SkrtWithAWeapon

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER - Salem Clinic -- it's still late afternoon

"Its quite alright Frieda," Arthur whispered back, "You needn't worry. Any radioactive particles he might have picked up from the ghouls wouldn't be enough to harm you. The condition of Ghoul-dom, thankfully, isn't contagious in and of itself either, and would instead require a tremendous amount of sustained radiation exposure to turn someone into one of those....unfortunate husks of humanity."

Frieda instinctively clutched her chest in relief at the good news. "Thank god. I can't believe I was so careless. Maybe you're rubbing off on me, doc. My primary directive was always to kill whoever, or whatever, I met." She caught herself and her tone, and flicked a glance at Celeste. The other woman didn't appear to be paying any attention. She glanced back at Arthur who had continue to pause in his work and was looking her deep in the eyes. Her heart fluttered, just a bit.

"You look tired Frieda, perhaps my..aid..might be wearing off? I could give you another...but I think its best if you get some hard earned rest when you get the chance. If you wish to remain here at the clinic I understand, however, you're welcome to use my quarters upstairs if you would like to rest without interruption. Once I get our friend here stabilized, and barring another Deathclaw attack, I think we'll be able to finally breathe a bit."

Frieda looked between Adam, Arthur, then turned and looked towards the stairs leading to where Arther had set up his apartment. "Maybe I should try to sleep, just a little. It's definitely been an eventful day..."

"Oh. The town meeting. I don't think we both should go, and leave the clinic completely unattended." She tapped her fingers on her thigh. "I think you should go. If someone or something tries to take advantage of the majority of the people being in one place, I can deal with it. And if something happens to one of the patients, I'll just...put some gloves on and apply pressure, or something, until you get back."

Frieda shook her head and offered a small wave. "You don't have to decide, now. I'll nap for an hour before the meeting, wake me up, then.' She ascended the stairs thinking about how she wanted to make some crack about being stuck in a room full of surface wasteland dwelling scum, but where was she at that moment, exactly?

Arthur's quarters were neatly organized. She untied her boots and slipped her feet out of them and was about to climb into his cot when she looked down at her dirty clothes, and paused. She didn't want to make his linens dirty, so with barely a second thought, she undressed down to her underwear before stretching out.

Her eyes followed lines and patterns in the ceiling over her head as her thoughts floated between the handsome and clever weapons shopkeep, and the handsome and clever -- well, extremely intelligent, really -- doctor. Both made her felt seen in a way she wasn't sure she'd ever really experienced.

You always cast a big shadow, Brian. I found a way to make it comfortable.

"Only one of those men knows where you're from and is still nice to you," Brian's voice replied in her mind.

Frieda let out a sigh. She refused to worry about anything like that, at the moment. She rolled over and closed her eyes, drifting off to sleep.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER - Salem clinic, playing nurse -- late afternoon?

Frieda's forehead felt damp as she began to undress Adam, as Celeste had identified him. It was out of nerves more than conservativeness -- growing up in a bunker packed with people, one tends to become desensitized to bodies and their parts. In the past two days, she'd treated more people than she ever had in her life, and she wasn't sure yet how to feel about it.

Hearing the voice of the doc from the door brought her instant relief. "Frieda are you back?"

Before she even opened her mouth, the doc was at her side. "What's happened?" He asked calmly, looking between the two women for answers.

"He passed out in the doorway before I could even ask. For some reason, he was soaking wet. I figured getting him out of his clothes was a good start," Frieda replied.

"Good lord this man looks like he's been through hell and back..." Arthur began carefully inspecting Adam. Frieda merely stood back and let the doc do his job. Celeste shifted her weight from foot to food, wringing her hands.

"Second, possible third degree burns along the right side of his face, neck and torso...lacerations across his..." Arthur stopped for moment. Frieda couldn't help but lean over the doc's shoulder to try and follow his gaze. "He was attacked by ghouls?" Arthur pondered aloud.

Oh shit oh fuck oh dear god no. Frieda immediately clapped both hands to her mouth and turned away, fearing she was really going to be sick. Surface dweller mutant mauled by other mutants and I touched him, I fucking touched him!!

