Archie's deathclaw is NOT dead and hopefully there's still enough action for everyone, I just wanted to play :P
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ARCHIE - Sandy Coves Inn -- late morning
Archie hummed some tune from the old world as he re-sorted the miscellaneous junk behind the counter. Too valuable to throw away, but too inane to barter for anything. There were some pencils of various condition, a notepad, some paperclips, half a box of staples, the caps float, and then, of course, the room keys. It had been several minutes since Manager Celeste had left. He had already made her bed and tidied her affairs. He had drifted past Ms Sara's room, too, but while her door was slightly ajar, something in his programming had filed her situation as "politely avoid" and he didn't dare ask if he could enter.
"I suppose I should re-organize the kitchen," he said to himself as he came back into the lobby. As he passed the large double doors to the outside, the distinct sounds of a gunfight could be heard. The robot paused, several protocols running through his circuits as the programming rant statistical analysis on several courses of action. By the time it had concluded, the gunshots had ceased -- but was replaced by shrieking.
"That sounded like Miss Brandy!" the robot exclaimed. The algorithms all agreed on protecting the premises as priority. The screaming of "DEATHCLAW, RUN!!" sounded too close for his robotic comfort.
Archie rose his saw-arm and his flame-thrower arm. "Ms Sara," he directed up the stairs, "I must exit the inn to investigate the threat outside. I shall return in a jiffy." With that, he spun his saw arm and left the in, just in time for his ocular sensors to observe the tip of a larger deathclaw's tail disappear past the edge of the inn towards town, and five young deathclaws quick in pursuit.
Brandy shrieked again.
"Duty calls!" Archie propelled himself towards the deathclaws. The trailing one noticed him and broke from the line, screeching from the road and changing its trajectory. Archie responded by sparking up his flamethrower. The deathclaw slid to a scared stop, the heat and light causing it some confusion. The robot approached closer, aiming the flames towards the young deathclaw's knees, wo responded with an outraged and pained cry. The sound and sight of searing skin filled Archie's sensors. He kept up the fire until his internal mechanisms shut it off for his own safety. The deathclaw made to instinctually leap towards the threat, but its knees both gave out and it stumbled, instead. Archie swooped in, saw blade buzzing, and swept to disconnect the deathclaw's right calf from the knee, but the deathclaw reached out and had its hand sawed off, instead.
"Oh, my! That was not what I meant to do." The robot tilted and finally cut the deathclaw's leg in two. It roared and fell to the ground. "There we are, chum! I dare say you'll have a bit of a difficult time pursuing Manager Celeste's inn, hmm? Now, then..."
Archie returned to the entrance and awaited any more potential threats.
Archie hummed some tune from the old world as he re-sorted the miscellaneous junk behind the counter. Too valuable to throw away, but too inane to barter for anything. There were some pencils of various condition, a notepad, some paperclips, half a box of staples, the caps float, and then, of course, the room keys. It had been several minutes since Manager Celeste had left. He had already made her bed and tidied her affairs. He had drifted past Ms Sara's room, too, but while her door was slightly ajar, something in his programming had filed her situation as "politely avoid" and he didn't dare ask if he could enter.
"I suppose I should re-organize the kitchen," he said to himself as he came back into the lobby. As he passed the large double doors to the outside, the distinct sounds of a gunfight could be heard. The robot paused, several protocols running through his circuits as the programming rant statistical analysis on several courses of action. By the time it had concluded, the gunshots had ceased -- but was replaced by shrieking.
"That sounded like Miss Brandy!" the robot exclaimed. The algorithms all agreed on protecting the premises as priority. The screaming of "DEATHCLAW, RUN!!" sounded too close for his robotic comfort.
Archie rose his saw-arm and his flame-thrower arm. "Ms Sara," he directed up the stairs, "I must exit the inn to investigate the threat outside. I shall return in a jiffy." With that, he spun his saw arm and left the in, just in time for his ocular sensors to observe the tip of a larger deathclaw's tail disappear past the edge of the inn towards town, and five young deathclaws quick in pursuit.
Brandy shrieked again.
"Duty calls!" Archie propelled himself towards the deathclaws. The trailing one noticed him and broke from the line, screeching from the road and changing its trajectory. Archie responded by sparking up his flamethrower. The deathclaw slid to a scared stop, the heat and light causing it some confusion. The robot approached closer, aiming the flames towards the young deathclaw's knees, wo responded with an outraged and pained cry. The sound and sight of searing skin filled Archie's sensors. He kept up the fire until his internal mechanisms shut it off for his own safety. The deathclaw made to instinctually leap towards the threat, but its knees both gave out and it stumbled, instead. Archie swooped in, saw blade buzzing, and swept to disconnect the deathclaw's right calf from the knee, but the deathclaw reached out and had its hand sawed off, instead.
"Oh, my! That was not what I meant to do." The robot tilted and finally cut the deathclaw's leg in two. It roared and fell to the ground. "There we are, chum! I dare say you'll have a bit of a difficult time pursuing Manager Celeste's inn, hmm? Now, then..."
Archie returned to the entrance and awaited any more potential threats.
CORRINE DOOLAK - battlefield
"CORRINE, GET DOWN! FLATTEN YOURSELF!"
"DO YOU HAVE A DEATHWISH? GET THE FUCK DOWN, NOW!"
Both James' were screaming at her. Reflexively, she looked up and around, instead, wondering what the immediate danger could have been. The cultists were aiming at the shooters, almost deliberately avoiding her. She wiped snot and tears off her face with her sleeve and looked back down at the ruined Avery. Seeing the mess that had been her friend caused another wave of sadness to rise up within her, and she started crying all over again.
The shouting and gunfire continued around her, but the world was lost to Corrine and her grief. She buried her face in Avery's robes, completely consumed by her grief, sadness, anger, and confusion.
It was quiet for a few moments. A gentle hand on her back broke her from her fit long enough for her to hear the gruff, familiar voice. "She's gone Corrine....best leave er' be. We'll give her a proper Harbor funeral. Whatever she became...she at least she still deserves that. Come on now lass....lets get you up..."
Corrine straightened slightly, her face wet and blotchy from her weeping. She accepted Longfellow's hand and stood, her cold, arthritic joints screaming at her from within her body. "She should'a come home. I should'a tried harder ta make her stay, earlier today," she gargled.
Rose had appeared and was frantically jumping from body to body, crying out as she did so. Suddenly, it was her turn to crumple into a wreck of sobs. "Th-they're synths!"
Corrine sniffed and wiped another stream of mucus from her nose. "Synths? From Acadia? An' like --" Her eyes widened and she turned around on the spot, taking a quick role call in her mind. "Steve. Where's Steve?" She looked at the townsfolk who gave her blank stares. "The mainlander I was with, in the blue coat!"
"Oh! The young fella," called one of the folks from behind a particularly large rock. "He's over here. He's down, but still breathin'."
Corrine stepped towards the islander and knelt next to Steve. "Shit," she breathed. "He needs bandages. Bring me my bag!" she barked, pointing at her discarded duffle lying at the edge of the clearing. One of the townsfolk next to it jumped and did as bid. Corrine tore through her belongings and found nothing but a couple of rags. She pressed one onto the worst of Steve's wounds. "I can't have ya die, too. Please."
"CORRINE, GET DOWN! FLATTEN YOURSELF!"
"DO YOU HAVE A DEATHWISH? GET THE FUCK DOWN, NOW!"
