SkrtWithAWeapon

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

CELESTE BROWN -- Rook's shack - mid-afternoon

"Adam? Rook has not seen anyone since he got into the shack. Is Adam missing now? Does Rook need to help you look for him?"

Celeste trembled slightly, somehow having forgotten how tall and...imposing...the super mutant was. Yet, his tone was calm, and concerned. She nodded vigorously, shaking some of her curls into her face. "It would be great if you could help!"

"Has he come back from searching the area for new scrap? Rook remembers hearing him say something about the need for new scrap to build things and repair his boat. Is he on his boat maybe?"

"He's not," Celeste sighed dramatically, feeling close to tears. "I've been by his place twice today, once this morning, and then just now, and both times he didn't answer the door. His brahmin is gone, too." She reached up and rubbed her brow, causing her bosom to shake just slightly. "I didn't know he wanted to look for scrap or nothin'...where do you think he went? How long should it take?" She sniffed. "I'm a bit worried! There's some bad things out there, you know? Scary things -- and not just deathclaws. Oh!" she hopped, interrupting herself, "what if he's hurt, somewhere? How would we know?"

Awful, bloody images of various kinds of terrible deaths invaded her mind. Celeste shuddered, her face becoming quite pale in her worry. "Rook, what do we do?"

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

CELESTE BROWN - Sandy Coves Inn - mid-afternoon

Celeste cowered behind Archie as she watched the strangers approach the deathclaw from down the road. It wasn't long before the woman began butchering the near-dead beast. The last thing Celeste would remember would be falling onto the concrete landing in front of the door to the Inn and blacking out.

She woke up sometime later, in her bed, a dull throbbing on the side of her head. "Ugh," she groaned, sitting herself up slowly. "That's the second time I've woken up with a headache, today..."

Celeste reached over to the water glass containing a mere gulp of water in the bottom. She drank it anyways, then stared wistfully at the empty cup. She recalled a lovely, warm memory of the evening before, drinking wine and dancing with Adam. Celeste pulled the glass to her bosom and sighed. "Maybe he's come home by now."

She slid off her bed, pulled the cover over neatly, slipped her All American sneakers back onto her feet, and strode into the little kitchen for some more purified water. Celeste gulped down half a bottle, replaced it into the fridge, and walked out into the foyer.

"Manager Celeste! Do not panic, at least, not right away, but Sara is...missing," the robot greeted her.

Celeste looked up from the drawer she was rooting around in. "What?"

"I haven't seen her for several hours. Her person and belongings have seemed to vacate the premises."

"She didn't check out, she just...left?"

"It appears that way."

"I hope it wasn't something I said, last night, after I drank all that moonshine," Celeste mumbled. She rolled her shoulders back. "She might turn up. Keep her room for her for a little bit longer."

"Will do, Manager! Are you heading out, somewhere?"

"I'm going to go look for Adam. He wasn't home, this morning." Celeste gave the robot a wave and walked back out of the Inn. The first thing she noticed was a large, dark and drying blood stain from the deathclaw, but no deathclaw. She didn't bother wondering about what happened to it. Celeste wandered through the rest of town, totally oblivious to any clean up efforts or other folks milling about, and made a beeline for Adam's shack. The brahmin was still missing from her pen. She knocked on the door, regardless.

"Adam, are you back?" she called fruitlessly. She loitered for a few moments more. Dread, despair, and anger filled her all at once. Her face and head felt very hot as she flushed, deeply. Celeste stomped her foot, causing her bosom to heave in a most comical fashion. She kicked the door in her frustration, stubbing her toes, while also throwing herself sufficiently off balance to cause her to flail backwards and fall the short distance to the ground on her backside.

"Hmmph!" Celeste wiped some dust off her face with the back of her hand. She sat on the broken pavement, pouting, looking out to the water. "I can't believe he'd just...wine and dine me...butter me up like that...and then leave?!"

She stood up and wiped off her backside. "What should I do, now?" Some large debris floated in the water, some distance away. Celeste decided to talk a walk by the water. She wandered down the beach until she came to another shack.

"Oh!" she exclaimed to herself. "Rook seems to see a lot around town. Maybe he's seen Adam." Celeste drew up to the door and knocked. "Rook? Are you there?" She paused, then called, again. "Have you seen Adam?"