"Thank you for helping him Frieda," Arthur said, as he touched her on the shoulder, breaking her from her inner freak out, "I don't know what I'd do without you. I'll take it from here. Now Ms...Celeste...is it? I understand you are concerned for your friend but I'll need you to please step back. You can stay in the Clinic if you like, but I want you to stay calm and sit down in one of the pews over there. Don't worry, I'll do everything I can to help him. I don't usually like to toot my own horn so to speak...but I daresay there's no better clinic in the wasteland for him to be in."

Arthur gave Frieda a knowing look. She hoped her face wasn't as green as she felt. Arthur turned back to Adam and looked him over once more, gathering his bearings. "Now then...lets begin. I'll start by wrapping those nasty burns and giving him some strong antibiotics to prevent infection. Perhaps some Rad-Away as well..."

"I'll get those!" Frieda burst out, watching Celeste startle from where she had settled herself nearby. She scrambled to the back cabinet, collecting the items and bringing them back to the cot. She placed the meds on the nearby, repurposed night stand and felt her gut sink as she watched Arthur pull on a pair of gloves.

"I should have been more careful," she muttered, leaning close towards Arthur's ear. "I didn't think about putting on gloves or anything, and I..well, I touched him, with my bare hands. What do I do? Am I going to get sick?"

Her thoughts and feelings were starting to run away with her imagination as her panic started to set in. Either the Study Buddy was wearing off, or her mind was beginning to act out after so many hours of being kept awake, but whatever it was, images of pre-war movies they used to watch about zombies and getting bitten and doomed was making her feel her own immediate mortality.

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK -- the wall - nighttime

There was a bit of a murmur in response to her address of the other harborfolk. Corrine didn't take it too personally; it was late, after all, and fatigue certainly plagued all of them. The woman Zelda, standing nearest to her, on watch at the wall, gave her a firm nod and a slight squeeze on the arm.

Both James and Castner seemed to appear in the throng and of course had their own questions. Corrine's immediate, internal response, was to feel annoyed that mainlanders couldn't help but shove themselves in the middle of island business. She swallowed a lump in her dry throat and merely let them speak. Besides, Castner's volunteering of Brotherhood equipment and tech was more than generous. Brotherhood was only mostly spoken about in whispers and rumours, but one constant thread was their general distaste for sharing any of their weapons or knowledge with regular folks. Even he recognized the desperation of the situation and put aside his deeply ingrained ways.

Gettin' soft, Corrine...

"People of Far Harbor!" The cultist suddenly yelled out, "Have you not wondered from where the Fog comes? Have you not wondered why it ebbs and flows like the tide? Have you never wondered why the creatures within dare not stray from its embrace, as a newborn might fear to stray from its mother? Have you never considered that it seemed to have a will of its own?"

The cultist left the questions hanging in the air. No one spoke a response. He continued.

"I have promised you a kindness for a kindness. Return Alice to us...return our sister, and we will do the same for you."

The cultist turned around and nodded his head. Immediately a band of white-clad individuals stepped forth, the lower half of their robes and boots were caked with dirt. In their hands, they bore a simple wooden coffin. Gently, they laid it down before them.

"Avery," The cultist uttered the name solemnly, "She belongs with her family."

It were as though the next few moments unfolded in slow motion. The cultists stepped back from the coffin, laying in the exact spot to be illuminated from a half a dozen lanterns in the nearby vicinity. Corrine leaned forward to grip the rail with both hands and felt as though it took several moments for her body to lean close enough to grab hold. She could hear every molecule of air that entered her lungs as she gasped. Her pulse pounded like a slow, but deafening, hammer in her ears.

"Corrine", Steve said gently as he placed a hand on her back in an attempt to comfort her, "What do you want to do?"

Corrine blinked, and everything seemed to have gone back to real-time. "I...huh? I..." She swallowed, again. "Wait, what're you doin' on your feet?"

She inhaled slowly, minutely aware that it seemed both the cultists and the harborfolk were waiting for a response from her. Corrine turned Zelda who was still standing next to her, who had reached out to her before. "Come with me."

"Sure thing," Zelda replied gruffly. Harborfolk parted to let them cross the hull, down the stairs, and exit the gate. The cultists' faces were hidden, by cowls and by darkness. It made Corrine feel unsettled.

"That there coffin better not be a trap, y'hear? The second Corrine's hands get blown off, we start shooting!" cried one of the harborfolk from the wall.