Both James' were screaming at her. Reflexively, she looked up and around, instead, wondering what the immediate danger could have been. The cultists were aiming at the shooters, almost deliberately avoiding her. She wiped snot and tears off her face with her sleeve and looked back down at the ruined Avery. Seeing the mess that had been her friend caused another wave of sadness to rise up within her, and she started crying all over again.
The shouting and gunfire continued around her, but the world was lost to Corrine and her grief. She buried her face in Avery's robes, completely consumed by her grief, sadness, anger, and confusion.
It was quiet for a few moments. A gentle hand on her back broke her from her fit long enough for her to hear the gruff, familiar voice. "She's gone Corrine....best leave er' be. We'll give her a proper Harbor funeral. Whatever she became...she at least she still deserves that. Come on now lass....lets get you up..."
Corrine straightened slightly, her face wet and blotchy from her weeping. She accepted Longfellow's hand and stood, her cold, arthritic joints screaming at her from within her body. "She should'a come home. I should'a tried harder ta make her stay, earlier today," she gargled.
Rose had appeared and was frantically jumping from body to body, crying out as she did so. Suddenly, it was her turn to crumple into a wreck of sobs. "Th-they're synths!"
Corrine sniffed and wiped another stream of mucus from her nose. "Synths? From Acadia? An' like --" Her eyes widened and she turned around on the spot, taking a quick role call in her mind. "Steve. Where's Steve?" She looked at the townsfolk who gave her blank stares. "The mainlander I was with, in the blue coat!"
"Oh! The young fella," called one of the folks from behind a particularly large rock. "He's over here. He's down, but still breathin'."
Corrine stepped towards the islander and knelt next to Steve. "Shit," she breathed. "He needs bandages. Bring me my bag!" she barked, pointing at her discarded duffle lying at the edge of the clearing. One of the townsfolk next to it jumped and did as bid. Corrine tore through her belongings and found nothing but a couple of rags. She pressed one onto the worst of Steve's wounds. "I can't have ya die, too. Please."
FRIEDA RICHTER -- Salem Clinic - mid-morning
The sun appeared to become brighter and brighter as time went on. She saw a piece of dead grass off in the distance break from its root and fly into the breeze. The breeze seemed to coo between the nearby buildings in rhythmic intervals.
Frieda reached up and rubbed her eyes vigorously, trying to shake herself of the fixation on small details she couldn't stop noticing. She didn't feel tired, that was certain -- and she certainly didn't feel like her body was humming artificially, like it would on the boosters in the Enclave. It was a different kind of alertness, much more comfortable, even if a little...disorienting. She wondered how she'd put up with the body buzz all those years.
Occasional use only, Richter. The doc gave you one as a favour so you could do your damn job...so, do it!
She reached into her back pocket for her smokes and pulled out her last one. "Son of a bitch," she grumbled. She rolled it between her fingers, considering just saving it until she desperately needed it, when movement in her peripheral vision caused her to look up and down the street. Approaching the clinic, dragging a body, was Ace.
Frieda swallowed and stuffed the cigarette into her pocket. No, it wasn't a body, but a ghoul, and it was in horrific condition. She paled completely, hoping beyond hope she wouldn't have to touch it, herself. She tilted her head back, so as not to lose sight of their approach. "Doc?" she called into the clinic. "You should come down here." Frieda paused. "Uh, bring some extra gloves."
"This way," Frieda directed Ace, keeping a very polite distance away from him. She swallowed her sudden nausea. "There's an empty cot over there," she pointed. Her eyes snapped to the trail of blood, imagining that that couldn't be a good sign. Mind you, she didn't really know anything about ghoul anatomy or physiology, other than how to shoot them dead.
She bit her tongue to remind herself of her place. Frieda cleared her throat and turned to Ace. "Situation under control, out there? What happened?"
The sun appeared to become brighter and brighter as time went on. She saw a piece of dead grass off in the distance break from its root and fly into the breeze. The breeze seemed to coo between the nearby buildings in rhythmic intervals.
Frieda reached up and rubbed her eyes vigorously, trying to shake herself of the fixation on small details she couldn't stop noticing. She didn't feel tired, that was certain -- and she certainly didn't feel like her body was humming artificially, like it would on the boosters in the Enclave. It was a different kind of alertness, much more comfortable, even if a little...disorienting. She wondered how she'd put up with the body buzz all those years.
Occasional use only, Richter. The doc gave you one as a favour so you could do your damn job...so, do it!
She reached into her back pocket for her smokes and pulled out her last one. "Son of a bitch," she grumbled. She rolled it between her fingers, considering just saving it until she desperately needed it, when movement in her peripheral vision caused her to look up and down the street. Approaching the clinic, dragging a body, was Ace.
Frieda swallowed and stuffed the cigarette into her pocket. No, it wasn't a body, but a ghoul, and it was in horrific condition. She paled completely, hoping beyond hope she wouldn't have to touch it, herself. She tilted her head back, so as not to lose sight of their approach. "Doc?" she called into the clinic. "You should come down here." Frieda paused. "Uh, bring some extra gloves."
"This way," Frieda directed Ace, keeping a very polite distance away from him. She swallowed her sudden nausea. "There's an empty cot over there," she pointed. Her eyes snapped to the trail of blood, imagining that that couldn't be a good sign. Mind you, she didn't really know anything about ghoul anatomy or physiology, other than how to shoot them dead.
She bit her tongue to remind herself of her place. Frieda cleared her throat and turned to Ace. "Situation under control, out there? What happened?"
CORRINE DOOLAK - the fight
She tried very hard to hide her disappointment in Steve. Corrine hadn't exactly fully expected he'd just immediately take her side, but she'd be lying to herself if she didn't internally admit she'd hoped he'd have supported at least something she'd presented to the group.
How any of them thought it was a good idea to push her into a gunfight was beyond her. And they called her idea of claiming Brotherhood status crazy...
Fucking mainlanders.
She suddenly felt very lonely.
Someone was directing her to take a position. Her stiff and cold joints reminded her of her mortality, somehow, and she merely nodded. Corrine crouched behind a hollowed out log and watched as James drew his weapon to fire on the one leading them, petting the gulper. His aim and shot was true, and in a flash, the woman was struck down, her headdress shattered, revealing a face all too known to Corrine.
"NO!" she shrieked.
Gunshots erupted from their various positions. Corrine tried to swallow her emotions, but they were too great. This wasn't like confronting wildlife or a crazed trapper. Someone she'd known for years, cultivated a friendly, almost familial relationship with before she disappeared, was just killed before her very eyes. She hadn't realized she'd straightened, causing one of the cultists to notice her.
"THIS IS THE UNITED STATES MILITARY, SURRENDER NOW OR BE FIRED UPON."
"Murderers!" cried the cultist, staring at Corrine. He lunged. Instinct took over her, for once, and she stepped into the fray, brandishing her trusty spear. The blades left a nasty gash on the cultist, wounding him. She watched as the gulper dashed behind the lifeless body of Avery.
Corrine swallowed. Everything around her seemed meaningless. If she couldn't save Avery, what was the point of saving the town? It had barely hung on without her leadership. God only knew that Longfellow was drinking himself to death, and almost everyone else was packing up to leave.
Despair overtook her. Another cultist drove themselves towards her, but she dodged the attack, electing instead to kneel next to Avery's body, dropping her spear onto the ground next to her. The gulper leapt into the fray, leaving Corrine alone with the body. She looked down and turned Avery's face towards herself.
