."

Iker snapped his fingers. "Confound it." He thrust his shovel into the side of his hovel.

"What's the matter?"

Sand flew out the opening. "So, when excavating this kind of structure, dampness composition is key. Water keeps the walls rigid. Too far from the waterline, and the dry sand falls downward and pours in. Too close, and-" To punctuate, a rogue wave stormed over the dreary gray plains, stopping just at Iker's construction. Jasmine yelped as the frigidity touched her. A foot's worth of progress fell off and slushed at the bottom, hardening to cement Iker's feet in sturdy sand. "That happens," he quipped.

"An exercise in futility, then," Jasmine lamented. "Why do you do it?"

Iker held up his hands. "It's a diversion. And eerily peaceful." Before resuming, he divined additional reasons. "I want to conclude my vacation with an accomplishment, you know?" He tagged a glint of white and blue. "Would you appreciate a seashell?"

Jasmine smiled. "That would be lovely; thanks!" Iker carefully extracted a pristine specimen out of the stucco and extended his arm upward. Jasmine collected and toyed with it, as humans often do with dazzling trinkets. "I'll cherish it," she promised, "but I don't suppose it's healthy to labor alone."

Iker surveyed his workspace. "I didn't bring a second trowel, and I doubt the spare space would fit you. But I'm certain you can locate tools in the abandoned Chinese base. That's where I got mine."

"No, I meant you should fraternize with the others," she laughed, pointing off to Qingshe. "A bunch of our friends gather beside that tree. You could use the social acumen."

Iker's countenance disagreed with that advice, but he had little rationale to support his objection. "The project isn't nearly deep enough for my usual specifications."

A sister wave dumped an extra load of sediment into the basin, ensnaring Iker to his knees. "Perhaps it's the will of God," he mused. Resigned to abandonment, he outstretched his palm. Jasmine squeezed it and pulled with her full strength. Iker was out in a jiffy. He dusted himself off and sighed in relief. "Lead me to this gathering."

The duo arrived in time to hear Callie's boisterous announcement, followed by instant regret: “…I have definitely interrupted something, haven’t I?”

"It likely wasn't important," Iker assured, scanning the scene for faces. He knew... probably two or three of those present, and none particularly well. "Our aim is to relax, and there's no relaxation in heavy talk. Certainly not while we have numbers for what constitutes a party, or maybe some manner of sports." He stretched. "Speaking of, 'twas you who rode the surfboard, wasn't it? Well performed!"

"Yes, you're quite deft!" Jasmine added. "Well, since the conversation is halted," she unbuckled her case, "I've been authorized by my superiors to distribute these for a job well done at Jinghong Dam." She opened her luggage like a book, displaying the vibrantly colored wrappers within. "Candies! Nothing that melts, of course. Select your favorites! They're American imports. I guess not everything from the United States is cutoff from us, eh?"

Iker perused the selection. "Anything watermelon flavored?"

"Gum, I think." Jasmine nodded to a lime green rectangular wrapper, and Orozco nabbed it.

"So, would anyone care for music?" Iker asked. "I don't possess instruments, but I'm sure our powers combined might assemble an orchestra of sorts."

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

The Meld - Late Afternoon, November 18th

Sister Genetta Williams - Followers of the Apocalypse

The door swung open and Genetta found herself staring down the barrel of a very serious-looking firearm. Time seemed to freeze.

Out of the corner of her eye, she saw the Kings boys’ lightning reflexes kicking into gear, but even as their hands began the descent to their holsters, her brain had made the calculations.

Two women, who looked like ordinary frontier folk, albeit healthy and less radiation-scarred. One of them holding a rifle. No frightening military gadgets, no high-tech sci-fi apparatus. If they truly wanted strangers dead, or to make a terrifying display of force, this wouldn’t be their vanguard: a woman wielding a single rifle.

This was familiar to Genetta. It was no dystopian horror, such as an army of mechs or plasma-wielding footsoldiers that might be found in an Enclave bunker. It was a scene that she might encounter walking into a homestead, or a bar in a settlement that had just fended off Legion scouts. A single woman, whose practical frontier hospitality could turn into hostility at the sound of a Raider’s footsteps.

Genetta raised her arms in front of the Kings guards in a gesture of placation. Even as she did so, there was a sound from behind her, and she spun around to see another Vault dweller, a male this time. She just had time to process the axe he’d set down beside him (lowered is good! her brain interjected) when he broke into a warm greeting that seemed surreal, given their welcome.

