Tiberius67

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne - Her House

"Thank you for the directions", the man said. "Have a pleasant day, ma'am." He then nodded and walked back down the hill to the docks.

Mary turned back to her milking, but kept an eye out for the man. After a bit, he came back up from the docks and took the road out of town. She noticed he walked past the fork that led to the Crater, and continued towards the Museum. Her milking complete, the picked up the now full bucket and returned to the house, making sure the enclosure was securely shut behind her. Once in the kitchen, she began filling the bottles she had collected from in and around the house, orking them and putting them in the wheezing old refrigerator that Obediah had managed to get to run again. From the noise it made, who knows for how long the repairs would hold...yet another thing she needed to get done. She could operate most modern (Pre-War) appliances fine, but repairing them was something she had never been able to get a grasp on...much to her irritation. She filled all of her bottles, but still had about a quarter of the bucket still full of milk. Not one to waste good milk, she decided to go out and find more bottles. Pouring the milk into a smaller container that ould at least fit in the fridge, she dropped her .38, which she had since reloaded with real bullets, into a pucket of her dress, and an empty haversack and exited the house, locking the door behind her. Looking around, she decided to start around the diner. checking the mailbox, she found a Nuka-Cola bottle and a whisky bottle that were still intact. She placed them in her bag and moved on. In the alley behind the diner, she found a dumpster, and a few more Nuka-Cola bottles. She then noticed a pile of trash dumped on the ground behind the building to the left, and went to rummage through it, pausing when she found a robot in it.

"Hmm", Mary said as she dragged it out of the pile so she could take a closer look. Didn't seem to be anything wrong with it that she could tell...not that she was any kind of expert. After some searching, she found the cover for the power switch and flipped the switch a couple of times, with no result. Shrugging, she rummaged around in the pile some more, and found two more inoperative robots. One was missing two legs, which she eventually found, the third was intact but had a dent in it's round body, as if something had fallen on it. She also found several Nuka-Cola and Vim bottles, enough...in her estimation...to finish bottling the milk. As for the robots, while Mary had no idea how to fix them, somebody else might...and even as scrap they had to be worth something. She looked around, spotting a old wheelchair, with someone's bones still in it, sitting near the pile. Grabbing the wheelchair, she unceremoniously threw the bones onto the pile, then loaded the intact robot onto it. Once she found a position to make it stay, she wheeled her find triumphantly back to her house, dumping it for now in her living room. As she exited and locked the door behind her again, she heard what sounded like a energy weapon firing nearby. Turning to look, she saw a woman, threatening a enormous green man, who Mary presumed to be one of the "super mutants" she had heard of, he had to be eight or nine feet tall....with some sort of pistol. The green man held what looked like a white flag in one enormous hand. What suprised her though, is the green man seemed to be trying to appease her...instead of tearing her apart. Mary was not sure what to do, she was pretty sure her .38 wouldn't do much more than anger him. As she was considering going back inside to retreive her shotgun, Barney and another man ran around the corner and engaged in a animated conversation with the woman. Eventually, she put her pistol away. As it appeared that the mutant...if that is what it was...had some kind of understanding with Barney, she decided to just let things be and grabbed the wheel chair and headed back to the alley. Loading the robot whose legs had fallen off into the chair, she headed back home, dropped off the second robot then went back for the third, returning a few minutes later. Leaving the robots...and the wheelchair...in her living room for now, she went into the kitchen and washed the bottles she had found, then lit the stove, preparing to boil the bottles before using them.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne - Her House

"Excuse me, ma'am, but I trouble you for a second?" a voice called out to her. Mary looked up from her milking to see that the stranger had walked up to the edge of the enclosure. He was a tall, red haired man with familiar tattoos on his face. "I've only just arrived here from up north and I fear I am lost. Could you please help me out?"

"Certainly, Mister", she replied, not showing a even flicker of recognition. "Where are you fixin' to go?"

"My friend Giraud is looking to do some trading", the man continued, "but we've heard that this place has had some...trouble. Specifically, trouble involving the Children of Atom making the area outside the town less than safe. Might you know anything about them?

"The Children of Atom?", Mary said. "I've heard tell of them. The tenets of thier Faith are certainly novel, to say the least. They don't seem to be very friendly, haven't heard a kind word about them since I got to the Commonwealth. They seem to keep to themselves, though....if you steer clear of the places they like they don't go out of their way to vex you none."

"And more importantly", the man added, "can you offer us any information on how we might avoid running afoul of them while we're in and around Salem?"

"Certainly", Mary said as she stood up. She pointed down the road south, past the Diner, where in the distance a large brick structure loomed, shimmering in the afternoon sun. "they don't come in to town that I've seen, as far as gettin' past them jes' follow the road there. The road forks just outside of town, stay right or you'll walk right into them. Follow the road 'til you get to the old Witchcraft Museum there....it's the big brick building down there. Speaking of that, it's safe enough to walk by, but it's not the safest place for prospectin', even in daylight, if you get my drift. The road branches just beyond that, keep going South and you'll get to the Cannery. East of the road is pretty much the Children's...west of it isn't any better, though....Raiders and Gunners, I hear."

"Anything else you need, Mister?" Mary asked.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne - Her House

Mary sighed contentedly as she relaxed in the old claw-foot bath tub...her first hot bath in many years. As a ghoul, hot baths weren't a good idea as it just accelerated the skin flaking off. Being alone at her shack in the Swamps, she just bathed in the nearby river when she felt the need. But the warmth of the water...and the fallout in it...was deeply relaxing after two days of cleaning the dust and junk out of the house. she wished she had learned of the Children..and their gift...years ago, the longer lifespans of ghouls came at a price...a price she no longer had to pay, thanks to Zachariah and his followers. He had been a very apt pupil...once she showed him he had been playing with things far beyond his understanding at the time...she hoped he would heed her advice to limit his trafficking with the Outer Gods, such as Ub-Qualtoth, to a minimum. They have their own agendas, and they weren't in the interests of their human followers. And then there were the Witch-finders...or whatever they were called now...that were drawn to Cults devoted to such worship as flies to honey. A group of determined mortals with sufficient knowledge could overcome even the most powerful sorcerer...something she had witnessed from the sidelines repeatedly over the centuries...and she had no intention of falling prey to them herself.