It appeared as though there were metallic and plastic components mixed in with the blood and bones of her skull. Corrine blinked back tears and shook her head, quickly assuming the fog was making her see strange things. "God dammit!" she cried, taking two fistfuls of Avery's frock and shaking the body. "God dammit, Avery, why?! WHY?!! What the hell were ya thinkin'? The town -- the island -- needed you! We all needed you!"
Nothing made sense. Months of creeping, worsening fog, plus all the events of the past day, finally caught up to her. Fear, exhaustion, confusion, you name it -- it took hold in Corrine, just then, and she started to cry. She crumpled herself over Avery's body, giving in to heaving sobs, completely oblivious to the rest of the fighting around her.
She tried very hard to hide her disappointment in Steve. Corrine hadn't exactly fully expected he'd just immediately take her side, but she'd be lying to herself if she didn't internally admit she'd hoped he'd have supported at least something she'd presented to the group.
How any of them thought it was a good idea to push her into a gunfight was beyond her. And they called her idea of claiming Brotherhood status crazy...
Fucking mainlanders.
She suddenly felt very lonely.
Someone was directing her to take a position. Her stiff and cold joints reminded her of her mortality, somehow, and she merely nodded. Corrine crouched behind a hollowed out log and watched as James drew his weapon to fire on the one leading them, petting the gulper. His aim and shot was true, and in a flash, the woman was struck down, her headdress shattered, revealing a face all too known to Corrine.
"NO!" she shrieked.
Gunshots erupted from their various positions. Corrine tried to swallow her emotions, but they were too great. This wasn't like confronting wildlife or a crazed trapper. Someone she'd known for years, cultivated a friendly, almost familial relationship with before she disappeared, was just killed before her very eyes. She hadn't realized she'd straightened, causing one of the cultists to notice her.
"THIS IS THE UNITED STATES MILITARY, SURRENDER NOW OR BE FIRED UPON."
"Murderers!" cried the cultist, staring at Corrine. He lunged. Instinct took over her, for once, and she stepped into the fray, brandishing her trusty spear. The blades left a nasty gash on the cultist, wounding him. She watched as the gulper dashed behind the lifeless body of Avery.
Corrine swallowed. Everything around her seemed meaningless. If she couldn't save Avery, what was the point of saving the town? It had barely hung on without her leadership. God only knew that Longfellow was drinking himself to death, and almost everyone else was packing up to leave.
Despair overtook her. Another cultist drove themselves towards her, but she dodged the attack, electing instead to kneel next to Avery's body, dropping her spear onto the ground next to her. The gulper leapt into the fray, leaving Corrine alone with the body. She looked down and turned Avery's face towards herself.
It appeared as though there were metallic and plastic components mixed in with the blood and bones of her skull. Corrine blinked back tears and shook her head, quickly assuming the fog was making her see strange things. "God dammit!" she cried, taking two fistfuls of Avery's frock and shaking the body. "God dammit, Avery, why?! WHY?!! What the hell were ya thinkin'? The town -- the island -- needed you! We all needed you!"
Nothing made sense. Months of creeping, worsening fog, plus all the events of the past day, finally caught up to her. Fear, exhaustion, confusion, you name it -- it took hold in Corrine, just then, and she started to cry. She crumpled herself over Avery's body, giving in to heaving sobs, completely oblivious to the rest of the fighting around her.
CELESTE BROWN - Sandy Coves Inn -- morning
Celeste had nodded off here and there for the next couple of hours. Twice she had to jump out of bed to vomit into her toilet. After the umpteenth time of waking up uncomfortable and in a sweat, she decided to try just staying up for a while. Or at least...at all. She pulled herself upright, waiting for several moments before attempting to turn and get up off the bed.
She rubbed her face with both hands before reaching towards the nightstand featuring her untouched glass of water, and scone. She broke off a small piece and put it into her mouth, chewing carefully, hoping beyond hope her stomach would accept such a paltry offering of food.
Celeste swallowed. She took a tiny sip of water. It seemed to stay down. She tiptoed her way to her bathroom and drew a bath of warm, though copper-coloured water. She washed her skin and hair, continuing to take small bites of the scone here and there, slowly feeling energized by the combination of bathing and eating.
She dressed into a pair of canvas pants and a pink, knit sweater, scrunched her curls in her hands, and stepped back out to the lobby. Archie was sorting...something, behind the counter.
"Manager Celeste! How wonderful it is to see you up and about."
"Any customers?" she asked, sounding bored.
"Ah, indeed not, at least, not yet. You look a little pale, is everything all right?"
"Mostly." Celeste cleared her throat and looked around. "I think I might get some fresh air, maybe see what Adam is up to, today."
"All right," the robot replied. "I shall tend to matters here while you are absent, hm?"
"Thanks," she replied, offering the biggest, most genuine smile she could manage. Celeste stepped out into the bright, but cool morning. She no longer had a headache, thanks to the painkillers, but her body did not seem ready to take on the day. She wandered her way through town to Adam's place, remarking how different the town looked in the full daylight. She drew up to the door and knocked.
"Good morning! It's me, Celeste," she chimed as cheerfully as she could, though she still felt a little rough. Nothing replied but the sound of some flotsam hitting the shore. She knocked again. "Adam! I was just wondering if you would like to have dinner at my place tonight. I mean, I'll have a hard time competing with that wonderful steak from last night, but we could maybe...sit by the water, for a little bit?"
She toed the ground while she waited. Still, no response. Celeste boldly took the doorknob in her hand and attempted to open the door, but it was locked. She took a few steps backwards and looked around, finally noticing that his brahmin wasn't in her pen, either.
"Did he just...leave town?" she wondered aloud. "He wouldn't have done that, not after a night like we had. Would he?" Celeste pulled a piece of lint off her sweater and flicked it to the ground. "He's a trader. Like a treasure hunter. He probably just went out to look for some more wares." Feeling reassured, she started to wander back. The smell of coffee wafted into her nostrils. She saw Steve some ways down the road, looking like he'd left the diner.
Coffee. Despite her condition, she felt compelled to seek some out. Archie hadn't made any, or she would have just had some back at the inn.
Just as she got to the doorway, there was a shriek from inside. Brandy hustled past her, totally unaware of her presence. "What the...?" Celeste entered the diner to see a young woman, her hand on the side of her head, frantically working to pull it off.
"Ah, oh! You're not Ace," Celeste exclaimed, drawing up to the counter of the bar.
The young woman jumped, as though startled, then continued to try and work her hand free from her hair. It seemed to have been glued into it. "What was your first clue?" the woman replied with a snap, returning her attention to her awkward position of her hand stuck in her hair.
"Are you okay?" Celeste pressed on. "Why did you glue your hand to your hair?"
"For heaven's sake -- I didn't glue my hand to my hair, that bitch Brandy pranked me. Came out of nowhere and splat, just right in my hair, and before I could stop myself, I touched it, and..." The woman yanked her hand again, yelping as she painfully pulled some strands out by the roots.
"Okay, okay, take it easy," Celeste cooed, coming around the bar. "Pulling it isn't gonna make it better. You're gonna need some kinda paint thinner or somethin'. I'm sure I have some in the inn basement. Why don't you come with me and we'll fix you right up?"
"I can't leave the diner," the girl replied miserably. "I'm the only one here."
"I thought Ace was the only one here?" Celeste replied.
"He was, until yesterday. I'm Betty."
"Nice to meet you, Be--"
"Are you gonna help me or not?"
"Ah -- oh -- right. Of course."
"Actually, there's some tools in the basement, down that cellar door," Betty pointed with her free hand. "Maybe you'll find something down there, and I won't have to wait so long for you and your short legs to get back here."