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

@ReusableSword aw! Thanks. I do genuinely worry but if you're sure then I'll keep going ;)

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

I really, really don't mean to keep writing essays for Frieda posts. REALLY. She needs more friends or something...

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER - Salem Clinic -- mid-afternoon

The doctor gave Frieda a warm smile. She found herself blushing, slightly, as he took the proffered bag from her hand. Frieda tucked some stray hair, still damp, behind her ear and broke eye contact. It's because he's only ever just been nice to you, with no ulterior motive.

An image of her brother smirking popped into her mind. She pushed it away.

"Thank you Frieda, I could certainly use a break. Perhaps some fresh air could do me some good as well..." The doc nodded and exit the clinic. Frieda settled herself against the far wall, sitting on a folding chair long seized into the open position and hefting her long legs up onto a fallen pew. She rummaged into the lunch bag and had consumed a sandwich before she even realized it.

She ate the second one more slowly, listening carefully as the mutant, referred to as Gorge, continued to tell his story.

He detailed, at length, his origins, as part of the Master's army. She knew about the Master, to some extent, but it was always more of a history lesson than something she ever expected to encounter in real life. The more he spoke, the more ill she felt. He seemed to casually just disassemble his laser and clean the components while he continued, but the knot in her stomach twisted tighter. Gorge seemed to be talking about the Brotherhood of Steel, by reference to 'Midwest'.

Obviously, he is. No self respecting branch of the Enclave would ever consider letting a mutant, even a well-spoken one, come within ten feet of the doors.

It's disgusting. She sniffed.

"...And to your remark about super mutants in their ranks, they also had ghouls, raiders, townsfolk, some robots, and a few sentient hairy death claws. Those things creeped me out” Gorge shivered. “Our group joined them after some trench warfare and displaying tactics other super mutants never did, their leader challenged ours to one on one combat and won at the cost of a head injury.”

Listening to a super mutant talk about other abominations as creepy was the last straw. Frieda's breath suddenly became short. A warm, uncomfortable feeling welled in the back of her throat, and a wave of nausea flowed through her body. I need to get out of here.

She covered her mouth with the back of her hand and scrambled to flee the clinic without making too much of a scene. She vaulted over the rubble and dead deathclaw at the back door and doubled over in the middle of the street, panting hard, willing herself not to vomit. The very thought of the Brotherhood -- for all their faults -- taking in super mutants to fight for them, was revolting enough. That a super mutant would dare suggest there were things worse than he, out in this god forsaken wasteland?

Frieda clutched her stomach and fell to her knees, feeling oddly dizzy and nauseous at the same time.

I should never have left, Brian. I should have just finished myself off, and made them clean up the mess. Are you even out here, somewhere? Are you alive? A tear rolled down her cheek and landed into the dust at her knees. I bet you did the right thing and just offed yourself when you were stuck out here. A few more tears followed the first to join an expanding wet spot on the ground. Frieda took some deep breaths and wiped her eyes on the shoulder of her sleeve. Fuck. Even if you did, something inside me won't let me rest until I find your dead body, even if it's just to join it. We came into this world together and it'd only right if we exit it together, too.

She found herself calming down, slightly, but her hands were shaking, and there was only one thing to fix that. Frieda reached into her back pocket for her pack of smokes and remembered she'd finished it hours ago. She groaned. Pushing herself back up to her feet, her eyes were drawn to the entry door to the weapon shop popping open and the woman from before, clad in leather armour, leaving it, with Waylon stepping out to watch her leave, before going back inside.

She remembered how comfortable she felt, talking to him all night. Frieda glanced back at the clinic, and hoped Arthur wouldn't be too mad at her for ducking out of there once more. It's just for a smoke. I'll be back in five minutes, tops.

Frieda walked over to the weapon shop and knocked on the door, before realizing she probably could have just walked in. Before her hand landed on the doorknob, the door popped open, and there stood Waylon. "Uh, hey," she began, quietly, feeling suddenly quite sheepish. She reached up and scratched the back of her head. "Can I bum a cigarette? I'll owe you one, I promise."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER - Brandy's house -- mid-afternoon

The shelves had been straightened, their melange of boxes and items returned upon their shelves, and the majority of the feed had been swept, scooped, and tossed back into the container in which it had been stored. Frieda straightened and groaned, feeling muscle ache in her neck, shoulders, lower back...legs...