Corrine frowned, and felt her stomach sink. "C'mon," she motioned to Zelda, taking one side of the coffin top.

"On three..."

Slow-motion seemed to return as the coffin top was pushed off and slid onto the cobblestones with a dry clattering. The smell hit her first. Not so much the offensive odour of decomposition, but dirt, decay, and mud. She covered her nose and mouth with her sleeve and finally dared to look inside.

There, before her, was a collection of human bones. Corrine peered over the edge and looked the bones up and down. Zelda gasped, then shrieked, and jabbed her hand into the coffin. "It's hers," Zelda babbled, holding up an instantly-recognizable relic: Avery's locket. "This is she, this must be. Oh...oh my god!" Zelda cried, falling to her knees, much like Corrine had.

Corrine's heart was beating a mile a minute. She looked between Zelda and the dusty bones in the coffin and swallowed, hard. No. I saw her die.

"It's a pile of bones!" Corrine yelled out, hoping most on the hull and the cultists could all hear her. "This...this could be anyone you dug up! It doesn't prove a single thing you just said." She turned to address the harborfolk on the hull and around the gate. "That woman we carried in, who looks like Avery, who sounded just like Avery, I saw her...perish. She got hit by a bullet, and blood flew out and..." She had to pause, becoming choked up all over again.

Corrine turned back to the cultists. "Y'all have been operating in shadow -- in Fog -- and done nothin' but antagonize, threaten, and...well, and kill, or try to kill! Maybe this is Avery, and maybe you murdered her, yerselves, or..." She wiped her brows with the back of her hand, cursing the stiffness settling in to her joints in the late evening air.

She glanced up towards where Steve stood on the hull. Corrine gave him a small nod. She wouldn't admit she had reached a point of having less care for her life than before, after the day's events, but the feeling inside of her was quite similar. She turned back towards the cultists.

"I need more than just her trinket. These bones don't prove a thing you said. 'sfar as I care, the woman inside Far Harbor is Avery."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

ARCHIE - Sandy Coves Inn -- late afternoon

Celeste took the baseball bat and nearly dropped it, not at all prepared for its weight. "Well, that's silly," she giggled. "You're obviously just a machine, not a person -- even if the General was so smart to build you the way they did."

{INFLECTION CODE: AMUSEMENT. ANALYZE. RESULT: INAPPROPRIATE/PATRONIZING. RESPONSE: IRRITATION.} Archie summoned up the chain of code for his voice box to use an aggravated tone. "Shouldn't you be going?"

"Right! Yes! I need to go to the clinic. Can you take care of the inn for just a little longer?"

{INFLECTION CODE: REQUEST. ANALYZE. RESULT: REQUEST TO SHIRK DUTIES. RESPONSE: AFFIRMATIVE. ATTEMPT: THINLY-VEILED SARCASM.} "Of course, of course. The entire town will be here in a couple hours, I'll just keep busy making sure the dining hall can accommodate them."

Celeste nodded and left nearly as quickly as she'd entered. Archie scrolled through several lines of coded flowcharts as he searched his logic banks for an explanation for her behaviour. Ultimately, the algorithms could only suggest he required additional information for a more confident response, but so far, most suggestions pointed to a simple lack of intelligence.

"Too bad," he muttered to himself. "Seems the standards for the manager job simply fell lower and lower as time has passed." Archie idly tidied the desk and was about to turn and enter the dining hall, when the main doors opened once more and two figures walked in.

"Ah! Guests! Welcome to the Sandy Coves Inn," Archie greeted them cheerfully.

"Howdy Mr Handy," the man began kindly as he approached the robot, "My name is James Wilson and this is Susan Cooper, would you Happen to know if anyone came into town from South Boston recently? perhaps wearing someone of lab coat or Vault gear."

"How wonderfully polite! But please, call me 'Archie.'" The robot paused momentarily as it processed the man's request. "A lab coat, or Vault gear, you ask? Hmm. I can't say that I have, unfortunately! Do you have a name, or description?" Archie spun his lower body in mid air, though his three glass optical orbs remained fixed on James and Susan.