"Are you sure that's okay?" Celeste asked, glancing at the faded, but recently polished metal sign that said EMPLOYEES ONLY.
"Ugh," Betty groaned. "Didn't I just say, I'm the only one here? That makes me the boss. Go check it out, already."
"Sure thing," Celeste answered, lifting the door to the basement and making her way down. She found a closet lined with shelves and several dusty pieces of hardware. She tapped her chin, reading the labels slowly, finally deciding on an aluminum canister labelled 'TERRIFIC TURPENTINE!' "This should help!" she exclaimed with glee, snatching it off the shelf and barrelling back up into the diner proper.
"Lean over the sink over there and I'll pour some of this in," Celeste instructed.
"You gonna be able to reach, short stuff?"
"Oh, I'll be fine. I'll just use a chair," Celeste replied, completely nonplussed. Betty leaned over the sink, nearly quivering in her anxiety. Celeste slowly poured a stream of the turpentine into the matted mess of glue and hair, but most of it trickled down Betty's hand, wrist, and arm, into the sink.
"It's not working," Betty growled in a huff.
"Need some way to soak it," Celeste agreed. She looked around and saw a dishrag lying on the counter. "Aha!" She grabbed the cloth and soaked it with the turpentine, then placed it onto the glue.
"Is this done yet? I'm starting to get really cramped, and my hand is already numb."
"I don't know how long it will take," Celeste answered, kneeling on the stool and holding the rag onto Betty's hair. "Sorry it smells so bad. I've got soap and hot water at the inn, you could take a bath after, if you wanted. Ace can take over, couldn't he?"
Betty grumbled some response that Celeste couldn't understand. Suddenly, she began to exclaim. "It...it's working! It's really working! I can wiggle my fingers!"
"Good!" Celeste cooed, clapping her hands together. "I'm Celeste, by the way. Do...you mind if I just grab a cup of coffee?"
"Do whatever you want," Betty replied, too preoccupied by being able to loosen her fingers from her own hair.
Celeste poured herself a mug of coffee and sat at the counter, watching Betty free herself. "So! How's your morning been, otherwise?"
Celeste had nodded off here and there for the next couple of hours. Twice she had to jump out of bed to vomit into her toilet. After the umpteenth time of waking up uncomfortable and in a sweat, she decided to try just staying up for a while. Or at least...at all. She pulled herself upright, waiting for several moments before attempting to turn and get up off the bed.
She rubbed her face with both hands before reaching towards the nightstand featuring her untouched glass of water, and scone. She broke off a small piece and put it into her mouth, chewing carefully, hoping beyond hope her stomach would accept such a paltry offering of food.
Celeste swallowed. She took a tiny sip of water. It seemed to stay down. She tiptoed her way to her bathroom and drew a bath of warm, though copper-coloured water. She washed her skin and hair, continuing to take small bites of the scone here and there, slowly feeling energized by the combination of bathing and eating.
She dressed into a pair of canvas pants and a pink, knit sweater, scrunched her curls in her hands, and stepped back out to the lobby. Archie was sorting...something, behind the counter.
"Manager Celeste! How wonderful it is to see you up and about."
"Any customers?" she asked, sounding bored.
"Ah, indeed not, at least, not yet. You look a little pale, is everything all right?"
"Mostly." Celeste cleared her throat and looked around. "I think I might get some fresh air, maybe see what Adam is up to, today."
"All right," the robot replied. "I shall tend to matters here while you are absent, hm?"
"Thanks," she replied, offering the biggest, most genuine smile she could manage. Celeste stepped out into the bright, but cool morning. She no longer had a headache, thanks to the painkillers, but her body did not seem ready to take on the day. She wandered her way through town to Adam's place, remarking how different the town looked in the full daylight. She drew up to the door and knocked.
"Good morning! It's me, Celeste," she chimed as cheerfully as she could, though she still felt a little rough. Nothing replied but the sound of some flotsam hitting the shore. She knocked again. "Adam! I was just wondering if you would like to have dinner at my place tonight. I mean, I'll have a hard time competing with that wonderful steak from last night, but we could maybe...sit by the water, for a little bit?"
She toed the ground while she waited. Still, no response. Celeste boldly took the doorknob in her hand and attempted to open the door, but it was locked. She took a few steps backwards and looked around, finally noticing that his brahmin wasn't in her pen, either.
"Did he just...leave town?" she wondered aloud. "He wouldn't have done that, not after a night like we had. Would he?" Celeste pulled a piece of lint off her sweater and flicked it to the ground. "He's a trader. Like a treasure hunter. He probably just went out to look for some more wares." Feeling reassured, she started to wander back. The smell of coffee wafted into her nostrils. She saw Steve some ways down the road, looking like he'd left the diner.
Coffee. Despite her condition, she felt compelled to seek some out. Archie hadn't made any, or she would have just had some back at the inn.
Just as she got to the doorway, there was a shriek from inside. Brandy hustled past her, totally unaware of her presence. "What the...?" Celeste entered the diner to see a young woman, her hand on the side of her head, frantically working to pull it off.
"Ah, oh! You're not Ace," Celeste exclaimed, drawing up to the counter of the bar.
The young woman jumped, as though startled, then continued to try and work her hand free from her hair. It seemed to have been glued into it. "What was your first clue?" the woman replied with a snap, returning her attention to her awkward position of her hand stuck in her hair.
"Are you okay?" Celeste pressed on. "Why did you glue your hand to your hair?"
"For heaven's sake -- I didn't glue my hand to my hair, that bitch Brandy pranked me. Came out of nowhere and splat, just right in my hair, and before I could stop myself, I touched it, and..." The woman yanked her hand again, yelping as she painfully pulled some strands out by the roots.
"Okay, okay, take it easy," Celeste cooed, coming around the bar. "Pulling it isn't gonna make it better. You're gonna need some kinda paint thinner or somethin'. I'm sure I have some in the inn basement. Why don't you come with me and we'll fix you right up?"
"I can't leave the diner," the girl replied miserably. "I'm the only one here."
"I thought Ace was the only one here?" Celeste replied.
"He was, until yesterday. I'm Betty."
"Nice to meet you, Be--"
"Are you gonna help me or not?"
"Ah -- oh -- right. Of course."
"Actually, there's some tools in the basement, down that cellar door," Betty pointed with her free hand. "Maybe you'll find something down there, and I won't have to wait so long for you and your short legs to get back here."
"Are you sure that's okay?" Celeste asked, glancing at the faded, but recently polished metal sign that said EMPLOYEES ONLY.
"Ugh," Betty groaned. "Didn't I just say, I'm the only one here? That makes me the boss. Go check it out, already."
"Sure thing," Celeste answered, lifting the door to the basement and making her way down. She found a closet lined with shelves and several dusty pieces of hardware. She tapped her chin, reading the labels slowly, finally deciding on an aluminum canister labelled 'TERRIFIC TURPENTINE!' "This should help!" she exclaimed with glee, snatching it off the shelf and barrelling back up into the diner proper.
"Lean over the sink over there and I'll pour some of this in," Celeste instructed.
"You gonna be able to reach, short stuff?"
"Oh, I'll be fine. I'll just use a chair," Celeste replied, completely nonplussed. Betty leaned over the sink, nearly quivering in her anxiety. Celeste slowly poured a stream of the turpentine into the matted mess of glue and hair, but most of it trickled down Betty's hand, wrist, and arm, into the sink.
"It's not working," Betty growled in a huff.