"Damn," she muttered, wondering if there was some part of her that wasn't screaming in pain. The Study Buddy was keeping her mind alert but certainly wasn't meant to keep her body from fatiguing. I better take it easy before I wear myself out by accident.

She looked down at the remaining mess. One substantial pile remained and a smattering of scattered seed. Frieda clamped her teeth shut and attempted to steel her resolve. "Just scoop that pile up and you're done. It's not like a scattering of feed is going to be that much more harmful." One of the chicks lifted its head from the little nest they had made and peeped at her. Frieda looked at it. "What?"

Ten minutes later, she was closing the door to the basement, letting out a long sigh. Frieda looked between the fridge and Brandy's cupboards, remembering her promise to bring the good doc some food. Her stomach rumbled in response. She closed her eyes, her arms and shoulders suddenly so tired, she felt like she could hardly lift them. She opened her eyes and looked down at her dusty, dirty, sweaty clothing, and imagined her body resembled much the same.

I'll have a shower, freshen up, and maybe that will help me perk up, too. Frieda pushed herself off the door to the basement with much effort and made her way up the stairs. Bless Brandy and her hot water heater. She peeled off her clothing and left them in a crumpled heap on the bathroom floor and ran the shower.

She re-emerged from the house some time later, hair and skin squeaky clean if the clothing she dug from the bottom of her bag wasn't. A baggy, faded blue t-shirt over some jeans and her sneakers was the best she could muster. The shirt had belonged to her brother; she was practically swimming in it. It was the cleanest thing she carried, though, and the thought of climbing back into sweaty, or bloody, or dirty clothing squicked her right out. Frieda made a beeline for the diner -- she tore through the cupboards at Brandy's but found a number of things that required preparation...and, well, skill. She watched Rick push a load of broken glass onto the road, below, stepped over him, and walked into the diner.

"Uh, hey, are you open?" she asked Betty. The younger woman threw her broom into a corner, dusted off her hands, and put them onto her hips.

"I mean it's not like a deathclaw pretty much came in here and tossed the place -- but sure, let me drop everything and get you something to eat!"

Frieda rubbed her brow, confused by the placement of Betty's sarcasm. "Can I get some food to go?"

"Can ya be more specific?"

"I don't know -- just a bagged lunch or something." Frieda drummed her fingers on the countertop, growing impatient. "Anything."

Ten minutes later she re-emerged from the diner with a couple sandwiches and mutfruit cocktails. She assessed the patients in the clinic, and from what she could tell, things were stable. The mutant was still hovering around, which made her feel unsettled, She gave him a wide berth and approached Arthur, holding out one of the lunches. "Here. Take a break, have something to eat. I'll keep an eye on things, here."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Feel better soon, Sky!

Also, yay, just wanted to make sure I wasn't updating into a void and forcing everyone to read my stuff :P

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Is everyone still here? *blush*

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

FRIEDA RICHTER - Salem Clinic -- early to mid afternoon

Frieda lifted a piece of ancient door frame that had fallen to pieces during the struggle that was starting to feel as though it had been weeks ago, unlike mere hours. She flung it through the door like a frisbee and watched it twirl through the air to hit the defunct streetlight across the road.

"Yes!" she cheered, lifting both her hands. Suddenly from behind her, she heard Steve begin to yell, and turned in her startle. What she saw immediately after startled her even further: the mutant that had left with the injured ghoul had returned, scrubbed up, and approached Steve wearing a monocle and carrying some clean bandages.

She froze in her place. Everything in her body screamed that she should fire on that...thing...standing in the clinic, but the smallest part saw it was attempting to assist in providing medical attention, and she couldn't justifiably intervene. Was she going to take his place? No. All she could do was watch. She swallowed on a dry throat and remained quiet.

Steve turned to Summer, who hadn't stirred through anything. “You...Go to the pleasure Den and find Edgar.”