The dark-haired woman holding the gun explained. It was as Genetta had suspected - recent aggression from outsiders, always a possibility on the frontier, had sent these three into high alert.

The Kings boys relaxed their muscles a notch, and everyone seemed to take a breath.

That was fortunate, because the second Vault woman almost jumped on Genetta and began dragging her away by the arm. Genetta did not resist, and the Kings guards trailed behind her, still primed for action, but mollified by the presence of a single unarmed woman.

When they were alone, the Vault Dweller burst into an extraordinary monologue. Despite herself, Genetta’s brain began making notes on the flood of cultural information issuing from the young lady’s conversation. Genetta knew body language and customs could vary wildly between settlements, but something told her this young woman was bored, lonely, and very keen for someone new to talk to.

I never thought about how lonely it must be for people with the wrong psychological profile to live underground, sealed into a single community. I’ve never met a young lady who’s quite this effusive and forthcoming. Vault-Tec definitely didn’t screen all their initial entrants, let alone their descendants. Quite the opposite - reports suggest that in some Vaults they deliberately chose individuals with vulnerable personalities and placed them in high-stress situations to observe the outcomes.

Genetta swallowed. “Um, Miss… Amber, I think the other lady called you? A pleasure to make your acquaintance. Thank you for being so friendly - I was afraid at first that our reception would be none too friendly. Do you mind if we backtrack a bit? Say, start with introductions? My name’s Miss Genetta Williams. And I’m with a group called the Followers of the Apocalypse. I would love to learn… well, everything about you. And as for us - well, I wouldn’t really say we’re America. We’re part of what’s left on the surface.”

@Cymbeline90

Amber glanced to the shut egress. If that comprised a tamer reception than expected, the Followers of the Apocalypse endured tragic lifestyles indeed. Pitiable creatures. Whatever this self described surface residue desired, she'd accommodate within reason. Amber mustered a smile, for their sake. "And a pleasure to meet yours! I'm Miss Amber Whitaker, eventually Missus Amber Floyd should my beau ever muster the conviction to pop the question!~" The last sentence's inflection trailed into a mournful sour note, which Amber quickly corrected.

"Everything about me… Well, I was born in Floor Eight's Birthing Facility to the King and Queen of Spades. I got assigned the Nine of Hearts, so they transferred me to the Bentons, who nurture hydroponics on Level Three." She whipped from her pocket an old yet nearly pristine condition playing card to that effect. "Mister Benton was a benevolent father figure after his spouse passed. I knew the Whitakers merely as loose acquaintances. As a Heart, I managed the dining facilities, so I had ample conversation opportunities in their daily routine. Apparently they're respectable folk among their kin, operating the electricity generators down on Seven.

"My heritage is likely my most interesting aspect," she stated. "The greater portion of my life was expended mopping the floors and sanitizing the machinery, as Nines are instructed. I cross stitch and crochet like everyone else nowadays. I fashion potholders and handkerchiefs at fifteen caps apiece." She snapped her fingers. "I was provided a solo assignment for the Women's Chorus! We compiled a Stephen Foster medley, and I was selected for one stanza of 'Swanee River.' My merit earned me a placement for 'I Heard the Bells' in the wintertime compilation!" She reflected on her prior deeds. "The diner once fended off a Radscorpion, but that's not exceptional, I don't think, certainly not in the wasteland. And furthermore a rather dreary subject." She shuddered at the notion.

----

After awhile, the Colonel Bogey March becomes less timekeeping than farcical. Danny’s and Eve’s footfalls lost rhythm, wholly off sync as their destination came into view.

Eve had better views at her height. “Amber talks with some cowgirl before the Meld. A couple strangers are with them.”

Nines stopped exercising his harmonica and stowed it. “You shall bring the strangers aside; I’ll discuss with Amber,” he stated. Eve halted, beholding her former subordinate with clear distaste. Floyd continued a few yards ahead before turning back. “Objections?”

They locked stares, and Eve blinked. “None… sir.” She resumed pace. Danny quietly exhaled, careful not to disclose how effortlessly she would have overwhelmed his gambit.

The Ace tromped ahead, touching Genetta Williams gently on the shoulder, increasing pressure as the Follower was made aware of her presence. “Redirect yourselves over here. We’ll answer your concerns shortly.”