"Need some way to soak it," Celeste agreed. She looked around and saw a dishrag lying on the counter. "Aha!" She grabbed the cloth and soaked it with the turpentine, then placed it onto the glue.
"Is this done yet? I'm starting to get really cramped, and my hand is already numb."
"I don't know how long it will take," Celeste answered, kneeling on the stool and holding the rag onto Betty's hair. "Sorry it smells so bad. I've got soap and hot water at the inn, you could take a bath after, if you wanted. Ace can take over, couldn't he?"
Betty grumbled some response that Celeste couldn't understand. Suddenly, she began to exclaim. "It...it's working! It's really working! I can wiggle my fingers!"
"Good!" Celeste cooed, clapping her hands together. "I'm Celeste, by the way. Do...you mind if I just grab a cup of coffee?"
"Do whatever you want," Betty replied, too preoccupied by being able to loosen her fingers from her own hair.
Celeste poured herself a mug of coffee and sat at the counter, watching Betty free herself. "So! How's your morning been, otherwise?"
FRIEDA RICHTER - Clinic -- mid-morning
Arthur had paused for a few moments and looked back up at Frieda, "I don't suppose its possible Brandy is ex-Enclave is it? Barring that I suppose we can only speculate. You mention she was keeping baby chickens as well...did they look odd in any way?"
"That was one of my thoughts, too!" Frieda slammed her fist into her other palm. "It's not like we -- they just leave stuff like that lying around. At least, not usually..." She relaxed, slightly. "I considered that Brandy was cleverer than I, making up a family that no one has met, but it doesn't add up. She's too...soft."
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "No, not like that, just like...the way she conducts herself. She wasn't raised in a incubator of regimented discipline. Plus, even Waylon admits that she's helpless with guns and such."
She took a deep breath, finally calm enough to think a little more clearly. She glanced around, finally remarking to herself how spotless the little apartment truly was. Not a speck of dust, anywhere. The doc was thorough. "My best guess, now, is that she didn't even realize it's got Enclave marking on it. She either found it, or someone sold it to her. I have no idea if she's actually used it. The chickens were...cute. Normal? Ugh," she groaned, feeling frustrated with so few facts and so much speculation, "maybe it was in her basement the whole time, and she's just left it there." She rubbed her head behind her ear. "I've been impulsive. I'm sorry."
Frieda reached over and closed Arthur's hand over the vial. "I'm going to leave that with you, for now, then I'll sneak it back into the house."
There was something of a shriek from towards the diner. Frieda turned and looked out the window, and saw some kind of hurried movement inside, but nothing distinctive.
"I should try and find out what the deal was with the Brotherhood literally flying into town. I'm going to go find A--"
She cut herself off at the sound of gunshots from the edge of town. Frieda pulled out her pistol from her belt. "Duty calls. I'll keep any undesirables from getting in. I do suggest you take some cover, just in case."
She dashed down the stairs, past Summer, and to the front door. Her eyes scanned around for any signs of movement or hostiles.
Arthur had paused for a few moments and looked back up at Frieda, "I don't suppose its possible Brandy is ex-Enclave is it? Barring that I suppose we can only speculate. You mention she was keeping baby chickens as well...did they look odd in any way?"
"That was one of my thoughts, too!" Frieda slammed her fist into her other palm. "It's not like we -- they just leave stuff like that lying around. At least, not usually..." She relaxed, slightly. "I considered that Brandy was cleverer than I, making up a family that no one has met, but it doesn't add up. She's too...soft."
She tossed her hair over her shoulder. "No, not like that, just like...the way she conducts herself. She wasn't raised in a incubator of regimented discipline. Plus, even Waylon admits that she's helpless with guns and such."
She took a deep breath, finally calm enough to think a little more clearly. She glanced around, finally remarking to herself how spotless the little apartment truly was. Not a speck of dust, anywhere. The doc was thorough. "My best guess, now, is that she didn't even realize it's got Enclave marking on it. She either found it, or someone sold it to her. I have no idea if she's actually used it. The chickens were...cute. Normal? Ugh," she groaned, feeling frustrated with so few facts and so much speculation, "maybe it was in her basement the whole time, and she's just left it there." She rubbed her head behind her ear. "I've been impulsive. I'm sorry."
Frieda reached over and closed Arthur's hand over the vial. "I'm going to leave that with you, for now, then I'll sneak it back into the house."
There was something of a shriek from towards the diner. Frieda turned and looked out the window, and saw some kind of hurried movement inside, but nothing distinctive.
"I should try and find out what the deal was with the Brotherhood literally flying into town. I'm going to go find A--"
She cut herself off at the sound of gunshots from the edge of town. Frieda pulled out her pistol from her belt. "Duty calls. I'll keep any undesirables from getting in. I do suggest you take some cover, just in case."
She dashed down the stairs, past Summer, and to the front door. Her eyes scanned around for any signs of movement or hostiles.
FRIEDA RICHTER - Brandy's house -- morning
"Come on, come on..." she muttered to herself, trying to rifle through the drawers as quietly as possible. She flinched every time something clanked or clattered and hoped it was the effects of the Study Buddy causing her to think the sounds were much louder than they really were.
The last thing she wanted to do was repay Brandy for all of her kindness by waking her up.
Frieda pushed in the drawer she had been searching and sighed, hearing it make a little squeak as she did so. Her search had been unsuccessful. Wasn't Brandy carrying literal cartons of cigarettes? Didn't she say --
Frieda straightened at her realization. Brandy had left the cigarettes at the diner, as barter. "Fuck!" she swore, immediately covering her mouth with both hands. She paused, listening, certain she heard another squeak and some movement.
Frieda blinked. She tip-toed to the kitchen door and leaned towards the stairs, straining her ears, but her ears kept telling her the sounds came from elsewhere, past the kitchen. She slowly crept towards the cellar door then froze. There was definitely some shuffling and squeaking coming from beyond the door.
Rats! Or, mutated rats! Or...roaches? Do roaches squeak? Frieda stared at the bottom of the door, aware of the floor's clean surface but worn and distressed linoleum. She took a breath, reassured her pistol was on her belt, then flung the door open and clattered down the stairs to the floor, below.
Sunlight lit the room brightly, reflecting easily off the unpainted concrete walls, refracting off the dimples and flaws of the ancient cement. Her head whipped back and forth, preparing herself to encounter some kind of mutated nasty that had dug its way into the house, but instead, beginning to cluster at her feet, were fluffy little puff balls, peeping and chirping away.
"Oh god, ohhhhhh god," Frieda moaned, raising her hands, thrown completely off guard by the fact that her intruder was really a bunch of baby chickens. She'd been drafted towards piloting decades ago and never had to even think about 'Cultivation.' She stood on the spot, completely frozen.
The chickens continued to bob and chirp.
Richter! You've single-handedly shot and killed raiders, Yao Guai, and more -- and these little chicks got you petrified? Brandy's chicks?
She looked down at her feet and noticed several were pecking at the ground, almost expectantly.
"Awww, you're just hungry?" she cooed, her tone and attitude fully changed. "I think I ate some of your mom, yesterday. Sorry about that. She was goo-- you know what, never mind." Frieda took large, very tender strides across the room towards a shelf and started looking for the feed. Sure enough, a sack of grain sat open, plain as day. Frieda took a large handful in each hand, turned, and started sprinkling the grain onto the floor. The chicks frenzied, peeping their approval and scattering all over, pecking and eating. Frieda laughed, in spite of herself. The peeping was eventually replaced by the din of tiny beaks pecking along the floor. One of the chicks hopped and flapped towards her, causing Frieda to startle and stumble backwards, knocking her backside into the shelf. It rattled and dislodged a test tube that rolled onto the floor.