As funny as that was, Frieda felt it would be a bit too mean to let a delirious, injured man think the comatose patient next to him was going to reply. "Hey, Steve --"

“Just shut up and listen, when you find him say the word “paradise” and then tell him to get the medical drugs supplies for you...It’s in an Military medkit, small green box with an white & black cross on the front...."

"Wow," she shook her head. "Must have hit his head pretty hard."

The mutant completely ignored the drivel coming from Steve's mouth. He looked him over and told Steve he was going to cut his shirt open and examine him. Frieda shifted to peer past the mutant's shoulder and was mostly convinced he were truly going to do Steve no harm.

I guess he is friendly enough. He did help take down that deathclaw, at least, I think, and now he's helping Steve. Frieda rolled her shoulders back and heard them pop loudly. She crossed the room to tap Arthur on the shoulder.

"Looks like I just lost my job. Well -- for a few minutes, anyways." She gestured over towards the mutant with the soft touch. "Seems to know his way around a bleeder, for the most part, and seems unlikely anyone is going to try and attack the clinic while he's hanging around. I'm going to take care of the basement situation over at Brandy's and find us some food. I think we both missed breakfast, hm?" Frieda gave Arthur a reassuring smile. "I'll be back soon."

She wandered into the street and noticed all the new knicks, scratches, and claw marks in the dirt and on any of the buildings the deathclaws managed to touch. Frieda rubbed her eyes and picked up her pace. She knew of the Institute, of course, but the idea they could craft such technology as to create a tiny drug to be so effective for so many consecutive hours was just...well, unbelievable, if not for the fact she were experiencing it.

Imagine if the Enclave ever got their hands on it. ...or, the Brotherhood.

But they didn't, and never will, and that's that.

Frieda crossed the threshold into Brandy's house, closed both doors behind her, and rubbed her eyes once more. She searched the kitchen briefly for a broom and dustpan, then went into the basement to get to work. A few of the chicks reacted to her presence, but for the most part, they all seemed to be in a feed coma.

"Maybe Brandy will be feeling better just in time to clean up all the turds you'll be dropping after today's buffet, eh, puffballs?" She pushed the shelves back up and replaced their contents. "Stop talking to the chickens, Frieda, it makes you sound crazy." She turned and sighed at the sight of extent of the mess. Nothing more to do than just start sweeping.

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

CORRINE DOOLAK - wreckage site -- 10PM?

Steve had woken up suddenly, babbling about why they had to die, or...or, something. Corrine was so surprised by his sudden revival that she was hardly paying attention, especially since Castner had materialized at some point to start giving Steve some first aid. Her head felt cloudy from the roller coaster of emotions she'd experienced in the very short amount of time. She laced her fingers into Steve's and watched quietly as Castner muttered shallow comforts. The woman, Rose, from before, had appeared and she, too, had begun to sob over the other dead bodies.

Corrine surfaced from her daze just in time to hear Castner speak to her. "I'll see what she's talking about."

She nodded wordlessly in response, taking it upon herself to hold the bandages against Steve. James, who, despite being quite wounded, was using his aggravating haughty mainlander tone to question Longfellow about the cultists.

"Well now..." Longfellow began, "The only thing I can think of is that crazy spirit those Children of Atom fruitcakes used to go on about. Their missionaries would always go on and on about the 'Mother of The Fog'. Not sure if this 'Mother' is the same one, but I guess it could be. The cultists don't look like the children at all though. For one thing...they've got full heads of hair..."

Corrine wiped her nose on the back of her sleeve in an attempt to regain some composure. She swallowed and finally spoke, her voice initially coming out as a gargle. "Suh-smooth skin, too. Many long-time cultists don't tend ta look so...well...fresh." She glanced around at the other islanders who had turned to face her while she spoke. "Well, it's true, ain't it?" Corrine shrugged. "Not like I know what it means. Maybe they just haven't been goons long enough ta have lost their hair an' their skin."

She crouched back down to take Steve's hand in both of hers, once more. "Can we just finish up, here, an' get back to down? Steve and James both need to see the doc. Nothin' about those cultists is gonna change in the time it takes us to get back to town."

Corrine looked into Steve's face and squeezed his hand. "You just hang in there, all right? We're gonna get you back to town, to a warm bed, and some medicine." As an afterthought, her gaze shot up to meet Longfellow's eyes. "Don't you forget about Avery, neither."