Amber lit up at the sight of Eve Cannon in equal parts joy and panic. “Hey, Faye- sorry, Eve! What brings you to-”

Eve silenced her with a smile, though her eyes brimmed with curiosity. After stowing the three newcomers carefully at the side wall, she located Bradley and sicced him on them. She then opened the door and passed in.

Reflecting briefly on the new situation but reluctantly accepting it, Amber rushed to her beau and enveloped him. To keep from stumbling over, Daniel stepped back and twisted around, using his girlfriend’s momentum to lean her downwards. The gesture was far more romantic than he’d planned but nonetheless appreciated by both lovers. “Sweetheart,” he crooned. “It’s been a few hours. Already I missed you.”

Amber melted. This was the romance she sought for so long. She grabbed his shoulders and pulled herself up to kiss him. “For you, honey? I’d wait a lifetime!”

Daniel propped Amber up and dusted her off. For a brief moment, the world’s burdens had stepped aside, but he recalled his obligations. “Amber, might we converse in private?”

Amber checked the three visitors in the distance who tried to scrounge up discussion with the would-be axe murderer. “We are ‘in private,’ honey.”

“No, I’d prefer a getaway,” he clarified.

Amber gasped. Such a romantic showing, followed by the desire for privacy together, implied a very specific matter. She caught her breath. “Yes, certainly, as faraway as you desire.” She squealed silently as Daniel guided her.

Nines couldn’t get straight to business. “How’s everyone holding up?”

“Fine, fine,” Amber stated, restraining herself from bursting with energy. Amid the emotional commotion, a data point did arise. “Faye arrived today, recently in fact! She wants to live here in exile, if you’d permit. She submitted to your jurisdiction (her words). You’ve picked up her sister, it appears!”

Daniel looked to the Meld’s doorway. Whatever combustion he’d have expected it to cause, no heard no proof of ignition. Best not to ruminate on the situation.

Horowitz Farmstead - Evening, November 18th

He nodded towards his beloved to signal their destination. “So, I’ll cut to the chase. I talked with Don Omerta, who pledges to contribute soldiers and freshwater in exchange for pre-war technology and the technicians to utilize it.”

Amber cocked her head, staring blankly into a small patch of dirt. “To what end?”
Daniel nodded. “I’m usurping Vault 48, and concluding its infighting.”
“Okay.”
“That’s it? You’ve no qualms with the endeavor?” Daniel’s jaw was agape.

She fixated upon him. “Danny, honey, I followed you outside the Vault, to the furthest perimeters of our faction. I forfeit my life to venture beside you. I’d stick my head in a Deathclaw’s jaws if needs must. If we travel homeward to end this odyssey, then what a blessing it’s been! I’ll remember this in frailty and old age.” Amber clutched her beau’s palm for effect. "No ambition of yours will deter me. Nobody else on Earth valued me as you did. We huddled alone against the world's machinations; I would perish if I let go. Between you and any other mortal thing, you are my volition."

With his free hand, Daniel brushed his fingers through her fiery bobbed hair. Beyond upholding Henry’s legacy, far beyond the pacification, he now knew the end purpose of his schemes. “I will adorn you in gold and silv- no, platinum and rhodium. Silver is beneath you. You’ll wear the finest silks, or the comfiest fabrics. Fresh flowers will daily rest upon your head. You’ll bear gemstones crafted a millennium ago, a continent away. When those inevitably pale in luster beside you, I’ll hire tinkers to cut new gemstones to match your beauty. If the world comes to a second apocalypse, the survivors will recognize you by name. They’ll call you the Last Great Queen among Men.”

Amber chuckled as she parsed Daniel’s Dutch beard with her own digits. “If you intend to drown me in luxury, honey, remember me as I was now.” She pecked him on the cheek. “So, that’s all?”

Nines blinked. “Yes… that’s what I desired to share. Why do you ask?”

Amber deflated slightly, perusing her surroundings. The quaint scenery was serviceable. Streetlights from olden days failed their function in the nautical twilight. Vines clung to rustic ruins with vain intentions. “Well, in an area this secluded, I’d hoped for… a romantic benchmark of sorts?”

It took Floyd a full minute to realize the implications. “Ah. Okay, I mean, if you wanted it presently.” He pulled out a box and unveiled the brass fitting within. “Remember when the ice cream machine broke? You recruited me to find the missing fixture. I did, eventually, after it was already replaced. Anyways, I regarded those times fondly, as a first date of sorts. I’d saved this for an opportune occasion, but,” he shrugged, “What the heck. Wanna get hitched?”