"Oh!" the robot suddenly exclaimed, after the algorithm prompted he begin tidying for the meeting. "The entire town will be assembling here, in this very inn, within the next little while. A meeting, of some sort. Certainly if the person you are looking for is in town, they will turn up at the meeting. So! Shall I prepare you a room? I assure you all our linens are clean and pest-free -- I have laundered them myself, you know. It'd be a comfortable place to rest and freshen up from your travels before meeting the townsfolk. What do you say?"

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

CELESTE BROWN - Rook's shack -- late afternoon

"Rook will help you find him. First thing is first. We follow him..." Rook said, reaching inside his home and producing a pistol. "But we need things. Take pistol, go get water for you, and any armor you might wear. Rook needs a few moments to get his armor back on. Also, go to doctorman. Ask if we can buy medical things in case he is hurt." He would then offer her the caps he had. It wasn't much, but it should be enough for at least a basic kit. "Then meet me back at Adam's home."

Celeste's eyes naturally widened with every task assigned to her. It was one thing to be cooking four different food items in a busy kitchen at her mom and dad's trading post and cafe, it was slightly different to be asked to seek out a weapon and medical supplies...and stay calm about it.

She refused the gun. "Oh! I don't even know how to use one of those things. I'll...go get a knife, or something." Celeste took a deep breath. "Okay," she muttered aloud with firm resolve. "I'll go back to the inn and get some supplies, and then go to the clinic, and meet you at Adam's place." Celeste paused, nodded to herself, then scurried off. She burst through the doors of the inn, her face red and sweaty.

"Archie!" she huffed, doubling over and leaning on her thighs. "Ah...Archie...!"

"My heavens, Manager! Is something amiss?" the robot replied.

"No. Well, yes! Well, sort of," Celeste spluttered. "Rook is gonna help me look for Adam, but I have to bring a weapon. Do you have something that I could use?"

"Indeed not," Archie huffed. "I have no need for such things, as I have a saw blade and a flamethrower plus a multitude of other built in tools. General Atomics thought of everything."

"Oh, okay. That General sounds like a pretty smart guy! But what do I bring to Rook?"

"If it's just a weapon you want, I'm sure there's a spare baseball bat with the recreational items. I'll fetch it for you."

Celeste found herself poking around behind the desk while she waited for Archie to rummage around in the basement. Her eyes were drawn to the guest log where a new entry had been written. Archie reappeared with a baseball bat.

"Here you are, Manager! Just be sure not to injure yourself, now."

"Archie! We have a new guest?!" Celeste squealed, pointing at the log.

"Indeed! She even addressed me as though I were human. Most flattering."

Celeste took the baseball bat and nearly dropped it, not at all prepared for its weight. "Well, that's silly," she giggled. "You're obviously just a machine, not a person -- even if the General was so smart to build you the way they did."

Archie's tone turned to annoyed. "Shouldn't you be going?"

"Right! Yes! I need to go to the clinic. Can you take care of the inn for just a little longer?"

"Of course, of course. The entire town will be here in a couple hours, I'll just keep busy making sure the dining hall can accommodate them."

Celeste merely nodded, barely hearing Archie's reply, as she left the inn once more The baseball bat was manageable with both hands, but she didn't care to try to run while carrying it. She approached the clinic and couldn't help but notice the blood trails and stains leading up to, and all over, the front door step. "Someone should really clean that up!" she chirped to herself.

She walked up the steps, the bat bumping along at her feet, and walked through the doors of the clinic. Celeste looked around to see Brandy laying unconscious further in, Ace nearby, and the back of Frieda, who was leaning over another patient. "Hey! Is the doc here?" Celeste called in, but no one seemed to hear or see her.

Frieda opened and closed her hands before standing up straight and addressing Ace. "Grab me some more blankets," she pointed across the room. "At least I can get him dry, and warm."

Celeste took a short breath, stepping into the clinic and towards Frieda. "Hi, Frieda! Is the doc around?"

"Does it look like it?" Frieda huffed in response, annoyed. She leaned down and began unfastening the patient's clothing. Celeste followed her gaze and dropped the baseball bat as she gasped. It clattered loudly to the floor.

"Adam! Oh, my god, ADAM!!" She lunged over his body, touching his face, hair, and clothing. Celeste rounded on Frieda and grabbed the taller woman's sleeve. "What happened?! What is he doing here?"