With one hand, she poured herself another drink....Whisky and Nuka-Cola as they had run out of wine...then took a sip as she turned her attention back to the ancient tome she was reading. The Malleus Maleficarum...1660 printing in Latin...the very book that had poisoned her husband's mind, and, ironically, led to her being here today, instead of forgotten under a crumbling gravestone in the churchyard with John and poor Abigail. The book itself was almost pure nonsense....a product of a diseased mind that had no exposure to the Mythos that she could tell beyond hearsay....but it gave insight to the mind of her mortal enemies, and the illustrations of witches consorting with demons still had an perversely erotic appeal to her. The reality of it hadn't quite lived up to her imagination, but some of the beings she had made such bargains with could be coaxed into performing adequately.

Obediah...Zachariah...had made use of the portal in her basement to return to Blackhall Manor, so she had the house to herself. Most of the furnishings were useless now, her and Zachariah had piled them up in front of the house until she could find someone to carry them away. At least she was able to salvage a set of box springs and a mattress that wasn't too disgusting....with a sleeping bag it would do until she could find better. She needed to look around, and see what other people had gathered here, perhaps find a way to make a living so she did not have to dip into her supply of caps....a considerable sum....she was going to need them to find what she had returned home for. Rook was a name she remembered....that family had been prominent in Salem even before the War, but from what little Barney said there were few if any people here at all, which did have it's good points. She effectively had a clean slate here, no-one could possibly know of her links to Salem. That suited her just fine.

Faintly, outside, she heard the Brahmin mooing from the crude pen Zachariah had set up alongside the house for her.

Damn....needs to be milked.

Mary reluctantly closed the book and put it on the battered chair next to the tub, getting up and climbing out. She couldn't help but notice herself in the dusty full length mirror attached to the door. A comely wench she was now...that would get attention from men. While not unwelcome, it could be inconvenient, not to mention deadly. She dried off, then put up her hair, then picked up the book and walked out into the bedroom to dress. Placing the old tome on the dresser, the only one she had been able to salvage, she put on a tan button down dress and then socks and boots. she turned to leave, then turned back to the rough woolen robe laid out on the bed. She picked that up and placed it in the empty bottom drawer of the dresser, making a mental note to burn it later. After placing a sheathed combat knife in her right hand boot, she went downstairs to the kitchen to retrieve a bucket and a stool, then exited the house from the front door. She walked around the side of the house, noticing a boat had arrived at the pier and a man carrying a large green bag was trudging up the hill. He didn't seem to be behaving oddly, sho she paid him no further mind and and entered the makeshift brahimin pen as the brahmim mooed at her.

"Calm down, Bessie", she said as she put down the stool and placed the bucket under the protesting brahmin. "Mary's here to make you feel better."

She then started to milk the brahmin.

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Steve Miller - Dock Entrance

As Steve and Corrine approached the docks, he noticed a small crowd had accumulated at the head of the stairs, where a pair of harbormen blocked the path. They parted immediately to let Corrine through, then just as immediately closed ranks to stop him.

"Docks are closed right now, Outsider", one of the men said. "This is none of your business."

Corrine abruptly stopped descending the stairs and wheeled about and came back.

"He's with me", Corrine said to them curtly as she reached between the two harbormen to take Steve's hand and pulled him forward bodily.

"Oh", replied the Harborman with a shrug. "I guess it is your business then, Outsider." The pair made no further attempt to obstruct him and he began to descend the stairs as Corrine let go of him and dashed ahead.

"Doc, I'm here, what is it?" Corrine exclaimed as she approached the throng at the end of one of the docks, then began trying to wedge her way closer to whatever they were surrounding. "I said, I am coming through, could some of you just -- ".

She never completed the sentence as she tripped and fell face-first into the center of the mass of people. Steve picked up his pace to catch up to her, and help her up if needed.

"Wh-what..." she breathed, her eyes widening. "What is...but he just..." Corrine clutched her stomach and spun around, grasping one of the harbormen by the arm. "What happened?"

Another man charged past him, a elderly but formidable looking man in a pea-coat. Steve recognized him as the man Corrine had been arguing with when he got tot to town earlier.

"Teddy, just what the hell is all the commotion about?" the man bellowed as he came down the steps past the curious onlookers, who parted before him like moses parting the Red sea. He stopped in his tracks as the opening in the crowd revealed a dead body, a man who looked vaguely familiar.

"Oh.", the man said simply.

The harborman next to Corrine, presumably Teddy, gestured for the man to approach. At the same time, Corrine waved him over so steve joined them.

"Right now everyone is thinking he drowned", teddy whispered once they had drawn close. "But I examined him, and he didn't die from a long dip in the ocean. He was dead or dying before he even hit the water. Someone sliced his throat almost to the bone. I thought it best if we didn't tell everyone just yet...don't want to start a panic after all. People start thinking there's cultists all around, and folks are paranoid enough as it is...we don't want to give them more cause to lash out at people."

"Can't keep that up forever Ted," the old man said sternly, "Folks got a right to know."

"I know...I know," Doc Wright said shaking his head, "But its just temporary. Just until we can figure out what..."

"LET ME THROUGH! LET ME THROUGH GODDAMNIT!" The angry voice of a woman broke through the crowd and shortly afterward, a tough looking woman sprinted down the stairs towards them. the Doc looked ready to stop her, but the Old Man waved him off, curtly mentioning that she knew the victim.

The woman kneeled nect to the slaim man, regarding them sadly. She then stoop up, angrily stamping her foot with enough force to crack the board her foot came down on.

"Bastards...", she said, her voice filled with fury, "I knew it! I knew they were here somehow. They must have tracked us from The Commonwealth. Tracked us the whole damn time."

"Who's here?" Doc Wright asked, clearly taken aback.

"Something a lot worse than those cultists," the woman snapped back, "The Institute."

Corrine exchanged a look with the Old Man, Doc Wright, and Steve, then finally, at the woman. She reached out and gently touched her on the arm. "Listen. I know he was yer partner and things didn't go so great for y'all on the island. Why don't we all -- " she made a point of making eye contact with Longfellow, and the Old Man once more -- "head back up to the Plank, have ourselves another drink, and you can tell us about this 'Institute' and what makes it so bad. Leave the doc here to do what he needs to do for yer friend."

"Yes", Steve added, "We should discuss this and what it means before the rumor mill gets ahold of it."

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne - Near Salem - The Museum of Witchcraft

“The most merciful thing in the world, I think, is the inability of the human mind to correlate all its contents. We live on a placid island of ignorance in the midst of black seas of the infinity, and it was not meant that we should voyage far.” ― H.P. Lovecraft, "The Call of Cthulhu"

"Let me out, you heathens!", Becky shrieked as she struggled vainly against the bars of the cell, "Let me out NOW!"