The Nine of Hearts threw herself around the Nine of Clubs. “Absolutely! Of course, yes!” Daniel felt small droplets on his shoulder. “That is simultaneously the most romantic, yet charmless proposal! You truly are hopeless, aren’t you, Danny?”

Floyd grinned. “That bad, huh? If you don’t approve of it-”

“It surpasses all the gold in the world!” Amber seized the brass ring and placed it on her finger. Though Daniel had estimated cautiously, the perfect fit still astonished him.

“So, shall we go inform the troupe?” he propositioned.

Amber wiped her tears. “I will if you won’t!”

The Meld - Evening, November 18th

Charlotte’s cocked lever action was the least tense element regarding the reunion. Faye’s face was flush. Eve barely maintained composure. As an infant would take first steps, Faye paced herself towards her long lost friend. They promptly broke into lunges towards each other. In the split second between launch and impact, Isabel’s eyes beckoned Charlotte to pull the trigger. Charlotte strained her better judgment to avoid doing so.

The sisters embraced, with strong surety that only familial passion instigated. Palms outstretched across each other’s spines; their arms pressed themselves closer together. The kitchen chair creaked as Isabel relaxed upon it.

Faye’s words would be indiscernible amid her breaking voice had they not been repeated frequently. “I’m so sorry," "I’m glad you’re safe," "It’s good to see you again," "Please forgive me.”

Eve had had a brief moment to mentally prepare herself. Then again, she always managed her emotions more methodically. Her chin hovered over her sister's shoulder. Her mouth pressed against Faye's head. The same waterworks flowed, but her words started with “There, there;” “There’s nothing to pardon;” “It’s alright now,” descending in volume until the lone possible receptor in range of Eve’s voice was Faye’s ear. The length Eve took to speak to her former rival was slightly too long for sweet nothings. Gradually, Faye’s muscles weakened, until she less embraced her sister than clung to her for stability. Eve's firm, sororal grasp alone kept her from collapsing.

Isabel nodded to Charlotte. “That’s genuine leadership, there. I’m grateful to be honored by the presence of the Ace of Diamonds.”

Faye pulled away from her sister, struggling to keep upright. “I can do that,” she vowed. She passed an uneasy glance to Isabel, then to Charlotte.

“Be valiant for my sake. For both of ours,” Eve assured.

Charlotte took a deep breath. “Well. You both have ventured far. Can I fetch either of you refreshments?”

Eve complied with social norms, to a point. "I'll check the pantry, if it pleases you." She meandered over to the food cabinet to parse through the offerings. She pointed a digit at a small box, soon palming it as a basketball player would the ball. "Toast'ems. They don't serve these anymore back at base."

"Good riddance," Isabel countered. "Tasteless empty calories, the bunch. Give me bacon and eggs."

"Hey, I appreciate Toast'ems!" Eve protested. Isabel immediately surrendered the argument. "What will you have, Faye? Toasted Oats? Apple Bits? Fruit Rings?"

Faye had selected a chair and now silently perused the table's intricacies. "Whatever works, I guess."

"She likes Apple Bits," Eve covered as she fetched a bowl and poured out a decent helping.

"Milk powder didn't arrive with the latest shipment," Charlotte cautioned.

"She'll eat them dry." Eve pushed the bowl to Faye, who reeled it in in catatonic fashion. Spotting her sister's hesitance, Eve opened her own pack. "You know, Toast'ems come in packs of twos." She unsheathed a frosted thin rectangular pastry and with its corner poked Faye's nose.

Faye puffed out a small burst of air, revealing a smile. Whatever ailment befell her slowly evaporated. "Which flavor is this one? There are only a couple quality ones."

At once, the door opened. “I got engaged!” Amber exclaimed. Had she announced it from Black Mountain, they’d have heard it on the Strip. It filled the homestead with pure volume.

Danny with hands outstretched quipped casually: “She said yes! Can you believe a fellow like me would find a damsel that gorgeous, eh?”

“We must definitely have something special, then!” Charlotte commented, rattling her noggin to keep it from ringing. “How’s about pie?”

Rise of Rasalhague

Hamazasp Sulser

Perhaps the pleasantest aspect of the LCT-1V, besides zipping across the battlefield immune to targeting, was its utter inability to overheat. As Hamazasp fell into line with the other 'Mechs, he didn't fret his windshield's fogging but instead activated his air conditioning towards a cozy hearth. His glass windows tinted from slightly blurry to an opaque milky white. "Confound it!" Shaking his noggin, he halted his movement, lowered the temperature to its deepest setting, and resumed. He'd tolerate the frigidity fine enough.