"Oh shit!" Instinctually she bent and reached for the tube, though as she did so, one of the chicks flicked to peck the floor and pecked into her hand, instead, drawing blood. Frieda hissed in pain, snatched the tube, and went to replace it when she stopped, cold.
The label on the tube most clearly had the Enclave E-and-stars marking on it, a title "x1614LGO - Accelerated Growth," and other text that had been rubbed off, faded off, or perhaps, deliberately modified to be illegible. Frieda turned the tube in her hand, her eyes wide. What could this mean? How would Brandy have Enclave technology? Her eyes widened further. Perhaps Brandy is an Enclave defector, as well!
That's stupid, she argued within herself. Her whole family history is on display in that front room.
Of course it is. If you had enough smarts, you'd have made up a wasteland family, too, dumbass.
Frieda reached up with her free hand and ran it through her hair. She looked from the tube, to the grain feed, to the little chickens. Was Brandy using it on her chickens? That would mean...
Frieda gagged, thinking about the chicken she had eaten the night before, and that it had somehow been grown using an artificial serum. Years of GMO practices within the Enclave bunkers themselves had no meaning while she imagined that Brandy had fed her some kind of 'frankenfood.' Irradiated, wasteland frankenfood.
She forced herself to take some deep breaths. Frieda looked down at the chicks, reminding herself that mere minutes prior she had thought of them as adorable little puff balls. Reminding herself that they were yet still, adorable little puff balls. That just because she found proprietary Enclave technology in Brandy's basement didn't mean she had been using it.
There was only one person with the scientific mind she trusted enough to take the serum and test it, and that was Arthur. Frieda searched herself only to discover that, of course, between her sweatshirt and her khakis, she didn't exactly have a discreet place to hide it. Besides, if Brandy were to return and find the serum missing...
Frieda put the serum back onto the shelf, cursing herself for somehow not noticing where it had been stored before she knocked it off. She hoped Brandy wasn't the type to think it weird if something wasn't in the same exact spot she'd left it. She took another handful of grain and spread it onto the floor, much to the celebratory peeping of the chickens, below. Frieda crept to the stairs and paused as the sound of a door slamming was cause for alarm. She perched onto the steps, telling herself she would just tell Brandy she heard the peeping and came down to feed the chickens -- because, after all, that part was true -- but she heard nothing more than the sound of someone going up the stairs, some quiet, then the return back down the stairs and out the door.
Frieda took a breath. She clapped both hands on her knees. She got lucky. "Well, my little friends, I gotta go for a bit, but I'll be back." She crossed the room, picked up the serum, then popped out the cellar door and closed it firmly behind her, glanced around the kitchen, and exit the front door and hurried back towards the clinic.
How did she not notice how many cracks and grooves there were in the road, before? So many pebbles, too...
She hesitated at the door, before she entered and approached the doctor. "Uh, hey, Arthur. Something...has come up. I need to show you something. I'll just take a second." Frieda motioned for them to go upstairs. She made her way back to Arthur's small apartment and deliberately turned her back to the window.
"Brandy had this in her possession." She procured the vial from her pocket and held it out to the doctor. "Enclave branding. I don't know what it does, but you're the only person I know who would be able to figure it out." Frieda swallowed, then added. "I kind of...found it by accident, then took it without asking. If...you catch my meaning..."
She cleared her throat. "She's keeping baby chickens in the basement. I was looking for their food when I found, well," Frieda gestured at the vial. "What do you think it is? Why would she have it?"
"Come on, come on..." she muttered to herself, trying to rifle through the drawers as quietly as possible. She flinched every time something clanked or clattered and hoped it was the effects of the Study Buddy causing her to think the sounds were much louder than they really were.
The last thing she wanted to do was repay Brandy for all of her kindness by waking her up.
Frieda pushed in the drawer she had been searching and sighed, hearing it make a little squeak as she did so. Her search had been unsuccessful. Wasn't Brandy carrying literal cartons of cigarettes? Didn't she say --
Frieda straightened at her realization. Brandy had left the cigarettes at the diner, as barter. "Fuck!" she swore, immediately covering her mouth with both hands. She paused, listening, certain she heard another squeak and some movement.
Frieda blinked. She tip-toed to the kitchen door and leaned towards the stairs, straining her ears, but her ears kept telling her the sounds came from elsewhere, past the kitchen. She slowly crept towards the cellar door then froze. There was definitely some shuffling and squeaking coming from beyond the door.
Rats! Or, mutated rats! Or...roaches? Do roaches squeak? Frieda stared at the bottom of the door, aware of the floor's clean surface but worn and distressed linoleum. She took a breath, reassured her pistol was on her belt, then flung the door open and clattered down the stairs to the floor, below.
Sunlight lit the room brightly, reflecting easily off the unpainted concrete walls, refracting off the dimples and flaws of the ancient cement. Her head whipped back and forth, preparing herself to encounter some kind of mutated nasty that had dug its way into the house, but instead, beginning to cluster at her feet, were fluffy little puff balls, peeping and chirping away.
"Oh god, ohhhhhh god," Frieda moaned, raising her hands, thrown completely off guard by the fact that her intruder was really a bunch of baby chickens. She'd been drafted towards piloting decades ago and never had to even think about 'Cultivation.' She stood on the spot, completely frozen.
The chickens continued to bob and chirp.
Richter! You've single-handedly shot and killed raiders, Yao Guai, and more -- and these little chicks got you petrified? Brandy's chicks?
She looked down at her feet and noticed several were pecking at the ground, almost expectantly.
"Awww, you're just hungry?" she cooed, her tone and attitude fully changed. "I think I ate some of your mom, yesterday. Sorry about that. She was goo-- you know what, never mind." Frieda took large, very tender strides across the room towards a shelf and started looking for the feed. Sure enough, a sack of grain sat open, plain as day. Frieda took a large handful in each hand, turned, and started sprinkling the grain onto the floor. The chicks frenzied, peeping their approval and scattering all over, pecking and eating. Frieda laughed, in spite of herself. The peeping was eventually replaced by the din of tiny beaks pecking along the floor. One of the chicks hopped and flapped towards her, causing Frieda to startle and stumble backwards, knocking her backside into the shelf. It rattled and dislodged a test tube that rolled onto the floor.
"Oh shit!" Instinctually she bent and reached for the tube, though as she did so, one of the chicks flicked to peck the floor and pecked into her hand, instead, drawing blood. Frieda hissed in pain, snatched the tube, and went to replace it when she stopped, cold.
The label on the tube most clearly had the Enclave E-and-stars marking on it, a title "x1614LGO - Accelerated Growth," and other text that had been rubbed off, faded off, or perhaps, deliberately modified to be illegible. Frieda turned the tube in her hand, her eyes wide. What could this mean? How would Brandy have Enclave technology? Her eyes widened further. Perhaps Brandy is an Enclave defector, as well!
That's stupid, she argued within herself. Her whole family history is on display in that front room.
Of course it is. If you had enough smarts, you'd have made up a wasteland family, too, dumbass.
Frieda reached up with her free hand and ran it through her hair. She looked from the tube, to the grain feed, to the little chickens. Was Brandy using it on her chickens? That would mean...
Frieda gagged, thinking about the chicken she had eaten the night before, and that it had somehow been grown using an artificial serum. Years of GMO practices within the Enclave bunkers themselves had no meaning while she imagined that Brandy had fed her some kind of 'frankenfood.' Irradiated, wasteland frankenfood.