Her captors, one a hooded figure, who was male by his deeper voice, and the second, a female ghoul in a tattered pre-war dress, standing in a circle of lit candles, ignored her and kept up with their chanting, as they had been doing for seemingly hours. It was all gibberish to Becky...ridiculous words like Ub-Qualtoth and such...and definitely not what she had been promised when the ghoul lured her away from completing her pilgrimage from Javert Brothers to Kingsport Lighthouse with promises about a "Holy Relic" of Atom. She had no idea what they were up to, but she was not so naive that it did not escape her that they did not have her best interests in mind. She was bitterly regretting venturing on her pilgrimage alone, and not waiting another week for Brother Luis and Sister Tabitha to make the journey with her as they had asked. "The Wasteland is dangerous, it's full of Heathens and worse!", Brother Luis had told her. But convinced Atom would protect her, she obeyed the visions she had received and departed alone. Suddenly, the pitch of the chanting became louder, and then climaxed with a loud incantation:

Y’AI ’NG’NGAH,
UB-QUALTOTH
H’EE—L’GEB
F’AI THRODOG
UAAAH!”

At the last syllable, the candles suddenly went out as a strong, foul wind blew towards her, as if it came from the ghoul. She attempted to speak...to demand again to be set free, but found she could not control her body anymore. She suddenly felt as light as a balloon, floating up towards the ceiling. Even though the room was now dark, she could still see by the light of a lantern placed on a chair behind the robed man. To her horror, she could now see her body, where she had been, pressed up against the cell bars, gripping the bars in a deathgrip. Fear began to well up within her as a inky black cloud vomited up out of the ghoul's mouth, traveling at her through the cell bars as if it had a mind of it's own, and and poured itself into her own open mouth. At the same time, another wind began to push her towards the ghoul. She tried to resist it as best she could, but could not and found herself pushed into the ghoul's open mouth........

"Whatever you're doing", Becky shrieked, "stop it right now, you freak!"

As soon as she heard it, she realized that her voice wasn't her own, but the raspy voice of a ghoul. Also, suddenly her sense of sight and smell had dimmed, as if they were muffled somehow. She also now realized she was outside the cell. And her muscles ached with a dull, throbbing ache. She held up her hands to see, and in the lamplight, she could see the bony and partially skinless hands of a ghoul. She looked up to see herself...still standing pressed up against the cell door....and screamed as a terrible look of triumph appeared on the face that she now understood was no longer her own.

"H..H..H...How?", Becky stammered, still not believing what she had just seen.

"Long ago", "Becky" said as she let go of the bars and reached into the cleavage of one of the mannequins in the cell and pulled out a key, "When I was a young woman, about your age, in fact, they called it "Witchcraft". The men this museum was built to condemn were quite right about that...if nothing else. She then unlocked the cell door, pushing it open and stepping out until she stood before her, cocking her head slightly and looking at her in a inquisitive way. It was then that she remembered that the ghoul had a small revolver in her pocket...she had used it to force her into the cell after they got her Gamma Gun away from her. She reached into her pocket, feeling it's reassuring grip. Her fingers tightened around the butt and she pulled it out.

"Atom save me!", Becky shouted as she drew the revolver, aiming it back and forth between "Becky" and the robed man. "When I tell my Brothers and Sisters about this, they'll purge you with Atom's Holy Fire!"

"I had hoped you would see things differently", "Becky" replied, sadly shaking her head. "But I didn't really expect it to. I'm afraid Atom won't save you....or anyone else for that matter. Atom is merely the latest attempt by Man to give meaning to his meaningless existence....he's just as imaginary as the God I was taught to worship when I was your age. There are "Gods" out there...but I've seen some of them, and I can tell you that you really don't want them noticing you."

"You lie!", Becky screamed as she backed away towards one of the doors, the other being blocked by the hooded man, threatening the pair with her revolver as she moved. Once past the door, she turned and ran for her life. As she ran she heard her own, now Becky's voice, echo down the hall behind her.

"It was nothing personal", "Becky" said, "You had something I needed!"

Back in the room, once an exhibit of a 1690s Jail Cell of the type suspected witches awaited trial in, "Becky" calmly waited for what she knew would come next.

"Why did you let her go, Marie?", the hooded man said, "and why did you leave that revolver in your pocket?"

"The bullets were wax, Obediah....theatrical blanks with only a primer behind them", Marie replied patiently, choosing to answer his second question first. A sudden roar, and a shriek followed by four muffled reports, and a second, despairing, shriek that was suddenly cut off was her cue to answer the first. "To answer your first question", Marie continued, "I didn't."

"If you'll excuse me a moment", Marie said as she grabbed the Gamma gun from within Obediah's robes and followed in the direction Becky had fled, "I'm going to get my revolver back." Adding over her back as she headed into the hall, "Don't follow me....there's only one way it won't attack you, and I doubt if your pride would allow me to do it."

Marie walked down the hallway, into what was once the lobby of the old Museum. her nose crinkled in disgust at the stench of manure and rotting meat, a reminder of the pitfalls of her new form. Near the front, an enormous Deathclaw fed upon the fresh corpse that had been her for over six hundred years. It looked up at her, sniffing the air in her direction, then relaxed and returned to feeding. About ten feet away, she saw her .38 revolver laying on the floor. For a moment, she she stood and watched the Deathclaw feed, feeling a twinge of regret, but it passed as rapidly as it came. She was a predator, Becky was prey....it was that simple. It was the way it was, in the Wasteland and in the vast and uncaring universe that she had long ago learned was what was really out there. She had noted that her body was beginning to fail, so she took another one...and a good one this was. The Cult Becky was part of, the Children of Atom, had a large number of members with a very special mutation....what seemed to be a complete immunity to radiation. It had taken several attempts to find a suitable host with this mutation, but it had been worth the effort. She walked over to the dropped weapon and picked it up, the Deathclaw taking no notice of her as if she were another member of it's pack, noting to her satisfaction her back no longer bothered her to stoop....in fact, the aches and pains she had long gotten used to were completely gone. She put the revolver into a pocket of the rough woolen robe Becky had been wearing, then removed the various ornaments and bangles that Children of Atom so loved to wear to show their devotion, and dropped them into a nearby pile of gore, followed by the contents of her pockets, then the Gamma gun. She then turned and walked back to the "cell" where Obediah waited for her.