Frieda flicked Celeste's grip off her sleeve and firmly pushed her away. "He just got here, and I don't know, but obviously he's hurt and needs help. His clothing is soaked so we need to get him dry and warm while we wait for the doctor to return. If you're just going to freak out, then you need to take off, you understand?"

"I'm not going anywhere," Celeste growled, wiping tears from her eyes. "Why isn't the doctor here?"

"Why aren't you at the inn?"

Celeste ignored Frieda's rudeness, and began wringing her hands. "Is he gonna be okay?"

"We're working on it." Frieda continued unfastening Adam's clothing. Celeste looked away, blushing slightly, out of respect.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER - the weapon shop -- late? afternoon

Waylon laughed, "Guess we shall see about that,” he turned and pulled open his small cooler and pulled out two purified water, “Would you like one?” He held one bottle out.

Frieda reflexively recoiled, though she tried to catch herself. She didn't want to offend Waylon, let alone have to have an awkward conversation just then.

"You'll have to tell him, eventually," Brian's voice in her mind, again.

When are you gonna move out? she scowl-thought at him. "Uh...cheers," she replied to Waylon, taking the water bottle. She cracked it and gave a small sip. Some habits would take a while to die. "Is Shelby okay, though? Do you think we should go looking for her?"

Waylon swallowed his drink and shook his head, “No, as much as I would like to she...it would probably just piss her off even more. She needs to do what she needs to do you know?” He twisted the cap back on his water bottle, “I noticed you looking at the wall. Shelby makes those blades in the back garage, she has a forge set up. It's really an art form, I tried and failed miserably.” He laughed and took another toke on his cigarette. “She could make you one if you'd like? Guarantee there wouldn't be another like it anywhere.”

"Huh!" Frieda huffed, truly impressed. "That's pretty damn amazing. Sadly, though, it'd just be an ornamental piece. I'm way better at wielding things that go 'pew pew.'" Plus, not like I have a place to hang it, anyways.

Snuffing out his cigarette in the ashtray, “Do you need a hand with anything over at the clinic? Try to get it so you can get a nap, it's been non-stop today.”

"Um, nah," Frieda replied, tapping out her own stub of a cigarette. "Apparently there's a new nurse in town. A...super mutant...like Rook. Only this one used to, ugh," she closed her eyes and swallowed a wave of nausea. "Used to be Brotherhood. Apparently," she finished quickly. "But, you're right, I'm supposed to be the clinic guard and not Gorge, so I should get my ass back there. That back door remains a hell of a mess, thanks to a deathclaw, and a definite security risk." She clapped her hands on the top of her thighs, smiled, and stood up from her chair to approach the door.

"I'll see you --"

Her comment was interrupted by a sudden knocking at the door, causing her to jump. She looked over at Waylon, who shrugged. Frieda opened the door.

"Hey Shelby -- err -- oh. It's you," Barney corrected himself.

"Something wrong?" Frieda cut straight to the chase, her hand lowering to her weapon on her belt in response.

"Not this time. Just makin' the rounds lettin' everyone know we're having a town meeting at the inn, two hours from now. See ya!" With that Barney offered a wave and left.

"The inn? Why would we meet there?" Frieda mused out loud. "I hope it has a bar. Dealing with these surfaaaah-I mean, townsfolk, can be frustrating, don't you think?"

Get out, get out now, don't make it worse for yourself.

Frieda cleared her throat. "Okay, I'll be at the clinic, hauling rubble around. Literally."

That's hot. Not.

She paused in the street to take a few deep, calming breaths. Frieda knew she'd have to tell him of her origins, eventually. Sooner rather than later was probably better. Give him a chance to decide what he was getting into. ...or, if he wanted to get into it, at all.

Frieda sighed. Before she realized it, she had wandered back to the front of the clinic, just in time to see a roughed up individual stumble up the steps, through the door, and collapse heavily to the floor. She looked up and into the clinic and was met by Ace's gaze. Steve was absent, Brandy unconscious, and Gorge, well, AWOL.

I suppose I could have come back to worse. She glanced over to Steve's abandoned cot and figured that was as good a place as any. Frieda squat over the man's body and hauled with all her strength, nearly dropping him when she realized he was soaking wet. "Jesus!" she cursed, adjusting her grip and pulling the man up once more. She half-dragged him to the open cot, pushing and pulling and rolling him onto it. She leaned her ear over his mouth and held it there for a few moments to confirm that he was breathing.