He trekked directly behind Ulrik's Centurion, which physically blocked his viewport. He only detected the newfound enemy Medium class via his terminal, even after the translucence dissipated. He glanced sideways to see Karel's 'Mech storm the right flank, Zohra on his tail. "The left flank's mine for capture," he relayed, teeth chattering as he spoke. Still unaccustomed to the control network, he reared his Locust around his commander.

He emerged at the front to a busy view: four helicopters above him, a Hunchback beyond him, infantry before him, and his comrade's fiery inferno blasted in his general direction. Just one visage unnerved the Taurian. Ants: the most fearsome of arthropods. They lack the wasp's sting, the spider's venom, and the mosquito's incessant whir. Those frights fade when an apparently dirty floor unexpectedly moves. Quantity had a quality unto itself.

Instinctively, he triggered his dual machine guns upon the troopers. Largely, he was startled. He wouldn't roast such helpless creatures willingly. As his ammunition emptied into the masses, he attempted to justify his own actions. Sulser recognized their potential; he had slept with an ant queen. This horde wouldn't divert its course through reasoning or gentle guidance, which he obviously would've elected were it feasible. That explanation would mollify his recently acquired stowaways come bedtime, yes?

Having done a reasonably decent job both at placating his conscience and genociding the hapless insects, he gazed upwards. Those aircraft were getting away Scot free. He must rectify that error. He redirected his M Laser and casually pressed a button. Shot, hit, kill. He reactivated his comms. "Might I obtain assistance with those VTOLs?" he shivered.

The Long Afternoon of the Mojave (A Fallout Roleplay)

Danny "Nines" Floyd - North Gate - Afternoon

The journey's initial mile bore nary a word between Danny and Eve. Cannon, a head above her peer, seemed to relish the silence, basking amid the newer landscape and reflecting upon her fortunes. She plotted each footfall, deftly maneuvering around debris along her path.

Floyd, already familiar with the scenery, languished in light terror, not that his countenance displayed any. He calculated the intricate sequence of events. Should he disclose the conspiracy to the Meld's comrades? The burden of withholding his secrets alone would grind him mentally. Amber was indisputably reliable. The Jack's Revolt was a source of mild contention among Charlotte and Bradley, Bradley supporting the insurrection and Charlotte siding against. Regardless, Charlotte commonly supported Daniel through even his controversial endeavors, and neither lover was overly invested in the conflict. Both could be entrusted. The question then was the order of disclosure...

"You mentioned revelry," Eve stated. "Let's have some." Apparently the placidity lost its luster.

In the absence of strangers, Danny withdrew his harmonica. "Name a tune, then."

"I'd rather not revel thus," she grinned. "Why parleyed you with Don Omerta?"

"As I said," he replied. "To congratulate his wedding."

"Come now," she countered. "You're not one to be chummy with men of such disrepute."

"He has unseen virtues."

"As do I," she pressed. "As do the NCR, and the Brotherhood of Steel, and all characters of the wasteland's remnant factions. Why not fraternize with them?"

"Well, I negotiated with Ambassador Watts prior. The painting expenses must have reached you."

"They have. So it's those with authority," she insisted, turning to lock gazes, looming downwards with that characteristic faint smile. "Are you attracted to folk like me?"

To repay the insult to his beloved, Daniel telegraphed a pommel, the bronze from his enclosed instrument promising an unpleasant experience. Eve swiftly dodged aside, though Daniel didn't intend to make impact. He relaxed his fist. "Infer that again, and you'll see how promptly I shed my decency."

"Then it's ambition," the Ace concluded. "And I desire to hear of it. You've always carried an affinity for self autonomy, but this is something quite separate."

"As if I'd expose myself to the Aces' champion."

"I'm banished in every way but officially," she eased, her hand stopping him in his tracks. "Whatever inner recesses you unveil, none will reach the Council, I assure you."

Daniel sighed. His journey would be halted while he remained aloof. Eve's inquisition proved piercing as ever. Better that his rival understand isolated and defenseless than, for example, in Isabel's presence. "Where lie your loyalties?"

Eve glanced elsewhere, as if the answer was obvious. As she fully realized the implications of Danny's demand, her legs began to tremble in weakness, and she clutched her stomach. After a minute, she summoned her resolve to respond merely: "With the Vault."