"Can we go now?", Obediah asked as he removed the robe and draped it over his arm. "I need to get back to the Manor". Marie noticed for the first time that the young man looked quite handsome, though he would look better in the white suits he favored back home in Maryland rather than the mercenary outfit he was now wearing. Thoughts she hadn't had in a long time flashed through her mind. While she had hardly been celibate all these years, much of her activity in that regard was transactional in nature, or done for other purposes than the sheer pleasure of it.

"Hormones", Marie thought to herself, "Another thing I will need to get used to again....especially now that I could find myself with child."

"Yes", Marie said. "Sun should be up, so you can see me into town. If everything goes as it should, you can head home from there." she then looked at him and smiled. "Thanks for your help, by the way."

"No", Obediah said, "Thank you, Marie. For opening my eyes, and showing me the Way....I've learned much from you these past ten years."

"It's been my pleasure", Marie replied. "But, please, call me Mary from now on...Mary Hawthorne. I'm home now, it's time to begin using my true name again."

As you wish...Mary", Obediah said with a chuckle, "But do remember that I'm Zachariah Blackhall, now."


Later

Mary and Zachariah, the latter leading a Brahmin, walked down the main street past crumbling buildings towards the church, passing a active turret, it's generator chugging away as the stubby gun moved back and forth. Soon they reached the Village Common, now dotted with a collection of abandoned vendor stalls...as if some sort of market had been there. Down a cross street, to their right, was an dilapidated Drumlin Diner.....by the look of it, someone had begun repairs on the abandoned structure. Mary remembered when the place was built....in the 2050s....how the old biddies on the Historical Preservation Committee had shrieked about it. "It'll destroy the historical character of the Village Common!", they bleated. If only they were here today...they'd shit themselves to see how all they'd cared about had crumbled to dust and been forgotten. She'd learned a few tricks from Orne and Hutchinson once she had been introduced by her teacher....not surprisingly they had completely escaped detection by her first husband and his fellow oafs during the Trials...it would almost be worth it to raise one of them up and let them see just how futile their lives had been. Almost. They turned left at the Diner, along what she remembered to be Essex Street, and there it was...her house. Somewhat worse for wear, but still standing after over four hundred years. Fortunately, the doors and windows were boarded up so no one was squatting there...that would have complicated things. they approached the house, tying up the Brahmin to a lamp post, where it contentedly grazed off the overgrown yard as, while Mary watched, Zachariah pulled a crowbar out from the Brahmin's pack and began to remove the boards barring the door. As Zachariah made progress, a voice called out from the street.

"Miss", a man called out, "Do ya have a minute?"

Mary looked over to see an elderly man, rather unkempt, standing in the street, a lit cigarette jutting out of his mouth. He had a rifle slung on his shoulder, but made no sign of reaching for it. He did appear to be anxious about something...though she didn't get the impression he had hostile intent.

"Of course", Mary replied, "Mister...."

"Rook, Miss", the man said respectfully, "Barney Rook. I'm head of the Salem Volunteer Militia." He then chuckled. "hell, I pretty much am the militia right now....hopefully that will change as folk come in." His serious look returned and he continued. "We got plenty of room here in Salem, especisally for a young lady like yourself, but I wouldn't recommend moving into that house."

"Why not, Barney", Mary asked, "is it claimed already?" She then placed the palm of her hand against her head. "I forget my manners, Barney. I'm sorry. My name is Mary Hawthorne. And before you ask, Zachariah here is not my husband, he's a friend of mine."

"Oh, no, Miss Mary", Barney exclaimed, "That house isn't claimed by anyone. Even back before the mirelurks swarmed the town a few years back. Hell, for as long as I can remember." He looked both ways down the street, then leaned forward and continued in a stage whisper. "People say that house is haunted."

"Really?", Mary replied, successfully suppressing the urge to laugh. Inwardly, she smirked with satisfaction. The wards she had placed before her trip to Maryland....about a hundred and ninety years longer than she had intended to stay there, had held all this time. Excellent. She put her hands on her hips in a defiant pose, careful to speak in such a way that it came across that she didn't believe him, but wasn't ridiculing him. "Well, Barney, I don't believe in ghosts, or spirits, or "Gods" named Atom for that matter. I'll take my chances...thanks for warning me though. If there turns out to be something in there that needs shot, I'll come running."

"Hopefully it won't come to that", Barney said with a grunt. "but if it does, I'm usually at the Diner, the Militia HQ over on the corner where the turret is, or in the basement of my old house in the north end of town. Ya can't miss it, it's the only one with power." He then added, "If you do visit, mind the fence...it's electrified. Welcome to Salem, by the way." His duty done, he waved goodbye, and walked back towards the Diner.

"Haunted?", Zachariah asked sarcastically as he levered off the last board, revealing the door. Mary wordlessly waved him aside, pulling a key hanging on a cord around her neck from her robe and inserting it into the lock. "Should I wait outside here, too?"

"Not any more", Mary said as she turned the key in the lock, feeling the spell..a minor cantrip...dissipate as she did so. She then pushed open the door and stepped inside, coughing at the dust disturbed by their passage. A quick check showed all was largely as she had left it...if crumbling from two centuries of neglect and under a very thick coat of dust. A quick check of the attic revealed the roof looked in serious need of repairs...a few more years and the interior would have been ruined. She'd have to do something about it, and soon. Perhaps she could hire Barney?

A check of the basement showed it to be dry..which she expected given the structure was on the top of a small hill, and the more substantial wards she had placed on the hidden sub-basement were undisturbed. Satisfied for now, she went back upstairs, and then up to the second floor and began opening windows. The housewife deep inside her was appalled at the dust and crumbling furniture...not to mention it bothered her new form physically, making her sneeze constantly.

"Think you could stay one day, Zachariah", she asked between sneezes, "I really need to do something about all this dust!"

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne

Mary Hawthorne

Name: Mary Hawthorne (aka Marie Leveaux)

Age: 616 (apparent age 18)

Race: Caucasian

Sex: Female

Skills: a rather good cook, and knowledgeable about agriculture and animal husbandry. Can read and write Latin (Classical and Vulgate), German, Greek (Classical and Byzantine), as well as a couple of languages that aren't human. Passably good shot with simple firearms (revolvers, double bbl shotguns and lever action rifles), but doesn't like them and prefers melee weapons such as knives or swords. Highly skilled at what an earlier age would call Witchcraft...though she is very careful about concealing this and the subjects of her display of power normally either don't realize what she is doing or don't live to talk about it....or both.