"Do you know where the doc went?" Frieda muttered aloud, not expecting anyone to answer her. Movement in the diner windows caught her eyes. She remembered the last time she went in there looking for someone and what a waste of time it had been.

She could default to what she usually did to try and find the doc, and that was to run around calling his name until he showed up. Did she really want to do that through town, though? The very thought exhausted her.

She exhaled slowly. "Fuck." Frieda stood over the latest patient and crossed her arms, looking him over from head to toe. He seemed familiar but she couldn't pinpoint it. You have basic first aid training. He's not missing any limbs or anything.
Give the doc a leg up, for once. She opened and closed her hands as she tried to think of what to do, first. His skin was red and he looked like he sustained some burns, but that didn't make sense with the soaking wet clothing. She looked up at Ace and pointed across the room. "Grab me some more blankets. I can at least get him dry and warm."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Still alive. Work and life have been nuts for a few weeks and it's not gonna slow down, gah. I will get some update on Frieda soon. Celeste is still waiting on Rook...;)

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

@Kouropalates would be glad to have you back! Celeste will also be happy to see Adam hasn't ditched town (and her) ;)

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER - the weapon's shop! -- mid-afternoon

Waylon smiled, “Sure, c’mon in,” he held open the door for her as she stepped inside. He closed and locked it, flipping the sign to closed, “Hell, with all that's happened I doubt I'll have many, if any customers today anyways. Lemme see if I still have some in my desk drawer.”

"Thanks," she breathed in response. Frieda found herself gawking around the shop. There was a vast array of firearms and other sharp objects mounted to the walls, a selection she had never seen in her life. The Enclave had a stockpile, to be certain, but the majority of the weapons were energy based, or explosives. She'd found herself in wasteland gun shops before, but nothing like this. Those other shops were selling hack jobs on junk in comparison to what Waylon, and presumably Shelby, were doing.

Waylon pulled a chair over, “You've had one hell of a day too, have a seat.”

"Huh? Oh, uh, thanks," she repeated, lowering herself into the chair, pulling her attention back to the handsome man behind the desk. How hadn't she noticed how good looking he was, before? Frieda leaned over just slightly to admire his backside. "Well, what can I say...a day in the life, is it not?"

Is that how surface dwellers talk? Do you even hear yourself? You sound like an idiot.

Waylon straightened, producing a handful of cigarette packs, picked one and tore open the cellophane handing Frieda the whole pack, “Here ya go, that way you'll have some for later,” he winked.

Frieda fumbled the pack, not at all expecting that level of generosity. First Brandy, now Waylon..."Thank you," she said for the third time. "I mean -- really -- thanks. I need to start getting Barney to pay me for this town guard gig so I can start trading for my smokes, like a regular...settler." She caught herself before saying something derogatory. "I'll owe ya something for this." She popped up one of the pretty little tubes and felt her mouth begin to water at the sight of it. In her mind, her brother frowned and shook his head. She pushed the image away.

He pulled out a second pack and opened it up, then he held out an antique Zippo and lit Frieda’s cigarette before lighting his and sitting down. “So how's Brandy doing? She didn't look to good at all.”

"The doc does good work. He's got her comfortable and patched up. She seems all shaken up, keeps mumbling 'they're real.' I guess she's talking about the deathclaws?" Frieda shrugged. "I thought they were common to these...ah, to the wasteland. The whole wasteland."

Idiot, idiot, idiot.

He sighed, “This has kicked Shelby into a hot mess, she's off and about. I hope she keeps her head on straight.” He caught himself and changed the subject, “I'm sorry about that. So, what do you feel like for dinner tonight? I'll cook it up, or at least try.” He laughed a little, “I just want this day to turn into evening and get to dinner."

"Mm," Frieda began carefully, tapping off some ashes, "seems like deathclaws make everyone get a little squirrelly. As for dinner, I'm...not picky," she lied. Or was she really lying? It's not like the various cuisines of the wasteland was a topic that she knew anything about. "Brandy cooked up some fried chicken last night that was really good. But," she smiled, trying to lighten herself up some, "I can't cook for shit, so I doubt you could really do much worse."