She forced herself to take some deep breaths. Frieda looked down at the chicks, reminding herself that mere minutes prior she had thought of them as adorable little puff balls. Reminding herself that they were yet still, adorable little puff balls. That just because she found proprietary Enclave technology in Brandy's basement didn't mean she had been using it.
There was only one person with the scientific mind she trusted enough to take the serum and test it, and that was Arthur. Frieda searched herself only to discover that, of course, between her sweatshirt and her khakis, she didn't exactly have a discreet place to hide it. Besides, if Brandy were to return and find the serum missing...
Frieda put the serum back onto the shelf, cursing herself for somehow not noticing where it had been stored before she knocked it off. She hoped Brandy wasn't the type to think it weird if something wasn't in the same exact spot she'd left it. She took another handful of grain and spread it onto the floor, much to the celebratory peeping of the chickens, below. Frieda crept to the stairs and paused as the sound of a door slamming was cause for alarm. She perched onto the steps, telling herself she would just tell Brandy she heard the peeping and came down to feed the chickens -- because, after all, that part was true -- but she heard nothing more than the sound of someone going up the stairs, some quiet, then the return back down the stairs and out the door.
Frieda took a breath. She clapped both hands on her knees. She got lucky. "Well, my little friends, I gotta go for a bit, but I'll be back." She crossed the room, picked up the serum, then popped out the cellar door and closed it firmly behind her, glanced around the kitchen, and exit the front door and hurried back towards the clinic.
How did she not notice how many cracks and grooves there were in the road, before? So many pebbles, too...
She hesitated at the door, before she entered and approached the doctor. "Uh, hey, Arthur. Something...has come up. I need to show you something. I'll just take a second." Frieda motioned for them to go upstairs. She made her way back to Arthur's small apartment and deliberately turned her back to the window.
"Brandy had this in her possession." She procured the vial from her pocket and held it out to the doctor. "Enclave branding. I don't know what it does, but you're the only person I know who would be able to figure it out." Frieda swallowed, then added. "I kind of...found it by accident, then took it without asking. If...you catch my meaning..."
She cleared her throat. "She's keeping baby chickens in the basement. I was looking for their food when I found, well," Frieda gestured at the vial. "What do you think it is? Why would she have it?"
FRIEDA RICHTER - clinic -- early morning
“Hey doc, you here?... I take it you saw vertibird in the sky…” called a voice from below.
He turned back to Frieda, "Ah, that'll be Rick...come on, I'll introduce you properly now that...well...now that the cards are on the table as it were."
Properly? Frieda raised an eyebrow and followed the doctor down the stairs.
"Good morning Rick. Yes, indeed I saw them," He began, "In fact, I was just having a conversation with Frieda about their arrival here. She was just as concerned as we were, albeit for different reasons," he paused for a moment, judging Rick's reaction before continuing, he then looked to Frieda and then back to Rick, "Frieda...this is Rick Noel. I'm not sure if you were properly introduced yet...but, well, he's an...associate of mine."
Frieda took a better look at Rick and recognized him as the man with the bad lunch from the day before. "Huh," was all she managed to reply. The doc turned back to Rick.
"I've told her who we are, Rick. I believe we can trust Ms. Richter far better than we might trust any of our other informants on the surface. She doesn't have any reason to hate us, and indeed, sympathizes with us far better than anyone else might. I'm not an SRB Agent, I know, and perhaps I overstepped myself, but we need friends out here..."
Something was...happening. The ambient light seemed brighter, or at least, more...yellow. Yellower? Was that even a word?
Frieda reached up and rubbed her forehead with the back of her green-coloured sweatshirt sleeve. Rick and Arthur continued to talk while she slowly turned on the spot, looking around, finding it impossible not to notice all the small, minute details. The bandage pile she had made the day before was just slightly unbalanced and leaning towards the left. Dust particles danced in the sunbeams gently shining through the window.
Any thought of sleep was long gone. She unhooked her plasma pistol from her belt, gave it a quick operations check, then clicked it back onto her belt. "Who else knows about your...affiliations? Anyone?" she posed to both men, inserting herself into the conversation once more. "If the Commonwealth wastelanders hate your...origins as much as mine, my guess is you have either kept it quiet or only told trusted folks. Let's just keep it that way, for now." She glanced back around, out the window and into the street. "Doesn't seem like they dropped off much more than a generator. No troops, artillery, anything like that." She turned back to Arthur and Rick. "Best thing to do is just act casual. Go about treating patients like usual, and...uh..." Frieda looked at Rick. "Whatever you do best. What is it you do?"
She looked across the street towards the diner and saw some movement within. Frieda remembered Waylon at the road and watched Barney sit himself into a booth by a window. A mouse scuttling out of a crack in the foundation dashed down the street and into another shadow. She turned back to the doc. "I'll be back in a bit."
Frieda jogged across the street, up the ramp, and into the diner. She ignored Betty all together and slipped onto the opposite bench in Barney's booth.
"Well, good morning, Frieda. You're looking...fresh..."
"Yeah, yeah, thanks," she waved her hand, noticing the stubble on Barney's neck and pimple on the hairline of his forehead. She cleared her throat. "Waylon and I spent all night at the head of the road keeping watch for those Gunners moving north. You, or someone like you, needs to take a turn. That's not unreasonable, right?"
Barney huffed. "I'm having my coffee."
"Bring it with you," she cooed, sliding the mug towards her and holding it hostage. "Head of the road. Now."
Barney stood and took his mug back. "I'm only gonna remind you once that you work for me," he grumbled, making his way to the door but not before plunking a couple caps on the counter.
"Or what, you'll fire me? Between Gunners and random visits from B-- raiders, gonna go ahead and suggest you need someone who knows how to aim a gun."
Barney grumbled some more, then exit the diner completely.
"Hey! You gonna order, or what? That ain't a park bench, ya know." Betty stood behind the counter, hands on her hips, tapping her foot. She had a freckle on the side of her face and some loose hairs on the back of her neck that didn't make it into her ponytail.
Frieda's fingers twitched. The Study Buddy pill was something else, to be sure. She left the diner and headed back towards her and Brandy's house, hoping the younger woman would have some more smokes lying around the house. She felt completely energized, though craving a cigarette. She skipped, then jogged back towards her house. Frieda walked into the house and looked around, surprised that Brandy wasn't awake yet.
Geez, how'd she sleep through the vertibird being practically over her house? Frieda didn't want to disturb Brandy and took to rifling through drawers in the kitchen.
“Hey doc, you here?... I take it you saw vertibird in the sky…” called a voice from below.
He turned back to Frieda, "Ah, that'll be Rick...come on, I'll introduce you properly now that...well...now that the cards are on the table as it were."
Properly? Frieda raised an eyebrow and followed the doctor down the stairs.
"Good morning Rick. Yes, indeed I saw them," He began, "In fact, I was just having a conversation with Frieda about their arrival here. She was just as concerned as we were, albeit for different reasons," he paused for a moment, judging Rick's reaction before continuing, he then looked to Frieda and then back to Rick, "Frieda...this is Rick Noel. I'm not sure if you were properly introduced yet...but, well, he's an...associate of mine."
Frieda took a better look at Rick and recognized him as the man with the bad lunch from the day before. "Huh," was all she managed to reply. The doc turned back to Rick.