Personality: Rather attractive by Wasteland standards, 5'6, 115 lbs, with long black hair and blue eyes. Polite and calm, sometimes eerily calm. Occasionally talks in a oddly archaic manner of speaking, especially when speaking about the past. Does not seem to be at all well versed in current Commonwealth history, but seems unusually knowledgeable of the past...can speak on colonial era Massachusetts, and Salem in particular with a particularly disturbing level of authority....and oddly enough the longer before the War the subject, the more detail and knowledge she displays. People who associate with her will know she is very literate and a voracious reader of books, not all of which are in English.

Weapons & armor/clothing: Possesses a .38 snub-nose and a .45 ACP Revolver (the latter a weapon antique by even Pre-War standards), 12 gauge double barrel shotgun, Revolutionary War sword, and several knives. Normally only carries a knife and/or the .38 revolver unless she is expecting trouble....and it is not prudent to display her "abilities". Usually dressed in standard Wasteland attire for women, if appropriate clean pre-war clothes.

(Previous) Occupation(s): Student/researcher/practitioner of the Arcane, medicine woman, housewife

Faction (Minutemen, Institute, BOS, Railroad, None. Etc): None

Backstory: Born in Boston, Massachusetts in November 1671, youngest daughter of Thomas Parker, a wealthy merchant, and his wife Elizabeth. Due to her family wealth, she well well-educated by the standards of the age, receiving a classical education, which included being taught to read Latin and Greek. In 1688, she married John Hawthorne, a County Magistrate and merchant living in Salem, and a devout Puritan. She bore him a daughter, Abigail in 1689 (died of pneumonia in 1691). Aside them the birth (and loss) of her daughter, her life was uneventful until the the events that led to the Salem Witch Trials in 1692. Her husband, was called upon to investigate the allegations being made. Not being familiar with witchcraft, he acquired what were considered authoritative works on the subject, such as the infamous Malleus Maleficarum, and A Tryal of Witches, an account of the witchcraft trials in Suffolk, England in 1663. These works had a serious impact on the still grieving John, who became convinced that his infant daughter was in fact murdered by witches and became obsessed with fighting the minions of Satan who had taken his beloved daughter from him and threatened the Godly people of Salem. They also had an effect on Mary, who, without John's knowledge, read his reference works while he in Court. The loss of her daughter, and to an extent her husband...now obsessed with the trials...had shaken her faith in God, and she found the Malleus Maleficarum's lurid depictions of women consorting with "daemons" strangely exciting. This would likely have not gone beyond prurient fantasies, if the trials had not finally unearthed a genuine "witch".

In 1692, at the height of the Trials, Mary Bradbury of nearby Salisbury, was arrested for witchcraft. Accused of casting spells on ships, and even changing into an animal, she was speedily convicted when a cache of Occult Books was found hidden in her cellar. Both her and her husband strenuously denied any knowledge of them, but Mary was convicted anyway and sentenced to hang for practicing magic. The books themselves had, when not produced at the trial as evidence, been stored in a locked chest in the Hawthorne home. At night, Mary dreamed of something inside the box calling to her, inviting her to open the chest and learn the secrets the books inside held. As she was unable to get the key, she was not able to do so. After Mary Bradshaw's conviction, the books were publicly cast upon a fire and burned before a n assembly of the whole town....at least except for one. Returning from the book burning event alone....she was astonished to find a large leather-bound book, undamaged yet smoking from the fire she had watched her husband cast it in not twenty minutes ago, waiting for her on their kitchen table. She did not realize it at the time, but the entire course of her life was dependent on what she did next. Partly due to her fear of what would happen if it became know the book had inexplicably appeared to her, partly due to to the desire to learn it's secrets, she seized the book and hid it away. The next day, she found herself compelled to read it, but she could not as it was in a Byzantine dialect of Greek that she was not familiar with. That night, she dreamed again. In this dream, she was drawn to the Salem Jail, then to one particular window. That barred window was that of the cell containing Mary Bradbury, currently awaiting execution. Mary greeted her warmly, telling her she bore her no ill will for her predicament. She then explained that the world she knew was but a tiny bubble in the vast cosmos, and the book, an ancient text of great power, was the key to opening the door to the wider universe. While the book had clearly chosen her as it's next custodian, she was not yet ready to learn the truth about Mankind's true place in the universe. However, in exchange for her aid, she would teach her what she needed to know to learn about, and survive in, the Real World. If she wished to escape her existence as a common housewife, and learn wonders beyond all imagination, all she need to was to was bring her a piece of chalk, or charcoal before the end of the night after next, as that next morning she would hang as decreed by her husband. Then she awoke, back in her bed. she thought upon the dream all day, while doing her domestic chores, and what she should do next. That night, she crept out of the house and made her way to the cell in her dream, and without a word, quietly placed a piece of chalk she had purloined from the dry goods store that afternoon, upon the windowsill. Before she could pull her hand away, a arm reached out and grasped hers from the darkness inside the cell and held her in place.

"Know this", Mary Bradshaw whispered, "While I blame ye not for my situation, I will have my revenge against your husband for what he has done. All the others he has done to death or imprisonment were innocent....only I was guilty of what he accused me of...and more that that...and I only fell into his hands through my own carelessness. There is no going back for you now...you've just done him to death as surely as if you cut his throat while he lay sleeping...once I have had my vengeance, we will meet again and your apprenticeship will begin." The hand then released her and she spoke one last time. "Now go, child...and enjoy your husband's bed for what time he has left. You will soon learn how ethereal everything you have been taught really is."

She crept back home, and into bed undetected, filled with dread and anticipation of the future. The next morning, the alarm was raised as one of the condemned prisoners...none other than Mary Bradshaw..had escaped from her locked cell in the night. The only clues being some sort of markings scrawled on the floor in chalk, partially obliterated by the footprints of rats, which infested the jail. The focus rapidly turned outward as it was learned her husband had also disappeared from their home in Salisbury. Suspicion turned to one of the jailers, who was believed to have accepted a bribe from her husband to let her escape, but he denied it vigorously and nothing could be proven. One year and one day after Bradshaw's escape, John Hawthorne was killed. While riding to Salisbury to hear a case, witnesses reported his horse panicked suddenly by the sight of a large blue boar on the Salisbury Road and ran into the Caramec River, and Hawthorne was carried under by the horse and drowned. Shortly after that, State officials began to intervene in the ongoing Witchcraft trials in Salem, and the cases against those awaiting trial fell apart under higher scrutiny, and the Governor pardoned the last group facing trial. At that point, the Witch trials fell apart, and those already tried had their convictions reversed on appeal....including Mary Bradshaw. With the trials having been discredited, Mary Bradshaw and her husband returned to their Salisbury home, and resumed their lives. Shortly after that the Widow Hawthorne, as her apprentice, began her studies in the Arcane, a journey she has continued on to the present day.