"Its inhabitants, or its management?"

She vomited at the roadside and staggered backwards. "Please don't force me to choose," she pleaded.

"They just exiled you! You owe them no allegiance!" Danny shouted, knowing before speaking he elected the incorrect route of argument.

"It was never about my power!" Eve cried, clinging to Floyd's shoulders. "I upheld the Vault's traditions, that our heritage might endure! Surely you agree!"

"And does the current status of 48 resemble that of your childhood?" Nines challenged. "You caused the downfall of our homeland. You and Faye together. Don't hinder my attempt to restore it."

Her vigor exhausted, Eve knelt at his front, still capable of maintaining eye contact at her height. He spoke truth; her eyes reflected her acknowledgement. "I've seen too many brethren perish in my quests. No matter my reservations, I won't contribute to more senseless death from my kin. You'll have my neutrality."

"And you won't inform members of the homestead without my express permission, yes?"

Eve swallowed. "Allow me to confide in my sister. I know she's escaped to take refuge with you. We have methods of silent communication; Isabel won't notice."

Daniel was unacquainted with this information, but he didn't reveal surprise. "Granted," he grunted, assisting his former adversary to her feet. "Gather your strength; we shall show the colony no dissension." The giantess had fallen. Perhaps he was scared for nothing. He resumed pace. To ease their nerves, he performed a tinny medley for the travel back: the Colonel Bogey March. The melody was harried but sure.

Noble Arms - The ASEAN War [Moved to New Thread]

GM Post

Angeles City - The Ritz Hotel - 10/25/2022, 6:10 UTC+8

As each future combatant presented concerns, the admiral shutdown his projector to prevent the blaring light from distracting him as he addressed the audience. Four questions were an ample bounty to tackle at once.

"Sergeant Janssens: We've routed your path linearly. Every obstacle receives the full brunt of the expedition. With overwhelming (metaphorical) firepower at your disposal, you can focus attention on maintaining a low profile, and be more selective as to who does what. Inevitably, there will be hiccups in the plan. With the sizable variance in these complications, premade squads wouldn't make sense. When they arise, we'll dispense teams impromptu in compositions and quantities necessary to handle those specific issues. Thank you in advance for your flexibility."

Abasolo had slightly glanced at Bautista during the Portuguesa's question, with a fleeting glint of "I told you so." That sentiment was absent currently. "Miss Rocha... We'd considered that, but it proved untenable to route you to a location where you can reliably target the dam while avoiding the ensuing rubble and water. This was originally designed as an air force mission, and we stand by that as the safest and most effective medium. Should you dismantle the structure yourself, you alone are responsible for any subsequent death. Otherwise, permission granted.

"Regarding Agent Makaraig, yes, exercise subtlety and caution as conditions of stealth. If this escalates beyond the level of engagement we anticipate, we'd invest a serious percentage of our airpower without guarantee of success, and potentially ground forces if this operation lasts days longer than the expected single night. You ought to consider that a state of failure. You have time to build team cohesion prior to launching. As for reaching the launch point, my colleague has arranged long range transports to ferry you to Louang Namtha, from where you'll drive to Wan Hkung and embark there. All matters with the Laotian government are solidified. Anything else?"

Iker still excavated his plate of starches, carbohydrates, and sparing amounts of fruits and vegetables. Regardless, he deemed the matter pressing and so set his tray aside and stood up. "Pardon, sir. If we sail upstream past a civilian city, would they get caught as the torrent floods downstream? How do we mitigate that?"

"Would you care to respond, Lieutenant General?"

Bayani ruffled his suit. "Certainly, Mister Orozco. We expect that the PRC has evacuation protocols in effect. Assuming proper subterfuge on your part, the Chinese will be alerted to your presence between the final dismantling of AAA and the fighter strike. Alarms will consequently be sounded with leeway to clear the citizens from peril. They can scramble their jets in an hour but evacuate in minutes. That failing, ASEAN conscripts embarking behind you will guide the civilians to safety. Don't fret over them; they have separate instructions."

Adrián scanned the room. "We'll linger momentarily; neither of us have consumed breakfast yet. Other worries may be directed privately. The planes liftoff in three hours so that the convoy will reach its destination by midnight. Godspeed, everyone. Dismissed."

@Lewascan2@Conscripts@Gerlando@Creative Chaos@Nimbus@QJT@Amidatelion@Digmata@Chiro