That part wasn't a lie. The last time they ever put her on kitchen duty was when she was sixteen. The fire called for an evac of several dozen personnel and a sector quarantine for weeks as crews cleaned up the mess.

She started to feel calmer as she worked on her cigarette. It was quiet, but comfortable in the little weapon's shop. "Is Shelby okay, though? Do you think we should go looking for her?"

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK - night time -- crash site to Far Harbor

"Avery", Steve said slowly, "That explains it....I'm so sorry, Corrine." He squeezed Corrine's hand gently.

Corrine nodded and sniffed, again. "Thanks. Seein' her reject comin' home was heartbreakin', but this...this is worse. Now she'll never return to us," she replied miserably. Steve began to shift his weight and seemed to want to stand up. Corrine wrapped her arm around him to brace and assist, slowly bringing him up to his feet. She left her arm around him, as he slowly surveyed the aftermath of the struggle. Castner and the other James seemed to poke around the wreckage and talk shop about equipment...or weapons...or weaponized equipment...hell if she knew what most of it meant.

There's something to be admired in the simplicity of a pike...

"Corrine, if we're taking her back to bury her...", Steve said, nodding at Avery and breaking her train of thought, "We oughta take the critter, too and bury them together....it's what both of them would have wanted."

Corrine looked over to Avery's body and watched as Longfellow knelt over her, muttering something. Her gaze shifted to the body of the tiny gulper that lay dead next to her. "Uhh. Well, right. Okay." She'd ask him what he meant by 'what both of them would have wanted,' later. Besides, she'd heard of weirder...

Longfellow directed the townsfolk and soon enough they'd packed up the bodies and salvage they wanted to bring back to town. Corrine said very little as she stayed very close to Steve, almost trudging her way back down towards town. The length of the day was starting to weigh heavily on her shoulders and she began to dream of her bed. What if she went to sleep and when she woke up, all of this had been some weird dream?

She led Steve through the gates of The Hull, directly through the square and into the clinic. Corrine gently pushed him down onto a cot and swept some hair off his forehead. "You can rest, now, okay? The doc is gonna check you over and fix you up, an' I'm gonna stay right --"

"Something's coming!" cried one of the Hull watchmen.

"..o'course it is," Corrine muttered. She looked over at Steve and gave him a pained look. "Better go see what the ruckus is." She stood up, picked up her modified spear, and stepped out to march back towards the Hull once more. She climbed the stairs and elbowed her way between a couple other harborfolk and rubbed her eyes, tiredly.

Looking out towards the ruins, a single light bobbed and weaved through the old town and towards The Hull. As the light grew closer, it became clear that it was coming from a lantern. The lantern, unsurprisingly, was held by someone. A cultist wearing some type of painted white armor and cloak stepped out into a clearing in the fog. The face of the figure was covered, not by the usual masks, but by a helmet.

At least, it looked like a helmet. It was dark, it was getting late, and damn was Corrine starting to feel exhausted.

The figure spoke with a voice that was filled with both conviction and authority. "Hold your fire," the armored cultist asked, a male voice audible through the helmet, "I'm not here to fight. I'm here to retrieve the bodies of our fallen brothers and sisters. The one you know as 'Avery', we know by another name. She is not the friend you once knew, I'm sorry to say. Captain Avery was dead long before today. The woman you killed...should be with her family, not with you. Do us this kindness...and we will return the favor in kind."

The hairs on the back of Corrine's neck stood up as it was slowly evident that several pairs of eyes had turned towards her. She glanced side to side and saw that indeed, the harborfolk seemed to have each looked to her, expecting her to respond. She swallowed on a dry throat. "What," she began, though it came out as a combination of a croak and a squeak. Corrine cleared her throat and tried, again. "Avery was one of ours, born 'n' raised on the Island, no matter what she...what she chose later," she called down. "She may have spent 'er last days...elsewhere, but her family, her real family, are the folks who stand with me here and behind this wall."

She started to shake. Corrine's emotions were beginning to catch up to her, as well as her fatigue. "Her roots," she began, her voice breaking, "her roots are here, with us. I'm sorry fer your loss, but our loss is deeper. Simple as that."

Corrine paused, to realize people were still staring at her. "Ah...oh, I guess I mean...no. Ya can't have Avery." She looked around to the stony faces of the other harborfolk, and suddenly felt irritated. "Well, ain't I right?!"