Having learned firsthand the perils of discovery, she maintained a low profile. Through supernatural means, she has lived far longer than any human has a right to. To evade detection, she occasionally left Massachusetts for a time, until time, now her ally, made it safe to return. The Great War found her in distant Maryland, a place called Point Lookout, where she joined a coven led by the then Matriarch of the Blackhall family, Constance Blackhall, devoted to the worship of a being known as Ub-Qualtoth. Constance herself had a unaturally long life, due to spells from a tome of great power, known as the Krivbeknih. the coven fell apart after the book was stolen from her, and without the spells within, Constance finally was claimed by old age in 2156. Mary, now calling herself Marie Leveaux after she married Simon Leveaux, a Cajun from Louisiana, meanwhile, had retreated deep into the swamp where the radiation ghoulified her. She then spent the next few decades living as sort of a medicine woman, serving the local Swamp Folk, who had come to accept her, not to mention greatly respected her power. Eventually, Constance's great-grandson, Obediah Blackhall, found a mercenary that was able to retrieve the Krivbeknih from the rival Cult that had stolen it. At first, unaware of the real power the tome had, he used things he gleaned from the book to convince the Swamp Folk he was a priest of Ub-Qualtoth and begin to revive the flagging fortunes of his family line, now down to him and his young grandson, Zachariah. His attempt to enact a ritual sacrifice to Ub-Qualtoth caused a ritual of Marie's own, using the discarded corpse of the sacrificial victim, to backfire and she confronted Obediah. Learning he had the Krivbeknih, the only tome she knew of that would enable her to recover from the predicament she was in, and that he had no idea what he had been foolishly trifling with, she struck a deal and a partnership was formed. In exchange for access to the Krivbeknih, she would take him as an apprentice, and show him things more important than mere earthly power. Obediah has used what he has learned to revive the flagging fortunes of his family, he rules all Point Lookout with a unshakeable grip. Also, in Zachariah, he found a solution to the problem of his mortality.

Marie herself, has continued her own research, and has learned of an artifact of great power, Kremvh's Tooth, whose last known location was in Massachusetts, the land of her youth. With her apprentice's help, and somewhat to his relief as his teacher is his only credible rival for power, she has journeyed back home, to Salem, to reclaim her old home and from there begin her search.

A Life in Salem - A Fallout RP

Mary Hawthorne

Mary Hawthorne

Name: Mary Hawthorne (aka Marie Leveaux)

Age: 616 (apparent age 18)

Race: Caucasian

Sex: Female

Skills: a rather good cook, and knowledgeable about agriculture and animal husbandry. Can read and write Latin (Classical and Vulgate), German, Greek (Classical and Byzantine), as well as a couple of languages that aren't human. Passably good shot with simple firearms (revolvers, double bbl shotguns and lever action rifles), but doesn't like them and prefers melee weapons such as knives or swords. Highly skilled at what an earlier age would call Witchcraft...though she is very careful about concealing this and the subjects of her display of power normally either don't realize what she is doing or don't live to talk about it....or both.

Personality: Rather attractive by Wasteland standards, 5'6, 115 lbs, with long black hair and blue eyes. Polite and calm, sometimes eerily calm. Occasionally talks in a oddly archaic manner of speaking, especially when speaking about the past. Does not seem to be at all well versed in current Commonwealth history, but seems unusually knowledgeable of the past...can speak on colonial era Massachusetts, and Salem in particular with a particularly disturbing level of authority....and oddly enough the longer before the War the subject, the more detail and knowledge she displays. People who associate with her will know she is very literate and a voracious reader of books, not all of which are in English.

Weapons & armor/clothing: Possesses a .38 snub-nose and a .45 ACP Revolver (the latter a weapon antique by even Pre-War standards), 12 gauge double barrel shotgun, Revolutionary War sword, and several knives. Normally only carries a knife and/or the .38 revolver unless she is expecting trouble....and it is not prudent to display her "abilities". Usually dressed in standard Wasteland attire for women, if appropriate clean pre-war clothes.

(Previous) Occupation(s): Student/researcher/practitioner of the Arcane, medicine woman, housewife

Faction (Minutemen, Institute, BOS, Railroad, None. Etc): None

Backstory: Born in Boston, Massachusetts in November 1671, youngest daughter of Thomas Parker, a wealthy merchant, and his wife Elizabeth. Due to her family wealth, she well well-educated by the standards of the age, receiving a classical education, which included being taught to read Latin and Greek. In 1688, she married John Hawthorne, a County Magistrate and merchant living in Salem, and a devout Puritan. She bore him a daughter, Abigail in 1689 (died of pneumonia in 1691). Aside them the birth (and loss) of her daughter, her life was uneventful until the the events that led to the Salem Witch Trials in 1692. Her husband, was called upon to investigate the allegations being made. Not being familiar with witchcraft, he acquired what were considered authoritative works on the subject, such as the infamous Malleus Maleficarum, and A Tryal of Witches, an account of the witchcraft trials in Suffolk, England in 1663. These works had a serious impact on the still grieving John, who became convinced that his infant daughter was in fact murdered by witches and became obsessed with fighting the minions of Satan who had taken his beloved daughter from him and threatened the Godly people of Salem. They also had an effect on Mary, who, without John's knowledge, read his reference works while he in Court. The loss of her daughter, and to an extent her husband...now obsessed with the trials...had shaken her faith in God, and she found the Malleus Maleficarum's lurid depictions of women consorting with "daemons" strangely exciting. This would likely have not gone beyond prurient fantasies, if the trials had not finally unearthed a genuine "witch".