"I've told her who we are, Rick. I believe we can trust Ms. Richter far better than we might trust any of our other informants on the surface. She doesn't have any reason to hate us, and indeed, sympathizes with us far better than anyone else might. I'm not an SRB Agent, I know, and perhaps I overstepped myself, but we need friends out here..."
Something was...happening. The ambient light seemed brighter, or at least, more...yellow. Yellower? Was that even a word?
Frieda reached up and rubbed her forehead with the back of her green-coloured sweatshirt sleeve. Rick and Arthur continued to talk while she slowly turned on the spot, looking around, finding it impossible not to notice all the small, minute details. The bandage pile she had made the day before was just slightly unbalanced and leaning towards the left. Dust particles danced in the sunbeams gently shining through the window.
Any thought of sleep was long gone. She unhooked her plasma pistol from her belt, gave it a quick operations check, then clicked it back onto her belt. "Who else knows about your...affiliations? Anyone?" she posed to both men, inserting herself into the conversation once more. "If the Commonwealth wastelanders hate your...origins as much as mine, my guess is you have either kept it quiet or only told trusted folks. Let's just keep it that way, for now." She glanced back around, out the window and into the street. "Doesn't seem like they dropped off much more than a generator. No troops, artillery, anything like that." She turned back to Arthur and Rick. "Best thing to do is just act casual. Go about treating patients like usual, and...uh..." Frieda looked at Rick. "Whatever you do best. What is it you do?"
She looked across the street towards the diner and saw some movement within. Frieda remembered Waylon at the road and watched Barney sit himself into a booth by a window. A mouse scuttling out of a crack in the foundation dashed down the street and into another shadow. She turned back to the doc. "I'll be back in a bit."
Frieda jogged across the street, up the ramp, and into the diner. She ignored Betty all together and slipped onto the opposite bench in Barney's booth.
"Well, good morning, Frieda. You're looking...fresh..."
"Yeah, yeah, thanks," she waved her hand, noticing the stubble on Barney's neck and pimple on the hairline of his forehead. She cleared her throat. "Waylon and I spent all night at the head of the road keeping watch for those Gunners moving north. You, or someone like you, needs to take a turn. That's not unreasonable, right?"
Barney huffed. "I'm having my coffee."
"Bring it with you," she cooed, sliding the mug towards her and holding it hostage. "Head of the road. Now."
Barney stood and took his mug back. "I'm only gonna remind you once that you work for me," he grumbled, making his way to the door but not before plunking a couple caps on the counter.
"Or what, you'll fire me? Between Gunners and random visits from B-- raiders, gonna go ahead and suggest you need someone who knows how to aim a gun."
Barney grumbled some more, then exit the diner completely.
"Hey! You gonna order, or what? That ain't a park bench, ya know." Betty stood behind the counter, hands on her hips, tapping her foot. She had a freckle on the side of her face and some loose hairs on the back of her neck that didn't make it into her ponytail.
Frieda's fingers twitched. The Study Buddy pill was something else, to be sure. She left the diner and headed back towards her and Brandy's house, hoping the younger woman would have some more smokes lying around the house. She felt completely energized, though craving a cigarette. She skipped, then jogged back towards her house. Frieda walked into the house and looked around, surprised that Brandy wasn't awake yet.
Geez, how'd she sleep through the vertibird being practically over her house? Frieda didn't want to disturb Brandy and took to rifling through drawers in the kitchen.
CELESTE BROWN - Sandy Coves Inn -- dawn
Something woke her just around sunrise. What was it? Some kind of loud whirring.
Or was that just the pounding in her head?
Thump thump thump.
...nope, that was a knock on the door. Celeste opened her eyes slowly, the meagre sunlight causing her to wince, even then.
The knock came again. "Manager Celeste, are you there? Are you well?"
Celeste made to reply, her voice coming out as a choked gargle. She sat up and swayed, immediately reaching up to hold her head. Archie knocked yet again. "Y-yeah, I'm coming," she squawked. She crab-walked down the length of the bed in an attempt not to disturb Sara, rounded the corner, and opened the door. "I'm here."
"Oh, thank goodness! I had almost thought you had disappeared during the night. You weren't in your room, and I checked all the other rooms for you. This was the last one to check, and I didn't want to, ahem, disrupt a paying guest."
"It's fine, Archie, thank you for...for...one second," she held up a finger, whipped around to dash into the bathroom, and vomited into the toilet. She panted, then hurled again, trying not to get her hair caught in the way.
"Oh dear," the robot cooed. "Was it something you ate?"
The mere suggestion of food was enough to cause her to throw up yet again. Her stomach seized painfully, squeezing itself, though it was quite empty by then. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, stood slowly, then left Sara's room, gently closing the door behind her. "Moonshine," she finally offered. "Just a bit too much." Celeste squeezed her eyes shut, willing the dizzy spell to end quickly. "I think I should lie down for a bit." She wobbled past the robot and slowly moved down the stairs. On her way through the lobby, she noticed the plate of scones still sitting out. She picked one up and carried it to her room. Once on her bed, she shed her shoes and stared at the scone, willing herself to take a bite, but her stomach turning at the very thought. Instead, she elected to just set it down, and laid back onto her bed.
"Brandy, that sure is some potent stuff," she sighed out loud. Archie floated in, carrying a glass of water and sat it onto the night stand next to the scone.
"Shall I fetch you some pain killers, manager?"
"Ah...yeah, yeah that sounds good," she panted, trying to keep herself from having to get up and be sick, again. "Close the curtain, please?"
Something woke her just around sunrise. What was it? Some kind of loud whirring.
Or was that just the pounding in her head?
Thump thump thump.
...nope, that was a knock on the door. Celeste opened her eyes slowly, the meagre sunlight causing her to wince, even then.
The knock came again. "Manager Celeste, are you there? Are you well?"
Celeste made to reply, her voice coming out as a choked gargle. She sat up and swayed, immediately reaching up to hold her head. Archie knocked yet again. "Y-yeah, I'm coming," she squawked. She crab-walked down the length of the bed in an attempt not to disturb Sara, rounded the corner, and opened the door. "I'm here."
"Oh, thank goodness! I had almost thought you had disappeared during the night. You weren't in your room, and I checked all the other rooms for you. This was the last one to check, and I didn't want to, ahem, disrupt a paying guest."
"It's fine, Archie, thank you for...for...one second," she held up a finger, whipped around to dash into the bathroom, and vomited into the toilet. She panted, then hurled again, trying not to get her hair caught in the way.
"Oh dear," the robot cooed. "Was it something you ate?"
The mere suggestion of food was enough to cause her to throw up yet again. Her stomach seized painfully, squeezing itself, though it was quite empty by then. She wiped her mouth on her sleeve, stood slowly, then left Sara's room, gently closing the door behind her. "Moonshine," she finally offered. "Just a bit too much." Celeste squeezed her eyes shut, willing the dizzy spell to end quickly. "I think I should lie down for a bit." She wobbled past the robot and slowly moved down the stairs. On her way through the lobby, she noticed the plate of scones still sitting out. She picked one up and carried it to her room. Once on her bed, she shed her shoes and stared at the scone, willing herself to take a bite, but her stomach turning at the very thought. Instead, she elected to just set it down, and laid back onto her bed.
"Brandy, that sure is some potent stuff," she sighed out loud. Archie floated in, carrying a glass of water and sat it onto the night stand next to the scone.
"Shall I fetch you some pain killers, manager?"
"Ah...yeah, yeah that sounds good," she panted, trying to keep herself from having to get up and be sick, again. "Close the curtain, please?"
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