In 1692, at the height of the Trials, Mary Bradbury of nearby Salisbury, was arrested for witchcraft. Accused of casting spells on ships, and even changing into an animal, she was speedily convicted when a cache of Occult Books was found hidden in her cellar. Both her and her husband strenuously denied any knowledge of them, but Mary was convicted anyway and sentenced to hang for practicing magic. The books themselves had, when not produced at the trial as evidence, been stored in a locked chest in the Hawthorne home. At night, Mary dreamed of something inside the box calling to her, inviting her to open the chest and learn the secrets the books inside held. As she was unable to get the key, she was not able to do so. After Mary Bradshaw's conviction, the books were publicly cast upon a fire and burned before a n assembly of the whole town....at least except for one. Returning from the book burning event alone....she was astonished to find a large leather-bound book, undamaged yet smoking from the fire she had watched her husband cast it in not twenty minutes ago, waiting for her on their kitchen table. She did not realize it at the time, but the entire course of her life was dependent on what she did next. Partly due to her fear of what would happen if it became know the book had inexplicably appeared to her, partly due to to the desire to learn it's secrets, she seized the book and hid it away. The next day, she found herself compelled to read it, but she could not as it was in a Byzantine dialect of Greek that she was not familiar with. That night, she dreamed again. In this dream, she was drawn to the Salem Jail, then to one particular window. That barred window was that of the cell containing Mary Bradbury, currently awaiting execution. Mary greeted her warmly, telling her she bore her no ill will for her predicament. She then explained that the world she knew was but a tiny bubble in the vast cosmos, and the book, an ancient text of great power, was the key to opening the door to the wider universe. While the book had clearly chosen her as it's next custodian, she was not yet ready to learn the truth about Mankind's true place in the universe. However, in exchange for her aid, she would teach her what she needed to know to learn about, and survive in, the Real World. If she wished to escape her existence as a common housewife, and learn wonders beyond all imagination, all she need to was to was bring her a piece of chalk, or charcoal before the end of the night after next, as that next morning she would hang as decreed by her husband. Then she awoke, back in her bed. she thought upon the dream all day, while doing her domestic chores, and what she should do next. That night, she crept out of the house and made her way to the cell in her dream, and without a word, quietly placed a piece of chalk she had purloined from the dry goods store that afternoon, upon the windowsill. Before she could pull her hand away, a arm reached out and grasped hers from the darkness inside the cell and held her in place.

"Know this", Mary Bradshaw whispered, "While I blame ye not for my situation, I will have my revenge against your husband for what he has done. All the others he has done to death or imprisonment were innocent....only I was guilty of what he accused me of...and more that that...and I only fell into his hands through my own carelessness. There is no going back for you now...you've just done him to death as surely as if you cut his throat while he lay sleeping...once I have had my vengeance, we will meet again and your apprenticeship will begin." The hand then released her and she spoke one last time. "Now go, child...and enjoy your husband's bed for what time he has left. You will soon learn how ethereal everything you have been taught really is."

She crept back home, and into bed undetected, filled with dread and anticipation of the future. The next morning, the alarm was raised as one of the condemned prisoners...none other than Mary Bradshaw..had escaped from her locked cell in the night. The only clues being some sort of markings scrawled on the floor in chalk, partially obliterated by the footprints of rats, which infested the jail. The focus rapidly turned outward as it was learned her husband had also disappeared from their home in Salisbury. Suspicion turned to one of the jailers, who was believed to have accepted a bribe from her husband to let her escape, but he denied it vigorously and nothing could be proven. One year and one day after Bradshaw's escape, John Hawthorne was killed. While riding to Salisbury to hear a case, witnesses reported his horse panicked suddenly by the sight of a large blue boar on the Salisbury Road and ran into the Caramec River, and Hawthorne was carried under by the horse and drowned. Shortly after that, State officials began to intervene in the ongoing Witchcraft trials in Salem, and the cases against those awaiting trial fell apart under higher scrutiny, and the Governor pardoned the last group facing trial. At that point, the Witch trials fell apart, and those already tried had their convictions reversed on appeal....including Mary Bradshaw. With the trials having been discredited, Mary Bradshaw and her husband returned to their Salisbury home, and resumed their lives. Shortly after that the Widow Hawthorne, as her apprentice, began her studies in the Arcane, a journey she has continued on to the present day.

Having learned firsthand the perils of discovery, she maintained a low profile. Through supernatural means, she has lived far longer than any human has a right to. To evade detection, she occasionally left Massachusetts for a time, until time, now her ally, made it safe to return. The Great War found her in distant Maryland, a place called Point Lookout, where she joined a coven led by the then Matriarch of the Blackhall family, Constance Blackhall, devoted to the worship of a being known as Ub-Qualtoth. Constance herself had a unaturally long life, due to spells from a tome of great power, known as the Krivbeknih. the coven fell apart after the book was stolen from her, and without the spells within, Constance finally was claimed by old age in 2156. Mary, now calling herself Marie Leveaux after she married Simon Leveaux, a Cajun from Louisiana, meanwhile, had retreated deep into the swamp where the radiation ghoulified her. She then spent the next few decades living as sort of a medicine woman, serving the local Swamp Folk, who had come to accept her, not to mention greatly respected her power. Eventually, Constance's great-grandson, Obediah Blackhall, found a mercenary that was able to retrieve the Krivbeknih from the rival Cult that had stolen it. At first, unaware of the real power the tome had, he used things he gleaned from the book to convince the Swamp Folk he was a priest of Ub-Qualtoth and begin to revive the flagging fortunes of his family line, now down to him and his young grandson, Zachariah. His attempt to enact a ritual sacrifice to Ub-Qualtoth caused a ritual of Marie's own, using the discarded corpse of the sacrificial victim, to backfire and she confronted Obediah. Learning he had the Krivbeknih, the only tome she knew of that would enable her to recover from the predicament she was in, and that he had no idea what he had been foolishly trifling with, she struck a deal and a partnership was formed. In exchange for access to the Krivbeknih, she would take him as an apprentice, and show him things more important than mere earthly power. Obediah has used what he has learned to revive the flagging fortunes of his family, he rules all Point Lookout with a unshakeable grip. Also, in Zachariah, he found a solution to the problem of his mortality.

Marie herself, has continued her own research, and has learned of an artifact of great power, Kremvh's Tooth, whose last known location was in Massachusetts, the land of her youth. With her apprentice's help, and somewhat to his relief as his teacher is his only credible rival for power, she has journeyed back home, to Salem, to reclaim her old home and from there begin her search.

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Steve Miller - Lee's Gun Shop

"Win? You're a harborman, now. Your prize is...more work!" Corrine said teasingly, giving him a playful nudge. She gently lifted the blender base and turned it around, appreciating his handiwork rather than inspecting it. "You sure weren't kidding, though. Definitely can handle yer tools."

"Thanks", Steve replied, "bit smaller than what I usually work on, but I managed."

"I watched you work. It's nice to see someone else who just...hm." She paused, feeling awkward. "Who just gets it." Corrine smiled, shyly. "Lots'a folk can use a tool but don't really care for the job. You know?" She rubbed her knuckles, wincing slightly as she did so. "You tinker with those...ah...terminals, an' such? Robots?" Her mind was running with dozens of things she'd never seen run as she babbled excitedly. "Oh! Those lifts in big buildings, those...elevators? Found all sorts of 'em, never tried to use one let alone fix it. Or what about, like, a...conveyor belt?"

"Terminals?", Steve replied", "I know a bit about that....Regina's electronics still worked...most of the time...so I got some hands on with that. As far as robots, it would depend on what's the matter with it....didn't get much opportunity to program them." He rubbed his chin thoughtfully. "But elevators and conveyor belts? I could probably puzzle it out...is there a particular place you have in mind? A factory or something?"

"Speaking of terminals", Steve said, "I have recently come into possession of an old Pip-Pad 3500 that won't power up...if you could help me figure out a way to repair it, I'd be suitably grateful"

While talking to Corrine, he heard someone running outside along the front of the shop. A moment later a man's head popped in the open door to look. The man regarded him suspicously until he looked around and saw Corrine, then his expression brightened.

"Corrine!", the man exclaimed, "Been looking for you all over town! Doc Wright sent me to fetch you...he wants you to come down to the dock right now, he says it's important!"

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Steve Miller - The Hull

"Come on," Corrine said as she jumped to her feed, taking Steve's hand and leading him back off the Hull and into town, then into one of the shuttered businesses along the boardwalk. The rifles chained up in a rack on the wall, the ammo cans, and the workbench suggested it was a gun shop.

"The original proprietor of this shop was killed a little while ago," Corrine said as she flipped on a light. "He was as loud and stubborn as any harborfolk, but he let me lock my tools up here and use his workbench anytime." Corrine smiled, then added. "I'm sure the fact I voluntarily scrapped any weapon he wanted done helped to pay my 'rent.'"

She then kneeled before a tool box and produced a key, unlocking it then opening the top cover, revealing a set of well maintained tools. She then got up and approached a shelf nearby.

"Now, where was that..." she murmured to herself, standing on her tip-toes and rummaging through the jumble of items on the shelf, her back to Steve and the rest of the room. Corrine's stance gave him a better view of her figure than he had had previously, he noticed she had a nice behind...which boded well for her legs, and he was a leg man.

"Ah, there we are!" Corrine said triumphantly as she reached up with both hands and pulled down a small crate, examining the contents quickly then looking back up at him. "Took this one apart a week ago or so. All the pieces are still there, I think," she trailed off, swirling the contents with her finger. "Hm. Looks like it. Anyway, for yer first challenge I'll even give you a hint: it was some sort of pre-war kitchen doodad with a motor." She smiled and thrust the crate out at him. "Have at it, sailor."

Steve accepted the box, finding in side it the pieces of what appeared to be a disassembled kitchen appliance of some sort. There was a plastic casing consisting of several pieces, a couple of circuit boards, and some wiring. In a small clear plastic container were a number of small screws. Steve placed the crate on the workbench, then flipped on the light above it. He then took each part out and arranged them in a row on the bench then examined them.

The casing was marked "Radiation King" and "Atomic Mixmaster 2000". The controls were a row of four push buttons, marked on the casing as "OFF", then 1, 2, and 3. One of the circuit boards, fortunately not broken down further, had the four buttons. Another contained a electric motor that turned some sort of assembly that apparently turned something that would be plugged into the top of the casing that was not present. As near as he could tell, it was some sort of food processing machine...now that he thought of it he remembered a bar in Halifax that had a similar machine they used to mix iced drinks. A blender, they called it? Steve grunted then focused on the task at hand. The third board seemed to be the power supply...but rather than AC power, it was powered by a battery....Steve suspected a Multi-Fusion Cell by the size of the connectors. Looking through Corrine's tools, he found an analog multimeter...it had a small "US Property" plate on the back, below it someone had written "SSBN-859" and "E-DIV #2" long ago in a indelible marker of some sort...in the bottom of the tool box. As it was carefully protected in a handmade wooden case, Corrine, or perhaps her late parents, obviously knew it's value....Steve guessed about 500 caps to someone who knew what it was. Odd thing to find here with those markings, though...looked like the hull number of a warship of some kind...Steve filed a mental note to ask her later where she had gotten it. Deploying the multimeter, he tested the circuits and found he was correct. The power supply board stepped down a voltage consistent with a MFC to the far lower requirements of the electric motor, though 2000 watts seemed excessive for a kitchen appliance this size to him.

Now understanding how it was powered, the next order of business was to put it back together again. after about ten minutes of trial and error, he believed he had it figured out. Retrieving a set of small screwdrivers from Corrine's tool chest, he began to carefully put it back together. After a few false starts, he had the ancient machine re-assembled. The ammo boxes were all locked, so he rummaged around Corrine's shelf, and found a MFC cell that still had a charge. He popped it inside, then installed the battery cover and secured it with the last screw. He then placed the now assembled machine on the bench with a flourish, pushing the button marked "1", and the device whirred to life. He then realized he had been so absorbed in what he was doing that he had forgotten all about Corrine.

"if you can find a container to complete it", Steve said sheepishly, raising his voice slightly to be heard over the whine of the blender, "Mitch would probably pay you a pretty penny for it once you show him what it does. With the power it's rated for, it should be able to crush ice or grind up just about any kind of meat or produce."

"So, Corrine", Steve said with a wink as he pushed the off button, shutting the device down, "What do I win?"

In From The Fog: A Fallout Far Harbor Roleplay

Steve Miller - The Hull

"But, I missed my manners. I'm sorry for your loss, of yer dad, and yer ship, both." she said as reached her arms around his waist and hugged him, a pleasant suprise.

"And I for yours", Steve said, as he returned her gesture with the arm he had around her waist. Losing their family was one thing they had in common, though Steve thought it impolitic to mention it....to easy to come out the wrong way. It was certainly interesting to know how their liveliehoods complemented each other....there were plenty of things that couldn't be fabricated on a drill press or lathe, people in his line of work needed scavvers...or prospectors as they occasionally called them in Halifax...to recover them from other, ususally broken, devices.

"A mechanic is more than handy to have around.", Corrine continued, "I bet you'd find a lot of work in these parts, helpin' to repair boats and generators and the like. She then lifted her head from his chest and looked right at him. "Hell," she said as she winked, "if you wanted a challenge, I'd let ya try and put something back together after I've taken it apart. See how good ya really are. I'd even let you borrow my tools."

Something about the way Corrine was looking at him....or maybe it was the inflection of her voice, suggested to Steve there might be more than one meaning to her proposal. Whether that was true or not, it was becoming clear that his luck was finally changing for the better.

"You're on", Steve said with a grin as he hugged her waist again, "What did you have in mind?"